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sector38 · 7 months ago

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From Sector: 38

Entry: II

After my last "encounter," my mind was made – I couldn't just sit at the edge of the sector staring out at the abyss – a hunger had made itself a home inside of me, nested under my bosom and in between my ribcage. For what it was worth, I could now say I was the proud owner of a brand new sector pass (actually in date this time), meaning I could also now apply for a real job. Before, it felt like I was wading through murky waters devoid of a lighthouse: without any sense of direction or purpose, but now I knew where I was going, who I was to be, and what I was to become – a xenologist.

It wasn't the easiest job. When I told my friends, they outright laughed. Sure, the world wasn't what it used to be – fancy bits of laminated paper were all lost to the flood – but that didn't mean that anyone could just walk in with zero qualifications, no questions asked. This was especially so for jobs that didn't exist pre-flood (including but not limited to, you guessed it, xenology). Before, if the job existed, maybe I would have gone to some elite university and collected my certificate that, for some reason, was meant to equate four years of my life, with a smile – now, we had the circuits.

On the bright side, it was a shorter process, 6-12 months if you survived that long and shorter if you didn't. I didn't know the process that well (sue me), but I knew that I would be starting at the outer tier, maintenance (glorified clean-up crew) and working my way in, each stage more deadly than the last until finally I reached the core, or as its more commonly known, "The Arena." I could never just choose the easy path.

I knew I should have been nervous, but... I just wasn't. I guess after the encounter, it was hard to feel like I hadn't been given some top-secret information that put me ahead. I hadn't really had the time to think about it, or I did, but there wasn't really much to say or do. It wasn't like I could tell anyone – I don't know what would have been worse: them not believing me or their faces of disgust.

When all countries were dissolved, you'd have liked to think everyone would lose their patriotism (you know, considering there were no more countries to worthlessly devote themselves to) – wrong. The world became one big country, one metaphorical empire ruled by the human race. This meant anyone or anything not of the human race or not subservient to the human race (like my neighbour, Julie's pet squid) was technically considered an enemy of the state.

Wait, did I fuck a public enemy?

First-day jitters were nothing in comparison to whatever I was feeling, especially considering this wasn't even my first day more like a very short tester solo shift - in all my time on sector 38 I'd never felt seasick (probably because the plates don't move) and yet here I was suddenly greatly empathetic towards the poor souls who found themselves violently ill holidaying in pacific waters. I could barely walk straight, my legs felt like jelly, and my stomach was so heavy I genuinely wondered if I'd swallowed an anchor between breakfast and lunch.

Even now, i still don't understand why i was alone during my tester shift? I get that it was just three tasks, but typically, unless you're a high-level, you're not to be left alone - always followed by a superior. Still, as i said, it wasn't even like I was going to be doing much, according to the alerts who sent me my assignments the night before my shift

. Stack the crates

. File away medical instruments

. Clean the pods on deck Xv_2

Pretty standard stuff, to be honest. If i cared half as much as i should, I'd be outraged that they gave me such menial work - but i didn't, so i wasn't. All i cared about was getting to see more of them, speak to them, and understand them, and the only way to do that was to become a xenologist.

At that point, I couldn't care less about hierarchy and ranks - i didn't understand the tangled web of beurocracy or how clearing badges worked, well not until I'd spent less than five seconds on the deck and i was promtly told

"Attention!"

The wooden crate I'd be carrying dropped to the ground with a hollow thud, the solid wood colliding with the metal flooring, making an awful cacophony. I looked up at the figure and saw a man dressed in a black suit with a white under shirt and black tie, on his black hair sat snug a white naval cap and across his chest a number of metal pins. He looked at me expectantly, i hadn't been told anyone else would be on shift as far as I knew I was supposed to meet my peers next week.

While trying to carefully stack the box in the appropriate space, I gave an awkward smile

"Hi"

Somehow, in a moment, his face grew colder, from freezing to a subzero tundra in an instant - I could tell he wanted to say more, to reprimand me, put me in place - but promtly his alarm sounded on his right wrist.

He left without a word, his face coloured with urgency.

To say I was confused would be an understatement. In the new world, the navy took on a more active role with the marines following suit to a lesser degree and the army taking the least precedence out of the three - so seeing a navy officer wasn't unheard of or even uncommon, but a lieutenant?

It just didn't make any sense, especially considering my work for today was entirely made up of menial tasks - and the look on his face as he left or even before that when I greeted him? I'm not in the navy, clearly so why what was he expecting me to do? Salute? Bowe? Kiss the ground beneath his feet?

It didn't matter, I told myself, i quite literally had one job: keep my head down and become a certified xenologist...well, aside from cleaning the pods on deck.

After stacking the last of the crates and refusing to give into my temptation of opening them, I set about trying to look for the ever elusive deck Xv_2

I mean, would it have KILLED them to give me a map or something? All the corridors looked the same - eggshell cream walls with blue strip lights - every turn, every left, every right didn't feel like it was getting me any closer, to be honest, I wasn't sure if this was some sort of time warp zone, an after effect of some eldritch creature washed up during the flood.

Wandering through the halls, I passed numerous rooms with bolted doors and bright yellow signs with bold black writing, as if they were so afraid that someone might accidentally open the securely locked doors - aside from doors armed to the teeth I passed a myriad of people, i can't really use one word to describe them:

From white coats with slicked-back hair, needle-straight posture to black suits, black ties, white collars, and broze pins to white hazmat suits and black boots.

Like some sort of machine, my brain was fixed on identifying and categorising my colleagues (colleagues). Well, that was until I heard it, tapping against the walls

It was faint at first, easily missable, but then the sounds grew louder, the rapid patter of the metal walls surrounding me like rain against the window - except there was nothing to see, no visible trace of the source of the sound just the noise, just the polyphonic array.

If this was a film, the corridors would be dimly lit with no signs of life but my own heartbeat and panting breath ringing in my ears, but this is the real world, if anything the bright neon lights and the industrious workers who I chanced upon only led to an increase in my anixety - it was as though i was going insane, as though i was being followed

"Could no one else hear that?"

The noise was atonal and offbeat - seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, bouncing off the walls like an echo. My eyes darted around the corners of the walls as I discreetly tried to turn my head to locate the source of the sound only to be met with nothing. Whatever it was, it was quick. It was just too quick, the persistent creature darting always just out of sight.

Finally, after what felt like a literal millennia, I ran into a steal door labelled

Xv_2

I pushed both the persistent scurrying aside and the absurdly weighted door - inside a dimly lit room with large cylinders attached to the centre wall. To call it a deck seemed overly gracious, with the sizing being more akin to an office space or a large storeage room.

As i walked closer towards the cylinders, I understood why they needed to be cleaned - they were filthy, dust coating them in an opaque sheild blocking any possible view of whatever was sealed within them.

I grabbed the tissue pack I'd hastily shoved in my bra before leaving the house and stared at the cylinders - there was NO way they'd be enough. A part of me seriously thought about using my top, but the thought quickly vanished when i remembered I did actually have to leave the facility without being arrested for public indecency.

And that's when i felt it, a brush of cold air against my neck, raising my hair and sending a shiver down my spin. Instantly, I dropped my tissue pack on the small table and turned around but only to be met by nothing, empty space. I stared out at the room for a moment as though someone or something would magically appear it would probably still have only been the second strangest thing to happen to me as of last.After sufficiently staring out into an empty room I turned back around...

The tissues were gone.

I looked down at the floor, nothing. Half baked thoughts swirled around my head as i looked around the room

"I could have sworn i- did i bring them? Yes. Maybe i dropped them on a crate? No, i had them when-"

Finally, i got on my knees searching underneath the desk in hopes that somehow they'd fallen and I'd kicked them under. It was so dark I should have brought my phone or a flashlight or something, as I lent further under the desk the space narrowed which, if i was paying attention i would have known.

But, alas, i wasn't - instead, my mind was still fixed on how i needed to be more prepared in the future and how i shouldn't have a phone if i wasn't going to use it because the last time I didn't bring my phone i got-

Cold.

Cold air against my bare thighs, that feeling again. Except this time the cold felt more real? The touch more weighted less like the air and more like a person?

I stilled against the feeling, with every passing second the pressure grew till i could shape the outline: a hand.

I tried to move backwards from under the desk but promptly the feeling of another hand splayed across my waist - halting any movement. The hand across my waist kept a firm solid grip, with the cold air seeping through my clothes and onto my skin as though I were naked whilst the other fingers which previously splayed across my thigh began to move, inching ever so slowly towards my upper thigh.

Maybe it was the confusion or remnants of my first (but technically not first) day jitters. Maybe it was a cocktail of both, but I found myself slightly pushing towards the unknown force. Whatever it was must have taken that as a sign because suddenly, the fingers brushed in between my inner thighs dangerously close to my knickers.

I didn't know who or what was behind me, no-one else was in the room bar me and with only one entrance and exist it would have be impossible for anyone to come in without my knowledge - especially considering how heavy the door was.

This couldn't be a who, I thought. It must have been a what.

The thought excited me, that familiar warmth spreading in my lower stomach now juxtaposing the icy touch of the creature - I couldn't help but let out a breathy whimper. The creature must have heard because, within an instant, its cold finger pressed against my clothed entrance. The pressure was barely there, barely feelable almost imperceptible but that's what made is to so maddening - what made me push back against it despite the very firm hand on my waist.

We continued our dance: me pushing backwards, aching and desperate for any sort of relief or solid touch, and its outright reluctance to give it to me aside from the arctic hold on my mid section I could feel myself growing wetter, throbbing in a hot aching want. If i was capable of shame at that point, I would have been berating myself for wearing white panties instead of a more concealing black.

The feel of the wet material sticking to me and the mystery surrounding the strange figure was getting to be too much, I'd tried to bite my glossed lips concealing more whimpers and moans but i couldn't hold back anymore. I began to rock back harder, sounds slipping from my mouth like condensation down glass till the monster showed me mercy.

A cool finger began to push into me through my now presumably clear underwear, the sensation of wet cotton and the icy appendage dipping into me making me moan all the more - but it wasn't enough. I began to beg, pleas falling from my mouth faster than my brain could protest.

Cold and wet dragged along my cunt so abruptly I hit my head against the desk but I was too aroused to care - slowly the figure dragged its icy dripping tongue against me, lapping up my desire through my panties and adding to the wet region.

The drag was devastatingly slow, and whilst the pressure was a reprieve from my previous torture, it was nowhere near enough, tears gathered in my eyes as I begged for more. Then, I felt the being give one final lick before spreading my thighs out further and removing its hand from my waist - I was untouched.

For a brief moment, i wondered if it had left me, alone and hungry, desperate for something more - thankfully, it didn't. Instead, I felt what seemed to be a light kiss to my upper thigh before my skirt was bunched up to above my ass. The suddenness of it all made my gasp like a scandalised southern bell -as though I wasn't begging to be fucked by a stranger (who most definitely wasn't human) under a desk at my first day at work- though rapidly my gasp morphed into a whine as I felt the monster slip underneath my shaking spread out thighs so that the back of its head might rest against the floor with now both hands grasping my waist and hips.

It began to lick into me (still over my underwear) with a passion that I've never known, the glacial touch contrasting the warm friction building. I began to rock and press down onto its tongue and in response it sucked and licked and fucked into me with its tongue.

I'd asked, begged for more and I'd gotten it but I've always been greedy, always been stupid and reckless and impulsive, always been bossy even when I'm on my knees and then was absolutely no different.

"Let me fuck your mouth"

Instantly as soon as the words left my mouth I felt it moan against me the sensation only making me want it more, carefully after giving a few more playful sucks it released me - somehow even with its cold presence when it left me, the room felt so much more glacial.

I slid out from under the desk my shaking legs doing very little to help me in this endeavour, but before i could turn around to face the entity hands covered my eyes, of course this did nothing in ways of stopping me from seeing but I understood the getsture and so I closed my eyes.

Once my eyes were closed, the figure rearranged our bodies like a jigsaw piece as though it and I were one cohesive being all while I was immersed in the faint scent of sea salt and rain-soaked earth emanating from the creature - the delicate nature of the smell, alien to the steady yet all-consuming auror of the beast - like the sky before a storm. Once again, it was pressed against the ground with the back of its head to the metal flooring, and I was on top of it, this time fully able to sit with a straight posture.

It slowly guided me with my eyes still closed to its mouth with my still clothed cunt at first gently resting against its lips not wanting to move before it was ready till I felt it place both its sturdy hands on my waist and force me to rock into its mouth slightly.

I began slow, moving backwards and forwards on its cold tongue, trying to find a starting rhythm before the heat that momentarily subsided rose in full formation. Its hands were everywhere on my waist, my hips, my tummy. Like it was pushing and pulling me down and up, away, and to. Then suddenly one of its strong arms was lifting me slightly off its mouth eliciting an unexpected whine from me whilst the other moved the lace fabric to the side before gently lowering me back onto its cold wet mouth.

The feeling was foreign, invasive, intrusive, like a virus spreading through my body overtaking each nerve and blood cell before leaving me powerless to resist or even the desire to. The cold spit-soaked tongue dragged perfectly against me like waves hitting against the rocks, never missing their mark. I began to ride into its mouth, eyes rolling to the back of my head as I felt a familiar pressure build within me. I was so close to the edge, to the beginning and end of bliss. I didn’t know what the creature was or if it was even capable of feeling pleasure in the same way I did, but the desperate movements of its cold hands, one gripping my waist and the other my boobs showed me I wasn't alone in my heightened arousal.

Pleas and cries spilt from my lips, each more nonsensical and crass than the last:

"Please, please, fuck I'll be so good, fuck, your mouth its so- so perfect, you're so good for me, fuck, just like that, right there-"

Till eventually like an electrical current, the feeling washed over me - like fuzzy static interferce my whole body sparked alite. Its cold hands pressed me down harder as my body spasmed, tears welled in my eyes as I tried to move away, the pleasure building to be all too much, the overstimulation becoming extreme - but its presence remained lapping up my cum from my wet, warm, throbbing cunt.

My legs felt like jelly as it finally allowed me to stand, my lack of balance definitely not helped by my inability to see.

"Can I open my eyes... Tap me twice for yes?"

I felt a press of cold lips against my neck and then temple, sending a shiver down my spine and a small smile on my face before opening my eyes and turning around to see

Nothing.

I looked around the room confusion growing clearer on my face - thoughts regarding whether I'd made the whole scenario up in my head beginning to take root - before I felt cold hands rest against my cheek holding my head tilted slightly upwards before I felt cold lips move again against mine. The kiss was dry, soft, and sweet, still smelling of sea salt and storms and in that moment my mind was still, at peace like a total oneness with the world, with the truth whatever that may be.

Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill.Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. Warning. Warning. Emergency alert. Code Amber. Please isolate in groups immediately. This is not a drill.

#terato #monsterfucker #monster smut #monster fuqqer #spectrophilia #ghost fucker #teratophillia #monster fucker #tw monsterfucking #ghost kink #ghost boyfriend #ghost bf #monster boyfriend #monster bf #spectral #invisible kink #stranger sex #dacryphilia #crying kink

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druidwolf21 · 2 months ago

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First impressions

So I had originally done something a bit longer and I was so happy with it but Tumblr is the worst and it deleted half my work

So this is the rewritten one

This is just the introduction of a little choose your own story where the events of the party play out differently depending on which Primark or other familiar face you choose.

No smut

Yet

It will be added

Let me know what ya think

@jaghatai-khock @moodymisty @beckyninja @lemon-russ

Part one with roboute guilliman is now here lol!

Part 2

Leman russ

Part 3

Sanguinius

https://www.tumblr.com/druidwolf21/766233367250370560/part-of-first-impressions?source=share

You sighed as you reached up and put the final pin in your hair, the golden aquilla sliding easily into your bun, completing the ensemble; A white Grecian dress, flowing and soft settled around your figure as you moved, one shoulder bared to the elements and golden chains caressing your waist. A nest of curled and braided hair sat on your head, gilded by the stretching wings of the eagle you had delicately nested in your locks and you curled two longer strands around your fingers to frame your face.

You checked your reflection in the small mirror perched over your dresser as you fiddled around checking the smaller details of your appearance. Lips painted a soft red and cheeks dusted with soft pink, basic but, then again, you didn't really want to make this much effort to begin with. Your discarded trousers and blazer heaped in a sad pile on the floor besides your bed. You give yourself a final once over before heading to the door.

So much time spent working your way up to a position of trust with generals and heads of households and now you are debased to this.

You hated it, but damn did you look good.

Entering the hall, your eyes widened in surprise as a serf whistled past you with a stack of plates, followed shortly by another, who's arms were piled with linens and tablecloths. The girl spun slightly, nervously spouting a rushed apology before hurrying after her friend. You peered after them before casting your eyes around the corridor.

Long walls and high ceilings stretched past you in both directions, at one end serfs and workers flittering about in the shadows, silently weaving in and out of low doors without a word, stark contrast to the other end where a large oaken door stood ajar, faint flicking light and muffled voices leaked from the crack.You grimaced and made your way towards the warm glow, muttering under your breath with every step

"stupid show and pomp"

""ridiculous dress code"

""make sure you were something nice" my arse"

You huffed and puffed, rolling your eyes with each curse you muttered.

Finally you reached the door. Pausing, you took a deep breath, plastered a wide smile on your face to mask the growing pit in your stomach and entered. The sudden rush of golden light and raucous chatter stunned you for a moment and you blinked dumbly as you adjusted to your surrounding.

The room was decadent to say the least, large sloping ceilings, framed by ivory walls and mahogany pillars. Epic tapestries of woven silk depicted battles of galactic proportions hung across the walls, showcasing the might of the imperium and the deaththroes of varying xenos, trampled under the boot of the emperors angels. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting their flickering and delicate light across the faces of the people milling about beneath, scuffing the carmine rugs under their feet.

A great golden aquilla, stitched in gold and framed in scarlet took pride of place across the wall farthest from you, its dual heads staring down at the crowd below, watching events unfold. The floor was peppered with smaller seating options and linen covered counters to compliment the long refectory table taking pride of place in the center. Gold and crystal carafes were spread out amongst decedent plates piled high with meats and vegetables, weighing down the table until it groaned under the gluttonous load. Serfs in black robes slipped between ranking officers and ambassadors, eyes kept low as high flying members of the imperium picking at the trays of warm morsels and goblet of honeyed mead and wine they carried.

The scent made your mouth water, but that wasn't the main attraction of the room.

Large figures looked over the crowds, casting long shadows across the swathes of people as they moved. some armed to the teeth, other in the varying formal wear of their home worlds.

Primarks and Astartes dominated the room.

You swipe a glass of amber liquid from a passing tray, smiling and thanking the serf before taking a sip, hiding your distaste as you watch nobles and lordlings vie for the attention of the emperors chosen. You continue to scan the masses, noting the colours and sigils of various planets before you felt eyes boring into your back.

Turning you met the steely gaze of the lord govenor.

Or, more accurately, your brother.

"you will dress appropriately and act according" he had hissed as he straightened his waistcoat, eyes catching yours as he stared into the mirror "I want none of.... this." He had turned and waved his hand at your combat fatigues, pursing his lips as he did so. "You are not a ruffian despite how much time you spend with the low borns and the militarum. I will NOT have you embarrass me"

You had rolled your eyes and given him a sarcastic response, smiling slightly at how stressed he had been.

he had gripped your jaw in his hand, twisting you to meet his gaze.

"we are not playing games, sister. Not today. Not with the primarks in attendance"

He released his grip, seeming to realise what he had done and spun away from you.

"now go get dressed, with any luck we can find you a husband to take you off my hands" he smiled apologetically, but the ache in your jaw told you all you needed to know

You returned your brother's cold stare and twitched your chin up defiantly before necking the rest of your glass and making your way into the milling huddle of people. Pointedly ignoring the primarks and their infatuated entourage ,You flittered easily between the nested tables, smiling and offering you hand and gentle nods to the lords and ladies of the dinner, laughing at their jokes, faking a blush as poor attempts to woo you. But with each introduction, each fake laugh or unsolicited touch you felt your patience wearing thin. Finally after what felt like the millionth thinly veiled flirt by an old man, you'd had enough. Gathering your dress, you politely excused yourself, slipping out of yet another dull debate and stalked towards the door, eyes locked forward in an attempt to escape the tedium.

For all it's decadence and beauty, this place was just another play for power and impressions. Just as dull as the people cloistered away with it's walls.

And you were done with it.

The night wasn't done with you, however.

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estellan0vella · 2 months ago

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Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Three: Be Anything But Yourselves SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.3K Content Warnings: Discussion of murder, Discussion of abduction, discussion of potential stalking, mention of suicide Previous Next Masterlist

It’s a lazy Sunday morning, the kind where the world feels slow and the air is thick with the promise of a quiet day. The hum of the house is peaceful—until a knock on the door breaks the silence. Hayun pads across the living room, her damp hair still clinging to her neck from her morning shower. She’s dressed casually in a white T-shirt, tucked into black yoga shorts, and a pair of fluffy yellow socks that make her feet look like two small ducks waddling across the floor. She yawns, rubbing her eyes as she pulls open the door.

Minho stands there, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable. “Morning,” he greets, his voice low.

“Come in,” Hayun says with a small smile, stepping aside to let him enter. “We’re just having breakfast.”

As Minho steps into the warmth of the house, he glances around. The living room feels like a war room, with documents scattered across the dining table and a large corkboard dominating one wall. His eyes lock onto it immediately—at the center is Yuna’s picture, framed by post-its that form a spiderweb of half-formed thoughts and theories.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Minho says, though his focus is on the board.

Hayun shakes her head, gesturing toward the table where Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung are already seated, half-eaten plates of breakfast in front of them. “Nah, you’re good.”

The three wave lazily at Minho. Felix, who’s halfway through a bite of toast, flashes him a quick smile. “Made you breakfast too. It’s on the counter.”

Minho nods his thanks and takes a seat. Hayun heads into the kitchen, returning with a plate stacked high with eggs, toast, and bacon, setting it in front of him before joining the others. They sit together around the cluttered table, a mix of notes, documents, and food spread out in front of them.

Minho’s gaze keeps drifting back to the corkboard. Yuna’s picture, pinned with a post-it reading Assumed dead, body not recovered, sits next to a photo of Chaeryeong. Under her picture, another note reads: Confession note, 'suicide,' pile of horseshit case.

Jisung, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, gestures toward the corkboard with a fork. “Alright, so anything or anyone you can think of needs to go on the board. We’re just mapping out connections, so don’t hold back.”

Minho’s jaw tightens for a moment as he considers the question. “Your sister, Lia,” he says finally, glancing at Jisung. “She was Yuna’s best friend.”

Jisung nods, though he looks a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, Lia. She doesn’t talk about it much. It’ll be tough to get her to open up.”

Jeongin, sitting cross-legged in front of the corkboard, scribbles down a note and pins it up next to Yuna’s picture: Han Lia – Yuna’s best friend.

Felix looks up from his plate, eyes darting between Jisung and Minho. “Lia’s a good start, but do we have any leads on where she’s been lately? She’s been avoiding us for a while, right?”

Jisung runs a hand through his messy hair, sighing. “She’s not avoiding us, just... not ready to talk, I think. I’ll reach out. It’ll be hard, though. She’s probably still dealing with all of this.”

Minho rubs the back of his neck, his eyes still on the board. “Hwang Yeji. Chae told me Yuna used to buy pills from her.”

Felix nearly chokes on his coffee, eyes wide. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” Minho says grimly. “Yuna was one of her regulars. Chae hated it, but she loved Yuna too much to do anything about it.”

Hayun frowns, absently tapping her pen against her notebook. “Isn’t Yeji dating Yuna’s sister, Ryujin?”

Minho nods. “They’ve been together for a while. I think they started dating just before Yuna disappeared.”

Jeongin quickly jots down the new information, pinning it to the board. He adds two notes under Yuna’s picture: Hwang Yeji – dealer and Shin Ryujin – sister of Yuna.

Felix pours more coffee into cups and slides one over to Minho, who takes it with a nod. He passes the others around the table, and Hayun wraps her hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her skin.

“I don’t know if this is important,” Hayun begins, her voice hesitant, “but once, I was having a sleepover at Ji’s place, and Yuna was staying over in Lia’s room. I heard them talking about some... older guy. Mystery guy.”

Jeongin immediately perks up, scribbling Older mystery guy? on a post-it and pinning it next to Yuna’s picture.

Minho’s brow furrows. “Older guy? You’re sure?”

Hayun nods slowly. “It was a long time ago, but... yeah, I think so. They seemed to know him pretty well.”

Minho’s lips press into a thin line as he considers this new piece of information. “We’ll need to look into that. Older guy could be connected to whatever Yuna was mixed up in.”

Felix leans forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “Could be tied to Yeji’s dealing, right? What if this guy was a supplier or something? Someone behind the scenes.”

“Or someone completely unrelated,” Hayun suggests. “Could be a professor, an old friend, anyone. We don’t know enough yet.”

Minho’s voice drops, more intense now. “You should add the Shin family to the board. Chae told me Yuna and Ryujin’s father used to get violent when he drank.”

Jeongin nods quickly, scribbling Shin Family – abusive father? and sticking it beneath Yuna’s photo.

Jisung takes a long sip of his coffee, his expression serious. “Okay, we’ve got the bare bones, but we’re still missing a lot of pieces. Lia’s the obvious place to start. She knew Yuna best.”

Hayun stares at the board, her mind racing. “If anyone knows who the older guy is, it’ll be Lia.”

Jeongin taps his pen against his notebook, eyes flicking between the pictures. “We also need to consider the possibility that Yuna might not even be dead. There’s never been a body. What if she was abducted? It’s not that far-fetched.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Five years, though? That’s a long time for someone to hold a victim. If she’s alive, it’d mean Yuna was stalked, watched... The abductor would probably think they were in love or something.”

Hayun bites her lip, deep in thought. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, there should have been signs before her disappearance. Weird messages, people following her... we don’t have any of that.”

Minho, who’s been silent for a while, suddenly speaks, his voice low and steady. “Even if Yuna’s alive, someone killed my sister. They forced her to write that confession, then made it look like a suicide. There’s a murderer out there, and they’ve been walking free for five fucking years.”

The room falls silent, the gravity of Minho’s words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Hayun’s heart sinks a little at the look in his eyes—determined but raw, like he’s been living with this weight for far too long.

Jisung, never one to sit still for long, suddenly leans forward, his eyes gleaming with a familiar manic energy. “Okay, hear me out—what if Yuna faked her death? What if she forced Chaeryeong to write the confession and then killed her?”

Felix looks skeptical but doesn’t dismiss the idea immediately. “That’s... actually not the craziest thing I’ve heard. The whole case is bizarre. We have to be open to any possibility.”

Hayun frowns, sipping her coffee slowly. “But why would Yuna do that? What’s the motive?”

Jisung shrugs, though his eyes are wild with the thrill of a new theory. “Maybe she was in over her head. Maybe she was running from something—someone.”

Minho sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “We can speculate all day, but the fact remains: my sister’s dead. If Yuna is alive, she knows more than anyone. And we need to find out what happened.”

The group falls silent, each of them staring at the growing web of names and notes pinned to the corkboard, the tangled mess of leads that could either crack the case wide open or send them chasing ghosts.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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My Future in You | 2.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, time jump of a month and a half / two months

…

“Your sister is fucking insane.” Bradley grunts.

“Shut up and just lift your end,” Jake demands, straying under the weight of lifting his end of the couch. A soft sigh and the two of them lift again, hoisting more than their combined body weight’s worth of sectional sofa. “And she wasn’t crazy until you got her pregnant.”

“I can hear you!” You call back from the small kitchen. Sitting cross-legged on the black and white diamond shaped tile, surrounded by boxes and new plates and bubble wrap. Your system for unpacking is fool-proof and they’ll just get in the way if they try to help. That’s why you’ve had them rearrange the layout of the living room three times already.

There isn’t too much left in your life that you have control over these days. Graduating two years early, at the top of your class, and the only people there to be proud of you were your big brother and the guy who got you pregnant. Delaying your grad job, which you worked your ass off to get, until after you’ve given birth. Finding out you had been approved to switch to their Florida office in an email from your father’s secretary.

Moving to a place you’ve never been before, with a guy you didn’t even like up until recently. Carrying a child that’ll probably never have a name because you and Bradley barely agree on anything. Knowing that Jake, your only constant through this entire ordeal, is shipping off to basic training in a day and a half.

Everything’s hurtling forwards, you can practically hear the time rushing by like wind in your ears. Dragged along with it, no choice but to keep up, there’s a voice in your head that keeps telling you it’s okay to be scared. You just aren’t sure if it’s okay to be this scared.

He’s moving around more and more these days, growing stronger and bigger. His kicks are no longer butterflies in your tummy, but now pinpointed and real, which is terrifying in itself. More recently, you’ve been wondering if he can feel how afraid you are. You don’t want him to worry.

By hell or high water, you’re going to give this little boy all the love that you’ve got. Afraid or not, he needs you and you’ll keep going for him. Being good for him is just about all you can manage. That, and unpacking the way that you need to.

Setting the plates in a cabinet, stacking bowls, glasses in an overhead cupboard. Ignoring Jake and Bradley’s bickering to the best of your ability.

Florida’s even hotter than you were expecting. It’s the last day of May and the air conditioning isn’t getting fixed until tomorrow. Home is no longer an upstairs apartment or a cramped room on the first floor of a fraternity. It’s now an almost two bedroom downstairs unit on a quiet, residential street in west Pensacola.

Living room with fireplace, fully equipped kitchen with new stove and refrigerator. Dark brown, LVP floors and new paint throughout. You have your own Lanai and storage outside unit. Also includes washer and dryer. This northeast location is tucked away in a private dead end street but has easy access to the new University shopping area. It’s nice for a first place. The bedroom is a decent size, and the spare room will work as a nursery, even if its intended purpose was an office.

Your relationship with Bradley has turned into a type of Schrödinger problem. Neither together nor apart. Sharing a room, preparing to share a life, with little more in common than the future you roped him into. He seems excited now. He’s jealous that you can feel the baby and that he can’t. He’s looking forward to meeting his son.

But, as you turn your head and look through the archway, towards him wiping sweat from his brow in the living room, guilt surges through you. Wearing gym shorts and a backwards cap, those stupid roman numerals tattooed on his bicep as he sighs softly and leans his head back, he looks so young.

You’re younger, but this decision was yours. You wonder if he would choose this if he got to do it all over again. Certainly not. All those years of carefree fun, getting to be himself finally, figuring out who he is. Now, those years belong to your son. Swallowing softly, you turn your attention back to the only thing that you can control.

Arranging spices in the rack hung over the stove.

The afternoon hurtles by just as quickly as all of the other days have recently. The routine is the same. Jake takes the couch, glad that Bradley sprung for the corner sectional that’s just about as good as sleeping on the mattress. After a day of not really talking, Bradley slips into bed beside you.

It’s never awkward, but it probably should be. Sharing all of this. A lease, a child, a future, with someone that isn’t even really yours.

“Man, I am fucking exhausted.” Bradley mumbles as his head hits the pillow, exhaling slowly into the comfort of this new space. Your first night in your new home with him. So, you connect with him in just about the only way you ever have.

Even with this protruding, exceedingly rounded stomach, somehow he still wants to fuck you at every opportunity he gets. Looking in the mirror these days is getting harder. It’s not that you have an issue with the way you look now, you think the bump is actually kind of cute. It’s just that you don’t look anything like you used to, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever be that girl again.

Running your fingers through his curls, you lean over and kiss his temple softly. He hums at the feeling, reaching out and resting his hand on your hip. He turns his head and waits for you to kiss him without opening his eyes. You press your lips softly to his, his fingers curling softly to press into the fabric of your shorts. You ask gently, lips grazing his, “Too tired?”

His lips tilt up into a soft smile as he runs his fingers along the waistband of your bottoms, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours, “Never been too tired for sex.”

Turning the two of you over, he settles between your legs, working his talented mouth along all the exposed skin that he can reach.

Curling his fingers into your roots, he moans softly into the curve of your jaw, pressing delicate kisses along your throat. Part of these past few weeks has been learning your cues, your sweet spots and your sensitivities. He’s getting good at it. It’s right as you hum and lift your hips eagerly against his that there’s a sharp jolt, a soft, dull pain as the impact hits your mid-section.

Bradley sits back quickly on his knees.

You groan in complaint, rubbing over the sore spot at the top of your developing bump. It’s only once you lean your head back to sigh in complaint that you clock the look on his face. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, staring at you like you just grew a second head.

Over the past few weeks, the little guy has been getting more and more active. Wriggling around a lot, you’ve been feeling him almost constantly the past few days. It has been ridiculously frustrating, suffering in silence, Bradley constantly frowning and telling you that he can’t feel anything. The realization comes quickly.

“Was that him?” Bradley breathes out softly, brows scrunching together.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lips quirking softly. The pregnancy websites said that Bradley should have been able to feel the kicks about a week ago, you were getting worried. Bradley reaches out again and tenderly rests his hands against the bottom of your rounded stomach.

The two of you wait patiently for it to happen again, Bradley’s lips falling into a disappointed frown as your baby stops kicking. He sighs, moving to lie down beside you and smoothing his hand over the top of your stomach as he kisses your cheek.

“I’m jealous that you get to feel him all the time, moving around in there,” He mumbles, shaking his head softly. “It’s like you’ve met him already and I have to wait three more months.”

You scoff, settling down onto the sheets that you had picked out, staring at the white ceiling, “I don’t think you’d be as jealous if he was kicking your bladder like he kicks mine.”

“Probably no—“ As Bradley speaks, your lips part, jolted by another soft kick. He raises his eyebrows as you grab one of his hands and place it over your stomach. Nothing again. He furrows his brows slightly, glancing up at you expectantly.

“Say something.” You prod him.

“Um… like what? — I don’t know what to say to a —“ His sentence stops abruptly, jaw hanging open as he feels a small but unmistakable kick against his palm. “Holy shit, that’s what you’ve been feel— He did it again!”

You giggle, resting your hand on top of Bradley’s as he beams at you, “I think he likes your voice.”

His eyes widen slightly, making him look even younger than he is. It’s hard to tell whether it’s excitement or fear on his face to begin with. He leans down and presses lips to your stomach.

“I am so,” he stops, kissing your skin tenderly again, hands cradling your growing bump. “So excited to meet you, little man.”

Your heart feels like it just about splits into two and you aren’t even sure why. It’s supposed to be a happy moment. You should be happy about this. Bradley feels a slight hiccup and glances up. Your eyes are filled with tears, stinging and threatening to spill out onto your cheeks.

“Hey,” Bradley says softly as he shifts up the bed and wraps his arms around you. “Hey… it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You swallow, trying to hold in a sob that consumes your chest and strangles your vocal chords. Sniffling, you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do you wish that we weren’t having him?”

His brows scrunch together as he tries to piece together what about that interaction could have possibly given you that impression.

“Of course not! — Where’s this coming from?” He frowns, resting his cheek against the top of your head as he smooths his fingers along your back. You’re in your third trimester now, and the pregnancy websites said that your hormones might be kind of out of whack. But you got through graduation without a hitch.

It’s as the thought crosses his mind that you break in his arms. Hunching forwards, sobbing into your hands, covering your mouth so that Jake won’t hear you crying from the living room.

“Hey… did — did I say something wrong?” Bradley asks gently, face creasing in concern. He kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry, I—“

You sniffle and shake your head. “Don’t say sorry. Please.”

“…Okay,” He smooths his palm tenderly along your spine once again, now totally lost. “Babe, I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me here. What should I do?”

It’s not fair on him, any of this. You pull yourself together long enough to wipe your tear-stained cheeks and string together a sentence. “Just… if we could go back and do it all again, would you… do it like this?”

“I’d probably have suggested a plan B or something.”

You look up, eyes filled with tears, throat burning.

“I’m sorry, bad time for a joke,” He shakes his head quickly and kisses your forehead. “Look, we both know that this wasn’t planned. But it happened, it’s happening — and no, I don’t regret being here with you.”

You allow yourself to sink into his arms as he kisses the top of your head and squeezes you softly.

“Is everything okay with you?” His fingers graze along the nape of your neck and over your shoulder softly. “You’ve not really said a lot to me since graduation.”

He smooths his hand over your stomach, feeling another soft kick against his palm. It’s almost midnight now, he hopes that this kid isn’t going to be this much of a night owl once it’s born.

“Everything’s just moving really fast.” You say quietly as you settle back down onto your side. Bradley copies, laying on his side so that he’s facing you, his stomach pressed to yours. He nods slowly. “Jake’s leaving, and you’re starting work, and my parents still won’t talk to me. The baby doesn’t even have a name. I’m just scared.”

He leans forwards and kisses your mouth softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

A dry laugh escapes your lips, it’s a helpless thing, really. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and shake your head slowly, “How are you so chilled out about this?”

“I’m not,” He promises, voice quiet, something in the way that he looks at you so earnestly makes you soften. “I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out.”

A silence lingers between the two of you. No more tears, no more lump in your throat, your heart rate slowing enough that you think you might actually manage to sleep tonight. Bradley leans forwards and kisses your cheek, then flicks off the bedside lamp.

You turn onto your other side and he presses himself into your back, wrapping an arm around you and resting it against your stomach. He’s been sleeping like this for the past week straight. It always settles his racing mind. Having both of you in his arms.

He’s warm. Lips press gently to your neck and he hums softly into the curve of your neck.

You exhale softly, shuffling back against his bare chest. This feels awfully grown up. Seven months pregnant, laying skin to skin, in your new shared home.

The next morning, it’s time to drive Jake to the airport. Basic training is three months long. The next time he sees you, you’ll be a mother.

“I love you,” He says softly, wrapping his arms around you. Your stomach bumps into his as you hug him. He’s still getting used to that. “I’m gonna be back before you know it.”

“I know, I know,” You breathe out, squeezing him tighter and then patting his back as you let go. “Just be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

…

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Jake chuckles, giving a quick shrug as he picks his bag up from the floor and slings it over his shoulder. His attention turns to Bradley. “Take care of my sister, Bradshaw.”

“Always.” Bradley answers. You turn your head and scrunch your brows slightly as you look up at him. He drapes an arm around your shoulder and offers Jake a sincere smile.

As Jake turns and heads towards his gate, the two of you are left together. Him still leaning into your side. Always. You stare at him. Flushed skin, wearing a faded grateful dead t-shirt and blue jeans, smiling at you.

Just you and him. Alone, in a new state. Him swearing always and you staying up at night and wondering if there’s even a tomorrow between the two of you.

Ten weeks left until your due date.

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #my future in you

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llamamamarisen92 · 4 months ago

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The writing prompt:

Here we go with a little God Gale fanfic:

Shinurah was in the kitchen washing dishes. Despite being the consort of a god she still treasured mundane tasks that reminded her of a life that was much simpler. Gale was often gone to attend to his realm. His time in the Heavens stretching longer each time he disappeared.

"He still loves you." She reminded herself as she took time to dry off a plate before stacking it with the others. He promised to make her a goddess and she kept faith he wouldn't break that promise. But he insisted it would take time. Her life consisted of serving as high priestess in his tower in Waterdeep. It had been converted to a temple and the center of his worship. Three years had passed since they conquered the Netherbrain, Gale claiming the Crown of Karsus for himself. She placed the last fork back into its place and dried her hands off. It was almost noon.

She made her way down the hall way to the ceremonial room. In the center was a large statue of Gale as he is now. When she looked at it sadness filled her. It didn't resemble the kind, gentle wizard who she fell in love with. Warm brown eyes replaced by glowing stones of silver. His salt infused dark hair that she loved to run her fingers through were now strands of untouchable light that never fell out of place. He strove for an image of power and perfection.

A supplicant walked through the temple door and she quickly wiped her tears away. She smiled as she welcomed the stranger in.

"How may I be of service to you?" She held out her hand for the elf to kiss in supplication. He remained bowed as he spoke his desires. She hardly paid attention as he proclaimed his desire to curate the worlds grandest collection of gems. She took his offering of coin and rare scrolls and placed them on the altar below Gale's statue. Her chants came out half hearted as the elf grinned. When she was done her chanting and lit a candle to confirm that his prayers were heard he thanked her profusely and left.

Vapid desires. All of his followers only seemed to desire such surface level things. Rich household or the ability to rule some island she couldn't bother to remember the name of. After her days work in the temple she walked up the tower steps to her bedroom. She would be the only one to occupy the bed tonight. As it was for many nights. Her only desire. Her ambition. It was just to spend the rest of her life falling asleep in Gale's arms. She stood at the window and looked up at the constellation that hovered above in the night sky. A collection of stars that stamped his symbol into the heavens.

The sound of electricity filled the air. It turned out she wouldn't be spending the night alone. Turning around she saw him standing there, his arms outstretched to her. He smiled down at her. Not the smile of a man in love desperately seeking her company. It was the same look one would give a favored pet. She tried to hold herself together as she walked towards him. The last time she brought up her concerns he had vanished for six months. But when he kissed her all of her composure dissolved.

She fell to her knees and tried her best to stifle her cries with her hand. He placed his hand upon her head, stroking her hair in an effort to comfort her. But he never got on his knees. Dekarios the Divine never got on his knees for anyone. Not even for her.

"What's wrong my love?" His voice sounded like thunder across the sky. He no longer bothered to hide the annoyance in his tone. She should be happy and grateful for the life they had. She should be thanking him every day that she was able to share the bed of a god. The chosen whom he would elevate to goddess at the right time.

"I just.. I know we have been over this.." She whispered in low tones, not trusting her voice. "I just miss how things used to be."

He scoffed at her. "You mean the days where we were dirty and desperate? The days we were barely able to survive? The days that I was weak and pathetic. Basking in the shadow of a goddess who crushed me under her thumb." He began to walk away from her. Not willing to hear her.

"No! I miss sitting around the campfire and listening to your stories. Curled up under the stars, brushing my fingers along your chest as you whispered sweetly in my ear. I miss stupid little mundane things like cleaning up after everyone at the end of the day or reading a book in our tent." She got up and reached out to him. But when she touched his shoulder she quickly removed her hand as an electric shock hit her finger tips. He didn't stay to listen, dissapearing again.

She collapsed on the bed, trying to form images in her mind of the life she would never have with him as she cried herself to sleep.

#gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #Gale god #Angst #Chores #She misses her silly wizard

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antimonyandthyme · 1 year ago

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sewis batman au

Seb is Not Happy about it.

Mark says, “You like cars,” like that’s any consolation.

“It’d be fine if you were sending me there to watch cars, I do like that,” Seb says. “But you’re sending me there to babysit.”

“You’re talking about the world champion,” Mark says, as if Seb doesn’t know. “World champion seven times.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware of who Lewis Hamilton is, Mark.”

“So we’re all on the same page.” Mark claps his hands together, the way Seb’s science teacher used to do when she’d go Pencils down! at the end of a test. Seb’s pencil was usually already down, the lead broken into two then four then eight pieces because he’d grown bored waiting for the time to run up. Even now it feels like he’s waiting for the world to catch up. “I’m counting on you. Don’t fuck it up.”

Seb opens his mouth to argue, then slams it back shut. Guilt gnaws at him when he sees the stack of reports languishing on Mark’s desk. He’d heard the Chief bellowing at Mark yesterday; everyone had. Gotham Gazette had gotten some very incriminating pictures of Seb letting the Batman into the Royal Hotel.

Police seek help from MASKED VIGILANTE on mayor’s abduction

Jenson slid the paper silently across the desk, only after Seb had his morning coffee in his hands. One look, and Seb knew the damage control would be severe. He hadn’t thought it would involve Gotham’s about-as-interesting-as-a-rock billionaire. The guy’s good at driving fast. Great. That’s about all the personality Seb’s partial to.

“I’d actually take a suspension over this,” Seb says wearily.

“How much does it speak about our sad state of affairs if I tell you I can’t afford that?” Mark sounds equally as tired. The Force is wearing thin with the spate of crime ratcheting at an all-time high. Sometimes Seb steps foot out of his front door and half-expects the pavement to cave away from under him. The city’s running on its own fumes. “You know I can’t afford that.”

“I know,” Seb says. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

“No you’re not.”

No, he’s not. Not twenty minutes in and the Batman had pointed out evidence under the carpet and behind the safe and within the mayor’s pet dog that they would have taken two weeks to find, if they had adhered to proper protocol. Proper protocol! the Chief yelled, and everyone in the bullpen had turned to glare at Seb.

Seb offers his most apologetic smile. Mark rolls his eyes.

“If you’re done complaining, kindly fuck off now.” Mark scrubs a hand through his hair. The grey glinting off his temples makes Seb want to toss a match to the powder keg hiding under the foundations. Just be done with it. If they lose Mark, they lose Seb. If they lose Seb, they lose the Batman. If they lose the Batman, the city is as good as gone. “I’ve got twenty-one complaints to field because of the stunt you pulled yesterday.”

“Yessir,” Seb says. With a little bit of heart injected into it.

“Commissioner Vettel,” Hamilton purrs. Seb fights to keep his expression neutral. Hamilton’s arm is heavy around him. He’s dressed in a sleeveless mesh garb for the driver’s parade, even though the weather’s crisp at best. It looks… irritatingly good on him. “I see the Force sent their brightest.”

“Only the best for the city’s elite,” Seb says through a smile pulled so comically across his face it feels like stitches.

“And for the city’s masked avengers, as well.”

The smile drops from Seb’s face. The one on Hamilton’s merely grows. “Hanging out with him when you could be in so much better company, Commissioner,” Hamilton says easily. He pushes close into Seb’s space, and Seb, who prides himself in reading people well, blinks twice at the gates shuttered behind Hamilton’s eyes. “I’d advise you to pick your partners more wisely.”

There’s a split second where Seb hears Mark’s voice—Don’t fuck it up—before all that precaution washes away like rain down a drainpipe. A week ago the Batman had pulled Seb into the protective circle of his arm and chest plate as Alonso’s guards opened fire on them. There was nothing Seb’s Glock could do against three assault rifles. The Batman had taken every single bullet. Then, visibly injured, he’d proceeded to step in front of Seb, and knock the assailants out with their own weapons.

Alonso had escaped. Seb couldn’t have cared less at the moment. “You’re hurt,” he’d cried out, dismayed. The Batman was swaying on his feet. “Let me see, let me see—”

And for the wildest moment, the Batman had almost moved to remove his armour, leaning into Seb, before he stumbled away as if burned. He grappled up a building and disappeared into the night, with Seb calling helplessly after him.

No care allocated for himself. Seb could have hardly picked a better partner. One who's constantly putting himself in the line of fire.

His lips are moving before he can stop himself. “I’m hardly billionaire circle-jerk material, Mr. Hamilton.”

Hamilton’s mouth drops open.

The grin’s back on, stretched out like a Glasgow smile. “Look at this jacket I’m wearing! It’s ten years old, can you believe that? Look at this watch. Complete with blood splatter on its strap, from when I tried but failed to stop a colleague from bleeding out. Why do I keep this still? Maybe I’ve been too lazy to get it changed.”

“Commissioner—”

“And look at these shoes! You won’t believe the shit I’ve waded through in them. Can’t even afford to buy new ones. Do you know what a public servant makes a year?”

Hamilton opens his mouth, almost as if to say yes.

Seb scoffs. “So you see, I’m far more suited to the lowly creatures of society. They've done more for this hellhole than people like you." The urge to defend is so great. "And I dare say the bats in the alleys might even enjoy my company.”

“I dare say they would,” Hamilton says quietly. Seb flicks his gaze up at Hamilton to glare, but Hamilton’s looking at him with the most open expression he’s seen since they were within three feet of each other. They glance away, like chastised children at the principal’s office told to get along.

“So,” Hamilton clears his throat. “If you hate my guts this much, why are you here?”

Seb can recognize an olive branch, even when dangled from the bejeweled fingers of a billionaire. He shrugs. “I like cars.”

“Alright man,” Hamilton says, bumping their shoulders together. He keeps a respectful distance this time. “I buy that.”

The five lights go on. Seb doesn’t want to admit he’s standing on his tip toes, trying to peer over a tall mechanic’s shoulder. Hamilton had insisted he be in the Mercedes garage, even after Seb had gone flapping his mouth like a loose carton box. He’d made Seb tea—made it himself, no personal assistant involved. Mixed in sugar and oat milk like he knew exactly what he was doing, which Seb didn’t want to question why he could guess at. Billionaires are weird.

Seb waits for the final beep like the sound of a safety clicking off.

Hamilton gets the best start. Of course he does. Seb unclenches his pumped fist hastily. No one spares him a second glance. Hamilton takes the first corner with Leclerc right on his tail, and then—

Not everyone notices the shots at first. There’s too much noise from the track, and most of them are wearing headphones. But Seb flinches, having come to recognize the sound from daily acquaintance.

“Get down,” he yells. Around him, the crew just looks at him weird. “Get down, someone’s firing—”

Pop pop pop

Now they get the memo. The screams start. Seb grabs at one confused mechanic and pulls him to the ground, points at the entrance, shouts Go, go! They’re sitting ducks here.

Pop pop pop

Seb’s ears are ringing. Two assailants, three? Fuck, four. Seb chances a glance at the monitors, anything to give him a hint as to what’s going on. The race is still going, amid bewildered radios from the drivers. The shots must have been audible in their comms. Seb squints. You notice the silliest things when your life’s in danger. Hamilton’s car is no longer in the lead. He must have been overtaken in the chaos.

He swallows down the oddest sense of disappointment and pulls his eyes away from the screen. Pop, and something bursts into pieces barely two feet from him. Seb scrambles behind some machinery, drawing his Glock from his hip. He’s got no idea where they’re firing from, though he’s never pulled out of a game of chicken.

Deep breath. He peeks out from behind the dented equipment. Pop, it glances close enough for Seb to count that as one of his nine lives gone. He aims in the direction the shot came from, fires one off.

A muffled yell. One down. Seb’s back behind the life-saving machinery. He spots one of the pit crew frozen on his knees in the middle of the floor, stranded like an unprotected island. Seb allows himself a moment of hesitation, and then he’s barrelling for the quaking man, while more shots go off around him, and hauling him behind some tires.

“Stay back—”

He’ll never get used to bullets hitting his vest. They hurt like a motherfucker, tactical lining be damned. Three successive shots to his chest, and the wind gets knocked out of him. He drops to the ground, the debris left over from a hurricane. Alive, he clocks himself. Alive, so get up. Get up, get up—

They never did invent proper bulletproofing for legs. When he gets out of here—if, he gets out of here, Seb is going to make Mark dedicate an entire R&D faction to bulletproofing legs. The pain punches through him, and he collapses on his wounded leg.

Blood’s pouring out. Hold on. Blood’s pouring out at a speed reminiscent of that time when Seb couldn’t stop the bleeding.

More yelling, and the rain of bullets stops. That's good, because Seb can't hope to do a blessed thing at the moment.

“Your femoral artery’s been hit,” someone says. “Hang on, Sebastian. I need to tie this off.”

Seb must be dreaming, because Lewis Hamilton is looming above him. Wasn't he just in a car? When did he get here? When did he get so tall? Oh. Seb’s on the ground, that’s why. Seb’s on the ground bleeding out, and his leg is on fucking fire.

“Hurts,” he gasps. “Hurts like hell.”

“I know, you’re alright,” Hamilton says. “You’re alright, Seb.” He sounds like—like he’s on the brink. Like Seb is standing on the thinnest ice surface, and Hamilton is right there, ready to break through. Seb’s not sure he understands. Hamilton can’t possibly care about him this much; he can’t possibly care at all.

Hamilton’s found some wire in the garage, and he pulls it around the highest part of Seb’s thigh, right up against his groin.

“Ask a man out first, Jesus,” Seb mumbles. He’s not sure he likes the look on Hamilton’s face. Devastation doesn’t suit a billionaire, and maybe some part of Seb still wants to preserve the sanctity of the institutions that run the city. Is it wrong to desire a life where he doesn’t tread from one landmine to the next every other week? Is it wrong? God, what kind of man does that make him?

“I would’ve,” Hamilton says. He’s yanking the wire tight, causing Seb to jerk and scream. Hamilton’s fingers are feather light on Seb’s face. His eyes are raw earth, freshly torn apart by a rake. “I would’ve, baby.”

“Can’t afford dinner with you,” Seb manages. “My yearly salary is—”

“Sixty-eight grand,” Hamilton finishes for him, hauling Seb up. Fuck, the guy’s strong. If he wasn’t about to die this would be such a turn on.

As it stands, dying sucks. The pain is close to unbearable.

“How—” Seb’s eyelids are flickering shut. Trying to keep them open is not working. The ground is moving beneath him. Ah. The ground is moving very quickly beneath him. Seb’s going to throw up. Or pass out. He hopes it’s the latter.

Hamilton’s chest feels familiar. Seb’s cheek is smushed up against it, and he swears he can hear the thudding of Hamilton’s heart. Don’t Formula 1 drivers have some of the lowest resting heart rates?

With the last of his consciousness, “How do you know how I take my tea?”

“Stay alive,” Hamilton says, far and getting further away from him, “and I’ll tell you when you wake.”

Seb throws up on the pillow covers twice before he can force his eyes open. He half expects to see a sleeveless meshed figure by his bed.

He doesn’t know what to feel when it’s the Batman’s situated at the hospital window, watching him. Seb’s sleep hasn’t been the smoothest, and in his most lucid moments he remembers a shadow in the room. Not a bad one. A safe one, a guardian angel. The Batman’s been there for awhile. Standing still as a statue like he’ll stay until the pillars of the city come crumbling down.

“Alonso’s taken care of,” the Batman says. His voice doesn’t have its usual gravelly bite. He just sounds exhausted. “And I saw to it that the guns they were trafficking—”

“You have the worst bedside manners,” Seb says.

The Batman falls silent. He’s cradling something reverently in his gloves. Ah, it’s Seb’s watch. It looks so delicate in his hands. Infuriating, how he never allows himself to touch. How he could have walked two steps to the side of Seb’s bed but instead positions himself far away, stealing one of Seb’s belongings for makeshift comfort.

If he wasn’t so high on meds Seb supposes he would be angry. All he has is the strength to stare at the Batman’s gloved hands.

The reason why Seb’s pencils were always down in science class before the teacher could even announce it: he loves evidence. It’s the cornerstone of everything he does. It’s truth, it’s judgement for those who deserve it, it’s justice. It’s the utter satisfaction when an experiment succeeds, when Phenolphthalein changes colour as an indicator that the acid and base have cancelled each other out.

The Batman’s fingering a spot on the strap of his watch. Not many people would notice that spot. It’s just the tiniest drop of blood.

“Lewis,” Seb says.

The watch slips from the Batman’s fingers. He catches it with lightning-quick reflexes. And then he stands rooted to the ground, every muscle pulled painfully taut. Seb can see right through the mask now, Lewis’ face dissolving in a riot of emotion.

“Come here,” Seb says, and Lewis comes. Silent and obedient like Seb could ask anything of him. The most terrifying entity of Gotham, the only thing the dark’s afraid of, and he’s hunched by the side of Seb’s bed like a sinner in a confession booth. “I’m bang on the money, aren’t I?”

“I said you were the Force’s brightest,” the Batman—no, Lewis, says.

“The most begrudging of compliments,” Seb says.

“I meant it, but you didn’t like it the first time I said it.”

“I didn’t like you then.”

“But,” Lewis swallows. “You do now?”

“You saved my life.” Many, many times. “Kinda hard not to.”

The gloves are brushing against Seb’s hair, with the lightest hint of pressure. Lewis doesn't say, Don't tell anyone. Seb adores him for it.

“Take those off,” Seb complains. He’s bedridden; he’s allowed to be petulant.

A beat, and Lewis strips the gauntlets off. The hand’s back on Seb’s head, stroking, petting. Lewis is looking at him like he’s something the Batman could never be allowed to have. Lewis is touching him like he’s something more precious than the heart of this rotting city. Seb’s eyes are slipping shut. He reminds himself to have a chat with Lewis about this. Mark is going to have to field twenty-one times twenty-one complaints. This will be exceedling complicated. But he doesn’t think the Commissioner of Gotham, or the Bat of Gotham, ever got off with easy.

“About dinner.”

“Might be some time,” Seb slurs.

“I can wait,” Lewis says. “Have done, for awhile now. But I’ve got an open table at the Ocelot.”

“Prick.”

“You like it.”

The hand stays on his head. Seb closes his eyes to the shadows.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #sewis #batman au

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prinvessdior · 6 months ago

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okay I decided to upload the first chapter here but please head to here for full updates :3!

CW: mentioned panic attack/ anxiety lots of it. Mentioned gun (never used) panicking. Kinda a bitchy bitch? Idk

(Y/n) wakes up in her new home headed to school. (Y/n) can’t help but click on an early morning live stream of the ninja. She keeps watching one specifically though. Weird things happen..

My alarm screaming at the crack of dawn is something I thought I should be used to by now. It apparently was not as I rolled over, burrito-fied in my blankets. Blindly reaching for my blaring phone I haphazardly press around on the screen. The alarm shuts off and I groan rubbing the sleep out of my bleary eyes.

The early morning sun casts a sheen of yellowish orange across the expanse of my room. Given it wasn’t really a room yet. Boxes stacked and filled the corners of my room, remnants of what I had left to unpack. A soft knock on my door has me (begrudgingly) sitting up.

My dad pops his head in through my door after I mumble a sleepy, “Come in.”

His black curls bounce as he swivels his head to find me still in bed. “Mornin’ babygirl.” He affectionately greets sending me a soft smile when I catch his gaze. I yawn holding a hand over my mouth to cover my manners and the noise.

“Morning Dad.” I pull the covers over my body once again the winter air sneaking in from my bedroom window when Dad cracks it open.

In his hand is a plate stacked with pancakes, eggs and bacon I hum happily as the smells wafts when he sets the plate on the table next to my bed. The only thing I bothered to unpack.

“Big day! Being the new girl is gonna be a lot, especially you so a special breakfast for my favorite daughter.”

I smiled tiredly, “But I’m your only daughter?” I reminded with a frown, he frowns taking a seat at the foot of my bed.

“Whatever.”

Dad digs in the pockets of his pink sleeping robe, I snort to myself that he’s still sleeping with that thing. I could vaguely make out the sound of something jingling.

He presented me with a set of car keys, blown wide awake I threw my covers off I started at dad wide eyed. “Hiram says since its your last year of high school, and almost an official adult, that you deserved some freedom.”

My smile grew in size, I all but snatched the keys throwing my arms around Dad, “Dad! Thankyouthankyou I’ll call dad after school and thank him too!” He chuckled returning my attack of a hug with one arm his free hand ruffling my hair.

I pulled away to inspect the keys closer, turning them over in my hand a few times. Oh! I’d seen these before!

“Oh God this is the car Mr. Cyrus gifted to dad right?” I asked remembering way back when Dad was first starting his school Mr. Cyrus Borg had donated a lot of cash to get it started, I can remember Dad repaying him with his own class at the school and dad got a car out of it, cool.

Dad nodded standing up, “Yeah, so don’t break it.” I huffed rolling my eyes.

“Eat up princess, I’m riding along I need the car for work. Regroup in twenty.” Dad gave me a goofy salute, leaving me alone in my half unpacked room once again.

Humming a song I stood from my bed, first order of business was to take care of the rats nest on my head. I opened the door that connected my bathroom to my room, which by the way, so cool! Back in the village all the home’s layouts had been exactly the same, copy and paste. It was a nice change, what can I say I am a simple girl.

I had only managed to fully unpack the bathroom. Kicking an emptied box out of my way, assessing my appearance in the mirror. Huffing, I quickly slid a brush through my hair securing it into a low ponytail with one too many hair ties, I brushed my teeth.

Next on the agenda was Dads “special new girl breakfast”. Bounding on my bed taking my phone along with me, unplugging it from the charger. I ate in semi-silence as I scrolled through social media. I flicked through friends from private school seeing some girls I used to preform with preparing to go on vacation for winter break. There was the usual news, weather, and people posting their mornings on their stories.

An account I had followed years ago piqued my interest. The twitter account; a Secret Ninja force fan account specifically. Awhile ago when Hiram’s college first opened I remember Dad telling me about how it’d been attacked by..

I squinted at my phone as if the fan account would help me remember.

Whatever it was years ago anyways I was barley thirteen I think. Sighing thumb hovering over the notification at the top of my phone. The account was livestreaming.

“Early Morning skirmish with the Ninja!!”

Sure, an enthusiastic title, seemed like they had been live for awhile. I glanced to the time on my phone.

‘Who goes live at 6:32 in the morning’

About to scroll, I needed to be getting dressed for school anyways. I was still in my pajamas for gods sake. I had to pack my school bag, I barley had seven minutes to get dressed and meet dad outside, wanted to test drive my new baby too, I frowned.

I clicked on the livestream.

The footage was grainy at best, camera flying between each of the ninja. The ninja themselves were gathered around a group of people, I couldn’t tell the gender of the people they seemed to be deescalating a robbery situation. There was a lot of noise the audio was choppy and shitty too, barley registering what was being said.

This “fan account” sure had a shitty phone

I thought to myself as the commotion grew louder.

The cameraman tilting to an angle possibly hiding behind something as they continued to film. There were just enough context clues for me to discern the robbers had guns. I placed a hand over my mouth, suddenly remembering that this was real. A live stream happening somewhere across ninjago city.

Oh shit.

In my momentary anxiety attack, noises of fighting was enough for me to nervously glance back down to my phone. From what I could tell there was an eruption of color. So much so I had to turn away from my phone and shield my eyes, too bright even through a screen. The colors dissipated and assuming the streamer started explaining the whole ordeal. The teen’s voice yelled about how the Water and Green ninja had disarmed the robbers of their guns. The camera quickly switched away from the ninja as police sirens approached making it hard to hear again, the teen continued to yap praises for the ninja.

My gaze flicked over his shoulder to the aftermath, I could barley make out the green one with the robbers apprehended in tow making his way to the approaching police. I clicked off the stream my phone falling to rest on my stomach.

“Woah.”

Dad yelled my name from somewhere downstairs and I shot up from bed still clad in my pajamas.

“Shit!”

▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎

Three minutes was the fastest I’d ever gotten dressed I think. After hastily throwing on a light pink sweater, over my pj shorts I put on some thick winter leggings. Grabbing my phone I hovered over the sleep button gnawing on my bottom lip, overthinking. It was really weird how I’d went completely braindead not thinking before doing something.

What.. what was I doing before clicking on that livestream? I held a hand to my head wincing from a sudden oncoming headache.

Dad called my name louder this time, “C’mon babygirl! We’re gonna run late!”

“Coming!”

Breaking out of my overthinking with a shake of my head ridding the ache with it. I plucked my favorite winter jacket that sat atop a few boxes of clothes. I grimaced at all the unpacking I still have to do. Sliding the pink-inner-woolen fabric over my arms and zipping it all the way, I slid my phone into my pocket zipping that up too. I snatched my shiny new car keys off the bedside table along with my schoolbag lazily thrown over my shoulder and left my semi-room.

Hopping two steps at a time I met dad by the door; he was looking down at me then back to his watch.

“Twenty-seven minutes, seriously?”

I nodded even more serious, “Seriously, takes a lot to look this good.”

Dad snorted and rolled his eyes, holding the front door open for me. I grinned walking out into the chilly early morning air. Seriously Dad told me how cold the city gets in winter but seriously?

Fumbling to retrieve the keys with half frozen fingers, my grin grew as we approached the silver SUV. Sure, it was a soccer mom car but a car nonetheless.

Sliding into the drivers side I hurriedly turned the ignition over desperate for the warm air. Dad entered a few seconds after I threw my bag with my phone inside, Its better out of sight while I’m driving anyways, to the backseats. Dad takes control of the radio as I back out of the driveway.

Whatever song spills softly from the cars speakers as I pulled to the main city road. Dad nudges my arm to grab my attention I hum in query.

“Did you grab your sheet music?” he asked

I groaned hitting the side of the steering wheel. I had completely forgotten about it, I meant to pack it before I got dressed but well.. plus, wouldn’t the kids think it’s weird if I’m walking around school with oldie sheet music? I grew up singing, dad says I was born with a Tony Award in my chubby baby hands. Hell, Hiram has a school on our shared musical expertise.

“I.. forgot.”

Hoping that was the best answer, Especially because I didn’t want dad to know my thought about his oldie music it’d hurt his feelings if I voiced my feelings about it being weird.

Dad brushes it off, “I’ll remind you tomorrow.” I release an anxious breath. Fingers tapping on the wheel as we paused at a red light.

“Anyway, Hiram has a new assistant.” Dad finger quotes the word assistant “Basically this kid found out about Hiram’s daughter was transferring to ninjago high. She emailed for months begging Hiram to offer her help.”

I nodded half listening, “So dad got me a friend? Peachy..” I muttered with a gritted smile sinking down into the seat as a newfound bubble of anxiety enclosed itself around my head.

I sighed through my nose stepping on the gas once the light flicked to green once again. The song switch to ‘Walking on Sunshine.’

Nope. Not very sunshiny.

▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎☆▪︎

LeRoy stole my baby, my silver suv baby that I’d only known for fifteen minutes but my point still stands. Dad told me Hiram’s “assistant”’s name was actually Sapphire, pretty like the stone. He then sped away blasting some musical soundtrack I couldn’t quite catch. Leaving me to turn and face my impending doom.

I stood dumbly on the bottom of the stairs. Watching as groups of students and loners pass me. Some would give me weird looks as they did. I would too, seeing a new kid standing like an idiot at the bottom of the steps in forty degree cold.

Before I could gather my thoughts and stop the oncoming panic attack. Someone approaches me calling out my name I snap my blurry vision up to the feminine voice. The girl looked no older than me, I tilted my head confused but thankful she broke me out of my panic.

“Uh— yeah that’s me.” God. Why’d I sound so small.

The girl smiles down at me from her elevated height on the stairs. At this angle I was able to see her bleached, maybe too bleached blonde hair. Dark jet black roots poking back out from the dye job.

Bad dye job girl had on pure white earmuffs, her whole outfit was white actually. Save for the light gold puffer jacket she wore. My gaze flicked to my own jacket, my favorite jacket. Mine definitely was cheaper and I remember saving up for at least a month. I’d spent a pretty penny on it, bad dye job girl was pretty too I guess.

“Hey! I’m Sapphire!” the fake blonde smiled bigger though it wavered at the corners, she outstretched her hand to mine.

I smiled too, putting my hand in hers. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you! I’m so sorry I feel so bad my dads dumped me on you.” We shook before releasing hands, she pulled hers back quicker than I expected. Students stopped whispering and staring too I noticed.

Sapphire shrugs, “It’s not a big deal especially for that– oh let me see your chart.” She cleared her throat and I fished my phone from my jackets pocket. Pulling up a screenshot of my classes. Sapphire’s mittenened hand all but snatched my phone. She made a noise I couldn’t decipher and tossed the phone back.

I fumbled to catch it.

We made our way into the school, through the front doors. Sapphire toured me around the school. It was humorous how huge this place was. It had every room a school could need, even actual locker rooms with stalls. Surely gym wouldn’t be so bad then.

Sapphire asked, well demanded for my phone again, I complied. I watched as she put her phone number in my contacts, swiping out her own phone. She message me a map of the school, this time handing my phone back to me.

Maybe she’s just antisocial.

I wondered as bad dye job girl ranted on about the school, I was only half listening. She asked about Hiram’s school and I had to tune myself back in. I tried my best to answer all of her, really creepily detailed questions but the lack of information seemed to ignore her as she pulled a face.

Yeah. Total personality switch.

I grimaced.

As we walked I had to pause to look around the school. Circling back to the school being huge, Yeah it was massive. Multiple buildings for everything almost, one of the three story buildings was just a library in itself! Maybe I could rot away to study there. All the buildings connected so we didn’t have to track back outside to the cold and I got to bask in the heat of the hallways.

“So, do you do anything with music like your dads?” Sapphire asked after she was finished talking about herself, how we got to talking only about her I had no clue.

I nodded anyway.

“Yeah, Dads had me classically trained for singing ever since I was able to hold a note. I play some instruments too.” I explained a relaxed, easier smile growing. All that panic from before harmoniously melting away as I spoke of my favorite thing, what I grew up with.

Sapphire nodded satisfied with my answer this time. Sapphire stopped suddenly and so did I. She gestured to the door which was my first class for the day before she spoke again.

“You should join the choir, we had some weirdos drop out. So we need people to hum and sway in the background or whatever.” She seemed uninterested. Her suggestion didn’t seem like a question.

Shitshitshit

She tossed her bleached hair over her shoulder, turning her hand palm down to inspect her nails. I shifted awkwardly on my feet anxiously tapping the heel of my foot into the ceramic floor. Anxiety please you’re not actually being put on the spot. But.. what answer would she prefer? I didn’t mind being in the back of the choir, I came back to the city to be successful on my own without anyone else’s help, not even dads.

Sapphire’s obstinate blue gaze jumped to mine and I stumbled over my words gasping out any response.

“Fun!! Or Uh- sounds fun yeah I’ll join!”

An even more awkward smile spread across my lips. I spat out a yes befofe I could really even think about it. What is with it with me and spontaneity today??god so stupid.

Sapphire however, seemed to enjoy my response as an amused smile rose to her mouth. “Great! We get together on Friday’s after school.”

A bell ringing pulled us out of the awkward conversation, ha saved by the bell. Sapphire sighed stepping back

“I’ll see you later, shoot me a text if there’s any trouble.” She called out a few feet away, bidding me goodbye with an almost princess-esqe wave.

I returned the wave with the best smile I could muster. As she turned a corner my smile fell.

Aren’t choirs supposed to have auditions for newcomers?

My hand fell down to my side as I mentally slapped myself I wanted to scream.

The damn sheet music!!

#series x the movie #megafic #lloyd garmadon x reader #but he’s not here yet lmfao #ninjago lloyd x reader #ninjago lloyd garmadon #lloyd garmadon x you #pls comment and give me feedback :((#begging for beta readers/ collaborators etc #lyna’s hofah #lyna wrote this

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mystic-writings · 10 months ago

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remember the nights | chapter two — parking lot introductions

WORD COUNT — 2,220

WARNINGS — none

NOTES —

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

It’s been two weeks since you and your dad officially moved to Woodstock, and school was finally rearing its ugly head. The time between the move and now had passed quickly, even if you rarely ever left the house and only spent your time with Chuck, Thomas, or Teresa. It was a lot of watching movies, sunbathing in the backyard to soak up whatever summer weather was left, or lounging around in your bedroom, bored out of your mind.

Despite how long you’d been in the town, Thomas insisted that you wouldn’t meet any of his other friends yet. He wanted to save it until the first day of school, for whatever reason. You’d heard plenty about the semi-large, tight knit group over the years, and had been itching to meet them since you found out you were moving.

You woke up to your alarm as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, a slight chill settled in your room as you had left your window open overnight. The weather was slowly transitioning from summer to fall temperatures, and you enjoyed the few minutes in bed underneath warm covers before you were forced to get out of bed.

The sun was a bit higher in the sky when you came back from your shower, and you heard the clattering of pots and pans as you got dressed for the day and checked over your bag to make sure you had everything.

As you made your way downstairs, you passed by Thomas, who headed into the bathroom. A delicious smell wafted through the house as you hit the ground floor and turned into the kitchen.

In the middle of a wonderfully set table lay a stack of pancakes, condiments, and pre-cut fruits. At the counter stood Maggie, who turned and greeted you with a wide smile as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Her chin length, slightly wavy hair — which looked so much like Chuck and Thomas’ — was still damp, and you wondered how long she’d been awake for.

“Morning,” you greeted her as you headed for the counter, voice still partially laced with sleep. “So… what’s with the big breakfast?”

“Oh, it’s a little tradition I have with the boys.” She said, offering you the decanter when you pulled your ballerina mug from the cupboard. “I make them a huge breakfast for their first day of school. And I guess, I do it for you, too, now.”

You nodded. “Oh. Well, thank you. It looks amazing.”

Maggie only smiled as you made your coffee in tandem before heading to the table, taking a seat at the bench on the bay window while Maggie sat at the head of the table on your left.

Thomas made his way into the kitchen, freshly showered yet still looking half asleep, while you were piling fruits onto your plate before drowning your pancakes in syrup. You suppressed a laugh as he sat at the table with his own cup of coffee, barely able to keep his eyes open as he began serving up his breakfast.

Your father joined you not long after, and Chuck was the last to take his seat. You didn’t blame him, seeing as the elementary school began classes later than the high school did. Besides, he usually got picked up by the bus at the end of the street, anyway.

After breakfast, the rest of your routine became cohesive with Thomas’, and went by in a flash. Checking and rechecking your bags, brushing teeth, checking your phones and grabbing lunch money. Soon enough, you, Thomas, and Chuck were headed out the door, shouting goodbyes over your shoulders. You watched Chuck head down the road to wait with the other kids for the bus, while you and Thomas got into his truck to pick up Teresa and head to the high school.

The morning air was still chilly and crisp, morning dew clinging onto the blades of grass, a sweet smell hanging in the air. It was a refreshing morning compared to the city’s constant smog, and made your mood lift even higher as you rolled the window down in the backseat and breathed it all in, listening to Thomas and Teresa’s absentminded conversation.

Your nerves set in when your sneakers hit the pavement, your school bag slung over one shoulder as you slammed the truck door behind you. To its left, a gray car sat, a group of teenagers around your age all gathered at the hood. They greeted Thomas and Teresa warmly as you hung back a bit, picking at the strap of your bag, waiting for Thomas to introduce you.

He walked back over to you and guided you into the group’s circle, motioning to them as he said, “Guys, this is my step-sister, Y/n. Y/n, these are my friends.”

You smiled awkwardly, suddenly choking up despite how eager you had previously been to meet everyone. You were squished between Thomas and Teresa, directly across from a blond boy, just a bit taller than you, who smiled politely and carded his fingers through his hair.

Thomas ran through the group quickly, listing off everyone’s names as he pointed to them. Some of the names you could recall hearing before when Thomas told you about the town while he was in the city, but you couldn’t remember much from the stories he would tell you.

The last person in the group to be introduced was the boy standing across from you. “And this is my best friend, Newt.”

You smiled at the boy, who sent another polite, warm smile back. There was no denying that he was cute, attractive, even, but he was Thomas’ best friend. He’d been Thomas’ best friend for most of their lives, if you remembered correctly.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak again, when the harsh ringing of the bell cut him off. He only sighed before saying, “We should probably get going, huh?”

With a murmur of agreement, the group shuffled through the double doors with the rest of the congregating students. You had ended up being pushed toward the back of the group, ending up right beside Newt. You took a look around, immediately noticing that this school was nothing compared to what you were used to.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” A smooth, accented voice asked, and when you looked to your right, you realized it was Newt, who had leaned in to ask the question quietly.

“Yeah, definitely. Smaller, too,” you told him, still glancing around as you headed to the doors across the hall, clearly marked ‘cafeteria’. “I’m used to being body checked by someone every few minutes, seeing someone walk around in their pajamas, or a few couples making out in the halls. This is… the complete opposite.”

“Believe me, things can get interesting around here, too. Not as often or as crazy as you’re probably used to, but they can.”

You glanced at Newt with a raised brow, deciding not to question him any further. He led you through the doors and over to one of the cafeteria tables, where everyone else was seated. You took your spots, sitting between Newt and Brenda while Thomas and Teresa sat across from you.

“Alright, you guys know the drill.” Gally said, authority dripping from his voice. “Schedules out, read ‘em, find out who you’re with.”

Almost in complete synchrony, everyone placed their schedules down on the fake wooden table. You did the same, watching Gally recite his four classes of the semester to the group, and watching Thomas smile as he called out sharing his first period class with Gally.

Watching the group go through this routine was like watching game night at the bingo hall. Every so often, someone would call out a class and period, which caught the attention of someone else, who would shout that they shared the same class. It was hilarious, of course, but it comforted you to know that for your first semester, you shared three classes with Newt, two of which you also shared with Minho, and miraculously, shared all of your classes with Brenda.

Thomas checked his watch before scanning the room. “Y/n, do you want me to show you around?”

“I can do it,” Newt quickly offered. Thomas glared at him and Newt only laughed. “I’m not going to kill her just by taking her for a tour around the school, Tommy. Besides, knowing you, you’re gonna get distracted and lose track. Then she won’t know where she’s going and she’ll be late to all of her classes,”

“It’s a small campus.” Thomas deadpanned.

“And?”

Thomas sighed. “Fine.”

Newt smiled, making room to swing his leg over the bench seat and stand up, offering you a hand as he did. You did the same as him and he nodded over to the cafeteria doors, pulling you over to them and out into the significantly less crowded hallways. Newt showed you around, pointing out all of your classes for both semesters. He showed you the bathrooms and which places were best for hiding from faculty if you wanted to skip without leaving campus, and thankfully, where your locker was — coincidentally, across the hall and about ten spaces down from his.

You’d essentially gone in a big loop around the school, and as you descended the stairs in the western stairwell, Newt decided to lead you to a door that led to the field next to the school, at the very end of the corridor that hosted the administration offices.

“This is my favorite part of campus,” he said. “No one usually uses the field unless the weather’s really good. But you see that tree there?” He pointed to the far left side of the field, where a solitary willow tree stood. “That willow tree, back there. I go there sometimes. If it’s late and I need to be alone, to think or whatever, I go there. No one else really knows about or uses it, so it’s like it’s my tree or something.”

You exhaled, a slight mist coming off your breath due to the chill. You glanced at Newt with a small smile, finding that he was already smiling back at you. “If no one knows about it, and no one but you uses it, then why’d you tell me about it?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Newt admitted, shoving his hands into his front jean pockets. “There’s something about you, though. I mean, people in this town, their favorite thing to do is talk about things that aren’t their business. But you’re so quiet… it just doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

“It’s not.” You assured him. “There’s nothing worse than someone knowing every detail of your personal life and spreading it all over the public world. I would know. I would never do that to another person.”

You watched Newt’s smile fade slightly before coming back, this time warmer and more comforting. He grabbed your hand again and pulled you back to the doors, leading you back inside as he said, “Well, I think that concludes our tour.”

You chuckled, hearing the smile in his voice, outlining every word he said. Just as the door closed behind you, the second warning bell of the morning rang, signaling the final five minutes students had to get to their classes. After meeting up with everyone else back in the cafeteria, you followed Minho, Brenda, and Newt to your first class of the day: economics.

You were grateful for the final bell of the day to end. The classes felt dreadfully boring, and you were convinced you would’ve died of it if Brenda hadn’t been around to entertain and cheer you up the whole day.

“So, how was your first day?” Thomas asked as you and Newt, who met you at your locker, approached the gray car you stood by this morning.

“It was nice, but so unbelievably boring,” you groaned. “Thank God I didn’t have to introduce myself to the class like they do in the movies, though. I would’ve dropped dead if I had to do something like that.”

Teresa and most of the others were waiting, scattered around between the two vehicles. The group chatter carried on for a few minutes, sharing stories of the day or talking about the teachers, when Brenda asked, “Anyone wanna go to Mickey’s on Friday?”

“When don’t we go to Mickey’s on Friday?” Sonya — Newt’s sister, whom you met in your shared photography class last period — joked.

A chorus of agreement sounded within the group, and soon everyone had split up to go their separate ways home. You climbed into the back of the truck with Thomas and Teresa, catching one last glimpse of Newt as he opened the driver’s side door to the gray car. Before he got in, you exchanged one last smile before Thomas pulled out of the parking space, driving out of the lot and toward Teresa’s house to drop her off.

Despite all the worries and doubts you carried this morning, you had a comforting feeling that everything was going to be just fine, now that you had friends. Or, the beginning of several friendships. All you could do now was wait things out and see if your feelings were telling you the truth.

series masterlist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine (open!)

#remember the nights #newt x reader #newt tmr x reader #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt series #newt tmr series #newt fluff #the maze runner fanfiction #the maze runner x reader #au fic #high school au

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zero-to-zero-to-zero-again · 1 year ago

Text

Intergalactic Abductees: Ranboo (1)

Tubbo (1) Tommy (1)

{This piece takes place after the events of Tubbo (3)}

Word Count: 1,414

TW's: Injury, Medical Stuff, Mentions of Abduction, Mentions Of Past Abuse, Fear of Death, Profanity, Mentions of Trafficking

Characters: C!Tubbo, C!Ranboo, C!Philza, C!Technoblade

Summary: As Ranboo begins to settle back into life with his crewmates, their most recent, bizarre addition is still recovering.

(Prepare to be confused by some alien species names that I came up with while I was high.)

"Ranboo?"

The boy in the hall went stiff.

"You can come in."

Ranboo's teeth ground together as he ducked into the room.

"Was I breathing that loud?" he asked.

The blonde Avisien offered him a soft smile. No matter how many times you got a smile from that man, it never failed to feel like a supernova. Explosive. Bright. Warm.

"I could hear your tail against the floor," Philza informed him.

"Oh."

Ranboo chuckled sheepishly, shooting a glower at the wiry tail in question. He swore the thing had a mind of its own. It flicked to the side in that moment just to spite him. Philza nudged one of the chairs out from beneath the metal table. He pointedly tossed his head towards it. Ranboo didn't need to be told twice. He dropped into the hard chair. Techno had promised to swipe some better ones next time they landed on Flurr. The planet was so wealthy that they wouldn't even notice if their whole home was relieved of its lavish furniture.

Of course, Techno had never gotten around to it before the incident at the market. From that moment forward, their lack of comfy chairs was the least of their worries.

Ranboo leaned over the table to get a better look at the limp figure.

"Has he woken up yet?" he inquired quietly.

It wasn't exactly unusual for Ranboo to find him sleeping. He'd watched over the reckless little bastard for the majority of his time spent in the trafficker's shuttle. But this felt different. Tubbo wasn't tossing or turning or making weird guttural noises. He was stiff.

He looked dead.

"No. I got the measurement on the dosage right this time around," Philza assured him. "I didn't want to overdo it with how small he is but I guess I underestimated his species' biological capabilities. Scaled the damn cabinet with a sedative in his veins and two broken ribs. I've never seen anything like it. I wonder if this has anything to do with it."

Philza lightly tapped the bizarre, hardened lower half of Tubbo's leg.

"What is it?" Ranboo asked.

Philza squinted.

"Mm, if I had to guess, I'd say it's a limb replacement. Or cover? Enhancement? I didn't want to mess with it too much. Clever design but primitive hardware. Maybe I'll have Techno take a look at it. More his department than mine."

The winged man dipped another swab into the yellow goo beside him. He dabbed at the stitching along Tubbo's chest and paused to watch it dissolve into the unconscious boy's skin.

"Most of our medicines haven't worked on him but at least he seems to be taking well to the disinfectant," Philza remarked. He twisted the lid back onto the metal tin and stacked it on top of all the others.

He'd nearly gone through his entire collection of menders and repairants trying to find one that was even semi-effective. In the end, he had to do things the old fashioned way with frustratingly tiny plates and screws for the busted bones and a bit of medical thread and a needle to finish it off.

"How are you doing?" Philza inquired, looking up at Ranboo for the first time during their conversation.

"Oh. I'm fine! No more burns," the Endlocke assured him. He held freshly healed hands up for emphasis.

"No, I mean how you doing, mate," the man amended.

"Ah. Um, yeah, still fine. Just...glad to be home."

"We're glad to have you back. Listen, if you ever want to talk about what happened, I'm here."

Some part of Ranboo felt that even if he did talk about it, Philza wouldn't understand. But a far larger part of him knew that his two crewmates were likely the only two people in the whole galaxy who could understand.

"You know what still kind of bugs me?" Ranboo said. Philza nodded encouragingly. "He didn't even leave."

Philza could practically feel the desperation for a subject change radiating off of fidgety dual-toned boy. Not the time to push the issue, he figured.

"Who?"

"Tubbo. I mean, they opened those doors a lot and he was probably small enough to sneak out. But he didn't. Didn't even try."

Philza glanced down at the Terran in consideration. He hummed.

"Well, he had the gall to chuck a screw at a Cantaris just get his attention so he obviously cares about you."

Ranboo couldn't help but laugh at that. How brilliantly in character for Tubbo to approach a literal war species and throw something at them. Even after the little guy had hurt himself. Far too self-sacrificing for his own good since the get-go. That's why Ranboo's hearts shattered when he saw Tubbo looking at him like that. Philza assured him it was the result of panic at seeing the syringe but it didn't make a difference.

Ranboo had known Tubbo for more cycles than he could keep track of and in all that time, he'd never seen the steadfast little creature cower. Not once. Even during their first time meeting. Cautious, sure, but never scared. All things considered, maybe Tubbo should have been afraid. Anybody his size with such little biological defenses built into their body should've been terrified of a natural born predator.

But Tubbo wasn't.

Maybe that's why his planet was so easily-

"I'm back!"

Ranboo whirled around just in time to find the Cantaris kicking the doorframe as his own odd way of knocking. It was a nasty habit but since he was the one always fixing the ship, Technoblade was more than capable of buffing out whatever dents he put into its walls. He hesitated in the entryway, skeptical blue eyes lingering on the boy laying on the table.

"He's sleeping, Techno," Philza chuckled.

The pink-haired man sighed in relief. He strode up to the table, grey eyes still flickering between the tiny being and his crewmates.

"You don't know how many shady dealers I had to go through to find this stuff," Technoblade announced. He held a small container of clear liquid up in a gloved hand. Ranboo winced at the very sight of it.

"How much did you get?" the winged man inquired.

"Enough to drown in. You're sure this stuff's safe for him?"

Ranboo nodded vehemently. He recalled the few instances when the Faustins would forget to toss a dish of the vial substance into his cell. Tubbo would get quiet. And sick. Even a single cycle without the stuff seemed to take a toll on him.

"Weird species," Techno remarked.

"The weirdest," Ranboo agreed fondly. He folded his elbows atop the table, resting his chin against his hands. "There's so many things I wish I could ask him. I wish he were chipped."

"Oh no you don't," Techno assured him. "Not by Faustins. They're notorious for botching the installation process. Instead of translating straight between languages, it'll just translate sporadically. Suddenly you can't even speak your own dialect without jumbling your words with a whole other language. It's migraine-inducing."

Ranboo huffed.

"Well, we could take him to Karl, couldn't we? He did a good job on my chip."

Ranboo's friends exchanged cryptic glances. The tall boy's focus darted between the two of them.

"What?" the Endlocke asked.

Philza seemed to be waiting for Technoblade to talk. The Cantaris' irises bled to a deep red. He shook his head, jaw clenched in stubborn refusal. Philza sighed begrudgingly.

"Techno lost it on Karl's husband while he was looking for you and he refuses to apologize."

"You're mad at Sapnap?" Ranboo said.

"The other husband," Techno grumbled.

"You started beef with Quackity? He's our best parts supplier!" the boy exclaimed, raking his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"We'll find another. And we'll find another person to install a translation chip, too. I'll find another person. Just gimme a few cycles."

"On a subject this small? Good luck. Karl was the only one willing to put in Skeppy's chip and he's bigger than Tubbo," Philza pointed out.

Technoblade spared a sideways look at the disappointed boy beside him. He drew in a deep breath.

"I'll figure it out," he reiterated, color draining from his eyes once again. He leaned down, briefly bumping his forehead against Ranboo's. "Promise."

Ranboo only nodded. A Cantaris' word was his skeleton. Should either be broken or twisted, a Cantaris could hardly be whole. That's what Techno used to say, anyways. And, hells, Ranboo had to take his word on that.

I was sitting around last night like, "I feel like I'm forgetting something." Then I realized I didn't schedule this piece to post. My bad lol.

#mcyt g/t #g/t #g/t writing #g/t fluff #giant/tiny #g/t angst #angst with a happy ending #giant!ranboo #giant!philza #giant!technoblade #tiny!tubbo #intergalactic abductees au

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biotic-raptorian-angel · 7 days ago

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Gifts

Angela Ziegler stirred awake slowly, the faint glow of morning light filtering through the curtains of Moira’s flat. The night before had been quiet and intimate, the two of them sitting by the fire with glasses of wine, sharing stories and rare glimpses of vulnerability. Angela had fallen asleep curled against Moira’s side, lulled by the rhythmic sound of her breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace.

She stretched slightly, her fingers brushing over the cool spot on the bed where Moira had been. Frowning, she opened her eyes half lidded to find herself alone before sleep took its hold once again.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Moira stood at the stove, clad in a loose sweater and a pair of casual black pants, her usually sharp features softened by the relaxed morning. She moved with purpose but uncharacteristic care, flipping pancakes and stirring a pan of scrambled eggs. A pot of coffee brewed on the counter, its rich aroma filling the room alongside the scent of roasted potatoes.

At her feet sat Maddox, her Doberman, watching her every move with quiet anticipation.

“Not yet,” Moira murmured to him, her voice low but affectionate. She gave him a small piece of potato, which he took delicately before wagging his tail. “You’ll get your turn soon.”

The table was already set, adorned with simple yet elegant plates and a sprig of holly Angela had brought with her the night before. Moira glanced over at the small tree in the corner of the room, its modest decorations glowing softly. Beneath it sat a few neatly wrapped gifts, their presence almost startling in Moira’s typically austere space.

With everything in place, she knelt beside Maddox, scratching behind his ears. “Go wake her up,” she said softly, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Maddox needed no further prompting. He trotted off toward the bedroom, tail wagging as he nosed the slightly ajar door open.

Angela woke to the sensation of warm, enthusiastic nudges and the sound of an excited huff.

“Maddox,” she mumbled, blinking as the dog jumped onto the edge of the bed, his tail thumping against the sheets. He licked her cheek, and she laughed, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. “Okay, okay, I’m up!”

The smell of breakfast reached her then, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She glanced toward the bedroom door, her heart warming at the thought of Moira in the kitchen. Sliding out of bed, she followed Maddox, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

When she stepped into the living room, Angela froze, her lips parting in surprise.

The little tree in the corner, which had been bare when she arrived, now had a few gifts nestled beneath it, their wrapping precise and understated. The table was laden with breakfast—golden pancakes stacked high, fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy potatoes, and a carafe of fresh coffee. Moira stood by the stove, plating the last of the food, her sharp golden eyes lifting to meet Angela’s.

“Good morning,” Moira said, her voice low but warm. “You’re up just in time.”

Angela pressed a hand to her chest, her smile soft and genuine. “Moira... this is incredible. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” Moira replied, walking over and setting the plate on the table. “I never have company for the holidays...So I wanted to make it special.”

Angela’s heart ached at the subtle vulnerability in Moira’s tone. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Moira’s waist and leaning her head against her shoulder. “Thank you. This is the best Christmas morning I could ask for.”

Moira hesitated for only a moment before relaxing into the embrace, resting her hand lightly on Angela’s back. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

Angela pulled back, her eyes bright as she took Moira’s hand and led her to the table.

As they ate, laughter filled the small flat, their conversation ranging from teasing remarks about Maddox’s antics to reminiscing about Christmases past. Angela couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt to be here with Moira, to see the softer sides of her that few were allowed to witness.

When the plates were cleared and the coffee poured, Angela knelt by the tree, picking up one of the gifts with her name written in Moira’s elegant handwriting.

“You didn’t,” Angela said, her voice tinged with surprise and delight.

“I did,” Moira replied, sipping her coffee. “Though don’t expect anything extravagant.”

Angela opened the package carefully, her eyes lighting up as she pulled out a leather-bound journal embossed with delicate gold details. “It’s beautiful,” she said, running her fingers over the cover.

“I know you sketch your garden flowers, so I thought this'd be better than your old sketchbook.” Moira said, her tone casual, though her eyes flickered with a hint of nervousness.

Angela looked up, her gaze filled with affection. “I love it. Thank you.”

She set the journal aside and leaned over to kiss Moira’s cheek, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Moira turned her head slightly, their eyes meeting before Angela pressed another kiss, this time to her lips, soft and lingering.

When they pulled apart, Angela smiled, her voice soft. “Merry Christmas, Moira.”

Moira’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Merry Christmas, Angela.”

Maddox barked from his spot by the fire, as if to punctuate the moment. Laughter bubbled up between them, filling the flat with warmth and love that no winter chill could touch.

#overwatch #mercy overwatch #moira overwatch #moicy #drabble #fanfiction #scene inspo #holiday prompts

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geniusboyy · 14 days ago

Text

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 23

Far From the Tree

Fiddleford slid the final sheaf of papers into a waiting envelope, sealing it with a quick motion before letting it drop onto the stack beside him. He pulled the twine tight around the bundle, binding together months of tireless calculations, close calls, and more compromises than he cared to count. It was a simple gesture, but there was weight to it—an ending. The work was done. All that was left now was the storm. Once it cleared, they’d submit their findings, and that would be that. On to bigger and better.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers lingering over the twine, before glancing toward Ford. Celebration was supposed to come next. Once upon a time it would have, but Ford was already too far gone for that. He was standing at the chalkboard, scribbling here and there, erasing some lines and rewriting them. Every so often, he would pause, tap the chalk to his lip, mutter under his breath—quiet, half-formed thoughts, like he was having some secret conversation. It was a state he’d grown used to seeing Ford in, a cycle he once again slipped into right under Fidds’ nose.

He turned back to the stack of envelopes, but his mind stayed on Ford. This project had drained the both of them, but Ford—Ford seemed almost indifferent to the toll it had taken. He moved through the exhaustion like it was just another variable to solve, jumping from one experiment to the next without ever pausing long enough to breathe. These highs, these bursts of unadulterated energy, came and went. But in between were the lows—those creeping withdrawals—and those lasted. Sometimes hours, sometimes weeks. And Fiddleford never knew when one might end and the other begin.

He sighed, tightening the knot on the stack. He knew Ford hated to be dotted on, but he couldn’t help himself. When he looked at Ford, he still saw that bright eyed adventurer with the world at his fingertips. This hardened exterior—this facade—Fid could see through it. Could see the struggle in balancing it all. But pestering Ford about it only made him angry, so he danced around the subject. Ford was clever, though. He’d memorized all the steps, seamlessly perfecting the impenetrable art of avoidance.

A scurrying at his side drew his attention—Stache was reaching a little arm through the bars of his cage toward a plate of apple slices sitting on Fidds’ desk, just out of his reach. Fiddleford chuckled at the sight and split a small bit from one of the slices. He held out the piece on the tip of his finger. “Here ya go, bud,” he murmured, watching as the rat eagerly grabbed the offering, nibbling away with tiny, methodical bites.

He rested his head on the desk, his fingers idly prodding between the bars, feeling the warm brush of fur against his fingertips. There was something soothing about watching the rat eat, something steady and simple that calmed the restless thrum in his head. Uncomplicated. Just a fat, happy rat. Fidds envied him a bit.

He sighed and sat up, the weight creeping back into his shoulders. He turned his attention to the memory eraser gun on the table, carefully lifting it, hovering for a moment over the box it was set to go into. His eyes lingered on the stabilizer, tracing its perfectly balanced components. “This part here’s so delicate,” he said. “I really hope they don’t jostle it around too much after they take it. If they throw off the stability mechanism, the whole interface could go screwy.”

“Fid, it’s fine,” Ford’s voice cut through it from across the room, his tone calm but distant. “It’s just a prototype anyway. The blueprint’s the important part.” He waved a hand dismissively as he spoke, never turning away from his scribblings.

“We keep pushing forward. We did it. It works. We’ve proven what we’re doing out here is beneficial to them. You have any idea how excited they’ll be that we made them a memory eraser?” A light, excited laugh left him. “We’re basically guaranteed funding until kingdom come. Now, we have some time to focus on more important endeavors.” He said, gesturing towards the lines sprawled over the board before him.

Ford tapped the chalk rhythmically against his chin, the dust gathering at the edge of his lip. His eyes darted between equations like they were old, stubborn adversaries refusing to yield. His movements—deliberate, precise—betrayed the weariness. His sleeves were pushed up, exposing the faint blue veins beneath his pallid forearms.

Fidds approached slowly, his gaze flicking between Ford and the mess of symbols and sprawling figures scattered across the dark green surface. “Homotopy theory…” he murmured, his voice quiet, more careful. “You’re revisiting the lattice structure?”

Ford shrugged, twirling the chalk between his fingers. “I never really stopped,” he said matter-of-fact, his eyes sweeping over the board. “The memory project pulled us off course for a while. But now that it’s submitted, we’ve got some breathing room.”

“Breathing room?” Fidds tilted his head, studying Ford’s expression, searching for a crack, some sign of hesitation.

Ford met his eyes—just for a moment, but long enough. “Yeah… time to focus on the gateway.”

Fidds glanced at the board again, the lines were precise but relentless, stretching across the surface in chaotic permutations. He saw it clearly—Ford’s obsessive nature, each abstract symbol another rung on a ladder leading to God knows where. It unsettled him.

Ford had already pushed them to the brink—risked their lives for samples and photographs. And beyond that, the mood swings, the unpredictable breakdowns, the days-long stretches of silence followed by those fervent bursts that were far more unsettling than they were relieving. All with no explanation, no reasoning. And now—cobordism, of all things, is what he wanted to dive into?

Ford’s voice broke the silence, casual but distant. “When other anomalies or breakthroughs come along, we’ll see them through, submit our findings. Keep the bosses happy, of course…” His eyes drifted over the scrawled numbers, his fingers flexing and he thought.

Fidds just looked at Ford for a moment—his eyes were sharp, that once boyish face seemed older now, worn by ambition. There was something different in his expression, something Fidds couldn’t put his finger on, but was undoubtedly there. He swallowed in an attempt to clear the dryness he felt in his throat. “You think it’s gonna turn out any different this time?” he finally asked.

Ford’s hand stopped mid-stroke, the chalk emitting a sharp squeal as it froze against the board. The room held its breath. He didn’t turn around. His voice was low, measured, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You think I can’t do it?”

Fiddleford’s hands instinctively rose, placating. “Now, Ford. I didn’t say that.” he said carefully. “It’s just—”

“You said it was possible,” Ford cut in, his tone hardened. “The portal.”

“I said it sounded mathematically feasible,” Fiddleford corrected, his voice firm but weary.

Ford looked down, jaw clenching. The muscles in his neck strained as a display of the coiling tension. His fingers tightened a bit around the chalk before he spoke. “Everyone said I was crazy until my thesis on parallel planes was published. Except you. What changed? Why now?”

Fiddleford sighed, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He could see the storm brewing behind Ford’s eyes, that relentless need to prove something—not just to others, but to himself. “Ford, this isn’t the same as publications.”

“We've got a real shot at practical application—after all these years,” Ford pressed on, voice quieter now but no less intense. “And you’re getting cold feet?”

Fiddleford felt the weight of those words between them. He didn’t want to be the one holding Ford back, but something about this—about the way it seemed to tighten around him like a vice—made it impossible to ignore.

“That journal is highly theoretical, Ford. That’s all.” Fidds faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Look, I’m not quittin’ on you, but staking so much on in the unknown is… it would be irresponsible.” He forced himself to meet Ford’s eyes again, but his words felt sluggish.

“Irresponsible? It’s not just an educated guess, Fid—it’s my life’s work. And now… we get to actually test it, to make it real,” Ford’s next words were sharp. “And you’re gonna let—what, a little homesickness get in the way of that? Is that it?”

“No, Ford, it’s not that.” Fidds insisted. “I was just… I’m just talking.“

“Well, stop talking, because you’re pissing me off.” Ford’s words hit hard, their sting punctuated by the silence that followed. Ford’s back was to him again, and Fidds stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at Ford’s tense posture—each swivel against the surface marking the passage of time.

Fiddleford’s lips pressed together, fighting the words that clawed at the back of his throat. He wanted to lash out, to say something, anything that could break the silence, but something inside him held him back. Maybe it was the weight of experience with Ford’s shifting temperament, or maybe it was just seeing the exhaustion etched in his movements—the way he scribbled frantically, not letting his hands stop long enough to let the world in.

Ford continued, his words sharp enough to cut through the silence. “We will be the men that shifted the universe, Fid. Memory alteration was just the beginning—we’ve barely scratched the surface.” he glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t start having reservations now.”

Fidds swallowed, his gaze drifting from the chalkboard to Ford’s back, seeing the rigid set of his shoulders. “Have you figured out how to stabilize the manifold intersections?”

Ford’s hand stopped mid-motion, his fingers tightening around the chalk as he exhaled, a faint but audible release of tension. “I’m getting close,” he muttered, the chalk’s scrape continuing, sharper now, louder. Each line etched with an almost frantic precision, the clacking more punctuated.

“Yeah?” Fidds pressed, a challenge in his tone. “How close?”

The chalk snapped under the pressure of Ford’s grip, the sound sharp as a warning. Ford’s hand jerked, some of the broken pieces slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. He inhaled, the momentary weakness passing quickly. He didn’t look at Fidds. Instead, he calmly set the broken piece down and reached for a fresh stick—then continued his formulation.

“Closer than anyone ever has,” Ford replied, a strange calm coating the words.

Fidds took a slow breath through his nose, his eyes following Ford’s every movement, but he stayed quiet, unsure whether to push further. But, eventually, he spoke, his voice quieter than before, as if the weight of his words might break something in the air. “The last time you dug that deeply into abstract algebra, in grad school… “ he started, shaking his head at the memory. “Don’t you remember? It gave you nightmares. You’d stay up for days, just rambling—”

“Goddammit,” Ford hissed. He exhaled sharply through his nose, looking to the floor as his fists came to rest on his hips. He was still for a moment, quiet. Then he turned. His eyes were shadowed and harder than before. “Would you stop worrying about me so much?”

His voice was louder now. “It never ends with you! ‘It’s late. It’s dangerous. When are ya gonna eat? Think about your blood pressure, Ford!’” he mimicked with flourishing hands, his tone a mocking drawl exaggerated in a way that was meant to cut.

Fidds flinched, but didn’t back down. “Alright, well what happens if the door opens, huh?” he shot back, his volume rising to meet Ford’s. “What then? You’ll spend all this time proving it can work, but what about what’s waiting on the other side? Have you even thought about it?”

Ford’s posture shifted, his chest rising with a deep breath, and for a moment, the words didn’t come. The disbelief was written all over his face, the corner of his mouth lifting in something between a smile and a sneer. “Oh, I see…” he mused, a disingenuous laugh escaping him. “You’re not scared I can’t do it…You’re scared that I can.”

Fidds stares at Ford for a beat, his gaze flickering back to the board—to the mess of numbers, abstract edges of the unknown, everything that Ford was capable of. Everything he was on the cusp of discovering. There was a hunger buried beneath all his excitement—deep in his eyes. It made Fidds’ hairs stand on end.

“You wanna know what’s on the other side of the gateway, Fid?”

Fiddleford felt it deep in his gut—the weight of this moment. He’d seen Ford like this before, the relentlessness, the unshakable belief that he could change the world. But now, there was a new drive behind it.

“Destiny.”

The chalk dropped onto the rail with a soft clack. Ford’s expression shifted to something almost tender, the smile on his face unsettling in its sweetness. “Just think of it. Let your imagination run wild,” he said, his eyes bright with a fervor that bordered on zeal. “Unlimited resources. Cures for every disease.” His hand swept toward the board, trembling with passion. “Contact with other life forms.” His lips pressed together, his eyes flicking to the floor for a moment, as though he were recalibrating. “We can rechart the fate of humanity—all from this.”

Fidds stared at the equation sprawled across the board, feeling the enormity. What had once been theoretical, manageable, now loomed over him like a chasm of possibilities. He gathered the courage to meet Ford’s wild gaze; seeing how it sharpens as it senses his hesitation.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Fid,” Ford snapped, the words biting. “Like you’re so righteous. You wanted to come here. You were wasting away back in Tennessee, and I gave you an out.”

Fiddleford blinked. Tennessee. The noun carried weight, heavier than Ford may have realized. Home—Fireflies glittering across the bluish hue of fertile grass, the slow squeak of his front porch swing, a creek that ran black with coal dust cutting round the back of the hollar. He shifted his stance, his eyes flicking to the chalkboard, glazing over the scrawled equations that held a much different view. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, his knuckles going pale.

His throat felt dry again, and still, he said nothing. The mountains—his mountains—lingered in the back of his mind, fragmenting images of his son at the breakfast table, sounds of his wife’s voice humming in the garden—It wasn’t enough to loosen his feet from where they were planted. It filled him with an unbearable shame, the same that had played at him for days now. He should have said something, anything, but he didn’t. Ford had him—He was right.

“Some things are worth being sacrificed for the sake of progress,” Ford continued, pulling Fidds’ attention back. “Greatness…won’t fall into your lap so easily.” His hand shot forward, mimicking the motion of something primal—a clenched fist—it made Fidds jump. “You go for the throat.”

Fidds searched Ford’s face, looking for something, anything—an inkling of doubt, a crack in the facade. But there was only determination swimming in those wide, calculating pupils.

Fidds just shook his head, looking into the face of the man he revered. But he hardly recognized him. His passiveness—it was almost violent. “You sure that’s you talkin’?” The words fell out before he could stop them.

Ford stilled, his eyes locked on Fidds’—cold and far too calm. His voice came slow, precise. “I’m going to do this,” he said, not a shred of uncertainty in his tone. He took a step forward, his presence looming, unyielding.

“You want to run back home with your tail between your legs? To that goddamn nowhere town, spend your days running a dead-end repair shop, afraid of your own potential?” He inhaled sharply, the words coming faster now, each one cutting deeper. “You go right ahead. But don’t think you’re gonna drag me down with you.”

Then, Ford closed the gap between them. His finger shot out, a flicker of something sharp in the air. “I’ll say this only once.” For a moment, Fidds didn’t move—couldn’t move—then Ford’s wrist twisted, and with a strange, almost predatory grace, pressed that finger into Fidds’ chest. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t a request. It was an ultimatum. “Don’t stand in my way.”

The power flickered then cut suddenly, the hum of power vanishing abruptly. They were both consumed by the darkness, snapping the tension between them. The only sound was the wind whipping against the cabin walls above. Ford didn’t flinch—he reached into his lab coat pocket with practiced ease and pulled out the small flashlight he’d been carrying in case the power cut, clicking it on. The beam cut through the void, turning away from Fidds along with Ford’s attention.

Fidds stood still for a moment, watching Ford move with an eerie calm—closing the lab. He filed everything into its places under the illumination of the flashlight and Fidds just watched him, like he was adjusting to the taste the spat left in his mouth. His mind scrambled to catch up, to make sense of the wave of emotions crashing over him—his own anger, confusion, and the uncomfortable truths that lingered between Ford’s indifferent movements.

Ford continued in the silence, rolling his lab coat off his shoulders and hanging it on the rack near the base of the stairs—as though it was any other night, as though they hadn’t just torn through their fragile civility. “Take the submission to the drop zone once the storm clears. We can talk about next steps later.” Ford said, letting a beat pass before climbing the steps.

Fidds stood there in the dark, the only light retreating with Ford’s heavy footsteps up the stairs. The argument still hung in the air, as oppressive as the silence that replaced it. He traced Ford’s movements through the ceiling—the thud of boots fading until they stopped altogether. The distant sound of a door shutting reverberated down the stairwell, a dull finality in its echo.

He lingered in the darkness, unmoving, his breaths shallow and uneven. The weight of silence pressed against him, thick and inescapable. Slowly, he gathered the scattered papers and the small box, clutching them as if they were anchors. Each step up the stairs felt heavier than the last, the worn wood groaning beneath him.

His room welcomed him with shadows, the faint glow of moonlight tracing the edges of the bed. He placed the stack on the bedside table, fingers trembling slightly as he fished out his lighter. A quick flick, and the brief burst of flame illuminated his face—a momentary reprieve from the dark before it clicked shut.

The familiar curl of smoke wrapped around him, but its sweet fragrance didn’t bring the comfort he sought. His gaze drifted to the storm beyond the window, frost streaking across the panes in chaotic swirls. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, his movements automatic, detached, his mind elsewhere.

“Fid, you deadbeat sonofabitch…”

The words surfaced unbidden, Emma Mae’s voice clear in his mind. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the joint burning slowly between his fingers, its embers pulsing faintly in his dim bedroom.

“What kinda man abandons his family..?”

His boots hit the floor with two dull thuds. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his eyes, as if he could push the memory away. But then came Ford’s voice, sharp and unrelenting.

“You were wasting away back in Tennessee...”

He exhaled, the smoke mixing with his sigh. His mind wrestled with their words, their accusations, the hard truths. He wanted to argue, to shout back at both of them, but what would he even say? They were right. Weren’t they?

“Some things are worth being sacrificed…”

He wanted to scream, but his voice felt lodged in his throat. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven bursts, his pulse hammering in his ears. The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing in. The air felt dense and suffocating. The voices in his head wouldn’t relent—Ford’s insistent annoyance, his wife’s searing disappointment, his own doubts clawing at his resolve.

Why did it have to be one or the other? The question churned endlessly, an ache that deepened with each passing moment. Abandoning Ford wasn’t an option—not now, not with that desperate light flickering behind his eyes, masking the wreckage he seemed indifferent toward. Fidds saw it every day: the feverish determination that threatened to consume him. He’d tried to tether Ford back to something steady, many times, but stability had never been in Ford’s nature.

And wasn’t he guilty too? He craved purpose, the thrill of discovery—greatness. Leaving would be desertion. But staying? Staying meant suffocating beneath guilt, watching his family slip further from his grasp, the distance stretching wider each day. He wanted to be a father his son could admire, a husband who didn’t leave his wife in limbo. But would returning home make him a coward? Would his wife forgive his absence—or resent his return if he threw this all away?

And Ford. Could Ford survive without him? Could their friendship? Would his marriage withstand the weight of this choice—or was he doomed to lose both?

The air felt like water against his lungs. Fidds clutched his chest, his fingers digging into the fabric of his undershirt, desperate to draw in a full breath. But it wasn’t just the air that was too heavy; it was everything—his doubts, his choices, his helplessness. His eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears cutting through the haze of smoke and despair. He just wanted it to stop. All of it. The endless questions. The shame. The relentless pull of two worlds tearing him apart. He wanted it to stop.

His gaze drifted to the box on the table, its presence quiet but commanding, like it had been waiting for this moment. His fingers trembled as he crushed the joint into the ashtray, the remnants smoldering into ash. His hand hovered over the box, hesitating, drawn yet repelled. Slowly, he flicked it open, the cardboard lid clattering at it hit the surface of the nightstand.

He stared at the device inside, the metal catching a sliver of moonlight. His thumb brushed over the ridges before he scooped it out of its casing. It felt heavier than he remembered as he lifted it, its weight settling into his palm—final like a decision.

“I must be out of my fuckin’ mind…” he breathed as he lifted the device to his temple, his finger curling over the trigger. For a split second, there was nothing—no sound, no thought—just the sharp, metallic bite against his skin.

Just once—Just to sleep.

He squeezed.

Then, everything splintered. The release was immediate. His body slumped forward and the tension dissolved into a torrential surge of warmth, drowning every edge. His limbs went slack, his mind unspooling into a sea of weightless calm. He felt himself sink and rise at once, as if suspended in a slow, syrupy current. The room spun around him, languid and detached, his pulse a dull, rhythmic thud, muffled and far away. Gravity had loosened its grip on him.

He staggered to his feet, disconnected from his body, moving because something in him insisted he had to. The door swayed before him, blurry and unreal, but he kept advancing. He had to get out, escape the confines of the room. His feet thudded against the floor in slow, echoing beats, the sound stretched and distorted.

His weight crashed into the door, forcing it open, nearly toppling him into the hallway. Only his grip on the doorknob kept him upright. He gasped for air, standing there in this unexpected euphoria. He couldn’t feel a thing—couldn’t recall why he needed it in the first place.

He lurched again, catching the frame of the bathroom door across from him, pulling himself up. A flicker of motion at the end of the hall caught his eye—shadows twisting in the dim light; Ford’s bedroom door was open, his flashlight on his floor inside his room, casting out into the hallway, illuminating a rigid silhouette. Fidds’ mouth worked before his mind caught up, the name spilling out in a slur. “Ford?”

The figure stood at the end of the hall, still and domineering—Fidds couldn’t grasp the sight fully, his vision hardly tethered to his conscious mind. He took a hesitant step closer, blinking against the fog.

“Ford?” he slurred again, voice barely audible.

The figure shifted, stepping into faint, reflected light and Ford’s face emerged—but wrong. His eyes seemed off, gleaming in the darkness. Fidds couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He straightened to try and get a better look, unsteady, swaying in the narrow space and blocking the hallway. Ford moved with a slow, jerking stride, his hand lifting as he silently advanced. It hovered just a moment before pressing firmly against Fidds’ face. The pressure was commanding, and before Fidds could react, he was shoved backward, his balance collapsing beneath him.

His legs gave out, and he stumbled into the bathroom, the doorframe grazing his shoulder. His weight barreled into the shower curtain, tearing it from its hooks when he attempted to catch his fall. He tumbled, limbs flailing, crashing into the tub. The cold ceramic bit at his skin, jarring and final, yet the room kept spinning and spinning, his senses blurring into a dizzy haze—fading slowly before going black.

#lowk forgot to post this here when I finished #but the good news is the next chapter is almost finished!#covenants and other provisions #stanford pines #bill cipher #billford #gravity falls #billford fanfic #my writing #fiddleford mcgucket #ford pines

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oblivious-aro · 1 year ago

Text

Friends in strange Places Ch. 6 Pt 2

What if Vlad was good instead of evil? Link to chapter 1:

Friends in Strange Places Chapter 1, a danny phantom fanfic | FanFiction

FANFICTION.NET

Summary: With a little encouragement from Vlad, Danny works up the nerve to tell his parents. Sam and Tucker realize they have some things to discuss.

Word Count: 8600

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By the time Danny managed to get the thespian ghost into The Thermos and fly back home, Vlad had already left. Danny was disappointed to have missed him, but he did get a play-by-play of the entire visit from his parents over dinner.

"...and it turns out Vladdie hasn't had any luck designing an ecto-based adhesive either! But thanks to his input, we should be able to increase the efficiency of The Spectre Speeder tenfold!"

"That's fascinating Dad." Jazz deadpanned "So you and Vlad have been breaking the ice okay then?"

"Yup!" Maddie smiled "Oh, I'm so glad Vlad decided to open up to us. It's been so nice working with him again."

"Wow," Jazz said "Vlad sharing his secret with you two really seems to have made a difference in your relationship. Even if he was scared to do it, it certainly seems to have been worth the risk."

Danny glared at Jazz.

"You said it Jazzy!" Jack beamed, oblivious to the secret conversation between his children "Now that we know what's been going on with Vladdie all this time, we're closer than ever before!"

"You don't say." Jazz stared directly at Danny as she spoke.

"I'm done eating, I'm going to my room now." Danny pushed his chair back and began to walk towards the stairs.

"Sorry Danny," Maddie grabbed his shoulder as he passed her "You and your father are on dishes tonight."

"What? But I did them last night!"

"Yeah?" Jazz put the stack of plates in the sink "And who did them the last two nights in before that?"

"That was only because-" he'd had to leave halfway through dinner to deal with Skulker's newest (not to mention very destructive) 'toy'.

"Because what, Danny?" Maddie cocked an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Danny grumbled.

"See you in the lab, Hun." Maddie gave Jack a peck on the cheek "I want to get started on archiving today's data."

With that, she disappeared down the basement stairs.

"Come on, Danno," Jack gave the pouting Danny a pat on the back "The sooner we get this done, the sooner it'll be over. You washing or drying tonight?"

"I'll dry." Danny said. His father had an unfortunate tendency to put dishes away in the wrong places, and Danny did not feel like dealing with Jazz's complaining tomorrow morning.

"So," Danny asked as his dad handed him a plate "How are things going with Vlad? It's really not awkward with his whole, you know...'ghostly' situation?"

"Nonsense Danny!" Jack waved his hand "We barely even talked about it."

Danny wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I mean," Jack continued "We did sit down and discuss the situation when he first got here, but it didn't take long for us to get back into the swing of researching together just like old times. In fact, the data we collected today has given me a great idea for a new weapon! I call it The Fenton Ghost Gooer!"

"You're not like, married to that name, are you?" Danny scrunched his nose.

"It's gonna be great!" See, your mother and I haven't had much success with ectoplasmic based adhesive in the past, but after studying its behaviour at high velocity under varying degrees of impact force..."

Danny rolled his eyes. It could be so difficult to get his father to stay on a topic that wasn't whatever his latest ghost invention was.

"Dad, would it bother you if you saw Vlad using his ghost powers?" Danny interrupted his rambling.

"What do you mean, Son?" Jack frowned.

"I know you and Mom don't hate Vlad or anything for being half-gho-"

"Of course we don't hate Vladdie!" Jack made an offended expression "He's our best friend!"

"Yeah I know, but I mean like, wouldn't it wig you out to see him flying around or sticking his arm through something? Like, how'd you feel when you first saw him transform?"

"Well I suppose it was a little startling." Jack said "But Vladdie had only really told us about his powers less than a minute ago, so you can't really blame me for being shocked. Your mother and you kids were pretty shaken too, if I recall correctly. Heck, you and your friends barely said a word the whole drive home!"

"Uh...yup! That's right! Totally shocked!" Danny laughed nervously.

"But once your mother and I talked things out, and I got a good night's sleep to think it over, I was able to...what's the word Jazz uses? 'Process' the situation. Sure, it's a little strange that Vlad's got ghostly abilities, but the fact is he does and he's our friend, so we're just going to have to get used to it. Simple as that. The lesson here Danny is that when your problems seem too strange and impossible to figure out, get a good night's sleep. That's something my father taught me. Your brain does amazing things while you're sleeping. Can't tell you how many times I've gone to bed thinking I'd have to scrap some glitchy invention, only to wake up knowing exactly how to fix it!"

Danny wasn't sure he believed his dad. How could Vlad turning out to be half-ghost be so simple for him? Seeing your best friend using the same abilities as the creatures you've hated and hunted obsessively for years had to be a weird, right? Like, at least a little?

"What's got you asking about Vladdie so much anyway, Son?"

"Oh uh, no reason. Just curious."

Jack smiled softly at Danny and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Danny, if Vlad's ghost powers freak you out, you should know you have nothing to worry about. I know he might have looked a little intimidating when he fought that lake monster, but looks are just looks, and despite how Vlad might have looked, he's isn't actually a ghost, so-"

"Ew Dad, you're soaking through my shirt!" Danny pushed Jack's soapy hand off of his shoulder "And I'm not scared of Vlad. I haven't even been scared of ghosts since I was seven."

"Well that's good to hear then." Jack gave Danny's back a strong pat before resuming his scrubbing. "Because there's absolutely no reason to be afraid of Vladdie. And there's gonna be absolutely no reason to be afraid of ghosts anymore once I finish The Fenton Ghost Gooer!"

Danny smiled as his dad started to explain his latest invention.

If nothing else, Jack Fenton was genuine. If he said he didn't have a problem with Vlad's ghost powers, then he meant it.

So why was some small part of Danny still so hesitate?

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"Aim left! Left!" Tucker cried.

Their entire view was obscured by an explosion before a metallic skull appeared on the computer screen with the words Game Over overlaying it.

"Okay, that might have been a little too left."

"Y'know," Valerie said "I just don't think this game is for me."

"Aw come on, you were way better that time."

"Was I?"

"I mean, you almost made it past level one. That's an improvement!"

Valerie did not look impressed.

"You know, I really thought your ghost hunting skills would translate directly to DOOMED. It's basically the same mechanics."

"What're you talking about? Aiming a real blaster is waay smoother then trying to line up your sight with that thing." Valerie pointed at the computer mouse like it was something offensive.

"Aw well," Tucker shrugged "Can't say you didn't try."

"Indeed." Valerie checked her watch "I'd better get going. Sorry DOOMED didn't work out."

"S'all good." Tucker waved his hand "I still got Danny and Sam to play with. We've got loads of other stuff we can try doing together."

"Alright, but I'm choosing the next date activity." Valerie smiled.

"Sounds good." Tucker frowned "Wait, this was a date?"

"I'm pretty sure this counts?"

"Oh, if that's the case, I feel kind of bad making you spend a date playing a video game you didn't enjoy."

"I mean, I did enjoy watching you freak out every time one of those robot bat things showed up."

"They suck up your health! It's imperative to get rid of them as fast as possible before they become too beefy! Sure, they're pretty harmless if you kill them right away, but it's insane that the developers put an enemy that's capable of getting so powerful at level one!"

"See that," Valerie smiled as she swung her backpack over her shoulder "That's weirdly charming. Now I really got to go. See you tomorrow."

"See you!" Tucker called back. Valerie had officially been over enough times that he didn't need to show her out anymore.

And now that she was gone, it was time for DOOMED with Danny.

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Pow! Pow!

"Oh my gosh it's satisfying watching an enemy actually get hit." Tucker said over the voice chat. His parents had gotten him a mic set for his birthday.

"I take it DOOMED with Valerie didn't go well?" Danny's asked.

"Dude, she is so bad! Uh, don't tell her I said that."

"Ha ha, I won't. It's weird, though. Considering her ghost hunting skills, I figured she'd be great at this game."

"I thought so too, but nope! It was like that time we watched my little cousin play Mario at my eleventh birthday party."

"Ugh, why'd you bring that up? That was a genuinely painful experience."

"So was watching Valerie play!"

They continued to play in near silence for a while, only talking to warn each other of an approaching enemy.

Just as Tucker was getting ready to call it, Danny spoke:

"Thanks for hanging out tonight, Tuck. I think I needed this."

"Hey, no problem man. Is something going on?" Tucker asked casually. He very much knew that there was a lot going on with Danny, but he figured between Sam and Jazz, Danny didn't need another person smothering him.

That being said, Tucker was still worried about his best friend. He could hardly help it.

"I'm just stressed about telling my parents." Danny paused to blast an approaching spider "I know they're gonna accept me, but the idea of actually telling them is still pretty terrifying. I know it's not a big thing, just two sentences or whatever, but it still feels like the most monumental thing I've ever done."

"Honestly, I think that's pretty reasonable. I know you know they'll be cool, but this is still the biggest secret you've ever kept. Makes sense you're wigged out about finally letting go."

"Yeah, ha ha. I'll figure it out eventually, though. Hopefully. Anyway, one more round?"

"Sure thing Dude."

They were interrupted by the notification sound effect of another player joining.

"Hey, poetry slam ended earlier than I thought it would. You two still playing?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but we're just doing one last round." Danny replied.

"That's fine. Still gives me enough time for me to hand you both your own butts."

Tucker was pretty sure he could hear Sam's smug grin through his headset.

"Don't think your victory's so assured, Sam." Tucker said "I've been working on a new strategy that'll knock your socks clean off!"

"Ooh! I'm shaking in my rank three crusher boots with bonus spike damage."

Despite Tucker's trash talk, he'd gotten used to losing a while ago. It was just fun to pretend he might one day outrank Sam.

Mostly he was just happy that Danny was getting a break.

...and also the opportunity to test out his new poison upgrade.

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Danny sighed with relief as he dropped the last of the rags into The Fenton Washing Machine. Not all of the ectoplasm from his parents catapult experiment had made it into the The Containment Tank, and Danny still wasn't having any luck convincing Jazz to swap chores with him.

Danny had just turned the washer on when his ghost sense went off. With a loud groan, Danny turned and glared at the portal. He felt every muscle in his body relax when Vlad floated out.

"Do you somehow just know when I've just finished cleaning the lab?" Danny was too exhausted to muster up a polite greeting "If you're looking for my parents, they're actually out right now. My dad realized we were out of fudge after dinner, and he almost died when he saw we weren't stocked up on baking ingredients."

"I can practically hear Jack's panicked voice." Vlad grinned "But it's actually you I'm after." Vlad said.

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes. Although Jack and Maddie seem relatively comfortable with my ghostly side, I don't think it'd be a good idea to just fly into their lab through the portal as a ghost. I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"Fair. How'd it go with them yesterday anyway?"

"Rather well, all things considered. Being so open about my abilities with them has certainly been a...mental adjustment after decades of secrecy and hiding, but as I said they really do seem to have taken it rather well."

"That's good to hear." Danny smiled. Hearing Vlad say that made him feel lighter inside. "So what'd you want to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to inquire about your plans to tell your parents about your accident." Vlad said. The lightness in Danny vanished "I assume you haven't already?"

"Uh...no, I...have not done that yet." Danny hoped Vlad couldn't tell how dry his mouth was.

Vlad frowned.

"You seem rather perturbed Daniel. Do you...not want to tell them?"

"I do!" Danny said quickly "Really! It just...never seems like the right time, I guess."

"You guess?"

Danny sighed.

"You know, things aren't terrible right now." Danny rubbed the back of his neck "I guess it's just...I don't really know what will happen when I tell them. I mean, I know they won't banish me to The Ghost Zone or dissect me or whatever, but things are going to..be different, you know? And honestly, that kind of scares me. I guess I was too busy worrying about what could go wrong to think about what would happen if things went right, so I really don't know what to expect."

Vlad's eyes softened with sympathy.

"As they say, misery is comfortable."

"What? No, that's stupid. I hate being miserable, everyone does."

"Daniel you just told me that a part of you would rather live in a house with two people who are trying to hunt you, surrounded by hazardous devices, than tell your parents about your ghost part."

"No, that's- I mean...huh."

"I do understand how you're feeling." Vlad said. "Now that your parents know about my powers, I was more than a tad nervous to come down here yesterday, and there is a reason I stalled telling them until the end of the trip. But, as someone who's been where you are, I can confidently say things are better now that they know. Even with all the unknown elements."

"I know things'll be better," Danny said "It's just so weird to think how much one little conversation can change."

"Things are going to change. It might be a bit awkward with your parents at first, I won't lie. The idea of being in my ghost form around Jack and Maddie still makes me...apprehensive, and I'm not sure I'll feel comfortable with it any time soon. For all I know, I may never."

"Well that's comforting."

"But I'm not scared of my best friends shooting me anymore, so that's a plus." Vlad grinned "Kind of outweighs having to deal with the awkwardness, if you ask me."

"Yeah," Danny laughed half-heartedly "I suppose it would."

"You want my advice? Tell them tonight."

"Tonight!?" Danny almost had a heart attack

"Yes tonight. Not telling Jack and Maddie sooner has been my biggest regret. You know you want to do this. Save yourself the unnecessary worry and just get it done."

Danny thought about it. He supposed Vlad's logic was sound, and if there was anyone he should listen to for tips on telling his parents they were half-ghost it was him, but the thought of doing it so soon made him dizzy. He knew he'd been stalling, but he needed a little more time to prepare than that.

"I'll do it tomorrow night." he said, sounding much firmer than he felt.

"Well I say never put off till tomorrow what can be done today," Vlad shrugged "But the decision is yours. Good luck Little Badger!"

With that, Vlad flew backwards through the portal, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

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Tucker had to stop himself from cheering as the lunch lady finished scooping the casserole of the day onto his tray. In his opinion, it was insanely cruel of the faculty to schedule his biweekly PE period right before lunch. As if gym class wasn't long enough!

He quickly found Sam in their usual spot and took a seat across from her.

"Where's Danny?" Tucker asked before shoving a large spoonful of casserole into his mouth. It was tomato and ground beef with macaroni noodle today.

"Give you three guesses and two of them don't count." Sam replied.

"Ah." Tucker swallowed "Was it The Box Ghost again?"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it was Klemper. Danny said something about frozen toilets."

"Ooh, maybe Danny should let him keep going for a bit! I think they have to cancel school if the toilets don't work."

"Tucker, broken plumbing facilities in a building with over five hundred people could pose a serious problem. Do you know how many students here have bladder issues?"

"Okay jeez, I was only joking."

There was a brief silence as the two of them started to eat their lunches.

"I really could've used you with Danny the other day, you know." Sam said "It's like you don't even care that your best friend's about to tell his parents the biggest secret of his life."

"What? Sam, of course I care. I'm worried about Danny too, but there's no point in pushing him if he's not ready yet."

Sam was about to angrily retort, but she stopped herself, the conversation with Danny replaying in her head.

Why was she so angry at Tucker? Sure, it was kind of annoying he hadn't backed her up, but she had to admit his logic wasn't totally unreasonable.

"I guess." she relented. It felt weird admitting Tucker was right so easily.

Wait, why did that feel so weird? They were friends, best friends. It shouldn't take so much restraint just to agree with each other about something so minor.

Danny was right. Something was wrong.

Not that it was all Sam's doing, Tucker could be annoying and insensitive. A lot of the time, in fact.

But was Sam maybe...not always interpreting his intentions in the best light? Just maybe?

A lot of mixed thoughts were going through Sam's head, but one thing she knew for sure was that if they wanted to fix what was going on, someone had to start somewhere.

"Hey, um, I just wanted to say I'm...sorry I teased you about Valerie so much. You told me to stop and I didn't, even though I should have."

Tucker blinked, completely taken aback by her sudden apology. It probably didn't help that she'd been giving him the gears less than a minute ago.

Admittedly, that might have been a weird place to start, but it was the first thing Sam thought of, and Sam was the kind of person who liked to start fixing a problem as soon as possible.

She just hoped Tucker wouldn't make fun of her apology for revenge.

"Uh...no hard feelings." Tucker said, his shocked expression morphing into a grin "In fact, since you apologized, and I'm such a gracious friend, I promise I won't make as much fun of you when you get your embarrassing first crush." Tucker winked and did finger guns.

Sam felt a flash of annoyance. Of course, Tucker didn't know she was aromantic, chances were he didn't even know what 'aromantic' meant, so Sam knew it wasn't fair for her to be mad at him.

Well, she had just decided she wanted to fix the kink in their friendship, and an important part of friendship was being able to trust your friends with your secrets...

"Actually...I don't think I'll ever get a crush." Sam said.

"Aww, come on. I know being gloomy's your thing, but I'm sure someday you'll-"

"No Tucker, I'm aromantic."

"Oh. Um, what's that?"

"It means I don't get crushes, and I'm never going to fall in love. Ever." Sam crossed her arms "And before you try to give me another pitying platitude, I'm actually quite happy with this development."

"Okay, but how do you know you'll never fall in love?" Tucker asked.

Anger burned in Sam.

"Ugh!" she threw up her hands "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you!"

She knew this would happen! She knew Tucker wouldn't take her seriously! She knew he'd-

"No no no no wait, I totally believe you!" Tucker threw up his hands defensively "I just meant, like, how'd you figure it out? I'm sorry, I didn't realize how that would sound! I didn't mean it like that, I promise!"

The fire in Sam instantly died.

"You...really believe me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because people are never taken seriously when they say they aren't interested in romance. I've lost count of the number of movies I've seen where someone says they're happy being single, but by the end they've started a relationship with someone and everyone's acting like they're 'fixed' now." Sam unconsciously clenched her fists. She'd never realized that that trope bothered her so much until right now. "Plus you specifically never take anything I say seriously."

"What? Yes I do! What are you talking about?"

"Well you weren't exactly the most supportive of my menu update at the start of the year."

"Sam, you literally forced everyone in the school to change to a very niche diet. You gotta admit that's a little extreme."

"Okay fine, maybe that wasn't my best idea. But it feels like ever since then, you've never tried to help me with my world-improving projects. You don't even really listen to my ideas. Like, the world's on fire, and all my friends, family, and fellow students ever seem to want to do about it is laugh at me for trying to fix things!"

The passion in Sam's voice sobered Tucker's normally humorous attitude.

"I didn't think you cared what other people said about you." he said.

"I don't." Sam looked defiantly into Tucker's eyes "I'm an activist to try and make the world a better place, I'm not interested in this for personal glory." Sam gaze shifted away from Tucker's face and she crossed her arms over her body "But y'know, I...might care a little bit what my best friends say about me."

"Oh." Tucker looked away too. "I...I guess that makes sense."

There was a long silence.

"So...how did you figure it out?" Tucker asked "I mean, if you like girls then you figure it out by liking a girl and vice versa, but there isn't really a sign if you don't like anybody, so how do you know you won't like anybody ever?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at Tucker.

"N-not saying you're wrong about saying you're aromantic! Or that anybody else is! I'm really just curious, I swear! Actually you know what, you don't have answer that. I probably shouldn't have even asked."

Tucker proceeded to shove an entire handful of tater tots in his mouth. Sam was pretty sure it was to stop himself from rambling any more. It was a very Tucker thing to do. She might've laughed if Tucker's question hadn't been making her think so hard.

Sam wasn't offended by the question, she knew Tucker was a curious person who meant it genuinely, it was just a difficult question to answer.

"I don't know." Sam admitted "It just...feels right. I don't know how to explain it any better. The idea of not falling in love feels like it fits better than the typical romantic ideas everyone's always pushing, and like, when I read about some of the experiences of other aromantic people I've found online, it just feels so right. Like someone finally gets it. I can't really explain it much better than that, but I just know it's true that I'm not going to fall in love."

"I guess it's like getting a crush." Tucker mused "You can't really explain it, you just kind of know."

Sam frowned. She didn't think it was exactly like that, but she could see that Tucker was trying to be understanding. Not to mention she had just told herself she was going to try and be more civil with him.

"Uh, maybe." she said "Honestly, the idea was kind of weird at first, but the more time goes on, the more I actually really like knowing I'm aro. It's great. Figuring that out feels like scratching an itch I didn't even know I had."

"I definitely get that."

"You do?"

Tucker felt his heart skip a beat.

"I...think I might be bi." Tucker said.

"Yeah? Good for you." Sam gave Tucker a small but genuine smile.

Tucker felt his whole body relax.

Wait, why was he so relieved? He hadn't felt this tense when he was telling Danny or Valerie.

Maybe Danny was on to something about him and Sam...

"You okay over there?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just uh, thinking about some stuff. You don't seem surprised."

"Tucker, remember the drive in Danny's RV to Vlad's cottage?"

"Oh yeah. I kind of hoped everyone had forgotten about that nightmare."

"I mean, I had planned on never mentioning it again ever, but I don't think I could forget it if I tried. But hey, at least I figured out my romantic orientation. So that's pretty cool." Sam shrugged casually.

"I wish I felt as confident about being bi as you do about being...what was it?"

"Aromantic. Aro for short."

"Aro, got it. I mean, I'm warming up to the idea of being bi, but it's been quite the adjustment for my brain. At first it felt like I maybe wasn't even allowed to call myself that."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I for sure do get crushes on guys sometimes, but it really isn't a lot of the time. I'm really mostly into girls, so sometimes it kind of feels like I'm trying to claim something I'm not sure I have any right to."

"So what? You gotta like 'this many' boys to be bi? And who exactly is checking that?"

Tucker laughed a little before continuing.

"Yeah, I know it sounds kind of ridiculous. I have been feeling more comfortable calling myself as bi the longer I've thought about it, but I still can't quite shake this feeling that at some random moment someone's gonna jump out and call me out on it."

"Don't worry," Sam picked up her milk carton and drained the last of it "If anyone even tries to imply you're not 'bi enough' or whatever, I'll just have a nice little chat with them."

Sam finished her statement by crushing the empty milk carton in her hand, all five of her nails leaving gashes in cardboard.

Tucker was going to laugh at Sam's joke, but the carton-crushing demonstration ad actually been genuinely intimidating (Sam was pretty good at being intimidating), so the noise he ended up making was somewhere between a laugh and a yelp.

Sam nearly jumped out of her seat.

"How did you even make that sound?" she asked.

"I don't know, and I don't think I could make it again if I tried."

Sam laughed.

It was actually really nice hearing her laugh like that. Tucker couldn't recall the last time Sam had laughed at one of his jokes.

That might have had something to do with the fact that a lot of his jokes were made at her expense.

Like, a lot of them.

Tucker honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd really gone out of his way to be nice to Sam. Not since the meat incident.

This was not a comfortable realization.

"Hey Sam," Tucker wasn't exactly sure how to say what he wanted to say, but he knew he had to say something "I'm sorry I haven't been taking you seriously lately. I know I haven't exactly been the best listener. Don't get me wrong, some of you ideas are insane and I want no part in them, but I'm gonna at least start trying taking them seriously now. I'll start taking you seriously, I promise."

Sam was slightly taken aback. She hadn't expected an apology from Tucker, and she hadn't realized how much she'd wanted to hear that until he said it.

"Wow," she started to say "I really-"

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Danny suddenly appeared and sat down beside Sam. Tucker genuinely wasn't sure whether they just hadn't notice him approach, or if he'd snuck in ghost-style.

"It's all good du-" Tucker paused when he noticed the apprehensive look in Danny's eyes "You okay? You look like something's up."

Danny took a long breath.

"Are you two free to come over tonight?"

--------------------------------------------------

Walking down the basement stairs felt like walking through molasses. Not because it was slow, but because each step seemed to take a monumental amount of effort. The journey was actually over surprisingly quickly.

Danny wondered if there was any way he could have lengthened it.

His parents hadn't noticed his descent, both of them deeply absorbed in...whatever giant metal contraption they were working on. Danny didn't really care right now.

He walked up to his parents and loudly cleared his throat, causing them both to snap their heads up.

"H-hey Mom, Dad."

"Hey Danny!" his father set his wrench down to wave at him "How was school?"

"Uh, g-good. School was good."

"Did you need something, Sweetie?" Maddie frowned, sensing his nervousness.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

"Um yeah, I kind of...have something to tell you. It's...about the accident I had with the ghost portal."

Jack and Maddie's faces immediately turned serious.

"Danny," Maddie said gently "

"Yeah, I know, I know. That's not it though. It's..."

Danny took a deep breath.

And just jumped in.

"It made me...like Vlad."

"Like...Vlad?" Maddie raised an eyebrow.

"Half-ghost. The portal made me half-ghost. I have ghost powers like Vlad."

There was a beat of silence. Maddie and Jack looked at each other briefly and turned back to Danny.

"Now Son," Jack smiled "I know you two both had ghost portal accidents, but there's no way our portal affected you in the same extreme way. Sure, maybe you've been having minor side effects-"

"That you should have told us about earlier." Maddie cut in sternly.

"What your mother said. But there's no way you could have been affected as drastically as Vlad. You don't even-"

Jack was cut off by two blinding rings of light splitting around Danny's waist, turning him into the ghostly version of himself.

The sight made both of his parents go slack-jawed.

Maybe it had been a bit much to transform without warning, but after weeks of stalling and months of hesitation, Danny had run out of patience.

"I'm half-ghost like Vlad." he repeated, summoning the rings and transforming back.

It was shockingly easy to say. Although walking down the basement stairs had been torture, once he'd started talking, it had felt weirdly natural to just keep going, like he was just telling them what score he'd gotten on a math test. Danny had expected more resistance.

Telling Jazz had been harder.

"Y-you really are like Vlad..." Jack's voice was almost a whisper.

Oh right, their reaction. The beating of Danny's heart instantly washed away the peace he'd been feeling.

This was actually much worse than telling Jazz.

"Y-yeah?"

"Danny?" Maddie's voice was strained "How long have you...been like Vlad?"

"Since the first day." I...walked out of the portal looking like that. I just managed to transform back before you and Dad came back."

"Jack," Maddie put a hand on the work bench to steady herself "I thought you said you tested thoroughly for any mutations or contaminations!"

"Of course I did, Madds! I did a DNA test and everything and couldn't find any indication of..."

Jack suddenly stopped talking. He and Maddie snapped their heads to Danny as if they'd suddenly remembered he was there.

"All those months..." Maddie pulled down her hood, revealing eyes filled with horror "Listening to us going on and on about capturing and dissecting ghosts...oh! No wonder you didn't tell us! You must've been scared half to death."

Danny almost laughed at his mother's choice of words, but he was still too tense to move. He knew his parents weren't going to hurt him, but for some reason he felt like he was in trouble.

"Oh, baby." Maddie wrapped Danny in a hug. She kissed his forehead and rubbed his back.

"Y-you guys aren't mad?"

"Mad?" his father said. "Danno, I don't blame you one bit. I'd have been scared out of my britches too if I was in your position and I heard my parents talking about ghosts the way your mother and I do."

He came over and wrapped his arms around Danny and Maddie.

"We love you kiddo." he said "And we're both so proud of you for telling us."

Maddie squeezed Danny harder.

Danny felt his muscles relax and his heart slow back to normal.

He'd done it. He'd really done it.

Honestly, Danny didn't know how he felt right now. It was weirdly quiet in his head.

But one thing Danny knew for sure was that it felt good to finally have to stop hiding.

This was good.

Danny smiled and hugged his parents back.

--------------------------------------------------

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all sat at the kitchen table, none of them daring to speak. They'd all been counting the seconds since Danny had gone down the stairs. It had only been two minutes, but it had been a very long two minutes.

The only sound being made was Tucker tapping his knuckles on the table. Sam very much wanted to ask him to stop, but she also didn't want to be the first one to speak.

"Do you think we should go down and check on him?" Tucker asked, his hand finally stilling.

"I'm sure he's fine, just be patient." Despite her grounded words, Sam's anxiety leaked into her voice.

"Sam's right." Jazz said firmly "We're all worried, but this is Danny's moment, so it's our job to be his support and remain fluid enough to react to what he needs depending on which way the situation goes. The best way to do that we have to remain calm and-"

The basement door began to open. Jazz was on her feet in an instant.

"Where's Danny?! Is he okay?!"

"Calm down Jazz, everything's good. Great actually."

Danny's voice was light and full of joy. He didn't even sound annoyed at Jazz's excessive worrying.

Jazz's shoulder's instantly relaxed and she went over to stand by her family. Sam and Tucker awkwardly followed.

"So they...all know?" Maddie said, gesturing to the room.

"Yeah." Danny smiled "No more secrets."

Despite how nice a moment this was, it was also kind of an awkward one. Everyone appreciated how hard it had been for Danny to get here, and they were all feeling the relief, but the question of 'now what do we do?' went unspoken amongst them all.

"I...brought a cake." Sam said.

"Really?" Danny asked, surprised.

"Well, if you don't want it..."

"No, I definitely do, I just...why did you get a cake?"

"Well I didn't really know what the proper protocol was for when your best friend tells his parents he's half-ghost, but a cake seemed like, maybe appropriate?" Sam shrugged.

Danny went over to the white box on the table and lifted the cover.

"Congratulations On The Thing With Your Parents?"

"Tucker's was in charge of the writing."

"I didn't see you pitching in any ideas for a tasteful message that would fit on a cake and not attract suspicion from the cake decorator."

"My contribution was paying for the cake."

"Aw, that was such a lovely gesture, you two." Maddie beamed "Jazz, could you get the plates out? Let's serve this bad boy up!"

"I call the first piece!" Jack said.

"Now Jack, considering the occasion, I think it's only appropriate that Danny gets the first piece."

"Oh, alright." Jack smiled at Danny and patted his shoulder "I suppose that's fair. But I get the second piece, since I called it!"

"Jack..." Maddie said disapprovingly.

"Dad can have the first piece. I don't mind, I know how he gets." Danny said. He was just glad that things were still normal. Sure, his parents probably still had some adjusting to do, but they still saw him as the same Danny he was before, and that was big enough of a relief. "But I'm getting a corner piece."

Honestly though, Danny could've had to give away the entire cake and it wouldn't have killed his mood.

It was finally over. He didn't have to hide or make his friends lie for him anymore. Not to the people who mattered, anyway.

Danny continued to stare at his mom after she handed him a piece of cake and began cutting one for his dad.

He was still nervous abut what the future held for his family's dynamic, but for the first time he also felt excited to find out.

But for now he was just going to enjoy his cake.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfic #danny phantom fanfic #fisp #my writing #my fanfic #friends in strange places

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kmhnsecretexchange · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Two Bars Richer

Author: @mystic-lights

For: Twitter/Discord user @/hydnellumal

Pairing: Komaeda/Hinata

Rating: G

Prompt: Hinata keeps trying to propose but his stupid luck keeps causing obstacles.

A/N: Poor Hajime can’t catch a break. “^.^

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52413796

Hinata's shoulders went up as he braced for impact.

"So?" Souda's hand slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. The mechanic's pink hair was tied back, his yellow jumpsuit its usual shade of grime as he slid on the seat next to Hinata, ready for another day of working on the island machinery.

"He didn't even try." Kuzuryu slid into the booth with his breakfast plate stacked high with shiny, syrup covered pancakes. He took a swipe at the whip cream and popped it in his mouth, cocking an eyebrow, challenging.

"Good morning to you too." Hinata grumbled into his black coffee.

With a light snort, Kuzuryu held out his hand for Souda to place two shiny wrapped candy bars. “Man, I was looking forward to those.”

“Really?” Hinata glared at the offensive candy bars disappearing into Fuyhiko’s jacket. “Do the two of you really have nothing better to do?”

“Of course we do. But, betting on your failing love life,” Kuzuryu stabbed a pancake and waved it around before shoving it in his mouth, “way more entertaining than Kaz’s.” “My love life isn’t-”

“Exactly. Isn’t.” Hinata cut him off.

“Come on man,” Souda whined before taking a bite of his stacked sandwich.

Hinata rolled his eyes. “It’s not that I didn’t try…” He ripped his toast apart further.

“What? You lose the ring?”

Hinata sighed deeply. “Not… exactly.”

“Hajime look!” Komaeda squeezed his hand and pulled him across the sand. Hinata laughed loudly, enjoying the feel of the sand on his feet, the smell of the sea air, and the most beautiful man in the world gleefully pulling him along.

It was perfect. Everything was perfect. The sky was a bright blue with a few puffy white clouds in the distance. The ocean was rippling with soft waves, letting the sound of waves be a muted melody. Errant seagulls made calls every now and then, enjoying some feast they collected earlier in the day.

“I’m looking, I’m looking!”

Komaeda let go of his hand and bent down, hands on his knees, inspecting something half buried in the dirt.

After weeks of working back to back to back, going on a couple off-island missions, Hinata was back for the rest of the month, free of any Future Foundation duties. Of course, that didn’t mean he was free of island tasks, but the maintenance of the pool house gazebo could wait a day.

This is the moment.

Hinata jolted at the thought, his hand flying to his shorts pocket where the weight of a wooden, hand-carved, ring box suddenly felt like a boulder. The rush of blood in his ears pounded and his jaw tensed.

This was a good moment. Komaeda wasn’t looking. He should just kneel. He could just. Just. Right now. He could.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh.” The question shattered the walls of thought Hinata had built in his mind, clearing his vision to Komaeda, looking at him with a small frown, his head tilted to the side and eyes wide. Both his hands were forward, presenting a brilliant white, opalescent, conch shell, with pink lines along the hard edges of individual segments in the shell.

Hinata blinked a few times, and watched the shell ever so slightly lower.

“Yeah. Yes. Yeah. I’m.” Hinata felt his face scrunch together and made the conscious effort to relax. “I’m fine. I just… Remembered something.” He said dumbly, the soft cawing of a seagull pulled his attention for a second before he looked back at Komaeda, watching his whole body start to deflate..

“Oh. Do you,” his hands lowered fully with his eyes, “need to leave?”

Awe, fuck. What have I done? Hinata took a step forward, and put his hand on Komaeda’s hip. “No. I don’t need or want to leave. I’m sorry.”

His eyes snapped up. “I don’t want to be-”

“I’m here to be with you.” Hinata assured.

“Ar-”

“Yes, I’m sure, babe.”

A light pink started to colour Komaeda’s cheeks as his eyes softened. “Okay.”

“Holy shit!” Hinata pulled back, finally processing the shell that Koameda had tried to present him. “Is that a Rose Nautilus?”

“Is… it?” Komaeda turned the shell in his hands, letting the light catch the edges and make it shine a light rainbow. “Is that special?”

“Special? I think our records show the nautilus species is extinct!” Hinata went to reach for the shell but stopped when he saw the minuscule tightening of Komaeda’s fingers around the shell. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Komaeda’s voice was small. “Do you want to take it to the Foundation?”

As one of the last people on earth, and one of the only people able to compile information the way he could, Hinata should have said yes, and taken the shell. However, this was the love of his life. The person he wanted to… Wanted to…

“Ba- Nagi- I,” Hinata started and stopped himself, scowling at his tongue's inability to comply with the simple request of speaking.

“Wait!” Komaeda’s eyes went huge. “Maybe there’s another one! I think I saw the same pink over-” He turned around and started scanning the beach.

Now. Do it now. Now. Get on your knee. Do it. Now.

Hinata lowered himself to a single knee, and quickly pulled the box out of his pocket, trying not to fumble the thing onto the wet sand. The top was carved with a swirling design, circling around a single pressed leaf that Hinata had saved from their first date.

“...On the other side. We can…”

The words were going as Komaeda looked around the water line, but Hinata wasn’t hearing them.

“Babe?” Hinata said. Hearing the thickness of his voice he cleared his throat and opened the box to put on display the glittering Alexandrite ring he had hand made for Komaeda well over a month ago. Alexandrite, a pleochroic gem, meaning it’s colour changed with the light, one of Komaeda’s favourite things to find in gems out on the mountains. “Nagi-”

He should have seen it. He had superhuman reflexes and perception and hearing and-

All of that kicked in just a second too late, as the fat, grey wing of a seagull slapped him across the face.

He heard Komaeda call his name as he fell backwards, but his eyes were locked on the box quickly snapping it shut.

However, not before realising, the glittering ring was not inside.

“Holy shit bro.”

The thoroughly dismembered toast bounced as Hinata tossed down another piece onto the plate, uneaten. “We spent the next two hours trying to hunt the thing down.“

There was a crash in the kitchen that caused Hinata to look over his shoulder before a slightly breathless, “I am okay!” was heard from Sonia.

Weird. Why was she in the kitchen…

“Told Nagito it was a memory chip that fell out of my pocket. We found the nest… more like a collection of junk... and I got the ring before Komaeda could see it.” He threw back the last of his coffee and stretched his legs under the table, getting ready to stand.

“Okay, yesterday was not your fucking fault.” Kuzuryu conceded, placing his fork down on his empty plate. “But that doesn’t account for every other opportunity. You finished that fucking ring like a month ago.

“Yeah dude.” Souda laughed. “It’s burning a hole in your pocket.”

Hinata winced. “Who came up with that saying anyway?”

“Dunno. All I know is, the longer you fail, the richer I get.” Kuzuryu patted his breast pocket grinning at Souda, who polished off his breakfast ages ago. He looked longingly at the lost candy bars that were hidden away from him.

“It’s fine. I’m going to do it today.”

“Sure, I believe ya, you bastard.” He raised an eyebrow at Souda. “Same terms?”

Souda looked at Hinata, and back at Kuzuryu, and back at Hinata. “Bro.” He widened his eyes. “I can’t lose more of the good stuff. You really gonna do it?”

What a heavy exhale, Hinata pushed away from the table with his dishes. “I’m not getting involved in your stupid game.”

One of the many perks of their living arrangements was the varied environment. They had their beautiful beach island where Hinata could watch Komaeda smile under the sunlight, chase him around as he looked for seashells, and get to hear the tones of Komaeda’s laughter after getting a full face of water while splashing in the sea.

On the island next door, they had mountain that he could follow Komaeda through, and little nooks where he could see the light of discovery fill Komaeda’s face as he found new shiny gems and stones tucked away, and lazy rivers they could set up a little picnic and he would listen to Komaeda filling him in on the island gossip.

Then the island next to that had a lush forest with copious trails with strong tall trees that changed colours through the season. That one was Hinata’s favourite. It was a little too early for the fiery reds to paint the leaves, but it was still a calm and quiet place for him and Komaeda to take a casual walk, as they had done many times.

They’d been walking for about an hour before they reached the spot. Their spot. Not that anything really told anyone it was their spot, but it just was.

It was where Hinata first thought he might be a little more than just friendly with Komaeda, finding the man knocked out, after being missing for several hours. He had been taken out by a rogue something, thrown by a squirrel as Komaeda searched for orange blossoms to gift Hiyoko on her birthday.

It was where they first kissed, several months after that first incident. Both of them were a little slow.

Where Hinata first told Komaeda he loved him…

Each pocket of memory caused little butterflies, more like worms, to move in his stomach, but not in a wholly uncomfortable way. Yes, this could be the place he proposed too.

“We made it!” Komaeda declared. “I wonder if-”

The words got lost as Hinata started to get into his thoughts. He watched as Komaeda ducked around the tree, looking for… something.

This was it. This was the perfect location. Komaeda wasn’t looking. He should-

Hinata dropped to one knee, just as Komaeda poked his head around the tree.

“Sweetheart?” Komaeda looked puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“I-” Hinata scowled, and patted his pants pocket. Empty, “Huh?”

“What are you doing?” Komaeda bounced forward, his white hair fluffing up and down with each skip step.

Hinata patted his other pocket. Empty. “I-” His hands went up to his sweater pockets. Empty. “I-” He looked at Komaeda’s confused face. “Tying my shoes, I’m tying my shoes, just tying my shoes, yeah tying my shoes.” He said quickly, reaching for his laces.

Fucking Kazuichi Souda, cursing him. The ring had burned a fucking hole in his stupid pocket.

“Oh okay!” Komaeda smiled brightly and went back to talking about something they had left on the back of the tree last time they were here, but Hinata was not listening. He was rapidly going through his memory of when the ring could have possibly fallen out of his pocket.

Was it the river? The chasm? Was it still at their shared hut? Did he even put it in his pocket this morning?

“What do you think?”

Hinata snapped up to see Komaeda looking at him expectantly. “Uh-”

“I’m sure Sonia could help us!”

“Uh- yeah.” Hinata nodded. Retracing his steps! They just needed to go back the way they came. That’s how they could find it!

“Are you-”

“I’m sorry. I’m getting a little bit of a headache.”

Instantly, Komaeda’s whole posture changed and he flew forward with concern. “Oh no! Hajime is pushing himself too hard again! We should go back right away.”

“I’m… sorry.” He said again, feeling awful for needing to lie yet again.

“It’s nothing to apologise for, sweetheart! Hajime always deals with my broken body and all its issues.” Komaeda laughed, and looped his arm through Hinata’s, locking elbows. “I was getting a little cold anyway.”

Normally, Hinata would have laughed at his boyfriend getting cold at the tail end of summer, teasing him for always being cold, and that he would be an ice cube without him. But Hinata was too preoccupied scanning the path, looking at every slightly brown item.

They walked in relative silence, not uncomfortable, but the peaceful kind of quiet you get when you’re around the person who understands you the most and want to just enjoy each other’s company. Or the kind of silence that just occurs when one of you have to find an engagement ring box before the other.

Thankfully for Hinata’s stress levels, they didn’t have to go long, maybe 15 minutes, before they reached a small river with a half rotted out bridge everyone used to cross. The river was rushing at a slower speed than normal, water levels running low this deep into the season.

As they approached the bridge, Hinata saw it. Perched precariously, the box, matching in colour to the wood of the bridge, rested against one of the railing bars, tilted into a groove between the slats.

His whole body exhaled, and his eyes flickered to Komaeda. The gorgeous, angel of a human was looking up the river, smiling in that way that made Hinata want to dedicate his entire being to protect.

He just had to get the box back in his pocket without Komaeda noticing. He needed a plan. A plan. A plan. His mind echoed as the creak of the first step broke the natural noises.

“We should really fix this thing.” Komaeda murmured.

“Maybe next week I can come out? I am on the island until the end of the month, so I have time.” Hinata said.

“I’ve been meaning to ask how you managed to get so much time from them.”

“It was-” How should he explain that Naegi insisted on the time upon hearing Hinata’s plans to propose. “They just thought I was working too much.”

Komaeda hummed as moved across the bridge.

Maybe he could pretend to trip? No, Komaeda would see through that. Maybe he could kick it like a rock to the other end? What if it opens… May he could double back alone? Why would he need to double back though…

“Hajime.”

Hinata stopped spiralling immediately, hearing the seriousness of Komaeda’s tone. Komaeda stopped them on the bridge, turning to look Hinata right in the eyes.

“I don’t know what has Hajime so worked up today. I hope I’m not the thing causing you more grief yet again-”

“Nagi-”

Komaeda kissed him, cutting him off. It was soft and sweet, and he could feel the tension in his neck and back ease as one of Komaeda’s hands gently pressed along Hinata’s waist, going to the small of his back. The other moved to twist up into his messy hair.

His eyes stayed closed as Komaeda pulled away, his overclocked mind slowing, focusing on the feel of Komaeda touching him, telling him without words that it was okay.

Right now. Right now was the moment. He should propose right now.

“Hajime.”

This made him open his eyes, greeted by Komaeda’s flushed face, eyes cast down.

They found the ring box. It was here. It fell here for a reason. He could just-

This was the moment.

“Nagi-”

SNAP

Hinata’s back foot broke through the wooden slat.

“So you motherfuckers broke a bridge?”

Hinata groaned. “Shut up.”

“I’m going to guess it wasn’t ‘we’re engaged sex.’”

Hinata stiffened and glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Will you-” He made eyes at him. “I was bleeding. I don’t want Nagito to think back on our proposal and see me laying there all bloody.” And he wasn’t too proud of the screech he let out as he fell, and would rather that also fade into the recesses of memory.

“Fuuck,” Kuzuryu leaned back, arms behind his head. “So…”

“So what?” Hinata threw the box onto the table. “Something is clearly against this. I should just..”

“What the fuck? You can’t fucking give up you bastard.” Kuzuryu slammed a fist on the table and with his other hand threw the box back at Hinata who caught it easily.

“What’s the point-”

“Do you love him?”

Hinata glared.

“Do. You. Fucking. Love. Him?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then you won’t let a little luck get in the way.” Kuzuryu leaned back, putting his legs up on the table.

Hinata glared, “You bet on us getting engaged today didn’t you?”

Kuzuryu shrugged. “And if I get a little more chocolate rich, that’s just a bonus.”

He was right. Hinata knew he was right. He just had to… Try again.

They sat on the pier as the sun began to set. Hinata looked at Komaeda, his features illuminated by the orange glow.

His eyes lingered on the soft smile, the one reserved for moments where Komaeda was truly at peace. He pulled his hand forward, placing it on top of Komaeda’s and watched as the ripple of the release of breath waved through Komaeda.

Behind them on the shore were half-built sandcastles and a laid out blanket held down by a basket of empty food containers. Hinata tried several times to pull out the ring, but it just never felt perfect, it never felt right. Komaeda deserved a sunset on the pier proposal.

“You know I love you?” The words left Hinata’s mouth before he had too much of a chance to think about them.

Komaeda’s wide eyes turned to him. “Are you okay Hajime?”

“Wha-”

“Am I dying?”

“What do you-”

“You don’t just say that out of the blue.”

The heat that filled his face was both of embarrassment and frustration. Was he really that bad of a boyfriend? So bad that saying ‘I love you’ was cause for alarm? “I don’t-” Komaeda’s cold hand touching his cheek stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks.

“You’re burning up! Are you getting ill?”

“No, Nagito, I just.” Hinata’s eyebrows pulled together as he tried to focus on the words. He was always so bad with words. He took a hand and put it on the one Komaeda had on his cheek and forced his eyes up to meet his concerned boyfriends. “I need you to know I care about you.”

Komaeda’s shoulders went down as his concern broke into a sweet smile. “Oh sweetheart. Of course I know that. We’ve been through so much together, I couldn’t not know that.”

His chest was starting to ache with the way his breaths felt like they weren’t providing his body with enough oxygen. “That’s… Good.” His mouth fumbled out.

Their joined hands moved down from Hinata’s face down to his thigh, Komaeda giving it a gentle squeeze. “Is that all this is about?”

“I-” Hinata opened his mouth and closed it again tightly. “You’re so-”

A large wave crashed up against their legs, spraying salt water up on their pants, making Komaeda hiss lightly from the cold. That’s when Hinata finally noticed that this wasn’t the first time a wave had crashed up on them, as Komaeda’s entire right side was darkened with water.

Over Komaeda’s shoulder, Hinata looked at the trees that were wildly bent away from the shoreline, palms twitching like captured worms. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck!” He said louder, pulling his drenched legs up on the pier and standing, taking Komaeda with him, “We have to get out of here.”

“What do you-”

“There’s a-” Out of his peripheral, he saw it just in time, yanking Komaeda down as a large branch wildly barrelled through the air.

“Oh no.” Komaeda moaned, eyebrows pulled together as his eyes took in the scene.

The pier started to creak and hiss and when Hinata tried to take a step forward, one of the planks started to snap. He managed to stop his foot just before it broke through. “Stay on the right! That side is better enforced.”

A rogue fish pool flew by, the line wrapping around Hinata’s ankle, the rod banging into his shin hard. He clenched his teeth to keep in a noise of pain and kept moving forward, shaking the pole off him.

“Hajime, you have to leave me! My luck is going to get you killed!” Komaeda started to panic, his breathes coming out in short gasps. He tried to yank his hand out of Hinata’s grip.

“Are you fucking insane?” Hinata pulled Komaeda’s hand into his chest. I’m not leaving you no matter what.”

“But-”

“No buts! I love you Komaeda Nagito. I’m not letting a little bad weather keep us apart.”

Hinata didn’t let himself even a second to process Komaeda’s reaction, he just needed to get the two of them to safety.

They rushed off the pier, Hinata pulling Komaeda close behind him. Hinata’s mind ran at top speed thinking of where they should go, calculating their hut was probably too dangerous to get to right now, but staying out in the open was not an option.

Another projectile went hurling through the air, this time whizzing right in front of Hinata, causing Komaeda to scream behind him.

“-jime!”

Was all he could hear over the wind, as he continued to scan. His eyes went to the large piece of plywood that crashed to the ground flying from-

The gazebo!

“This way” Hinata shouted and started running in the direction the beam came. He didn’t wait for a response, just pulled Komaeda with him. It was not even a minute away, they could make it.

Drenched, the two of them ducked into the gazebo-like structure Hinata had put up a year prior. He trusted it to hold up, and so they sat on the ground, backs against one of the concrete pillars.

Komaeda wrapped his arms around his legs and tucked his head into his knees, back moving up and down as he tried to recover his breath.

The creaking of the palm trees continued as background percussion to the melody of whistling winds and heard pattering rain on the concrete roof.

“Nagito?” Hinata put a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles, waiting for Komaeda to return to his body. “It’s okay, Nagito. We’re safe in here.”

It took several minutes, the wind getting louder and softer in waves. The gazebo wasn’t fully clear of the elements, and thus the floor started to get wet and puddles were starting to form around them. God, he hoped Komaeda wouldn’t get sick from all this.

“I just-” Komaeda started and hiccuped.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk.”

Komaeda tilted into Hinata, and Hinata quickly wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulders holding him close, softly shushing him as he shook.

“My god awful rotten luck.” His voice was broken as he spoke.

Over the years they’d been together, Hinata had known that Komaeda was not much of a crier, but it almost sounded like he was about to start. It made Hinata grow hot with an anger that he couldn’t do anything about, because he couldn’t do anything about the cause of what made the love of his life so sad. “It’s not your luck at play here.”

“It is!” Komaeda pulled away, finally looking at Hinata. “It keeps happening!”

That caused Hinata to pause. “What keeps happening?”

“Every time I- Every time we-” Komaeda started.

Now Hinata was really concerned. Komaeda never got like this.

“Nagito?” He tried to pull Komaeda close again but he wouldn’t move.

“I…” Komaeda’s lips moved, but Hinata couldn’t make out the words over the wind.

“What?” Hinata shouted, looking at Komaeda’s mouth. He still couldn’t hear, anything but he could make out ‘I love you’ but the expression on Komaeda’s face was hard, not matching the softness those words usually carried.

Komaeda continued to talk and Hinata could read that he was talking about their nice days out and how Komaeda loved spending time with him, but something was different.

“Nagito, what are you saying?” Hinata looked at Komaeda’s eyes, putting a hand on his knee. A branch snapped behind them, causing Komaeda to jump, and place a hand on Hinata’s.

With a deep breath, Komaeda steadied himself and tried again. “Every time we- we- we try to have a nice day out,” Komaeda shoved a hand in his pockets, “something just happens to ruin it. I don’t know what but I think you just leave me and save yourself all this trouble”

There was a second where it felt like everything froze. Hinata’s mouth went dry and all his thoughts went blank.

And then, he laughed. And laughed even harder.

“I… I don’t know how to take that as an answer.” Komaeda started to pull his hand away, but Hinata grabbed it.

“I’m not laughing at you, Nagito.” Hinata smiled. “I love you. You’re not ‘trouble.’”

Komaeda scowled.

“I want to spend every day, every moment, that I can with you.” Hinata pulled himself to be on his knees leaning forward, not letting Komaeda escape. “I love you so much.”

Komaeda;s face relaxed and instead his stare went owl-eyed, glancing back and forth between his lips and eyes.

“I’ve spent months, but especially these last few days trying and trying and trying to find the perfect moment. The moment that you deserved. I was looking so hard for this perfect moment that I forgot that that has never mattered. I just. I just want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. So.” He took a deep breath. “Komaeda Nagito. Will you marry me?”

Time stopped. Komaeda didn’t even blink, just stared blankly at him. “I-” Komaeda’s eyebrows pulled together. “I can’t… I can’t hear you over the wind.”

“I said, will you marry me?” He said louder.

“What?”

“I said,” he took a deep breath before shouting, his eyes clenched shut, “WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

Silence.

The rain stopped. The wind froze. The trees creaked, but no longer crashed.

“Ha. Ji. Me?” Komaeda stuttered.

Hinata opened his eyes, horrified by the silence around them. “That’s not how- Fuck- I didn’t want- I didn’t want to shout- I didn’t want to shout my proposal- Shit.” That’s when he remembered and groaned as he leaned back on his heels. “I should have just,” He pulled the box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring.

Komaeda was still silent, now rapidly looking between Hinata’s face and the beautiful ring in front of him.

“Are you being serious?” Komaeda whispered.

“Komaeda Nagito, will you please marry me?”

Staring, mouth opened, Hinata waited for the second that felt like hours, waited for the most important answer to the most important question he would ever ask.

“No. That’s not right.”

Hinata felt his whole world start to shake. No? Was he not good enough? Komaeda said no?

Komaeda pulled his hand out of his pocket, pulling out a light blue velvet box as he righted himself up to his knees like Hinata. “I’m the one who is supposed to beg you to marry me.”

“Wha-” He stared and the bright yellow gem embedded in the wide, flat silver ring.

“Hinata Hajime. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Looking back on the memory, Hinata hoped he said something better than “yuh,” but he could never quite remember. All he knew was that the second whatever left his mouth came out, Komaeda launched himself forward to tackle Hinata onto the ground of the gazebo, actually into a very cold puddle, kissing him so ferociously, one might think it was Komaeda’s last night on earth.

The two celebrated their engagement, during the eye of a hurricane, in the beach house gazebo until the winds started to pick up again.

Giggling and less clothed than when they left, they ran back to their hut before the storm grew too fierce, continuing the celebration well into the late hours of the night.

And Kuzuryu did in fact, get two chocolate bars richer.

#kmhnsecretexchange #submission #fanfiction #sfw #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #dr #sdr2

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