#I could easily turn this into a fic...

[lisannastraussisanangel]

Hopefully this isn't too much..May I have angsty headcanons of when Juvia had nightmares about Gray-Sama dying in front of her. (And how would Gray help her deal with those nightmares).

https://youtube.com/shorts/hgl3Ll3tCaM?feature=share3 (I'm kinda referring to that)

I love me some good angst! Also Juvia is my all time favorite character so this will be fun!

Juvia cannot get the image of Gray dying out of her head

It's in her dreams almost every night after it happens. Juvia doesn't remember it actually happening but it's a vivid memory in her dreams

It gets to the point where she can't even look at him without getting flashbacks to the hole in his head

Juvia suffers in silence. She never tells anyone about her nightmares

But when her and Gray move in together after Fairy Tail disbands. She can't hide it anymore

Juvia screams Gray's name in her sleep as she watches him die over and over again

The first night it happens, Gray comes bursting in her room ready to attack whoever was there

All he finds is Juvia tossing and turning in bed whimpering his name now. In her mind, she's holding his corpse

Gray shakes her awake and Juvia nearly screams again. All she can see when she looks at him is the bloodied dead version

Not knowing what to do. Gray crawls into the bed with her and pulls her against his chest

Juvia doesn't speak, she just cries into his chest. The sound of his heart beat reassuring her

It becomes a routine for them. Gray will join her in the bed and Juvia will lay on his chest. Only able to properly sleep when she can hear his heart beating

They never talk about it. Gray too embarrassed by his softness and Juvia too worried that speaking about it will cause him to leave

Eventually, Gray gives up on sleeping in his bed and simply starts his night in hers

Juvia never jokes about it. Knowing if she makes a big deal, he will stop holding her

When Gray disappears, Juvia's nightmares get worse than ever

Her dreams are filled with horrible things that could've happen to him

Sometimes she worries that she made up Gray surviving and that he had been a hallucination the entire time

It gets so bad that she stops sleeping all together. That's when the others find her. It had been three days since she last slept

[baeshijima]

— the weight of a sinner

to bear a sin is a result of consequence, but to bear a sin with no relation to you is an inescapable burden — a means to have a scapegoat and someone to hold accountable. unfortunately, you're one of the very few who seem to think as such.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 3k wc, angst(y-ish), bittersweet, some lightheartedness in there... somewhere, shackling prison/pre-banishment dan heng, mentions of high-cloud quintet, relationship w/ dan feng left ambiguous (but implied dan feng x reader)

A/N : dan heng and reader face inner turmoil just as i do when facing any minor or major inconvenience. (the dan f/heng animated short was looped while i was writing this...)

Your time within the lifeless prison is limited. Lest you want to be caught red-handed by the stationed prison guards or, worse yet, Jing Yuan for trespassing, you ought to hurry. (You have an inkling he is well-aware of your routinely visits, but you choose to ignore the thought. It makes pretending to be none the wiser a little easier when you’re with him.)

Well, that much is easier said than done. 

Shooing away unnecessary thoughts, you continue your way down towards the depths of The Shackling Prison. Blending into the surrounding darkness, you wait as patrolling guards pass by, watching their receding figures with calm eyes. As always, the security towards the bottom of this dreary place is tighter. It’s understandable, really, when taking into consideration who they have held captive.

Eventually, you come to a stop. You take in the familiarity of the surroundings, of the damp smell, of the hollow drips echoing within the walls, of the eerie isolation which encroaches on you.

Several guards hover in front of the cell. A quiet sigh escapes you, though it doesn’t come as a surprise. With the fluidity it takes for you to knock out the guards in one swift movement, one would think the act to be like that of muscle memory. It’s not all that far off when considering just how many times you have done this, on top of your past merits as a Cloud Knight. Now left without any potential risks, you step out from the dreary shadows and make your way through the bars and into the chamber.

Laboured breaths; beads of sweat; a harsh crease between his brows; clothing torn and sullied. No matter how many times you see him in such a state, your heart lurches for him all the same.

With quick, light steps you draw closer. Features you are all too familiar with become clearer in spite of the dingy lighting, but your attention is more focused on the dark, murky wisp festering his soul.

“Those blasted Elders,” you mutter to yourself as you take in the young man’s haggard appearance. “Just what poison have they deceived him with this time…”

His body hangs limp against the metal restraints, ragged breaths wracking his worn body as his expression contorts into one of pain. Dark spots flicker ominously when your eyes skim his body. The burden wrought as a result of the Preceptors’ influence must weigh heavily on his mind if his soul is this contaminated to such an extent. (You dread to think of the lies they’ve been spewing to him about Dan Feng for him to be in this state of conflict.)

Your gaze stops at one particular point, its shadow more concentrated compared to the rest. “They made his soul murkier than it was just a few days ago!” And he’s sustained more bruises than before…

Immediately, your hands hover over his chest. A dim glow distorts the matted appearance of his skin, its shallow light allowing for you to get a closer look at the injuries he has sustained since your last visit. Eyes narrowed at a particularly concerning spot, you’re loath to believe the Elders have even a smidge of humanity left within them — assuming they even had any to begin with, that is.

Amidst your hushed curses towards the Vidyadhara Preceptors, a low groan resounds from in front. The once slack figure writhes against the chains, hissing at the uncomfortable friction the metal must no doubt be causing to his raw skin. You are about to move your attention to his wrists to help alleviate the pain until a flash of colour appears in your peripherals. You blink once, twice. Tilting your head up, you find yourself gazing into an unmistakably striking pair of teal eyes akin to that of the viridescent horns atop his head, the crimson which rests under his eyes and woven into a portion of his hair standing out despite the gloomy environment.

The faint clanging of metal brings you out of your daze. Oh. Right. He regained consciousness.

…Oops.

“You… What did you do?” His voice is hoarse — raspy. There is a slight edge in the gaze he regards you with, a precautionary means of defence. You can’t say you’re all that surprised. Rather, it makes you glad he remains on guard even though he has seen you a fair share of times.

Pausing the usage of your abilities, you cast your full attention onto him as you engage in this rare conversation. “I’m simply here to tend to your injuries and alleviate some of the burden weighing you down.”

(You’re not lying, per se, but you opt to omit the part wherein this selfishness within you merely wishes to save what you failed to before; an unnecessary burden you carry on behalf of someone long gone.)

“Thank you, but why go out of your way to help a sinner? You receive no benefit from this.”

A bitter smile stretches your lips at his words. A striking familiarity seeps within his tone, yet you’re no fool to mistake the man in front of you for someone who no longer walks the path of the living. You’re not like the rest of them who are stuck in the past.

“No one deserves to be shackled by past burdens. I hope that, one day, you can break free from the shadows of the past and live the way you desire. This is your life. No one has the right to dictate what you can and cannot do…” Your fists clench, eyes narrowing into a glare towards the ground. The next words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. “Not even those Elders have the right to do so.”

Silence follows your words. You take that as your cue to resume tending to him; he lets you.

Thinking back, he seems far more relaxed compared to when he was awake during your first couple of visits. He would shrink in on himself when you tried to cross a certain distance, his tail flicking anxiously in response as he regarded you with trembling yet hostile eyes. It’s a stark difference to how he is now. For one, his tail isn’t even out, having retreated when he came to realise you weren’t a threat nor were you going to harm him. He isn’t tense in your presence either, merely watching you do what you came here for with calm, slow blinks.

“Alright, all done here!” Leaning back with a huff, you bring a tentative hand to wipe away at the beads of sweat accumulating atop your forehead. There seemed to be more work than your previous cleanses, but you find the extra effort to be worth it when not even a speck of that murky contamination is left within him. Pride swells within you at your handy work. Haven’t lost my touch just yet!

Now with no reason to stay, you make a move to stand when a quiet murmur halts your movements.

“...You’re not calling me by that name.” When you give him an inquisitive look, he elaborates, “Dan Feng. You don’t call me by that name.”

That name roots you in place. Your mouth runs dry when his name is uttered in that voice, breathed out by that unnervingly similar face, senses growing dull as an all too familiar ache weighs down on your heart.

Your gaze drops momentarily before meeting with his own one — one riddled with confusion and a hunger for answers. “Because you’re not him. You are not Dan Feng, you are you.”

In spite of what all those Preceptors keep trying to hammer on about, how the Vidyadhara High Elder Dan Feng still lives and must face the consequences of his sins, how they have not diminished in power and influence, you find yourself to be one of the few who abstain from such beliefs. How could you not when you were someone privy to his private life, to his wants and hopes, his fears and worries, his dreams for a better future when all was said and done amidst your roles in history.

As such, you can hold your beliefs with confidence.

Dan Feng is gone. Dan Feng is dead. Dan Feng, despite the haunting similarities which stand before you, is not the one you’ve been looking out for within this seclusion. The incarnation in front of you is not the same man you have spent countless years by the side of, nor is he the one privy to the deepest, most intimate parts of yourself only few know of, just as you were with him.

“And…” You pause for a brief second before standing. His eyes follow your movements in caution, though you can tell your words resonate within him (the previous uncertainty which clung onto him is nowhere to be seen, for one). “I hope this is the last time we meet. For both our sakes.”

You lingering around him like some shadow will do the both of you no good, and you would be no different than all the others who hover around him for his status and power. It’s a decision you have long since come to terms with, one you knew would take place the moment you left your house to come here today.

It’s for the better, you tell yourself as you walk away. With this, perhaps you can finally allow yourself to let go of him and the past—

“Wait…!” There’s a shuffle behind you, the faint clinking of metal, a soft curse and grunt following soon after. Upon turning your head to gaze over your shoulder, you find yourself staring into glowing teal. “Every time I— ugh!” A pained gasp escapes him when he struggles too much against the restraints. Before you can reach out and alleviate his pain he merely shakes his head, signifying he has no need for your power. Not a second later, he continues. “Unlike the other blurred or vivid dreams I have of the previous life, every time I see or think of you my mind is calm. I know little-to-nothing of you, and yet, instinctively, I feel safe in your presence. Who are you?”

His words cause your eyes to widen and your stomach to drop. You weren’t expecting him to have some awareness of Dan Feng’s life and your identity, nor for his eyes to shine so brightly despite there being no light. Your teeth clench; your lips wobble. Someone must have tampered with his rebirth, or else he wouldn’t be able to recall even a single thing. You’ve heard some of the ways in which Dan Feng has been described by the Elders — how he is a criminal, a sinner, a monster, one who brought shame to the Vidyadhara name as the High Elder, and how he as his incarnation is no different.

He won’t be able to live this life as his own without being shadowed by the past. He won’t be able to escape the sins and burdens not meant to be carried by his shoulders. He will forever have the name and consequences wrought by his predecessor follow him instead of his valour and achievements, and the mere thought of it weighs heavy on your heart.

A wince involuntarily makes its way onto your features at the recollection; you don’t dare think about the cruelties they could have sneered into the young man’s ears when he was at his weakest and most susceptible to the brainwashing.

When you gather the courage to face him once more, you remember he asked you a question: “Who are you?” Looking into his eyes, there’s a hidden desperation in his gaze which causes your lips to naturally form the beginning phonemes of your name. But you stop, instead deciding it would be best to omit anything that could potentially implicate you with his previous incarnation. After all, for him to forge a path of his own, the past must remain as just that.

And so, with a light smile, you answer, “I’m just someone who doesn’t wish to see an innocent person bear the sins of their predecessor.”

He doesn’t have the chance to respond. You’re long gone from the confines of his chamber, as though you were never there to begin with, and he is left to stare into the abyssal darkness which has accompanied him throughout the entirety of his life. 

The only tell-tale sign of your presence being real is the warmth which spreads through his chest, warding off the dulled pain administered by the Preceptors.

In spite of your earlier words, the shackled Vidyadhara cannot help but to hope your paths cross once more. Whether that be within the tethers of a sinner, or perhaps in the distant future when he’s strong enough to leave his past burdens behind and start anew, he hopes he can talk to you as himself; as Dan Heng.

Maybe then you won’t have that pained look in your eyes when you gaze at him.

--

There’s a slight trickle of rain when you step foot outside into the Exalting Sanctum. It’s a stark contrast to the suffocating air of a cell, though the resulting chill which follows seems to be a worse trade-off.

You ought to have a word with whoever’s in charge of controlling the weather. Or at least get Jing Yuan to have a word with them. They certainly could have timed this better. What’s done is done, however, as chains of the past already begin to entrap you within its cold tethers.

���Forgive me,” you murmur, gaze upturned and blank as your body steadily becomes drenched in artificial rain. “Even your reincarnation will only know you as an emotionless sinner by word of those Elders.”

You must look terrible like this, soaked to the bone with nothing to cover you. You can picture him reprimanding your carelessness with that worried tone of his, laughing off his nags before he ultimately covers you with an umbrella and brings you back to his abode where a pot of hot tea and spare dry clothing awaits you.

But he’s not here to do all those things once more; nor is there anyone in the vicinity, for that matter. It is simply you, your grief, and your lonesome.

“You’re gone. Baiheng’s gone. Yingxing isn’t here. Neither is Jingliu. There’s only so much more Jing Yuan can try to carry by himself before he cracks. Or maybe he already has but remained stubborn as ever, hiding his burdens like always. And I… I’m just a coward who cannot do anything other than wish for the happier days to come back. I just want us to be happy again...” Warmth trickles down your cheeks, a stinging sensation blooming from within your senses. Abruptly, your voice quietens, barely a whisper. “Is that too much to ask?”

Had it not been for that prophecy of depravity and betrayal… would things be different now? Would everyone still be here drinking under the moonlight, telling stories of one-another (both the embarrassing and the emotional), sharing tears and laughter, sparring and honing one’s skills until muscles cried for rest and reprieve?

If you weren’t a coward back then — if you had just said or even just did something — would this all have been a mere nightmare they would tease you in good nature for?

You laugh, humourless. “Hah. What am I doing? It’s not like you can hear me if I talk to the rain. You would’ve given me an answer years ago if that were the case.”

A bitter taste lingers then, ceasing the rest of your words and instead causing you to choke up.

Inhale, exhale. Through the nose, out the mouth.

Having calmed down, your eyes stray towards the outside of the ship, taking in the bleeding hues of purple and blue distorted by the rain. Motionless, you remain in a trance for a few moments.

“...Remember that plan we talked about before?” you begin once more, voice steady unlike a few moments prior. “The one of all of us travelling planet to planet and exploring life beyond missions and the Luofu? Well, I think it’s about time one of us keeps to our word. I guess I should prepare to say goodbye to Jing Yuan soon.” A half-hearted chuckle escapes you at that. Your eyes close and drop with a sigh, a wry smile stretching the line of your lips. “Do you think he’ll resent me for leaving him as well?”

Silence is your only response, and you come to realise the rain has stopped. When you lift your gaze, the moon shines bright through the lingering mist. It’s almost reminiscent of happier days, when you were young and free, only having to worry about preventing a scuffle between Yingxing and Jing Yuan from breaking out, sometimes sharing a drink with Jingliu as Baiheng chattered away about her day. But most often were nights such as this spent together with Dan Feng, wiling away the nights stargazing and reminiscing missions and basking in one another’s quiet company.

It’s about time I move on, too.

With a swift turn you begin the trek home. For the first time in a long while, you have a goal — a hope and a dream to your name. Your mind recollects the young man’s gaze, how his eyes burned brighter than the sun itself in that one instance. Despite your prior words, a part of you hopes you meet once more when he truly discovers himself; for who he really is as opposed to the ghost which clings to his being.

For someone who can still create such an expression despite those conditions, his future is limitless.

(That night, after having packed your essentials in preparation of heading out the following day and penned a letter for Jing Yuan to read in your disappearance, you had a dream. Through your fragmented recollection, you recalled a woman with a comforting smile; a man wise beyond his years; a familiar, yet unfamiliar, young man who wields a calm aura; a cute girl with boundless energy; a stoic-looking girl with unexpected charm; a rabbit-like creature dressed akin to a conductor; and you… you were happy. Happy in a way you never thought you would be again.

It was a lovely dream.)

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship. 

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself. 

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement. 

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight. 

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone. 

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers. 

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him. 

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell. 

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor. 

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance. 

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm. 

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death. 

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are. 

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack. 

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets. 

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by. 

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger. 

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk. 

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall. 

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost. 

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse. 

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces. 

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street. 

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.” 

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away. 

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life. 

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed. 

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes. 

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either. 

Something cold lodges itself in his chest. 

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up. 

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window. 

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal. 

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him. 

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder. 

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor. 

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero. 

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen. 

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge. 

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner. 

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret. 

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

[lale-txt]

Laleeee hiii how are you doing? 🥰

For the mash up au, can I ask for 75 + 88 with Kakashi? Or whoever you want, tbh I eat these kind of tropes with everyone 😂

Guyaaa (´⌣`ʃƪ) you have impeccable taste hehe, that was a very fun combo!

➳ Bed Sharing + Erotic Dreams

There was only one bed. Kakashi has read about this, but for it to happen to him in real life, with you of all people? He wasn’t sure if he was in heaven or hell. Maybe both. Yeah, probably both. He should have known he was doomed when you let out a quiet ‘tsk’ at his declaration that you can have the bed and he’ll sleep on the floor, and when he felt a tugging on his shirt and your pleading eyes seeking his, practically pulling him down on the softness of the bed with you. And it made sense–you two just finished a long and draining mission, and you needed to rest. It was as simple as that. Kakashi envied you, for how easily you could fall asleep, sprawled out on the bed as if you owned this place, without a single care in the world. Meanwhile he didn’t dare to move, almost didn’t dare to breathe either. Where your skin brushed against his, a tingling sensation spread throughout his whole body, impossible to ignore. It was when your quiet snores turned into something else, something more needy, that Kakashi had to bite down on his own tongue, eyes glued to the ceiling in an attempt to not let them wander over your sleeping form. There were no doubts what your dreams were about, from the way the mattress dipped slightly when you rolled your hips, soft whines escaping your throat in your sleep. He should get up, should walk out of here, pretend he didn’t notice anything–but then you mewl his name in your dreams and everything within Kakashi crumbles.

❦ fanfiction trope mash-up ask game!

[tojiscrack]

the dancing scene in the most recent chapter of liar, liar, MEGUMI BLUSHING FOR THE SECOND TIME AS HIS HANDS COLLIDE WITH HER WAIST, i’m crying so much rn. i have NO ONE to speak to about this fic, maybe it’s my period but i can’t get enough of them.

i don’t want them to go through angst, i just want it all to be fluff fluff fluff y’alllll. someone needs to make a fanclub or SOMETHING because it’s killing me how i have no one to speak to about this 😭😭😭

‘liar, liar’ masterlist here:

ik this message was sent in as early as yesterday, but i’ve been out all day and i’ve finally got the time to respond to it. apologies if i’ve left you waiting ☹️💓

i wanna start off by saying you’re literally the sweetest person to ever grace this planet. as i write this slice of life rom-com, i was hoping for the rom part of this com would take over in that scene, and if it’s got you squealing and giggling, ik my mission’s been accomplished 😇

“i have NO ONE to speak to about this fic” — YOU HAVE ME!!! 😤

message me, send me your theories, comment, like, reblog your thoughts, SPAM ME IF YOU MUST, i encourage all of it 😩 !!! i want to see long and juicy comments. small ones are amazing too, but ofc, the more, the merrier! it’s the best part about writing — and it helps me piece out what you like and don’t like so i can make this ride as enjoyable as ever 😗

you beautiful anon, this is the fan club. it’s a small little family of liars we have rn, but still a family nonetheless. don’t forget that 🥹 it does seem like a wonderful idea to talk about ur theories with each other so i can just spectate and laugh to myself about it all, but if you’re shy, you always have me, the writer, who will always respond to ur silly comments and goofy thoughts ����🩷🩷

[thevioletcaptain]

if you as a fic reader ever become possessed by the urge to do a popularity bracket with the fics other people wrote and shared for fun and for free, consider:

don't ❤️ 

[starrystevie]

steve harrington, luxury hotel heir, who wants nothing to do with the family empire. steve who remembers running away from every hotel he was dragged to as early as his memories allow, who stood in the lobbies and screamed until his throat was raw and his mother was so embarrassed she would take him outside.

he grows up knowing it’s in his cards to take everything over once he gets old enough and he despises it. the very idea of being in charge of the hotel chain has his skin crawling, electricity humming through his veins, makes the joint in his jaw constantly tense. rebelling isn’t really an option, not unless he wants to be kicked to the curb, so steve fights back in the smallest ways possible. he grows his hair a little too long, he wears his muddy reebok sneakers with his fancy suits at dinner parties, he snorts out a laugh with a roll of his eyes when his father introduces him as the future of the company.

it all gets to be too much. when steve, freshly 24 and old enough to take on more responsibility, tells his father that he won’t do it, that he won’t be a pawn in their game anymore, he gets cut off. credit cards canceled, fancy loft apartment lease forcibly broken by his father, access to the garages of bmws and mercedes taken away. he could get it all back, return to the ice of luxury he always knew, only if he could prove to his father that he could be a leader the company is proud of.

which is how steve finds himself working at the front desk at a smaller property of theirs in a place that should be named bumfuck, indiana. it’s the only hotel in town, which keeps them steadily busy with a bustling lobby bar and restaurant, as they’re the only lodging for out of town guests. he hates it, hates being confined behind the desks he’d look at with disdain as a kid in uncomfortable slacks and button downs that mirror his uniform now. he has to smile and schmooze and works off upgrade commissions and force himself to not stare off into space during the slow hours, imagining a life that could have been.

he’s been working there a little over a month when summer hours start and the lobby band comes back for the busy nights. it’s nothing exciting, a jazz band of sorts complete with a sax, but their guitarist catches his eye. he’s all long hair and smirks, leather and boots, and exactly the type of person mommy and daddy harrington would lose their minds over. he’s a way of rebelling all on his own in a gorgeously perfect package.

steve catches his eye as they’re setting up next to the bar for the night. the wink he confidently flashes causes the guitarist to stumble a bit before sending back a wave and a shy grin of his own, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. there’s a phrase rattling around in the back of his head, something about not mixing work and play, but all steve can think of is tangling their fingers and pressing a kiss to the man’s temple before running away wherever together with his father’s angry face fading away behind them.

it’s too tempting of an idea not to try, especially when the guitarist keeps looking at steve with the same look he’s sure to be giving him. especially when they’re both ducking their heads with upturned lips only to glance back up and have their eyes meet again and again. especially when he comes over to the desk after the band's first set and slides a piece of paper with a name and phone number over to steve dotted with x’s and o’s and a smiley face.

and the thing that bothers steve the most is that something amazing could come out of this whole mess and he'd owe it to his father for giving it to him. he's still going to try, though, especially because some hotel band guitarist named eddie is smiling at him like that.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[cellythefloshie]

ＩＭＡＧＩＮＥ: Designing a Jersey for the Devils and Catching the Attention of Captain Nico Hischier Celly’s 300 Follower Appreciation

-since his draft, Newark was his home

-a home that was often lost among some of the greatest cities in america

-new york was a mere 35-minute drive over the bay the area was full of opportunity

-broadway shows, concerts, and some of the best restaurants in the country

-Nico never failed to have anything to do during his downtime

-but in cities so crowded it was difficult to make connections beyond his teammates and their wives or girlfriends

-and it was the team that brought you to his attention

-you were an up-and-coming designer in the fashion world

-and the team had reached out to the commission you to design their jersey for one of the themed nights that they hosted every year

-this was something Nico wasn’t too involved in the process of

-but he would see you around the building in passing

-and was constantly left wondering who you were

-it wasn’t until the jerseys were approved, made and ready to be photographed that he met you officially

-naturally, as the captain of the team Nico was asked to model the jersey for their announcement

-it would be his face plastered on social media in your design

-and he took his photos

-posed as he was directed

-but his eyes were constantly drawn to you as you watched him from behind the camera

-“do we have another jersey available?” Nico questions quickly messing up one of the shots

-but he had an idea and he wasn’t going to remain silent about it

-the media team was able to provide a second jersey - the one they were using for aesthetic shots

-one that did not bare any name but in its place the cause it was made to support

-nico took it in his hands and approached you almost a little nervously

-and he requested that they get pictures of you in the jersey you designed

-he had almost expected you to reject the offer

-but you showed no hesitation

-you carefully put the jersey on

-making sure not to cause it any damage or transfer any makeup onto it

-and when you were happy with how the jersey rested on your frame you moved into the scene 

-he shouldn't have been surprised with how much of a natural you were in front of the camera

-you were in the fashion world after all

-and you held his attention the entire time

-it had even left him smiling

-your personality and charisma unlike anything he had experienced in a very long time

-and it was him that had become intimidated and shy in your presence

-it only worsened when the photographer decided it was time to get a few shots of the two of you together

-he was hesitant to go back into the frame

-but you welcomed him with a smile

-the shots started out a little more candid than the others

-but as Nico became more comfortable with you the better the photographs became 

-best of all he ended up having a lot of fun

-Nico didn’t see you again until game night when you were welcomed back by the organization to celebrate

-you were part of the pregame ceremony and the media team made sure to get a few pictures of you with Nico, and some of the fan favourites before you were dismissed to enjoy the game with those you asked to join you

-but before you could slip away down the tunnel Nico was calling out to you

-they were cleaning up the carpets so they didn’t need him on the ice for the first face-off just yet but he was short on time

-so he had to be quick

-his words were blurted out seemingly all at once as he asked you to grab dinner after the game

-he wasn’t sure how to gage your reaction at first as your features seemed to go blank

-but then your confident smile grew and while he couldn’t hear you over the roar of the crowd he saw you nod and point to instagram on your phone

-he would find you there after the game

-when the game was finished and he was cleaned up nico was quick to scan through your instagram and slid into your DM’s

-soon he found you in the parking lot after the game

-he didn’t know exactly where to take you as he asked you out of impulse as he was worried he would never see you again

-but you knew the perfect place for a late-night bite

-it would become the first date of many

-dates that included introducing him to the world of fashion, galleries, eclectic restaurants and even your own studio

-and not a single moment intimidated you

-that was until he began to introduce you to his teammates as his girlfriend and much like you had introduced him to your world of fashion, you were drawn into the life of being a WAG

[fandomfluffandfuck]

we know Chris dick is thick, do we think Seb can fit the whole thing in his mouth? 🫣

Oh, I think yes.

He's had plenty of training for it.

Both by Chris himself, but also I agree with the fandom's loose canon that Seb has messed around with men before Chris. Maybe not real relationships because... Hollywood is homophobic. But, just hookups and shit. And those hookups, his people pleasing nature, along with his propensity for needing something in his mouth at all times... it amounts to Sebastian being very skilled.

Does he choke on it sometimes still when he's caught up, too excited or eager for it, and not going slow enough? Yeah. But, can he get it all down his throat? Also, yeah.

I'm not even sorry for that gif usage

[djsherriff-responses]

I think we should write fanfics of Jade having incredible sex experiences and surviving the canon events with at least one hottie by her side, as a treat

[bikananjarrus]

well, what was meant to be a couple hundred words max, turned into an 1100 word fic. many such cases

[great-master-airplane]

I've made myself sad with the realization that none of my festive fics (if I even get them done in time ><;; ) will involve my beloved poly rarepair, so now I'm trying to decide if I should add a fourth fic to my plate....

[allelitesmut]

Welp. Once again have hit 10k without even getting to the smut yet.

[xiaoluclair]

you are a sweetheart and you see good in almost all pairings i guess, but your soft spot is by whom? Sorry I can't contain my curiosity

asking me this after i giffed that oscar/alex interview... making me toe a line, nonsie!

that being said, you can pry lestappen from my cold dead hands. and even then good luck.

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

was reading the part where ephael and co. fought the incubus servant and ephael was like "i thought it'd be more difficult than this... :(" so anyway, ephael x incubus!hestio AU

hestio is terrible at his job because he’s always scowling. hes terrible at seducing people. like yeah there’ll be people who are attracted to his mean face anyways but his nagging really puts them off. he enters your room and immediately goes “my fucking god, you live like this?” and starts commenting on the state of your room and the dishes in the sink and he makes you want to throw a bowl at his head and then throw him out.

ephael is the only one he’s managed to reel so far bc he’s charmed by how this silly incubus is getting too distracted scolding him for his stupid decisions to seduce him.