#This fic prompt is great @_@

[ghostbsuter]

There was a teen in the cave.

A teen no one knows and looks like he could be a wayne, stands in the cave.

"Actually, I'm a wayne." He says with a shrug.

Bruce, Batman, carefully thinks of the implication.

"Not yet," The teen, Danny, doesn't say anything. Simple smiles. "You're not a wayne, yet. You will be. But not yet."

Then Bruce sighs, dropping the batman mask in order to take in the teen.

"Does future me know of the time travel?"

Dannys smile grows into a grin, deciding to take pity on the man. "You, grandbat, have..." He makes a vague gesture. "Theories, which none of your children ever confirmed."

The bat's mind short-circuits at the choice of words

Dick is sputtering incomprehensibly, there are Baffled expression all around.

Because.

Because that child isn't Bruce's, but one of theirs.

"Who is it?" Jason demands, hand clenching his gun uselessly.

Danny continues to smile, a hint of mischief now peeking out.

The cave is filled with theories, some yell, some sob, yet all eyes leave danny.

All but one pair.

She had known the moment his body language switched just enough for her to read.

She had known the moment he disappeared before the clan.

Had known when his hand found hers, shoulders bumping.

Her heart clenches, throat dry and memories of her childhood flooding to mind.

So she asks, voice soft and hesitant.

"Am I a good mother?"

And danny looks up at cass, adoration and pride laid out plain for her to see and accept.

"You're the best."

And so they both watch the clan together, silent and comfortable.

(Cass doesn't question when she finds him, how and why. All she knows is that she's more attentive when out on patrol, looking and waiting.)

(This is how Cassandra Cain-Wayne returns one night from patrol, a child, barely out of toddler stage and clinging to her form.)

(This is how the Batclan officially meets one Daniel James Cain-Wayne, freshly washed and clothed, a cookie in hand and hiding shyly behind Cass.)

(When they meet, all they say is "Welcome home, danny," and "Good to see you again.", Danny doesn't necessarily get it, but that's okay. Maybe his new mom will explain it one day when he's bigger.)

[wandixx]

I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.

Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.

So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.

For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance

Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™

[ultravioletbrit]

“murder” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 312 words

“I want a crow.” Regulus announces as he passes the last of a joint back to James.

Regulus and James were bored. It’s a Sunday night, they don’t have any classes tomorrow, all their friends are busy, and James had a joint left over from the party last weekend.

One thing led to another and now Regulus is lying on his back on the floor with his hands in the air. He interlocks his thumbs and is flapping his hands like a bird.

“You want a what?” James giggles from where he’s lying on the couch.

“A crow.” Regulus repeats. “You know… like the bird.” He flaps his hands in James’ direction for emphasis.

“Why do you want a crow?”

“Because they’re really smart and if you’re going to get a bird, you should definitely get a crow.” Regulus tells him.

“Who said I wanted to get a bird?” James asks.

“I did! Right now. Aren’t you listening?” Regulus drops his hands and rolls on his side to look at James.

“Sorry, love. I thought you wanted a crow.” James smiles at him.

“We should both get crows. We should get a whole murder of crows!” Regulus says excitedly as he crawls towards the couch.

“You want to murder the crows?” James asks with wide eyes.

“No, silly, that’s what a group of crows is called.” Regulus giggles and climbs up on the couch to snuggle in beside James. “We should get a whole group of crows, and we can feed them, and they’ll bring us little gifts.” Regulus yawns and cuddles even closer to James.

“Will they, now?” James says sweetly and wraps his arms around Regulus.

“Yup. That’s what they do.” Regulus says but his words are slurred with sleep and his breathing evens out almost immediately.

James squeezes Regulus one more time before he also falls asleep and has a very weird dream about crows.

[the-witchhunter]

You know, I’m just imagining Danny hanging around John Constantine trying to scare/haunt him and how poorly that would go

1) Danny canonically sucks at scaring people. He resorted to stealing Fright Knight’s sword because he knew he wasn’t beating Dash making a haunted house. I repeat, the ghost could not compete with a human when it came to making a haunted house

2) Danny Phantom is rated TV-Y7, Hellblazer was printed under DC’s vertigo publishing house, meaning it 18+, John has seen some seriously messed up shit. He’s dealt with serial killers, demons, the Newcastle incident(iykyk) been to hell multiple times, has seen a lot of people die, was homeless in New York during the AIDS crisis

Danny could not traumatize that man but boy is he going to get accidentally traumatized if he hangs around John

It’s not even a power level thing, genuinely messed up things happen around John that Danny is not prepared for

[musette22]

Orpheus & Eurydice || Steve & Bucky

Moodboard for the @wintershieldbingo

Square: Mythology AU ✔️

I've always felt that the story of Steve and Bucky, particularly as told in Captain America: The First Avenger, had a lot in common with the Ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. For that reason, I have chosen to fill the Mythology AU square on my Wintershield Bingo card by creating a moodboard to draw narrative and visuals parallels between these two tragic love stories.

Orpheus & Eurydice

Orpheus was an artist, the greatest lyre player in the world, who was happily married to the love of his life, the beautiful Eurydice. Their happy life together gets cut short, however, when Eurydice is bitten by a viper and dies, leaving a heartbroken Orpheus behind. Orpheus cannot accept his true love’s death, and so he travels to the Underworld on a quest to get Eurydice back.

Orpheus manages to overcome various hurdles, such as getting past Cerberus, the three-headed hound who guards the gates to the Underworld, and finally pleads with Hades, the king of the Underworld to let Eurydice live again. Hades allows this on one condition: Eurydice is to follow behind Orpheus while walking out of the darkness of the Underworld towards the light of the land of the living, but Orpheus should not turn to look at her before she is fully out in the light again. However, as they begin to ascend towards the land of the living, Orpheus, afraid that his lover is no longer behind him, looks back to make sure she is following, causing Eurydice to tragically fall back into the shadows and be trapped in the Underworld once more. 

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Steve and Bucky are very close friends and most likely even lovers, who live a mostly happy life together in Brooklyn. When World War II breaks out, Bucky is drafted and joins the army, while Steve stays behind in New York. In Italy, Bucky's squad is taken by the enemy, and he is kept prisoner in a dark, abandoned factory housing the lab of Hydra (incidentally also a multi-headed beast from Greek mythology).

When Steve, who received a superserum which turned him into the world's greatest soldier (as well as an artist), eventually also joins the army and gets to Italy, he is told Bucky is most likely dead. Steve point blank refuses to accept that, and embarks on a one man rescue mission - a quest, if you will - to get Bucky back. Armed with a wooden shield, the shape of which bears a similarity to a lyre, overcomes numerous obstacles, fighting Hydra goons and even Red Skull, who looks like the devil incarnate. Steve manages to free Bucky and even jumps over what strongly resembles the fiery pits of hell to get to freedom, only to lose Bucky again a short while later, when Bucky tragically falls from a train and is subsumed once more into the Underworld, i.e. Hydra’s claws.

Aside from the many narrative parallels, many visual parallels also exist between depictions of Orpheus and Eurydice in classical art and various scenes and images in CA:TFA. The moodboard above attempts to illustrate these parallels and similarities.

[tiger-grace]

SOMEONE LET HER OUT OF HONG KONG. SHE IS NEVER NOT IN HONG KONG. LET MY GIRL COME HOME 😭

[hitlikehammers]

Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two 💚

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[smileposting]

what are your feelings on inspekta being both a sympathetic character and a (now former) fascist?

WELL. first of all, i think it's Probably worth noting that even while GGG's representation of the conditions that can give rise to fascism are Uncannily accurate at times (as outlined in this very excellent post by elkian) it is Also a story in which the central message is "maybe talk to your friends instead of conspiracy-posting when you start to feel bad about yourself, dipshit," and therefore its representation of fascism/fascist thought As A Whole is very... how do i say this without sounding disparaging. "saturday morning cartoon"-esque. i think this is pretty apparent in how the worst that the bizzyboys' reign of terror ever gets is banning The Concept Of Art and not, like. genocide. the only Actual fatal threat (the rift) is saved for the very end, and inspekta/hector is talked down before it can actually cause any fatalities -- otherwise, inspekta and the bizzyboys would be very different antagonists that would require the narrative to treat them much more harshly, and this would result in a very different game overall (although not one i would be opposed to playing.)

second of all, i wanna talk more about the idea of GGG being less of a game about taking down a single power-hungry fascist and more an examination of the conditions that can eventually lead to fascism if left unchecked. for just one example, we can see that even before inspekta came into power (or at least, before he started his corruption arc) and even in a world where every god is genuinely kind and just and deserving of their position, it was generally The Norm to not really call them out To Their Face - any displeasure a character voices with a god's (apparent) decision is directed to each other and the godpoke, not to the god themselves, even when that god is perfectly open to visitors and/or feedback. and this is bad because despite the gods no longer being Physically human, they are still just as fallible - they have a tendency to jump to conclusions, they let their devotion to their interests or one another cloud their judgement, they struggle with showing vulnerability (which, ironically, makes them more vulnerable than they would be otherwise.) not only does the grove benefit from regular contact with the gods to make sure that their needs are being met -- it benefits the gods, too, by way of keeping them from getting lost in their own heads and losing touch with their own humanity.

i think it's also worth noting that the bizzyboys are not the only characters we see buying into fascist rhetoric, or at least stuff that benefits fascism in the long run. you could argue that anyone who bought into inspekta's framing of king in the first place also counts, given that to do so would probably Also require one to believe that the gods are infallible. it's also worth noting that a Lot of the more notable supporting characters who fall into this are also doing so out of a profound sense of alienation; saul can't remember the last time he talked to any of his friends and he thinks nobody takes him seriously, pollina's students don't sound like they're being taught much of anything about milldread's history and therefore they have very little to actually connect them to milldread, nobody likes rick brick and he has no interiority to speak of By Design, etc etc. all of these characters, however, are also treated with a fair amount of empathy - ol' bloom turns out to be Correct in believing that saul doesn't have what it takes to kill him and once the issue of the harvest is solved, he's welcomed back with open arms, pollina's students are like 8, and even rick brick's story ends with him beginning to realize that maybe it's okay if a story only appeals to its author and nobody else.

tl;dr: if ggg was even Slightly less cartoony than it actually is, this aspect of inspekta would come across as pretty jarring, but given the aspects of fascism that GGG chooses to focus on and how it treats smaller antagonists, i can't really imagine inspekta's story ending any other way. if i Did have any actual concerns, i'd say maybe it's that the bizzyboys being from the drain + the drain having such a negative connotation can get kinda dicey? something about the idea of fascism being an Evil Foreign Entity and not something that can just as easily start at home doesn’t sit quite right with me. but ofc a lot of emphasis is placed on the bizzyboys' humanity and potential to do good if not for inspekta's own Complexes getting the better of him (and even inspekta's own genuine capacity for leadership before that happened) so that's probably more of a potential bone to pick with fanwork, given how little exploration drain actually Gets in canon.

also i hope this doesn't Need to be said but just to be clear: i'm not trying to like, call out limbolane or Inspekta Himself, just examining what this aspect of his character was trying to Accomplish + how it relates to the game's themes and such. with that said i am very much still a novice when it comes to political analysis of media so if anybody more well-read than me wants to chime in, Please feel free to do so lol.

[phoenixcatch7]

Oh yeah story idea: percy Jackson reaches his emotional/mental limits) (annabeth gets knocked down during a huge fight and nearly gets killed) and goes absolutely ape. We're talking hurricanes, earthquakes, a zillion exploding water sources, blood bending, poison bending, pounding rain, the works.

And it starts to kill him. Like eating too much ambrosia, his mortal body is burning up, too much power too quickly.

But through sheer force of will and the amount of divine energy he's putting out, he keeps clinging on as his body crumbles to ash, divine power building stronger and stronger and higher and higher.

And he accidentally brute forces his way into godhood.

And what would have been a true power reveal and two deaths, Percy being punished for his strength ala Frank, abruptly becomes a pseudo divine political drama, with percy at risk of any dozen horrific fates the frenzied council are slinging around (minus poseidon, who is also frenzied but unwilling to let his newly immortal son die) whilst dealing with all the ramifications of divinity and the new social strata of the immortal pantheon (and EVERYONE having opinions), all while trying to get back home.

But Annabeth survives because of it, so he can't really complain.

[yutamayo]

[ithilien-writes]

Hiii I love your recent ficlet of buddie running into Abby and I was wondering if you could do one of them meeting bathena on a date night :)

aaah thank you! 💜 i decided to go with secret relationship buddie and as much as i appreciate everyone's headcanon that bobby is the og buddie shipper i personally think oblivious/frogboiled!bobby is just funnier 🫶

(to anyone reading: this was written really quickly and without much editing, so please take it in that spirit. i'm past the block that sparked the original call for prompts, but you can still always feel free to send me some more!!)

---

Just Like That [buck/eddie, bobby/athena, G, ~700 words]

Bobby is feeling pretty pleased with himself as they enter the restaurant, he has to say. It was not an easy reservation to get and Athena is practically glowing, absolutely stunning in a brand new dress she bought just for the occasion that Bobby is valiantly trying his best to enjoy without jumping straight to imagining it on their bedroom floor at the end of the night.

He's... at least partially successful.

But he's definitely distracted enough that it's no surprise he misses them at first. So it's Athena who ends up pulling him slightly away from where the server had been leading them, stopping in front of a different table entirely.

"Well, look who it is," she says.

Her voice is warm, but her eyebrow is also raised slightly. And sure enough, there's Buck and Eddie, both dressed in dapper suits and looking up at them in surprise.

"Ah, Cap!" Buck says, he and Eddie both standing to greet them. "Athena. Hey! This is- that's so-"

He looks to Eddie, who smiles in way that Bobby might almost call a grimace if he didn't know better.

"It's great to see you both," Eddie says. "Date night?"

"It's our anniversary," Bobby tells him.

"Congratulations," Eddie tries to say, but Buck's voice cuts in at the same time, talking over him a bit.

"We were just- just hanging out, n-no special occasion here."

Athena's other eyebrow raises to match the first, but Bobby just chuckles slightly, unfazed. The server coughs discreetly behind them and Bobby nods his head, his hand moving to the small of his wife's back to gently steer her back towards their intended table.

"Well, you two have a nice night," he tells them, and Eddie gives him that same grimacing smile again.

"Oh, yeah, we- uh. You too!" Buck says as they turn away, both he and Eddie moving to sit back down again.

It's not until they're seated at their own table across the restaurant that Athena reaches over and hits Bobby on the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," he says. "What was that for?"

"When were you gonna tell me about that little development?" she asks, and Bobby tilts his head slightly, still rubbing at his shoulder.

"What?" he asks again, eloquent as ever.

His wife rolls her beautiful brown eyes at him.

"Buck and Eddie," she clarifies. "You could have told me they were dating."

Bobby can't help it, he laughs a little, though it turns into a bit of a cough when he sees Athena's unimpressed glare.

"Sorry," he says, after a moment, "it's just- honey, they're not dating."

Athena's eyebrows both return to her hairline.

"You saw that just now, right?" she says.

Bobby nods, bringing his hands up in a slightly placating gesture, still chuckling a little despite himself.

"Trust me, that's just how they are," he tells her. "I have to work twenty-four hour shifts with those two, remember? I think I would know."

"Bobby, sweetheart, I love you," Athena says, somehow making the words sounds like, you are so dumb, "but this restaurant has a six-month waitlist for reservations. No one is taking a friend here for a casual hang out, and that's not even to mention Buck acting like a teenager caught with his pants down just now."

"That's just... how Buck is," Bobby tells her - determinedly not thinking about the time he actually caught Buck with his pants down.

Athena sighs deeply.

"I'm not even gonna touch that," she mutters, as the server comes over to take their drink orders.

Once the server leaves again, she takes his hand across the table.

"It's our anniversary, so I'm gonna let this go for now," she tells him. "But after your shift tomorrow, I'm gonna need us to circle back so you can tell me how right I am."

Bobby smiles.

"So just an average Wednesday then," he teases, and Athena's responding scoff is ruined by the way she grins into it, clearly pleased.

And well- Bobby should really know better by now than to bet against his wife. But given the way the rest of the evening goes for him - because God, that dress really does look even better on their bedroom floor - he'll gladly take the 'I told you so' he has coming with grace.

[softmangoes]

First, I just wanna say, I adore your writing. From your word choice to the way you convey every emotion, it is nothing short of stunning.

I binged all of your writing, and I was so thrilled to find your DoL fics!!!! If you’re feeling inspired, I’d love to see your take on the LIs reacting to the PC becoming a Fallen Angel, especially if the PC fell for them (like, letting them take the PC’s purity).

In game, it feels kind of tragic falling, especially when doing the quest for the spear, but on the other hand, the whole, who needs a God’s love when I have you is a special type of romantic that I really love.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate! If not, I hope you’re having a wonderful winter in general!!!

hi hello!! thank you for all your kind words and i'm so glad you liked my dol fics!! 💛

the graciousness of your message has filled my well of inspiration, so here you go and i hope you also enjoy this 🥭

"why me?" pure!sydney says between breaths, between kisses that only make you both yearn for more. your skin is hot against his, while the wall of the library's private study room is cold against his back. he knows he shouldn't be doing this, that the temple would strip him of his status, and that your embrace marks the end of something he's been building all his life.

so why him? you are a holy thing, after all. untainted. pure.

and yet, as you grind against his length, the slickness of you irrestible now that his cage lies beside him in fragments, he finds no trace of regret within him - only reverence, only devotion. only the urge to take your breast in his mouth and to finally slip his length inside you, savoring the warm wetness that anoints him with the miracle of your consummation and the sound of your song.

"because it's me," he murmurs, his hips finding the pace that makes you shudder. after all, why can't a study room be a holy place? who says the bruises from his lips can't count as praise? when he feels you tighten around him, your feathers smoldering as your voice cracks in pleasure, he has his answer. "because," he gasps, reverence threatening to spill. "there's no one better to worship you."

"all saints die," corrupt!sydney murmurs, breath hot between your thighs. his fingers are digging into your hips. the marble altar is cold against your back. you both know you aren't supposed to be here, but there is a thrill in the forbidden.

he dips his tongue into your warmth, the sensation of his veneration smoldering even moreso than the feathers charring on your back. "what is this, but another apotheosis?" he muses, pulling his midnight hair into a ponytail. "another transformation?"

you feel thrilled at the comparison, knowing how you have both changed each other.

a dark force churns within you, tight and coiling. you recognize it as hunger, as the lust you have denied yourself so long in the face of virtue. but what use is virtue, when it can be easily cleaved by the warmth of a hot tongue? when the eyes that behold you in worship reflect the same golden light that used to grace your skin every day? as if sensing your hunger, sydney slips his fingers inside you, filling you. your hips sway into his touch, wanting more. wanting to burn together.

you shake in whitney's embrace, whimpering at the pain, the burning, the visions of the world cracking open and corruption spilling through like so many hungry tentacles reaching to engulf the light. and yet, you would do it all over again to feel his breath, his skin, his desire for you all for the first time.

"hey," he says, scooping cold water onto your tender back. it does little against the fire you feel in every feather, the taint eating away at each filament. "stay with me." there's a tinge of panic in his insistence. you aren't quite sure whether it's real or a hallucination. although he is your former tormentor, this is a kind of pain he is unfamiliar with, yet committed by his hand all the same.

your eyes dull. whitney adjusts his weight, water sloshing in the bath. he jostles you, willing you to stay conscious. whatever the fuck is going on with you, you can't leave him. you can't go before he knows how to help you.

before the darkness takes you, the last thing you hear is him telling you he is sorry.

there are tears in kylar's eyes. "it hurts?" he says, daring to touch your half-singed feathers. you nod, straining to unfurl them to reveal the slow fire eating away at the soft ivory. your halo is cracked, bleeding inky corruption that sizzles upon contact with the air. "it's because we...." his voice shakes, the guilt lancing through the pleasure of your skin just moments ago. "we..."

how dare his selfishness cause your agony. if only he could unmake a moment, exercise even a minute of restraint. perhaps then, you wouldn't be in this pain. his fingernails dig into his palm, teeth sinking into his lips as tears stream down his face freely.

but your mouth covers his, your soft tongue lapping at the blood beading on his lips. your kiss, so gentle, feels nothing like lament. only the delicate grace of forgiveness.

"you're beautiful," eden says, mouth hot against the hollow of your neck. when he first saw you, wings unfurled in the light of the clearing, he thought that you were some kind of strange bird. right as he leveled his shotgun to take aim, he remembered you turning to face him, a look of surprise gracing your features as you beheld the man who would have been your end.

it was a while before he first touched you. your skin burned. the air in the cabin would ripple from your heat. even the bars of the cage threatened to warp. in the cold of the winter, your rage radiated at your confinement, a prized bird trapped in crude metal.

the hunter knew that he was not worth your beauty. your very presence made the shadows of his past all the more darker. you were an angel, a being of pure light, and all he wanted to do was take your warmth for his.

then one day, like a miracle, you came for him. he had collapsed into the cabin, his body stiffened by the cold. hair cracking with ice. he had fallen into the lake while fishing, the ice sheet far thinner than what he originally estimated. he looked at you, glowing in the dark of the cabin, teeth chattering as he unlocked the cage with his hand outstretched.

"go," he rasped as the door swayed open. "it won't be long until -"

warmth spread across his body the moment your mouth pressed against his. you tasted like honey, like sunlight, like every summer he never thought he would live to see. to his surprise, he found you breathless, lips at his neck, telling him to take you.

"why?" he asks, voice hoarse. his fingers run through your hair. because he fell, you tell him, and it was only right that you would as well.

"something's burning," robin says, fear tinging his desire. "is it you? we can stop -"

you silence him with a kiss, tongue tasting his lust for you. your feathers are charring, your halo cracking. before this, you had both talked about the consequences of what would happen. once you were intertwined, there would be no going back. the both of you would be burned into each other's lives forever.

besides, this moment feels less like falling and more like flying: robin's warm eyes on you, his soft mouth parted in pleasure, each sway of his hips bringing you both closer to sweet oblivion. all you can do is card your fingers through his hair as he whimpers against you, sending you both soaring into the heights of a new heaven.

"the moon waxes and wanes," the wraith says, tentacles tracing the darkness of your once brilliant wings. one of them prods at the shards of your halo, corruption leaking from its fragments. you wince, the pain sharp despite the gentleness of the abomination's touch. "and even when it bleeds, it is beautiful."

tendrils, thick and strong, knead along your shoulder blades right where your wings protract from your back. this earns a sigh of relief from you - one that he drinks eagerly with his cold mouth.

"flight must make you ache," he says, his voice nothing less than a sonorous purr. "i may be able to assist."

with his lower pair of hands, the wraith lifts you against the walls of the ruin. he slips inside you with ease, your fingers grasping the silver threads of his hair as you take him. his countless tendrils suckle and writhe against your skin, drawing sounds that echo into the darkness of the ruin. the wraith is a force, a wave of pleasure that does nothing else but pull you further and further into its depths.

after all, you chose to sacrifice the love of a god for the heart of a monster. what else can he do, except devour you?

[beefcakekinard]

💖💖// bucktommy - ohithankyou/zahraa <333

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out (hi zahraa!! i'll tag you so you get the notification: @ohithankyou 🥰)

Buck is about ready to crawl out of his own skin if Tommy doesn't touch him in the next five minutes.

They're on Tommy's couch - this is already one of Buck's favourite places to be, it being (a) in Tommy's house, which smells warm like cinnamon and warm like Tommy all around him; (b) unfairly comfortable; and (c) a conveniently flat surface he can leverage against to climb his boyfriend. Case in point: he's straddled across Tommy's lap, pressed as close as he can get from chest to crotch, rolling his hips in unconscious, twitching little bursts, as unfulfilling now as they were half an hour ago when Buck first dropped himself into Tommy's lap.

"How are you doing?" Tommy asks more or less directly into Buck's mouth. Buck groans in frustration and bites Tommy's lower lip.

"About to crawl out of my own skin if you don't-"

"Copy that," Tommy chuckles. He presses a kiss to the corner of Buck's mouth. His hands slide up Buck's thighs to his belt, and as they work on it, Buck kisses a path from Tommy's lips, to his cleft, down his jaw to the spot on his neck where he's most sensitive.

The only sound in the room is both of their panting for breath - it's joined for a moment by the metal clicking of Buck's zipper. Tommy lifts his hand to Buck's face, and Buck licks up his palm with a wet noise. The sound Buck makes after that, when Tommy wastes no time in getting his hand around him in a firm, warm grip, is nothing short of wanton.

The skin of Tommy's neck is hot and damp from Buck's open-mouthed breathing. He drags his teeth across it and Tommy gasps just as he slips his thumb across the head of Buck's dick, pulling a whine from Buck's throat. The pass of Tommy's hand up and down Buck's cock, the silky, unrelenting drag of his grip, grows slicker.

"C'mere." Tommy's voice rumbles in his throat, against Buck's teeth, his lips. Tommy threads his free hand into Buck's hair and pulls him up by it, up and into a clumsy kiss.

Buck clutches Tommy's shoulders and rides the back-and-forth teetering pleasure between rutting into Tommy's hand and being held fast in a kiss. He sweeps his tongue up the roof of Tommy's mouth and swallows his groan; he fucks into Tommy's fist and loses his breath at the perfect in-and-out slide. Caught between the two, Buck feels scraped raw and primal, instinctive, following what Tommy and his body are telling him feels good. When he comes, he's pulled in two directions, caught between the competing sensations. Tommy pecks sweet little kisses over Buck's lips and wipes his hand on Buck's already-stained jeans. Buck loosens his white-knuckle grip on Tommy's shoulders, knocks their noses together, and grins.

He's just getting started.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 7: Glitter Glue

mmmm, have some more pain, as a treat, from me to you, I was thinking about Unrequited Something by @sinister-sincerely while writing this, hope I was able to match up, the way you write unrequited feelings is SO GOOD fr fr

Word count: 877

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

"What do you think? What do you think?" A piece of paper is shoved hurriedly in your face by small hands.

You laugh, gently guiding them down, "It's very lovely, Kylee. I really love the variety in the glitter glue you used. What do you think, Sun?"

You turn in his direction, but find he's not there. Instead, he's chatting with the other helper, Kate. Not you. Right. You forgot. 

But, Kylee is determined, and makes that very clear to everyone. 

"Sunny!" She whines, startling both the other helper and the Attendant, "What do you think of my picture?"

He quickly rushes over, rays a twitter, "Oh, oh, oh! I'm sorry, Sunbeam! Let me see here."

The bot bends down then to examine it, which happens to be right beside you. You feel your face heat up and do your best to ignore him. You really needed to get over this little crush of yours. It was starting to interfere with work now. Of course it didn't help that you worked with your crush(es) and-

You slapped your cheeks a few times, get a grip!

"-Starlight?"

"Huh?" You ask, turning slightly. 

You find Sun staring at you intently, "I asked if everything was alright, that looked like it hurt!"

"O-oh, yeah. I'm good. Just, just trying to clear my head, haha," You shift your gaze to the side.

Unfortunately for you, Sun doesn't seem to like that.

He takes your head in his hands and starts moving your face this way and that, "There are better ways to focus than that, friend! What if you gave yourself a serious injury?"

"I don't think a couple slaps to the face would cause that much damage," You giggle.

His continuous scolding and fretting only makes your blush deepen and you do your best to try and get it under control. You fail miserably. 

Someone clears their throat. Immediately you both separate. 

It's Kate, "Sunny, I think you have more drawings to provide feedback on."

Sure enough, there's a, rather long, line of kids wanting Sun to praise their work. 

"Of course! All art deserves recognition after all!"

With that he's off, leaving you with your feelings which you need to let die already. Oh, and Kate.

She bends down to your level, cupping her hand around her mouth, "Why don't you just tell him?"

"Tell him what?" You question. 

She rolls her eyes, "That you like him! You should tell him, I'll bet he feels the same."

"Oh, no, no. I don't um, I don't like him, like that," You look away, mumbling, "He doesn't like me either, for that matter."

Kate raises a brow; it makes you shrink in on yourself. 

Then, both brows raise in surprise, "Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, why don't you just go ask him, come on," She grabs your hand. 

You start to panic, "No!"

Kate stops. 

"I-" You bite your cheek, sighing, "Please. I'd rather not. He, he likes someone else."

"Oh. Shi-shoot, I'm sorry. God you must think I'm a jerk."

You put your hands up, eyes widening, "No, no! You're okay, it's, it's not your fault."

But deep down, there's a very bitter, very shameful part of you that can't help but blame her. 

Because Kate is the one Sun likes. You know, because he told you.

You remember when you found out, you'd stayed late to help prep crafts for the next day. The two of you had been casually conversing when the topic had gotten brought up. 

"I just think love is such a fun emotion!" Sun's rays spin, "It's so complex, and yet so simple."

You laugh, "I guess so. Do you have anybody you love?"

"Of course! I love my friends, the children, Moon, you-"

Had he stopped there you would have melted on the spot. But unfortunately for you, he didn't.

"-And then of course," His voice grows softer, syrupy, lovesick, "Kate."

And in an instant, your heart shatters. 

Of course. Of course it wasn't you, why would it ever be you? Stupid, you were stupid for even beginning to think you had a chance. What good were you? What could you even-

"Sunshine? Is everything alright?"

You focus back in, swallowing down your feelings, "Yeah, of course."

"Did, I didn't say anything wrong, did I?" Sun's rays shrink.

"Not at all!" You beam, but inside you're crumbling. 

He perks up instantly, "Okay! So as I was saying..."

It had been a while ago, back around when you'd first started and Kate had been there some time. You think maybe he hadn't intended to let you know about the crush, and was just happy with admiring her from afar. You didn't know, or care really. It wasn't your business. 

Even if you wanted it to be.

Badly.

"Well hey, you never know," Kate says, then reaches into her pocket, handing you a handkerchief, "Here. You've got glitter glue on your face."

You take it, smiling, "Thanks."

Had you taken the chance to look at yourself before wiping off, you'd realize that the marks on your cheeks had been traced into two hearts. Your fellow helper would have told you this, but based on your insistence simply considered it a matter of coincidence. 

What a shame.

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Not a spooky one, but still angsty nontheless! Hope you all enjoyed, you can find my promptober masterlist here, thanks for reading!

[fortytworedvines]

How about No 9? 😇

9 - Easy, easy. You're okay, I've got you."

“Easy, easy. You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Mr Farnon’s voice was calm. His hands were on her waist.

“This was a bloody stupid idea!” Audrey exclaimed. Her eyes were tight shut. She could feel the warmth of River under her hands, the sturdiness of the saddle beneath her. She was absolutely terrified.

“You’re doing very well,” he said soothingly.

“There was a reason I were in the WRENS, Mr Farnon. Give me a nice boat any day.”

River shifted, either restless or offended.

“I don’t like it,” she said tightly. “I want to get down.”

He sighed. “You did very well to get on him. Maybe we can try again tomorrow.”

“Maybe we won’t,” she retorted. “How do I get off him?”

“Just swing your leg over to this side… Mrs Hall, it really would help if you opened your eyes.”

Damn the amusement in his voice, she thought.

“Just look at me,” he said, coaxingly.

She opened her eyes. He was standing on the mounting block so he was level with her and he smiled as she looked at him.

“There you are,” he said.

“Now, swing your leg over to this side of the saddle…” he gestured.

She gritted her teeth. Carefully, clinging on to the saddle, she manoeuvred herself around. With both legs on the same side she felt even more unsafe.

“Mr Farnon,” she said, “please.”

“Take your foot out of the stirrup,” he said gently. She did as commanded. He held her firmly now, around her waist. “Now, just slide down.” She stared at him. It sounded so easy and felt so scary.

“I’ve got you, Mrs Hall. Trust me.”

She did trust him. She took a deep breath and let herself slide forward. He guided her body and in a second she felt the solid wood of the mounting block under her feet.

“Thank God!” she said with fervour. As her fear subsided, she realised how close she was standing to Mr Farnon. His hands were still on her waist and her body was a scant inch from his. “Thank you,” she breathed.

He smiled at her. “Ordeal over.”

His fingers stroked over her waist and she wondered if he knew he was doing it. She swallowed the feelings that were bubbling dangerously inside her. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” she said, and hurried down the steps, away from the horse and her handsome employer.

[starsfic]

Grandpa and Great-Uncle AU: The Beginning

Summary: An hour after Shermie agrees to go to Gravity Falls, his son asks him to take his grandchildren.

AO3/ Ko-Fi

-_-

An hour after he hung up the phone, it rang again.

"Hello?" Shermie said. He wondered if it was Stanley, wanting to hammer out some last details or canceling the plans. "This is Shermie-"

"Uh, hey dad," Mark didn't sound as steady as he usually did. In fact, he sounded on the verge of tears. Shermie straightened up, concern rising. Mark calling upset was so common by now that his back didn't hurt after two years. "Uh, it's Mark... something happened..."

Ah, shit. With the state of his son's marriage, Shermie had to guess. "Did you or Ariel leave with the kids?"

"No," His daughter-in-law spoke up, her voice muffled. There was a sob in her voice that made Shermie want to hang up and drive over. However, it was ten in the evening and Piedmont was an hour away. "I fucked up and I said something really nasty to Mark and Mason..." There was the faint sound of her blowing her nose. "Mason overheard me saying something nasty about him and Mabel to Mark."

Oh. Oh boy.

"This is why I told you-"

"I know, Dad," Mark said before Shermie could start on again about marriage counseling and divorce. Everyone in the family knew that this relationship was a ticking bomb that would hurt the twins. "We know. That's why we called."

"We were hoping that you could take them for the summer," Ariel said, sounding much calmer now. "We don't want them to get caught up in the middle of us being shitty about each other." The foul language made Shermie raise a brow, but he stayed silent. At least they were taking responsibility and getting the twins out of the blast radius. "I- We know it's a lot to ask..."

"But, I would say yes," Shermie had to interrupt. "But I'm actually staying the summer with Uncle Stanley."

There was a pause. "Really?" Mark said, sounding baffled. "I thought he didn't want any of us visiting because of how dangerous the supernatural stuff could be." That decision had been made after the one and only visit to Gravity Falls that Mark had when he was three and nearly got abducted by fairies. It hadn't solely been Stan's decision, but Shermie had agreed.

"He...He said he needed backup because of how old he's getting and how busy the Shack is, plus how the portal's coming along," Shermie tried not to tremble at the memory of Stanley's voice, thick with so much regret and anguish that he was tempted to drive to where Filbrick was buried and smash his gravestone. "But, he's not doing well mentally. He didn't say it, but I know he's having a hard time, especially with how long it's been." It would be thirty years tomorrow. "I'm going to go to see what I can do, if I can maybe talk him into walking away."

Probably not, but he had to try. Stanford Pines wasn't worth this.

"Maybe the twins might help?" Ariel said, interrupting his thoughts. "You know how excited he got when he visited them in the hospital."

Oh, yeah. At the memory of Stan's elbow in his face, his nose ached.

But Stan had been delighted when he realized that there was a second pair of twins in the family. Shermie's favorite picture was of him holding the twins, their mom hugging him.

"I'll have to ask him. Give me a second." He hung up and his fingers trembled as he typed in Stan's number. Shermie wasn't sure if it was hope or anxiety, but he held his breath as it rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Stanley, um...Here's the thing. Mark and Ariel want Mason and Mabel out of the house during the summer," Shermie said, trying not to panic as he said it all in one breath. "I told them that I was going to be visiting you and Ariel suggested I take them with me to-"

SMASH.

Shermie jolted at the noise, dropping the phone. He scrambled to grab it, his heart racing at an uncomfortable rate. "Stanley?!"

"Sure, bring them!" There was another smash. "I've missed the little gremlins. I can take them fishing." Another smash. "I didn't really get to do that with Mark when he visited."

"What are you smashing?"

"Oh, my beer." There was a thump. "Anyway, let me know when you guys are coming. I have to set up the attic and find the spare bedroom and find my cigars." And with that, the line went dead. Shermie blinked before he started dialling Mark's number.

Well, that was a hell of a yes.

"Hello? Dad?"

"He said yes."