#actually i guess their other parent is dead then??

[anotherworldawaitsus]

Happy Endings

Summary: When Melissa books your massage services, you both get more than you bargained for.

Chapter: 1/3

Warnings: Smut with feelings, age difference, soft Melissa, fem reader

Chapter 1

The first time you met Melissa, she answered the door with a baseball bat in one hand and a dog-eared paperback in the other. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, flyaway strands framing her face in a strawberry halo.

She was so gorgeous you just stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. You had been expecting an elementary school teacher, after all. A nice lady in some orthopedic shoes and a sweater. Not the living embodiment of Jessica Rabbit.

“M-Ms. Schemmenti?” you finally stammered, eyes darting to the number on the mailbox and back again.

“Depends who’s askin’,” she hedged, leaning one ample hip against the doorframe. Her lacquered nails tapped the wooden handle of the bat impatiently. Your stomach did a nervous little somersault as she cocked her head to one side, full lips pursed in defiance, waiting for your answer.

You shifted your grip on the folded table you were carrying and extended a hand, introducing yourself.

“You booked a massage with me?”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to object, then comprehension dawned in her bright green eyes. She tossed the book aside, whipped the reading glasses off her face.

“Barbara Howard,” she huffed, laughing darkly. “Oh, she’s dead.”

Melissa had won the massage vouchers in a holiday raffle, part of the annual Abbott fundraiser event. They sat on her desk for weeks afterward, collecting dust.

“You should take ‘em, Barb,” Melissa said eventually, after her friend had dropped one too many hints about how relaxing the experience would be. “Seriously, book you and Gerald a couples massage!”

Barbara had rolled her eyes, beseeching the heavens for help.

“But dear,” she tried again, pointed smile plastered on her face. “Weren’t you just complaining about your back pain?”

“It ain’t that bad,” Melissa shrugged, already turning her attention back to grading papers. “Besides, you know I don’t go in for all that froufrou spa shit.”

Barbara sighed.

Melissa could be so negligent when it came to her own wellbeing. An unfortunate byproduct of too many dalliances with careless men, if you asked Barbara. Maybe it had started even further back, as a child competing for the affection of distracted parents in a crowded family.

Whatever the reason, her stubborn friend needed coaxing to indulge in life’s little pleasures. And so Barbara often took it upon herself to lead the proverbial horse to water. In this case, her good deed required some deliberate subterfuge; first snooping in Melissa’s day planner to confirm availability, then swiping the vouchers from her desk, placing the call on her behalf. Barbara could be quite sneaky in the name of altruism.

Now you were here on Melissa’s doorstep—all toned arms and long legs and cute dimples—and the redhead was flustered, furiously jabbing the screen of her phone.

You cleared your throat. “Is there a problem?”

Melissa looked up, momentarily distracted by the sight of your megawatt smile. Hang on. Something about that smile seemed strangely familiar. She stepped back, opening the door a bit wider.

“No,” she wavered. “I guess youse can come on in.”

You chuckled. “Usually people are more enthusiastic.”

She had the decency to look embarrassed. “It’s nothin’ personal, hon. It’s just that my so-called friend—”

“It’s alright,” you interrupted smoothly. “I like a challenge.”

Before she could reply, her phone chimed with a text message alert (Enjoy yourself—that’s an order!) and Melissa actually growled.

“Were you expecting…someone else?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at the wooden baseball bat still clutched in her hand. The older woman looked down and laughed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” she said, sheathing the weapon in a nearby umbrella stand. ”Force of habit.”

She closed the door behind you and leaned against it.

“See, I won these vouchers in a raffle at my job,” she explained, rubbing her neck. “Then—”

Melissa trailed off, watching as you maneuvered the heavy items in your grip. Corded tendons jumped in your biceps and forearms, on clear display in the cropped black muscle tee you wore. A pleasant smell of sandalwood and tobacco clung to your hair. It was smoky, almost sensual.

“Then…?” you prompted.

“Hang on,” she said, shifting gears. “Do we know each other?”

“Not exactly.”

“So why you lookin’ at me like that?” she asked, smiling back hesitantly.

“Sorry,” you said. “I’m just a little star struck.”

Her forehead crinkled in confusion.

“My niece is in your class. She’s a big fan of yours, talks about Ms. Schemmenti constantly.”

And now I see what all the fuss is about, you thought, eyes flickering down to the lush petal of her mouth and then darting back up again guiltily, before your attention could veer any further south. She smirked and you felt a ripple of embarrassment.

“You’re the reason I donated to the fundraiser,” you added. “Wanted to show my appreciation for all the amazing work you teachers do.”

Melissa’s expression was transformed by a sudden, sweet smile. Rosy color bloomed in her chest and throat at the compliment. She tilted her head, gave you a long searching look.

“Hang on, don’t tell me,” she said, mentally running through her roster of students. “Frankie Dearborn, right? That’s gotta be your niece.”

You nodded, impressed.

“Cute kid,” she said fondly. “I see the resemblance.”

“Yeah?” You glanced uncertainly in a small circular mirror hanging on the wall. She stepped behind you, studying your face in the reflection.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Same smile.”

You caught her gaze and held it for a moment, noticing the flecks of gold in her bright eyes. The unmistakeable flicker of attraction sparked between you, charging the air with an electric current. Melissa licked her lips and looked away first. Jesus Christ, she knew she was a sucker for dimples, but this was ridiculous. Get it together, Schemmenti.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” you said, tone conspiratorial. “I know she can be a little wild child.”

Melissa laughed, tilting her head to the side. “Something else you got in common?”

You shot her a playful wink. “Troublemakers run in our family.”

Melissa’s lips parted in delight, stomach fluttering pleasantly.

“Oh?” she managed.

It took a lot of willpower in that moment to remind yourself this was a client and you needed to behave. You cleared your throat, schooling your expression into something more neutral. “Where would you like me to set up?”

“Uhh, in here, I guess,” she said, indicating the main room off the entryway.

You carried the table a few feet into the space, unfolding the legs and positioning it parallel to the sofa. She stood against the wall, arms crossed, green eyes blinking slowly with a dragon-like mix of curiosity and wariness.

“First time?” you asked, not looking up from your task.

She ran a hand through her brassy curtain of hair. “That obvious?”

“My clients aren’t usually armed when they answer the door.”

“Yeah well,” she muttered, glancing down at her arms. “Can’t be too careful.”

Her tone was light, but something about the guarded expression on her face caught your attention. Everything about her body language suddenly seemed to stiffen, to scream handle-with-care. You paused what you were doing and stood up, perched on the edge of the table.

“Hey,” you said, waiting until her eyes refocused on you. “This is all on your terms. You tell me what you like and don’t like, how much pressure you need or don’t need, where to put my hands and where not to. You’re 100% in control, and we can stop anytime you want.”

She nodded, defenses lowering. “Thanks, hon.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was quiet for a moment as you both sized each other up in the clear midday light. You kept your arms open, your face relaxed, your breathing even. Once you were sure she was comfortable, you went back to your prep.

“So,” she said gamely, gesturing at the table. “How’s all this work?”

You opened your bag. “First you get undressed and put this on,” you said, offering her a soft gray and white striped Turkish robe.

“How undressed are we talkin’ here?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. “I ain’t exactly shy, but I don’t wanna scandalize ya.”

“You can leave your underwear on if you prefer,” you said. “But ideally everything comes off—makes my job easier.”

Her green eyes sparkled. “Don’t wanna make it too easy for ya.”

You ducked your head. Normally you discouraged clients from outright flirting with you. But the sexy rumble of Melissa’s voice was shredding your self-control.

“Up to you,” you said, eyes on the floor.

She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and you looked around curiously. The house was small but full of life, just like the spitfire resident. Colorful framed photographs hung on the walls, buttery sunlight streamed in through an open window.

It was one of those afternoons in early spring that suggested winter was finally withdrawing her long, cruel fangs from the city. Parks and front lawns were coming back to life, dotted with timid greens and pinks. You took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of citrus and spices that wafted in from the kitchen.

Melissa cleared her throat and you turned back around. She stood in a shaft of light, perfectly framed in its gauzy ethereal glow. Her hair was tussled slightly, and her creamy cleavage was on full display, plunging down and disappearing into the collar of the robe. Manners forgotten, you stared openly.

“Any —any specific areas you want to work on?” you asked, mouth suddenly dry.

Her mischievous smile hooked to the side. She looked good and she knew it. You swallowed, finally dragging your gaze away, hoping the flush you felt wasn’t visible.

“Chronic pain, injuries, that type of thing?” you continued, clawing your way back to some semblance of professionalism.

“My back,” she said after a moment, like it cost her something to admit weakness. You cocked your head to the side, concern flitting across your features.

“Show me,” you said, stepping behind her and placing a hand on her hip. She guided it to the left, hissing slightly when you applied too much pressure. You kneaded the tender flesh carefully, exploring the knot there. Melissa leaned into your grip as you hit a sensitive spot just right, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

“Holy shit, hon,” she said, urging you on. “You got the Midas touch.”

The pinched expression on her face slowly relaxed, softened. She sighed and swayed a little, settling back against you. Her hair tickled your face pleasantly.

“Let’s get to work,” you said, trying to ignore the way she fit perfectly in your arms. She blinked and looked up at you, a sleepy, almost trancelike expression on her face. Your mouth was just inches away from hers.

“Where do ya want me?”

A dozen inappropriate answers to that question flooded your brain. Against the wall. On the kitchen counter. In the backseat of my car. Placing a hand at her lower back, you guided her toward the table.

“Right here, Ms. Schemmenti.”

[itslusii]

Dead Poets as Kids

-Meeks knew how to read and write before everyone else in his grade. This boy would read himself to sleep ☹️. Not that his mom didn’t want to, but he insisted on being a big boy and doing it himself! We love an independent king.

-Knox and Charlie were neighbors and were kind of forced to be friends, but they eventually got used to each other’s company.

-I have a feeling Knox is a middle child (wild take, but hear me out). He has an older and a younger sister, but he’s the only boy. That would make him closer to his dad, leaving the girls closer to their mom.

-Neil was such a messy kid—one of those little boys who always had messy hair and food around his mouth. Despite his mom’s constant efforts to keep him clean, he would get dirty again in no time. But that didn’t stop him from having fun!

-Todd had imaginary friends. Yes, I know that sounds sad, but as someone who had imaginary friends, it really isn’t! He talked to them regularly and told his mom about how they encouraged him to be braver and make more friends ☹️😭.

-Pitts, as the lovely @/goodnightbirdy said, was raised by his grandmother. No, his parents weren’t dead, but they worked too much and didn’t have the time to be with him all the time. And yes, I said “them” because Pitts is the only one in the group who, canon or not, seems to actually have siblings. And there are a lot of them! He’s in the middle but is the oldest of the boys.

-With Charlie, we know he has a little sister. Oh god, this man is SO older-brother coded. He asked for a little brother for so long, and after his mom got pregnant, he was so excited. When he found out it was a girl, he was a bit disappointed at first, but then he loved her. He played with her, and eventually, as they both grew older, she started to pick up on his attitude. He slowly realized he had created a little monster—but a monster, nonetheless.

-Cameron is really difficult for me—not because I hate him, noooo! But he reminds me of a boy from my high school who was the ex-boyfriend of my friend, so we didn’t like him one bit. Anyways! In the movie, he said he loved the clarinet, and that’s because one of his neighbors used to play it all afternoon in his neighborhood. He always wanted to learn, but his parents couldn’t stand the noise, so he never really got the chance to play.

-Neil and Charlie were each other’s first roommates!!!! They were super messy and had dirty socks and laundry lying around everywhere. It got so bad that one time Knox stepped into their room and gagged so hard they thought he was going to puke. After that, they became a little more cautious about cleaning their room.

-Meeks and Knox were also each other’s first roommates!!!! Now, to me, this is an interesting duo. I feel like Knox was extremely talented at folding clothes, and Meeks wasn’t. One day, Meeks was way too desperate to fold his laundry but didn’t want to ask Knox for help, even though Knox clearly knew what he was doing. Knox noticed the mess Meeks left once he stepped out of the room and folded everything for him! Such cuties 😭.

-Now! If you hadn’t guessed, Pitts and Cameron were each other’s first roommates!!!

Wow, what a surprise.

• Cameron = only child / Pitts = too many siblings.

At first, they were not compatible at all. Over time, though, Pitts started seeing Cameron as one of his siblings and did the same things he did with his brothers—tying his shoelaces together, wrinkling his freshly made bed, or hiding his things. But don’t think for one second that Pitts did these things out of malice—no! It was his way of showing warmth and respect for Cameron. And Cameron didn’t mind because, eventually, he got the hang of it.

[lovevalley45]

looking at old character stuff fucks me up sometimes i was reading over a character profile for sprout i made a couple iterations back n noticed i didn't list her dad on her family list and joked like what happened did he die. only to look on a lil while later and yeah that is what happened

[roots-symphony]

do you think the reason agatha’s trial felt weird is because she was the only one who did not actually buy into the mythos of the road since she knew the truth? like that was why no perspective change and all the other reasons why people thought it was a fake trial

[sieglinde-freud]

fav niche little headcanon is that basilio becomes the self proclaimed grandparent to any kid olivia or lonqu has. like he RAISED those two (he didnt but he’ll take credit for it) hes GONNA get grandkids one way or another. fav thing ever is olivia!lucina recontexualizing the scene where lucina begs basilio not to go fight walhart because he literally helped raised her he was the best patty cake player on the entire continent… that is HER GRANDFATHER and he is GOING TO DIE like omfg. i know im pretty deep into the tharjabelle train on this blog but there was a time where i was super into lonqu/tharja (i still REALLY like them i just ended up liking tharja yuri better sue me) and basilio and noire was like. the cutest combo ever. yes this IS my coward little granddaughter but make her mad and she could rival all of ferox’s greatest warriors. he loves her so much

[doyouknowthisjewishcharacter]

Do you know this Jewish character?

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.

[an-incoherent-mess]

So I'm really into genealogy and have been for a few years now and I'm blessed with being really good with names and dates etc. So in conversation I can remember like a ridiculous amount of:

Jane Doe Smith Johnson

b. 1805 Tennessee d. 1879 Missouri

Married 1828 to John Patrick Johnson. Had five children. Died of TB

Etc etc

And that's cool enough apparently but I've mostly been using it for

A. Making up bullshit but real sounding names for stuff (i.e my name is Emily Stewart, Grace Kolár, etc). The point is that they're normal sounding and varied.

B. Having a bizarre frame of reference for historical events. Like "oh [small town],[state] 1942 had [random] event happen? My 1st cousin 4x removed got married there that year, small world!"

It's so dumb, like I'll read about some historical event from my area (where I've had family in the vicinity of since the 1840s) and I'll link up the time frame in my head and be like hmm... I wonder what 3rd great aunt Helen thought about that happening next door to her church.

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Out of all the things that threw me through a loop in the mario movie, the bros taking their gloves off was the most oddly jarring. I said out loud “they have flesh hAnds!-”

[grapecaseschoices]

Hey!! So...aah, author of Neon//Byte here. I'm coming here because back when I was posting you were like, the nicest person ever about my WIP and I always remembered you. I feel like I wanna explain some things I guess??? Sorry if this is super weird I just saw your post recently about N//B.

So basically...I got run off Tumblr pretty hard last year. Like almost literal pitchforks and torches LOL. I was super new back on the internet after a long stint of not even having a Facebook (big social anxiety issues). So when I used AI art to generate pics of my characters I didn't realise that AI was considered super shitty. I'd already posted all my character intros when I started getting floods of anonymous messages that were just reallyyyyyy fucking mean. And I guess I have thin skin from not being used to social media so it got to me bad.

I didn't know what to do because I'd already made the posts and people had reblogged so I just kinda dipped in a panic. I was ALWAYS planning on saving money up to find an artist to draw the characters but after that I couldn't even look at my WIP for months tbh. I'd pretty much given up on it.

But now...idk it's still really stuck in my head and it's something I wanna do so bad! I've had some new ideas over the months so it's not exactly the same but yeah...it's coming back??? Slowly because I don't wanna throw myself back into it and get overwhelmed but ohmygod you were always so nice and supportive and it's not an exaggeration to say your post last week made me feel like I could maybe do this again.

So yeah!! Thank you...SO MUCH. And I'll be making a Tumblr again in the next couple weeks hopefully so eeee, things are happening again<3

i thought eating breakfast would make me know what to say but i am still just !!!!!!!!!! about this four hours after first seeing this.

i had heard about what happened and i kind of also figured too. i am sorry people did that to you. some people just love being angry. i get the A.I. situation is complicated but not everyone understands [heck, I'VE been on the internet for a minute and I still don't fully know how to feel about it in certain respects]. but i am so glad it didn't permanently crush your spirit/didn't do lasting damage [i'm assuming! and not at all judging if it did. because internet bullying is no joke. it takes such another level of viciousness. and social anxiety is a difficult rock to push uphill.]

selfishly, i'm really fucking excited that it's coming back. but as a fellow creator of ocs, i know the feeling of losing something you were so passionate about/not being able to see it through STINKS so i am glad the vibes and inspiration have returned!!!

but please do not push yourself. as much as i loved seeing your thoughts behind the process, i'd be fine if you decided to just drop the end result and be like 'peace bitches' or whatever is most comfortable for you!

and thank you for reaching out because this really and truly brightened my morning. i cant stop smiling when i think of this message!

[milo-is-rambling]

I am so high I love you dabs I love you big bong rips I love you huge heavy bong I love you only having 20 dollars to my name and no plans but getting high and ignoring it I love you oh no I’m thinking about it

[little-pondhead]

Damian was once reminded of a quote.

God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.

The saying held no meaning for him, but it slipped out of his mouth once when his mind was wandering and hazy, and his self-control was null.

The boy sitting beside him huffed, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face. The most emotion either of them has been able to express for a while now.

"That line is bullshit," the boy whispered. His voice was hoarse and raw. Damian had to strain to hear him. "I've met many gods, and they would rather sacrifice their soldiers if it meant their own survival."

Damian's head lolled to one side, contemplating his words. "Indeed," he croaked. "I've met my fair share of gods as well. They were, how do you put it..."

"Wimpy? Disappointing? Underwhelming?" The boy offered. The conversation wasn't the most cheery subject to talk about, but it served to fight off the medicine that was attacking their minds.

"Soft-bodied bitches." Damian let out an uncharacteristic snicker. The boy broke out into giggles, that soon transformed into violent coughs. Thick blood was spat onto the ground, and the temporary joy dissipated from the air.

No jokes could cover up the fact that they were trapped.

Well, not trapped. They'd been captured. And caged. Like fucking animals. It was humiliating and terrifying at the same time.

When Damian first landed in this dimension, he immediately knew something was off. He paid no mind to the empty streets of a half-destroyed town nor the strange graffiti and green fog that reminded him of Fear Gas. Blast marks made his footsteps dirty, but he barely even noticed. What was truly unsettling to him was the immediate pull he felt toward a certain direction. His very soul was crying out desperately for something, and it was all Damian could do to follow the urge.

He walked for what felt like hours. Glowing eyes peeked at him from the shadows, scattering when he approached. The fog got thicker, dragging at his bones and making his heartbeat feel slower. The silence was mind-numbing, and he didn't dare make a peep.

As he got to (what he assumed) the center of town, Damian noticed a thick, rotting stench replacing the fog within the span of a few blocks. Glowing red flowers lined the sidewalks and streets, sometimes sitting in piles in the mouth of alleyways or arranged in a line across the doorway of a shop. Like how one would salt their home to ward off evil. When he tried to get a closer look and possibly a sample, his body physically recoiled from the flowers as if stung. The mere presence of them made him feel sick.

So he ignored them for now. Damian continued to trudge along in a straight line, following his instincts. As the fog lifted even more, sound returned to the world as well. The town was truly abandoned, then. No sirens or car horns were going off. No one was running through the streets, panicked about the fight that had obviously taken place.

What Damian did hear was two voices raised in anger, a third in fear, and the sound of concentrated explosions happening nearby. He broke into a run. The fight that brought him here had done some decent damage to his outfit and person. His mask was barely clinging on, his armor was digging into his skin strangely, and he'd lost his weapons, but as soon as Damian had heard that third voice, he just had to run.

Damian knew he was going against all his training by rushing into the situation. Logically, he should have backed out as soon as he heard the commotion. Maybe retreated completely or at least snuck around to assess the situation first. But no, here he was, barely keeping his secret identity intact, bolting towards a group of unknowns like his life depended on it. His mind screamed at him that it did.

He finally rounded a corner and nearly tripped on the excessive rubble. He'd made it to the town square. There were more red flowers and blast marks. A pair of adults, one impossibly large man and a smaller, lithe woman in hazmat suits, were standing back to back, glowing guns raised as they searched the sky and ground around them. He stepped behind a chunk of concrete to hide himself better.

"Show yourself, Phantom!" The woman screamed. She was so full of rage. "There are blood blossoms surrounding this whole area; I know you can't leave!"

There was a slight shift in the rubble to Damian's right. Without hesitation, the man spun around and shot the pile. Damian didn't have time to move, so he just crouched and covered his head while a blast of green light destroyed the pile and surrounding debris. When the light cleared, Damian was distantly horrified to find that his cover had taken on the brunt of the rebound blast and had been reduced to pebbles. His cover was gone.

The man immediately noticed him.

"Oh, look, Mads! Another one!"

The woman whipped around to study his tiny figure, still curled up to protect himself. Damian knew these were dangerous people. Why couldn't he get up and run? The woman grinned awfully and hiked up her gun-more like a bazooka-to aim at Damian.

"How wonderful, Jack!" She crowed. "Phantom would never leave one of his kind behind. And this one is so human-shaped! It looks just like Danny."

"Using the pest as bait? I'm so glad I married you, Maddie." The man gushed, slipping his goggles and hood off to gaze lovingly at his wife.

Damian's heart stopped. He couldn't take his eyes off the evil, terrible look on the man's face.

"Father?" He mouthed.

The couple didn't notice. The woman just took aim, and for the life of him, Damian couldn't force himself to move.

That was his father. That was Bruce Wayne in a hazmat suit, shooting up a city without regard for human life. That was Batman, who was pointing a gun at his face, no recognition showing in his eyes whatsoever.

The bazooka went off first.

"NO!" Someone cried, coming out of nowhere and slamming into Damian's frozen form. His head bounced off the ground, and the last thing he saw was his own eyes staring back at him.

---

Damian came back to himself slowly. It was unnaturally bright where ever he was. His limbs were stretched far straighter than he would have liked them, and the feeling of dried glue on his face told him that someone had captured him, stripped him, and tied him to a table.

This time, though, his training did kick in. As soon as he was aware of himself, he regulated his breathing so it would appear he was still asleep. The air still smelled of rot and concrete dust, but there was a sharp tinge of chemicals in there, too. It was chilly despite no nearby AC vent going. A lab? Underground, perhaps? He dared not open his eyes, but he could feel something familiar laying on his left.

A door hissed open, and the voices of the couple from earlier entered, arguing with a third party.

"-said we got to start the dissections first!" The woman, Maddie, demanded. "That was our deal! If we handed Phantom and any other specimens over to you, the lab would let us have the first go for the experiments!"

"Yeah!" Added in Bru-Jack's voice. "We could learn so much from a powerful specimen like Phantom, and he's been a pest to us much longer than he has been to the GIW. We can put him back together for the rest of your scientists if you really want."

The third-party spoke, sounding irritated and exhausted from arguing. "Listen," they stressed, flipping through papers. "I'm not saying you can't partake in the agreed-upon experiments. I'm saying that you failed to fulfill a crucial part of the contract and cannot even look at a scalpel until you complete your part of the job!"

"WHAT?!" Maddie screeched. There was a flurry of paper sounds, so Damian assumed she'd snatched a pile of them from the third person's hands. There was a moment of silence while she read, and then, "Oh, fudge cake! Jack, the contract states we have to provide a minimum number of specimens plus Phantom in order to be let into the labs. We'll have to go out and round up as many as we can before we start dissecting."

Jack grumbled. "Fudgin' lawyers and their tricky tongues."

The third person tsked them and snatched the papers back. "No lawyer trickery was used here, Mr. Fenton. We prepared this document in good faith, seeing as we're already business partners. It's not our fault you signed before reading. Now, I heard that the Manson house has been a well-known haunting spot ever since the family moved out. Perhaps you should start there?"

Jack and Maddie grumbled some more but agreed and left the room, with the third person sighing and following them. The door locked shut with a click that echoed in Damian's ears. He waited for a breath. Then two. Once he was sure the party was gone, he cracked open his eyes and looked to his left, where his soul was still trying to reach.

There was a boy staring back at him.

Strapped to a table, just like Damian, a thin and lanky boy around his own age seemed just as surprised as him when they locked eyes and something clicked in their brains. Damian realized that while the boy was obviously not human, with his floating white hair and dim green eyes, he did share the exact same face with Damian, if not extremely paler. In fact, the boy's skin was deathly, almost taking on a mottled blue-green tinge he'd seen dead bodies develop.

The boy got over his surprise first. He grinned at Damian, clearly exhausted but obviously trying to make the situation seem less dire than it actually was. "Why, hello, stranger," he quipped. "What a good looking face you have there."

"Of course you would say that." Damian snapped automatically.

The boy just chuckled, unfazed by his attitude. "Chill out, my guy, I'm just joking. If I had to guess, you're from another dimension, right?"

Damian stiffened up, straining against his restraints. "How did you know that?" He hissed, glaring.

The boy sighed. He suddenly looked much older than either of them had any right to be. "You reek of the Deep Zone, dude. It's not something humans can smell easily, but with a little practice, you should pick it up quick."

"What makes you say I'm not human? And why-"

"Why did you feel a connection?" The boy turned his head back to the ceiling, eyes unfocused. He looked and sounded very sad. "I'm pretty sure we're alternate versions of each other, my dude. I've met a few other versions of myself, mostly from other timelines, but you're the first one who is so obviously different and so similar at the same time. It's weird."

Damian's heart dropped.

"...Alternate versions of each other?"

The boy nodded. He was refusing to look at Damian's reaction. Scared of rejection. "Yeah. And every version of me has died and come back in some way at least once, so by the time we're a preteen, we no longer identify as strictly human. Although," his voice grew bitter. "We do get pretty good at blending in, according to others."

Damian examined the boy more closely. His outfit was falling apart from whatever he'd gone through, but it was very clearly an old hazmat suit with a logo on the chest. Scars, both new and old, littered his skin, some of them matching the scars on Damian's own body. His eyes weren't dim originally, it seemed. They had swirled and glowed brighter when the boy had spoken, and his whole demeanor screamed exhaustion. Thinking back on everything he learned since being dropped in the middle of the street, Damian put two and two together quite easily.

"You're a hero." Damian pointed out. "An undead hero." The boy flinched but nodded.

"Was. The key word there. Not many people enjoyed having a ghost around to save their asses, even when it was from other ghosts." He held no resentment in his voice, just genuinely upset and betrayed that the people he had protected for so long and loved so much had turned on him, and abandoned him in his time of need.

"And, these people don't think the undead are...human?"

"Not in the slightest. We're apparently unfeeling monsters with no sentience but are driven by a single goal to destroy anything living."

"So now we are to be dissected? For what? The ghosts I know don't have physical bodies. What use would this be?"

The boy scrunched his nose. "Damn, your universe must really be out in the sticks if your ghosts aren't solid." Somehow, Damian felt offended. "Don't give me that attitude; I can feel you judging me. Anyway, the ectoplasm here is much thicker than other universes, so most other ghosts can walk around and act just like humans if they want to. They just usually don't because we are technically a different species. It's like asking a dog to act like a cat."

"Hmm. I'm starting to understand."

"That's great!" The smile returned, and the boy turned his head a little too far to make proper eye contact once more. "By the way, I never got your name. Do we share the same one?"

"Perhaps. I go by Damian Wayne. What is your name?"

The boy gave him a shark-toothed grin, one that was barely familiar. It reminded Damian of his grandfather. "Oh, my ghost name is Phantom, but my living name is Danny Fenton."

---

[that's all I got in me, but anyone is free to take this and keep going. Like a baton race at track meets. Go win us gold!]

Ooooh I just came up with an idea

You know all of this fics where Danny is an alternate universe version of like Bruce or Jason? What if it was with Damian

There could be some kind of ritual that sends Damian into Danny’s universe only they both get caught by the GIW and Everything Goes Wrong

By that I mean both of them get vivisected. And the Fentons should do at least some of it, and that Jack looks just like Bruce for extra ✨trauma✨

They both go on the Road Trip of Hell while escaping and Danny’s just working on building a temporary portal to the Ghost Zone/Damian’s home dimension.

I want Danny to lean out of a car with like a mcguivered bazooka or something to try and drive off the GIW for a while with some kind of crazy/stressed smile back at Damian.

I want little moments where they’re bonding/teaching each other how to fight (Because Damian knows formal fighting, and if we go with Danny knowing some self defense from his mom he’s not completely horrible at it, but Danny knows how to fight like a feral raccoon. It’s effective and Damian DOES like animals right?)

I want them to finally get to Damian’s dimension and when they finally finally gets to the bats and Bruce reaches out to help his son Damian flinches

And then I want it to get into the fluff/healing/trauma dumping part where the newly dubbed twins (who get along scarily well and everyone is pretty sure are trauma bonded) are healing while simultaneously causing the other bats to become more and more distressed (it may or may not be on purpose)

It would also be pretty cool if their habits and mannerisms rubbed off on one another, so they can be uncannily similar one moment then completely different the next

I also had the idea of them being literally the same soul- like, the soul that originally formed was completely identical when they were babies but diverged due to different experiences, so it’s literally a ‘same soul two bodies’ thing. I just think it would be neat, even if it’s not even really mentioned, but just like, Implied you know?

[dandey-lion]

After defeating Pariah Dark, Phantom -High King of the Infinite Realms- joins the JL or YJL.

Danny is a great addition to the team, he’s surrounded by other people with powers (even if they didn’t have to die to get them), he doesn’t have to hide who he is. Nobody is hunting him anymore. The Anti-Ecto acts have been abolished and so has the GIW. He can still help people but the pressure isn’t just on him anymore. His parents accept him. Danny is happy.

But one day, one fateful day…

Pariah rises again.

The magic users are scrambling. The JL and YJ are frantic. Danny is…

Pretty calm, actually. A little annoyed, perhaps.

That kinda tracks. He’s the high king of the infinite realms and all the dead. He’s defeated Pariah before- and now he’s older, more experienced, with a team that he’s never had before. He’s explored his powers and authority to an extent his past self could only dream of.

So when Pariah Dark, former Tyrant of the Dead, storms the watchtower where the heroes have gathered, they’re a little off-put by it but ready to defend their home with all their might- a newfound confidence from Phantom’s nonchalance.

But who would’ve guessed that Pariah Dark, former Tyrant of the dead, would ask Phantom..

If he could adopt him?

Danny guessed, it seemed.

“No.” Danny glared at him.

“I can give you-“

“I don’t want anything from you, you frootloop. Piss off.” Danny said pointedly, tapping his foot impatiently.

“I can offer you wisdom to lead your kingdom that you won’t find anywhere else!” Pariah said exasperated, waving his arms around.

“I don’t want a tyrant’s advice.” Danny sneered. The rest of the heroes exchanged glances. This certainly wasn’t on anybody’s bingo card.

“Alright, that’s fair, but-“

“Ive been ruling my kingdom just fine. Piss off.” Danny jabbed a finger at him. “I will eat your core if you ask again.” Pariah paled, (as much as a ghost could), then grumbled about getting him eventually before finally, finally leaving in a swirling, neon green portal.

Danny left in one of his own, after bidding goodbye to the rest of them. Nobody wanted to ask what that was about. He seemed pissed.

.

A little while later, the heroes finally got around to processing what exactly happened that morning.

The.. former king of the dead, known tyrant, the one who Danny defeated.. came back to ask??? If he could adopt Danny???? Again???? As in he tried asking before????????

There was much pandemonium for the heroes that fateful day.

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[gothicfied]

(Squid game s2) Can you write a comfort fic about an insecure reader has past trauma and has endured Highschool bullying. When she joins the games and is in the group (Gi-hun, Dae-ho, Jun-hee & others) but once they meet Jun-hee she gets pushed aside and has to join another group in the second game. Feel free to change or add anything, the pairing could be Daeho x reader but it’s up to you <33

Never alone again - Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Summary: After seeing you almost die, Dae-ho swore he wouldn't leave your side ever again.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

A/N: hii! tysm for the request and I hope I did it justice.

You believed Gi-hun from the start. You believed he was right, no sane person would just say stuff like that, right? That they kill each player who gets eliminated? He seemed too damn serious for it to be a lie. And lo and behold, he was right. People. Shot dead. Right in front of you. Red-Light-Green-Light was a traumatic experience. You wanted to quit, you wanted to go home, go home and hug your parents and just be grateful to still be alive.

It was like the universe had turned against you. How wasn't everyone scared out of their minds like you? Was money really all that mattered to them? A heated discussion broke out during the first voting, angry voices yelling at each other, accusing Gi-hun of lying. You took all the courage you had left in you to try and stand up for him, at least make it known that you sided with him. Past experiences, especially your school time, usually made it hard for you to speak up, but that shouldn't really be an issue right now — You could end up dead, that's what worried you. After the voting, that didn't go your way at all, Gi-hun showed gratitude for your courage to say something and suggested you'd stick with him from now on.

Added to your group were In-ho, the last player who actually voted 'O', Jung-bae and Dae-ho, who were both former marines. While eating the lunch provided to you by the guards, those two immediately bonded over their former occupation, which you found endearing. Even though you were currently still to shy to join in on their conversations, you were content with just having a group you could stick to — Because you were sure you absolutely wouldn't survive in here alone.

"And, what's your name?" Dae-ho asked, as hd took a seat on the stairs next to you, happily eating his food. When you told him he gasped, almost chocking in the process. "That's my sisters name!" he laughed, nudging your shoulder with his. You just replied with a little "Oh? No way." and then he began rambling about his life, about his four sisters, about how his father sent him to be a marine and so on. He closed his monologue saying "Anyway, that's a really pretty name." and then proceeded to ask you for your leftover food. He made you laugh, which was nice considering you all were stuck in this hellhole.

In Dae-ho's opinion, you two had a lot in common, even if you didn't at all. He suggested you slept in the bed right under his which was.. well, free now after the first game. At night, you couldn't help but overthink your interactions with not only him, but the other three guys, too. They were so nice and welcoming. All of them had a special attribute that will probably be useful in the coming few days.. and you? You had the feeling that you brought nothing to the table.

The next day, a vast majority of the players went into the second game with the impression that this will be Dalgona, like Gi-hun predicted. Apparently not. The female voice over the speakers ordered the players to form groups of five. "Ah, how perfect," In-ho smiled, "guess we'll be a group then." You looked between the men, nodding in agreement and just when you were about to say something-

"Excuse me, are you maybe searching for one more person-?"

"Oh, no I'm sorry, we're actually already five peo-"

"I'm pregnant."

The girl cut Jung-bae off, resting her hands on her pregnant belly. You raised your eyebrows in shock and no one really seemed to know what to do next. Oh, you felt bad for her. She must've been very desperate if she entered the games while being pregnant. You five were just looking at each other confused, until you took a deep breath: "It's okay, I'll find another group. She needs to be with people she can absolutely win with." You looked at the girl and she looked back, slowly giving you a grateful smile. "No it's okay I'll go-" Dae-ho tried to say, but you waved him off, shaking your head.

"Well.. No, you can't just.."

"Dae-ho," In-ho said in a low tone, putting a hand on his shoulder, "she's pregnant." he said, like Dae-ho needed a reminder of what was right in front of him. You weren't that important to the team anyways, and that girl needed your help. So, it was decided, and in the end you did find a team of three players who voted 'X', like you, and one who didn't. You felt fairly safe with these people and even if you didn't, you didn't have much of a choice.

The game was a six-legged pentathlon with five mini games you had to split between each team member to complete. Watching the first few teams go was an absolute adrenaline rush, given the small amount of time of five minutes, the first few players were shot on sight pretty early on. This made you nervous to the point where you could throw up. Your original group was sitting a few meters away from youd current one and you did lock eyes with Dae-ho quite a bit, him giving you reassuring glances or a thumbs up. You mustered up a smile, trying yo calm your thoughts down.

I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this-

Oh but you could. Your team, which came before Gi-hun's, barely made it over the finish line with three seconds to spare, making the crowd of waiting players roar and cheer and yell "Good job!". The most time you lost was at Gonggi, thankfully not your mini game. Being able to beat yours on the first try filled you with the confidence you needed, which was probably the only thing that kept you up on your feet. Speaking of which, the shackles, that bound your left leg together with the player next to you, were taken off of them and you were free to go. Well, back into the dorm area.

Anxiously, you sat on your bed and waited, for your team. Players streamed in, one after the other, just not the ones you were so desperate to see. You were biting your fingernails, your thoughts being flooded with the fear of them all just dying, being left alone to survive this shit.

Suddenly, you heard a voice call out for you. It was Dae-ho (who else?) who basically sprinted to you. Before you could even stand up to reciprocate his hug, he pulled you up into his arms, squeezing the air out if his lungs. "Do you know how scared I was?" he sounded really out of breath. You didn't reply, just hugged him back the best you could and watched Jung-bae laugh to himself, watching the two of you. "I'm so glad you're alive! I'll never let you do that again, okay? Next time, I'll be the one to find another group.. not you okay?" His word vomit just wouldn't stop.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time."

"Obviously there won't be, I won't ever let you leave again."

[nightblackowlbat]

Accidental Arranged Marriage AU (v1)

After a reveal gone... weird, the Fentons believe Danny is dead and haunting them and is in denial when he claims to be half alive. They mourn him, and maybe even blame themselves and their research for causing him to become a ghost rather than dying properly.

But he is still their son, and they can't bear to hurt him, so they instead turn to superstitions and traditions from other cultures to try to get him to "move on" or "appease his restless spirit" or "put him at rest."

(Danny is actually eating better than ever now that his parents are regularly leaving out offerings of food at his altar.)

Eventually they come across the ancient Chinese practice of ghost marriage and decide to give it a shot. Maybe Dann-o can't move on because he died single, right? According to their research, ghosts would sometimes appear in their family's dream to tell them which other deceased person they want to marry, so Jack and Maddie hold a seance to consult their dead son.

(you could've just asked, y'know. You don't have to light candles and incense every time you try to talk to me.)

Danny, by this point is exasperated by his parents' failed and increasingly ridiculous attempts, decides to play along and says he wants to marry the Dead Robin.

He didn't expect this to be the time his parents' hairbrained plans actually sorta works.

Anyway, now Danny has to find the poor ghost he accidentally married so that they can get a ghost divorce. Well, guess his parents are getting rid of him after all, because looks like he's going to Gotham.

Now if only the Bats would stop looking at him so weird whenever he says he needs find the dead Robin so that they can annul their marriage.

"Red Hood, what did you do!?!"

"Fuck off! I swear I've never met this guy in my life!"

Version 2