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tobitofunction · 2 months

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The Pact of Fire and Ice part 7

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part5 part 6

Spoilers for the future of house of the dragon, not a 100% accurate to the book

after a thousand years it updated again

You tighten your flight jacket around your body, "It's still not too late to stay here" Cregan said, "It's a fight of dragons, as a dragon I need to fight" you said turning towards him, he was in his armour his fur coat currently missing, he hummed and cupped your cheek,"I love your flight gear so much" he said placing his other hand around your waist, "You should walk around like this more often" he added kissing you gently, "I could say the same thing for you, the fur cloak his hiding to much of your armour" you said against his lips, kissing him again gently pulling at his locks "Don't tempt me now wife, we won't leave the bed for another week if you continue like this" he said as his lips ghost against yours,"My Lord?" a servant said gently," What is it" he said closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours," Aemond Targaryen took over Harrenhall and killed everyone within the walls" he said straightening his posture”Any word from Dragonstone?”,” They are preparing to use Aemond absent as advantage to take over Kingslanding and they want you to march as soon as possible” Cregan hummed,” Are the troop’s ready”,” Yes Lord, the Greyjoy and Manderly ships are also deployed to strengthen the sea snakes and help out to invade Kingslanding and destroy the Lannister fleet ” you turned to Cregan and patted his chest,"Well my Lord husband it's time, send worth to my mother that her army is coming" you said making the servant nod and bow before leaving. Cregan sighed and wrapped his hand around yours,"Off to war then".

You ended up deciding to ride your horse alongside Cregan. Tyraxes was flying alongside the winter wolves, high in the sky, she was just a blop in the bright white sky. “The roads are treacherous,” you said,” The north doesn’t have the privilege of the west wife, our harsh winters just keep destroying the roads so we don’t fix them, as it a waste of resources we rather put them elsewhere to good use” Cregan explained riding closer to you,” My men don’t find it a good idea to bring you along,” he said after a while,” Why not?” you questioned,” They believe you should stay in winter fell, swollen with a child,” he said softly, you sighed,” I suppose that was the deal of our marriage. I provided you with heirs in return for your help to get my mother’s crown back,” you said,” It’s different now however, our first born won’t be the Lord of Winterfell but heir to the Iron Throne,” he said,” Or daughter” you added making Cregan nod after a while,” Or daughter,” he said with a smile which you returned," I'm not bringing a child into this world until the war is over, I don't want to be pregnant while the danger of being assassinated by the greens is an option" you said which Cregan nodded at,"I agree with you on that one, also I'm scared of you carrying my heir" he said," My first wife died on the birthing bed with my son following in the days after",he said softly remembering the pain of losing his childhood love and first born child, he felt like dying in months after,"I'm scared too, losing children during pregnancy is common within my family, maester stated that each one of them had dragon like deformities, my sister had scales and a tale when she was born, I guess our blood is cursed" you said,"The Stark blood line isn't any different, I guess we can be cursed together" your cheeks heated up at that comment,"I guess we could". "My Lord it's getting dark and the men are tired" Greyjoy said,"Than we set up camp for the night".

You sat in front of the fire with Cregan sitting next to you, he was drinking some ale and talking to his men while we waited for the food to cook. You looked over your shoulder and saw Tyraxes, you excused yourself from Cregan and walked over to the large beast," Ao merbugon hāedar? (you hungry girl?)" Tyraxes lifted her head and pressed it against your body gently,"Nyke find nykeā tīkor hen ōtor syt ao hemtubis nyke kivio (I find a flock of sheep for you tomorrow I promise)" you said rubbing her scaly head,"You need to teach me Valyrian" Cregan's said from behind you, one hand found it's way around your waist.While the other rubbed Tyraxes forehead," She still seems to like me which is good" he smiled,"Or tent is ready if you want to sleep" he added after a second, "I will, I just wanted to check on her, we need to find her food tomorrow, she will need all the energy when we fight the greens" you said, Cregan hummed.

You shed your riding gear and got into something more comfortable,"If you are looking to take a bath there is creek close by" Cregan said sitting down on a chair,"A creek?" you lifted a brow,"Yes, my dear wife we are off to war so we won't have our usual luxuries but you are always welcome to fly home" Cregan said,"I know what you are trying to do and it won't work, I'm coming with you. I will be in the creek....fish don't live there?" Cregan chuckled and stood up,"I protect you from the fish, I will go with you" Cregan said,"It also will stop my men from spying on you","Spying? Aren't most of them married?","Even a married man will stop to take in the natural beauty surrounding them" you licked your lips.

The water was freezing against your skin, you wrapped your arms around your bare body, you turned to Cregan and saw that he was unfazed,"Aren't you freezing?" he chuckled,"I'm a northerner darling, and you are a dragon" he said wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you closer,"Can i be honest with you?" Cregan's brow furrowed but he nodded,"I feel useless in this war so far, so many people have given their lives and I just hid in a castle for the majority, I didn't know my brother died, I didn't even know he went to battle, the same with my grandmother Rhaeny's. My mind is filled they could have been alive if I assisted them. Cregan listened carefully, his hand cupping your cheek,"You might not have fought with sword in hand but you forged alliances, you proved to the other Northern houses that your mother's side deserves their alliance when you faced your Uncle when he took our men hostage. Don't disregard yourself my dear wife" you sighed,"But they still rather have me back in Winterfell than fight alongside them" Cregan sighed as well,"That's different, men usually range wars while the women stay at home. Times have changed something I needed to realise too" he said before kissing your forehead,"You and your dragon will bring an advantage to us," he said pressing you closer to his body,”You look so beautiful, standing bare in nature” he said softly kissing your neck,”Cregan” you whispered softly,”Ever dreamed of making love in the wild” he said his fingers tracing your skin,”The men could see or hear us” Cregan hummed against your skin,”They won’t come near the river bank, I told them to stay away and for the hearing part that didn’t seem a problem back in Winterfell Princess” he said making your cheeks darken,” Than my Lord Husband, ravish me like a wolf does”

You spend days riding your horse, Tyraxes becoming more restless with each day, she was feeding of your energy , you nearly reached Harrenhall, even though Kingslanding is your goal a jab of taking it back is planned. “We will reach Harrenhall in two days time we set up camp here” Cregan explained as he stopped alongside his men, he helped you off your horse Tyraxes landed in the open space which made the ground shake a bit,” From now own I want you to ride your dragon, if Aemond is at Harrenhall by chance we need air support but if it gets to dangerous I want you to promise to fly away, back to Winterfell” he said grabbing your shoulder,” Cregan I can -“,” Promise me” he cut you off,” I promise” he nodded, caressing your cheek with his thumb gently and kissed your forehead,”My Lord your camp is set up”,”Let’s rest wife, we have long days ahead of us” Cregan said holding his hand to you.

“Aemond one eye is still at Harrenhall, we should avoid it and go around it to get to Kingslanding” Cerwyn said,” We need all the men we have to keep the city under our control”,” We are here so we should take over Harrenhall while we have the chance” Lord Bolton said leaning forward in his seat,” How would you suggest doing so? Aemond has Vaghar” Cerwyn says,” Even though, I didn’t agree with her presence first, it be to our benefit having the Princess here, she is the heir and a girl, they would assume she be hiding in the north-“,” her dragon is not even half the size of Vaghar” Lord Frey son interjected,” Tyraxes might be smaller but she is quicker and Aemond had the chance to kill me but didn’t, if we draw Aemond out on dragon back, we can surprise attack him with Tyraxes and me” I defend,” My brother promised you Harrenhall didn’t he? I thought you be eager to take it back from Greens my Lord” I said,” Than we have a plan, we take over Harrenhall beforehand we continue to Kingslanding” Cregan said and his tone didn’t leave room discussion.

I changed into my nightgown while Cregan read the letters of the Greyjoys and the Manderly’s,” Any news?” you asked walking towards Cregan,” They haven’t reached the Lannister fleet yet but they are ready and that’s all what we need to hear” Cregan said pulling you on his lap,” I need you to promise me something” you hummed and moved a piece of stray hair from Cregan face,” If Aemond tries to kill you, fly to Winterfell, Tyraxes is faster as you mentioned use it to escape if needs be” he said his hands on your belly,” Cregan-“,”Promise me” you sighed,” I promise….if I have to flee I want to make love to you, I don’t think be able to live long without your touch” you smiled

The next day you saddled Tyraxes, she gently nudged you with her snout making you smile,” Ready my girl?” you asked patting her neck,”Try to keep up with us, I know it be tempting to fly head first to confront your Uncle” Cregan said placing his hand on your waist,” I can’t believe everyone who called Harrenhall their home is dead now”,” Aemond will repent for his sins, he won’t survive to see the end of the war. He will die, but the hand he will die on is still in the stars” Cregan said cupping your cheek, you looked up at Cregan, you pecked his lips gently,” Let me help you” Cregan said helping you on Tyraxes,” Be careful and remain what you promised

#house of the dragon #jace x cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x female reader

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sun-snatcher · 7 months

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🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me.

Jet.

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you.

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply.

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts.

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on.

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay.

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

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britcision · 2 months

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And part two! So a good chunk of the reason the chapter got so long is that around halfway through this part I realized… Danny and Jason didn’t have a single scene together

And we can’t have that!

And then they just kept being adorable

So this is my promise to y’all that whenever possible, we will have at least one scene of the lads directly interacting every chapter 😁

Part 1:

—————————

The Finished Core part 2

Jason was stable, his core fully formed for a little less than a month, and they’d hung out and done ecto shots until midnight last night. Danny had no homework due, but would be starting a big project by the end of the week. His schedule wouldn’t be this empty for at least another two months.

And if he delayed beyond that. He’d either never do this, or have to explain to Jason what he was doing, because Jason would probably ask.

Jason being unavailable tonight (something big was going on with his library project, which Danny thought was just adorable) was actually why Danny had to do it now.

Because Jason would want to come with him. And, as fraught as his relationship with Bruce Wayne obviously was, Danny was pretty sure it wasn’t “have a good reaction to hearing about Danny’s evil alternate self killing him” bad.

And. Y’know. The end of the world thing.

And that Danny wanted to put him on parole.

That was all gonna be way too complicated for Danny to explain easily, so he had to go talk to Nocturn tonight. While he could do it alone.

Because maybe “here is my formerly evil alternate self” would sound so much better all the problems would just melt away.

Whatever. That was Future Danny’s problem anyway, which was okay because Dan’s timeline divergence was now very firmly in the past.

Dan wasn’t the Ghost King. He should be comparatively harmless.

Danny wasn’t thinking about how comparatively harmless he’d been when he stuffed Dan into a thermos.

Sucking in a bolstering breath, he floated up to the deceptively simple door to Nocturn’s lair and knocked.

Waiting to be let in was a formality; technically Danny could have ripped open a portal right into the heart of Nocturn’s lair and there was nothing the Lord of Dreams could do about it, but. Nocturn had done him a favour. Danny was trying to be cool.

There was a long enough wait that he almost wondered if he should just push in, show that he wasn’t fucking around either, but then the door swung open.

Nocturn was waiting for him just inside, his white jester’s mask arranged into placid servility that Danny didn’t buy for a moment. Tendrils of night curled around him, swaying ever so slightly but tucked in close. He clearly didn’t want Danny too deep in his lair, and Danny decided to respect that, coming in just far enough for the door to close behind them.

Technically, it’d put him in Nocturn’s power, if he wasn’t the Ghost King. The whole Zone was his lair if he wanted it to be.

Nocturn inclined his head gracefully, his voice smooth and impassive as he spoke.

“You desire something, my king?” He asked carefully, and Danny hesitated.

He didn’t like doing the whole… thing. Would have preferred not to need it. But if they were standing on ceremony…

It was barely a thought before the Crown of Fire formed above his head, the silhouette of the crown itself fading in before it caught with spectral green flames, that themselves were overwhelmed by creeping spires of diamantine frost.

The cape spilled down from his shoulders, its folds lit with galaxies and nebulas far grander in scale than Nocturn’s own star-speckled form. There was no weight to it, and no wind, yet it rippled and swayed anyway, plucked by solar currents.

Danny consciously cut the change off there. Any of the armour or other regalia could be taken as a challenge, and while Nocturn was just as unwilling to actually become the King personally, it’d make him cranky. And Danny needed another favour.

“Yes, Dream Lord. It’s… it is about the charge I placed in your care. The one who sleeps in the Evermoving Now.” Ancients, Danny felt like an idiot every time he had to talk like this. He was sure he sounded like a particularly cheesy “historical” fantasy, and had to consciously avoid slipping into an awful British accent.

Maybe he should have brought Jason. Jason could have made it sound cool.

Danny’s best guess at formality was “no contractions”. Jason actually knew courtly manners from the Elizebethans to the Tokugawa shogunate.

At least it wasn’t like Nocturn expected better from him. He simply nodded, his expression unchanging.

“He is still sleeping, my king.” A flicker of annoyance skated across his face, gone before it was even there. “He is… not so resistant to my power as you are, but still exerts his own demands upon what dreams he will tolerate.”

Yeah, Danny had figured. Dan had damn near Ended his universe’s Nocturn, and he’d had to give Nocturn a chunk of his own power as the King to keep him safe enough to work on Dan at all. Keeping people unconscious was not usually in the Dream Lord’s power.

Honestly, Danny had been kinda hoping that all the time just in Soup Jail… the thermos might have made Dan a little more. Well. Not nicer? But. Less fussy about distractions.

He returned the nod a little awkwardly, offering a smile that he hoped wasn’t too sheepish.

“Yeah… yes. I was afraid of that. But… I want to speak with him. Perhaps make him a little more… amenable to your gifts. And maybe take him off your hands entirely, if all goes well.”

That did provoke a reaction, an eyebrow raising as interest lit Nocturn’s red eyes. Dan must be a real pain in the ass.

“It… can be arranged,” he said slowly, scanning Danny up and down for the first time. Looking for what, Danny wouldn’t even guess, but whatever it was he had no idea if Nocturn found it.

Danny nodded again, fighting the urge to fidget.

“Great… yeah. Yes. Good. Obviously not in physical forms, given his confinement, but.” He drew himself up, thinking back to all the shows he’d been watching with Jason over the last two weeks. Not many kings, but all sorts of stuffy nobility.

He tried to call up his best Liz Bennet.

“I would have you link our dreams, so that he need not wake, and we may speak entirely in your realm. Tomorrow night. Ah… I will… let you know how it goes?” He trailed off, and Nocturn let out a huff which might have been amusement or irritation.

Danny wasn’t gonna push for an aura read to check. He didn’t wanna know.

“I presume, my king, that I need not care how it goes until you ask that I remove him from my dreams. And in exchange for this…” he let the sentence hang, not actually asking for anything.

Technically, Danny didn’t have to give him anything. He could make it a Command, with the whole weight of the Infinite Realms behind his order. Nocturn would have no choice but to obey.

But he didn’t want to be a tyrant. And he’d expected to have to give something, and he’d come prepared.

A real, not entirely nice smile pulled at his lips.

“You must be tired of being confined to the Zone, and having to spend so much of your power catering to Dan’s dreams. For your ongoing service and assistance in this matter, I will give you the power to keep one single human asleep indefinitely, and you can give him any dreams you like.”

Now that definitely got the ghost’s attention, his whole posture stiffening, outline sharpening as he leaned in ever so slightly. There was a very real hunger in his gaze.

“Did you have a human in mind?” He asked, his voice a low hiss of want.

Firmly squashing any trace of discomfort, Danny nodded.

“The Joker.”

Nocturn’s eyes widened, and then a slow and far more genuine smile spread across his lips.

If he were being honest with himself, Vlad certainly hadn’t expected to hear from Wayne again so soon. They’d gotten along delightfully well the day after the gala, right up until Daniel’s little “rescue attempt”, which was just adorable.

Of course, Wayne had insisted any reconcilliation with Timothy or Richard would have to be between them as men, which was annoying. But Vlad could be magnanimous.

Thanks to Danielle and Daniel he was at least vaguely aware of what young people wanted, although Daniel was no longer a teenager. He’d never been a rich teenager though; doubtless the Drake-Wayne boy could afford any consoles or games he desired.

He was vaguely aware that Drake-Wayne was interested in technology, fully up to date with the workings of the company he was now CEO to.

Vlad wasn’t. He didn’t much care for what human technology could do without the boost of ectoplasm; Wayne Tech largely worked in communications devices and medical technology, all of which was easily reverse engineered and improved by Vlad’s own companies to run with ectoplasm.

It would mean far too great a loss to give the boy access to an ectoplasm battery… although if Daniel were cosying up to his brother, they’d have access to ectoplasmic technology soon anyway.

A loss to his corporate dominance, then, in exchange for a gain with his godson. It could only help their relationship if Vlad could endear himself to his future sons-in-law, and perhaps be yet more proof of his good intentions.

Of course, for it to be proof, an older battery wouldn’t have done. The technology remained proprietary, and the ecto batteries never broke down or lost charge (until Vlad wanted them to), so they rarely needed replacing, so Wayne Tech would need to be doing corporate espionage of their own to have any access at all (and be able to get past the little ectoplasmic tricks and traps that continued to befuddle poor dear Luthor’s attempts to steal his technology over at Lex Corp; Vlad did so enjoy reading of the corporate disasters that marked unsuccessful attempts).

A newer model of battery would make for a better gift. And an offer of a deal, to provide more for the next generation of Wayne Tech devices for only a meagre percentage. An apology fit for a king, or the regent of one, complete with diplomatic offers for the future.

Dick Grayson was some kind of police officer. Vlad just bought his department a suite of new computers and a new espresso machine. Simple.

He’d have liked to have it all delivered before he saw “Brucie” next, yet the man had been utterly intent on coming to see him as soon as possible, barely a week after their last meeting when he got in touch. That was unusual; Vlad usually had to be much more proactive to gain access to the kind of person worth overshadowing.

Not that he would overshadow Wayne now. Daniel had staked his claim rather firmly on the whole family, and Lady Gotham was not a spirit Vlad intended to cross. Honestly he was a little surprised she tolerated Daniel cuddling up to her pet socialites, yet the boy was king. She must approve of the match.

(Vlad might wish his own opinion mattered in such a situation, but Jason Todd had provided such a delightful opportunity to prove himself to Daniel that nothing else could touch it.)

Still, it was nice to know that Brucie at least already liked him. He’d made such a touching little speech to Jason at the gala, they simply had to be on better terms than he and Daniel, and hopefully he would also be on good terms with Daniel too by now.

He’d seemed very interested when talking to Vlad and the Mansons, and Vlad had talked up all of Daniel’s best traits; now they would have travelled back to Wayne Manor together and would surely be well acquainted. The man certainly looked enough like Jack Fenton for a sentimental soul like Daniel to get attached.

A slight grimace tugged at Vlad’s face as his limo pulled up to the airport. Really, that was the only downside with Brucie Wayne; it was like hanging out with a slightly more reasonably sized Jack. Intellect and all.

That would be trying over the man’s stay, but he had insisted on putting himself up in a hotel rather than staying at Vlad’s, and if he could just keep the two apart… Vlad reassured himself that the Fentons had gone to visit Jasmine over the holidays, and absolutely couldn’t have returned to town without him noticing.

Which, of course, was a thought as sure to summon Jack Fenton as an unwise wish to summon Desiree.

A large hand clapped across Vlad’s entire back just as he stepped out of the car, making him flinch.

“VLADDIE! Lovely to see ya, buddy! You’re not heading outta town again, are ya! You only just got back!” The man bellowed, and Vlad’s eyebrows twitched.

As if they weren’t both standing in front of the Arrivals lounge.

Perhaps Jasmine was making a late return, anything to avoid sharing a flight with her parents… it certainly couldn’t be Daniel, Vlad would have sensed him long before now. The boy couldn’t help travelling with a spectral fanfare these days.

He forced a polite smile onto his face, moving firmly towards the doors and hoping to lose the man inside.

“No, Jack, I’m here to receive a friend. As you are, I presume? I didn’t realize you were already back from your own trip.” He didn’t really bother listening to the answer, glancing around quickly to see if Madeline was also here. It would be nice to see her briefly…

Jack Fenton laughed boisterously, crowding along behind him far too close for comfort.

“Ah, that’s ol’ Vladdie! Sharp as a pin! Yeah, a colleague called and asked us to outfit some big wig visiting for his first trip to Amity Park! Maddie’s got the Spectre Deflector an’ a couple other toys, he’s some big tech guy from some other city, Gotham or something?”

For a second Vlad thought his ghost sense had somehow missed Daniel; the unmistakeable feeling of ice slithered down his spine. It took a moment to actually pinpoint the cause.

Gotham.

No.

He couldn’t be.

Vlad’s life could not be this cursed.

He’d done nothing to deserve this.

He’d fucking forgotten that Daniel was Jack and Madeline’s son, and had probably given Wayne his parents’ contact information.

He’d actually stopped walking as the impending dread washed over him, Jack leaving him behind by a few paces as they reached the terminal lounge that Brucie Wayne would be entering at any second.

He’d. Tried to emotionally prepare himself. To perhaps set up a meeting between the two parties. Where he could be on the other side of town.

But no, they were all here, and there was Madeline as resplendent as ever in her teal bodysuit, her arms filled with beeping and flashing Fenton junk. His heart still gave a flood of warmth at the sight of her, but that was all.

Just his heart. Not his core, not his Obsession. That was still a bit of a relief, every time. She’d made it quite clear that they couldn’t be friends while he was so fixated on her; on removing Jack.

He caught the moment that she spotted him past the exuberant and loving display she and Jack shared, as if they’d been parted for decades instead of minutes. Managed a small but genuine smile, and settled further when she smiled back.

Reserved, certainly, especially in the wake of her obvious passion. But it was a real smile, and meant far more to him than those she’d faked for Jack’s sake at the height of his mania.

Madeline’s friendship was infinitely more precious than any notion of possessing her, and he had been so lucky to have any left to rekindle by the time he’d finally gotten control of himself. They may never be as close as all three of them had once been in college, but for Madeline he could even smile and embrace Jack.

(Which had become immensely easier when he’d been able to rationalise that Jack Fenton was simply incapable of the intellect, malice, or even comprehension to have killed him. All three of them had worked on the portal; it was simply poor luck that had him take the brunt of the accident and the ecto-acne that followed.

Or perhaps good luck; after all, he was now essentially immortal, rich beyond his wildest dreams, and powerful. He’d finally acquired sufficient leverage to have effective control over the Packers, even if he couldn’t own them outright! He even had Madeline’s son for his godson, and one day the boy might even accept him.

They had all eternity to find out.)

His reluctance waning slightly with Madeline’s company, he made his way to join the couple; he may as well stand beside them, if they’d come for the same man.

Madeline even rewarded him with a handshake, and he easily resisted the brief urge to kiss her hand or try to extend the gesture. He truly was growing and improving all the time.

“Madeline. Jack tells me you are also here for Brucie Wayne? Making sure he’s safe for his visit to our fair city?” He asked cheerfully, nodding to the pile in her arms.

It didn’t even hurt when Madeline shot a beaming smile at her beloved husband.

“Oh! Yes, and of course we simply had to get to know him. Danny’s already told us that Brucie knows about his condition, though we’re never to mention Jason’s of course,” she added sharply, giving her husband a stern look which somehow cleared the ridiculous distance to fly right over his head, then smiled back at Vlad, “but since our boys are getting along so well he’s almost family anyway!”

That was an interesting tidbit which Vlad hadn’t previously been privy to; he hadn’t known just how far Daniel trusted Brucie. Not far enough for the details on his own son, which was… interesting.

Not that Vlad would have said anything; perish the thought. One simply did not out another ghost of any description. It was rude. And would have no benefits for him anyway.

Interesting to know that the man was in on the fact that halfas existed, if not how close he was to one of course. Perhaps he could get some extra points by sharing his own secret?

That would wait until he had some idea of how discrete Brucie was capable of being. Evidence suggested that it would be “not at all”, but… if Daniel had shared his…

It seemed Vlad would need to get more out of this little visit than he’d expected.

As if specifically to disrupt his thoughts, the man of the hour appeared at just that moment, all broad smiles even fresh from a commercial airline of all things. Not even a private jet, yet he still looked freshly composed and perfect even amidst the bedraggled public.

It was frankly unfair, but Vlad didn’t have time to sulk before he had to dodge one of Jack’s massive arms flying into the air to wave, apparently recognising the man on sight as well. It shouldn’t be unusual of Bruce Wayne, yet Vlad highly doubted Jack could have recognised the man a week ago.

Celebrities that were alive were a closed book to all four Fentons, as far as he knew.

“BRUCIE!” Jack bellowed, waving enthusiastically with both arms like he wasn’t head and shoulders taller than the entire rest of the building.

Even Brucie was momentarily taken aback by the sheer size of the man, which Vlad wasn’t remotely bitter about anymore. Then he clocked Vlad beside the Fentons and that perfect, vapid smile slid across his face again.

“Vlad! Won’t you introduce me to your friends?” He asked easily, ever charming as he slid over to join them.

Maddie and Jack began sizing him up immediately, not even waiting to say hello before grabbing at his arms to lift and turn them. Vlad sighed heavily and gave a tight smile of his own, Brucie looking quite alarmed to be manhandled by such a tall man as Jack Fenton.

“Brucie, it’s good to see you again. These are my friends, Drs Maddie and Jack Fenton. I believe an associate of yours has asked them to… outfit you for your stay in our town?” He asked smoothly, not even tripping over the word “friends” anymore.

Not even when it meant Jack. It meant Madeline, and they were a package deal. He’d come to accept that, and the place she’d allowed him in their life. That he only had because Jack had never noticed how their relationship had changed.

Shaking away the thoughts, he refocused on Brucie, who’d turned that so charming smile on the Fentons and was now allowing them to fit him with a Spectre Deflector, one of their wrist lasers, and… well, he had to assume the large and oddly rigid pocket-square had to be another of their new inventions.

Very new, since Jack hadn’t showered him in its praises yet, but he was quite happily trying to sell it to the head of Wayne Enterprises entirely unaware that he’d likely have to get the Drake-Wayne boy to get any actual decisions made.

Brucie did at least look fascinated, and managed to ask just enough questions to keep Jack going. Honestly, if Vlad wasn’t careful Brucie would keep them trapped there all day… although that might not be all bad.

If he could leave the man in the variably capable hands of the elder Fentons, he could at least get some actual work done. Get the details of the battery proposal for Timothy finalized…

Brightening up a little, Vlad clapped his hands.

“Why, I have a great idea! Jack, Maddie, I’m sure Brucie would love to take a quick tour of the portal, to really see what makes our little town special.”

After all, Brucie would certainly want to take the time to get to know Daniel’s other family, and if Vlad could just ensure that all the time he spent with Jack was away from Vlad… well, he’d also have a brief reprieve from them both, guaranteed.

All three of his companions were visibly surprised by the suggestion, with just the faintest flicker of suspicion in dear Madeline’s eyes… for her alone, he gave his best conciliatory smile.

“And I can think of no one better to prepare Brucie for the delights of our little town. They are our pre-eminent ectologists,” he told Brucie, even bestowing Jack with a mostly sincere smile.

As always, he swelled with pride at the compliment, and Madeline’s face softened. She gave a very tiny nod, her approval still chasing the warmth of a summer breeze in his heart. Worth the sacrifice.

That left Bruce, surprised and delighted as ever, smiling with as much thought behind his eyes as a hamster.

“What’s this about a portal? You’ve told me all sorts of tales of ghosts in Amity Park, is that what this is about?”

A bit of a surprise to Vlad that Daniel hadn’t already mentioned it, but the boy had been…. Distracted by Jason Todd. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

Vlad kept his smile bright, clapping his hands.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Jack gives such wonderful tours. And then perhaps once you’ve finished there and had a look around town, I could take Brucie off your hands for dinner and let you get back to work?” He asked somewhat hopefully.

Small, controlled doses of both mountainous men. That would be fine. It would have to be.

Madeline did truly hesitate, and he knew the passion for her work would be nudging at her. She was a dedicated scientist, as much as she loved their “field work”; too long away from the lab made her itchy.

Jack, of course, didn’t notice, clapping Vlad firmly on the back.

“Nonsense, Vladdie! You just come along down to Fentonworks when you’re done bustling about and we’ll cook you up a Fenton Family Feast along with our guest!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Wayne began as Vlad struggled to think of an argument.

The Fentons having anything even edible in the house was no guarantee, let alone the time to prepare a real meal. He was quite sure they’d been subsisting on ectoplasm alone since before they even recreated the portal.

Unfortunately, knowing Jack, there was only one way out of it.

“My staff have already begun preparing dinner, and I would hate to put all their work to waste,” he said silkily, making a mental note to message his assistant and have her set up something suitable. He’d been planning on a restaurant, but personal plans were harder to change. “And of course if you have the time we would love to have you both over as well.”

He didn’t even have to grit his teeth to finish the sentence, didn’t even have to focus solely on Madeline. It barely even twinged. That old, hateful Obsession would have no power over him.

Proof of his own progress put a more genuine note in his smile too, and Jack beamed back as innocently as ever.

“Aw Vladdie, that’d be great! So, the portal, a tour of Amity Park, and then dinner at Vladdie’s! We can tell you some of those good ol’ college stories from back in the day!” He told Bruce enthusiastically, slapping him on the back hard enough that the man stumbled.

Part of Vlad was beginning to wonder if he should have sent the poor man a warning packet on the Fentons. But then, his boy was courting Daniel. Surely that would have been Daniel’s job, if he’d wanted the man warned.

Brucie looked between them all with that same innocent smile, clearly not following… but he must be used to that.

“Oh, I’d like a chance to get to know the town myself for a little bit… y’know, stretch my legs a bit and get regrounded after the flight. Is there anywhere I could just take a little walk, maybe a look around? This all sounds like real important stuff and if I go in all fuzzy-headed I just know I won’t make heads or tails of it,” he laughed, waving a hand self-deprecatingly.

Vlad hesitated. The Amity Park (and ancients he still hated the name but it was better than Amity Park Park) would be the obvious choice, or perhaps the shopping district would be ideal. Yet since the Fentons were already here…

This time it was his own back that Jack’s meaty paw slammed down on. The only reason Vlad didn’t stumble the same way Wayne had was his resilience as a halfa. And even then it was a close thing.

“Sure, sure! Tell ya what, Vladdie, you run along and get to all your important mayor duties,” Jack tipped Bruce and Madeline a wink, clearly indicating that they were all going to have a lot more fun, “and we’ll take ol’ Brucie down to the park! And then when you’re feeling better we’ll get you right to Fentonworks for the portal tour and some of Maddie’s famous fudge! It’s a secret family recipe, there’s nothing better for getting your noodle cookin’!”

Vlad did not sag in relief. He had far too much pride for that. Instead he looked to Wayne for agreement, only raising one perfectly poised eyebrow.

“I hope you won’t think me a poor host if I pass you off so soon…” he trailed off, not quite hinting his own preference. Certainly not obviously enough that Brucie Wayne would notice.

And indeed the man just beamed at him, giving Jack a firm pat on the back too.

“Not at all, that sounds just the thing! Just a couple minutes out in some fresh air away from that tube and I’ll be right as rain! We’ll see you again at dinner, Vladdie?” He added with that far too charming smile, immediately picking up on the nickname.

That. Was pretty much the biggest thing Vlad had been hoping to avoid. His smile strained a little around the edges.

“That sounds perfect, Brucie.”

At least he’d have a little time alone to recompose himself.

Danny… dithered. That was the only way Jason could think to describe it. He’d been in an odd mood since he’d called that afternoon, and while Jason was getting used to Danny completely forgetting to mention important things, this looked like the opposite.

And given what he’d just blurt out apropos of nothing, whatever had him opening his mouth and abruptly reconsidering couldn’t be good.

He’d texted and said he needed to talk to Jason about something important (a message that totally never caused any additional anxieties), and then called the minute his last class ended (which was so much more reassuring), but when Jason dropped by the university to pick him up… Danny insisted they go grocery shopping.

So now here they were, an hour later, and Danny was reading the full nutritional information on every box of cereal.

Finally running out of patience, Jason plucked the Frosted Berry Crunch Whatever from his hands and tossed it into the cart. Danny was already protesting as he turned, but Jason and the cart had a head start up the aisle.

“C’mon, your highness, we’re putting at least two vegetables in here and then we’re going home.”

Because see, Jason knew what decision paralysis was like. He knew what brain fog was like. He also knew what procrastinating was like, and there was only so much he was willing to put up with it.

Especially when he was beginning to suspect that the tingling at the base of his skull had less to do with Danny being accidentally ominous, and more to do with Danny possibly actually being in danger.

What the hell in Gotham could lay a finger on the half-dead king of ghosts? Malnutrition, sure, given the state of their cart, but Jason didn’t think that was it. He’d have been summoned by the contents of the dorm fridge alone if it were that simple, weeks ago.

If Bruce had still been in town, he’d have suspected that asshole was up to something, but he’d flitted merrily away to Amity Park. Which… was still concerning, but Jason figured that his magic knight sense or whatever would at least give him some sense of how immediate the danger was.

This didn’t feel distant, like something all the way in Bumfuck, Idaho. This felt close, immediate, and the way Danny was acting? Only made him more sure.

Which meant the threat to Danny was probably Danny himself, surprising precisely no one and least of all one regent of Time.

So what the hell was Jason supposed to do about it? Other than not put up with the prevaricating.

Obviously Danny wasn’t going to just take it lying down, though. He was already half a Wayne that way.

“Hey! If I’m the king, don’t I get to decide what we do!” He argued half heartedly, still following Jason down the aisle.

Jason stuck his tongue out at him over his shoulder.

“Be grateful I’m letting you pick the vegetables.”

Danny opened his mouth on what was sure to be an utterly scathing retort (not), and was immediately side tracked by something at the end of the aisle. Which he immediately snatched up three boxes of.

“Oh no way I didn’t think these were real! I’m picking these!”

Jason fielded one on its way past, and glared at the cheap cardboard box.

“Lucky Charms pancake mix? Fucking seriously?” He asked incredulously, turning the box to look for nutritional information. Because he liked horror fiction.

(And a little bit to mock Danny’s earlier bullshit.)

Danny snatched the box out of his hand and added another two to the cart on good measure.

“Hey, fuck you, I was craving the hell out of exactly these way back when you went to put Tuck’s name on the gala list! This is a gift from the universe to make up for my shitty life and I will not be denied!” He declared dramatically, even throwing up an arm in full Shakespearian declamation.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jason scooped up three of the boxes, now turning the sceptical glare on Danny.

“Dude, if you want pancakes that bad, I’ll make them myself. This is just an overpriced marketing gimmick!” He shook one of the boxes for good measure.

Danny snatched that one back right away too and stuck his tongue out at him.

“Listen, I’ll take you up on that too, but I’m getting these! If I only wanted marshmallow pancakes I could make those myself, I need the soulless crunch of Lucky Charms!”

And alright, Jason’s aura reading was definitely still off (at least around Bruce), but he was pretty sure he was getting better at projecting specific words and feelings. Because he managed to project some combination of disbelief and garlic powder hard enough that Danny punched him on the arm.

“That was literally one time!”

“And I don’t want garlic pancakes,” Jason shot back, mildly surprised at how much the punch actually hurt.

Danny stuck his tongue out at him and went for the display of boxes again. Rolling his eyes, Jason scooped the other man over his shoulder instead, hauling him and the cart away.

“Fine, fine! Get your boxes of garbage, you fuckin’ raccoon, but you don’t need the whole stand and we’re leaving,” he declared firmly, one hand still firmly pinning a wriggly fuck and trying not to think about how optional Danny’s bones were.

Danny grumbled something unintelligible but went limp (not no-bones limp though) and let Jason carry him to the cashier. Who smiled as she checked them out, but didn’t comment on Jason unloading the cart or bagging their supplies one-handed.

Danny gave a feeble wriggle of protest, both when they reached the register and when they left, but subsided quickly back into a sulk each time.

Which… convinced Jason that there was something wrong more than calmed him. Danny wasn’t one to miss an opportunity to tussle. Lie low until someone let down their guard, sure. Give up? No.

When Danny even let himself be tossed onto the back of the bike without complaint, Jason made up his mind.

They weren’t going back to the dorms. They were going back to one of his safe houses again. If Danny noticed before Jason pulled into a garage distinctly not near the university, he didn’t comment.

Hell, all he actually said when unloading the groceries was a terribly blasé “so is this a kidnapping then?” To which Jason obviously responded “yes now shut up”.

Luckily there wasn’t much perishable in their bags, and it fit in the slightly beat up fridge that had definitely been washed since the last time he stored human body parts in it (probably).

Danny took his kidnapping with good grace, flopping onto the only slightly beaten up couch to watch Jason fuss over the fridge. In between playing with his fingers.

Because he was definitely still procrastinating.

Leaving everything that wasn’t likely to go off bagged, Jason dropped onto the couch beside him and stuck a finger in his ear.

“Now tell me what the hell you want to talk about.”

Danny hesitated for a moment, visibly torn, and Jason pointedly licked his finger and held it up as a visual threat.

“No bullshit Danny. I was a fucking Robin, I know when some dipshit engineering student is trying to lie to me.”

Danny squirmed a moment longer, but caved when Jason reached menacingly for his ear again.

“Okay, okay! It’s… it’s not actually a big deal, alright? I’m just blowing it up in my head into something it really isn’t, and yeah, being a dipshit.” He gave Jason a self deprecating grin, and Jason gave him the respect of three seconds of consideration.

Then resumed his attack on Danny’s ears.

“That’s not an answer, asshole!”

This time Danny made an actual attempt to fend him off, and Jason was a little surprised by how strong he was. Sure, Danny’d easily hauled him around plenty, but that was when he’d been cooperating.

That was very different from Danny just grabbing his arm and Jason… completely failing to even budge him. He couldn’t even twist free, Danny’s grip was immovable as a rock.

Being hot also wasn’t going to make Jason any less worried, though, so he nobly ignored the way that made his insides squirm. Sobered when he realized that Danny’s smile had faded.

He was worrying his lower lip instead, and let Jason go when he pulled away more gently.

“This is not reassuring,” Jason prodded, settling in to sit beside him.

Danny gave him another attempt at a smile, still far too worried to be convincing.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem. I’ve been turning it over in my head all day, and like I said, it’s really not a big deal… but there’s no way to say it that doesn’t make it sound like a big deal.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at that, but did not react further. Because he was a mature adult, who could be calm about things, even when Danny was being an ominous piece of shit.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that?” He offered sceptically, and this time Danny swatted at him with all the force of a baby kitten. Stark contrast from the immovable grip, but Jason wasn’t going to guess why.

“Oh, shut up. Look, it’s just…” he subsided into silence again.

Jason considered him, this time not just with the hyper-observant eye of a Robin, but with his aura too. He was more used to reading Danny, and Danny actually communicated his emotions.

Kinda.

When he didn’t have to use words.

Which Jason wasn’t criticizing for the obvious (massively hypocritical) reasons.

It was confused at first, tangled and muddied on the surface. Jason took a breath too, settling into the silence, and stopped pushing. Let the right feelings come to him.

Regret. Danny regretted saying anything? Regretted letting Jason know anything at all? Little shit.

Guilt. No guess there, really, but Jason knew all about randomized guilt attacks.

Reluctance. And he didn’t need any magical fucking powers to guess that one, thanks. And underneath it all…

Yearning. Fear. That, at least, was more reassuring; Danny did actually want to tell him. And the fear didn’t even catch and snarl at Jason’s core, so he… didn’t think it was a fear of danger.

No points for guessing that either. He was scared of how Jason might react to whatever the fuck he was all knotted up about. Maybe of how he was already reacting; with no fucking clues, Jason couldn’t begin to guess just how concerned he should actually be.

Or what Danny could be afraid that he’d do.

Well, statistically speaking, Danny probably wasn’t scared that Jason would just. Be fucking chill. About whatever this crap was. Because that didn’t usually freak people out, not because Jason wasn’t usually chill about pretty much everything (the Pit’s lack of chill was not his fault and totally did not count).

Taking another breath, a little surprised that it was only the second since, Jason calmed down. Forcibly. Because winding Danny up more wasn’t going to help. He tried to project calm-understanding-acceptance, although he was pretty sure just fucking do it was sneaking in too.

Danny was quiet for another long moment, not even looking in Jason’s direction let alone meeting his eyes. Which was why Jason knew exactly what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

“I’ll… look, I’ll tell you in the morning, alright? Promise.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Like he wasn’t an expert in exactly this kind of shifty bullshit.

“Right, so whatever dumbass shit you’re doing goes down tonight. Good to know,” he snarked back, and Danny tossed both hands into the air.

“The dumbass part is not going down tonight, I don’t even know if I’m going to be doing the dumbass part yet!” He protested. Futilely.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him, waiting a few seconds after Danny had quieted. Just to prove a point.

At least he’d admitted part of it was going to be a dumbass decision. That was a start.

“So what is going down tonight then?” Jason prodded, once Danny was sufficiently squirming.

Danny puffed up his cheeks, clearly considering another smart ass retort, and surprised Jason a little by blowing it all out with a sigh of his own.

“Tonight, I see if it’s even worth trying the dumbass part. I’m not going to be in any physical danger,” he added quickly, raising both hands and rolling his eyes like he didn’t run around the shady parts of Gotham for fun and no profit, “honestly, the worst that’s gonna happen is I have to deal with some home truths. Nothing can hurt me, I’m fine.”

Jason noted the qualifier. Nodded down the hall towards what passed for a bedroom.

“Then you won’t mind spending the night to be sure.”

Not like it’d put him out; he’d not had any plans for the night, beyond more practice on going intangible at will… and more importantly, also becoming tangible at will.

Danny grimaced at their surroundings.

“Dude, this place is a wreck. I don’t even want you spending the night here,” he joked feebly. And deflated a bit when Jason just stared at him. Sighed heavily.

“Look, it’s not gonna make any difference where I sleep, or where you sleep, cuz nothing’s going to happen! That you can do anything about,” he added almost under his breath, and Jason fought back a wave of something hot and green that felt like jealousy-anger-denial-concern-offence all at once.

Because that was different from Danny wanting to run off on his own where Jason couldn’t protect him. That was Danny thinking that Jason wasn’t capable of protecting him. And that hurt.

“So what happens if it all goes wrong?” He asked quickly when Danny flinched, clearly reading all that and more from his aura. Well, tough titties for him, Jason’s pecs were rock hard and they weren’t gonna talk about it.

For a moment, Danny was definitely about to argue. Jason could all but taste the words lining up to be said. Then he sighed and flopped in against Jason, aura a gentle apology that made absolutely nothing better.

“That’s what I’m saying, man. There is literally nothing that can go wrong. I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m gonna have a dream, Nocturn’s gonna hook me up with a favour and then we both wake up in the morning. Nocturn can’t even make me fall asleep or stay asleep, and he doesn’t want the damn crown any more than I do.”

A wry smile tugged at Danny’s lips, and he reached up without looking to poke a finger into Jason’s mouth.

“And even if he did, I can fucking take him. I kicked his ass when I was fourteen and a nobody. There’s literally no risk here… besides hearing something I don’t wanna hear. But hey, what’s life without a little more emotional damage?”

Jason considered this, reasonably and maturely, like an adult, and bit Danny’s finger. With it out of his mouth, he gave the scrawny king another gentle nudge.

He definitely didn’t believe Danny was telling him everything. But he could read enough honesty through everywhere they were touching to know that Danny did also believe everything he was telling him.

“And you’ll tell me everything in the morning?” He prodded warily.

Didn’t actually smile at the wave of relief which coursed through the whole apartment as Danny finally relaxed.

“For sure. And then I’ll decide if I do the dipshit part.”

“We’ll decide,”Jason corrected firmly.

Danny snorted.

“Hey, I’m your king. If I wanna be a dipshit I can be a dipshit.”

“You may be King Dipshit all you want, but you’re not doing it alone,” Jason shot back, reluctantly pulling out a brand new trump card Frostbite had let slip last time. Definitely not smirking as he said it. “So you’ll be bringing a brand new baby ghost into whatever brand of dipshit you’re doing.”

Tensed to argue with whatever he said (although still more playfully than he’d been before), Danny inflated for a moment, then deflated with a hefty sigh and slumped.

“Oh that’s so not fucking fair.”

“I’ll tell Lady Gotham on you,” Jason added for good measure, with a vicious triumph.

“She’ll tell you not to go with me!” Danny protested, still utterly futilely.

Lady Gotham looked after her own. Not one part of that included even vaguely discouraging them from throwing themselves face first into danger.

She’d push him in, if she thought it needed doing.

“No she won’t.”

Danny groaned heavily and lifted himself up solely so that he could flop harder and heavier onto Jason. With, yeah, all the weight of a wet baby kitten. Jason didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a huff of air, which did make him smile even if it was reluctantly.

“Alright, fuck you. Can we stay at one of your good places instead, if we’re still doing totally unnecessary slumber parties? I wasn’t kidding, this is a fucking dump. And I live in a dorm. You coulda mentioned this place when we first started sprucing up your haunt, cuz it desperately needs it.”

And listen.

Robin training.

Lived with Bruce.

Even slightly self aware.

Jason knew exactly what deflection sounded like, even when done far more expertly. It was a choice to let Danny get away with it.

But knight pact or no, Danny was his friend, not his boss. And that also meant Jason wasn’t his dad, or anyone who could actually force him to do anything.

If it actually got Danny staying overnight, he’d do it. Soothe the part of him that fretted even with Danny’s assurances, make it easier to tell him in the morning, give him a chance to try and feed Danny decent pancakes over soulless commercial profiteering? All wins.

So he shrugged.

“Hey, this one’s closest to the campus. You got any morning classes?” He’d been intending to let Danny go back to his dorm (after he talked), so he hadn’t cared that it was one of his less cared for haunts.

For an actual sleepover though? Well, they’d already had one at one of his better places, nearly had another at his actual home. They could go wherever Danny wanted.

Danny made a face like he’d said something weird (or he’d forgotten he had classes), then pulled out his phone to check his schedule.

“Nah, I got a tutorial at eleven thirty but I can probably skip it,” he said a moment later, shooting Jason a wary look. Like he knew there was a trap in Jason agreeing with him, but wasn’t sure how to counter it.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

“What class?”

Danny rolled his eyes right back, glanced at his phone again, and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Just Mechanical Engineering. We’ll be starting a major project next week, but I know what I’m doing already and the prof cleared it. You can just drop me off at the dorm if you’re that worried,” he added, slightly smug with this new suggestion.

Jason considered it for a moment, mostly for the theatrics. Then he shrugged. He’d never willingly skipped a class, but it had still happened more than once. But he could still call Danny’s bluff.

“Sure, I’ll bring a pillow and camp out on the floor.” He’d never been back to Danny’s room, largely because other than the bed, there was barely enough floor for Danny to lie down on, let alone someone built like Jason.

Danny’s eyes narrowed, and Jason grinned. Try and bluff a bat; they were the kings of commit to the bit. Jason could and would squish himself to sleep damn near anywhere.

Clearly unable to deny that, Danny finally rolled his eyes and flopped back against the couch cushions instead.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. All the groceries are in the fridge,” he added when Jason stuck his tongue out at him.

True, but not an issue. Untangling them enough to get up, Jason made for the kitchen.

“And they’ll go back in the fridge at my place.” He hesitated barely a second, but he’d already made up his mind, hadn’t he? As soon as the subject came up. “The place at the library nice enough for you?”

It was his home. Sort of. His real home, or the one he wanted to be, except that it still didn’t feel like it yet. Because he wanted to keep it nice, clean perfect and unspoiled, so he never really used it.

Having Danny over to watch truly awful sitcoms in the New Year had kinda highlighted that while all his nicest stuff was there, it wasn’t going to be a home until he’d lived in it. And having Danny there had helped start that too.

And sure, it’d be funny to use all the good stuff on Danny; give the world’s most reluctant king the royal treatment.

Little fuck was already pulling faces again, squirming on the couch.

“Man, that place is way too nice… I was scared to touch the floors.”

Which was kinda exactly what Jason had thought too. But he had to get over that part eventually; he could clean pretty much anything up. But living was messy, and apparently only more so for the half dead.

So he flipped Danny off.

“You can float. Just don’t cover anything in garlic powder this time,” he added with a snicker.

Danny flipped him off back, grinning reluctantly.

“And again, fuck you that was one time!” He protested with extra drama.

“Unless you make it a habit,” Jason shot back, restuffing groceries into bags. Danny hesitated a moment longer, then visibly caved.

Felt like agreeing to wait for morning had been the right move. They could both make concessions.

“Alright, but swing by the campus first. I wanna grab a change of clothes for tomorrow, I’m not doing another walk of shame,” he teased with a sly smirk, and Jason’s heart skipped.

For no reason.

Totally unnecessary.

It wasn’t like the memory of Danny running around in his clothes for a day was going to spark anything in him. Wait, actually…

“Yeah, you can grab my shirt too, I need it back,” Jason said with a snicker.

Danny’d gotten most of his stuff back to him within a week. Except the Soup Powered Fuck Machine shirt, which he’d worn to more than one of their adventures through the city.

Jason was well aware he wasn’t getting that shirt back. He even agreed it was much funnier on Danny.

(And, well, ridiculously oversized, which meant that once jackets and sweaters came off Danny still tended to tie it into a crop top like a country girl in her boyfriend’s shirt. It was cute.

Jason was maybe considering giving in and letting Steph get him in a crop top.)

Sure enough, Danny stuck his tongue out at him, reluctantly hauling himself from the couch.

“No idea what you’re talking about, I gave you all of your clothes back weeks ago.” The odds that Danny would bring that shirt along, just to wear tomorrow? High.

Chuckling softly, Jason grabbed the bags.

“Oh, then I must be mistaken. Clearly all of your clothes are actually the right size, right?” He asked sarcastically.

Danny nodded archly anyway, as regal as an offended cat as he flounced to the door.

“The right size is whatever size I want them to be,” he declared airily, and Jason… couldn’t argue with that. And then just as Jason had locked the door behind them and was reshouldering the bags, Danny turned back suddenly, all airs and graces apparently forgotten.

“Oh, and I need a thigh selfie from you. There’s some nerds in my class totally obsessed with Red Hood, but obviously yours are better.”

Jason didn’t quite drop anything breakable. But that was only because they hadn’t bought anything breakable.

Boxes of Lucky Charms pancakes spilled across the floor.

———————

And there we have it! 😁 our first timeskip, a couple plot beats all set up, and maaaaybe a little hope that by the end of next chapter we’ll have one less secret!

And Bruce is improving! Ish. Look how good he did though, said sorry and everything! And now he’s being subjected to Vlad and the Fentons, which can only possibly go well!

#dfdali #danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dead on main ship #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #chapter 19 part 2 #the finished core

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xo-cod · 4 months

Note

could you tell us more about ghost and price in the au? 👀👀 i love bridgerton so much 🥲💕

of course nonnie, i hope you enjoy. idk if i'll ever write it but it's so fun to think about lmao. i included gaz/soap/könig just in case :) 🤍

continued from: here

price: the leader, the gentleman of the bunch if you will. but just as witty and cunning as the rest of his comrades, though that side isn't often shown. he lacks affection and warmth after years of spent alone, he's especially learnt not to trust and rely on people. bears the burden of his team, holds many responsibilities from his higher position that keeps him occupied. upholds his honour and role in society as the viscount but he is unmarried and purely looking for someone that ticks off the boxes for being a viscountess, at best looking for an understanding of sorts since love is a fickle thing and he doesn't believe feelings should be mixed with business. that's not to say there isn't a heart that beats under all that armour. perhaps you may be his undoing

ghost: maybe the brute would interest you, his devious ways certainly able to spark a light in someone. he's blunt and brash, harsh and cold. doesn't really converse to anyone that isn't his companions, fiercely protective and loyal to them, holds them in a high regard. he is knighted like all of them, fulfils his duties during the day and fights during the night. the years of abuse have taken its toll on him, doesn't believe he could love or that it could be reciprocated. he bears a dark past, harbouring secrets he's vowed to keep to the grave but perhaps you may be the one to tempt his heart, to show him the true love he's always yearned to have. to ease some lightness in the darkness he carries

gaz: the mastermind, he is the sarcastic witty type when conversing. being of a higher class has brought about many attention, attention which isn't something he rather enjoys. gaz is a man of few words, usually appreciating intellect of an individual someone who challenges him and keeps him thinking. his time is mostly occupied with his responsibilities but there's a soft ache that runs through him in the stillness of the night all alone and away from the buzz of society. something in him dares to linger on a dream, a hope that perhaps he isn't an unlovable as he thinks himself to be. perhaps you may be the one to secure the viscount

soap: lastly the playboy! he's got that devilish smirk that results from having a decent conversation to all hot and flustered in bed. but to him sex doesn't equal love. he's rather emotionally closed off, love has usually been full of pain so he gave up. sex is good enough, gets rid of the physical need of a soft body and he doesn't see them again afterwards. he does allow himself the pleasure but of late as he grows older he finds himself wanting more, something he can't seem to find in the other ladies in the town. maybe you'd be the rare diamond he's after, able to quench his desire for a lover

plus könig: the earl, he's calculating and calm. rarely ever seen conversing with others outside his circle. societal events aren't much his thing and he won't go if his presence isn't required. könig again doesn't care much for love, looking for a countess and nothing more. he too doesn't much believe in love, won't allow his heart to even entertain the thought so he closes himself off away from others. he just needs someone that's compatible on paper, to secure his right in his position. but maybe you could teach him that love isn't black and white, that perhaps he too can indulge himself for once in his life (tolerates the 141, personal beef with ghost)

it's a fun idea to think off, sorry if it's repetitive. i haven't yet fully thought this out so there are mistakes but i hope you liked it anyway :)

#asks #i'm just as confused as you are honestly 🥴#task force 141 #bridgerton!141

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sarcasticscribbles · 3 months

Note

Besides your most recent drawing of Melanie King being based on Joan of Arc (Absolutely lovely [in the old British man TikTok voice] did you have any other inspiration for the drawing? [It reminded me of your The fool Archivist Commission]).

General female knight imagery, I knew I wanted the weapon to cover her eye, which is a common sword pose

I also tried to mimic the armour look with British punk fashion, broader shoulder and a bulky fit

A leather jacked was a great juxtaposition between the styles

This hand:

is a blessing hand, something saints and prophets are depicted with. Also we got the halo but with swords (St. Catherin, Joan of Arc's sword, which is also around her neck/ a patch on her jacket/ slaughter reference)

And I'm not the one to add buttons to characters to show her identity; however, Melanie is punk, and custom in that scene, so I added lesbian flag, what the ghost pin and Joan of Arc from Clone High (I ran out of Joan of Arc references)

I agree it looks a little like a card with the white frame and name, but I was going for this mediaeval Saint style with the layout!

thanks for asking a lot goes into it, and it's really fun finding Easter eggs to add

#never ask me about my research because I won't shut up about it then #melanie king #im planning on one for georgie too just gotta find me a saint #the magnus archives #tma #mag

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momojedi · 11 months

Text

— as beautiful as the day i lost you pairing. echo x gn! jedi reader

type. oneshot, fluff note. watched the bad batch arc with my dad and he came to appreciate echo as much as I do so I wanted to write a lil about him <3 warnings. really fluffy, mentions of order 66 taglist. @patapouille (open for more)

star wars masterlist

“Don’t shoot!” The clone stands still and carefully holds up his hands, dropping the blaster gun as a peace offering. “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” He motions his two companions to follow his lead and lower their weapons.

I hesitate. After the past couple weeks of running from the Empire and having friends turn to foes amidst battle when Order 66 was declared, I’ve lost all ability to trust anyone, especially clone troopers. The warm and friendly gaze replaced by that sudden hatred in their eyes is still a vivid memory on my mind, ever since that fateful day.

But if this really isn’t some evil scheme led by an imperial commander and if that trooper really is telling the truth then perhaps finally letting my guard down might not be as bad of an idea as it seems. After all, I feel no evil sensation, no malice in the force but rather … a familiar one.

I frown. Despite being like no troopers I have ever met before with their dark armour and their unique looks, something about them felt warm and inviting, like coming home from a hard mission back into the arms of a loved one.

I shake my head and lower the lightsaber I’ve been gripping so tightly, my knuckles now slowly turning white. “Who are you?”

The trooper - their leader I suspect - takes a hold of his helmet and pulls it off in a swift motion, dark hair falling over his shoulders. His face is halfway covered in a tattoo and he looks at me in a calm yet strict demeanour. “The name’s Hunter. We,” he gestures towards the two other men, one impossibly huge towering over the other two with a skull on his helmet and the other slender with grey armour, a pair of piercing eyes glaring at me through the goggles of his helmet, “are the Bad Batch.”

The Bad Batch, eh? I narrow my eyes thoughtfully as I dimly remember Captain Rex mentioning them before when Master Skywalker stopped at the Jedi Temple for a debriefing and updates on the current war situation. My face darkens as the clone captain of the 501st crosses my mind. Had he executed Order 66 as well? Was Master Skywalker even … still alive?

The ghost of a smile lingers on my lips as the chaotic battalion comes to my mind. I had worked with them more than once in the past, mostly involving their ARC trooper duo Fives and Echo, the latter of whom I’d developed very close relationship with, dare I say romantic even. Despite being forbidden and likely resulting in my banishment and his execution if it would’ve ever come to light, we grew incredibly fond of each other, stealing kisses and loving glances whenever we had the chance to. However, after Echo’s death in the Citadel, I refused to work with the 501st any longer when the mere memories of him proved to be too painful for me to handle properly.

I shake my head, no, this isn’t the time to mourn. “Tech, tell them it’s safe too come out.” Hunter’s voice catches my attention as the grey clone nods and walks to the back of the cantina, presumably to comm whoever else they are hiding. Then, Hunter turns back to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s your name, anyway?” I eye him for a second before introducing myself. “How come you’re not killing me? Isn’t that kind of what all clones do now?” Hunter winces at that. “We got our chips removed recently so… don’t worry, we shouldn’t be a threat to you.”

“Hunter! Is everything okay?” A small voice squeals, catching me off guard as I turn to its source. Through the back doors of the cantina, a small girl runs towards him, barely noticing me. I raise a brow at that before glancing at the other person trailing behind her. Like the other three men in the room, the person - who I assume to be another clone - is covered in dark armour, a white ‘99’ imprinted on the plate of his helmet. One of his arms is replaced by a scomp, likely proving useful to slice into things.

When the clone takes notice of me, he freezes. I hum quietly, remembering one of my Jedi contacts’ words shortly after the Purge was declared; maybe he’s scared the Jedi might take revenge on him?

Unsure on how I should put him at ease, I smile slightly and clip the hilt of my saber to my belt before raising my hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” I hold back a slight scoff at those words. ‘After all it should be us who should be scared of you,’ I think.

The clone still doesn’t budge, seemingly staring at me from under his helmet before finally raising his arms to push it off his head and revealing —

I’d recognise that familiar tingle in the force among millions. For a second, the world seems to stop as Echo’s warm eyes meet mine. It’s only the noisy clattering of his helmet meeting the ground that rips me out of my trance and I immediately feel my eyes well up with tears.

“Echo?” I croak, almost in a whisper. Despite my internal struggle, my body refuses to move. But I don’t have to because before I know it, Echo has already rushed over to me and scooped me into a tight hug. Suddenly, I feel the tears spilling as I bury my face in his chest plate, gripping him desperately as if he’d disappear any second if I were to let him go. “I - I thought you were — ” My words are interrupted by a broken sob.

Gently shushing me, Echo pulls away before cradling my face in both his hand and the tip of his scomp. “It’s okay, everything’s okay, mesh’la.” His voice is steady but I can’t help but notice the light tremble in his words as he pulls my forehead against his. Unable to properly use my words right now, I just nod quickly.

“Look at you,” he mumbles breathlessly, a small chuckle laced with disbelief escaping him, “you’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

Without a second thought I pull him into a deep kiss which he happily indulges in, knowing fully well that I won’t ever let him go again.

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meowsequence · 6 months

Text

The paradox of white chest plate is solved!

Warning: 1) Heavy spoilers 2) Lots of text 3) My point of view may change later

Let's recap some "Fake Ending" and "Continue Game" events:

Elster enters the Gates and goes through red desert. Red is the colour of bio-resonance and Ariane's wrath and suffering, or, in other words - Hell. Loops are also part of Hell.

She sees many corpses which are not (!) results of "Leave" ending - these don't look like they died with inner peace, they are far from Penrose-512 and, most importantly, they are still in Hell. These Elsters just never found the Ship or didn't dare to come closer. Remember Ariane's "come closer" call?

This time Elster finally made it to the ship! But then she got injured by invisible strike. Invisible means bio-resonance and there is only one bio-resonant in Hell - it's very creator Ariane. She didn't forgive Elster. Red part of Ariane feels betrayed and who can blame her?

Despite feeling Ariane's wrath, which hurts in many ways, Elster keep going. She puts her hand on the ship and awful noise stops. She climes up Penrose-512 and tries to open the hatch. "Ghost in the Shell" reference shows that Elster does not care of her body, she didn't forgive herself neither. And she fails. Again. And she falls down dying. Again.

She's actually dead, just look at her eye at main menu! The tragic story of Penrose-512 repeated.

We chose to continue and we see memories of Elster and Ariane being happy (interesting detail - back window is blue here)

We coming back to Elster's dead body and see how Ariane's figure appears next to it. Then we see how Ariane's face blends into bandaged version. I guess we can read it as Aline taking over Ariane or it is Ariane's other side kicks in as she looks at poor Elster? The side that is tired of suffering and wants it all to end - the White (sorry, white won't be visible) colour side, aka what's left of original Ariane. (Is it a proof that there are 2 long-haired Arianes in the line-up, so either one of them Aline or Ariane has 2 sides?) And then…

Elster's last memories are taken out of Red Hell (and therefore - out of loop) into White (snowing) Limbo. Just same way it was transferred from dead Elster on Penrose-512 to Hell in the beginning of the game.

Elster opens her eyes and climbing back. She does not use the hatch. Instead she appears in Ariane's room on the same place where original Elster-512 died. She has another dreadful injury now - her heart was brutally ripped out. That is the scary price for another try. It is hard to admit, but love was the reason of Elster's failures. And now she's desperate enough: she gave a promise and she'll do anything. We see exposed blue bones, blue is Elster's colour. And Ariane accepts Elster's hart as a sacrifice and… forgives her?

Finally, we are approaching the chest plate paradox that is announced in the title! But first, couple words about our sponsor… Do you like brain rot? Have you ever been going to bed and saying "man, I wish I had something to think about again and again instead of healthy sleep"? Try Signalis! Providing broken harts and sleepless nights from 2022! And if you are an artist, you are cursed for additional 50%! Okay-okay, now serious XD

Remember that we are still in White Limbo, outside loops of Red Hell. Another Elster's body we find by the cryo-pod is not a result of other in-Hell endings! It shows us WHERE and HOW we should have died! Arm/armour - is a sign of Ariane's forgiveness. We cover red chest plate and arm markings (the colour of Ariane's wrath) in white and blue - colours of Ariane and Elster. And that will protect us. Now she's ready to jump back to Hell. Now Red side of Ariane can't stop her anymore! What she's gonna do about it, huh? Except… hm… driving Adler mad and wake up Falke? >_>

#signalis #spoilers #ariane yeong #lstr 512 #signalis elster

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factorialsotherfandoms · 9 months

Text

Pac wakes to the sound of someone stumbling into the room. Fit, just the other side of the bed, is awake but not moving; he follows his lead.

"Fuck!" it's Mike, it's only Mike, but he sounds terrible. "Fucking shit!"

There's the sound of Mike kicking the box he just walked into, and that's when Pac acts. He leaves Fit's arms, rolling over and flicking on the light.

"Mike?" he asks, rubbing sleep from an eye. "What's wrong?"

He's drunk. Pac can easily see that Mike is drunk, from the way he sways slightly and the slur in his voice. Richarlyson pops up beside him - Pac gestures for his son to go put himself to bed.

Richarlyson doesn't move immediately, but Mike does.

"Pac?" Mike asks. "Are you-?"

Despite the alcohol, there's a break in Mike's voice; Pac stands, and walks over, and pulls him into a hug.

"You're fucking drunk, bro," Pac says. "What's wrong?"

"He killed me," Mike replies, drunken rage quickly shifting to alcohol-fueled sobs. "He killed me!"

Pac clutches Mike a bit tighter, tugs him over to the bed. Fit has sat up, now, making room for them both.

"Who killed you?" Pac asks, even as he sits and forces Mike to curl at is side. "Mike, who hurt you?"

"Naked Slenderman," Mike hiccups, pulling more wine from his inventory; Pac is tempted to steal it, but knows already how that ends. "We were trying to banish him, but he locked us all in the Freddy Restaurant. Took people out one by one until it was just me, then he put this skull down and then this red axe-"

The shaking and tears take over. Pac himself is shaking too, clutching Mike a bit closer. Fit looks over from his comms, probably reading a surely mangled translation, and raises an eyebrow.

Pac shakes his head - not now.

Fit nods and quietly adds, "you're safe here, Mike; I'll just put Richas to bed."

The boy is not thrilled to be sent away with one dad still sobbing, but Fit herds him out anyway. There's a sign left behind, one reading 'Chayanne got back in and got him up. Ramon and I looked after him.'

Pac makes a note to thank the children in the morning; for now it's better they sleep.

He can't fix this - he can't. He doesn't understand the naked slenderman, for all it stalks and terrified him too. In the lamplight, in the night...

Pac hopes Fit is back soon, because he is definitely also scared.

"I think it's the guard I killed," Mike whispers. "I tried to give him back his badge, and he just sealed me in the sewer."

"The sewer?" Pac asks, before he remembers the teenage mutant ninja turtles area of the lower backrooms.

Mike nods, and whimpers, "once I lined up the photos the exit came back."

"Fuck," Pac replies, because what else can he say. "I won't let him get you Mike."

"I don't think you have a choice," Mike replies. "He's powerful. He's so powerful, Pac, he just dragged us around and not even Dapper's ritual could stop him! Dapper told me to start praying and I did and he killed me!"

"Does it still hurt?" Pac asks, because sometimes it does. He wants to help, to comfort, but his brain feels filled with fog.

A nod against his ribs; Pac pulls the blankets up to hide Mike, and holds him even closer.

"We can try new enchantments on your armour," Pac suggests. "Maybe...?"

Mike shakes his head - still drunk, still inconsolable, "one hit Pac! All my armour shattered and he killed me! We can't win. We can't win. He's going to take us!"

The hopelessness is in Pac's soul too - he pulls the blankets even higher, hiding himself as well.

"Even if he hurts us, we'll come back," Pac promises instead. "We always come back, always get out - no escape is impossible, remember? We just have to work it out."

Mike cries and trembles, and Pac continues to console him. While Mike stays hidden Pac's eyes flicker out, searching every corner of the room. He doesn't see it - there's no white, nothing like that, not again, but he can't help it! Even as he promises Mike they'll be okay his own heart rate picks up, searching out the creature - ghost perhaps - with a vendetta against him and his friend.

The door opens, and Pac shrieks.

Mike's sobs grow more desperate, clinging tighter as he does.

"Calm, calm," Fit uses a few of the Portuguese words he knows. "Just me. Richarlyson is asleep."

"Thank you, Fit," Pac replies on instinct, as he remembers how to breathe.

"You good?" is the reply.

Pac... Pac switches to English, because he wants Fit to understand. "Naked Slenderman is after Mike. It kidnapped him and killed him and kidnapped him again. I've seen it too - at the museum. We think it's after us."

He half expects teasing, but Fit's face turns serious.

"Let's push the bed against the wall. Pac? You go the far side. Mike in the middle. I'll guard the outside - the wall should guard your back."

It's better then just pretending to be a pile of blankets; Pac nods, and quickly translates the plan for Mike. Mike's English is just as good as his, but scared out of his mind... It's better, to be sure; Pac's struggling enough himself, and he's not the one who was stabbed.

It takes less convincing than Pac expected to convince Mike into pajamas. It's only as Pac remembers that, of course, Mike's armour was ruined and so he's just as vulnerable in all states.

Pac slips a few diamonds and enchantment books into Mike's backpack, just to be sure he'll be able to replace it in the morning. It might not be the best as Etoiles would define it, but it'll make something as good as is reasonable.

It is as Mike is being helped into something more comfortable - still clinging to Pac with every opportunity even if he is quieter now - that Fit shoves the bed to the wall, and Pac notices the new scar on Mike's chest.

A giant cleave, from the hollow of his shoulder all the way to his thigh and, damn, that's a painful way to die.

A painful way to die, and a horrific injury to survive.

Pac can imagine Mike on the floor, bleeding and in agony, screaming and calling for help in a sealed up room, pain blinding his senses until only a child can make it through a slowly widening hole to save him, anyone else too large - Mike screaming for Chayanne to get to safety instead, more willing to die than let a child be harmed... As soon as he thinks Mike will let him, Pac pulls him into the tightest hug he can manage, and onto the bed.

Mike stinks of cheap wine and other alcohol, but he's still Mike - he's Mike, he's Mike, he's /always/ Mike.

Fit leaves on the light as he comes to bed, pulling the blankets up over all three of them. Rolling onto his side he reaches across Mike to rest his hand on Pac's shoulder, and curls his body protectively around Mike's back.

Mike's safe now, or as safe as he can be - Pac shields his front and Fit his behind. They both hold him tight, secure he can't be taken.

"I've got you," Pac whispers the promise in soft Portuguese. "He won't take you from me."

Mike just nods against his chest.

"Good night Pac, good night Mike," offers Fit. "Sleep well."

Pac appreciates the sentiment, but doubts either of them will ever sleep again.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp tazercraft #qsmp pac #qsmp mike #qsmp fic #please assume all dialogue unless specified otherwise is in portuguese #and adjust fit's competency accordingly #alcohol tw #injury tw #spoilers for streams up to end of 6th jan 2024 #based on the bit where mike is very drunk and with ramon then richas #and clearly not okay #pac is trying very hard not to freak out as well #there's an essay in that somewhere but i don't have it in me #4 hour meeting in noisy place has killed me #i'll be fine with actual sleep but a nap wasn't enough #take care y'all

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tiredspacedragon · 6 months

Text

Kulbok sat in his hut, rubbing his still-aching head. It had been almost two days since the Toa Inika had freed him and his fellow Matoran from the effects of the Piraka's Zamor Spheres, and though he felt mostly recovered, his head still sometimes pounded with fleeting traces of strange, dark thoughts. He recalled little from his time enslaved, only a ringing blankness, broken occasionally by flashes of a universe in ruin, dark ocean depths, and a pair of lidless, red eyes hanging in the night sky.

A knock at the doorway drew the Bo-Matoran from his reverie, and he looked up to see a white mask peeking through the entrance.

"Widget for your thoughts," said Kvoleni, hovering on the threshold. Normally she wouldn't bother waiting for an invitation to make herself at home, but recent events had left all the Matoran of Voya Nui uncertain. Kulbok motioned for her to come in, and the Vo-Matoran joined him on his cot. They sat there saying nothing for a long moment.

"How are you feeling?" Kvoleni tried again. This time, Kulbok sighed.

"My head's still kinda funny, but I'm managing," he finally answered. "You?"

"Better," she said. "Not great, but better."

"Yeah. I think that's pretty much everyone right now." The way he said it, it was clear Kulbok had intended the words to be light, but the strain in his voice, and the truth of the statement, undermined his attempt at levity. Still, Kvoleni graced him with a chuckle.

"We've certainly been worse!" she said.

The two Matoran allowed silence to settle over them again. Even on happier days, their conversations often had a similar rhythm. One would speak, then the other, then a pause. To laugh, or think over each other's words, or simply to allow the quiet its turn. It had been a habit of theirs for several hundred years now.

Eventually, Kvoleni spoke again. "I heard some of the others say the Toa have returned from underground. They were headed to the bay, from what I can tell."

Kulbok's head shot up. "The bay? What would they want there?" He hesitated a moment. "You don't think...?"

Kvoleni shook her head. "No. They were chasing something, I think."

"Right. Of course," Kulbok said. "They're Toa. They surely have more important things to do than..."

"Chase ghosts?"

"Yeah."

The two Matoran were silent again.

"I mean," Kvoleni started, "we could try asking them to look. I heard--"

"No," Kulbok cut her off. "We shouldn't bother them. Besides, what would there even be to find?"

Kvoleni started to say something in response, but seemed to think better of it, and said nothing.

The sound of a commotion outside suddenly drew the Matoran's attention. They glanced at each other before hurrying out into the village square. A small crowd had gathered there, whispering and murmuring amongst themselves as they watched a huge being, clad in thick red-and-silver armour, tread slowly towards them.

That must be Axonn, Kulbok thought. He had heard Balta, one of the only Matoran to have evaded the Piraka's clutches, mention the armoured titan. Supposedly, he was an ally, but the grim look in his eyes brought Kulbok no comfort as Axonn entered the village.

The tall figure stood before the Matoran, towering above them. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a strangled shout rang out from the back of the crowd.

Kulbok jumped back in surprise at Kvoleni's cry. She darted forward, pushing through the crowd towards Axonn with a desperate urgency. Kulbok followed, confused. What had possessed her to run straight for this powerful-looking stranger? As Kulbok approached, he was able to see the armoured warrior more clearly, and noticed that he appeared to be carrying something, cradled in one of his massive arms.

Breaking through the crowd, the Bo-Matoran saw Axonn kneel to meet Kvoleni as she reached him. He held out his burden to her, and finally Kulbok saw

* * *

The Ta-Matoran's name was Ranta.

Long ago, an injury had resulted in him being sent to the realm of Karzahni for repairs, where, like many others before and after him, the ruler of that land attempted to rebuild him into a stronger form, and failed. Though his injury was healed, Ranta's new body was smaller and weaker than his original form, hunched and misshapen. Disgusted with his work, and unable to bear being reminded of his failure, Karzahni had given Ranta and his fellow "repaired" Matoran weapons to defend themselves, and shipped them away, far from his isolated kingdom. Eventually, they had settled in the center of the Southern Continent, in a barren region around the volcano known as Mount Valmai. The Matoran called the region "Voya Nui," meaning "Great Voyage," after the long journey it had taken them to reach this place where they could live in relative peace.

It was there that Ranta had become close with two of his companions, the Bo-Matoran Kulbok, and the Vo-Matoran Kvoleni. Ranta was a quiet sort, but unflinchingly courageous, and his subtle brand of intensity had balanced out Kvoleni's more impetuous energy, while also letting the more reserved Kulbok feel comfortable enough to come out of his shell. Though the three of them were all originally from different lands, they quickly became all but inseparable. They lived, worked, and laughed together, and comforted each other when memories of their old homes and lives overwhelmed them. Even when the Great Cataclysm had struck, sending Voya Nui crashing upwards, killing dozens and leaving the new island adrift in the endless ocean above, the three Matoran stuck together.

But then came the city of Mahri Nui. Runoff from Mount Valmai had cooled into rock, resulting in the formation of a new landmass protruding out into Voya Nui Bay. The Matoran saw the new land as an opportunity to expand their settlement, and constructed many new dwellings there, where they lived for many years. All was well, but Ranta was uneasy. He was not a volcanologist by trade, but he had taken an amateur interest in the volcano, and over time became familiar with its workings and the makeup of its lava. Though he, Kulbok, and Kvoleni had remained in the Matoran Village on Voya Nui, in no small part due to Ranta's urging, the Ta-Matoran came to spend much of his time in and around Mahri Nui. He was convinced the cooled lava was unstable and unsafe, and regularly scoured the area for signs of faults or fractures. Most ignored or laughed at his concerns, and indeed for 700 years, Mahri Nui prospered.

It was on one of these scouting trips, that he was finally proven right.

The deafening sound of cracking stone echoed all across the island. The first split was small, but more quickly followed. Gaping crevices and yawning chasms spanned the length of the bay. Ranta ran screaming through the city streets, calling out for everyone to evacuate before the entire city was lost to the sea. Indeed, some heard his warnings in time, and safely made it back to the shores of Voya Nui, but most, including Ranta himself, did not. The rock heaved and broke, and Mahri Nui sank beneath the waves, down, down, to depths unimaginable, far below where any light could reach.

Since that day, the Matoran of Voya Nui would gather twice a year to throw offerings into the bay, in memory of their lost friends. For some, this brought comfort, though others, like Kulbok, never truly found closure. They knew there was no hope that Mahri Nui had survived its descent, but the loss of hundreds of lives in only a matter of minutes was too much to accept. It felt unreal, like a dream from which they'd never quite managed to awaken.

For the Matoran of Mahri Nui, the gifts from above were also like something out of a dream.

Against all odds, the city had survived, landing on an underwater cliff and disturbing a field of Airweed, which released massive air bubbles that surrounded the settlement, saving the inhabitants from drowning. The shock of the catastrophe damaged the Matoran's fragile memory, and while many had vague recollections of where they had originally come from, none could recall their lives on Voya Nui, or how they came to reside in the Black Water.

Ranta was bothered by this gap in his memory more than most. All the Matoran of Mahri Nui knew they were missing something, but Ranta felt compelled to seek it out, that there was something he had to return to, but he could not remember what. He lived a mostly innocuous life in the underwater city, never joining the Mahri Nui Council and preferring the less public work of a sentry. He made a few friends, but none of them seemed to share his drive, and he often spent his free time exploring the caves at the base of the Cord on his own.

The Cord was Mahri Nui's only link to the surface world, a narrow, hollow tube made of cooled lava from Mount Valmai that connected the sunken city to Voya Nui, though neither Matoran population knew this. The Matoran of Voya Nui were not aware of its existence at all, and the Matoran of Mahri Nui could not see how far up it went, and did not dare leave the safety of their air bubbles long enough to find out. If the threat of drowning when their personal air bubbles ran out was not enough to deter most, the Black Water was infested with deadly sea creatures, bizarre, twisted Rahi and other beasts the Matoran did not recognize.

Ranta, however, was not so easily cowed. He did not enter the Cord itself; enough Matoran more foolhardy than he had tried, and none had returned; but he did swim alongside it, up and up, further with each trip. But he always turned back. He knew that past a certain point, he would not have enough air to make it back to Mahri Nui, and he still had no idea how far away the surface may be. So he would turn back, and tell his friends that maybe he'd make it to the surface next time. They teased him each time he did, feigning disappointment at his failed "surface runs," but in truth, they thanked the Great Spirit each time he returned.

He was missed the day he did not.

As the waters around Mahri Nui grew more dangerous with each passing year, with unseen threats pressing in from all sides, Ranta risked fewer and fewer trips along the Cord. He spent more time on guard duty, keeping watch on the city borders for whatever monsters may slink out of the darkness. But he still felt the pull, the compulsion to seek out what he was missing, and one day, he made his final trip.

As always, he pushed a little farther than he had before, but this time, before he turned back, he caught sight of a glinting object falling through the water, illuminating the gloom around it. He watched it for a moment, entranced, before he noticed a tall figure swimming down after it. For a moment, Ranta was elated. He had seen a Toa before, many many years ago, and recognized the figure as one immediately. Perhaps with her help, his city could be saved. And, if she was here, than he must be near the surface, closer than he had dared hope. But his hope quickly vanished as the Toa began to thrash.

Her name was Toa Inika Hahli, and she was drowning.

Just as he had 300 years before, Ranta spared no thought for his own safety, and charged forward. He grabbed the Toa around the waist and kicked upward with all his might, fighting his way up towards the steadily growing light, until at last he broke the surface, and felt the light of the setting sun on his armour for the first time in centuries. And for the last time.

Had he run out of air lower down, Ranta would not have perished as he had always thought he would. The mutagenic effects of the Black Water would have transformed him into a water-breather, and he would have become a creature of the sea, able to swim wherever he wished. But the Matoran had forgotten how the water had begun to change them when Mahri Nui first sank, how it had undone the work of Karzahni and restored them to stronger, fitter forms, and Ranta's air ran out well above the level the mutagen reached. The seawater that filled his lungs would do nothing to save him. And while the body of the Toa of Water he carried was more durable, and naturally more suited to rapid changes in pressure, his was not. Combined with exhaustion from carrying the weight of a being nearly twice his size, and Ranta never stood a chance. He collapsed on the beach, barely managing to beg the other Toa who received him there to help his city before his heartlight faded to black, and he was gone.

The mighty warrior Axonn, agent of the Order of Mata Nui, carried Ranta's body back to the Matoran Village after sending the Toa Inika on their way down the Cord to Mahri Nui. No sooner had he set foot in the village square than Kvoleni and Kulbok were at their friend's side. His armour and body were different, but they recognized him immediately, and wept at the impossibility. Ranta had come home to them, and they would never see him again.

* * *

Grief, the being noted as he watched the memorial service. Burial and associated ceremonies had never been programmed into the Matoran, but those who dwelt on Voya Nui had developed them independently after the crash once it became clear the bodies of the deceased would no longer simply disappear as they had before. The being made a point of observing them whenever they occurred. He found the ways in which the Matoran behaved after the loss of another whom they "cared" about to be fascinating. Such an accurate facsimile of mourning.

As the crowd dispersed, the being turned his gaze to the two specimens who had led the rite. A Bo-Matoran, designation Kulbok, and a Vo-Matoran, designation Kvoleni. They stood huddled close together before the grave of the deceased, a Ta-Matoran, designation Ranta. Exactly how the Ta-Matoran had survived for this long after the sinking of Mahri Nui, and how he had attained his stronger form were mysteries to the being, though he suspected they would not remain so for long.

The two Matoran stood together for a long time before they finally turned to leave and saw the being watching them.

"Velika, right?" the Vo-Matoran asked with surprise. "We're sorry, we didn't notice you there. Did...did you know him too?"

The being cocked his head. The two were clearly uncomfortable with his presence; the Vo-Matoran's motions and words were hesitant, and the expression the Bo-Matoran wore was a marvellous reproduction of anger. Perhaps they saw him as intruding on a private moment.

So he turned and left. He would allow them their privacy. There would be time enough to study them later, and there was still much else to do.

#tsdwrites #bionicle #bonkle #i wrote something!#only fanfic but it counts!#my brain hates it but i am ignoring it #it's here and i did it #that's what counts #also yeah this is all angst lmao #lots of trauma #sorry 'bout that #anyway #had fun playing with different perspectives here #i imagine in an audio setting all three parts would be read by different people #enjoy!

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thedevillovesflowers · 10 months

Text

Angel AU::::—— 🪽🪽🗡️🗡️

Slow Beginnings

Warnings: injury, alcohol,

(This is short but a start to the drawings I’ll be doing)

Nightfall had come, the group decided that is was best set up camp. Now that they have their prize, as Graves cheerfully explained - they can make the long journey back to the kingdom at first light. “And a hefty sum of gold for each of you boys for your glorious duty to the king!” The general grinned.

Somehow that irked the 141 to no end.

Gold was a lovely thing to have, freedom for some, madness for others. For Price, it gave him a place to lay his head when the job is done, to one day live a normal life. For Johnny, food/bedding for his sisters and family back home, keeping them safe from monsters of all forms. For Gaz, to own a ship, like his father would’ve wanted, for freedom to make his own path and a name for himself. For Ghost…well the only value money had for him was to get better weapons, stronger armour. It helped bring him out of a troubled past, and into a battle hardened present. Sometimes he wished there was more to him than just iron and steel.

But something changed. The thought of money at the expense of you made their hearts twist, and stomachs sour.

When you woke up, finding yourself caged and chained, fear was screaming through you. Pain, so much pain in your wing it was almost unbearable.

You couldn’t fly, you couldn’t escape.

Your cries startled one of Graves’s men awake, the brute quickly getting up with an angered groan. He stomped his way over -even from a distance away you could smell a foul odour coming from his breath. When he reached your makeshift cage, glaring -he barked at you to shut it. Banging on one of the bars to scare you into silence. It worked. You shrunk back into the corner of the cage, trying to cradle your broken wing wide eyed and full of pained tears.

So this was a man, you realized. You only heard of them through stories, mostly from older family members. They told you that they are a greedy race, that hunt and take. The elders told stories of man creating sharp things, piercing things that bring pain onto others. You were told that they were ugly too, but that had been said to you from your cousins. They may have been right. This one glaring at you was very ugly to say the least.

The commotion of this mans barking awoken the others….

Three men quickly came into view, one of them grabbed a fistful of the ugly ones tunic and yanking him back harshly away from your cages bars.

You were so scared you could hardly make out what the two were barking at each other about. You could understand their language, for your parents taught you as many languages as possible to better connect with other creatures. And the language of man was a very simple one.

————————-

You looked so afraid, shaking even. And this half drunk bastard was yelling at you. Price couldn’t take it, he stormed over to the bloke, yanking him away to give him an earful.

“Your duty is to protect her while on the our journey to the king, understand that soldier? Or do I have to fucking remind you again?”

The drunkards face paled to a stark white. “Next time I see you reefing on the bars of that cage will the last time you have hands, clear?”

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #art #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #gaz mw2 #price mw2 #mw2 x reader #john price x reader #ghost mwii #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw3 #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost x reader #gaz x reader

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teaandransacking · 2 years

Text

Open the blinds, let me see your face

in which I lock our favourite pair in the basement and let feelings loose.

A/N: thankyou SO MUCH for the lovely ao3 comments and the comments/messages here.

Words: 1300 ~ Content: One amazing kiss, angst, SO MANY FEELINGS

----

It’s freezing in the basement room, but Lucy consoles herself with the knowledge that at least there aren’t any ghosts trapped in here with them.

Yet. anyway.

Lockwood sits beside her, brain probably working a ten to the dozen, trying to find a way out, one hand holding the walkie talkie they’ve been using to reach George. He’s a few floors above, working on the locked door from the outside, and Lucy’s not yet found a puzzle George cannot crack, so in the mean time-

“All we have to do is not freeze to death,” she mutters.

Lockwood starts like she’s jabbed him with a cattle prod, and immediately takes off his long coat. He’s hardly without it; it’s like a kind of armour.

She still remembers seeing him in a t-shirt for the first time and being momentarily confused. The suit and coat are an intrinsic part of him.

He finishes shrugging the coat off and offers it.

The only light in the small space shines through the gap between the top stair and the door, casting a pale gold halo around Lockwood. Like he needs another reminder of his gorgeousness, Lucy thinks.

She reaches for the coat and hesitates.

“Take it,” he insists, in that crisp accent, the one she loves to hear her name in. “You’ll catch a cold.”

So she does, and Lockwood holds it out as she slips her arms into it, and she pulls the lapels together so it wraps her up in his scent, magazine pages and earl grey and citrus, and for a second she bows her head and breathes in. Maybe he won’t notice.

Except he does, and his hazel gaze is riveted on her.

“Thanks,” she manages. “I was cold. But what about you?”

He’s only got that thin white shirt and a tie on, above his trousers and the ever-present battered converse.

It must be below six degrees in here. Even in the coat, warm from Lockwood’s body, she still feels the the low temperature’s teeth.

Lockwood brings his knees to his chest. “I’m fine,” he bites off, but his show of bravado is as thin as the cotton of his dress shirt.

Save me from macho boys, Lucy thinks.

"For God's sake. We survive four floors of haunted horror and then you die of catching a cold? I don't think so." And she shuffles back over, and wraps herself around him, settling her head under his chin.

She feels him jerk for a moment, surprised, and then his arms curve around her, and she listens to his heart beating under her ear. Another moment passes, and he rests his cheek on the top of her head.

"Thanks, Luce."

"You're welcome."

It's not so cold now they're huddled together, knees drawn up against themselves, heads close. Lockwood is lean and solid under Lucy's hands; her fingers skate the edges of his leather belt as she holds him to keep him warm.

It would be too easy to slide her index finger just a little lower, find out where the shirt ends and warm, smooth skin begins.

The image heats up every fibre inside her, and her face flushes. It's not an appropriate thought to have in a literal dungeon.

For a start, there isn't a single nice soft surface to lay down on-

"Penny for them?" Lockwood asks softly. "Your thoughts, I mean."

Oh, God.

"Just, er, wondering where George is," she blurts out.

Lockwood has been idly stroking his thumb up and down against her shoulder, and at her words he abruptly stops. “I know it isn’t ideal, being trapped down here with me.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide in the semi-darkness. “That isn’t what I meant.” She swallows, mentally casting around for the right thing to say. “I’m happy being with you.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw; she feels it where his cheek is pillowed against her head. “You have no idea how much I want to let you in. It’s just hard to break the habit of a lifetime.”

Lucy’s heart clenches. Suddenly her next words feel of vital importance, so she weighs them carefully before she speaks, reluctant to embarrass herself, or worse, make Lockwood think he isn’t fast becoming her favourite person in the entire world.

“Just open the door a little further. I’ll do the rest.”

A soft little sound comes out of him, half groan and maybe half little sob, and she feels the gentle pressure of his hand cupping her cheek, his palm rapier-callused and familiar, and his touch is the home she’s been denied all her life.

Lucy straightens up, wiggling out from under him, and then his mouth is a breath from hers, and she meets his dark eyes in the gloom of their very unromantic surroundings, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Everything except him, and the way he looks at her - as if she’d personally hung the moon - has fallen away.

The pad of his thumb skims along her bottom lip, and she’s enchanted by the way his dark gaze flicks to hers once, twice, three times, silently making sure she’s on the same page, before their mouths touch, and then Lucy’s sliding her hand into his hair, parting her lips under his, her heart pounding as weeks of yearning unfurl low in her belly. He’s here and he’s hers, and it’s a heady rush, being alone with him, even in a filthy, freezing basement, and her battered heart can’t help but hope that maybe, this is her last first kiss.

“God, Lucy,” Lockwood breathes, twisting his body so he’s as close to her as he can get, stretching out his legs and then pulling her closer, tipping her centre of gravity, and to keep from breaking the kiss, she shifts to straddle his lap, spearing both her hands into his tumble of dark hair, taking as much as she can get of his delectable mouth. His hands spread over her back, still warm under the veil of his coat hanging from her shoulders, even though she doesn’t need it anymore.

Fire’s eating her up from the inside out. If he stays this close to her, she’ll never be cold again.

There’s a sudden creak and snap, and Lucy’s hand springs to her rapier, only to rapidly blink away a shaft of light from the door.

George stands in the aperture, backlit by a single lamp in the old manor’s servants’ hall.

“George?” Lockwood asks, and Lucy glances back at him, relieved to find his gaze as lust-drunk as her own must be.

Thank goodness there were no ghosts. She wouldn’t have noticed them if they’d conked her over the head with a brick.

Their friend snorts. “I might’ve known. There I was, in a flippin’ creepy manor hallway, alone, I might add, trying what seems like a hundred different keys, and you two are snogging!”

Lucy’s face flushes, and she’s very glad of the coat to hide their positions. “It was cold,” she says, but she can’t help smiling. “Thank you for rescuing us, George.”

“You’re the best of us,” Lockwood adds. He shifts position under Lucy, and he's hard where she's soft, and for a searing, breath-stealing moment, she wonders what might have happened had they been here a half hour longer.

George shakes his head, but there’s no anger in his tone when he says, “It’s about time. If I’d known being locked in a crumbly old basement was all it’d take, I’d have done it myself.”

#lucy carlyle x anthony lockwood #locklyle #lucewood #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction

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ae-neon · 10 months

Note

Still interested in writing something for Eris/Cresseida? What about a scene when they decide to get married? Or just anything with them

💚

"You're serious?" Cresseida cocked a white haired brow, bangled arms crossed as she angled slightly towards Eris.

He leaned against a marble pillar, tall, pale skinned, bright haired, tightly wrapped in burgundy clothing. A contrast to her own dark skin, white hair and vibrant cerulean slip of a silk dress.

She half expected him to shrug, he always played close enough to the edge to back out of the game. But he turned to her, golden eyed and...earnest.

Cresseida shifted on her feet, "You really are serious." The repercussions were immense, both in their appeal and in their risk.

A marriage between them would cross a line drawn as much in blood as it was on a map. Amarantha had forbade inter-court marriages for just this reason. And before her, the families had found themselves too much at odds, locked in unending power struggles.

But now Rhysand, with three Made Fae at his back, moved to impose his will over all of Prythian. And Lucien wrestled with Day and Autumn in his blood.

Everything had changed, an alliance between the seasonal courts might save them but Winter-

"Don't."

Cresseida pulled herself from the board in her mind and met the Autumn Prince's golden gaze, finding again that strange sincerity. "This isn't something to be taken lightly, Eris."

"No, it's not." He agreed, taking his hand from his pocket and closed the gap between them; reaching for her, the calloused pad of this thumb ghosted over the wrinkled space between her brows. "Marriage is more than an alliance. I already know what the Princess of Adriata thinks, I want to know what you think."

Her walls were a second skin, existing without thought. They protected her heart as much as they did her people. Cresseida had been untrusting of even Tarquin at first. And then when her brother had left, abandoned his duty...and her, for them...

So how now had she come to trust Eris Vanserra, to let her muscles ease and her eyes reflect the uncertainty and hope she felt inside?

"Where would we even live?" Her own words surprised her and she saw his face quirk, an almost laugh.

"I'd build you a palace on the border if you like. A west wing in Summer and east in Autumn."

"Realistically, we'd need to establish an integrated household for that, including an army and while I trust your experience-"

The brush of his lips against hers stole the breath from her lungs, killed the words on her lips and ignited a fire in her gut.

They'd tiptoed around this. Flirted and fought with their words, danced so close they shared breath but never...

She tilted her face, angled for another kiss and almost moaned when he pulled her close and gave her everything she'd wanted and so much more.

She pulled back with a grin tugging at her lips as he chased her mouth, "I thought you wanted to know what I think."

"I do," his eyes still lingered on her mouth for a second before they met hers. She fought a smirk and signalled for him to continue.

"You think a palace on the border is perfect for centralising power and that consolidating our armies will help to secure Spring's border too." A frown tugged at her lips and his gaze dipped to them once more before he continued, "You think that because you can't help it. You're the Princess. You can't escape that part of yourself anymore than I can. Which is why you trust me to think the same. To work with you for the benefits. And you're right... But you also know that's not the only reason I asked."

She did know. She felt it as well as he did. Saw her chance at something more with him. Cresseida once again put away the armour of the Princess, let her heart be vulnerable and trusted Eris Vanserra, "Then you already know my answer."

Eris smiled and kissed her again.

CRESSERIS!!!!!

Thank you for this ask ☺️

#cresseris #eris vanserra #cresseida #my writing #mutual asks #acotar drabble

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moosemonstrous · 10 months

Text

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU

The Charger is somehow more menacing up close than it was from across the hangar.

Robbie tries to swallow and realises how dry his throat is. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t remember the jaeger, not really, but the white stripe on its hull brought forward a memory – pressing his face into a warm, broad chest in a ranger suit. The skull-like head does nothing of the sort.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Ivanov hooks a heavy arm over his shoulders. “A bit dusty, I suppose, but the techs kept her up to specs. To honour your father’s memory, you know.”

He doesn’t—he didn’t know. He didn’t know dad was a ranger until last week. It’s still a little overwhelming, if he’s being honest. How did he forget? Most of the information on The Charger is highly classified, but it’s last run was only ten years ago. Robbie was eight. He should have—something. Anything. Instead, when he reaches back all he gets is a vague sense of fear and his mother’s voice: don’t look. Don’t look.

“How did he—” His voice comes out scratchy. He clears his throat. “What happened?”

Ivanov shrugs. He wears too much cologne. “The first gen two. We weren’t ready.”

He offers no platitudes. Robbie is a little grateful for that. He wouldn’t know what to do with them. “And the other pilot?”

Ivanov points to the deep gash on the external hull of the jaeger’s cockpit. The corruption has been long cleaned away, but the jagged edges exposing the chrome underneath the armoured layer speak for themselves. “It was a miracle they made it long enough to kill the beast. Heroes, both of them.”

He lets Robbie have a moment to process. He wishes Gabe could see it, too, but he’s had so many new things to get used to already – a new city, a new home. So many new people to befriend, a new classroom to navigate. The cockpit access walkway is stairs-only, and Robbie wouldn’t mind carrying him all the way up, but. Maybe it’s for the best. Next time, they will come together, and he will know what to say. Know how to keep his expression even. There is no rush, after all – for once in his life, Robbie Reyes got a lucky break.

The evacuation of Los Angeles was a disaster on top of a major humanitarian crisis. For a few weeks, Robbie didn’t think they would make it, not with everyone climbing over each other’s backs to reach the relief transports. He didn’t even know where they were heading when he pushed Gabe onto the UN plane. They had nobody in Hong-Kong – no contacts, no friends, no papers. The refuge wasn’t wheelchair-accessible. Gabe’s meds were stolen a few days before they were going to run out anyway, and Robbie got arrested for beating up the punk he thought was responsible. If the sergeant in charge of the compound didn’t used to work on the base, if she was a little younger, if she didn’t ask– if, if, if. He can’t think about ifs right now. He doesn’t have to.

“Do you want to see inside?” Ivanov asks.

#robbie reyes #ghost rider pacific rim au #as you all know it turns out JUST FINE #this scene was haunting my brain at work so #here we are

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inkareds · 2 years

Text

Werewolf by Night Day 1 - Werewolf // Moon Knight

event masterlist // ko-fi // normal nav

Whilst Marc never seem to care much about you, fully intending to avoid you. Both Jake and Steven seems to desperately want the usually closed off man to open up.

✧.* Word count: 3.8k

✧.* Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, stitching, Marc centred, kind of rushed ending, Marc being an annoying lil shit, the reader is physically strong and was a SHIELD agent

✧.* genre: SFW // fluffy ending

Rmbr guys the event is still open and there's still a lot of slots left!!! Unless they're filled out I'll just put whoever I want AHAHAHAH (also thankq for my bestie for requesting this)

“Care to tell me how you got into this situation again?” You could hear Marc’s exasperated sigh from the other line. “With all due respect, I can tell it to you a hundred times after this!”

A burst of laughter escapes you as the sounds of grunting, and snarling beasts fill the other line. “So, are you going to help me or keep laughing at me from the other line?” Marc was clearly getting impatient.

He thought calling you would get him backup, but it seems that the only thing he’s getting is your judgement. Throwing another one of his moon-shaped daggers towards the werewolf, trying to catch up to him, he ran as fast as he could to dodge the other werewolf, trying to gain the upper hand on him. Then, swerving himself to a nearby alley to catch his breath, his eye got caught in his own reflection on a puddle.

“See, Steven, I’m telling you this was a bad idea! They’re just going to keep taunting us over the line.” He complained towards his companion. “They’re going to come, mate. Just trust us, they were Jake’s partner for years, remember?” Steven, donning his Mr Knight outfit from the reflection restated.

Marc’s head whipped around the alley outside when a loud crash followed by multiple snarling echoed through the empty night streets. “Well, tell Jake, that his old partner is a piece of shit!” Marc yelled at Steven just before going back to the fray.

“Glad to know even Steven’s the only one without a sailor’s tongue.” The sound of a different voice other than the snarls of beasts caught the attention of Marc. Looking up, his masked eyes were met with your gleeful gaze, holding two guns in your hands.

Under the mask, not that you knew, Marc grinned. “Took you long enough.” He was able to keep his annoyance in his tone.

“Oh shut up, Casper the friendly ghost. I had to change my bullets to silver bullets. It takes a while to do that, you know.” You shrugged as you carefully made your way from the rooftop down to the ground beside Marc. “Any reason why it isn’t Jake in control right now?” You motioned your gun towards Marc’s outfit.

It was extremely easy to guess who was fronting when they wore their suits. Steven always had the Mr Knight outfit, Marc had the ceremonial robes of Khonshu, and Jake had a more practical, military-style black and white more armoured outfit.

You had asked because, though you often worked with the Avatar of Khonshu, it was extremely rare for you to work with Steven or Marc. You see, you had a history with Jake Lockley long before you knew Marc and Steven existed.

Being an ex-SHIELD agent allowed you to work together with the fist of Khonshu for quite some time during his work in the States. During those times you were working with him, you knew him for Jake Lockley. Only when he disappeared without any sign of contact did you start worrying.

Then he showed up one night, explaining everything. Turns out, after Marc was found out by Steven and the whole Arthur Harrow event unfolded, it didn’t take long for Jake’s existence to be noticed by the other two. Which led to a long conversation about every memory gap Marc had. Which led to Jake coming that night to your doorstep explaining everything.

To be quite honest, you were expecting much worse. When your co-workers on a daily have to deal with literal Norse Gods, a man in a flying suit of armour, several witches and wizards, and a guy with a bow and arrow. Safe to say you weren’t surprised that the man who served under the Egyptian Moon God wasn’t all that he said he was.

“Guess he just didn’t want to see you this time.” Marc quickly made up an excuse right as a werewolf swerved its head towards the noise of his voice. Eyes locking in with the beast, there was a short tense moment where the two simply stared.

All before the werewolf lunged at both you and Marc. Thinking quickly, you aimed your guns at the beast, firing your silver bullets at the creature while pushing your body to the side to avoid its deadly lunge.

What perfect timing, you thought to yourself. Of course, you could see through the bold-faced lie Marc told you. There was more to it than Jake just not wanting to see you. You and him have been inseparable since the two of you met. But, seeing as the werewolf you shot and previously thought was dead was now starting to move once again. You knew it wasn’t the time to think of such trivial matters.

Marc could only thank whatever Egyptian God controlled the timing of that werewolf. Had you teased him or called him out on his lie, which you definitely would’ve if you had gotten the chance, he wouldn’t have been able to back up his statement.

There was good reason for you to be confused why Marc, of all people, was fronting. He tended to be the one who didn’t get along with you as much. You didn’t put it against him, Jake and you hadn’t gotten along when you first met either. It was a trust thing. And Steven trusted quickly, so it wasn’t hard for you and him to get along.

But for that exact reason, Steven and Jake, mostly Jake, usually fronted during the missions when you started joining them.

The thing that Marc would never tell you was that he and Jake got into a relatively heated argument right before this mission. Something about Jake yelling at him for being rude to you the last time the two of you interacted. To which Marc simply responded that he just flatly didn’t like you all that much.

Not like Jake or Steven. As Marc could very clearly tell, Jake had something for you, and perhaps you were growing on Steven. Something Marc loathed.

During that argument, Jake and Steven agreed that Marc would be the one fronting when you tagged along on their missions. But, it turned out, that agreement would come to play sooner than any of them had expected. Marc had actually tried giving control over the other two people in his headspace right after he called for your backup.

In response, they completely ignored him and simply pushed him back into the driver’s seat.

“How many are after you?!” you called out to Marc as the two of you split up into two different sections of the street so that the werewolves wouldn’t be working together. “Five, last I checked!”

The one that you had shot when it lunged towards you, and Marc in the alleyway was chasing after you. Its thick black fur matted with its own blood. It was moving much more sluggish than when it first pounced on you. So, aiming true, you shot the beast one last time. Watching as the creature slowed down and finally fell to the ground, unmoving.

“I got one!” You shouted out towards Marc. You saw from the corner of your eye that two werewolves were chasing after Marc, meaning there were two left.

One was running straight towards you, its sharp white teeth ready to rip you to shreds. You dodged some of its attacks as you let a rain of bullets attack the creature. “That’s one, Marc has two, one of them is down. Where is the other one?” You whispered to yourself as you made the final shots to the beast.

Keeping an eye on the look out, you pressed your back against a wall so you wouldn’t be ambushed from your back. You reloaded your guns. Who knew killing mythical beasts would use up so many bullets.

As your mind raced to figure out where the last werewolf could be, you failed to realize that the building you were leaning on didn’t have a tall roof. It was too late when you heard the growling. Looking upwards, you were met with the figure of a leaping werewolf right about to land a killing blow on you. Its long arms with sharp claws outstretched towards you.

Though you were too late to dodge unscathed, you felt fortunate enough that the only damage you sustained was a deep cut on your arm from where the werewolf’s claw had sunk into your skin. Biting the inside of your lip, you ignored the burning pain of a fresh wound on your arm. You had to focus. If you don’t, the little wound would be the least of your concerns.

“Shit.” You murmured as the beast looked even more ravenous after having a small taste of ripping your flesh. You knew at this point that your right hand would be useless; if you decided to put it to work, you could rip more of your tendons from the already tender wound.

But you hadn’t realized how dire your situation was until your head began spinning. For a mere second, your eyes left the beast’s terrifying gaze to look at your arm and assess how much blood you had lost. Unfortunately, the answer was too much. And when the beast lunged at you once again when you were not ready, you were forced to throw yourself to the ground so that its claws would not sink to your head.

In return, another flesh wound was given to you, this time on your cheek. And with you now being on the ground. One arm was severely injured and the other was holding said severely injured hand to make sure it didn’t completely bleed out. You realized you were fucked.

Codeword; were.

Your knight in shining, well white, armour appeared right behind the werewolf and slammed his body to the creature. You watched in gratefulness as Marc wrestled for a moment with the werewolf under him before finally being able to land a killing blow with his crescent-shaped blade.

“I’d love to say I had it under control, but I really didn’t.” you jested, “Thank you.” your smile was both genuine and joyful. Wanting to mask how much pain you were into the mercenary in front of you.

What scared you, though, was that Marc didn’t even respond. He stalked over towards you and wordlessly crouched right beside you. You watched with a curious gaze as he took off his cape, noting how the mask was still on his face; you couldn’t really see his expression and therefore read what he was thinking.

Using his cape, he did quick work at making a makeshift tourniquet also with a branch he had found. You tried to not wince at the pain of it all as he tightened the, now red with your blood, white cape right above the deep wound.

Unbeknownst to you, a flurry of very colourful curse words of two languages were echoing through Marc’s mind.

“How did you not see that there was three following them?! You could’ve handled three but no. You had to be the one to deal with two werewolves and give the other one to them!?” He heard Jake yell in his head.

The first time the man decided to speak since the argument. And he sounded even more enraged now than during the argument.

“Jake let’s not jump into conclusion yeah? Bet Marc didn’t even know the other one was following them. Plus, we just need to focus on getting them stitched up now.” Steven tried calming the very mad Latino down.

“Fine, but if you fuck up, I’ll take over and deal with it myself.”

Usually, Jake’s statement on taking over the body when it was dealing with you would’ve made Marc happy. But, again, he didn’t like dealing with you, not that he really knew why. It was just that Marc felt weird whenever you were around. And he hated it. Therefore, he hated you. But in today’s case. He loathed the idea of Jake taking over. It was his fault that you got hurt. He’ll be the one to fix it.

“Hey, you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you? I thought Khonshu’s suit would make you heal fast or something.” Despite your apparent worse state than him, you still showed him more compassion than he had the entire time he had known you.

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry when Marc still didn’t answer. His emotionless mask showed none of his inner turmoil as one of your hands reached out to where his cheek would be. When he realized this, he quickly stood up from where he was standing.

“Can you walk?” he almost winced at how cold he sounded. Especially when you reacted in such a confused manner from his sudden bluntness.

You nodded as you stood up, “Yeah, I didn’t get scratched in the leg you know.” Again you tried to joke. Not that Marc laughed.

When he began walking, you asked, “Where are we going?” taking the fact that he wasn’t bidding you goodbye as a sign for you to follow him, you did so. Wincing at the slight movement making the blood seep through the tourniquet. “Steven’s loft is close to here. I’ll get you patched up there.”

You didn’t even try to hide your shock from the man. There were plenty of times you had gotten yourself hurt on the field. But usually, it’d be Jake who’d patch you up, or you patching yourself up whilst Jake, and you had a conversation. The latter was the more common one.

Despite this, you weren’t going to question it too much. Whatever’s gotten to Marc Spector’s head to get him to patch you up will not stop you from not having to stitch your own wounds.

The walk back to Steven’s walk was awkward, at least to you it was. Marc had stayed in front of you whilst you followed slowly behind him. Wincing every so often when stings of pain jolted up your arm. Marc looked back at you every time, only to mask his caring nature once you realized he was looking towards you.

Finally arriving at the homey loft, you made quick work going to the bathroom, ignoring Marc as best you could as you slowly took off the white, now red, cape from your wound. Flinching at the burning pain. Analyzing it under the luminescent yellow light of Steven’s bathroom, you could clearly tell that it would need stitches. Unfortunately, the fact that Marc had yet to enter the bathroom with you meant that Marc pulled back on his own words on patching you up.

Biting the inside of your mouth, you sucked in your shaky breath. Fuck him then.

Taking off your shirt with much effort, you prepared the needle and thread, hoping it won’t hurt so much this time. It always does, though. It always hurts no matter how many times you’d have to get stitched back up.

“What are you doing?” Speak of the Devil.

You turned your head around at Marc’s voice in the doorway he stood, carrying a bottle of alcohol. Its label scratched off and blurred from age. You had once wondered if Steven drank as much as the other two, as Marc did indulge in the liquid gold; Jake, from your longtime friendship with him, was clear to you only drank for recreation. From the look of the bottle Marc was holding, you’ve got your answer. Steven hardly drank.

You noticed that you had begun to get to know the other men that shared Jake’s body. Something you felt great joy at. You knew how much Steven and Marc meant to Jake, despite him never actually voicing how he felt. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t extremely attracted to the man.

It only hurt you when Marc would so often brush you off. Avoid you at all costs. Even Steven warmed up to you. Why didn’t Marc?

“Trying to make sure I don’t bleed out and die?” You jested.

Marc’s already furrowed brows only furrowed deeper as he shook his head. “I said I’ll do it remember?” You stayed silent, mostly in slight shock, as Marc, now not in his costume anymore, made his way towards you.

You could tell he hesitated for a moment when he realized you weren’t wearing a shirt anymore. Despite this, he steeled himself off the embarrassment and grabbed the needle and thread from your hands. You had never seen Marc so gentle as that moment. He, softer than you thought was possible for Marc, angled your hand so that he could better patch it up.

The silence both of you had made for yourself was only broken when Marc poured half of the bottle’s contents towards your, still bleeding, arm. You threw your head to the side as you bit your tongue to stop a scream from leaving you. The stinging pain burned from your hand all the way up and down your arm.

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t even register the fact that Marc had whispered those two words under his breath, as you were too busy not to let out your own slew of curses. Knowing had you done so, the next time Jake and you were alone, you wouldn’t hear an end to his teasing.

If only you knew how silent both Jake and Steven were in Marc’s mind. The two of them fretting about your own wellbeing.

Turning your head back to look at Marc, your heart stammered against your chest for a moment. He looked so focused, so careful. You could tell he was nervous; just like Jake, he had a tendency to stiffen his jaw when he was unsure of something. But his hands were as stable as they could get.

“Look away; it’ll make things easier.” You were about to retort how you’ve been patched up more times than one could count on their hands, how a little bit of blood and gore won’t do much to you.

But with the gash continuing to ooze blood, you heeded Marc’s warning and looked away. You gritted your teeth when the first puncture of a needle inserted itself into your skin.

When it was finished, Matt softly wrapped a piece of gauze on your skin. And finally, looked upwards to look at your face and not your wound.

That was the moment both of your eyes locked with one another. The tension was palpable in the air. So thick one would be able to cut it with a knife. Though from your point of view, everything was silent. Marc’s head spoke a different story.

“Kiss them.” Jake muttered. “We’ve talked about this, just kiss em’.”

But he couldn’t.

Looking into your eyes, Marc wouldn’t let himself fall for you. Not the same way Jake and Steven have. He won’t let himself be weak. So, Marc looked away, he turned and aimed to beeline towards the door.

Which he would’ve done had you not immediately grasped his arm, pulling him so he’d face you once more, and in one swift movement, pressed your lips against his. Marc’s eyes widened as he realized what you had done; for a moment, you were about to pull back because of his hesitancy to kiss you back. Thinking you had made a mistake in reading his body language and attraction towards you.

Steven was the one who stopped this from happening. “MATE, KISS THEM BACK!!!” Finally, Marc snapped out of his trance just before you pulled away. Marc pressed his hand against the back of your neck, pushing you into a deeper kiss with the man. You hummed in pleased surprise.

“Mierda, why was that so difficult?” Jake muttered in their head as Marc pulled away. Leaving you absolutely breathless.

Marc’s heart practically soared when he saw your eyes, starry and joyous. You looked incredible and that kiss felt even more incredible. He scolded himself internally for waiting that long to do it.

The moment was ruined when you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. “You know, I had thought if I were to kiss one of you, it’d be Jake first.”

“You hear that?!” Jake enthusiastically yelled. Marc’s face morphed into that of jealousy as he listened to your laughter. In a way, it made sense; for one, Marc was the one who seemed to hate you the most out of the other two; for two, Jake had known you much longer. But that didn’t stop him from being slightly annoyed by your statement.

“Oh, I see how it is, alright then if you prefer Jake.” Marc pulled away from your embrace, feigning frustration. “No Marc! No! That’s not what I meant!!” You were able to mutter out between your fits of laughter.

Before you could apologize even more, Marc’s body stiffened for a moment, “Marc?”

“Not anymore, mi corazon.” Just like that, Jake was in control. He immediately pushed you back towards the sink you had been leaning to, his body pressed against you.

From his grin, you could already tell that it was Jake. “I heard you were looking for me?” he whispered, his face mere centimetres away from your own.

When it was Marc, you were bold but hesitant, but Jake? Jake, you were an absolute mess for. Jake chuckled almost condescendingly when you couldn’t find the words to answer. Then, slowly inching closer to you, his lips were on you. You melted against his warm embrace, both his hands trapping you between him and the sink.

Just as Jake snaked his tongue into your own mouth, all of a sudden he pulled back. Your eyes opened in confusion, only to be met with Steven. Till this day, it surprised you how much you could tell the three apart.

“Sorry for the interruption loves, but you see I think it’s kind of unfair that Marc got your first kiss and now Jake’s about to do something else. I’m just here watching all of this unfold, even though we’ve had this conversation before and we agreed to-”

For a third time that night, you kissed the men you loved. Essentially it was to shut Steven up, though it was also to help him feel less left out. When you pulled away, Steven looked positively beaming and shocked simultaneously. His expression and reactions differ so much from the other two that it caused a giggle to escape you.

“Good night boys.” you muttered to Steven as you made your way out of the bathroom, not forgetting a small kiss on Steven’s cheek as a thank you for giving his place for you to patch up.

Steven practically watched you leave with stars in his eyes, knowing that the next time you meet, it’ll be much different than the tense environment it had been before.

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