#and can see and talk to ghosts and hears the wails of the damned from the ocean

[nukenai]

Well I'm glad I went to bed too late bc while I was in the shower my psychopath serial killer possessed haunted Victorian child demon cat tried to burn the house down. Everyone is fine he just melted a carpet.

I didn't see him do it but I know it was him.

[websterss]

TILL DEATH DO US PART — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

WARNING(S): angst, some fluff at the end

WORD COUNT: 4,214

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk. 

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had. 

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier.  You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror. 

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground. 

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.” 

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible. 

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela. 

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form. 

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor. 

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.  

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered. 

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart. 

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright. 

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.      

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant. 

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now. 

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

-

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic. 

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble. 

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?” 

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim. 

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

[strangelittlestories]

Day was beginning to break when I finally reached the lake, the dawn sun making the sky blush with the promise of brilliance.

I was all ready for the big reunion. I was all ramped up to tell that glorified naiad that I was back and her old beau, dear old daddy Art, was still dead. I wanted to see the look on her big old watery face when she saw Excalibur in my hand; ooh, I was horny for that look.

But as I saw the first rays of morning begin to light up the water like a disco ball, I knew something was wrong. The dirt felt wrong. The water was quiet. The air had a whiff of sweet rankness.

This was bad. This was very very bad.

The Lady of the Lake was dead.

Or, at least, she was *gone*. But for a creature like her, if she was gone from the lake, then she may as well be dead. This was her home. More than that, it was her place of power. It *was* her.

In my hands, I felt Excalibur shake and heard the high keen of scraped steel. The sword was wailing. I might have been too.

I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat down on the bank of water, laid Excalibur out on my lap, let the smell of wrongness fill my nostrils, and got into a good solid fugue state. The sun was high in the sky by the time I was jolted out of it by a light touch on my shoulder.

“Hi ‘Dred.”

Oh no. Oh sweet gods and monsters. It was him. Those eyes like a fire burned down to embers. That beautiful soft and sad smile, like a kicked puppy was transformed into lips by a witch. Those damned cheekbones. That dumptruck of an ass.

I was not prepared for this. Like, I know there’s not good time to run into your ex, okay? But while mourning your departed nemesis slash surrogate grandmother figure? When you’ve only recently crawled out of the earth? That’s gotta be Top 5 bad, right after ‘while puking at the bathroom at the Teen Choice Awards’.

“Percy? You’re … you came back too?”

“I never died, dear one,” His voice was quiet, worn smooth by time. “I have been here all along.”

“Ah.” I looked up at him with tears, dirt and snot on my face. “Grail shit.”

“I’m sorry. I know you had your differences, but she was still family. This must be difficult.”

“What happened?”

“A factory. Chemical waste. Improperly disposed of.”

“So? They just poisoned her? Just accidentally? Just because that’s what they do?”

“No.” His eyes were so wide, so bright. “The spiritual cut was too potent, too concentrated. More than the echo of nature defiled, this was a weapon made with intent.”

“And you didn’t stop them?”

“I am … limited in what I can do. I observe. I advise. I remember and I revere.” 

That was Percival for you. Always a simp for reverence.

“You’re a pissing *knight*, Percy. When did go all fuckboi and ghost on valour?”

“It’s more ‘Grail Shit’, I’m afraid. I can be the person who tells you that which you most need to hear on your worst day. I cannot be a noble protector or holy avenger, no matter how much I might wish to.”

“Right. Okay. Well this makes things simple at least.” I stood up, brushed myself off, and hefted Excalibur. “I can do holy avenger.”

“Careful, ‘Dred.” Percival placed a hand on either side of my face and looked me steadily in the eye. “They say that the one who goes looking for revenge should dig two graves.”

“Why? Are they killing two people?”

“No.” A bitter smile twisted those gentle lips. “One for their target and one for themself.”

“Then, honestly? I’d say this ‘dig two graves’ dickhead shows a *woeful* lack of ambition.”

Percival looked down at the sword in my hand.

“You’re not going to try and talk him out of this?”

“I could try, Sir Percival,” Excalibur spoke for the first time since we got to the lake. “but honestly, my heart is not in it. They killed The Lady. I’m just about ready to dig a whole mess of graves.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - (Not) The Star Of The Show

For: @gottacatchghosts @bookhoard @ave-aria @thatstomorrowsproblem

Being buddy buddy with a spooky singer and constantly being harassed by a teen in way over his head, was eventually going to result in Danny having to take the stage himself.

Songs Used: Rise by Athena Z, Gifted by Athena Z, Never Stop by VnaneP

“🎶Your heart, your heart has rendered

your loss, now bear the shame

Like dead trees in cold December,

Nothing but ashes remain

Oh, Ember, you will remember!🎶”

Danny nods, smiling a little at the bit of song he can hear being played for the waiting fans. “I’m surprised you’re still using that same old song”. She flips him off immediately, still using her other hand to get her makeup on just right, “it’s a good song and it works”. Danny just chuckles, not bothering to press. He knows there’s a reason she was big on everyone remembering her and whatnot but he didn’t actually know why. The why was definitely attached to her death though, so asking would be rude as shit; he’s not some human -cough cough Wes cough cough- who doesn’t understand you’re not supposed to press ghosts about their death. Granted it was kind of common knowledge she died in a concert fire but that was all anyone really knew. Same with how everyone knew Danny’s ass got offed but his parents' tech but not necessarily which one it was.

Ember nods at the mirror, pushing off and going to her wardrobe, grabbing pieces and turning around to show them to Danny, “what do you think, purple or red today?”.

“I’d say pink and gray, since the weathers very, you know, gray today”.

“You’re an idiot”.

Danny snickers, leaning against the makeup station, “but real talk, no cap-”.

She interrupts with a glare, “never say that again, I forget how young you are sometimes?”.

Danny flips her off for that, “hey nothing wrong with the youth, don’t trash your target audience. That just ain’t it. Anyway, you wear purple way too much, definitely the red”.

Her putting a hand on her hip, “You don’t think it’s too vampiric?”. Danny quirking an eyebrow right back, “and you don’t think the purple is too gothic romance?”. She makes a bit of a face before turning to put away the purple outfit. Danny turning around and walking off a bit to give her privacy.

She groans a little, “setting up tonight’s show was such a pain. All the restrictions and hoops you have to go through these days is awful”.

“You sound like a grandma”.

“Say that again and I’ll hypnotise you into doing the sprinkler dance on stage”. Danny giving her a scandalised gasp. “Hopefully everyone has fun though and pisses off their parents, fuck old people”.

“You are old people”.

“Don’t you dare. I own a lot of things with a lot of spikes on them”. Danny doesn’t say shit because he doesn’t feel like getting brained or something by a bracelet today. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, you better have a good time too, I heard the beer garden really sucks at checking ids this year”. That makes Danny a happy Danny. “I’m absolutely saying you should sneak in and…”.

---

Wes was making a damn point to tiptoe as much as he could, he knew ghosts had freakish hearing so he had to be careful; hopefully the music blaring would drown his footsteps out some. See he’d come up with a plan the second he’d heard about Ember -who was definitely a ghost- throwing a concert near by Amity, she was known for her voice and guess who else also had a powerful voice? That asshole Danny. So he figured that if he could get a good recording of her voice without being distorted by a microphone through an ecto-vocal vibrations absorption meter, he could then compare it to a reading from Fenton and maybe layer it to pick up that stupid wail of his. Proper proof. And he could get more info on a ghost that parades around the human world pretending to be human. Expose the dead singer too.

Poking his head around the slight door opening and aims the device at the singer, good she’s gabbing away, to herself or someone else he doesn’t care. “Franx even got a new drum set and reprinted sticks, the crowd’s going to love the-”; and bam he cranks the device making her choke a little… and then she practically kicks over the privacy screen -fully dressed at least- and glares murderously at the door attempting and failing to verbally snap at him.

Alright… he hadn’t meant to straight up take her voice! He blames Danny for this and whatever is about to happen to him!

And then Danny pulls him through the damn wall, what is he doing here! And in his startlement one Wes Weston accidentally hits the expel button right at Danny.

---

Danny blinks down at mother fucking Wes oh that little asshole holy shit who just did… something? to him and who had just stolen Ember’s voice or something. Who steals someone’s voice before they’re supposed to sing at a concert?!? The fuck is wrong with this guy! The fact that both him and Ember’s ecto-fields flair for a beat before disappearing again is ominous as fuck though.

“Tͭhͪeͤ f̾uͧcͨk̾ dͩiͥdͩ y̾oͦuͧ dͩoͦ, Weͤs̾? Whͪy̾ aͣrͬeͤ y̾oͦuͧ eͤv̾eͤn̾ hͪeͤrͬeͤ?!”, then blinking, why the fuck did he just speak with a goddamn harmony and bass boosted? And then a ghost emoji-shaped guitar appears in the air with a little poof and smashes him on his head; it had some concerningly familiar dials.

Ember blinks, balls her fists, and glares even more murderously, loudly snapping, “how DARE YOU MESS WITH MY POWERS!”, said snapping promptly turning into a ghostly wail that fucking obliterates the door and knocks Wes backwards. Danny scrambling over and slapping a hand over her mouth.

Wes is now unconscious… and the device thing he must have used on them is smashed to bits. Ah shit.

Danny takes a bit of a breath, “Iͥ’mͫ g̾oͦiͥn̾g̾ tͭoͦ k̾iͥl̾l̾ hͪiͥmͫ”, fuck his voice sounded weird. Ember grumbling, quietly, “do it”, and yet there’s still a slightly wail style shaking to her voice.

Danny eyes her, a bit fucking miffed actually, “whͪy̾ cͨaͣn̾ y̾oͦuͧ aͣcͨtͭiͥv̾aͣtͭeͤ mͫy̾ waͣiͥl̾ b𞀓eͤtͭtͭeͤrͬ tͭhͪaͣn̾ Iͥ cͨaͣn̾. Tͭhͪaͣtͭ mͫoͦtͭhͪeͤrͬf̾uͧcͨk̾eͤrͬ s̾waͣppeͤdͩ oͦuͧrͬ v̾oͦcͨaͣl̾ poͦweͤrͬs̾ oͦrͬ s̾oͦmͫeͤ s̾hͪiͥtͭ. Hͪoͦw dͩoͦ Iͥ mͫaͣk̾eͤ mͫy̾ v̾oͦiͥcͨeͤ s̾tͭoͦp dͩoͦiͥn̾g̾ tͭhͪiͥs̾”.

But she just starts snickering before falling to her knees and laughing into her hands, tearing up a little form laughing too hard. Which juts results in Danny bending over laughing too. Eventually she gets a hold over herself a little, whisper talking, “I’m- I'm vocally trained to throw my voice, makes it too easy”, touching her throat and sitting up straight, “I can tell it’ll tear up my throat though”, and glares at Danny, “I need my throat”.

Danny cringes a little, “y̾eͤaͣhͪ iͥtͭ k̾iͥn̾dͩ oͦf̾ s̾uͧcͨk̾s̾”, and then points at his mouth. She rolls her eyes at him, “your vocal control is too shit to stop”. He flips her off before walking over to the thingy Wes had and picking up the bits, “tͭhͪiͥs̾ iͥs̾ tͭrͬaͣs̾hͪ”.

She pushes herself to stand up, putting a hand on her hips and walking over, looking down at the unconscious boy, “think he can fix it”.

“Iͥ s̾eͤrͬiͥoͦuͧs̾l̾y̾ dͩoͦuͧb𞀓tͭ tͭhͪaͣtͭ”. This thing was clearly Fenton-style tech with mild modifications, Wes was a jock not a nerd.

“Great”. She goes a little wide-eyed and turns to Danny, “crap, my show. There’s no way I can sing with this shit”, and points at her mouth. Danny chuckling, “y̾eͤaͣhͪ y̾oͦuͧ’dͩ p𞀐rͬoͦb𞀓aͣb𞀓l̾y̾ dͩeͤs̾tͭrͬoͦy̾ tͭhͪeͤ f̾uͧcͨk̾iͥn̾g̾ v̾eͤn̾uͧeͤ aͣn̾dͩ mͫaͣy̾b𞀓eͤ k̾iͥl̾l̾ eͤv̾eͤrͬy̾oͦn̾eͤ iͥn̾ iͥtͭ”. Danny watching her begin to smirk at him, she then eyes her closet, smirk pinching in a bit of a laugh, and going back to eyeing him. Danny grimaces, “tͭeͤl̾l̾ mͫeͤ y̾oͦuͧ’rͬeͤ n̾oͦtͭ tͭhͪiͥn̾k̾iͥn̾g̾ w𞀞hͪaͣtͭ Iͥ tͭhͪiͥn̾k̾ y̾oͦuͧ’rͬeͤ tͭhͪiͥn̾k̾iͥn̾g̾”. She starts actively laughing with her mouth closed. Danny groans, “Iͥ aͣmͫ n̾oͦtͭ cͨrͬoͦs̾s̾ dͩrͬeͤs̾s̾iͥn̾g̾ aͣn̾dͩ p𞀐rͬeͤtͭeͤn̾dͩiͥn̾g̾ tͭoͦ b𞀓eͤ y̾oͦuͧ”, gesturing at his hips while she starts openly laughing and making the room shake a little from the bit of wail in her laugh, “Iͥ dͩoͦn̾’tͭ eͤv̾eͤn̾ hͪaͣv̾eͤ tͭhͪeͤ hͪiͥp𞀐s̾ f̾oͦrͬ iͥtͭ!”.

She puts a hand on her knees, waving him off with the other, “no, no. Be- hahaha. Be an opening act you dummy. Oh Ancients”.

Okay yeah that was probably a better idea, this way he doesn’t have to pretend to have boobs… again. “W𞀞eͤl̾l̾ w𞀞hͪaͣtͭ aͣmͫ Iͥ s̾uͧp𞀐p𞀐oͦs̾eͤdͩ tͭoͦ s̾iͥn̾g̾?! Iͥ s̾eͤrͬiͥoͦuͧs̾l̾y̾ dͩoͦuͧb𞀓tͭ w𞀞eͤ cͨaͣn̾ j̾uͧs̾tͭ s̾p𞀐eͤeͤdͩ w𞀞rͬiͥtͭeͤ s̾oͦmͫeͤ s̾oͦn̾g̾s̾ aͣn̾dͩ aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣl̾l̾y̾ hͪaͣv̾eͤ tͭhͪaͣtͭ n̾oͦtͭ s̾uͧcͨk̾”, rubbing his neck, “Iͥ mͫeͤaͣn̾, Iͥ’v̾eͤ b𞀓eͤeͤn̾ rͬeͤaͣl̾l̾y̾ iͥn̾tͭoͦ v̾oͦcͨaͣl̾oͦiͥdͩ l̾aͣtͭeͤl̾y̾ s̾oͦ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ j̾uͧs̾tͭ dͩoͦ tͭhͪaͣtͭ s̾hͪiͥtͭ”.

Ember grumbles a little, pacing, “I’ll have to put out a little heads up that these songs aren’t original so no one thinks I’m endorsing music theft, but it would be better than trying to write something original in minutes”, turning and crossing her arms down at Wes, “and I’ll get this asshole to help me fix his fuck up”.

“Eͤhͪ dͩoͦn̾’tͭ tͭrͬy̾ tͭoͦ rͬaͣtͭiͥoͦn̾ w𞀞iͥtͭhͪ W𞀞eͤs̾, hͪeͤ’s̾ l̾iͥk̾eͤ s̾hͪoͦeͤs̾ tͭrͬy̾iͥn̾g̾ tͭoͦ f̾iͥl̾l̾ aͣ l̾iͥg̾hͪtͭb𞀓uͧl̾b𞀓”.

She gives him a weird look, “just find something in my closet, I’m sure something will work on you”. Danny groans but wanders over to the privacy screen as he’s told, while Ember starts kicking the unconscious boy.

Wes wakes up with a jerk, flailing, but Ember smacks him before he can say anything. He’s slightly confused by her whispering, “you’re with me and fixing this shit, you little jackass. Or I’ll talk louder and vibrate all your bones”.

Wes puts his hands up, “hey! This wasn’t the goal!”, pointing one hand towards where Danny used to be, “blame Fenton, if he wasn’t hiding his shit-”.

“Oͦhͪ g̾oͦ eͤaͣtͭ s̾oͦcͨk̾s̾, W𞀞eͤs̾!”. Danny popping out from behind the screen, his pants might be too tight but he can live with it but at least the half sleeve dress shirt actually fucking fits. Looking to Ember, “hͪoͦw𞀞 dͩoͦ y̾oͦuͧ hͪaͣv̾eͤ eͤv̾eͤn̾ mͫoͦrͬeͤ s̾p𞀐iͥk̾eͤdͩ cͨhͪoͦk̾eͤrͬs̾ tͭhͪaͣn̾ b𞀓eͤf̾oͦrͬeͤ”. He went with one that has a giant foot long red cross hanging from it.

She eyes him, nods and grabs up all the pieces of the broken thingy, shoving them at Wes, “you’re putting that back together, or else. I should get my manager to fucking fine you”, moving to grab some wiring and chucking it violently at the basketball player/wannabe sleuth.

Wes gesturing at Danny, “he’s the Fenton! Make him do it!”. Which Danny absolutely throws a spiked collar at him for, “f̾uͧcͨk̾ oͦf̾f̾, y̾oͦuͧ cͨaͣuͧs̾eͤdͩ tͭhͪiͥs̾ aͣn̾dͩ cͨaͣn̾ y̾oͦuͧ s̾iͥn̾g̾? Iͥ tͭhͪiͥn̾k̾ tͭhͪeͤ f̾uͧcͨk̾ n̾oͦtͭ”, gesturing at Ember, “s̾hͪeͤ cͨaͣn̾’tͭ g̾oͦ oͦn̾ s̾tͭaͣg̾eͤ, aͣn̾dͩ Iͥ dͩoͦ aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣl̾l̾y̾ k̾n̾oͦw𞀞 hͪoͦw𞀞 tͭoͦ s̾iͥn̾g̾ cͨoͦmͫb𞀓iͥn̾eͤdͩ w𞀞iͥtͭhͪ b𞀓aͣs̾iͥcͨaͣl̾l̾y̾ g̾eͤtͭtͭiͥn̾g̾ hͪeͤrͬ f̾aͣn̾cͨy̾ eͤcͨtͭoͦ-iͥn̾f̾uͧs̾eͤdͩ s̾iͥn̾g̾iͥn̾g̾ aͣb𞀓iͥl̾iͥtͭiͥeͤs̾, f̾uͧcͨk̾ y̾oͦuͧ v̾eͤrͬy̾ mͫuͧcͨhͪ, Iͥ cͨaͣn̾ p𞀐rͬoͦb𞀓aͣb𞀓l̾y̾ p𞀐uͧl̾l̾ iͥtͭ oͦf̾f̾ w𞀞hͪiͥl̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ f̾iͥxͯ y̾oͦuͧrͬ oͦw𞀞n̾ f̾uͧcͨk̾ uͧp𞀐”. Wes just grumbles incoherently, though some of was clearly him vaguely saying Danny couldn’t sing.

Ember scowls at the boy then walks over to look over Danny and start drawing ‘evil eyeliner’ on his face, “acceptable, slap on some wrist guards and scrunchie leg warmers-”.

“W𞀞hͪoͦ w𞀞eͤaͣrͬs̾ l̾eͤg̾ w𞀞aͣrͬmͫeͤrͬs̾ aͣn̾y̾mͫoͦrͬeͤ?”.

“I do and you’re representing me, scrunchie leg warmers”. While Danny sags a little she uses some intangibility to just slap them on and starts fucking with his black hair to spike it, “figured out songs yet?”.

Wes is just slapping pieces together with little to no success grumbling, “freaking fuck god- fuck this- stupid damn. Oh fuck me. Stupid damn Fenton oh my goddamn. Gah. The fuck is- why in ass- I just wanna break that. Zone why. Stupid- ugh”.

Danny rubs his neck, “w𞀞eͤl̾l̾ Iͥ cͨaͣn̾ dͩoͦ N̾eͤv̾eͤrͬ S̾tͭoͦp𞀐 b𞀓y̾ V̾n̾aͣn̾eͤP𞀐 aͣn̾dͩ b𞀓aͣs̾iͥcͨaͣl̾l̾y̾ eͤv̾eͤrͬy̾ s̾oͦn̾g̾ b𞀓y̾ Aͣtͭhͪeͤn̾aͣ Z̾ oͦf̾f̾ b𞀓y̾ hͪeͤaͣrͬtͭ, p𞀐l̾uͧs̾ Rͬiͥs̾eͤ iͥs̾ v̾eͤrͬy̾ Rͬeͤmͫeͤmͫb𞀓eͤrͬ eͤs̾cͨiͥeͤ. Mͫaͣy̾b𞀓eͤ w𞀞hͪeͤn̾ W𞀞eͤs̾ f̾iͥg̾uͧrͬeͤs̾ hͪiͥs̾ s̾tͭuͧp𞀐iͥdͩ s̾hͪiͥtͭ oͦuͧtͭ, y̾eͤaͣhͪ f̾uͧcͨk̾ y̾oͦuͧ k̾iͥdͩ, y̾oͦuͧ cͨaͣn̾ cͨoͦmͫeͤb𞀓aͣcͨk̾ oͦn̾ s̾tͭaͣg̾eͤ tͭoͦ, l̾iͥk̾eͤ, Iͥ dͩoͦn̾’tͭ f̾uͧcͨk̾iͥn̾g̾ k̾n̾oͦw𞀞 aͣ dͩuͧeͤtͭ oͦf̾ G̾iͥf̾tͭeͤdͩ b𞀓y̾ Aͣtͭhͪeͤn̾aͣ Z̾?”.

She hums, “I’ve heard that one and it’s not actually a shit idea, good for you, you didn’t fail”, grabbing him by the wrist and stalking out of the room, pointing at Wes, “leave and I’ll haunt you”. The boy just scowls.

Her dragging Danny off to her manager, “okay look, some asshole just basically assaulted my throat and now my voice is fucked”, sticking a paper in the managers hands, “have the songs he’ll do and have an opening act”, and shoves Danny at her manager before storming off. If he fucked this up she’d tell Skulker when his next test is just so he can interrupt it.

Danny grins awkwardly at the less than impressed manager, “Iͥ cͨaͣn̾ s̾iͥn̾g̾”. She blinks at him, “you know what? I don’t care. Come with me”, and stalks off. Guess this is actually happening. The rest of the band all give him very pitying looks. “We’ll keep playing her hits for as long as we can, you do a song or two and hope she rescues you before you run out of material”.

Oh wow, everyone has so much hope in him. Not.

---

Wes jerks a little bit when Ember comes back, muttering a quiet, “fuck”, and slightly breaking a piece more broken than it already was. Sticking out a hand, “since y’all are making me your bitch, hand me some kind of I don’t fucking know soldering stuff”.

She sneers, “do you even know how to use that stuff”; but does hand the stuff over while he just glares at her. “You have ten minutes, stalker”.

“TEN MINUTES! I am not a damn miracle worker and I didn’t even build this thing in the first place”.

“You have all the parts so dance, bitch, dance”.

The teen goes back to grumbling about ‘stupid fucking Danny’ this and ‘why is my luck such shit’ that. As far as Ember was concerned this was entirely the boys fault and he had no room to complain about anything at all. At least it sounded like they were still playing her prerecorded music and Phantom wasn’t being just shoved straight into the spot light. And at least she didn’t have to worry about the royal ass getting stage fright or some shit.

“And now please welcome an sudden line up change, since there’s never a dull moment at The Union Hall concert station, enjoy your opening act of Vocaloid in real life!”.

Oh looks like she thought too fucking soon. Smacking the kid over the head, “hurry the fuck up”.

“I’m trying, I’m trying. Geez”.

“Then try harder, numb nuts”; she fires a small ecto-blast over his head and grumbles incoherently.

---

Was Danny happy about this? Fuck no. Could he do this though? Fuck yes. It’s incredibly obvious the crowd is a little not impressed but considering more than a couple people mutter ‘at least he’s hot’, he’s got something of a chance at least. Danny walking out with a wave and flipping off the crowd when some roll their eyes or walk further away from the stage to talk to friends or pick up chicks or get a drink, “am I what you came for? Hell no. But I don’t suck and if you don’t like it get a drink or something. And if you don’t like the drink?”, shrugging, “dump it on some assholes head or something, I don’t care”. That gets him some laughs and some people actually come back towards the stage. He spots at least two people buying a drink and just fucking dumping it on themselves. Nice. That’s Ember’s crowds for you… when she wasn’t mind controlling people anyways. Punks and goths and metal heads and the occasional raver; there was a couple of kandi kids even. “Everyone here loves Ember right?”, getting a fuck ton of cheers, “so everyone knows Remember right? Note if you say you don’t I’ll find something to hit you with”. That gets more cheering but one guy actually does say ‘I don’t’ and Danny throws a whole ass stained old curtain at him. “So I figured if do y’all a fuckin’ favour and start off with one pretty damn similar. Rise by Athena Z”. A heavy hitting synth keyboard and drum beat starting.

“🎶Have you🎶”

“🎶Felt like you were just uuused

Felt battered and abuuused

Your self perception bruuuuuised🎶”

And now he’s got their fucking attention, nice. Aka he wasn’t totally sucking at this and the mic was taking the whole weird ecto-voice thing and making it actually sound kind of vocaloid and not completely fucky. It was pretty awesome actually.

“🎶A slave🎶”

“🎶Confined in your own miiind

Hoping one day to leeeave

All the sorrow behiiiiiind🎶”

---

Wes blinks, “since when could he actually sing”. Ember smacking him, “just shut up and work, and no I will not leave this room to get you shit because I will get mobbed”, he just grumbles back, she does use some of her fire to stick a couple pieces together. Phantom was friends with her of course he could sing a little.

Danny walks around on the stage, making ‘I’m watching you’ gestures at the crowd.

“🎶Their eyes🎶”

“🎶Like daggers, stare you dooown

No amity arooound

Fade into the backgrooooound🎶”

-

“🎶Ho-ping🎶”

“🎶Just never to be seeeen

To never cause a sceeene

Internalized routiiiiine🎶”

---

Wes hands a piece off to the ghost girl, “okay that should maybe might, I don’t fucking know, fit in the slot for that other thingy over there?”.

Annnnnnnd it does in fact fit. Her holding it up, “I guess you don’t suck as much now, but you do still suck”. Wes just scowls. This. Was. Not. His. Fault! (Except it was though).

---

Danny doing that whole ‘get up and jump’ thing that’s supposed to hype up crowds. That’s what an openers supposed to do right? Hype up the fucking crowd.

“🎶RISE🎶”

“🎶And show them what you're worth

And make them fear your words

And get what they deseeeeerve🎶 ”

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎶Do what you think is right

Dream of reaching new heights

Don't let it leave your siiiiight🎶 ”

A couple people at least whistle at him so he’s feeling pretty damn good about himself right about now. Too bad he doesn’t really have a chance to try to use the fucking guitar that’s just stuck to his damn back. Oh well.

“🎶 Cold , forgotten and alooone

The future lies unknooown

Like a disaster zooooone🎶”

“🎶 The, fear🎶”

“🎶And misery consuuume

The fire inside youuu

"Please, come to my rescuuuuue." 🎶”

---

Ember does actually have to sneak out to go get some damn water, why? because jackass fuck face set a bunch of shit on fire. Fucking moron. Sneaking over the rafters and eyeing Phantom a bit, he looked like he was doing a pretty solid job and actually having fun. Asshole. At least it seems like her band mates had the sense to give him one of her mics since her -currently his- voice really fucked up normal mics. Her pausing a little bit and smirking down at him, that Wes idiot could handle a little fire for a bit longer. (No he actually couldn’t, he was flailing a lot).

”🎶 It doesn't , have to be this waaay

The one who holds your faaate

Has been here all alooooong🎶”

“🎶Be-lieve🎶”

“🎶That you, too, can be strooong

This is where you belooong

Go, show them they were wrooooong!🎶”

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎶And show them what you're worth

And make them fear your words

And get what they deseeeeerve🎶 ”

“🎶So RISE🎶”

“🎶Do what you think is right

Dream of reaching new heights

Don't let it leave your siiiiight🎶 ”

Huh. Phantom was right this was kind of like Remember. Taking back power from those that had hurt you. Recognising that they had hurt you. Maybe it would have the same kind of effect then? The kind she always tries to have. That battered women and children would hear her and remember her and it would slap them with reality, with the need to leave or get help. Phantom had her power right now, so it very well could. He could be making another song a message and bacon for the battered to reach safety. Good. The less people who got killed by psycho ex’s like her the better.

Shaking herself off and booking it back to the vaguely on fire dressing room.

---

Did Danny notice Ember vaguely watching him? Absolutely. Did it rattle him a little bit? Maybe yeah. But fuck it there’s a chorus to do. Throwing his hands up.

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎶Reach out and take control

Once more, make yourself whole

No one can take your souuuuul🎶 ”  

“🎶So RISE🎶”

“🎶No matter what it takes

Don't let it fall away

With everything at staaaaake🎶”

“🎶RISE🎶”

“🎶And show them what you're worth

And make them fear your words

And get what they deseeeeerve🎶 ”

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎶And take back all they stole

And fill that empty hole

With passiooooon🎶”

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎶And show them what you're worth

And make them fear your words

And get what they deseeeeerve🎶 ”

“🎶So RISE🎶”

“🎶Do what you think is right

Dream of reaching new heights

Don't let it leave your siiiiight🎶 ”

“🎶RISE🎶 ”

“🎵Reach out and take control

Once more, make yourself whole

No one can take your souuuuul🎶 ”  

“🎶So RISE🎶”

“🎶No matter what it takes

Don't let it fall away

With everything at staaaaake🎶”

And taking a bit of a bow, getting a pretty decent amount of cheering and even one or two people doing the whole ‘leaning over the railing and trying to reach out for him’ thing. This was almost like getting high and vaguely becoming a god. It would be super overwhelming if he was literally royalty.

---

Ember is throwing around the last bit of water, “he’s already a song down, hurry the fuck up”; at least the goddamn flames seem to be out… too bad she didn’t get Phantom’s ice instead.

“Hey! It’s at least half done! That’s impressive for someone who has never done this before”.

“Not my problem, shit for brains”.

---

Danny breaths heavy a bit, chest heaving, unlike Ember he had fucking lungs and wasn’t used to singing. Ancients fuck. Looking out at everybody, “so how was that, are you not amused?!?”. Chuckling intentionally into the mic over the cheering, “good because I’m never going to stop and this next one is Never Stop by VnaneP”. The music starting up, a pop-y and hard n’ fast electronic beat filling the room. Danny probably could have dragged that out more but fuck, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to do that shit.

"🎶To beeee a nobody like meee

Who’s willing to do anything

And everything to be somethinggggg

And I, am truly fearless of the fall

I’ll do it all, I know I got it in me

So come along and seeeeee!🎶”

-

“🎶Hate🎶”

“🎶the game I’m playing?🎶”

“🎶Love🎶”

“🎶the way that I am re-vel-ling

In this universe that I’m making?🎶”

“🎶Rise🎶”

“🎶and join the party!🎶”

“🎶Fall🎶”

“🎶for every charming thing about me!

Never ending, never ending...🎶”

-

“🎶Goooing, goooooing...

She's already goooooone

And hiiiigher she riiiises

Harder she will fall!🎶”

---

Ember’s halfway under a desk, trying to get a piece that had apparently rolled under one of the tables when she accidentally wailed the stupid device into oblivion. Chucking the piece at the boy, “there, happy?”.

He huffs, “yes”, and sticks it in the thing, “now I think? There’s supposed to be some kind of blue glowing stick?”.

Ember glares, “you mean the thing I’m pretty sure flew into some rando’s glass? Goddamnit”. The bar tenders in this place had horrible timing.

---

Spotting Ember scrabbling behind the bar, giving him a blatantly nervous thumbs up as she does so, is frankly very concerning. Oh well. Pointing at his face as he continues.

“🎶Fortune and fame have my name

Written in my very fate

Nobody can get in my way!

All lights on me, can’t you see

All that I’m becoming?

It’s all in my personalityyyyyyy!🎶”

Making cheering and ‘jump the fuck up’ motions.

“🎶Never shall I grow tired oooooof

Every bit of love given to meee

‘Cause fortune and fame have my name

In the stars above

And I’ll never stop until I have it allll!

NEVER STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP

I'll never stop, stooooop~🎶“

Quiet a few people who had struggled to save their spots in the front had hanging open jaws and giddy expressions, immediately nodding to each other that this random boy was fucking damn good. There’s was a mild circle pit going. Danny was somewhat known for his voice or more so his witty smart ass mouth, but singing was a new one and it was kinda cool not sucking at it; Ember might be able to convince him to do this again.

---

Ember practically had to monkey crawl over the bar, Phantom moving around more on stage is something she’s going to just assume he’s doing to keep as much attention on himself as possible. Which fit with this song, which why the fuck? This almost sounded like he was trying to insult her?

Glaring at him singing more from her spot behind the bar.

“🎶To be a somebody like meee

Almighty with my following, A miracle that’s meant to beee

But nooow, it’s all become a falsity, they love to see

Willing to bend to my will, Just like a deityyyy🎶”

Yeah that boy was a dick. Whatever. At least she found the blue vial thing, which they thankfully hadn’t emptied out but did put in with the ice packs? Humans were weird. Either way she scurried back.

---

Danny has no clue why Ember's flipping him off as she leaves back into the back with a blue… thing? he’s not going to ask. Not that he even can right now.

“🎶Hate🎶”

“🎶the game I’m playing?🎶”

“🎶Love🎶”

“🎶the way I’m taking ev-ery-thing

And making it the way I want it?🎶”

“🎶Rise🎶”

“🎶and join the party!🎶”

“🎶Fall🎶”

“🎶for every charming thing about meee!

Never ending, never ending...🎶”

Standing on the speaker things and gesturing out to the crowd, some people actually goddamn joining in. Maybe more places should look into having vocaloid? People seemed to love it.

“🎶Goooing, goooooing...

She's already goooooone

And hiiiigher she riiiises

Harder she will fall!🎶”

-

“🎶Fortune and fame have my name

Written in my very fate

Nobody can get in my way!

All lights on me, can’t you see

All that I’m becoming?

It’s all in my personalityyyy!🎶”

---

Wes actually grins, feeling pretty accomplished with himself, when the thing legit powers on. He was sweaty and his fingers hurt but the thing worked. Maybe he should try his hand at making his own tech? Ember snapping, “well?”, brings him out of his mild fantasies. Rolling his eyes at her, “it powers on, does it work? No clue”, and points it at her while making a grumpy ugly ‘well?’ face.

She eyes the machine, “fine. I can’t keep his stupid wail”; she wasn’t going to give up singing, never. Especially not because of some boy:

Wes fires the machine at her.

---

Danny’s starting to get just slightly worried, he could absolutely whip out something like Dog Walk by Creep-P or Saddy Daddy-o by Artimus Wolz or even Rotary Dial by GHOST but those were a completely different vibe and the manager lady would have no damn warning. For now all he can do is keep going and hope Wes gets his goddamn act together and that Ember doesn’t fucking kill anyone or literally bring down the house.

“🎶Never shall I grow tired of

Every bit of love given to meee

‘Cause fortune and fame have my name

In the stars above

And I’ll never stop until I have it allll!

NEVER~🎶”

Fuck this was legit tiring though.

“🎶The fame, has all gone to her head

It’s really quite a dread, All that she’s gonna lose, in the end

As she hits her descent

She might not even stop until she winds up deeeeeeaaad!🎶”

-

“🎶Fortune and fame have my name

Written in my very fate

Nobody can get in my way!

All lights on me, can’t you see

All that I’m becoming?

It’s all in my personalityyyyy!🎶”

---

Ember grins at the sensation of a ridiculously overwhelming amount of power perpetually building in her chest and throat disappearing. She gives the ginger fuckface a thumbs up, since she can’t fucking speak again, and grabs his arm; dragging him and his stupid device out of the dressing room and booking it towards the actual concert area.

“🎶Never shall I grow tired oooof

Every bit of love given to meee

‘Caaauuuuse fortune and fame have my name, In the stars above

And I’ll never stop until I have it alllll!🎶”

Ember smirks, nodding at Wes who shrugs and fires the thing from the rafters at Danny. Who staggers but doesn’t lose his tune, if anyone noticed they’re too busy enjoying themselves to notice… or they’re not sober enough to notice; the lights hiding his glaring ecto-field.

“🎶NEVER STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP

I'll never stop, stooooop

NEVER STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP, STOOOOOP

I'll never stop, stooooop🎶”

-

Danny side-eyes the punk ghost as she manages to get on stage, thank fuck. Nodding to himself and stepping forwards, “now let me give you all one more gift! Gifted by Athena Z!”. He gets a couple of laughs out of that one. A little piano tapping beat starts up again, like someone tapping their foot on the ground but higher pitched.

“🎶It's not fair when

You make it look so eeeasy

Like wor-king magic

I just can't seem to understand it🎶”

-

“🎶AAAlways top-class

Forever in the a-team

Still, aaalways smiling

An angel sent down from the heavens🎶”

-

“🎶Nooo need try-ing

To get what you des-ire

The chips have faaallen

But why are they all on your side?🎶”

-

“🎶Muuusic, sci-ence, math, art, fashion, designing

How can one person

Have all, this, ta-lent?🎶”

-

“🎶Wish I could be just like you🎶”

-

“🎶Gift-ed ta-lent

It all comes so easily

Gift-ed ta-lent

Wish I could be just like you

Gift-ed ta-lent

Excelling at everything

Gift-ed ta-lent

Wish I could be just like you🎶”

Ember grinning to herself and bolting out just as the next bit comes up, picking up the song, Danny grinning and stepping back. The crowd absolutely losses it and charges the railing, screaming/cheering as Ember sings.

“🎶Looove you, haaate you

It wouldn't make a difference

A god-gifted bleeessing

A perfect boxcar on your roll🎶”

-

“🎶Hooow does it feel?

Life wrapped around your fin-ger

No neeeed to worry

Never being a disappointment🎶”

-

“🎶Thooose around you

Think you're an inspiiiration

But waaas it hard work?

Or lady luck just playing favorites?🎶”

-

“🎶Maybe i'm jeeealous

You're perfect in every way

It's not fair but i'm

Never gonna give up🎶”

-

“🎶Gift-ed ta-lent

It all comes so easily

Gift-ed ta-lent

Wish I could be just like you

Gift-ed ta-lent

Excelling at everything

Gift-ed ta-lent

Wish I could be just like you🎶”

Danny stepping back up and the two singing together.

“🎶G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Cͨhͪaͣn̾cͨeͤ oͦn̾eͤ iͥn̾ aͣ biͥl̾l̾iͥoͦoͦoͦn̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Waͣs̾tͭeͤdͩ oͦn̾ aͣ s̾iͥmͫpl̾eͤ s̾oͦuͧuͧuͧl̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ🎶”

The two swapping parts line by line, while Wes lays down up in the rafters flipping them off tiredly. He fucking hates Danny.

                                                                               “🎶Even if I work haaarder🎶”

“🎶Even if I study loooonger🎶”

                                                                             “🎶You will always be there🎶”

“🎶A step aheeeaaad🎶”

                                                                              “🎶Even if I bleed faaaster🎶”

“🎶Even if I sing truuuer🎶

                                                                             “🎶You will always be there🎶”

“🎶Tooo dooo iiit beeetteeer🎶”

Then singing together again and dancing around each other; this song legit actually for them well. Danny bled better and she sang better, no matter what.

“🎶G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Iͥtͭ aͣl̾l̾ cͨoͦmͫeͤs̾ s̾oͦ eͤaͣs̾iͥl̾y̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Eͤxͯcͨeͤl̾l̾iͥn̾g̾ aͣtͭ eͤv̾eͤrͬy̾tͭhͪiͥiͥiͥn̾g̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ🎶”

-

“🎶G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Cͨhͪaͣn̾cͨeͤ oͦn̾eͤ iͥn̾ aͣ b𞀓iͥl̾l̾iͥoͦoͦoͦn̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Waͣs̾tͭeͤdͩ oͦn̾ aͣ s̾iͥmͫpl̾eͤ s̾oͦuͧuͧuͧl̾

G̾iͥf̾tͭ-eͤdͩ tͭaͣ-l̾eͤn̾tͭ

Wiͥs̾hͪ Iͥ cͨoͦuͧl̾dͩ beͤ j̾uͧs̾tͭ l̾iͥk̾eͤ y̾oͦuͧ🎶”

Danny jumps back quickly, properly letting Ember take the stage, her shouting, “wasn't that a nice little taste before the big show!”, the crowd cheering like crazy, “but you know you’ll always remember the star of the show! Yeah!”; and a heavy drum and guitar beat starts up.

“🎶Ooooooooohhhh!🎶”

“🎶It was, it was Septeeeembeeer

Wind blooows, and deeeaad leaves faaaaall🎶”

“🎶Tooooo you, I did suuuurrendeeeer

Two weeks, you didn't caaaall

Your liiife goes on withouuuut me

My life, a losiiing game

But you shouuuld, you should nooot douuubt meeee

You will remember my name!🎶”

-

“🎶Ohhhhh, EEEEmbeeeer, you will reeemembeeer!🎶”

At least now Danny’s got an excuse to use the guitar and basically be her back up; not a chance in hell they could be friends without him knowing how to play what was basically her goddamn theme song. And then after? Yeah Danny’d be getting a fucking drink, finding Wes and pelting him with bar limes. (Wes did not have the sense to flee and as such did, in fact, get pelted by bar limes; the manager chose to ignore the ‘assault’ as the boy called it and did not call the cops/kick Danny out).

---

Lancer sighs, seeing an email come in from Daniel. Shakespear knows what this’ll be about. He’s not too surprised it starts with ‘so I won’t be handing in my homework…’ Lancer probably had around fifty-nine emails from the boy starting with that exact same line word for word. The video link is new though… the video link to Daniel opening in concert for Ember McLain???

Lancerhas a lot of questions with absolutely no expectation for any of them to get answered. Definitely up there as one of the odder ‘excuses’ he’s gotten from the boy; at least there’s proof. Well… he’s certainly proud, Daniel was pretty good and he went with songs that weren’t lyrically vapid. What kind of English teacher with a love for theatrics and poetry would he be if he didn’t support this? A poor one. So Lancer‘s reply is a very supportive one, and a thank you for the heads up about his homework.

End.

Prompts: danny somehow swaps powers with someone else and they have to work together to get back to normal and Wes decides to investigate one of Danny's rogues and There was a good reason Ember was determined to be remembered and Danny has given Mr Lancer many, many odd excuses for undone homework over the years. Turns out some of 'em were true.

[the-healthy-human-mind]

Bastard

A/N: When depressed, don't do it alone, make others suffer- (/j)

Pairing: F! OC Evelyne "Snake" Gray x Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, mentioned Moot! OC Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price, Moot! OC Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley-Mactavish x John "Soap" Mactavish

CWs: Canon MWIII, Major Character Death, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, talk of death, funerals, cursing, canon-typical violence, mention of past scars.

Kyle could see the stress on Evelyne's entire being, her body tense, and her eyes flickering across the tarmac, mind on high alert. Her body jerks when he steps out of the helo, instantly moving into motion. He's almost shocked when she throws herself in his arms; almost. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. This mission was hard on all of them, and yet Makarov still got away. Evelyne pulls away from him when she deems his body free of major injury.

His heart aches when she looks over his shoulder, a mix of anxiety and confusion plaguing her features when she only sees Ghost and Havoc walk out of the helo after him.

"Where's Soap?"

Evelyne's voice cracks on the name of her friend. John steps into her line of view, face grim. The captain holds his hand out, Johnny's vest patch sitting in his palm, the British flag glaring back at her. When she looks up at him, she doesn't see John William Price, she sees the same monster she saw in her father. A bastard who doesn't give two fucks about those around them, making decisions based on how it affects them, damning innocent people involved.

"You bastard!"

Kyle barely has a second to react before his wife lunges and lands a solid right hook on the face of his captain. He can hear the crack of John's nose breaking upon impact, the smell of copper filling his own nose.

"You killed him! This is your fault, Price!" Evelyne screeches into the night as Kyle tries to hold her steady, failing until Havoc comes over to assist.

"It should have been you!"

John watches as a wailing Evelyne is carried away by Havoc and Kyle. He should start coming up with excuses to give Kathy as to how he broke his nose. He tightens his grip on Johnny's dog tags, coming to terms with what comes next. If Evelyne could bring even a SAS soldier to his knees with her words, Meabh could move mountains with her voice. There was nothing more powerful and fearsome than a woman who has lost everything.

Ghost rests a hand on John's shoulder as he walks past. Kate takes the patch from his hand, promising to give it to Evelyne when she calms down. John doubts that will happen anytime soon.

Evelyne was never one for poetic things in life, but it was damn near ironic that it was raining the day she visits Johnny- well, his grave, that is. She tries to imagine how his wife reacted; if she screamed, or if she was in too much shock to react. Her curls rest on the nape of her neck, hidden beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. Her hand shakes around the handle of her umbrella as she stands before the tombstone, her boots sinking in the mud. Her lower lip wobbles as she sucks in a breath.

"The intel was bad, Johnny, I fucked up."

The ground beneath her moves as Evelyne falls to her knees, the fabric of her jeans darkening from the wet soil.

"I'm so, so sorry"

Next to the other flowers that rest there, Evelyne lays upon the disturbed earth a single rose.

"Kyle?"

"Yeah, love?"

Evelyne moves onto her side, slowly laying her head on his chest. Kyle's hand hesitates before lightly resting on her scarred back.

"Promise me you won't leave me."

She knows it's a cruel thing to ask, given their line of work, but she can't help herself. Hot tears stream down her cheeks when Kyle places a kiss to the crown of her head, holding her close, before uttering the words she needed.

"I would never,"

[inthememetime]

An AU in which a young adult Danny inherits a branch of FentonWorks located on Gotham, he does some work as a Ghost hunter, as Phantom, and as the illusive Ghost King.

Then one day he get an odd request; He, Daniel Fenton, is hired to protect the hero Phantom, himself, from the evil ghost king, also himself, at the request of the Justice League.

🤣 I fucking love you, anon. I would credit you if I could. I'm calling this: Fenton, King of the Scams

Due to length, I'm splitting this bad boi in two.

Danny got into the 'family business' mostly due to a lack of other options. Anywhere that would do blood or physical tests would spot he wasn't completely human pretty quick. But, despite working in FentonWorks, he gained a reputation both from ghosts and humans as an extremely fair arbitrator.

He won't destroy your property- unless absolutely necessary- but he WILL sit down with you and the ghost bothering you and figure it out. 90% of the time, the ghost just can't get to the GZ, or needs to talk to a friend/family member one last time. Sure, you're out $25/hour, but the problems are almost always solved without bloodshed.

He's even worked with Constantine a few times! Nobody knows why, but ghosts really seem to respect him. And the JL respects him as well.

News, however, moves slowly in some parts and quickly in others from one side of the veil to the other. The JL knows, now, the Ghost King is up and around permanently. (True)

They know that, historically, the GK is evil. (True- with Pariah. Most of the others were good. There's a reason the former kings kept their names, and Pariah's was changed to...well...Pariah)

And they know Pariah Dark hates mediums and living humans. (True!)

They do not, however, know that the Ghost King has changed; The King of the Damned, Lord of Screams is an unknown, although he does admit- having his Title reflect his ghostly wail means it's a little bit ominous.

Phantom, meanwhile, is known as a superhero- albeit a dead one. He works with the Bats, the JL, and YJL willingly.

No one has, as of yet, connected patient (albeit snarky), careful Danny Fenton with aggressive, often asshole-ish Phantom. Fewer still- outside of Amity Park- have connected Phantom to the Ghost King of the Damned. Or, more commonly in Amity Park- King Phantom.

Danny found this out on a normal Tuesday evening.

"Phantom!" Batman called, and the ghost stopped to hover nearby.

"Hey tall, dark, and furry! What's shakin'?"

Batman scowled. (Victory!) "Phantom, the Justice League has a long-term contract for you."

"Ooh! What is it?"

Batman handed him a folder. "Let me know tomorrow night- same time and place- if you can take it."

"You got it, bats! Good night, sleep tight, don't let the dead bugs bite!" He cackled as he flew away. "Dead bugs. Ooh that was a good one."

When he returned- not home, he knew there was a tracker (it had become somewhat of a game between him and the batfam. Loser bought BatBurgers)- he looked through it. And promptly laughed until he nearly cried.

-

The next day, he- as Fenton- went to the JL's Gotham station. "Hi, Leslie, I'd like to speak with- Batman probably isn't in yet. Constantine? Or someone involved on order 7 GH-1800B?"

The receptionist looked through- she couldn't see any details past level 2, but she could see who to direct him to for questions. "You're in luck, Danny! Batman, Constantine, Superman, Green Lantern, and Green Arrow are all on it. Superman's up top, just take the blue elevator and push the top floor button."

"Thanks!" It said something that he was here often enough to be friends with the staff. He'd never get over the beauty of space. Every time, as Fenton or Phantom, it took his breath away. The way the stars wheeled, the way he could hear them thanks to his obsession.

"Still beautiful, isn't it?" A voice asked. He jolted, then grinned apologetically at Superman.

"Sorry. I was supposed to be finding you, but- every time, it gets more beautiful."

He nodded. "I can understand that. How can I help you, Mr. Fenton?"

"Danny, please. I actually had some questions on this order protecting me from the Ghost King?"

"Sure. I know Phantom's not the most discrete hero," fair, but ouch, "but his power set is best able to combat ghosts."

"Oh, I know that- we worked together a lot, back in Illinois. I guess the question is- why from the Ghost King? The current one isn't bad. I'd say he's pretty good, myself."

Superman smiled a little pityingly. "I know you think the best of ghosts- and usually, you're right! But this guy- we've been looking at historical records, and he's a real piece of work."

"Oh, you mean Pariah Dark," he said, now understanding. Easy mistake.

-

"Exactly. So until we get a few ways to combat him, we'd like to keep our Ghost Expert safe and sound." An alarm blared before he could correct the Man of Steel. "I've got to go- just stay safe, ok, Danny?"

"But Pariah Dark is- aaand you're gone. Ok then."

Maybe it was time to come clean to the JL. Memories of being on a dissection table at a GIW base, turned in by someone he'd trusted, flooded him and he winced. Or he could make easy money protecting himself.

Yeah. That sounded good.

"Did you really have to drop the trackers in a pile of bat droppings at the zoo?"

"You found them! Hey, at least we know it works even if you're-"

"Phantom," he warned.

"In deep-"

"Don't."

"In deep shit."

Batman sighed heavily.

"I'll take it, by the way. I talked to Fenton, we worked together a lot, he's cool with it."

Batman rubbed his temples. "Thank you."

"Sure! Hey, can you even feel yourself through that material? Whoa, that came out wrong. I meant can you feel your head- oh, that's not better."

"Have a good night, Phantom."

"You too! Sorry for the innuendo! It'll probably happen again."

"At least you recognize that." Was that a smile? Double score!

---

"So how's this look?"

"Good, but do we really want to summon the Ghost King?"

"That's the only way we'll find out if this works- it's been months. We need to know if the weapons we've altered with hurt him."

The summoning began. It was a long, tedious affair; generally, if one knew a spirit's title, they could do a summoning in just a few minutes. But something like this? Constantine and Zantana agreed, it was some of their best work. The King wouldn't be able to escape this, and more importantly, would be unable to attack them.

After nearly half an hour, the two magic users plopped on the ground, sweating and exhausted. "Is...something supposed to be happening?" Asked the Flash.

"It didn't work. HOW didn't it work?!"

Superman cleared his throat. "Would it still work if you had the wrong name?"

Slowly, both magic users turned to him. "Explain," the magician hissed, and Constantine pulled out a cigarette.

Superman cleared his throat. "Well. What if Pariah Dark isn't a title, but a name?"

Constantine closed his eyes. "Fuck this. Alright, Supes, what happened?"

"Well- Mr. Fen- ah, Danny came by to ask about the order of protection. He said the Ghost King was an okay guy, and then asked if I 'meant Pariah Dark'. So would that affect it?"

Constantine rose, left the room, and screamed. After a moment, he returned. "Somebody call Fenton, please. We need a nap."

"And a beer!"

"Two beers. Each."

-

"Oh, hey, Wonder Woman. How are you doing? Did your curator friend find another haunted artifact?"

"Well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Pretty good, thanks!"

She smiled. "Good. She does have a few leads, but nothing solid yet. I was wondering if you could tell me about a few ghosts?"

He nodded. "Sure, sure. Want something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," she replied easily, and sat on his creaky old couch.

He sat across from her and passed over a mug of hot cocoa. "So, who can I tell you about?"

"Let's start with Pariah Dark."

He made a curious noise. "You know, Supes asked me about him a few days ago, but ran off before I could say anything. Are you looking for his powers, history, or?"

"Is Pariah Dark a name or a title?" She asked.

"Bit of both. He became king a few thousand years ago, but was just the worst. When he was stopped the first time, ghosts stopped using his real name, and replaced anything with his name on it with Pariah. Dark was his real last name, though."

She frowned. "The first time? He is no longer the King?"

"About...eh, a thousand years ago, give or take a few centuries, the Ancients got together and sealed him to stop him from destroying the world. Nobody could win head-on, though, so he was king in name. Then, a few years back, he was released, and decided to do the whole destroy the world thing again," he said.

"But the current King didn't want the world to be destroyed, so he, Phantom, and other ghosts held him at bay long enough for him to challenge and win in single combat, then become king. Like I told Superman, though, he's a good guy."

"And do you know this new King's name?"

Oh. Shit. "We're allies, and it's incredibly unwise to share information like that about him," although technically, they already knew it, "but I can tell you that he's known as the King of the Damned, and he's very human friendly, minus a few crazies."

There. They'd be able to summon him with an incomplete title, but bindings wouldn't work without at least part of his name and his full title. It was why beings like Clockwork went by 'Master of Time', or Clockwork instead of their true name.

Wonder Woman's gaze sharpened- she'd caught onto the half truth. Luckily for him, her emergency communicator beeped before she could get out her lasso. Hooo boy. Maybe he needed to lay low in the GZ for a bit.

-

"Phantom, where is Fenton? The person you were asked to guard?" Batman asked.

The other side of the communicator was silent. "Phantom, respond." Silence. Batman turned to Constantine. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. "Turns out he didn't give us a true name. I keep getting images of his female counterpart in Illinois or a weird thermos, most of the time," he said. He sighed deeply. "The rest of the time, there's a ghost way scarier than Phantom in a crown."

"It's my fault," the Amazonian princess said quietly. "I kept pressing about Pariah Dark and the new King. Fenton warned me sharing information about the current Ghost King was unwise- I should've known even speaking about him could get Fenton in trouble. And if Phantom swore to you to protect Fenton, well."

"Hey, you didn't know the guy had a werewolf with portal powers that would just kidnap him," the Flash offered. "Who could? It's nuts."

"I think we only have one choice," Superman said warily, "and I don't like it." Superman had an understandable nervousness of ghosts- they were one of the only things that could reliably harm him without kryptonite.

"Neither do I. But l'll see if Zatanna is free."

In the secretary's desk, who'd had to leave early a week ago and was still in the hospital, was a note from one Daniel J. Fenton. It said, in general, that he was sorry he had to leave abruptly, but he would be perfectly safe with Phantom as an honored guest at the Ghost King's court for the next month.

The interim receptionist incorrectly noted this as junk mail, or perhaps a bit of fanfiction, and let it alone.

-

There was a painful tug in Danny's gut, and he groaned. "My liege?" Fright Knight asked.

"My apologies, I'm being summoned to the mortal realm," he said, then cocked his head to the side. "As King, not Phantom. Hmm. I'll see you all as soon as I can."

"We understand," said Queen Dora, and Danny took his true form.

Phantom looked like a young man, albeit with white hair, big eyes- basically, as friendly as he could while still being taken seriously. His true form was a little more...eldritch. He didn't actually have feet like this, just a long, black tail. His entire body, really, was that of a massive black serpent made out of static- if serpents had four arms with sharp claws, if their coils randomply dissipated into green and black smoke before remaking, and-

Ok. He looked...nothing like a serpent. Danny did, however, have to admit, the black crown, burning in ectoplasmic fire that matched the curling green horns and solid green eyes did make a pretty cool accessory for summonings.

Danny liked summonings- sometimes. More accurately, he liked fucking with people. And this would be a perfect- wait, was that Constantine?

-

At first, John thought it another dud. Nothing appeared in the circle. "Is it just me, or is the temp dropping in here?" The Flash asked.

Batman grunted- as good a yes as they'd get.

"King of the Damned, you have been summoned to this place. Show yourself!"

Constantine, a moment later, wished he hadn't spoken. It was impossible to keep track of the monster before them- its' body kept shifting and changing. One moment, static. The next, a clear view of the milky way. The next, stars he'd never seen before and that no mortal was meant to.

"Y̷o̵u̶'̸l̸l̴ ̴f̴i̴n̸d̶ ̵i̶t̴ ̸e̴a̵s̴i̸e̷r̷ ̵t̸o̶ ̷f̷o̶c̴u̷s̷ ̶o̵n̴ ̸m̶y̵ ̸f̴a̸c̶e̶,̵" said the King, kindly enough. Superman covered his ears and winced.

He- it? Danny'd always referred to it as a he. He was right. Somehow, the massive, green glowing maw filled with giant teeth and solid, unblinking eyes below fiery white hair and massive horns was easier to focus on. He hurriedly looked away from the horns, which were changing shape and size as quick as the rest of him.

"Right. We're looking for a missing persons- two, actually," he said. "Do you know where Danny Fenton and the spirit known as Phantom are?"

Did he know- Danny couldn't help the laugh. "O̷f̴ ̴c̷o̶u̴r̷s̶e̵!̷ ̷T̴h̴e̸y̷ ̴l̵e̵f̸t̴ ̴a̶ ̴n̷o̷t̷e̶ ̸f̷o̵r̴ ̸y̵o̸u̸,̸ ̶r̶e̴m̷e̶m̵b̵e̸r̴?̶"

Batman spoke. "We received no notes."

The King frowned. "L̵e̶s̵l̷i̴e̸ ̷d̵i̸d̸n̶'̶t̶ ̷g̵e̶t̶ ̵i̸t̷ ̶t̷o̴ ̷y̴o̵u̴?̷ ̶F̶e̶n̶t̴o̴n̶ ̸s̵a̷i̶d̵ ̶h̸e̸ ̸l̴e̶f̷t̷ ̷i̸t̴ ̵w̴i̴t̵h̵ ̵a̶ ̸m̵o̷r̸t̴a̴l̵ ̷b̸y̵ ̶t̴h̸a̶t̷ ̵n̶a̵m̷e̴.̶" He tacked on the 'mortal' at the last moment. Man, it was hard to be yourself while playing like you weren't yourself, while acting like you knew yourself a little.

Flash jumped up, and less than a second later, cleared his throat sheepishly. "So, uh. Honored guests at your court?"

He nodded.

"Can we talk to them? One or both?"

[edenmemes]

resident evil village starters

❝ oh, keep growing! one day your head might actually fit your ego. ❞   ❝ running will get you nowhere. ❞     ❝ you don’t have to trust my words, but do you have any better options? ❞   ❝ you shouldn’t be out here. it’s not safe. ❞   ❝ i know you don’t like to talk about it, but can we really just forget everything and pretend it didn’t happen? ❞   ❝ well, what do you think? it’s hopeless, right? ❞ ❝ i wish it could stay like this forever. ❞   ❝ oh, such a disappointment. i thought we could join forces.  ❞ ❝ i don’t have time for this bullshit. out of my way. ❞   ❝ i don’t give a damn about your personal issues. ❞   ❝ it’s a pleasure to see you safe. ❞   ❝ just give up. flesh and blood will never win against me. ❞ ❝ quit acting so full of yourself. ❞ ❝ the clock is ticking. playtime’s over! ❞ ❝ ohhh, don’t give up! ❞ ❝ you think you can take me on? ❞ ❝ you should have never refused me.  ❞ ❝ these are the fruits of my power.  ❞ ❝ leave it alone. you are out of your depth. ❞   ❝ i’ve learned all i can from you. your worth as a lab rat has run out. ❞   ❝ no, no, this can’t be the end for me! ❞   ❝ i can’t escape from here... i can’t do anything! ❞ ❝ what are you talking about? you think this is a game? ❞   ❝ don’t get cocky. i’d kill you if you weren’t the trouble. ❞   ❝ hey, do you know anything about what’s going on around here? ❞   ❝ i’m not used to relying on other people. ❞   ❝ you’re the real deal. well done.  ❞ ❝ i gotta...keep going. ❞   ❝ i think it’s time you left things in my hands. ❞   ❝ my power is leaving me! ❞   ❝ do me a favor... try to stay under the radar. ❞ ❝ you don’t get it. you don’t stand a chance by yourself. ❞ ❝ alright, alright. i guess i owe you an explanation. ❞ ❝ you must be pretty tough, huh? ❞   ❝ all your power’s done is drive you nuts. ❞   ❝ i gotta say, i’m surprised you made it this far. it’d be a shame if something happened to you now. ❞   ❝ so you finally came to see me! everyone falls for me in time. ❞   ❝ it’s all i can spare. take it, take it! ❞   ❝ you’ve got fight, i’ll give you that. ❞   ❝ i didn’t want to keep it from you. i didn’t want to lose you again. ❞   ❝ i’d kill you if you weren’t worth the trouble. ❞   ❝ is there something you’re not telling me? come on, talk to me. ❞   ❝ you can hear it, can’t you? someone’s waiting for you. ❞   ❝ oh, careful what you wish for. ❞   ❝ i don’t want to die. oh, it hurts so much. ❞   ❝ don’t look at me that way. ❞   ❝ i told you to sit down. ❞   ❝ you’re the reason ___ doesn’t love me. ❞   ❝ hey, kiss me? ❞   ❝ if it’s for you, i would do anything. ❞   ❝ come on, it’s not that much further! ❞   ❝ you’re the only one to see me in this form. ❞   ❝ ugh, my temper got away from me. ❞   ❝ play with me some more. ❞   ❝ trying to get on my good side? ❞   ❝ i don’t know if it’s the scent of the flowers, but i feel light headed. ❞   ❝ in all my years, i’ve never been this overjoyed. ❞   ❝ look forward to what i have in store for you. ❞   ❝ mmm, that smells good. what’s that? ❞   ❝ you really should have taken my deal. ❞ ❝ truth hurts, don’t it?  ❞ ❝ i’ve waited so long. but dreams really can come true. ❞   ❝ you coward! come out and face me. ❞   ❝ quit hiding, asshole. i’m not letting you get out of this.  ❞ ❝ i won’t let you have it. even if you beg. ❞   ❝ this is my territory, and i won’t let you leave. ❞   ❝ damn, i’m so cold. my legs won’t work. ❞   ❝ local wine, too. but if you’re going to keep sulking all evening, maybe you shouldn’t have any. ❞ ❝ it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. ❞   ❝ you’re the last asshole in my way, aren’t you? ❞   ❝ well, at least we’re together. ❞   ❝ hey, now. think positively, all right? we talked about this. ❞   ❝ come now, don’t be shy. show me your terror. ❞   ❝ i would’ve sliced you to ribbons if they hadn’t stopped me. ❞   ❝ it’s only a riddle if you don’t know the answer. ❞   ❝ shouldn’t we face what happened there so we can live our lives without it hanging over our heads? ❞   ❝ rest while you can, because i will hunt you, and i will break you. ❞   ❝ this village is full of monsters. we can’t fight them! there’s too many. ❞   ❝ a dead body? wait...there’s more... ❞   ❝ you’re a lot like your father, you know. ❞   ❝ it barely flinched when i shot it. i feel like it’s toying with me. ❞   ❝ it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. it’ll be fine. ❞   ❝ listen. you’re being played.  ❞ ❝ too bad you’ll pay for it...with your life. ❞   ❝ please won’t you stay with me? forever? ❞   ❝ you are lucky to die before your child. ❞   ❝ quiet now, child! adults are talking. ❞   ❝ there’s nothing wrong with my memory. you’re just being paranoid. ❞   ❝ this is...this is just too much. ❞   ❝ awww, you’re blushing. ❞   ❝ how can a man be ‘almost’ dead? that’s a question for the wise. ❞   ❝ what kind of sick medieval shit is this? ❞   ❝ i’ve spent a lifetime creating this moment...and you try to take it away from me? ❞   ❝ i’m sick of fighting you! ❞   ❝ why didn’t you fucking tell me right away? ❞ ❝ shut your damn hole and don’t be a sore loser! ❞   ❝ but i’m not paranoid, i’m just cautious. ❞   ❝ don’t get close to me when i’m cooking, babe. ❞   ❝ anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. ❞   ❝ i haven’t cut open a man in a while. ❞   ❝ we moved here so that you wouldn’t have to deal with any of that, remember? ❞   ❝ why? why would you do this? ❞   ❝ i knew you would want to be involved. and this job is hard enough without civilians getting in the way. ❞ ❝ oh? you have something to say? ❞   ❝ tell me what’s out there! ❞   ❝ you’re still alive...? impressive. ❞   ❝ hey, are you listening? hey! ❞   ❝ exactly how much do you plan on annoying me? ❞   ❝ oh, no. they’re coming! ❞   ❝ do you have a gun? please tell me you have a gun. ❞   ❝ it’s not---nevermind. i’m sorry. ❞   ❝ drunk or not, you are welcome---and safe---in here. ❞   ❝ you know how to push my buttons. ❞   ❝ hey, don’t i get a say in this? ❞   ❝ you wouldn’t know proper manners if it slapped you in the face. ❞   ❝ i won’t forgive you, you bastard! ❞   ❝ why...why do you treat me the same as them? am i not your favourite? am i not special? ❞   ❝ at night, i hear wailing, as if ghosts roam the halls. ❞   ❝ quit your whining; we’re almost there! ❞   ❝ i’m afraid you can’t return to your old world any longer. ❞   ❝ how dare you bare your teeth at me. ❞   ❝ you couldn’t save them. they were already gone. ❞   ❝ in life and death, we give glory. ❞   ❝ can you even understand that humiliation?  ❞ ❝ even i can get angry. ❞   ❝ what the hell is that thing? ❞ ❝ we will meet again soon. ❞ ❝ let’s just say parts of the human imagination are better left alone. ❞ ❝ some treasures still lurk in this village. ❞ ❝ my decision is final. there will be no argument. ❞   ❝ everyone leaves me. even you. ❞   ❝ there is no safe! every sorry bastard out there has been ripped in half! ❞   ❝ come inside. the others are waiting. ❞   ❝ come with me. there’s something i have to tell you. ❞   ❝ what the hell is wrong with this place? ❞   ❝ the strong will destroy the weak. that’s the way of the world. ❞   ❝ no, we’re getting out of here --- together. ❞   ❝ but what i saw was...frightful. ❞ ❝ i suppose it’s what they call ‘the beauty of the grotesque’. ❞   ❝ you taught me so much and for that i will be forever in your debt. ❞   ❝ it is my curiosity that ties me to this place. ❞   ❝ please let me know if you’d like to strengthen your weapons. ❞ ❝ you’ll pay if i find out this is a lie. ❞ ❝ speaking of foolish questions, who --- what are you? ❞   ❝ if i don’t kill them then my life will never be my own. ❞   ❝ you are abominable. your deceit knows no bound. ❞   ❝ quit holding out, and get to the damn point! ❞ ❝ you’re the one who’s cursed. ❞ ❝ i hope you will be able to achieve your goal someday, too. ❞   ❝ that is why i had to leave you. i will regret never telling you goodbye. ❞   ❝ if i had but a little more time, i know i might be able to turn the tides of this battle. ❞   ❝ i can hear it shuffling about outside. ❞   ❝ and now you even try to steal my property? how dare you? ❞   ❝ ugh, just another simple little manthing. ❞   ❝ oh, good. i was just thinking of ways to pass the time. ❞ ❝ nowhere to go but up. ❞   ❝ where are you? show yourself! ❞ ❝ not without me, it’s too dangerous. ❞ ❝ shit, that was close. ❞   ❝ i heard explosions. what happened? ❞ ❝ you’ve dirtied my dress! ❞   ❝ you’re my daughter...now act like it! ❞   ❝ i don’t think we will make it through winter at this rate. ❞   ❝ the wounds are severe. i won’t last much longer. ❞   ❝ will you please stop talking in riddles? ❞   ❝ goddamn. it really is you. ❞ ❝ you sure of this? your body is, well, falling apart. ❞       ❝ how long have i been out? ❞   ❝ keep your distance. do not move until i give the order. ❞   ❝ i’ve got a tough guy here, i need some back-up! ❞   ❝ if my mom saw this shit, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell. ❞   ❝ shut your fucking hole! ...sorry about that. ❞   ❝ who are you? who sent you? ❞   ❝ please, be well. ❞   ❝ there’s more than we thought. watch out. ❞ ❝ to hunger...is to be alive. ❞   ❝ goddammit! why is everyone dying on me? ❞   ❝ hey! hey. don’t talk like that. ❞   ❝ my word, you truly are as strong as they say! ❞   ❝ don’t you love me? ❞   ❝ oh, you didn’t think i’d let you get away, did you? ❞   ❝ taken alive? dead? which would you prefer? ❞  

[believeitseeitdoit]

Legos and Language

Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: All bets are off when it comes to a Lego mishap in the Rogers-Barnes home 

Rating: Y'all shouldn’t be reading the filthy things if youre under 18 anyways but this one is pretty PG (but language is the exception)

Warnings: Domestic stucky, suggested and slight smutty times, 90% fluffy, some foul language, talk of murder and destruction of legos forever, feel good shit, Steve, Bucky and their girl have babies

don’t steal my little munchkin oc names please, I like them 

This is written from each lover’s POV, marked by ******** this 

This is a work of love and hated of legos, solely to be read for a smile and maybe some happiness, be kind or go away

        “Sonofabitch!” Your hushed curse rattles through the house as you stomp barefoot through your son’s pile of a semi built lego creation. With a few breathy “fuck’s,'' you hop over to the nearest chair to rub the new soreness out. Sharp indentations litter the underside of your arch, and you peel off a flat piece from your toe then mentally plot unmonitored use of the quantum realm to murder the creator of legos before they can cause any harm to you again.

       Continuing your muttering, you delicately set your foot down and turn to the mess. You sigh in relief that you didn’t destroy any of the built chunk, you were only subjected to the ultimate test of parenthood, the loose pieces.

     “Back to our regularly scheduled morning, coffee.” You say to the empty room, narrating your routine as if you were running a sitcom. Once in the kitchen, you set about making a hefty pot of coffee for you and your husbands, humming an 80s rock tune and letting your open robe swish around you loosely in the process.

********

      They both notice you slide out of bed, a super spy and a retired Avenger don’t miss much in their own home. But rather than follow you down to the kitchen to disrupt your morning ritual, Steve pulls his husband against him and nuzzles his hair so they could get some quiet time of their own. A few moments later, Bucky is softly snoring against Steve’s arm, and Steve is on the brink of sleep when he hears a barely audible string of curses and the unbalanced thunking of feet along the hardwood. Bucky seems undeterred, so Steve leaves him be and slips out of the bed to investigate what caused the early use of language, not that he’s surprised considering their wife’s colorful vocabulary when the kids aren’t listening.

       Pulling his discarded boxers back on from the night before, Steve saunters out of the master suite silently toward the staircase. He pokes his head into the nursery to check on the sleeping infant twins, and heads down the old hardwood steps, praying for them not to creak with every step. Halfway down the stairs, he hears you filling the coffee pot under the tap and the chorus to a White Snake ballad quietly playing from the speakers while you hum along. With a smile and a small head bob as he catches the tune, Steve steps across the threshold of the stairs toward the living room and kitchen, unaware of the torture devices scattered on the floor.

      Steve intends to follow the wall to get to the kitchen without his presence known, until you hear a series of words that would make Tony blush and an unfortunate crunching sound of your son’s creation being smashed to bits.

     “SONOFAFUCKINGMONKEYSASSHOLE WHAT THE FUCKING DICK ON A STICK GOD DAMN PIECE OF TORTUROUS BULLSHIT IS THIS?!!” He yelps loudly and tries to hop over the new graveyard of legos.

     In his fresh misery, he misses you quickly dropping the coffee grounds onto the counter top and hustling toward him to make sure his verbatim doesn’t wake the twins. As you begin shushing him from a few steps away, Steve hobbles blindly toward your voice and you see it happen before you can say anything. Your big clutz of a husband smashes his un-assaulted foot through your son’s Legos, only this time Captain America is not the star spangled man with a plan. He has absolutely destroyed the near complete firetruck and you can only stand in awe at his ability to hit each remaining chunk of the build before he finally makes it to the couch.

     “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, why the fucking legos? FUCK!” His wailing is not going to gain any sympathies from you, only entertainment at the weaknesses of men.

     “Steven Grant, you shut the hell up before you wake my babies or I WILL send Bucky to the store and you can have twin duty alone.” Sitting down at his feet to pull the pieces off his skin, you scold him lightly but without any venom or intention. He hisses as you pull the flat plastic off his big toe, and you chuckle as his pathetic whimpers cease.

     “So, coffee?” You stand and pull him up with you toward the kitchen, letting his calloused hands and leftover cologne embrace you like a blanket as he leans down to caress your cheek. He kisses your forehead and softly brushes hair behind your ear with one hand while the other grips your plush hip under the loose robe.

     “Maybe something sweeter to distract me first? This robe is teasing me.” His lips ghost down your neck and he nips at your collarbone while pulling the thin silk off your shoulders.

     “You kept me up late, baby. I need coffee before anything today.” You whisper breathily against his tanned, thick chest, whimpering and shivering as you feel him trace the marks littering your skin and gently squeezing the flesh he is so obsessed with.

     He allows you to pull away only after you shudder again, but he stands behind you, hands locked onto your hips as you pour the bitter amber liquid into 3 mugs. Steve’s love bites on your neck keep you distracted long enough for Bucky to come down the stairs without being noticed.

     “I thought we agreed there was no third wheeling in this family, and yet here we are.” Your bonus husband is perched against the refrigerator offering your favorite coffee creamer and his signature pout.

******

     Bucky is roused by his husband rolling out of bed and the accompanying coolness that surrounds him as the sheets flutter back down against the mattress. He listens to Steve pad lightly down the hall to check in on the kids, Hudson in his room first, then Charlotte and Talia in the nursery.  As the footsteps recede down the stairwell, Bucky lets his body sink into the bed and the scents of his partners surround him and lull him back to sleep.

     Until he hears a string of words leave his husband’s mouth, and a series of crunches and shattering sounds buried under more very inappropriate words. Now wide awake, Bucky shoves himself from bed and puts a loose sweatshirt over his head while he walks toward the stairs. He is halted by a whimper from one of his little twins in the nursery, but his ever present super senses note that both babes are still firmly asleep so he continues down the steps.

       Not sure of the state of things on the main floor, Bucky alertly scopes the space and finds their son’s legos strewn about the floor. With a sigh, Bucky steps around them and shakes his head as he follows the sounds of his husband and wife to the kitchen. He is met with tangled hair and soft pants, an open robed woman more stunning than Aphrodite, and a man barely containing his impressive erection in his low hanging boxers. Bucky can feel the energy in the room, can practically taste the arousal on them, and his subconscious stirs awake, begging to join like a wolf waiting for the hunt.

*******

      “And who plans on fixing our son’s firetruck creation? Because it sure as hell won’t be me, I will be taking care of our little girls where I am wanted.”

     Steve is the first to respond, an arm opens toward Bucky in the same moment. “Honey we didn’t mean to leave you out, c’mon over here let us show you how much better it is with you.” 

      As Bucky steps into Steve’s reach, you push off the counter and into the thick warmth of your husbands. Their desire envelops you as kisses are peppered on skin and fingers prod at bits of flesh for a better grip on reality. The moment is nearly bursting with love and lust, blinding both man’s super senses of their incoming visitor.

        “Who da hell bwoke my WEGOS!!!!????? MOMMYYYYY!” Hudson screeches from the bottom of the stairs and you’re running for him in an instant.

        “Hudson Anthony! You do not speak like that. You know better young man.” Steve and Bucky hiss at the use of their boy’s middle name, knowing how he feels in both respects.

       “Baby boy, I’m so sorry about the Legos, but you cannot use that language. No naughty words right?” You hate scolding him when you completely understand his frustrations, but heavens forbid he say any of that in public, the boy would be shamed and sent to his principal so fast even the Daily Bugle couldn’t catch it first. 

      Hudson sniffles and rubs his nose, trying to fight off tears of frustration in front of his daddy and papa, but quickly fails.

“But, is bwoken mommy. I woked so hawd on it! Wuh happened?” He begins wailing and stuttering breaths, and you pull him into your arms to hug and comfort him gently.

       “Shh, handsome, it was an accident. See, they were left too close to the stairs and mommy stepped on some, then daddy heard her yelp and ran through them too. Papa moved them out of the way and reminded daddy that he needs to help fix it with you baby.” You bounce him on your hip, trying to push the sadness away like you did when he was a small tike.

       Bucky and Steve step closer, each wrapping an arm around you and Hudson to initiate a bear hug. Hudson whimpers a bit longer then picks his head up from your shoulder and leans toward Steve, signaling he wants his daddy to hold him next. Steve pulls him close and whispers apologies only audible to his boy, but you and Bucky smile knowingly. They head to the far corner of the couch where they can have a quiet cuddle and talk about how Hudson can teach his daddy to rebuild the LEGO vehicle. 

      You lean against Bucky, enjoying the moment until he turns to the stairs.

       “Time for round 2 with some sleepy babies?” You tie your robe closed and head up the walk way, stubbing your toe on the first step.

       “Mother fu—dge on toast that was unpleasant.” You yelp and grip tightly onto Bucky’s vibranium arm. He chuckles and scoops you into his arms, carrying you up the remaining steps.

     “Careful, I don’t want to use your middle name today too darling.” He winks, setting you down at the doorway of the nursery. With a huff, you begin fluttering about the room, softly waking your girls and beginning their morning routine.

    “My sweet little Charlotte Ann, and my lovely Natalia Rose, you two are the most precious angels in this world. But for the love of all things holy, no Legos when you’re older ok?”

Tagging those who may appreciate this or can give me a helpful bit of advice on my writing : @bxccxdxll​ @iraot​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @tuiccim​  @thebescht​ @makbarnes​

[godwrecks]

um.. can i req for kuroo just being so mean to his girlfriend with a huge size kink on top? i just love the idea of him deliberately being mean bcs he likes seeing his baby cry for him then immediately change to a loving bf after that 🙈

Mean Dom! Kuroo - Too Dumb

word count: 1.7k

tags: dacryphilia; heavy degradation; daddy kink; dom! kuroo; mean kuroo tbh; size kink; throat fucking; some aftercare (?).

Always in a world of incessant business and black suits, you should have guessed Kuroo would need release somewhere else. Yet out of all things he could enjoy, out of everything that could be his if he just wished it to be, you turned out to be the subject of his adoration. He absolutely worshipped you - showered you with gifts and praise so much so that you would never doubt yourself or his love for you. And considering the way his eyes shone with tenderness whenever you were around, you never did. Not usually, at least.

But right now, when he was so deep inside you yet his face branded utter boredom, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest. You had struggled against his almost suffocating embrace, writhing like a prey facing death, when he ripped your panties aside and aligned himself along your folds. There had been a few protests, yet his dark gaze was enough to silence you.

“Tetsu,” you cried out, clinging onto his shoulders for leverage when he finally directed his eyes towards you.

“You fucking done yet, princess? You’ve had me waiting here for a while now,” Kuroo grunted, lowering himself down to his elbows and pushing a hand down against your abdomen. He was well aware of how much bigger he was in comparison to you. “Been inside you so many times, baby, and you still need fucking time to adjust?” He chuckled cruelly, his mocks only making your walls tighten around him. It wasn’t your fault - you wailed it wasn’t. Taking his long, girthy cock now was no easier now than it was before. No matter how many times you did it, he always managed to stretch you out until he made you his, turning the disastrous burn into pure ecstacy. Each and every time.

“I- I’m okay now, ‘s just too big…” Your whisper was borderline inaudible as he began thrusting inside you, setting a merciless pace that knocked the air off your lungs every time he bottomed out.

“You sound like a dumb whore the way you’re talking. Daddy’s cock, is that what you meant?” To your terror, he sat up on his knees, lifting up your thighs against you to gain more speed. Your back arched with moans as he rammed into you harshly, forcing you to take his full length with every buckle of his hips. “Fucking answer me, are you that hopeless of a case?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I meant. Daddy’s-” Cut off by a scream, your sentence got lost in a sea of heavy breaths. The low growls he emitted by your ear, coupled with the twitching and swelling of his cock inside you was nauseating. Sickeningly perverted.

Wrapping a large hand around your throat, you gasped for air while Kuroo gazed down at you with a sinister smile, zeroing in on the tears welling up. The bruising force of his hips clashing against yours was enough for you to hold his wrist in a desperate plea, begging for a breath of air as he kept tightening his hold.

“T-testu!” The raw panic ringing in his ears instantly tore his hands away from your neck, but the lifted corners of his mouth were unmovable as he pulled out all the way, just to slowly sink in back to you.

Your back pathetically arched into his touch, clit rubbing just right against the smooth skin of his defined abdomen. The way he looked down at you as if you were nothing but a used toy he’d throw away soon had your hand pushing against his chest, attempting to slow the reckless grinding of his hips.

“What now?” His eyes were so cold, only letting the slightly feral tone underneath the ice flicker through.

“Slow down, please, it hurts.” Contradicting your plea, you let it out a shameful moan when his thumb began circling the swollen bud. Oh, it was so clear he enjoyed watching you unravel under him, as if you were a little porcelain doll - the favorite in his collection.

“Princess, I don’t think I ever stated you have a fucking say,” he rolled his eyes, and the carelessness with which he threw you around in the bed - bringing you up to your knees on the edge of the bed while he stood - left an unfamiliar distaste reverberating through your system.

With another hand gripping your shoulder to keep you in place, he pried your mouth open slowly, savoring the crimson of your lips. His digits sensually pushed against your tongue, to which you responded by swirling your tongue around them. The hand previously restraining you lowered down to his cock, where he began pumping his fist up and down. Precum quickly began pooling from his tip and without realizing, your tongue had surely stuck out, ready for him to use your mouth.

At least that’s what you thought, but the moment he fisted your hair and forced you down his length, you knew it would be too much. You tried to relax your mouth, but his cock twitching inside your mouth made you choke even more. You couldn’t breathe, you only ogled up at him with tears that threatened to fall at any moment, hoping maybe he’d have some mercy. “You said you'd take it so why are you struggling, huh? Do you not want to?” He finally let go of you, and as much as you tried to compensate for the air your lungs were begging for, it was hard to even relish in the emptiness again when he sounded so damn disappointed.

“No! It’s not that, daddy, I just can’t fit you inside my mouth, it hurts,” you uttered the words as your arms wrapped around his legs, bringing him closer until his length was raised taut against your cheek.

“So everything hurts now for you,” the laugh that echoed off was strange, condemning. His cringe at the sight made your heart tremble. “I’m taking the time to train your useless little throat and this is how you behave? You should be fucking thankful, or would you rather I use my secretary’s?” You tried to listen for any sign of hesitance or teasing in his tone, but it was cold steel you heard. Shaking your head swiftly, your bottom lip quivered as his tip set against your mouth once again.

“So then why, baby? Why are you acting like such a stupid slut, as if you haven’t learned anything?” Using your throat as nothing more than a cock sleeve, he thrusted into your mouth continuously, ignoring all signs of your struggle. “You’re too dumb to remember, is that it? Maybe it’s time I throw you away and find someone new to play with.” Those were the words you lost it at, when the tears began cascading down your cheeks. Even as you sobbed, even as the oxygen barely managed to reach your blood and dizzied you, you kept him inside your mouth. Wishing - clinging to the hope that you could satisfy him again like you used to. But just as your spotted vision started going black, you were suddenly pulled up into his embrace, his arms holding you tightly against him. No, not like the claustrophobic hold he had on you earlier, but with that warm strength you were always met with when you needed it.

“I got you, pretty girl. C’mon, look at me,” Kuroo’s words were once again dripping with honey, his index finger lifting up your chin so your teary eyes could lock with his. “So fucking pretty when you cry, you know that right? Know how much I love you?” His charming smile was like a lullaby, easily dissipating every concern you had.

“Keep crying for me, angel, yeah? Wanna see those pretty tears when I make you cum.” Those words were the last you registered before he sat down and pulled you onto his lap, easily slipping inside you with how much you had been dripping onto the sheets.

Though you hadn’t come before, every thrust was worse than the previous. You were so sensitive you could feel absolutely everything - every vein and pulsing of his cock, every place where you clamped down on him, every brush of your hardened nipples against his firm chest.

“Tetsu, it feels so good! Feels so good, I’m gonna cum,” you sobbed on his shoulder, bouncing on his lap each time he plunged into you.

“Go on, princess. Cum with me, make daddy proud.”

With a kiss to your dampened cheek, his rhythm increased enough to send you both into your high. For a moment, you felt awfully aware of your surroundings, your heavy pants and the lewd sound of naked skin slapping against another. It was like the calm before a storm, right when your orgasm rushed in and cascaded over you, milking every last drop of the creamy liquid from Kuroo without even noticing.

You still trembled weakly from the pleasure when you felt Kuroo’s fingers draw circles on your stomach. It was then, when you looked down, that you discovered you were trying to keep in every bit of his seed inside you, unwilling to let any pour outside.

“Look at that bulge, too full with my cum, huh? You always do so fucking good for me,” Kuroo grunted with a smirk, the sweat on his forehead glistening with every labored breath.

“I love you,” you looked at him with furrowed brows and a pout, still unable to shake away the words from before.

He smiled briefly, wiping away the tears before cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer. “I love you so fucking much. Never forget that, okay? No matter what I say when I’m like that, you’re the only one for me. Only girl I wanna spend my life with, and only girl I want to absolutely fucking ruin every night.” His lips ghosted above yours with the whisper, merely brushing against yours with every spoken word. “Got that?” A brow lifted up with the question, seeking for the confirmation he needed to hear.

“Got that,” you smiled, taking the reins and lunging forward for a kiss.

my dumbass literally forgot abt the size kink?? i’m so sorry, i tried to go back & include it but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. thank u for the request!

[verxsyon]

·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐒𝐒, 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐒 ❞

@winwinverse​ love that i’m just sending all my fic ideas to you instead of writing for them on my own blog lmfao 🤡 N E WAYS. 

for my baby chongyun, imagine ghost hunting in a graveyard with him except no ghosts want to come near u guys because of his yin (is that what its called? i cant remember lol) powers and you guys find nothing.

or like buzzfeed unsolved where you go spirit hunting and stuff (and again cant find anything lol).

also maybe this can be the same or maybe a different AU but what if you dress up as a fake spirit and/or pretend to be the voice of one just to make him happy because you guys cant find any and you dont want him to be sad.

and since jae sent this pic, try and include some version of this image too lmfao pls and thanks ok love you byeee.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. chongyun x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. drabble ; 0.8k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. established relationship au, modern au ; comedy, fluff

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. swearing

✧ 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. buzzfeed unsolved + chongyun’s hangout event

“Are you sure there are evil spirits here?” Switching the camera on, you slide the view over to your boyfriend, who is adjusting his own attached to his head.

“Wuwang Mansion is said to be teeming with huge scores of them,” Chongyun says. “Well, according to Xingqiu. Right, Xingqiu?”

The blue-haired boy shushes him by waving the flashlight at his face. “Guys, as you can see here I’m on ‘Do Not Disturb’. I just reached the fighting scene between the main character and the queen of the opposite kingdom. It’s very well written.”

“How convenient,” you say sarcastically. “Hey, Xingqiu. You said Wuwang Mansion is haunted, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Xingqiu says dimissively, which annoys the hell out of you. “Now shush, let me read in peace.”

Fed up with his imcompetency, you snatch the book out of his hands and smack his head with it. “The love interest appears during the battle. Turns out that they have been working under the queen all along, stabbing the main character in the back. Literally and figuratively. You’re welcome. Now give me the damn flashlight.”

Xingqiu gapes at you dramatically for ruining his genuine excitement. He is quite shocked to keep talking — not that he has anything nice to say, so he just lends you the flashlight. After receiving your thanks, he senses another presence brushing his shoulder, causing him to jump and hide behind Chongyun.

“Ghost!” he screams, gripping tightly onto his best friend who remains amazingly unfazed.

“Where?” you ask hastily. Snapping the flashlight to the area Xingqiu is pointing at, no ghost is nowhere to be found. Although, you do hear a thud nearby that results in you immediately joining Xingqiu into hiding behind Chongyun.

“Don’t worry. A chair just fell over,” your boyfriend deadpans. He grabs the flashlight from you over his shoulder and directs it the source of the noise. “There are definitely evil spirits here.”

“Huh. Surprised that you didn’t lose your shit unlike me and Xingqiu,” you chuckle nervously at thoughts of being murdered by an evil spirit tonight circulating your mind. “You got this, Yun. Uh… don’t die… please?”

Chongyun presses a quick peck on your cheek for reassurance, causing Xingqiu to fake gag. “All you have to worry about is to confirm the existence of the spirit in action. That’s the reason why we’re here, right?”

Before you could agree with his statement, a chill runs through your spine. You’re guessing the dynamic duo feel the same one as well judging from their stiff expressions. You turn to the direction they are looking at, and there it is: one of the evil spirits Xingqiu must have been talking about, and one of the evil spirits you and Chongyun are trying to capture on camera.

“God, I wish I was kidding,” Xingqiu wails. “We’re so fucked.”

“No, we’re not. Thank you so much for bringing us here, my good friend.” Chongyun is wearing a special smile that indicates his victory, one you have not seen in a while ever since you lost a game to him in Mahjong. “Eat my ass, spirits.”

Despite knowing your goal that made you and Chongyun come here in the first place, you’re not all about your boyfriend risking his life to that evil spirit he is trying to intimidate. So what you have done is throwing Xingqiu’s book at it, landing in between the eyes. “Not today, Satan.” 

The evil spirit squeals, curling into a ball on the floor from the pain it received from the book. “Ouch, that really hurts. What the hell was that?”

Chongyun gives himself a moment to identify the voice before taking off its head. Or rather, mask. “Hu Tao.”

“In the flesh,” the resident trickster of the Liyue District groans, rubbing the spot where she got hurt. “You got pranked...? Ow. Xingqiu, this was not part of the plan.”

Both you and Chongyun glare at your mutual friend, who is sweating nervously from being exposed by his partner-in-crime. “Haha... I’m sorry? Please don’t kill me.”

Your boyfriend sighs in disappointment. “So I guess there are no evil spirits here.”

“Therefore, the mansion isn’t really haunted to begin with,” you say, pecking his lips as a participatory award. “At least we had fun together, Yun.”

“Yay for happy endings,” Xingqiu cheers as he helps Hu Tao taking off her costume. “Well, it was fun while it lasted. Hu Tao tapping my shoulder certainly woke me up.”

“I didn’t touch you. Never did,” Hu Tao confesses. “I was the one who knocked down the chair that scared you and our other dear friend here shitless.” 

“Wait...” Chongyun says as he wraps an arm around your neck. “So if you weren’t the one who touched him, then who did?”

Then the realization dawns upon the four of you.

“Well, shit.”

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Hey 👋

How are you?

Could I please request a king Arthur prompt when he first starts courting his partner but originally they cant stand him like they think hes too cocky but he worms his way into their heart 🥰

Pairing: King Arthur x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + for language, a little angst.

Masterlist 

The Queen 

“Arthur, you could have any girl in the entire realm at your fingertips; why did you have to choose this one?” Wet Stick sighs, watching from under his cloak and cursing his friend for his taste in women. “He couldn’t just pick one of those nice noble ladies; he had to pick a headstrong girl with a chip on her shoulder,” he grumbles to himself. 

You locked up the shop behind you and take off home, turning once to wave into the shadows knowing the knight is there watching. He emerges on a large brown horse, coming to walk beside you. “Good Evening, Sir Tristan; how was your day today?” you smile up at him, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

“How do you always know where I am, my Lady?” You reach into your knapsack and pull out a warm cheese roll wrapped in cloth, handing it up to him. “Thank you, ma’am,” he unwraps it and takes a large bite, moaning at the taste. “Is this why he wants to marry you? Because of how delicious your baking is? Honestly, if the King weren’t enamored with you, I’d probably ask you myself,” he laughs. 

You groan, pulling your green cloak above your head. “Sir Tristan, how many times must I ask that you call me by my name? I am no lady, just a baker, no one special.” 

“The King would disagree.” You cringe and walk a little faster towards the warmth of your cottage. “He thinks you’re the most beautiful maiden in the entire Kingdom, and Arthur always gets what he wants, and that’s you, my lady.” You stop and glare at him; he holds his hands up in defense using your name. 

“Why would I want that cocky, overbearing brute of a man to marry me? He can go to hell for all I care.” Tristan doesn’t take offense like other knights because he knows how overbearing his friend can be. It’d been amusing to see Arthur fall for the beautiful, headstrong woman. Every flower ended up in the trash, letter burnt, and request for an audience denied. Arthur was close to giving up on courting the woman, but something was holding him back. 

“Have I ever told you what he was like growing up?” You roll your eyes, already dreading the tale that is sure to highlight only the King’s good points. 

“No,” you mumble, “but I’m sure it some heroic tale.” He barks out a laugh, and you stop to watch him, “what’s so funny?” 

“What do you know about the King? Honestly, tell me,” he jumps down from the horse and grabs the reins walking beside you. “Because if that’s your opinion, then you don’t know him at all.” 

You think about all you know about the King and realize with an ache in your belly that you didn’t know much about the King besides the rumors you’d heard. “Well,” you stumble, “he’s arrogant...uhm, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself...and,” you struggle to come up with something else, much to Tristan’s amusement. 

“Arthur was raised in a brothel,” you pause, raising a brow, “I’m telling the truth. When his parents were murdered, he floated down the river in a boat and was found by the prostitutes washing their clothes by the river. They took him in and raised him. He, in turn, grew up and protected them. The brothel was one of the only places in all of Londinium that women were treated with respect. If someone got too handsy with one of the girls, Arthur would beat them within an inch of their life before they’d even think to disrespect a woman like that. Then he’d take all their money and give it to the girl.” 

“He’s also really smart, smarter than the lot of us, at least. He had coffers hidden in the wall of the brothel behind a bookshelf. He dreamed of getting out and buying himself a piece of land, building a home. The girls would all be taken care of and wouldn’t have to be prostitutes anymore. He was damn close too before we found out he was the born King.” You mull over his words and keep walking closer towards your home. 

“How did he feel about becoming the born King?” you ask quietly. 

Tristan smiles, rubbing the snout of his horse affectionately. “He hated it. Didn’t want anything to do with the sword or being King. It wasn’t until he saw his friends being attacked, the Black Legs had us surrounded, outnumbered; there was no way we could win the fight. Arthur begged us to run away, that he was what they wanted, he was ready to die for us. Arthur embraced Excalibur and killed them all, saving us. He’s loyal to a fault that one. Then when Back Lack-” he takes a shuddering breath, and you reach out and rub his arm. 

“If it’s too painful, you don’t have to say.” He wipes at his eyes with his cloak and smiles at you. 

“No, I won’t let his memory fade because it makes me sad to talk about him. Back Lack was our friend, and Vortigern murdered him in front of his son and Arthur. Blue screamed, and I can still hear his wails in my head; Arthur took his son in and has become like a father to him.” You think of the young boy who follows behind the King and smiles. 

You reach the door of your cottage and put your hand on the knob, dropping your head to the door with a sigh. “What does he say about me?” you ask, turning to look at the Knight, “I know he’s must have told you why he is trying so hard to court me.” 

Tristan smiles, seeing the small crack in your cleverly crafted armor. “While you may not know the King at all, he knows everything about you. I dare say he’s in love with you.” 

You search his eyes for any lie and sigh, opening the door and stepping inside. “Wait here for a moment, please,” he nods, and you close the door behind you. Emerging a few moments later in one of your clean dresses and a light blue cloak of fine fabric the King had gifted you, too delicate for you to throw into the trash. “Take me to him, please,” you ask, pulling the cloak over your head. 

“Yes, my lady,” Tristan smiles, mounting his horse and reaching a hand out to pull you up behind him. He rides swift to the looming gates of the palace, and the heavy wooden doors creak as they’re pulled open. The hour is late, and there is only a handful of guards around watching you with a curious expression. You slide off the horse and follow closely behind Tristan as he weaves through the labyrinth of hallways before reaching a large door. He knocks out a combination, and Arthur’s voice comes from inside asking you to enter. 

Tristan stands back and gives your hand a squeeze, “good luck. I promise he’s worth it.” You smile, trembling, and give him a return squeeze. You watch his back retreat and take a deep breath before turning the handle. 

“Did she get home alright, Stick?” You follow his voice, stepping around the chair and looking down at him. He’s writing a letter, the quill moving across the page, a half-full glass of wine on the table to his left. “She didn’t see you, right? You know how much she detests having a guard.” 

“She didn’t make it home okay,” you say quietly, but he jumps anyways, looking up at you with wide eyes. “But she did find her way safely to you, my King.” He rises from his chair and stands tall beside you, gazing into your eyes, and for the first time, you see past the facade of the King he’s created and instead see the man, Arthur. 

“Are you well, my darling?” he asks, cupping your cheek; you close your eyes and lean into his touch. His smile is bright enough to rival the sun, and you smile back at him just as brightly. 

“I learned about you tonight, my King,” he furrows his brow, “Sir Tristan was telling me tales of how you became King.” 

He grins, “And what did he tell you?” He pulls away, pouring a second glass of wine and handing it to you. He takes your hand and leads you over to the roaring fire, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of it. You take a sip of the wine and put down the glass, climbing into his lap and putting your head against his shoulder. His hand comes up to wrap around your waist, keeping you snug to his side, putting down his glass of wine, and putting the other hand in your lap. 

You roll his fingers between your hands, feeling the callouses from years of fighting coarse against your skin. He leans his head against your own, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “He told me about you growing up in the brothel, how you protected those women, and their honor. He told me how you begged them to leave when the Black Legs came, and only when your friend’s lives were threatened did you finally wield Excalibur.” 

You sit up and look him deep in the pools of blue that are his eyes, lowering your voice to almost a whisper. “He also told me about Back Lack and Blue. How you’ve become like a father to him,” you trail off, looking down at his hand in your own, “he said you love me.” You look up and catch the storm in his expression, the showers of tears that threaten to fall as he’s reminded of his lost friend. 

You cup his cheek and brush your fingers beneath his eye collected them like diamonds. “He died because of me because I wasn’t able to protect him.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whisper. He takes a shuddery breath, and you hold on to him with both hands, keeping his eyes on you. “You did the best you could; you are raising his son. He wouldn’t blame you for what happened.” 

He tugs you closer, and your foreheads touch, “he would have liked you,” he gives a watery chuckle. “He’d have loved your baking, the way you stand up for yourself, and call me out on my bullshit.” You laugh, and he leans closer, “Tristan was right.” 

“About what?” the ghost of his lips brushes yours, and you gasp at the touch. 

“I love you,” you pull back a little, “I love how strong you are, loyal, fierce, and fucking stunning. You are everything I could ever ask for, and I know I came on too strong. I pushed you away when all I wanted was to hold you close like this. From the moment I saw you, spoke to you, the moment you chucked a rolling pin at my head, I knew.” 

You cringe at one of the more colorful visits you had with the King. “What? What did you know?” 

“That you are much more than a baker.” He nuzzles his nose against your own, and you give a breathless reply, begging him to tell you what you are. His lips touch yours slowly, just barely touching, and your eyes slide closed, moving closer to him when he whispers, “you’re my Queen.” 

Taglist: @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @ghostwiththemostbitch @the-purity-pen @paintballkid711 @wasicskosgirl @fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog @boxdyeblonde @rosiefridayrogersunday @yeah-seems-legit  @mimimi-stuff  @ladyblogger-margie @memyselfandellasworld @peterhollandkait @itspdameronthings @emmy626 @luv-nd-serenity @randomness501  @littlebopper96 @alexmarie29 @hell-is-my-second-home666 @thisshipwillsail316 @madslorian @no-droids-on-sunday @glixxr @sfr99 @pedro-pastel @we-can-be-himbos  @sleep-tight1 @sarhabee @its--fandom--darling @im-an-adult-ish @princess76179 @demoncrypt1066@lunarthoughts @jedi-mando @idreamofboobear @aerolanya @rebelliouscat @veracruz-djarin @marvelprincess1994 @thirstworldproblemss @spacelatinoss  @martellthemandalor @kesskirata @waatermelon-sugaar @jitterbugs927 @helga1031  @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

[honey-dewey]

Light Me A New York Torch

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/GN! Reader

Word Count: 2,045

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of gore, ghosts

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell​

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog​​, and the masterlists are created by @clydesducktape​.

You couldn’t remember when it started. When you began to see the people no one else could see. But it had been going on for years, and it was no longer as unsettling as it had once been. Instead, the slightly faded people wandering through the crowds of Sunspear were a comfort, coming with the knowledge that after death, there was still some kind of life. 

The ghosts never bothered you, and they never bothered others. They mostly kept residence where they’d been buried, never venturing past the wrought iron gates of their respective cemeteries. But occasionally, especially whenever you made visits to the castle, you would see ghosts, their silver fog trails and oozing injuries marking them as some of the valiant dead. They liked to sit in on meetings, especially the important ones. You never cared, always nodding a brief hello if you were alone. 

But it was the Princess of Sunspear who you spent most of your days with.

Elia Martell was buried just outside the castle, in a cemetery dedicated to members of the Martell bloodline. Her name was etched beautifully into a tombstone, her two children beside her. You never met the kids, but Elia loved to spend time in the sun with you, listening to stories you told. Now, you sat on a small bench, waiting for your ghostly friend, a bag of fabric beside you as you worked on a new robe for the Prince. 

“Is that for Oberyn?” 

You looked up, smiling at Elia. Her face was near ruined, the color faded with death, but her smile was still beautiful, even if it was streaked in blood. 

“Of course,” you said, examining the neat backstitching you’d been working on all morning. “Who else wears fabrics this expensive?” 

Elia laughed, sitting beside you and looking out over the sea. “How is he?“ she asked softly. “Is he doing well?” 

You nodded. “He is.” You set down the sleeve you’d been holding in favor of focusing entirely on Elia. “Doran fell ill, so Oberyn is going to be heading to King’s Landing for him. He leaves in a week’s time.” 

Elia hummed. “Travel will do him good,” she decided. “He’s grown too comfortable here in Sunspear.” 

“Comfortable?” You asked with a laugh. “How so?” 

“He’s like a cat,” Elia said, echoing your laugh. “A cat who’s found an awfully gullible human to leave it a bowl of cream every night.” 

You laughed, your project abandoned in your lap. “Unfortunately,” you said once you’d regained yourself. “I think this cat is soon to be declawed. Did you hear what Doran was planning on doing?” 

“Please, enlighten me.” 

You and Elia both jumped at the new voice, and you turned to see the last person you wanted to see right now. Prince Oberyn. 

“Ah, my Prince,” you said, bowing your head. “I didn’t see you there.” 

Oberyn smiled, looking at the bag at your feet. “Who were you talking to?” He asked, entirely unaware of Elia sitting beside you, her bloodstained eyebrows turned up in worry. 

“Old ghosts,” you answered honestly, knowing he wouldn’t believe you. Most people never did. “Elia likes the castle gossip.” 

Oberyn chuckled, laying his hand atop his sister’s tombstone. “She always did,” he hummed, and Elia stood, standing beside her brother. She gently reached out to touch his face, her thumb gliding over his cheek. 

“Tell him he’s too thin,” she said softly, her voice full of worry. “He looks too sad.” 

You sighed. Elia, no matter how long she remained youthful, would always be Oberyn’s older sister. She would always harbor that deep flame of concern in her belly. “Elia’s worried about you,” you said, not bothering to stand. 

“I suppose she would be,” Oberyn said, turning back to you. “Mind if I sit?” 

You shifted your stuff over, allowing Oberyn to sit beside you. He peered into your bag, smiling a bit. “Fabric looks nice.” 

“Well, it is for you,” you said, drawing the half finished sleeve out of the bag again and picking up where you’d left off. “I figured you’d like the color.” 

“It’ll suit me well,” Oberyn agreed. 

Elia looked from you to Oberyn, her face lighting up. “Oh gods!” She said eagerly. “He likes you!” 

You ignored her, not wanting Oberyn to assume you were out of your mind. “Are you bringing Ellaria to King’s Landing?“ you asked, picking up your needle and continuing to rhythmically backstitch the hem of the sleeve. “I don’t think she’s been yet.” 

“She hasn’t,” Oberyn said. “I will bring her when I leave. She’s grown bored here in Dorne. She’s never truly left the kingdom, and I promised her travel.” 

You nodded. “Does she need a new robe?” You asked. “I have some beautiful sheer fabric that I can’t wait to use.” 

Oberyn smiled. “You work too hard,” he said lightly. “Ellaria is not in need of a new robe.” 

“I work just hard enough,” you countered. “I’ll make her a new one when you return.” You tucked your things into your bag, the waxed spool of thread falling gracelessly on top of the pile of fabric. “I’ll see you tomorrow Oberyn.” 

Elia followed you all the way to your sewing room, which was shocking, considering she almost never left the cemetery. The entire time, her face practically glowed, and as soon as the door was shut, she squealed with happiness. “He’s in love with you!” 

“Who, Oberyn?” You asked, dragging the wooden dress stand towards your desk and beginning to put fabric pieces onto it. “That’s like saying I’m in love with expensive fabrics. It’s a damn near daily occurrence. Oberyn being in love with me means nothing.” 

“Mhm,” Elia hummed, sitting up on the windowsill and watching you pin the half-finished sleeves to the body of the robe. “Do you like him?” 

You almost stabbed yourself in the finger. “No!“ you insisted, grabbing a pin cushion and sticking the head of a pin into your mouth. “He’s funny and kind and, sure, maybe a bit handsome, but no! I’m not in love with him!” 

Elia’s cat-like grin told you that she didn’t believe you in the slightest. “You love my brother,” she said happily. “Oh! This is amazing!” 

Rolling your eyes, you threw an empty spool at Elia, watching it soar through her chest and out the open window. “Hush up,” you said firmly. “I need to focus.” 

Seven days of focus later, you were presenting Oberyn with his new robe, Elia by your side. 

“How does it fit?” You asked, smoothing the fabric between Oberyn’s shoulders, watching it stretch as he shifted. “Too tight, too loose?” 

“It’s perfect,” Oberyn promised, turning. “I’m sure I’ll be the envy of everyone in King’s Landing.” 

You smiled. “Be careful on these buttons,” you urged. “If you lose any of them, I might just cry. They were very expensive.” 

Oberyn chuckled. “If I have time,” he said. “I shall look in the King’s Landing marketplace. They might have some nice fabrics and things for you.” 

Your belly heated. “You don’t have to,” you said, sending a minuscule glare in Elia’s direction as she grinned wildly. 

“You deserve a thank you,” Oberyn insisted. “I know you must’ve worked many long nights to finish this robe.” 

“It truly was not that bad.” You didn’t disagree with him. You knew just how long you spent awake to put that robe together. 

Oberyn’s smile never faded as he turned to his horse. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “Tell Elia I’ll visit her when I return.” 

Elia hovered her hand over Oberyn’s. “Stay safe little brother,” she said, and although he couldn’t hear her, you swore Oberyn’s eyes shone brighter as he turned his horse away and rode off.

Two weeks later, after many boring days, you were met with a surprise. The cemetery had not one waiting figure, but two. Elia, ever the permanent fixture, and then another horribly familiar body. 

“Oberyn?” 

The second figure turned, and you gasped. Oberyn’s face looked as if someone had torn it to shreds. His eyes were no more than rusted red craters in his face, and his mouth was stained in blood. His hair was sticky and matted to his temples, where two identical injuries lay. He was in his leather armor, and you were desperate to know what happened. 

“So you weren’t joking,” Oberyn murmured. “You really can see ghosts.” 

“What happened?” You asked desperately, not caring if anyone heard you seemingly talking to yourself. “Who did this to you?” 

Oberyn sighed. “I was the Imp’s champion,” he said. “In a trial by combat. I fought The Mountain, and lost spectacularly.” 

You wanted to scream. “Why?” 

Elia shifted on her tombstone. Oberyn took a breath. “Revenge,” he admitted. “For Elia.” 

You let out a watery sob. “You bastard!” You screamed, swinging your fists as Oberyn, who merely took the fist to the face, allowing it to pass right through him. “You stupid bastard! I can’t believe I’ve lost you! You! I can’t-“ you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. “I don’t want you to go.” 

“Who says I’m going anywhere?” Oberyn said, crouching beside you and letting his fingers glide under your chin. The chill racing through your skin forced your head up, so you were looking into his face. “I’m not going anywhere, my little seer. You’re stuck with me for as long as you live.” 

You reached out, thumbs ghosting over Oberyn’s bloodied cheeks. “You’re a mess,” you mumbled. “A bloody fucking mess.” 

“Well,” Oberyn hummed. “I did just die yesterday.” 

The rest of the day, you lay in the cemetery with Oberyn and Elia, occasionally joined by two children Elia admitted were hers. The leaves on the surrounding trees were finally beginning to fall, peppering the ground with dots of vivid orange until the once green grass was hidden beneath a blanket of autumn. It was peaceful, even when silvery clouds rolled through the sky and bells began to toll in the city. Shouts, too far off to decipher, split the air, and wails followed shortly after. 

“It seems the world has learned of my death,” Oberyn murmured. 

“It seems so,” you agreed. “The common folk have lost a good man.” 

Oberyn smiled. “But not you,” he said. “You’ll never lose me.” 

You laughed. “I do believe I am stuck with you forever,” you said. “Wanna head into the market tomorrow? I need to make you a funeral robe.” 

Looking up at the fog silver sky, the breeze making the leaves dance on the air before they fell to the ground, Oberyn nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly, watching Elia play with her children. “We can make it a date.” 

“A date,” you repeated. “Of course.”

[lueurnotes]

Kissing Din

based on this ask

Din Djarin/Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: blood mention, canon-typical violence, sexual situations, nudity

a/n: been a minute since I posted!! hope everyone is doing well <3

In Hyperspace.

You were sleepily rocking Grogu against your chest in the co-pilot seat. The little one was already fast asleep, a small snore coming from the bundle of cloth. The cabin was dimmed, with the small blinking control lights glittering through your sleepy haze. Hyperspace washed over you in blue-white streaks of light that kept you from falling asleep. Despite the rest that pulled at you, there wasn’t anywhere else in the Maker-forsaken galaxy that you’d rather be. Safe next to your partner with his son fast asleep on your lap. 

It’s been an incredible journey together. Only a few short months yet so much has happened. Fixing up the Crest when you were all stranded on an icy, krykna-infested planet. Patching up Din whenever he returned, staggering into the hull. Giggling with the kid in your lap as he pushed your tools around. The memories you shared with this clan were few but your heart ached like it was forever. 

A rustling sound coming from the pilot’s chair got your attention. Hm?

“Close your eyes,” Din hushed. 

You obliged, more than happy to shut your sleepy eyes. Frequent hyperspace travel never did get easier for you.

The sound of his helmet hitting the metal floor of the cockpit nearly caused them to snap back open. 

“Din what are you—” 

A bare hand traced your face and you tried to fight the shudder that wracked your body. The warmest hands cradled your face upwards, a thumb brushing across your parted lips. The mere thought that Din was bare-faced inches from you... Your mind kicked into hyperdrive.

“Please,” the hushed whisper fell from his mouth, stilted breath ghosting right over your panting lips. The voice you seldom heard unmodulated was steeped with longing. One word spilled into a sentence.

“I want to kiss you.”

Your face broke into the sweetest grin he had ever seen. Really seen. 

“Like you even have to ask,” you shifted your body upwards, heart racing as your lips finally met. 

On Tatooine.

The blaring wind outside rocked the Razor Crest in it’s docked spot. Some dusty backwater place you could absolutely care less about. You spat out some lingering dust into the sink. 

The little one was dropped off at Peli’s, which meant whoever this bounty was they were high-risk for Din. 

Not a lot of people made that list.

Also meant that maybe you shouldn’t be blasting music throughout the ship, but kriff you were bored. It’s been a couple days at this point and you were told to “lay low”. Din didn’t say anything about music though. Plus, the Razor Crest was a well-fortified gal. Sure, a couple of bits flew off here and there and the hyperdrive could use some work, but whatever was in the armory could ward off any sane being in the galaxy.

 The muffled sound of your playlist could be heard through the refresher door, jumping to full clarity as you exited. You broke into a grin, hips swaying as you sang the words loud. I wonder if Tin Can ever sings? You burst out laughing at the thought of the sound of scratchy-modulated humming. The man hardly talks as it is. I’d bet the Maker that he has a worse voice than me. 

“Something funny?” 

Crap.

You yelped, in a certainly dignified manner, you hope, “Mando! Glad to see you back home.”

Home?! Oh my stars, I’m done for.

The slightest tilt of his helmet let you know that he definitely heard you. He continued, “If you’re done using the comms, can you let Karga know we’re on our way?”

“Or we could just, you know, not do that,” a voice strained.

You finally focused on the bounty that Mando dragged back, a young twi’lek man with deep, blue skin. He wore a similarly draped sand-colored cloth you saw the locals wore. Arm wrappings covered to his wrist where there was no dirt under his fingernails. Your eyes wandered to his shoes, a type of thicker sandal with cording to attach… Yep, definitely not from here. 

You smiled back at Mando, “Gotcha, Captain!”

“Wait!” The twi’lek croaked out, “Please, you can’t let him take me!” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, chancing a look at Mando’s visor as if to say can you believe this dude?

“Fine, I’ll bite.” You leaned on one hip, “Why should my partner and I not take in a bounty that we have been searching for I don’t know … ” you counted your fingers, “six days? Explain.” 

And here come the waterworks. 

He wailed, still on his knees next to Mando as he groveled, “It’s a false bounty! I was framed and I didn’t know what to do but run,” he looked at the carbonite cases, eyes growing larger when he saw their blank gazes frozen wide, “I swear to the Maker you’ve got it wrong!”

You bent down to his level, hushing him as you gently rested your hand on his cheek, “Are you implying that my partner is wrong? That he is being dishonest with me?”

Your wide eyes fell on Mando who stood unmoving. You turned back to the bounty before you could notice his hand clenching into a fist as you touched the other man. 

The twi’lek silently nodded, tears slipping over his hairless face.

“Well you’ll be sure to know that I loathe liars,” you nodded solemnly, “Especially if it’s to my face.”

He opened his mouth to say something, sharply gasping as a blue ring of light exited your blaster. He slumped over, mouth still gaping open.

You looked back up at Din, catching him as he adjusted his pants. Smirking, you stepped over the bounty until you were standing right in front of Din, feeling the heat of his body past the beskar. Extending your arms up, you rested your hands on his pauldrons, hand tracing the Mudhorn signet. Gingerly, you placed your palms up just under Din’s ice-cold helmet, eyes questioning. He gave a simple nod, bringing his gloved hands to wrap around yours. 

“I missed you,” you tilted the beskar upwards just the slightest amount, exposing a sliver of skin that was roughened with stubble. You tiptoed upwards and placed a short peck on him.

“It’s good to be home,” he gruffed out.

Keldabe

The overpowering scent of blood filled your mouth and nostrils. Tears tracked down your face as you let out a groan, spitting to the left of the man you just knocked out. You rolled over to lie back on the gritty pavement of the alleyway, uncaring of the unconscious man next to you. Somewhere down the dim alley, you could hear the distinct clang of metal against metal as Din fought the other bounty. The sound of a single blaster shot followed by a muffled yelp was the end of that. 

Never bring a vibroblade to a blaster fight. 

Your head pounded as you fought the urge to laugh out loud. You were lying next to a man that was set on killing you. You were pretty sure Din just shot the other one in the leg. And on top of that you were probably one wrong head turn from unconsciousness. 

Din’s shadow suddenly looming over you snapped the cord and you burst in giggles. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately bending down to run his hands over any area that got impacted.

“You should have seen the other guy,” you winced as he grazed over your ribs. 

“Looking at him right now,” he deadpanned, “Good work. But I’d prefer if my partner would ask for help if they need it.”

He pulled you up, half resting in his lap as your legs splayed out in front of you. Instantly, you curled towards the cold beskar, seeking the warmth past it. 

“Hey Mando?”

“Yes?” He said lowly. 

“M’head hurts,” you slurred, “Kiss me better.”

You couldn’t see it, but he smiled under his helmet. Even with the absolute shit knocked out of you, you still wanted his attention. Kriffing adorable. 

He obliged, head tilting down so he could rest his helmet against your forehead. His eyes closed underneath, savoring the moment. 

“Ah,” you sighed, “Much better.”

“Are you using me as an ice pack?” 

“Maybe,” you whispered. 

He let out a breathy chuckle before drawing away, “Come on, let’s get back to the ship so we can take a nap.”

A kiss on the thigh

Several months ago when you first started co-piloting for Din, you never would have thought that the Razor Crest could be anything but damn near freezing.

This heat was something else. Panting breaths exhaling hot air. The blazing touch that seared across your thighs as Din hovered over you. Even your skin was starting to dampen in the cramped cot. 

“Cyar’ika,” he groaned, “Look at you.”

You opened your eyes, glancing down at yourself pressed so deliciously against Din. He was right there. Biting your lip, you tried to grind against him, only for Din to pinch at your thighs in warning. He continued his teasing, rubbing tenderly at your heated skin. 

Your back arched under his ministrations. Din was taking his time during the reprieve of a lengthy hyperspace pass, massaging enticingly at your thighs, touching everywhere but where you needed him most. 

Twelve hours. 

You moaned, “Kriff, stop teasing, Din.” You writhed under his hold, your thighs pinned down by just his hands. How does he feel so good without doing anything?

“No, I don’t think I’m going to stop.”

You gasped as he replaced his hands with his mouth, bending down to suck harshly at the inside of your thigh. Din licked at the sensitive spot, satisfied as he looked up at your panting face. 

“You look fucking pretty like this.”

A kiss on the hand 

"Glove,” you commanded, “now.”

Din put a hand on his hip. “You don’t need good luck right now,” He jutted his head toward the distant tree trunk that was today’s target, “Just hit it.”

You rolled your eyes, making sure he saw. Like, really saw. You swore up and down that he lacked actual peripheral vision because it was always you that caught the little one getting into places he absolutely should not be. The armory being one of them. You shuddered, finger flicking the safety on as you remembered that very eventful day.

“Focus,” he intoned, “You’re in your head.”

You cursed to yourself, flicking the safety back off. Raising your arm smoothly, your eyes followed the barrel of your blaster. 

Tree, damn it. Let me hit you.

Your eyes shut for a split second as you squeezed the trigger. A slight burst of energy shifted your hand half an inch. No sound of impact. 

You looked at the tree in dismay. 

The stump was definitely still there, not like it could dodge blaster bolts. Even if it could move, it wouldn’t have to avoid anything. The patch of brush next to it though? Thoroughly burnt. 

“And this is why I train close combat,” you patted at your vibroblade strapped to your thigh. 

“This is why you need practice,” Din moved next to you as you holstered your blaster, “Here.” He held his bare hand out to you, glove clutched in his left. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled. Gingerly, you grasped onto his hand with both of yours, thumbs tracing across his bruised knuckles. Din gave the slightest tilt in acknowledgement. You brought his warm hand right to your face, breaking out into a smile.

“I’m gonna get it for sure this time,” you said before placing a small kiss on his hand, “Now put that glove back on and watch me hit this damn target.”

Din chuckled as he backpedaled a few steps, looking on as you drew your blaster, aiming perfectly at the tree.

Breathe. You got this. It’s a completely immobile target. You thought to yourself. 

You squeezed the trigger and with a loud crack, the stump had a glaring split right down the middle where your bolt hit true. 

“Stars, yes!” You shouted in glee. Deftly turning the safety back on, you holstered the blaster and ran to Din, his arms already opening to wrap around you. 

“Knew you could do it,” he said, pulling you in lightly so the beskar wouldn’t bite into your skin. 

“Does this mean I can try out the rest of your armory?” 

“No.”

[ciderxi]

Jimin- Say my name

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Smut, Cocky Jimin, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, light choking 

Word Count: 1.7K

"I'll make you scream so hard, everyone will know who you belong too"

You scoffed, hands wrapped around his neck as he held you atop the washing machine. "You're so confident, yet last week you couldn't even look me in the eyes"

Positioning the tip of his dick with one hand, he smirked as he looked at your still confident face, knowing damn well it wasn't going to last long. "We'll see how confident you are after." He slammed his hips into your entrance, purposely making sure to bottom out immediately. Loving the look on your face.

It was a tight squeeze, one that had you arching your back and biting your lip to keep quiet. "Jimin-fuck, go slow, I need time to adjust" you winced, immediately losing all the confidence you previously had

"Hm? Did you say something?" You felt his hand slapping your thigh, prompting you to open your eyes, not even noticing that you had shut them in pain. You couldn't help but stare at his soft plump lips. Imagining them placing kisses along your inner thighs, allowing you to relax into him.. "Are you ready for me?" he cooed, gripping your legs from the back of your knees. He pulled out, eyes focused on his dick buried in your soaking entrance. "If you're going to stare I might as well put on a good show, right?" With a snap of his hips, he rammed every inch back inside you.

The force of his thrust shook the washer machine and caused a loud bang, already biting your lip to hold in your moans. But the banging of the machine definitely was not helping your cause. "Jimin" you half yelled, half moaned. "They're going to catch us!"

He hummed, pulling out to prepare for another thrust. "Let them come running inside" Another thrust followed closely with a thud against the wall. "I want them to watch as I turn you into a mess," he leaned in and whispered in your ear, "I bet you would love that, wouldn't you?"

Your eyes widened in shock, permanently biting your lip in anticipation for his slow drawn out thrusts. "Don't you fucking dare"

"I absolutely will ". Each thrust was balls deep and left your legs twitching. You bit your lip harder, determined not to give either of you away. His thumb caught your lip and pulled it free from your teeth. "Don't you dare cover up those beautiful moans of your, now say my fucking name"

You shook your head adamantly against the beautiful picture in front of you. Jimin between your legs, mercilessly thrusting into you, his hips begging you to moan" I will break you, so why don't you just make this easier on yourself"

You clenched your eyes shit, continuing to abuse your bottom lip. You felt his lips brush against the crook of your neck, his tongue drawing along up to your ear. Yet you remained as still as you could, his thrusts coming to a slow

"No? I guess you want them to come watch while you scream my name, digging your nails into by back as they watch, right?" He grinned, having one of his hands travel up your body to your neck. His long, warm fingers closed around your throat, applying just enough pleasure to drive you crazy. Causing you to clench around his pulsing cock. Making him let out a deep moan as his eyes rolled back in pleasure." Fuck Y/n"

He kept one hand on your throat and the other holding your leg open so he could watch himself slip in and out at a brutal pace. The washing machine banged against the wall repeatedly. But you didn't care you were too focused on trying to ignore the waves of pleasure Jimin was forcing upon you. Jimin took it upon himself to keep you quiet, for now. Needing more time before another member came down begging to have a turn with you.

He controlled your desperate moans by squeezing your throat, choking off the sound as his eyes burned into yours. "I control what they get to hear, and right now i want you all to myself"

You felt your stomach begin to churn, causing you to feel like you were going to explode if you didn't take care of it. You desperately reached down to finish yourself off, desperate to reach your high. Jimin grabbed your hand and forced it to your side. "You only get to cum at my hand Y/n"

"Please just let me finish...." You whined as he pulled out inch by inch, wanting you to feel the emptiness he left behind. .

He pulled you off the washing machine and bent you over the machine, briefly admiring your body, ready to take you from behind "If you don't let me cum then i'll leave right now" You pushed back against him, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

He immediately pushed you back against the washing machine, the cold metal causing you to flinch as you feel a familiar harness against your entrance.

He groaned softly at the contact and pressed his hard length against you. "It's too late to back out baby~." His hands gripped your waist and held you in place. I'll be damned if i let you go now" He kicked your legs apart before forcing himself back in. His fingers smoothed over your hair and grabbed a fistful. "Say my name."

He tugged your head back, forcing your back to dip as he snapped his hips. With each thrust, his balls slapped your engorged clit, dragging a loud moan from your lips. "Jimin~"

"Louder baby~ I don't think Jinnie can hear you," Jimin demanded with a swift slap to your ass, causing your thighs to shake under his touch

"Jimin!" you cried out trying to find something to brace yourself against, the washing machine was too slippery from juices left moments ago. Soon enough, he pressed you directly up against it with no cushion, forced to take the full blow of each and every stroke. Your cries were cut off, by your increasing need for air. He let go of your hair and put both hands on the back of the washer machine.

The force of his thrusts increased as the banging against the wall stopped. The only thing you heard was your own moans and screams of pleasure. By this point, your clit was beyond sensitive from stimulation. Your legs were trembling, barely being able to hold yourself up. Your ass becoming sore from his hips slapping against them.

"Are you ready to cum for me Y/n?" He was growing tired but didn't let up. When you failed to answer him, he grabbed one of your legs by the knee, lifted it up to rest on the corner of the washing machine. "All you have to do is scream my name loud enough for everyone to hear~"

You bit down on your lip, cutting off your screams but failing to suppress the moans. He leaned down and pressed his chest to your back, his lips ghosting over your ear and neck before biting down. You squealed in surprise, and let out a bellowing laugh. 

"I'll just fuck you until the whole world knows" He whispered against your ear. He let go and slipped a hand between the washing machine and your hips. It took a second longer than you'd like to admit for you to realize what he was reaching for. When the rough pad of his middle finger grazed your clit, you bucked against his touch with a scream.

"Jimin, please!" You didn't even know what you were begging for. All you knew is that you wanted more. You wanted to cum. You wanted—

His thrusts began to get shorter as he toyed with your clit, swirling his finger around it, occasionally brushing where his dick had you spread open, using your juices to keep it wet. He picked up the pace and his finger mercilessly rotated over your clit. You met his hips at each thrust, screaming out a string of curses as the pit in your stomach grew exponentially bigger. "jI-JI-min! Pl-plea" words being unable to form as you practically begged for release.

"Don't worry baby, I know exactly what you want." He bit your ear and neck then brushed his lips against your cheek. "Are you going to cum for me baby? I want you to scream loud enough for everyone to hear. Don't you want them to listen as I fill you with cum?"

"Y-yes! Jimin! Cum on my back!" you cried out as the pressure snapped and pure bliss washed over you. You wailed as he stood upright, gripped your hips, and fucked you with every bit of energy he could muster. You arched your back, unable to do more than just take it, take the punishment he gave, prolonging your orgasm as he chased his own.

He moaned loudly as his thrusts became sloppier by the second. For a moment, the only thing you could hear was his moans as he painted your walls white with his cum "You're mine" was the last thing he said before slowly pulling out, you shivered as you felt his cum slowly pool out. You looked back at him in disbelief "Jimin! Fuck hurry up and give my my underwear so I can go change before they see me with cum dripping down on my legs" you groaned looking down at the mess he had made.

"I said on my back! what the hell is wrong with you"

You huffed in disbelief, only for your anger to subside as he pinned you against the wall. "New plan princess~ we're going to parade you around the house til everyone sees who you belong to~" you began to protest widely as he dragged you towards the door, and taking a deep breath before swinging it open"NAMJOON! I FUCKED Y-" 6 members all collapsed at the doorway, their ears previously glued to the door.

"We heard"

[popsunner]

There was a moment. A moment when everything was still and silent. The dead speak no words and the survivors rarely speak twice that. There is blood on the ground and spilled wine, thrown from nobility's hands, unsure if it too was tainted. Red stains his hands and he can’t help but think he failed her, as he stares at her brother’s unseeing eyes. Ophelia was entrusted to his care and now she is drowned, and her brother follows. He opens his mouth as if to apologize but the words get stuck in his throat. Ophelia had pressed a pink rose into his hand as they parted, her eyes bright and her face streaked with tears.

“For gratitude,” she had said.

There was a moment of silence while the ghost of the pink roses thorns bit into his stained hands and then he saw Hamlet stumble, and the world was loud again.

He’s at his side in a moment, stepping over the queen with barely a glance as his hands find Hamlet’s shirt, gripping it to keep which of them upright, he doesn’t know. Hamlet looks at him, blinking like he can’t see clearly. He smiles as he settles his hands over Horatio’s, like this is ordinary, like nothing is the matter..

“Horatio,” he says, and then his smile falls. “I am dead.”

Panic sets into his chest and without thinking Horatio pulls his hands away, trailing down his side until they find the wound and then his hands are stained all over again-- or maybe it was only in his head before. He shakes his head, looking up to meet Hamlet’s eyes, to tell him no, he is not dying, he is far from dead. But Hamlet isn’t looking at him anymore.

His eyes are glazed over as he looks at the queen, his voice soft, breaking on the vowels, “Wretched queen, adieu. You that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act, had I but time--”

Hamlet meets Horatio’s gaze then, and his hand lifts shakily to tug at Horatio’s neckerchief. There is humor in his eyes, in the way they used to light when writing poetry, before his life was surrounded by death. He leans in, like he’s sharing a secret, “As this fell sergeant, Death,

Is strict in his arrest.”

Sticking to the script, Horatio chokes out a huffed laugh, and Hamlet’s grip on his neckerchief tightens. “Had I but time…”

“My lord--”

“Oh, I could tell you--” Hamlet starts in a voice that Horatio would have moved mountains to hear under different circumstances, he stops and shakes his head, “but let it be. Horatio, I am dead.”

“No--”

“Thou livest,” Hamlet tells him desperately, yanking him forward as if they are not already toe to toe. Hamlet swallows, “Report me and my cause aright to the unsatisfied.”

It’s an order. The last order. Horatio’s already quivering hands shake from Hamlet’s clothes and he stumbles back, eyes widening as he stares at his friend, his best friend, his--

“Never believe it.” Horatio matches Hamlet’s smile from earlier, shrugging as he trips to Claudius’s still body. “I am a more antique Roman than a Dane.”

He can see it, the moment Hamlet realizes what he’s doing. He knows Hamlet’s face and expression better than he knows science and the inner workings of a mind. He sees Hamlet move forward just as he picks up the not yet emptied poison gauntlet. Just enough for one more death, only one left alive in the room. 

“Here’s yet some liquor left,” He says, as he thinks that it’s fitting, and brings the cup to his lips. 

He isn’t fast enough, Hamlet gets to him first, but trips over Claudius’s leg, grabbing at Horatio’s arm as he falls. “As thou'rt a man, give me the cup. Let go!”

They wrestle with it, over the king's dead body and for a moment Horatio almost laughs at the sight but then Hamlet is tackling him to the floor, pulling the cup from his grasp, throwing it across the room as he growls, “By heaven, I’ll have ’t.”

They sit on the floor, and Hamlet pulls them away from Claudius’s body before he collapses with gasping breaths against Horatio. He reaches up to hold his cheek, turmoil in his eyes.

“No,” Is all Horatio manages to grit out.

“O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,” Hamlet whispers, and he’s talking about both of them. Then he huffs in his stubborn and familiar way and the blood on Horatio’s hands burns. “Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!”

Horatio would usually roll his eyes. Instead he pulls Hamlet further against him, eyes frantically searching for the poisoned cup, searching for a chance, that just maybe--

“If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,” Hamlet tells him, and Horatio yanks his eyes away so fast it makes him dizzy. His jaw unhinged as he stares down at Hamlet, who only smiles as his lips quiver, “absent thee from felicity a while? And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story.”

Reading in a field while the sun is high in the sky, scribbled poems on his science notations and sketched flowers in journals. Hamlet’s laugh that used to come so easily and his hand warm on Horatio’s shoulder. He’d told him once that in the end they are all stories, he’d told him once that theirs were intertwined. Horatio wants to say no. With every bit of his being he wants to scream to god that he cannot do this, but he recognizes the tremor in Hamlet’s tone.

He almost asks if the request is only a way to make him stay, to keep alive. He doesn’t, he knows the answer. Slowly, he nods. Hamlet shifts his hand to swipe a tear off his cheek before settling it back on his face.

“Oh, I die, Horatio,” He says like an apology. “The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England. But I do prophesy the election lights on Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less, which have solicited.”

He waits until Horatio nods again, then his hand all but drops, his pointer finger brushes across Horatio’s lips as he says, “The rest is silence.”

Horatio feels the last breath leave the prince of Denmark, and with it, his love.

The walls around him shake or perhaps it’s only his body, wrapped around Hamlet like a shield come too late. He feels the prince’s curls against his nose as he presses his lips to his forehead. 

There was a moment of quiet, but Hamlet took it with him with his last words.

The sound of marching soldiers drowns out Horatio’s wail, a scream to the heavens and that damned ghost and the inescapable fate that comes from revenge and the dare it had to take Ophelia and Rozencratz and Guildenstern and Laertes and Hamlet from him. His throat aches as waves of tears fall across his face and he wonders if he could drown in them, and how much of the water in lovely Ophelia’s lungs were the salt from her wide eyes. After what feels to be hours but can’t have been, his breath shudders to a quieter racket, and he sends a prayer to his friends who are, all of them, dead.

He’s left alone in an empty room with the man he loves in his arms and there are too many words for him to say, but Hamlet was always the writer. 

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince,” Horatio says finally, and closes Hamlet’s eyes against the tragedy surrounding them as he says his final goodbye, “and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”