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bullet-prooflove · 9 months

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Gingerbread: Obispo 'Bishop' Losa x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Baking!

Tagging: @storiesofsvu @fanfic-n-tabulous @anime-weeb-4-life @keyweegirlie @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @oklahomapeach @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @adaydreamaway08 @spookyboogyuniverse @librarian1002 @thanossexual @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @thebaileybugle @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @doggirlforever @justreblogginfics @beccabarba @legally-a-bastard @trublu2u @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Following on from The Wall Series:

When Bishop gets home that night it’s to the scent of freshly baked gingerbread. He toes off his boots, setting them down alongside your shoes before he follows his nose to the open plan kitchen.

Before you he’d forgotten what it was like to come home to someone else, to feel a welcoming presence instead of stepping into that crushing silence. One of the reasons he likes living with you is because your house feels like a home, not just a place to lay your head.

When he steps into the kitchen, it feels like he’s walked into Santa’s bakery. There’s gingerbread men on cooling on every single surface. You’re standing with your back to him, an apron tied over your clothes.

“Are these all for the kid’s hampers?” He asks you picking up one of the gingerbread folk and taking a bite of it’s leg. It’s the perfect blend of warm spiciness and dark sweetness, melting in his mouth as he chews the other leg. “These are phenomenal Mi Cielo.”

Every year you put together holiday hampers for families in the community who can’t afford to give their children the Christmas they deserve. You collect donations, wrap gifts, bake cookies, pack treats and then the week before Christmas deliver them to the families in Santo Padre who need them the most. You’re running late this year, you had told him a couple of days ago. You were still recovering from your injury a couple of months ago, trying to juggle the community centre and the underground network at the same time.

The club had stepped in to try and take some of the weight off. Riz was managing all of the programs at the community centre with support from Gilly, whilst Coco had taken over the underground network, working with Nestor and Rosa.

It was hard for you to relinquish that burden, to admit that right now you were stretching yourself too thin, but Stitches had helped to convince you, to take a breath and pause. You’d thrown yourself into the hampers with the same ferocity you did everything else. The lounge was full of donations to be wrapped, which was meant to be Bishop’s first task after dinner. However, looking at the state of the kitchen, he’s just decided the two of you are going to order in.

Bishop’s already devoured the majority of the gingerbread person by the time he realises you haven’t responded to his question. His eyebrows furrow into a frown as he approaches you, it’s then that he realises your shoulders are quivering. At first, he thinks you’re upset about the gingerbread.

“Carmen, I’m sorry.” He says, his hand coming to rest upon the curve of your shoulder, his thumb ghosting over the nape of your neck. “I’ll make more, I’ll…”

“It’s not the gingerbread.” You say turning to face, using the back of your right hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “It’s my fucking arm.”

His gaze strays to your left arm, it hangs by your side. He watches as you try to clench your fist, but you can only close your fingers down to the pads of your palm.

“I’ve got a million of these hampers to do and I can’t even ice the gingerbread people.” You tell him, frustrated tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’m never going to get them out on time.”

Bishop sees this for what it is. You’ve pushed yourself too hard today, you’re overwrought and exhausted.

“Come ‘ere.” He murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and drawing you close. His lips brush over your hairline as you bury your face into the hollow of his throat. “I’ll take care of it, Mi Cielo, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure they get done in time.”

***

Bishop phones in reinforcements. When he puts the call out, he doesn’t expect the majority of the MC to descend upon the house with their partners in tow. He should have done this initially he realises but he’d been too caught up with trying to sort out this thing with the pipeline. Next year he thinks, next year he’ll be better prepared.

EZ and Jo are stuck at the bar, Taza’s up in Yuma trying to persuade Canche to accept Bishop’s terms on the pipeline deal. He’s proposed a buyout, for a lump sum, he’ll give them fifty percent of the pipeline. It fills Santo Padre’s coffers, keeping them flush while their other legitimate enterprises grow. Lila’s decided to entirely legit in the wake of Valeria, which means she needs a security crew to move both her kush and her cash. Angel, Neron and Hank supervise her runs, which has proved increasingly lucrative for the club over the past few months.

Between themselves they establish a production line, it reminds Bishop of the days they used to transport heroin for the Galindos. He divides them into teams, he has Neron, Nina and Nestor working on the gingerbread folk. Bottles, Gilly and Ginny are putting the food hampers together while Angel, Lila and Coco are on wrapping, Stitches and Songbird put on the finishing touches. Coco and Riz put together the gift bags and baskets, marking each one off on the checklist. You’re on the couch cradling Valeria with your good arm, a cushion propped under it as you give the baby eskimo kisses.

He'd asked Angel to bring the infant with them, he knew if there was anyone that could get you out of your own head, it would be that baby. He wonders if that’s something you’d want in the future, a child of your own. The two of you have never talked about it but seeing you with Valeria makes him think about it. Noone can ever replace Aiden; his dark eyed little boy will always hold that place in his heart but maybe one day it’ll be something to consider.

He sits down on the couch beside you, planting a tender kiss on Valeria’s forehead before he picks up the green glitter pen and the Santa themed note paper.

“So…” He says as crosses one leg over the others. “What exactly is a letter from Santa supposed to say?”

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#bishop losa #obispo losa #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa x you #obispo bishop losa #mayans mc #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

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pampanope · 10 months

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Graves Headcanons from Shadows’ POV (Part 2):

Part 1

((hello hello again, more written stuff~))

7-11 sat in his quarters trying to decide which polaroid of the Commander he’d donate to the Graves Manual.

Would it be one of him mid-stretch, wearing knee-high compression socks and thigh length shorts? Maybe.

Or maybe the one with Graves slumped over his office desk, hair askew, drool leaking out of a parted mouth? A lot of potential there, a sleeping Graves is always cute appreciated.

How ‘bout the closeup of the Commander’s face, hair mussed by the wind, head tilted down, one side of his mouth quirked up playfully to expose a prominent canine, piercing steel eyes staring dead on at the camera full of challenge and—

Actually, fuck, no, 7-11’s keeping that one.

But also…

Did Graves know i was up in that tree? From that distance? The whole time? Or was it coincidence and he just happened to look in that one tree’s direction? What the fuck—he’s never—he looked at me—

7-11 took a deep breath and shuddered (out of fear or excitement?).

Right, probably just a coincidence; no way he’s caught on to my personal game, a game that’s been going on for months.

He would’ve said something by now, right?

Right.

Deciding to make a choice at a later date, he turned to his most pressing matter of the evening.

Zorro (9-24) had cornered him after evening chow, his brows all furrowed and mouth pursed in displeasure. He shoved a handful of stained loose leaf paper into his chest and said:

“Rewrite, retype, I don’t care, redo your coffee stained shit, sleepy cachorro, or I’ll let the new recruits know that their favorite, cool, mysterious Lt. is actually a slob of the highest degree.”

7-11 could only blink lazily as he was booped in the snoot with more force than called for, before the Brazilian swiftly power walked down the hallway.

That was hours ago.

Now those entries sat there on his desk and taunted him.

Well I can’t have the adorable receuits go around spreading that slander, he thought, knowing he thrived on their regard as much as he craved the Commander’s attention.

Sighing, 7-11 grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.

——-

• The Commander had a gift for people in general that was uncanny.

• Graves, after spending just enough time with someone, knew which buttons to push, what switches to pull, and which gears he’d need to grease or sabotage within that person to get his desired outcome.

•He can easily gauge the emotional state of his Shadows as individuals or as a whole. His pre-mission pep-rallies (for there is no better word for them) got their spirits up and blood boiling. Graves effortlessly grabs their attention and holds it in a tight grip.

(It was, 7-11 thought, so nice to have a boss who made an effort for you and from the scribbles along the margins, other Shadows agreed)

• This gift for people offered other advantages in the Commander’s line of work.

• He can get a basic grasp of a person’s capabilities or weaknesses through observation and intuition and decide if they’re worth his time. And his estimations were accurate far too often (Extremely useful when ‘recruiting’ in the field…)

(What does Graves see when he looks at me)

• it was akin to having a faded map that showed how best to navigate negotiations and dealings with adversaries, whether in business or combat; Graves intuitively knew when to apply pressure, how to bluff effectively, when threats were necessary, and if honeyed words wrapped in his southern drawl would yield better results.

(That last one was quite effective. Unfairly effective.)

• It’s always a goddamn pleasure to witness the Commander leverage his cards over the target. The smug, triumphant look he wore if his efforts were met with success was exquisite.

•As sure as the Commander’s grin hides a pair of wicked canines, so, too, does this empathy of his. It’s been honed into a weapon that, when turned on his enemies, can be deadly.

• Weaponized empathy.

(Holy hell, the Commander turned a typical Piscean trait into a weapon

EXCUSE ME HES A PISCES?!

Yeah I bribed a newbie in HR for that bit of info so ssshhhhh

Lil shit wont give me the Commanders bday. Yet.

Lemme at ‘em, I’ll make ‘em talk ;))

• It makes him a master manipulator and it’s an oft overlooked skill of Graves; most would look first at his experience in the USMC, MARSOC, and the weapons on his person to determine weapon proficiencies (haha tough luck, he’s proficient at multiple types of firearms and yeet-able objects).

•It’s allowed him to claw his way to success, tango with the rich elite that made up his client base, negotiate contracts with governments, traverse the murky waters that was life as a mercenary

• and safely guide his Shadow Company through it all.

(and always be ready to have the Commanders back should shit go pear shaped because NOTHING is ever certain)

• The Commander maxed out his Charisma stat

——-

7-111 chuckled softly at the surprise addition because yeah, Graves certainly did.

The officers in the D&D club gave after action reports that read like epic campaigns. Fucking beautiful.

7-11 decided to keep the little addition.

With that finished, he stacked the newly revised manual entries, shredded and dumped the originals, and swore to himself he’d apologize to Zorro in the morning for making the other Lieutenant spend some of his personal time tracking him down in the first place.

Hopefully he won’t send Peaches after his ass.

His ass and dignity haven’t yet recovered from the last session with that massive brute.

After shutting off the light, 7-11 flopped into his mattress, nuzzled into his cool pillow and drifted off to sleep to dreams of sharp teeth and steel eyes.

#shadow company interoffice drama #still tryna figure out writing #phillip graves #cod graves #call of duty #mwii #mwiii #mw2 #mw3 #my stuff #headcanons

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samgirl98 · 11 months

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Mending a Family 30/?

Prev | Next

Avril is back, and she's here to make Jason angry.

Jason took out the chocolate chip scones from the oven. He used Alfred’s recipe, so he knew they would be a big hit. They were flaky on the outside and soft and moist on the inside.

The first PTA meeting had come and gone. They were going to do a fundraiser and auction to help raise money to get the school more books, new computers, and better instruments for the kids. Jason signed up to make the scones.

He missed Alfie, and this was a way to have his grandfather close to him.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief when the last batch was on the cooling rack. He had been up since five in the morning making a hundred and fifty scones. Hopefully, they would sell. If not, he could donate what didn’t.

He sat down and let his head fall on the table.

“You’re done?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah,” he said without raising his head. Jazz had volunteered to drop off Danny and pick him up. She was also going to watch him while he was at the fundraiser.

Jazz hummed and then put something by him. He raised his head to find a glass of iced tea. He drank it happily.

“I met your friend Avril. She’s quite the character.”

Jason frowned at the mention of the blonde woman. She had tried to humiliate Jason in the first PTA meeting. When he had signed up for the fundraiser, and she saw he had put down scones, she laughed at his face and point blank told him that the fundraiser bakery had to be done by the parents, not store-bought. Jason had to sell more than her. For the kids, of course.

“She’s not my friend,” he muttered.

Jazz hummed and looked at Jason with knowing eyes. Why did he feel he was being dissected all of a sudden?

“Don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it. People like her need to find victims to feel better. It’s best to ignore them.”

Jason said nothing. He refused to be anyone’s victim. Not again. Especially a PTA mom.

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Jason.”

Danny ran into the kitchen before Jason could say anything.

“Those smell good, daddy. Can I have one?”

“Not those, chum, they’re for the PTA fundraiser. I made some earlier just for us.”

Jason got a bowl covered with a cloth from the top of the fridge and put it in front of his vibrating son. Danny struck like a snake, getting a scone and stuffing it in his face.

“Wowb, dabby, dese are sooo good.”

“Danny, don’t eat with your mouth full,” Jazz scolded the little boy, “you can choke.”

“You like them, Danny?”

Danny nodded as he got another one. Jason couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he should bake more often. His little boy seemed to like the scones. Why not make other things Alfred had taught him?

Well, thoughts for another day.

Jason packed the scones in boxes he bought and put them in his car. He kissed Danny goodbye and waved at Jazz.

“Thanks for watching Danny for me. I’ll be back by ten, I hope.”

“No problem, Jay. He’s my little brother, after all. Don’t let her get to you, and keep a cool head!”

Jason pouted at Jazz’s remark. So what if when he got angry, things tended to smoke? He’d gotten a better handle on his fire powers thanks to Raven’s tips on handling his emotions.

“Bye, daddy, love you!”

Jason smiled at his son, “Love you, too, chum.”

Jason made it to school in record time. He looked for his table and noticed it was the farthest from the entrance. He frowned, likely a ploy from Avril. He refused to let that get to him, though, and he started setting things up.

Then, the she-devil herself entered the room.

“Just set the baskets down here,” she told some guys carrying ribbed baskets, and Jason could see red gingham peeking out. He decided to ignore her and went back to setting up his table.

Jason ignored the chatter going on around him.

Ever since his transformation, his hearing had gotten better, and he could listen to every conversation if he wanted to. It had taken a while to learn to control the volume. He was vaguely listening toward Avril’s table when he heard ‘blueberry scones.’

“It’s a recipe that has been handed down for generations now,” she bragged.

He looked up, and lo and behold, she had, indeed, brought scones. Avril looked straight into his eyes and smiled at him.

Jason felt heat rising from his chest to his face. He glared at the woman’s table, wishing he could burn it to the ground. Smoke started rising from her tablecloth. Jason looked away and took deep breaths. No, he couldn’t burn down the school just because Avril was being a bitch. Thankfully, nobody had noticed the smoke.

Jason took a look again and saw her scones. They didn’t look good.

They were dense and heavy. From where he stood, he noticed the lack of color on them. She must’ve not used cold ingredients, either, because they weren’t flaky at all. He looked down at his and smirked. Avril had wanted to humiliate Jason.

Instead, the opposite happened.

Jason watched throughout the evening as Avril’s smug smile fell. People could see her scones weren’t good, and very few bought them. Jason’s scones sold quickly.

People had come back with family or friends to buy more. In the end, he had run out of scones while Avril still had most of hers in the baskets. Some people had even asked Jason if he baked to sell.

“Unfortunately, no, I don’t.”

“That’s too bad,” a black-haired woman said, disappointed, “I would’ve ordered scones from you for parties I throw.”

Jason laughed. No way was he going to do that. He was exhausted just doing it one day. He couldn’t imagine doing it for a living. (It’s not as if he needed the money, anyway.)

Jason could feel Avril’s glare as he cleared his table. He couldn’t help but throw a smug smirk. That’s what she gets.

Jason spent the rest of the evening walking around before the auction started. He even bought some pastries and little snacks. He was munching on a pretzel when they started announcing the auction.

Jason took a number. He doubted anything would get his attention, but he never knew. He took the list and quickly browsed through it. A romantic package for two, a golf package, a parent getaway package (no way he would ever leave his little boy behind). So far, the list had yet to get his attention.

Hmm, a guitar would be nice to have. Maybe he could pick another hobby.

“I want to thank all the parents who participated in our fundraiser with their baked goods. Special thanks to Avril Dubois for helping us set all this up.”

Jason rolled his eyes as the woman stood up at the applause. Desperate much?

“Now, let’s get on with the auction. Our first item up is the romantic package for two.”

Jason was bored throughout the auction. How had Bruce put up with stuff like this? He halfheartedly bid for the guitar but let the balding guy have it instead. It looked like he needed a win.

Jason was about to leave when the next item came up.

“Our next item is two benches dedicated to the highest bidder. These benches will be made of oak wood and put in the front of the school. Bidding starts at two thousand dollars.”

Avril immediately put up her number.

“Two thousand five hundred.”

Nobody else raised their number. Well, it was pricey—for other people. Jason smiled evilly. Oh, he was about to ruin Avril’s evening even more.

“Three thousand,” he said.

Avril looked back and glared at him. He smirked at her.

“Three thousand five hundred,” she countered.

“Four thousand five hundred.”

She didn’t look back, but Jason saw her back stiffen.

“Five thousand.”

“Five thousand five hundred,” Jason said.

“Well,” the auctioneer said, “it seems we have a bidding war.”

“Ten thousand,” Avril said. She looked back at Jason and smirked. Oh, was that it?

“Fifteen thousand,” Jason countered with an evil smile thrown at the woman. She scoffed and didn’t raise the bid again.

“Fifteen thousand going once, going twice. Sold! To number 34.”

Jason didn’t care about having something under his (fake) name, but by the Ancients, it was nice to see Avril lose.

It was worth it, even as Jazz scolded him for letting Avril get under his skin.

Thanks to this chapter, I now know how to (theoretically) make the perfect scone. Alfred would be proud of Jason's pettiness.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

#Mending a Family #dc x dp #dp x dc

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icecreambeach · 1 year

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For the "I wish you would write a fic where..." meme

Where Boba goes to visit Din and the baby at their little cabin and maybe cool Uncle Greef babysits so they can break in the bed, idk, I'm a simple woman with simple desires

I, too, am this woman!

(This maybe could be considered a companion piece to the one-shot I wrote about Din and Grogu first moving into the new cabin, "home again, for the first time," if only because I'm using the exact same layout.)

Greef arrives late. Important high magistrate business, he says. Din listens patiently to details he barely understands, but still makes sure to hand Greef some qartuum jerky in the hopes that he’ll share with Grogu, thereby hastening the process of Greef leaving with Grogu so that Din and his next visitor can be alone. Time is not on their side.

“You ever figure out what he eats?” says Greef, looking down at Grogu’s wide, pleading eyes.

“Easier to figure out what he doesn’t eat,” says Din, most of his attention on preparing the red tea the villagers donated to his home alongside the plants, the dishes, and nearly everything else. “I’ll let you know when I find one.”

As Greef bloviates about local agriculture initiatives, the wind blows hard, making the black volcanic chimes dance in the window. There’s nothing to slow the wind over the flats, but Din’s new cabin bears it well. Manual blinds just under the roof permit some flow, and the walls themselves withstand the pressure without much noise. Din isn’t sure about the receiver or any other delicate extremities, but he’ll cross those bridges when he comes to them. And Grogu seems to like it. He’s always turning towards the breeze like it’s whispering secrets.

It’s not a bad environmental asset, too. It can disguise many other sounds. Like the roar of the Slave I touching down not twenty yards from the front porch.

All of the frogs scatter into the pond like nervous shock troopers, but Greef takes no notice, still blathering on about pasture rotations while Din watches the entire landing through the window. Grogu has noticed, but apparently he cares more about obtaining the maximum quantity of jerky than he does about greeting ba’vodu Boba.

Din watches Boba descend the ramp with his rifle in his hands. Prepared for anything, as always. Din smiles, but it quickly vanishes when he realizes that he has no idea how to get Greef out of his house.

“Uh.” He pours boiling water for the tea without taking his eyes off of Boba's confident stride. “School’s starting soon, isn’t it?”

“Not that soon, don't worry. And that speeder can hit sixty in under two seconds. Had it suped up by the Anzellans just last week. They added all-new—”

Din watches Boba pause several feet from the porch. No doubt he’s heard Greef’s booming voice; Din was supposed to be alone already.

He’s definitely also able to make out the three lifeforms with his helmet’s infrared. Din faces Boba and makes a short beckoning gesture. Greef takes no notice, but Boba holsters his rifle and resumes his path.

“And the mileage! You wouldn’t believe the amount of credits I save. Then again, we might not have to worry about fuel again for quite some time. I’m working on this deal with traders on Abafar—”

“Abafar,” comes a gruff voice. “What a skughole.”

A sweeping feeling unfurls within Din like the first day of spring after a merciless winter: Boba Fett, armored and whole, standing in Din’s own home. He stops what he’s doing and faces him, hoping that Boba will be able to read his feelings from body language alone. By the slow tilt of Boba’s helmet, his hopes aren’t in vain.

Meanwhile, Greef has gone ashen. It’s dramatic enough to distract Din from his heartfelt bliss. The silence turns awkward.

Din gestures lamely to Boba. “Greef, this is—”

“Boba Fett,” Greef breathes out. He doesn’t reach for his weapon, but Din recognizes the look of his old friend’s battle readiness. “You’re Boba Fett.”

“And you’re Magistrate Greef Karga,” says Boba as he removes his helmet, donning the chilled, mountainous presence of the daimyo of Mos Espa. “We did not meet when last I visited your planet.”

Greef blinks, then whirls to Din. “When Cara said you’d gotten help from two bounty hunters, she didn’t mention one of them was Boba karking Fett.”

Din blinks himself. “I didn’t know you’d heard of him.”

“If I’d heard—?” Greef looks at Din like he’s gone insane before turning back to Boba.

Din starts wondering if he should reach for his own blaster, but—after another few seconds of tension—Greef sets his jerky on the dining nook’s table and strides over to Boba with an open palm. “Boba Fett, in the flesh. It’s an honor. If I’d known you were visiting our little settlement, I’d… I’d have—”

“Just a brief social call, I’m afraid,” Boba tucks his helmet under his arm to shake Greef’s hand. His eyes fly to Din even before the handshake has ended. “Old warriors do love to swap stories.”

“Don’t I know it,” Greef chuckles, ignorant of the heat passing between Boba and Din. “Wow. It’s too bad the Hunters all left. They would have a field day. The stories you could swap then!”

“They’ve probably heard all the best ones already. My versions are always a little less exciting.”

“You have to allow me to invite you to dinner. Nevarro is going to be an invaluable trade hub on the Hydian way, and with your connections in Mos Espa I’m sure we could—”

“Another time, perhaps.” Boba’s strident yet patient tone overrides Greef in a way Din has never seemed to manage. “I promised I’d share a meal with this little one before I leave.” He moves and Greef steps aside to allow Boba to press a hand into the kid’s eager grasp.

Greef lets out a huff of laughter, hands on his hips. “Well, this is still a pleasant surprise. You’ll have to plan better the next time he visits, Mando.”

Din, staring at Grogu happily babbling to Boba while clawing at his glove, responds to Greef a full beat too late. “It was a last-minute… thing.”

Greef shakes his head like Din is his least competent child. He steps back to observe Boba and Grogu. “He’s taken a real liking to you, huh?”

Din can just barely make out the ghost of a smile on Boba’s mouth. “Just because he’s a Jedi doesn’t make him a good judge of character.”

Greef laughs, but Din is wary of this turning into the kind of conversation that goes on for far longer than it should. And Boba is no help; he’s stroking one of Grogu’s long ears while the kid coos and leans into his hand like they have all the time in the world.

Din clears his throat and sways from one hip to the other. “Well, Grogu has school to get to…”

Boba gives Din a look, clearly judging him for his graceless segue. But Greef starts and across at the holoclock. “Ah, you’re right. Mando here is finally letting the little guy—uh, Grogu, excuse me—letting Grogu enroll in the school.”

Din takes a step forward as if that might encourage Greef closer to the door. “He’s not enrolling. He’s just attending for the day.”

“Just for the day, huh?” says Boba, still staring at Din, who is too embarrassed to move further.

“Maybe more, if he likes it!" says Greef. "Kid can’t learn everything he needs to know through bounty hunting. Did he tell you that’s what he plans to do? Take the kid on some training journey across the galaxy?”

“That’s how I learned,” says Boba.

“Well… we can’t all be Boba Fett.”

“I also learned that way,” says Din. “And it’s not all just fighting. He’ll learn what he needs to learn.”

Greef addresses Grogu as he picks him up, “I’ll at least make sure they cover local New Republic ordinances, since your Dad doesn’t seem too well-versed in those.” As Grogu burbles, Greef adds, “Yes, Dad gets lots of traffic citations. Yes he does.”

Din begins strolling towards the door, wielding his shoulders in a herding motion.

Greef, blessedly, takes the hint. “Well, we’ll be off then.” He almost accosts Boba with one more handshake on his way out, then seems to think better of it. “It was a pleasure and an honor.”

“Honor was all mine,” Boba drawls, obviously loving this.

Din gets Greef around the barrier wall separating the front entryway from the rest of the cabin and, finally, outside. He passes a gentle hand over Grogu’s head, his thumb brushing the same ear Boba stroked. “Be good, okay, kid?”

Grogu gurgles some noises that doubtlessly mean no promises just as Greef leans forward to stage-whisper, “Seriously, Mando. Let me know next time he visits. I’d love to open up discussions for business opportunities over dinner.”

“Well, next time Fennec might join him, so you can have your big dinner then.”

“Fennec Shand—?”

“Goodbye, Greef.” Din shuts the door in Greef’s face.

Boba has set his helmet on the nook dining table. He's scanning the plants hovering above, the pots dotting the windowsill. “You’ve made quite a home here already.”

“Most of it was here when we moved in,” mutters Din. “The townspeople have been very kind.” He immediately realizes that he’s let the tea over-steep and goes to the counter to remove the sachet from the pot. “I don’t have any milk, but would you—hgn—”

Boba presses to his back with such force that Din has to push against the counter to avoid bruising his hips. It’s a miracle he doesn’t knock the pot over.

His cloak is yanked aside, “I don’t want,” his collar is pulled open, “Any karking tea," his throat is seized by Boba's greedy mouth, "Djarin."

#asks #my fics #prompts #bobadin #din djarin #boba fett #the mandalorian #star wars

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wolfpants · 1 year

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obedience (drarry, 1261 words)

Carrying on from my previous post, here's another 2k-or-less-Drarry-smutlet from my recent Kinkuary. Rated: E/nsfw Tags: D/s, Dom Draco/sub Harry, cock rings, humiliation, blow jobs, facials, possessive Draco, pet names, Ministry of Magic, parties, Healer Harry, Lawyer Draco In their relationship, Harry always does as he's told. ao3 link here, or keep reading

🥀🎭🍾🖤

The Ministry cafeteria is abuzz with activity.

“I want you to wear this for me.”

From his pocket, Draco produces a thin, coiled strap of handsome brown leather.

He sets it on the table between his court documents and Harry’s lanyard from Mungo’s.

“Tonight,” he says as Harry quickly covers the strap with the palm of his hand, dragging it off the table to inspect it out of sight. It has a small brass buckle no larger than the tip of his thumb. It’s subtle, simplistic, fairly easy to hide, with the right fall of fabric.

“Underneath your dress robes,” Draco says.

“And this goes…”

Harry trails off and slips his finger under the buckle.

“Yes,” says Draco. “Put it on five minutes before you’re due onstage. No sooner. Okay?”

Harry’s cheeks bloom with heat. He fiddles with the frames of his glasses, adjusting them against the bridge of his nose, suddenly a bit slippy with sweat.

“Yes, okay,” he says softly, folding his fingers over the leather in his hand to conceal it completely.

Draco picks up his tea—black, with a slice of lemon—and sips it slowly. Beneath the table, he taps Harry’s shin with the toe of his smart black brogue.

“Good boy,” he says appraisingly.

Harry finds Draco at the bar.

“Well?” Draco asks.

He’s leaning casually against the bartop on one elbow, flute held loosely between dangling fingers adorned with delicate silver rings. His hair’s down for a change, the ends brushing his shoulders; the perfect picture of cool elegance.

“I’m wearing it,” Harry says, just loud enough for Draco to hear. “I put it on in the gent’s.” He turns his back against the bar and points his eyes straight ahead. The room is full of the most important people in British Wixen society, each of them getting drunker and drunker as the hours drag on. The hospital’s donations hang in the balance of what Harry does onstage in the next five minutes.

“Are you nervous?” Draco asks with a twist of a smirk.

Harry laughs roughly, accepting the glass of champagne Draco presses into his hand. He takes a sip.

“About what, exactly?”

Draco’s hand lingers and he slips his ring finger subtly beneath the hem of Harry’s jacket to touch the buttons of his dress shirt. He sidles closer, his mouth inches from Harry’s ear, his breath hot.

“Your speech?”

Harry suppresses a shudder and peers into his glass, bubbles melting against his tongue, sweet and sharp and strong.

“That’s old hat now,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then.” Draco slips his finger through a gap between Harry’s buttons, gently scraping the edge of his short, neatly manicured nail against Harry’s stomach. Heat immediately floods to Harry’s prick and he bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from moaning out loud.

“Are you nervous about being hard in front of all these people?” Draco asks him hotly. “And not being able to do anything about it?”

Harry swallows. “No."

Draco hums. “You’re so good for me.” He drops his hand from Harry’s chest. “You’ll meet me outside after. Immediately.”

“Yes.”

A soft whisper, “Do you belong to me, Harry?”

A returning breath, “Yes.”

Harry spares Draco a quick glance. His grey eyes are alight, his cheeks rose-pink.

Draco presses a single, gentle kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. “Break a leg, darling.”

When Harry stumbles out of the theatre and onto the quiet cobbled street, he’s gasping for air, gulping great big lungfuls of the stuff.

It’s freezing.

Draco is waiting for him on the corner, fingering the face of his antique pocket watch that he slips into the pocket of his heavy winter coat when Harry approaches.

“How long’s it been?” Harry asks, sweat prickling his temples, his skin suddenly taking on a chill. He shivers, and Draco lifts the edge of his cloak, pulling Harry into it.

Harry groans, dropping his forehead against Draco’s collar, his cock hard and leaking and so fucking sensitive where it presses to Draco’s hip.

“Fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” Draco says softly. “Come on.”

And with a ripple of magic and a tug of gravity, they’re gone.

The old grandfather clock tick-tocks to the rhythm of Harry’s heart, currently roaring in his ears as Draco undresses him.

Draco slides each article of clothing off with care, his touches slow and caressing as he slips off Harry’s shoes one by one, his socks, his robes, shirt, belt, trousers.

His pants come off next, and Draco gets on his knees on the expensive rug to do it, both of them standing in the heart of their bedroom and surrounded by what must be two dozen candles Draco had set alight with magic as soon as they made it upstairs.

Draco is careful. He pulls Harry’s underwear off slowly, stretching the waistband so it doesn’t rub against the sensitive head of Harry’s cock.

The leather strap is buckled tight, wrapped around the shaft of Harry’s prick, tucked under his balls.

Draco hums appreciatively, slipping the tip of his finger up and down the length of Harry’s cock, his skin tight and hot.

“Where would you like to put it, darling?” Draco slides his hands over Harry’s bare thighs, cupping his arse and slowly pulling his cheeks apart to pet at his dry hole. “Would you like me to ride it? Swallow it?”

Harry’s eyelids flutter, and he touches the top of Draco’s head, dizzy with want.

“Mouth,” he says roughly.

Draco’s fingers dig harder against Harry’s buttocks. “Hm?”

“Please,” Harry says.

“That’s a good boy,” Draco says, slurring the words, sticking out his tongue and lapping upwards from the leather-strapped base of Harry’s cock to the tip, sucking him back down into the wet bliss of his mouth.

Harry whimpers. "Please." He chokes on a moan as Draco wriggles the tip of his index finger inside him. He’s sweating, shaking, his vision going blurry. He puts a hand on top of Draco’s head for balance. “Please, Draco—I feel… I feel faint… please…”

Draco cups his fingers beneath Harry’s balls, now throbbing in pain, in pleasure, and he slowly unbuckles the strap of leather to set Harry free, all while pressing the flat of his tongue to the underside of Harry’s prick.

Harry’s orgasm is explosive. He shudders, falling forward, shooting hard and hot from the tip of his dick in thick spurts that splash onto Draco’s tongue, his lips, his cheek.

Draco laughs, a low sound, and nuzzles his face in against Harry’s hip, sucking a mark into his skin.

He drops the strap to the floor, hugging his arms protectively around Harry’s waist as Harry slumps forward, boneless.

“Let’s take care of me now, hm?” Draco asks.

Harry nods his obedience.

Later, in bed, sweating and thoroughly shagged out, Harry rolls close to Draco and fits himself in against his narrow chest.

He used to hate this.

Not Draco with his arms around him—never that. But his own… neediness. His deep desire for approval, for affection and attention.

That is, until he discovered Draco’s deep desire to offer it.

Draco laces their fingers together.

“You were so good tonight,” he says quietly, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “Everyone loved you.”

“Do you love me?” Harry asks him, a whisper.

Draco’s eyes darken and he tightens his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer still. He presses a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, hands sliding possessively over Harry’s back. “More than anyone ever could, my darling,” he says, and Harry believes him.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #kinkuary #wolfpants kinkuary '23 #draco/harry #harry/draco #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fic

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 7 months

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hello i’ve got some thoughts and updates for this blog.

i’ve been on a bit of burnout for a while, including life outside of writing. naturally the termination has sped up that burnout. i’m exhausted and struggling to be graceful about it, but that’s to be expected. i’m not one to sit on my feelings even though i’ve lacked the energy to write. which really bites because that’s my number-one passion really.

however i’ve taken some time to relax by diverting my attention away from social media and niji streams. i’ve relearned an old hobby and splurged a little too much on a new one, and i kind of can’t believe how much i missed drawing on real paper with a real pen and pencil. and thank god the love and deepspace sponsorship wrapped up before the termination, because that game has me in not just a chokehold but like one of those umbilical cords from astral projection. the silver cord? that

i’ve been watching other vtubers lately as well. i’ve always considered adding holostars en to my list but hesitated because everything else on my blog was niji-related.

consider this confirmation that i will be adding holostars’ tempus hq, vanguard and armis, and first stage productions’ avallum to my list of characters i will write for. i admit i’m not as familiar with armis, but i’ll be paying closer attention in the near future as i branch out from strictly watching niji only.

(might also be adding idol corp’s e-sekai? maybe? i watch them once every few months and i haven’t seen pochi or yuko stream since they debuted 💀 no clue on their gen 2 either)

i’ll be overhauling my masterpost for organization soon. so apologies for the horrors about to come… to be clear i will not delete any of my writing so don’t worry!

i’m unsure how much niji i’ll write in the future. give me some time to think as the situation hopefully cools down. i appreciate your patience.

and who knows maybe i’ll write for non-vtuber fandoms too

i think it’s about time i clean my inbox out soon too. i‘ll answer what asks i can and delete the remaining ones. i’ve had a few requests sitting in my inbox for nearly a year now and i’ve recently realized how stressed i was over them and learned about some boundaries i didn’t know i had beforehand, among other things, so so it’s about time i face them head-on. i apologize if i never got to your request! please don’t take it personally if i don’t answer your request. but above all else thank you for being patient, understanding, and kind enough to send in a request. even though i tend to bite off more than i can chew i always get so happy whenever i see a notif in my inbox and i appreciate your time for a little unit 4402.

even though i’m not watching niji streams atm i’m hesitant to stop writing for them because, like, i keep thinking of this clip of doppio saying he feels like he’s allowed to buy healthy/organic food because of fan support and donations, and among other reasons... it’s very easy to make conclusions on people you only know through a screen and i just can’t bring myself to cut them out so abruptly, even if i’m a fan creator on a site none of them use.

idk when i’ll post next and it feels nice to say that. i usually try to post once every 2 weeks, but considering how i’m trying not to think about niji right now and am instead embracing other parts of my life, i dunno. it’s nice. this blog is a major source of joy for me and it feels like i’m preserving what makes it so special for me instead of turning it into a chore. hopefully with time and rest i’ll have a clearer idea of where to go from here.

that’s pretty much everything on my mind, i think? thank you for bearing with me and my yapping. i hope to return soon and that the next time you see me, my blog will be cleaner, more expansive, and with a fresh mindset. take care of yourselves and don’t get immersed in toxicity. don’t forget to do what you love 💛

#unit 4402 reporting #this post was drafted at 3:30 am so hopefully i covered everything

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juneknight · 2 years

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Take These (Sunflower Seeds)

About this: The Soulmate AU trope where a goose will lead you to your soulmate. (Yes, this is a trope?? When I heard it, I knew I needed to write this, I'm so sorry). Steven Grant/fem!reader. Fluff.

Immersivity: this reader wears high-heels and works as a secretary in a law-firm. She is given no physical description nor name. Any further details which hinder your immersive experience are welcome to be pointed out to me.

You press your forehead to the cool glass of your office’s entrance, eyes scanning back and forth. Beyond is a patch of grass nicely landscaped: flower beds filled with hardy geraniums and lobelias surrounded by wood chips, iron benches, bins with special lids to keep the critters out. Bisecting the grass is the concrete sidewalk that leads to the parking lot, and just beyond the lot, one of the busy streets of London.

Besides typical foot traffic on the sidewalk and through the parking lot, the yard is empty.

“You haven’t fooled me, you bastard,” you mutter beneath your breath.

Someone clears their throat behind you. Whirling, you see one of the lawyers who had made partner standing behind you, not very patiently waiting for you to move so he could access the door.

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Giovanni,” you say, stepping out of the way. Your customer-service persona immediately assumes control over your body, speaking through your mouth with a measured politeness that the man doesn’t deserve. “Have a lovely weekend.”

He hums, breezing out the door and down the sidewalk. You watch his peaceful, easy retreat with a scowl.

“Best bite the bullet and run for it,” one of the other secretaries teases you, slipping past you and out the door. You’ll add that to the list of helpful advice you’ve received. Towards the top, even.

You reach down to slip your heels off and tuck them into your tote. Out come your tennis shoes. The feeling of wearing them with only your tights to act as socks is a sensation you will only be able to stand for the sixty seconds it takes you to sprint to your car. You must look like a madwoman, your running shoes at sharp odds with your prim work-wear, your tote clutched to your chest like you are about to run across a patch of hot coals.

Convinced it is now or never, you take a deep breath and rush through the door.

And you make it to the bins before you hear it: the most obnoxious honk you’ve ever heard. The goose comes barreling from around the corner of the office, cutting off your retreat.

This fucking goose.

When your law firm changed locations in the spring, you had been grateful for the shorter commute. The atmosphere was certainly better as well, what with the flowers at least—as a matter of fact, your building’s little thirty-by-thirty plot of grass was some of the only greenery within the surrounding three blocks.

Perhaps that’s one reason why the goose always comes back. For the atmosphere.

The second must be because it’s a dark little creature born of sulfur and brimstone with the singular goal in life to torture you.

You consider yourself a woman of slightly above average resilience. You are the one the girls in the office come to if there is a spider that needs squashed (little do they know you scoop it up in one of the paper cups from the fountain and deliver it to the nearest potted plant—little bastards never did anything wrong besides have a few extra legs). You carry pepper spray. You are capable of asserting yourself when necessary.

But your fear of geese is new. Something about the throaty honk of this particular goose turns you into a child, shrieking, incapable of defending yourself. If you thought you could bargain with it, you might have tried. Please Mr. Goose, kindly leave me the fuck alone and I promise I’ll donate more to charity, I’ll return my trolley to the designated spot and stop leaving them in the parking lot beside my car, I’ll never tip less than twenty-percent. But a part of you believes that this goose would accept no bargain. There will be no parlay. There will only be blood—yours.

The goose, its ridiculously wide wing-span spread, comes towards you like a child running into the arms of its mother.

“Get the fuck away from me!” you shriek. You clutch your tote tighter, dancing between fight or flight. Should you turn and run? Should you punt the thing like a football? Are geese a protected species? No, couldn’t be, there’s so many of them—but then your rushing thoughts come to an end because it is upon you, the air rustling around you from its wings, its honk deafening. It will go for your eyes first, you know it, that’s exactly what a cold-hearted killer would do—

“Hey—shoo!”

The geese swerves away from you so suddenly that you nearly slip, your tennis shoes sliding in the grass after the bird had ushered you off of the concrete pathway. A man comes rushing from the parking lot. There is a black bag strapped across his chest, which he has reached into. He withdraws a handful of sunflower seeds which he scatters in the grass. The goose, to your utter amazement, dives for the seeds, pecking at the ground with the same decisive pleasure it might have used on your eyes.

The man looks at you, and oh. Oh, he is pretty: tanned and tired, hair dark and curly, with dark eyes and a nicely curved nose. The smile he gives you is a little bashful as he offers you his hand to help you back onto the concrete pathway.

“Are you alright? The bleeding geese in this city—a little too domesticated, if you ask me. Not that I’m helping much, what with the sunflower seeds but—”

“That goose wants me dead,” you say, pointing at it with a shaky finger.

The man’s pretty face twists into an expression of such poignant grief that you can’t doubt it for an instant. “I wish I could say he didn’t, but never in my life have I seen a bird so absolutely fixated on choosing violence. I’m Steven.”

“Steven,” you repeat, testing the name in your mouth. You offer him your hand and your own name. His palms are cold, but you know the saying: cold hands, warm heart.

Reaching into his bag, the man pulls out a small package of sunflower seeds. “Please. It’s dangerous to go alone. Take these.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” you say, even as you gently accept the gift.

“They were less than a pound, love, hardly breaking my bank.”

Love. Such a familiar moniker from a strange man would ordinarily repulse you—but instead, you find yourself softening. This man isn’t like the weirdos you encounter on the tube.

“Nevertheless,” you say. “Could I buy you coffee? To repay you for the seeds. And for saving my life.”

He stares at you. “Me—coffee? You want to get coffee, with me?”

“Very much.”

“I—alright. Sure. That would be lovely. Did you walk?”

“Somewhat.”

“Well at least you came prepared,” he says, glancing at your tennis shoes. “Would you like to pick the place?”

“There’s one nearby—”

“Down the block, yes. Very good choice. Not a single goose hangout on the way.”

You laugh. “It sounds like I’m exaggerating, honestly, but that goose has been hunting me for the last six months, and no one else ever seemed to take it seriously. As a matter of fact, for a few weeks in the beginning, it was sort of a big joke for the ladies in my office to gather in the lobby and watch me try and make it to the street. I’ve had nightmares about that fucking goose, honestly. I—” you stop, suddenly, face growing warm at how childish your next statement sounds. “—this is silly, but I even named it.”

Steven absolutely melts. He stops in the middle of the parking lot, turning to face you full on. “Oh come now. I must know.”

“Truly?”

“Without question.”

“Well if you insist—I named it Mark.”

Steven blinks at you. The strangest expression passes over his face. He points back towards the goose and says with absolute conviction, “You know, he does strike me as a Marc.”

“You think?” you reply, delighted.

“Absolutely, yes—watch your step, love, there you go. Now, I'm all turned about. Which way is that coffee?”

#steven grant x reader

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agirlwithbigdreamsforher · 2 months

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SUMMER CLEANING

THE NANNY: ONE SHOT

SUMMER CLEANING

Pairing: Andy Barber x Annie Johnson (OFC)

Summary: After a long day Andy takes a shower not knowing a little gobbling is watching him.

Warnings: none.

A/N: As usual any mistakes are my own.

Word count: 816

Disclaimer: I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, used, translated nor reposted anywhere else but here on this blog. Do not steal what you didn’t work for. Minors and ageless blank blogs don’t interact with me or my works. Reblogs and likes are always welcome. Thank you for reading this work of fiction.

GIF's not mine, you can find the credits under it :)

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Andy hated summer cleaning, he hated it so much words couldn’t describe. That day as soon as Annie was awake she made sure everyone helped one way or another. But of course since he was the adult among the other 3 residents of the house, Annie send him to clean the attic.

“Why do we keep so much junk?!” Andy said to no one, “This is ridiculous.” He said as he moved another box that had old clothes. “HONEY?!”

“WHAT?!” Annie answer him from the bottom of the staircase.

“I think we need to donate all this boxes, they have clothes.”

“Cool! Bring them down.”

“Of course I have to bring them down.” He whispered.

“What was that?”

“Yes! I will bring them down.”

I took hours for Andy to finish cleaning and organizing the attic. By the time he finished his waist was in pain from bending over so many times in the past hours.

He climbed down the staircase and headed to their bedroom where he found Annie still organizing their closet.

“Almost done?” Andy said tiredly.

“Almost.”

“Da-da!!!” Lily shrieked when he saw her daddy standing in front of them. She lifted the piece of clothing she apparently was folding. Lily was growing so fast, one day she could barely left her head, and the next thing you knew was she was crawling all over the house and trying to stand up whenever she could. Andy made the whole house baby proof once Lily began to crawl because he caught her sitting at the top of the stairs.

“Oh you’re helping momma.” She laughed and proceeded to clap her chubby hands. “I’m taking a shower, I’m stinky and my waist is killing me, do you need anything else?”

“No, I almost finish. Go ahead.” She smiled as Andy kneel in front of her and kissed her, “You do stink.” She said playfully and Andy groaned. “Just kidding, go.”

Andy stood up and stripped as he waited for the water to be in the right temperature for him to step in. He get into the shower and the water began to relax his muscles. Andy sighed, grabbed his bottle of shampoo and proceeded to massage his scalp. It amazing how water makes wonders when you are tired, Andy thought. He walked under the water to rinse his hair.

“Dada!”

Andy turned almost slipping in the process and saw his daughter sited in the shower floor with her small sweatpants completely drench and her hair was already sticking to her forehead.

“Lily!”

“Dada.” She pointed to his dad and lifted her chubby arms making grabby hand to him.

“Honey?!” Andy laughed when he saw Lily blinking the droplets of water that were now falling down her eyes.

“What?!” When Annie walked in she saw the whole scene. “Oh my god, Lily!” Annie giggled when Lily turned to see her all smiley and proud of her doing. “You’re all wet.” Lily clapped. Annie turned to see her naked husband, “Nice view.” She winked at him. “Come here, princess.” But as soon as Annie took her out of the shower Lily whimpered. “No, don’t cry.” Lily’s lip quivered and her face began to turn red, “Ok, ok. Just let me get you out of these clothes.” Annie was quick to remove the clothes off her baby, who at this point was crying loud. “Shhhh shhhhh” Annie hold her in her arms and handed her to Andy. Lily stopped crying as soon as she was in the shower.

“I’ll go get her towel.”

Andy took the soap and passed it on Lily’s tummy making her laugh.

Lily was near to turn one “I wish you could stay like this forever.” Andy said looking straight to her daughter’s eyes who lean her small head against his chest.

“Is she ready?” Annie asked holding her towel, Andy nodded and gave Lily to Annie. “You had fun?” Lily kicked her legs. “Let’s give daddy time so he can finish his shower.”

By the time Andy came out of the bathroom, Annie was finishing dressing Lily who was blinking tiredly to a blank point on the wall.

“Can you watch her while I’ll go with Jake to make sure he showers?” Annie said while she finishing brushing the short hair on Lily’s head.

“Sure!”

Annie left them alone heading to Jake room. It took 15 minutes to convince the kid he needed to shower because he was full of dirty because of the cleaning.

“I mean it Jake! I’ll come back in 5 minutes and I expect the bathroom to smell like soap. Annie said as she closed the bathroom door. When she came back Andy was still in his towel with Lily sleeping with her head on his arm.

“I can’t move.” He mouthed to his wife. Annie shook her head and cover her mouth to stop her from laughing. “Help.”

#andy barber fanfic #andy barber #annie johnson #andy x annie #andy x reader #andy barber x reader #the nanny fic #andy barber fanfiction #jacob barber #the nanny au #lily barber

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strangelittlestories · 2 years

Text

On Christmas Eve, Ebeneezer Scrooge fell asleep in the server farm of his Cryptocurrency mine. In the background, the soft wash of LED displays and gentle hum of cooling fans filled the basement. He'd recently expanded his operation, having gotten a great deal on hardware in the Cyber Monday sales. So he was sung to sleep by the gentle guzzling of electricity and the slow accumulation of what might (by some) be considered wealth. Throughout the long night, he was visited by three ghosts. The whole business played out more or less as you'd expect, so we won't overly dwell on it here. Where things really started to go FUBAR was when Scrooge awoke… Looking out the security cameras on the snowy morning, Scrooge spied an urchin child. He pressed the buzzer on the speaker and cried out to them! "You, boy! What day is it?" "What? I can't hear you." "Hold on, I'll come upstairs!" Scrooge ran up the dingy stairwell of his minimalist and kinda grungy compound, stopping only to disarm his top of the line security system. He stepped out into the brisk winter, and very nearly forgot to reset the alarm in his excitement. Then he remembered he had prime numbers in there, damn it! So he did reset the primary alarm, but didn't bother with the non-lethal countermeasures, and that was something at least. "Thanks for waiting!" He huffed. "So, boy … what day is it?" "Not a boy!" Came the shrill reply. "Girl, then! What day is it?" "Not that either!" "Look, kid, this isn't a game of what's your fucking gender. Just tell me what day it is!" "It's solstice day, sir!" Said the urchin, looking up at a dishevelled Scrooge with their big urchin eyes. "Wait, really? …You're sure it's not Christmas? I fell asleep on Christmas Eve…" "I guess you slept for near a year, then, ‘cos I celebrate solstice and it's the gods-damned solstice." “I don’t know how to process that!” Cried Scrooge. “Maybe there’s a specific detail you can focus on to ground you?” Suggested the urchin, in a surprisingly helpful bit of trauma advice. “OH!” Exclaimed Scrooge. “Tell me, child, the butcher’s nearby. Does it still have that big turkey in the window?” “The butcher’s closed down six months back, I’m afraid! But I think there’s an Amazon Fresh around here somewhere?” Said the urchin. “That’ll do!” Scrooge rummaged around in his pockets. “Here, take this printout of a Jpeg of a poorly drawn frog and go buy me the biggest turkey you can find in Amazon Fresh. Then deliver it to Bob Cratchet!” “Even Amazon won’t take your NFT bullshit as currency, mister!” “Okay - I can give you cash.” Scrooge paused for a moment. “Do you have Venmo?” “I’m a street urchin.” Replied the street urchin. “Of course I have Venmo.” “Great. I’ll transfer you now - keep the change.” “I don’t mean to look a gift crypto bro in the mouth, sir, but aren’t you famously stingy? Like, your name’s literally a synonym for tight-fisted penny-pinching.” “That’s the old Scrooge. I got visited by three ghosts last night and now I’m a new man.” Said Scrooge, proudly, before added conspiratorially, “At first, I thought I’d just drank a bad batch of Soylent. But they were pretty convincing in the end.” “So you’re going to donate all your money to charity or start a non-profit or something?” The urchin said with open-mouthed awe. "I don't know. It's kind of ambiguous. I might do those things, or maybe I'll keep being rich and be a bit nicer? "Okay, so now you're closer to a Bill Gates rather than full Musk/Bezos on the scale of evil billionaires.” The urchin looked directly into the camera for a full three seconds. “And we’re supposed to celebrate that? “Look, it was pretty fucking radical for its time, okay?” Said Scrooge, snapping his fingers to stop the urchin breaking the fourth wall any further. “Are you gonna buy the turkey or what?" “I dunno, man. On the one hand, it feels like if you really changed your tune, you’d do more than buy one turkey for the single poor person whose name you know. On the other hand, you said I could keep the change. So this really is a bind for me…” “If I’m honest,” Said Scrooge, “I really didn’t think it would be this difficult to be charitable. No wonder Elon is the way he is.” “Sigh.” Said the urchin. Saying the word out loud, rather than just sighing, which I think tells you something about the level of frustration here. “You know what, this isn’t gonna work.” “Huh?” Said Scrooge, somewhat nonplussed. “Spot! Here, boys! Heel!” Called the urchin. In the distance, a low rumbling growl could be heard. Out of the shadows of the misty winter morning, a giant three-headed hound emerged, its jaws snapping at Scrooge in triplicate. “AAAARGH!” Yelled Scrooge, now so nonplussed as to be minused. The urchin pulled out a matte black flip phone, decorated with a few tasteful flowers, and made a call. “Hi Persephone, it’s me, Charon.” Said the urchin. “Yeah, I’m up here on psychopomp duty. Yup, it’s the Ebeneezer Scrooge case - y’know, the tech bro who drank too much Red Bull and had a heart attack? Well, we gave him another shot this year, but he’s still a bit of a dickmagnet. He’s made some progress - he understands basic empathy - but we’re still a bit stuck on the ‘myth of the benevolent billionaire’ stage.” In the background, the sound of screaming tech-bro and snarling monster dogs was fading into the distance. “I think we’re gonna call it for the day and give it another try solstice.” Charon continued. “Yeah, Cerberus is dragging him back to the underworld now. Yeah - he did a great job as the three ghosts too - definitely earned a treat. Cool - see you in a few.” Charon flipped the phone closed and took a deep breath. They took a pair of bronze coins out of a pocket of their ragged hoody, and placed them gently over their own eyes. “Hades bless us. Everyone.” They said to no-one, then disappeared.

#writing #short story #a christmas carol #dickens #mythology twist #honestly a christmas carol is excellent and really quite radical #this just felt like a fun update #and i think a lot of the radical-ness of Dickens' writing gets lost in the twee

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 2 years

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Man After Midnight Ch. 2

Rich Mans World Series | Chapter 1 | Donations | Thoughts & Feelings

[Sorry it took so long! Love you all! Let me know what you think!!]

Everything was weird when you woke up, Chris had been standing in your room, praying to god that you didn’t die, Sebastian was nowhere to be seen and you had a lot more injuries than just a gunshot wound. “So…all this because Sebastian caught us together and shot me?” you asked Chris as he sat beside you. “What?” he asked, confused. “Well, that's why I'm here right? When he shot me, you called 911 and got me to the hospital? Is he still angry? I didn’t mean to hurt him, I just….I’m so in love with you Chris…” you whispered, laying your hand on his on the bed.

Chris looked down at your hand and looked up at you. “Sweetheart…what are you talking about? Sweetie, Sebastian didn’t shoot you…our house blew up, you almost died,” he said gently kissing your knuckles as you looked confused. “So….I wasn’t dating Sebastian? I didn’t cheat on him with you? He didn’t catch us in bed and try to kill us, shooting me in the back?” you asked after explaining what you’d been talking about.

Chris stared at you, and smiled a sad small smile at you, lacing your fingers together. “No sweetheart, none of that happened.” he sighed. “We’d gotten into a fight and our house blew up. I have a feeling I know who did it, but my guys are working on it baby. I’ve also got a contractor ready to start the rebuild on the house, but I…wanted your input on the rebuild.” he said softly.

You were about to say something when a soft knock sounded on your door, you both looked over to see Seb standing there with flowers. Chris stood up, blocking him from seeing you. “I had heard she was awake, I wanted to see how she was feeling.” he told Chris trying to look around him. “She’s fine. Leave. Now.” Chris wasn’t about to let you get upset, he wasn’t risking anything with you anymore. “Chris…” you spoke quietly. “It’s alright…” you watched as Sebastian walked closer to the bed, but Chris leaned in and whispered in his ear. Sebastian's face drained of all color and when Chris pulled back, he clapped him on the shoulder and turned to you with a smile on his face. “He can’t stay long though, okay baby?” you nodded and looked at Sebastian with a strained smile. “Thank you for the flowers, you can put them on my table, I’ll have a nurse get some water for them.” You said as he nodded and laid them down. “I'm glad you’re awake, Chris fill you in on what all happened?” Sebastian eyed Chris who glared back at him, nostrils flared and his jaw ticking. “Yeah, said the house blew up, pretty scary huh?” you grabbed Chris’s hand who bent down and kissed your knuckles. “Doctors said she’s going to make a full recovery,”

Sebastian looked at Chris again before he looked at you and nodded with a soft smile. “I’m just so glad you’re okay, and that you're gonna make a full recovery.” he bent down and kissed your forehead. Chris was about to lose his cool until Sebastian spoke up again. “Y/N…I have some business I need to take care of out of State…So it might be a while before we see each other again okay?” he said with a small smile. You looked up at him, confusion on your face. “What do you mean business? Like….our kind of business?” you asked as Chris stepped up to your other side, caressing your hand gently, “Personal business sweetheart, I'm sure he’ll come back when he can.” Chris said, looking at Sebastian. “Isn’t that right?” he asked, unknown to you, there was a look shared between the two of them. “Yes, as soon as I can, I’ll be back,” he said.

There was a silence that fell over the room, before Chris cleared his throat. “Well, you should probably head out, she needs her rest. I’ll walk you out.” he smiled as Seb nodded and grabbed your hand. “Take care Y/N, I’ll be in touch real soon okay?” he smiled as you smiled up at him, nodding, “Stay safe Sebastian, We’ll miss you,” you said as you squeezed Chris’s hand. Sebastian held back his chuckle and nodded. “I’ll miss you too,”

Chris dimmed the lights and walked out with him, “I meant what I said. You ever come back around her again, and I'll kill you.” he said as he hugged Sebastian. “You leave town and never come back here. If you were anyone else I would have slit your throat already, but you were like a brother to me, so, I'm giving you one final chance. You stay away from her and me. If you ever even think about her again I’ll kill you.” he snapped at him before turning and walking away from Sebastian for the last time.

You laid your head back and closed your eyes, you had a bit of a headache and knew that it would be a while before you’d be allowed to leave the hospital. Still much of what happened, you couldn’t remember. You remembered that Chris had come home from the club but after that it was mostly a blur. You looked up at Chris as he came back into the room. He looked tired but overall he seemed okay. “How long have I been out for?” you asked as he took his place next to you again. “About 3 months. I was starting to worry, you know,” he smiled, kissing your hand again.

You looked at him and caressed the back of his hand with your thumb. “I remember what I did at the club that night, I’m so sorry Chris, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…I was so angry seeing you with, yet again, another woman. It makes me feel like I am not enough for you. Like I’m just some ugly, boring, bitch you had to marry and all these other women are who you truly want to be with. I love you, I love you for who you are. Yes, we have our faults, yes we need to work on our marriage-,” “Y/N-” “No. It’s my turn to talk now.” you said sternly. “I love you Christopher, but I refuse to watch my husband be with other women.” you said, staring at him. “So….are you my husband, or do I need to do something you will regret?” you asked, looking him dead in the eye.

Chris stared at you, his mind and his heart was racing, he didn’t know what to say. “Y/N…I…I don’t love you….at least not yet.” he spoke softly. “I don’t know you well enough to say that to you. Yes, we need to work on our marriage, yes we need to get to know each other better. Yeah, I have my faults…I know this. I’m working on it. After the house blew up and we figured out what happened…I’ve been here, with you. I’ve slept here, showered here, I’ve pretty much lived here, because I refused to let you be here alone. Your parents have been keeping in touch, Your brothers and sisters came by to see you a couple of times, but other than that, you know, its been us here…so, I’ve been….texting a therapist. I found an app where I can do sessions without having to leave your side.” he ran a hand over his face. “Maybe we could look into marriage counseling? I know that's for people who…” he trailed off, searching for the right word, until your hand landed on his cheek. “That’s one of the best ideas you’ve ever had. That would work wonders for us. But in order for us to do that, and to build a strong foundation in our marriage, we need to have a united front. No. More. Women. When people see you out with other women, it makes our marriage look like a scam. You may not love me, but you have to respect me.” you said as he leaned into your hand a little.

Chris was terrified of committing to you; what if you changed your mind? What if you hated the idea of him once you knew him? Or what if you wanted to still get divorced even if he’d been faithful? What if you met someone else? So many questions filled his mind. “What if I’m not enough for you?” he whispered. “What if I'm not enough for you?” you fired the question right back with a softness he hadn’t witnessed alot. “I…I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” he kissed your palm before looking back up at you. “Me either. I'm willing to put forth the effort if you are.” you said quietly as he stood up and sat on the edge of your bed.

“When I was a kid, my dad would have affairs, my mom knew about it, and told me that’s just part of the life. The men did whatever they wanted, and as long as their wives had money to support them and the kids, it didn’t matter. The wives all turned the other way. Didn’t matter to them, so when I grew up, and made the agreement with your father to marry you instead of killing him for the money he owed me, I figured it would be the same way.” Chris said softly. “My dad was a real hard ass, he didn’t really want kids, but when my mom had me and my sister, she told him that she’d take care of us, and herself, all he had to do was support us. He did that.” Chris said, staring down at his hands. “Taught me the life, died when I was 14. Ma travels mostly now, staying with relatives all around the world.” he glanced at you, and the sight made his heart swell in his chest.

You had a sad look behind your eyes, your hands clasped together in your lap as well as they could be with the cast. “Chris…that’s terrible.” you whispered. “At least you’re wanted now, I know that doesnt make up for what your father did or how he made you feel.” you whispered and as best you could, moved over in the bed, patting it for him to come sit next to you.

Chris maneuvered around so he could sit with you, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into his side. “My sister was out with my dad, they’d done this like father daughter date night thing/father daughter dance? I don’t remember the specifics of it all, but that was the night he died. They held my sister for a while…I now know what they’d done to her, but back then I had no idea. She killed herself when we were 18.” he said softly. “It was the Irish, wasn't it?” you whispered as you curled into his chest. “Yes, it was.” Chris answered back as he stared ahead of the two of you. “Tristan wanting to make a deal with me was a trap and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.” He kissed your forehead as gently as possible, pulling your blanket up over your arms as you wouldn’t get cold. “I know you’ve been out for 3 months, but you should probably rest.” he smiled down at you as your eyelids got heavy and you nodded snuggling closer to him. “Goodnight Chris, I love you,” you whispered. “Goodnight baby girl,” he said, holding you as your breathing slowed into a steady rhythm.

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greatbigbellies · 10 months

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2023 PREGNANCY KINK ADVENT CALENDAR (DAY 7)

McPreggo Mukbang Part 1.

Penelope pulled the food items out of the paper bags they came in, making sure everything was in order. She’d learned the hard way before that the paper sacks that fast food places used were notoriously loud and could wreak havoc on even well-balanced audio. Burgers, chicken sandwiches and strips, …fried pickles? She’d never eaten here before, but some of her friends and a ton of her viewers all suggested she check it out for a mukbang or food review. She figured she could stream the mukbang, review the food as she went, condense the highlights for youtube, and kill two birds with one stone!

“McPreggo, huh? This stuff just magically knocks you up?” she asked her friend on video call. “Yeah. Shit really works!” her colleague stood up from his chair to show his ripe, bare bump on the video feed. Penelope just shook her head. “There’s DEMAND for that? I’ve never met a parent who said the pregnancy was supposed to be the enjoyable part!” she said in disbelief. “Oh yeah. Some couples want to try it out before they do it for real, some actors order it for parts when they play knocked up characters…. And some people are just freaks!” he laughed, before taking another bite of his burger.

Penelope raised her eyebrow at him. “Uh huh. So uh, which one are you? You seem like you’ve indulged quite a bit…” she smirked. He beamed “Oh nooooo my wifi is dying gotta go! Don’t get stuck on your back, these things don’t skimp on weight. Okaybyeeee!” he closed the video chat, leaving Penelope to start her stream.

She sat down, surrounded by amazing smelling food. Everything was fresh and hot and ready to enjoy, and she had skipped breakfast for extra content today. Time to see if the McPreggo fad was all it was cracked up to be! She started the stream.

Instantly, a few dozen viewers rolled in. She’d been hyping this up on social media for a couple of weeks, and the buildup seemed to have paid off. She did her standard greeting and thanked the few subscribers that’d popped up between stream, before shifting into the good stuff. “So I imagine 99% of you know what we’re doing today. It’s the pregnancy fast food place that’s making the rounds right now! McPreggo! This is gonna be both a mukbang and a review stream, because I want you guys to know whether or not it’s worth going out and getting long before the highlights go on youtube! So, uh, this isn’t sponsored. I dumped like $65 on food for this and I intend to try all of it! I’m not sure how big I’ll get. There has to be some kind of built in limit on this stuff, right?” She watched her chat flow for a few moments, looking for a consensus.

“Yeah no triplets is the limit”

“No limit” “There’s no limit”

“I’m stuck in my car from this stuff rn be careful”

“If there IS a limit no one has hit it yet” “The limit is your imagination”

She glanced nervously at the collection of food sitting around her. Surely it didn’t ALL make you more pregnant, right?

“Whatever, let’s just… there’s no sense in worrying about it. If it was unsafe the FDA would have shut them down by now!” she grabbed her first item, a single quarter pounder burger. “I didn’t get the like… double and triple burgers cause like… it’s basically the same burger but more meat, and I want room for the other stuff! If this one’s good, they’re all good!”

The first bite was perfect. The patty was hot and juicy, the bun, warm and fluffy, the vegetables cool and crisp, and the sauces brought it all together. “God, this is like… yeah, okay, if it’s all this good, I can see why this is popular. Like I’d get knocked up for a burger this fine,” It didn’t take long for her to put the sandwich away. Someone made a stream donation in response.

“Hi Penelope. I hope you’re wearing loose fitting clothes. Also try to pickle chips next, they make everything else taste better.” she read out loud. “I-...” she started to respond before being cut off by the strange sensation in her gut. Her hands went to her belly as it swelled fuller, going from mildly plush to rounded out over about 15 seconds. Her palms filled with tummy as her fingers spread trying to hold it. The process wasn’t painful, or even particularly uncomfortable, but it was jarring, especially for the first time. She lifted up her blouse to bare her belly, staring down at it. Her navel was still an innie, and she didn’t have any stretchmarks, but she carried far forward, her singleton belly taking up more space than she really thought a pregnant belly would. It was heavy too, feeling like a water filled sphere, a little over the size of a bowling ball, resting squarely on her hips.

Her chat lit up.

“It works” “IT WOOOORKS YOUR A MOMMY NOW”

“MORE MORE!” “Poggers”

She swallowed firmly. “I felt it actually kick,” she said. She stared at it. She knew it’d be real, and that it’d work, but didn’t expect it to work so well and feel so real. She took a moment to center herself, patting her tummy, before returning her attention to her stream. “So, uh, yeah… this stuff really works. Fast too, and didn’t hurt! Was just… kind of unexpected!” she put her stream voice back on and got back to work. “So the pickle chips huh? I’m not super into pickles but they’re fried so… maybe they’ll be good?”

She grabbed the carton, a large order, and tried them one chip at a time at first, then two, then four, then by the handful. She demolished the whole carton in less than a minute. “Wow, those, uh, those hit the spot. And hey, I’m not any more pregnant soooo, they’re like… safe to eat if you don’t want to pop your buttons!” she smiled. Her tummy growled in anticipation, and Penelope found herself craving the remaining items. Maybe polishing everything else off wasn’t going to be so difficult after all?

#2023 pregnancy kink advent calendar #long post #writing #mcpreggo

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 6 months

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Human - Danny Phantom

A/N: The no dialogue commission that is over 5,000 words and that I wrote back in 2019 and never uploaded! My bad.

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters: Danny Fenton, Ghost Writer

Rating: Teen Audiences

Summary: Danny Fenton had dealt with a lot of ghosts in his time as Phantom, but none of them had ever quite been so human as the Ghostwriter; none of them had ever been as annoying, either.

AO3 Link: Human Website Link: Human

—

If you enjoy this story then check out my Writing Commissions.

…or, if you prefer, you can just buy me a ko-fi! ☕ …or, if you have a nice allowance, support me on Patreon! 🪶

—

Human

This was not how Danny had planned on spending the last day of his winter break; his homework-free winter break that was now, due in large part to actual pity, also ghost-free. It was a ghost-free, paper-free, stress-free last day of winter break and Danny had been planning to use it to sleep, play games, sleep, eat, sleep, and sleep in that order. That was how he had planned the day. Sleeping, eating, or even playing video games, however, was not what he was doing.

Instead of his soft, well-worn bed, Danny was uncomfortably slouched over in a wooden chair that looked to have been donated to three different elementary schools before ending up in the ‘bookstore cafe’ that he and his friends were trapped in; or at least, Danny and Tucker were trapped. Sam, the vicious vulture with perfect winged eyeliner that she was, looked to honestly be enjoying the cringe-filled ‘poetry’ that other goth teenagers were reading up on the small stage.

The words were as out-of-focus as his gaze and Danny’s thoughts had turned towards wondering if he could fall asleep sitting up with his eyes open before a wisp of cool air slipped through his parted lips, a sensation like being zapped sparking down his spine until it was perfectly straight, his chair scooting back from the sudden movement.

Opening his mouth to explain, Danny was instead met with a sharp shushing sound, Sam giving him one of her looks that could essentially be translated into a rough: take care of this quietly and quickly because if you ruin this for me then I’ll make sure you’re the next one up on that stage.

Tucker, at least, looked mildly sympathetic as Danny took the soundless warning to heart and slipped out of his seat before silently making his way towards the men’s bathroom to change and find out which ghost wanted to ruin the last of his break.

That had been the plan, at least, until he looked up and caught sight of the ghost himself and saw just which one it was.

Danny could honestly say that he hadn’t expected the Ghostwriter to be the one that had set off his ghost sense, but, well. It made sense. Christmas was over and if it was one thing a ghost loved, it was revenge; especially when it was revenge against Danny Phantom.

The interesting thing, though, the thing that made Danny stop and instead change direction towards the ‘bar’ that only sold overpriced and watered down coffee where it was quiet and dim and easy to hide, was that Ghostwriter wasn’t looking all that, well… ghostly.

Ghostwriter was still wearing that stupid trench coat that was purple along with his depressing grey clothing, but he wasn’t glowing or flying or declaring his revenge in a theatrical tone like Technus or Skulker or even the Box Ghost might. There was no I will destroy you, ghost child! or This time, it’s going to be you who rots behind bars! or even Hey, you fuck!

No, it was just… Ghostwriter. His skin was still a washed out grey sort of color, but without the ghostly glow that lit it all up, he just looked like a tired college student who might have been coming down with the flu and had trudged in out of the cold to look for a book to finish off a last-minute paper. He just looked so human, which, Danny mused, might have been all the more reason to worry. A ghost didn’t go to those lengths to disguise himself unless there was something to hide.

Stepping out of the shadows, and fully prepared to make a scene no matter how much Sam hated him after it was over, Danny watched as Ghostwriter walked around the edges of the tables and chairs that were pointed towards the stage, looked around the building slowly and carefully, and then…

He was reading. The ghost who had almost ruined his life and destroyed his Christmas had walked up to a bookshelf, poked around for a few seconds, and then started to read one of the books like it was something he did all the time.

Danny almost thought that the gods might have finally smiled upon him and blessed him just enough to where he wouldn’t have to deal with a ghost fight on his last day of winter break, but then he remembered just what kind of bookstore he was in.

If Sam had managed to find a book on the Fright Knight in a place like this, he dreaded to think what a ghost who could change reality and knew what he was looking for could find.

Saying a silent goodbye to his peace and quiet, and almost managing to dredge up just a speck of regret for the poetry ‘jam’ that was about to get broken up, Danny took a step forward and immediately froze when he met bright green eyes.

The two were utterly quiet, but Danny fancied that he could hear what would no doubt be a smug I see you, ghost boy.

Danny made sure to give his best glare back, channeling the rage he usually only felt when dealing with Vlad. The rage that screamed, loud and clear, If you even think of hurting anyone here it’ll be the last thing you do.

Instead of showing the appropriate amount of fear and shuffling out of the store in a burst of sensibility, Danny watched as the Ghostwriter laughed, putting the book he had been reading back onto the shelf and then disappearing around the corner to the next one.

Danny wasted no time, half-running over to the shelf and grabbing up the book that the ghost had just been looking at to see what unnatural disaster he was about to deal with next. It was like ice sliding down his spine as he saw that it was just… a book. There was nothing special about it beyond the fact it was a lame book about some old poetry. It was normal with a normal twisted plastic cover and normal bent pages that had been rifled through a time too many. Which meant Ghostwriter was fucking with him.

Rounding the shelf, Danny kept his energy close to the surface, ready to snap into his changed form at a moment’s notice as he watched Ghostwriter set down another book he had picked up, glancing back to Danny. This time the smirk screamed, Nothing you could do would stop me.

It was enough to have Danny clenching his fists hard enough to make his palms bleed, wisps of green energy starting to curl through his fingers as he bared his teeth in a very clear, Try me.

Ghostwriter vanished around another corner and Danny rushed to inspect the book he had been looking through, pissed to see that it was just another lame paperback book about poetry a decade too old that made it obvious that the ghost really was just screwing with him.

And that’s how it kept going. Danny followed Ghostwriter around the store, flipping through the books the ghost had been reading and trying to piece together what he could be up to.

Instead of some grand scheme of revenge, though, Danny was looking through beaten up books of poetry, old nonfiction books about trains and air transportation that weren’t about airplanes, and a bright yellow and white How To book about how to play piano. It was that one that almost had Danny throwing the book at Ghostwriter himself to see if it would start a fight just to get the tension over with.

Danny glared at nothing as he slammed the most recent book back onto one of the countless shelves, not caring if it was the proper spot or not as he turned around to keep following after Ghostwriter before feeling his heart stop at seeing the ghost directly in front of him and a few inches away.

It took an eternity to make sure Danny hadn’t somehow been scared straight into his ghost form before he realized there was a ghost only a few inches away from him. He didn’t even manage to call up his energy, though, before what was clearly a book was tossed at him.

Years of living with Jazz and her psychopathic librarian tendencies had Danny catching the book before any damage could come to it, a quick look up to Ghostwriter showing the ghost was smirking, as if to say, Your move, ghost boy. What now?

Danny opened his mouth to tell the Ghostwriter just where he could shove his pretentious attitude before the sound of snapping fingers distracted him just enough to glance over at the crowd of goths that were taking up the space. A look back to the ghost had Danny losing what was at least seven years of his life because the fucker was gone.

Gripping the book he had caught tightly, Danny slammed it down against a half-working radiator that looked older than the store, freezing when he saw a piece of torn notebook paper slip out of the pages and flutter down towards the ground. Danny managed to snatch it up before it hit, looking at it suspiciously before turning it around and blinking at seeing the writing that was there. He half-thought it might have been a note some former nerd left behind as a placeholder, but that thought was quickly broken when he saw just what the words spelled out.

There, in a neat, curling script that could only mean the writer was a pretentious control freak, were the words, Until next we meet, Phantom.

It was a declaration of war and Danny was all too happy to meet it, vowing that he would destroy Ghostwriter molecule by molecule as he stomped back to his seat (after moving the book off the radiator), another goth nerd already up on stage and reciting what sounded like a sea shanty turned into a spoken word that was then read as a eulogy.

Danny felt some of his rage drain out of him by the sheer confusion he felt at hearing what he was absolutely sure was not English, but the last of it was wiped away clear when he felt his phone buzz with a message from Tucker, who was looking at him with a worried expression.

A quick glance to the message showed just what Danny had expected, a simple, ‘if we talk sam will kill us. you alright?’

Reading the message over another time or two, Danny gave a quick nod before backtracking and shaking his head at Tucker’s unimpressed look. Opening his mouth, and seeing Sam shoot him a look as if she had eyes in the back of her horns, Danny instead turned towards his phone, typing out a quick, ‘Not bad but it pisses me off when a ghost comes in here obviously picking a fight and then leaves without actually fighting I mean what the hell is that about?’

‘sounds like the dude was scoping out the enemy you know? did he do or say anything or something like that? cause you know i’ll leave and back you up no matter how much it would break my heart to not hear the rest of this beautiful poetry on stage.’

Danny had to smother a laugh into his fist and turn it into a weak cough that hopefully didn’t sound too fake, Tucker beaming proudly and sticking out like a sore thumb among all the dour goths crammed together. Danny let him have the moment before kicking his chair - just to keep him humble. ‘Nah I think he already left can’t sense him anymore at least but he didn’t even say anything he just left a note that was basically calling me out for a fight next time we meet.’

‘yikes. sounds like the dude still isn’t over the whole xmas thing. need me to do any research and see if i can’t try to find something out about the dude?’

‘Nah I already know how his powers work and his keyboard thing was busted so it’s not like he can stick me in a poem again I’ll just wait and deal with him when he comes looking for a fight he won’t win.’

Danny tucked his phone away as Tucker snickered behind his own, turning his attention back to whatever car crash was happening on stage, mind already focused on his plans for the war that Ghostwriter had declared.

War had been the plan, at least, until a week passed with no fight with the Ghostwriter and Danny started asking for advice over the problem that was starting to make him twitchy with nerves over nothing happening. Ghosts, in his experience, usually didn’t wait long before getting revenge.

Long talks with Sam, Tucker, Jazz, and even his Mom, who had been the most judgmental out of all of them, had ended up with Danny calling in a favor to a way too amused Clockwork before toting a glowing book that hurt his eyes to look at to a library that he still half wanted to freeze into a giant ice block before shattering it and hiding the remains in the Far Frozen.

It wasn’t like he had started the Christmas fight that had almost ended up destroying all of his relationships in his everyday life, and, really, when one thought about it, Ghostwriter was as big a dick as Danny was. Honestly, ‘until next we meet?’ It wasn’t like that could be anything but a declaration of war!

It was still a challenge Danny was all for if the nerd ever followed through on it, but now if he actually returned the book he had accidentally (which was very important to point out since he hadn’t started the fight) destroyed, then that meant he had the moral high ground and he was right; or something to that effect, at least.

Overall, it was why Danny took great satisfaction in throwing the book in the nerd’s face as soon as the library doors opened way too dramatically, taking a moment to gleefully enjoy the annoyed rage that faded into shocked awe and oh, yeah. Danny was just that good.

While the ghost looked down at the book with wide eyes, Danny took a quick moment to really notice how, even in the Ghost Zone, the dude still looked human. His skin looked way more pale and grey, of course, what with all the crazy lighting and green, but he still could have passed as a human with just a few changes. It was… weird.

The only other ‘human’ ghosts he had really been around was Ember, Johnny, and Kitty. While Kitty’s skin tone could have been sick human, her hair was way too ghostly to ever pass, and Ember was the same with her hair, and Johnny- Well, no, he pretty much had been human as long as he suppressed that glowing thing that all ghosts did. Jazz had almost ended up dating him he looked human enough. Maybe it had something to do with age. Ghostwriter didn’t-

Focus. Danny was here for a reason and that reason was to prove that, obviously, he was the better ghost.

It took hours before Ghostwriter finally looked up at him, opening his mouth to no doubt annoy Danny into his full death. He made sure to cut it off by pointing to the piece of paper that was sticking out of the book. It was a simple note that read:

Nerd.

You can thank Clockwork for this since he owed me a favor or I owe him one. Not sure. It’s Clockwork. Enjoy and stay the fuck out of my town and my life.

Fuck you.

Danny made sure that by the time Ghostwriter finished the note he was well on his way back to the Amity Park portal, confident with his carefully calculated risk that his hands were washed of the mess that was the Ghostwriter.

⁂

Danny had honestly expected to be done dealing with ghostly business for at least a few weeks after his Christmas. He should have been done with the Ghostwriter, all debts should have been repaired, and there should have been absolutely no reason for that ghost, or any other ghost, to be anywhere near him or his town.

Honestly, when thinking about just the Ghostwriter business, Danny was the one who had suffered the most. He couldn’t just get rid of the trauma he had gone through that Christmas, but Ghostwriter had gotten his book back?

No matter how it played out, Danny was the one who suffered the most in the whole scenario, which was why he couldn’t figure out why, a week or something like it later, he was staring groggily at a glowing book that was on his desk on a morning he had to be up early for school.

The winter sun was too dim to light up his room like it might have if it was summer and all of Danny’s lamps were either turned off or burned out from where he had been sleeping, so there really was nothing to cause the glow around the book except the book itself - which meant it was a ghost book. That meant it was a trap. A trap in the morning. Danny really had thought that ghosts had better manners than that.

Scrubbing at his eyes and suppressing the urge to mutter words that he had no doubt his mother would hear even with doors and possibly two floors between them, Danny dragged himself to his feet and stumbled over to the glowing book with a title that looked like it had first been written in crayon before being properly typed or drawn.

Except the longer he stared at the title the more it seemed to make sense, Danny squinting before finally managing to at least make out the word history, which, ugh, did some ghost prank him with a ghostly history textbook? This had Poindexter written all over it.

Snatching the book with a solid plan of hiding it in his backpack until he could throw it back into the Ghost Zone, Danny paused at the fluttering piece of paper that slipped free of the pages and tumbled towards the floor.

Danny made sure to wait at least seven seconds to make sure it wasn’t another form of trap, lightly nudging the piece of paper with his foot before nodding and picking it up, mentally ruling out Poindexter as a suspect and adding in Plasmius. It would be just like that Fruitloop to give him some kind of test or riddle or… familiar looping scrawl that Danny had last seen in a bookshop. For a moment, he could only think that he forgot, in his calculated risk, that he was bad at math.

Phantom,

Thank you for the miraculous recovery and return of my written works that came to a gruesome end this past Yule. While your own correspondence left much to be desired, the return is appreciated.

I’m writing to you now due to the discovery of this book during one of my searches. While I’m certain that you already have a thorough understanding of the Spirit World and its inhabitants, it occurred to me that you might not yet be aware of certain specifics.

Please feel free to peruse this book at your leisure before returning it to my library at your discretion. I would prefer to have it returned within a fortnight but will be most understanding if it happens to take longer.

Regards,

Ghostwriter

Danny had to read through the note four times before he finally crumpled it into a ball and threw it on his desk because no matter how many times he read the words his early morning brain was simply not going to be able to process that. God, the Ghostwriter was like if his sister was a boy and had become a ghost while studying for her finals or something.

The moment it took to process the thought had a shiver running up Danny’s spine, resolve hardened as he dug around through his desk until he found a cheap pen and a crumpled piece of paper that he quickly smoothed out before using it to articulate his thoughts and feelings perfectly.

Ghostwriter

I said stay out of my town and my life and this is doing none of those things. Look it’s plain to see that this book is some kind of trap I mean let me guess you stole it from Plasmius and now you’re gonna pin it on me? As if I don’t have enough problems with the Fruitloop fucking thanks.

Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to give you this book back. You’re going to take it. You’re going to keep out of Amity Park. The next time I see you or any other books in this town I will BURN THEM ON PURPOSE. The last thing I need to deal with in life is another ghost out to kill me for something that’s no longer my fault.

REGARDS

Fuck you

Biting the blunt end of his pen, Danny read over the letter a time or two to make sure it had everything he wanted to say before nodding and slipping the piece of paper between the cover and the first page of the still glowing book. God, the sooner he got the thing out of his room the better. It had probably already tripped at least three ghost sensors in his house.

A quick check of the time until he was meant to be at school, and a weighing of his options, had Danny swearing (very quietly) to himself and triggering his change into his ghost form. An hour wasn’t much time to get things done, but it would be enough to get rid of a book.

Besides, Danny hadn’t really thought of the Plasmius thing until he wrote his letter, but the more he thought about it the more it made sense. A ghost was too weak to take him on? Send Plasmius. It was the perfect plan and, actually, one Danny could maybe use against some of the more annoying ghosts. Plus, it’d just be hilarious to see Plasmius go up against Technus. The two would probably monologue at each other for hours- Focus.

Danny had a book to get rid of, a day to get ready for, and at least three classes to sleep in. He couldn’t do that until Ghostwriter was dealt with.

Dropping down through the second and first floor and into the basement with the book still in hand, Danny shot towards the portal with a burst of speed, shivering at the feeling that washed over him as he did so. It always felt like a wave of static that rolled over his skin only without any of the pain. He had explained it to Sam and Tucker once as the feeling just before getting shocked, but both of them had looked at him like he was crazy, so maybe it was a half-ghost thing.

Making a mental note to try and taunt the answer out of Vlad later, Danny focused on getting to the stupid library Ghostwriter lived in, which, really. Who lived in a library? It was so stupid.

It was close enough, though, and Danny was sure it hadn’t even taken ten minutes before he was moving to bang on the doors. He didn’t even get a single knock in before the doors were opening smoothly, no one on the other side to annoy him.

A glance at the book, the empty doorway, and back towards the direction he had come from had Danny cycling through excuses even as he stepped inside, nodding to himself when the doors closed behind him with a very obvious locking noise because of course they did. That was just his life, wasn’t it?

Biting the inside of his cheek until the urge to either scream or swear passed, Danny managed a slow breath, half-remembering something Jazz had told him about counting his breathing or whatever, and then continued on into the library, book clutched tightly in his hand as he contemplated just leaving it on the floor to be found later.

Annoyed as he was, it took him way too long before he realized that the library he was in wasn’t silent. Instead of the silence he had expected, there was a soft, gentle chiming noise.

It wasn’t overpowering like what he would hear from some of Jazz’s guided meditation tapes that she played way too loudly when stressed over testing, but it was something that reminded him of the windchimes in Sam’s greenhouse when they tucked themselves away in there in the winter, humid air warming them up and taking away the sting of the cold winters that Amity Park was known for.

The soft chimes reminded him of his friend’s laughter at all of his bad jokes and the peaceful silence that came from being around people who didn’t expect anything out of him. It was a sound that had something in him relaxing.

The more he relaxed, the more he realized that the library he was in was actually kind of cool. At first it had looked like some official capital library kind of thing with too tall bookshelves and carpet that was enough to make him think it was ugly, but the further he walked into the library the more different it looked.

He wasn’t sure if it was a ghost thing or just the library he was in, but a glance down showed the carpet slowly and smoothly changed from the burnt looking red it had been into a cool purple that felt soft when Danny chanced landing and walking instead of flying. It wasn’t exactly like he was sinking into it, but he could see himself spread out on the floor during a study session and being comfortable enough.

The shelves, if possible, were more surprising in their changes than the carpet. Instead of towering, structured shelves like something out of Jazz’s dream, the bookshelves became lopsided and mismatched like each one had been found in a thrift shop or an antique store or something.

Some of them looked nice enough, but others had obviously crooked shelves and slanted tops and there were even more that had dark spots in the wood that showed some form of weather damage. It was straight out of Jazz’s nightmare, but something about all the clunky, mismatched shelves filled with books both glowing and not made it all look… human.

There were low tables and chairs of different sizes spread around, couches and armchairs decades old that looked like they had been dragged to a certain corner and left forgotten, and lamps of all different shapes and sizes spread out in a way that made no sense.

It was something out of a fever dream and Danny couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that, if nothing else, he had finally found a library he liked - a library that belonged to a ghost that did not act like he would be able to handle living in such a messy, crazy place. No matter how he looked at it, the place he was in just didn’t look like somewhere Ghostwriter could live.

Danny probably would have poked around even more if he hadn’t noticed that the soft chiming noises had stopped and instead been replaced with soft muttering that almost sounded like swearing. The voice was just familiar enough that Danny was pushing forward, drawing to a stop as he saw Ghostwriter was… not looking like Ghostwriter.

The ghost was curled up into an overstuffed armchair that, like everything else, looked like it had come from a completely different decade. That part alone was strange enough, but the truly strange part was the fact Ghostwriter was sitting half propped up against one side with his legs thrown over the other side, a laptop resting in his lap as he glared at a screen that looked bright enough he could already hear his mom telling him that he was going to ruin his eyes.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. Instead of mania and cackling and making Danny’s life a living hell, the ghost looked tired as if he hadn’t slept- Danny hadn’t thought ghosts slept, but the proof was in front of him considering he saw bags under the other’s eyes. There was also the fact Ghostwriter’s hair was an utter wreck, as if he had run a hand through it like Danny did to his own hair and, just a few feet away, the man’s stupid coat was thrown over the back of a couch and, to top it all off, he was wearing no shoes and instead just socks.

He looked human.

The thought had passed through his head again and again over the days he had been dealing with Ghostwriter, but the other was just so human.

There was no grandstanding or monologuing or crazy plan or revenge scheme, but instead somebody curled up and working on their laptop and relaxing in what was obviously their home.

What couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds and Ghostwriter was freezing and snapping his head up to look at him, something in his eyes going from hard and sharp to confused and surprised as he seemed to realize that, yes, Danny Phantom was standing in front of him.

Later Danny would explain, if only to himself, that it was the scrunched up expression the ghost made that decided it; the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the twisted little expression of his mouth that looked stupid enough to laugh at, and the crazy hair that was near standing on end with how much it had obviously been abused.

In that moment, though, Danny could only hold the book he had brought behind his back, slipping out the note he had written and crumpling it up before letting it turn to ash in his hand.

Once that was done, he opened his mouth to speak.

#danny phantom #ghost writer #dp ghost writer #ghostwriter #dp ghostwriter #my writing #original #commission

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multific · 2 years

Text

Something New

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley x Reader

Summary: Meeting Steven and going on that date at the stake house even if he was days late was the best decision of your life.

Having powers certainly had its disadvantages, but it also had many advantages.

You being part of the Avengers, and fighting for what's right always gave you a feeling of belonging.

But after Thanos, and what happened with Tony, you needed a change.

You moved to London where one day, you met Steven Grant. The lovely gift shop worker took you off of your feet immediately. You thought you could finally have the quiet life you knew you needed, but of course, that wasn't the case.

Because why would it be?

Steven was a sweetheart. Who called you days after your date was supposed to take place. But you ended up going.

"Sorry! I'm stuck in traffic, I'll be there in about 20 minutes." and you were, you weren't able to dress up or anything but he didn't seem to mind, he even got you chocolate and flowers.

You soon learned the truth about Steven, Marc and Jake. You met an Ancient God, who was probably the sassiest God you have met in your life.

And they all made you realize, that a quiet life is not what you wanted, you wanted them.

One day, while you were at the boys' place, you were watching TV while Steven fed the fish. He let out a sigh.

"You know, Love, sometimes I do miss working at the museum." he said as he sat down next to you. "I do not miss Donna, but the people and the fact that I could do something producive was nice."

"Nicer than defeating Arthur?"

"Well, working there didn't feel as cool, but now all we do is sit here at home, Jake is making money from the cab but... I feel like I rely on you a lot."

"Of course you don't. I like helping you and it's not like the money is mine." you probably shouldn't have said that.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Oh, I-I mean... You know that I can control people? Make them say, do or believe things?" he nodded and you noticed in his eyes, all three of them were listening. "Once I made an extremely currupt polititan believe that he should send me at least 5 million per month. I donate most of that money and only use what I really need it for."

It took them a moment to fully realize what you just said.

"So-you?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Yes. So, paying for things is no problem really. I also have some money when I worked for the Avengers."

"Okay, but we also want to provide for you, pay for dates, buy you nice things. Maybe even a nicer apartment where we can live together."

"I like this apartment but if you'd like a job I'm not going to stand in your way." you said. After that of course Steven had many questions about your powers and source of money.

But you had a plan. A plan so great, you jumped into it the next day.

You walked into the museum with confidence. Telling Marc you needed to be somewhere while he went to chase Khonshu.

"Good morning Miss, how may I help you?" asked the guy at the front, obviously implying if you wanted a ticket.

"I have a meeting with Mr. Jones this morning."

Mr Jones, the boss of them all, the manager of the museum.

The guy behind the desk didn't even ask anything.

Your magic surely worked.

"Mr Jones, I came to talk to you about Steven Grant. I think you made a terrible mistake firing him. Especially since after you reviewed the footage, it is clear that his ex-suprvisor, Donna was behind the vandalism."

"Oh yes. I'd like to offer him his job back." he nodded, eyes cloudy from your magic.

"His job? I'd assume you feel so bad for firing the wrong person, you'd instead offer him to be either a tour guide or the supervisor of the store, whichever he will take."

"Correct Ma'am."

You smiled, satisfied.

"Great, call him as soon as I leave."

And with that, you stood up and walked out of the museum.

---

Steven wasn't even sure if he should be there. He just got a call from the manager of the museum and called him in for a talk.

Did they want him to pay for the damages he caused?

But as soon as he entered the office, the air felt different, it was light and inviting.

He sat down in a chair with a cup of tea that was placed in his hand.

"Mr Grant, I'd like to apologize in the name of the entire museum. We made a terrible mistake." Mr Jones turned on the TV which showed the night when Steven was attacked, but the end was different, very different.

"We failed to recognize that Donna was the main culpit and she tried to frame you due to her jealousy."

Instead of Marc, the ending showed them walking away and then Donna sneaking back into the restroom.

Which never happened.

Steven put two and two together but Mr Jones spoke up.

"I would like to deeply apologize again and to correct this mistake I'd like to offer you a position. We are aware of your passion for Ancient Egypt and I'd like to offer you a job as a tour guide. We can never have enough and since summer is coming, we expect more groups."

"I-Oh-I-"

"Of course, I do not expect you to accept this offer right away. I do understand how insulting you must have felt when I fired you for the wrong reason, I'll give you time of course and you have my number in case you'd like to accept."

Steven took another look at the video then at Mr Jones before thanking him and he left.

"It was her. It had to be."

"Of course it was." said Marc in his head as he saw him in the reflection on the bus.

"We need to tell her that this is not okay."

"Amigo, she literally went to your boss, got Donna fired because you mentioned that you miss work. I really don't think we should mention this as a bad thing so directly."

As much as Steven didn't want to, he agreed with Jake, he knew this wasn't the right thing, but he also knew Donna had this coming.

Yet, they couldn't let this slide.

You were at his place, sitting at your usual spot.

"Hi, Babe."

"Hi, Love. Can we-Can we talk?"

"Sure. Did you get a call?"

"I-I did but you really didn't have to."

"When I went I originally just wanted to get your job back, but at the shop, there was a new guy, a new "Stevie" if you will, and she was just yelling at him, being rude, so she got what he deserved." you said as you watched Steven space out and Marc take over.

"You really are amazing, your power is something else, and I know Donna's a bitch lets face it, but-"

"No buts. She deserved it, she abused her power, end of story, you should think about the job, are you going to accept?"

Marc didn't like how you avoided the question but he let out a long sigh and looked at the mirror then back at you.

"Maybe, it would be really good for Steven."

"Then accept it. I'll miss you though, but it would be good for all of us." you said as you moved closer to him on the couch, he pulled you closer to himself.

---

A couple weeks later, you stood outside the museum, it was rather late in the afternoon.

"Love!" you turned to see Steven walking down the stairs.

"Hi." you said as you walked over and kissed him on the lips. "How was your first day?"

"Really good! They are obviously still training me, but I know the basics now. I still got a lot more to learn."

You were happy to see him so excited about his new job and that you could help him.

All night he talked about it as you two sat down in a restaurant to have some dinner. He didn't even let the others front, he was so excited, he told you things like four times. But of course, you didn't mind. Seeing the shine in his eyes told you everything you needed to know, it proved you did something right.

A/N: I actually live pretty close to the museum Moon Knight was filmed at, every day when I go to work I think about Steven. 🌙💖

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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