#did i put enough cylindrical objects in their mouths

[psymachine]

I never feel like the bad guy 'Cause I always know how to win... But now we can't reach each other So, I start to wonder As it crawls underneath my skin I never feel like the bad guy But I always am

[aestheticsarereal]

Finders Keepers, Horny Losers- e.m

Part 1

a/n: THIS CAME TO ME ONE LATE NIGHT AFTER ONE TOO MANY BOWLS. Just pure filth, but enjoy at your disposal. 

Summary: Eddie's long time best friend finds something interesting and decides to explore her curiosity.

Warnings: Pure porn. Use of sex toys, heavy mention of drugs, swearing, oral (m! receiving), fem!reader, slightly dom!reader, mention of creampie if you squint, pet names, I think that’s it?? MDNI–18+ ONLY! 

wc: 3.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader best friend

Requests are open!

DO NOT PUBLISH MY WORK ANYWHERE

photo credit: N/A

You weren’t exactly looking for your best friend’s sex toy. Honest to God. Eddie had sent you on a mission to get your favorite bowl to smoke out of for the next session the curly haired boy started. It had been a blistering summer day in the middle of July. Peak heat was burning down on your sweat coated skin and neither of you could take the abuse of the rays any longer. 

You had haphazardly thrown on some band shirt that Eddie had laying on the ground. An old Iron Maiden shirt that was starting to get holes in the collar and sleeves. You praised Eddie for always buying oversized shirts so he could share them with you, something he had picked up on early in your friendship. 

It fell just a bit below where your ass and thighs connected. It had covered the black bikini bottoms that had been completely dry from sitting out in the Indiana heat. “Jesus Eddie, have you ever heard of a bookshelf? Or some sort of organization?” You rolled your eyes as you hung up his beloved denim vest on a hanger in his closet as you could hear him mumble some half-ass remark. No wonder Eddie lost everything, he never put anything away. You recalled the multitude of times that you had practically begged him to let you clean his room. His defense was that creative people had messy rooms and if anything had changed you would be “damaging” his creative genius. 

Socks, shirts, and boxers had littered the floor and chair in his room. You were surprised he hadn’t discovered a new fungi species in this abyss. He was careless with his smoking equipment so you had figured it would be on the floor. Dropping to be on your hands and knees, you began rummaging under the bed that had been all too familiar. Textbooks from sophomore biology and barely worn pants were scattered all over. Shoving things to the side as it had been too dark to see under, your hand collided with something that you couldn’t make out. The base felt cylindrical and got wider at the top with some sort of spongy dome on the top.

Your arm retracted with the unknown object in your right arm until it saw the light of day. Your eyes went wide and your left hand smacked over your mouth hoping your gasp wasn’t loud enough for the boy in the next room to hear. You weren’t meant to see this because it was under his bed but your curiosity got the better of you anyway. It had been such a shock to discover your best friend’s personal pocket pussy. The thought of him actually having used it made something in your lower stomach burn.  

You inspected the pink silicone toy with a decent anatomy on top. The flesh tone and outline of the clit and labia made your mind race with different situations in which Eddie would use it. You couldn’t help but take your finger and run the tip of it around the artificial slit. It felt clean and smelt of antibacterial soap. At least it was a bit comforting to know he properly washed this thing. ‘How long has he had this?’ ‘Where did he get it?’ ‘How often does he use this?’ All these questions were flooding into your brain with each second that passed.

It must have been why didn’t hear the creaking of his door opening. “Y/N–what are you doing?” You let out a small scream as you tried hiding the toy as if it were your secret and not his. “Eds I I didn’t mean to find it, I swear. My hand just grazed this thing and I grabbed it and pulled it out and if I had any idea of what it was I would never have pulled it out. You know it’s normal for guys to have things like this–”. “Y/N please stop talking.” He couldn’t move from his place in the doorway. Partially from being embarrassed that you had found his little toy but also from you being on your knees with his shirt riding up on your hips, revealing your thighs that had been sticking together all day due to the cruel heat. 

Your eyes scanned over his body. His cheeks were turning bright red and you could make out the slight tips of his ears burning with embarrassment as well. His chest became flushed, which made for a fun juxtaposition with the black ink on his chest. It was a rare occasion that you had ever seen Eddie shirtless, but was it a pleasure. Traveling further south, small black hairs were scattered under his gray sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips. Your eyes averted their attention back to his face as you had this dumbfounded look on your face. 

Still holding the fleshlight in your hands you brought it to your front and stood up so you had finally been at some sort of eye level with him. His eyes darted down to the sight of your small hands gripping the toy he often used after you would visit, which had been an often occurrence. “Eddie–” “Y/N–”. The two of you are rambling at the same time. He stopped talking and motioned for you to explain how you got yourself into this sticky situation. “Honest to God Eddie, this was a mistake. I never knew you even owned one a-and I am just so sorry.” Your small and delicate hands were squeezing the flesh silicon, in fear he wouldn’t notice how flustered you had been. 

His eyes softened at your nerves and he chuckled through his own embarrassment that he had been struggling with. “Darling it’s okay. I am not mad at you and clearly I should have hid it away better. I know you weren’t looking for it.” He gently took baby steps to you as he noticed you were still tensing up. His hands met yours as he slowly pried it from your slightly shaky hands. In his left hand, he held the toy and in the right he was guiding you to sit down. Your back felt like it had been in flames with his hand on the mid of your back. It felt heavy with the extra weight of his bulky rings. 

“Y/N, there is really no need to be upset over this. Trust me.” His hand was going up and down trying to sooth your nerves. You just groaned into your hands as you hunched over, shielding yourself from your best friend. “I know it’s just an intimate item and clearly your best friend isn’t supposed to see it. I mean it would be like you finding my vibra–”. You barely finished the sentence before you felt his hand stall. Sitting as stiff as a board you look to your left to see a wide eyed look and a shit eating grin slapped on the curly haired boy. “Oh so you have your own selection of toys I see?” “No! Ignore that comment.” 

He started laughing as you stood up and snatched the fake pussy from his hands. “C’mon Y/n, you know I am just messing with you. Masturbation is completely normal and healthy and–”. “Stop it Eddie. You sound just like my mother, Jesus.” He could see you examining the fleshlight in your hand as you inspected the curves and grooves that were supposed to be the lips and clit. “Stick your fingers inside.” Your head shot straight up to meet his eyes in disbelief. “That’s gross. You’ve stuck your dick in this. I am not doing that. Plus you must forget I know what a vagina feels like. I don’t need to feel a fake one.” He snorted out a laugh at your blatant disgust as you still kept looking at it. 

It was a standard one that you could get from any sex shop. A black plastic cylindrical holder with the silicone toy stuffed inside for maximum pleasure. “Yet you still seem to be intrigued by it even if my dick has been inside it.” You rolled your eyes at the cocky comment, but your cheeks betrayed in revealing the blush that it sent to your face. “I dunno. I’ve heard of them before. I just have never seen one, let alone held one.” You were going to ask your next question but hesitated. He could sense this and leaned back on his elbows looking at you. “Go ahead, ask whatever you want.” 

You took a deep breath and swallowed your nerves. “What does it feel like when you use it?” His left eyebrow sort of shot up, not in disbelief or shock but just surprised that you had the balls to say it out loud. “Well, it does its job at feeling like a pussy sometimes. I use lube and obviously it feels very wet. The silicone part is pushed in there pretty tight so it feels very snug when I use it.” You slightly nodded, not sure of what answer you had been expecting. Your next question came out in a bit of a croak. “Does it feel good?” His laugh echoed through the room as he held his stomach. It was kind of cute how innocent you looked. Your eyes darted from him to the toy. “Yes–it does feel good. But it isn’t the real thing, ya know?” 

You mentally scolded yourself as you were sure it felt good to him. “Do you use it a lot?” You wanted to sew your mouth shut so you could stop from the self-inflicted torture. “You are curious today dalin’. Uh, yea. To answer your question, I do use it pretty often.” The two of you sat in silence. You couldn’t help it. You wanted more answers but dare not ask the questions. That’s why Eddie was so good. He could practically hear the question in his head as he was spilling out an answer. “Y/n, to answer a question I know you have. I may use it a lot. I use it just about every time you come over to visit. Obviously I don’t use it when you’re here or when you spend the night but yea…”

You couldn’t bear to look him in his eyes. It felt like your heart could leap out of your chest at any given moment. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Eddie scoot down to the foot of the bed. He pulled your legs closer to him, making you shuffle your feet in between his legs. It always drove you crazy when he would manspread. His hands glided over yours. “Hey I’m sorry if that was too much. I don’t want to scare you off or anything. I just wanted to be open with you.” You shook your head and chuckled a bit. “I’m not upset. Just a little surprised.” “What, you don’t think I don’t see how you look at me darlin’?” You turned your head to the right so you couldn’t make eye contact. “I had hoped you wouldn’t.” 

“Too late now. I guess the pussy is out of the bag.” You couldn’t help but laugh which had you looking him in the eyes as he was clearly proud of that one. Your laughter died down and your smile dropped. “Were you–were you going to use it after I left today?” This definitely took him by surprise and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed your question. His right hand came up and scratched the back of his head as he let out an almost shameful ‘yes’. 

You took in his answer and immediately followed up with another question. This time all bets were off the table. “Can I use it on you?” he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “What?” “I said–.” “No, I heard what you said.” “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured I would save you the time later by doing it for you.” For some reason, those words went straight to his cock. He thought it was incredibly hot that you were being this bold. “Do you want to do this angel?” “I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t.” He chuckled at your sassy reply. There was his girl. 

“I mean if you really want to, be my guest.” This was all you needed as you sank to your knees, maintaining eye contact. You made yourself extremely close to him as you set down the toy to his left thigh. Your hands creeped their way up to his low waist band. You could see his stomach contract and his muscles tensing as your fingers skimmed the fabric over his pelvic bone. “Don’t be a tease baby.” This led you to pay more attention to the very obvious tent that had been growing in his sweats. “So big,” you mumbled more to yourself. You had always heard the rumors but now you had your own confirmation. 

“It’s all your baby. All for you.” He knew what to say and it immediately went down to your soaked bikini bottoms. Taking no time, your hands pulled down his sweats to the middle of his thighs, allowing his erection to spring up. It bobbed slightly against his stomach as he was still holding himself up. It curved slightly upward and there had been a prominent vein that ran on the underside of the shaft. It led right up to the cut red tip. Smaller dark curls littered the bottom yet they looked trimmed. The sight alone made you go feral. Admiring it like it had been a sculpture in an art museum. “Touch it sweetheart.” His words snapped you out of your daze. 

Your left hand reached out to gently hold it in your hand. It was slightly heavy and had a velvet sort of touch to it. You gently squeezed his cock in your hand and he slightly hissed through his teeth. Just then a dribble of precum emerged from his slit. Without thinking your tongue captured the slightly salty mixture. He gasped at the feeling of your tongue as he hadn’t been expecting it. His right arm reached out to pet your hair and your tongue swirled around his tip. He scooped up as much hair as he could while being gentle with you. Your lips wrapped themselves around his head as your tongue started to trace over the vein. This caused him to grasp your hair harder causing a slight groan to be muffled. “Do you like that sweetheart? Like it when I pull your hair with your pretty lips wrapped around my fucking cock?” 

Your eyes said it all. His head just pulled back as you went further down his shaft as your cheeks hollowed out. Painfully going slow to tease him. Paying extra attention to his head. You pulled up right as you could tell he had been enjoying it. A small ‘pop’ echoed in his room. Some more precum leaked out as it slightly fell down his member. “See what you do to me darlin’?” You laughed dryly as you reached for his toy, completely forgetting why you were in this position. Hovering over him, eyes locked, you spit on his cock. 

That was an image he would engrain in his memory. His sweet girl on her knees spitting on his cock like a little whore. “Fuck baby.” He moaned at the sight and closed his eyes. He had been so hard, it was easy to gently push the fleshlight over the tip. He let out a loud gasp as he felt it glide over his head with ease. “That’s it baby, make me feel good.” His eyes were screwed shut as you brought the imitation pussy over the tip slowly. Barely pushing down and teasing the fuck out of him. For a few more moments you continued your pattern of just fucking his tip but wanted to see him more fucked out. That’s when you sunk it down completely on him. Bringing it to the base and bottoming out of the toy. 

A long and strained moan escaped from his throat as his arm gave out from under him. He reached for the ragged quilt around him, trying to grasp onto something. It felt good to be the one controlling his pleasure. He had always been so cocky and confident and yet here you were fucking with cock with a toy. He lifted his head to make eye contact with you and you couldn’t help but smile slightly. Seeing that fucked out look in his eyes as they glossed over with lust. He looked beautiful like this. You brought it up and brought it down with force this time. He never knew that getting this toy in hopes of helping his thoughts of fucking you come true would lead to this. 

Your torture on his cock quickened with your pace. “Does that feel good Eddie?” Your voice was so quiet, not too loud than a whisper. You were still trying to be innocent and it was driving him up the walls. “You have no idea how good it feels darlin’.” Your hand slightly squeezed the plastic holder as your pace quickened more. Your spit was mixing with his precum and it had been lubbing him up quickly, letting out an almost squelching sound. “I always imagine fucking your pussy when I pound it this–this thing.” He rushed out his confession as you continued your assault on his rock hard cock. You didn’t say anything as you just watched the fleshlight swallow his cock every time you pushed it down and pulled it up. 

You couldn’t help but think this is what it would look like if you were riding him instead of using his own toy on him. “Y/n, sweetheart, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last. You just feel so fucking good.” That made your eyes meet his as you bit your lip and continued your fast movements of going up and down on his member. “Yeah? Are you going to cum thinking about how this could be my pussy instead Eddie?” His eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull at the sound of your question. “God yes. Please baby, make me cum in that tight pussy of yours.” His pleas were like hymns. 

You knew it wouldn’t take too much to make him cum so quickly while you were still pumping his cock into his toy, your head darted down to his balls. Excitedly taking one into your mouth, you rolled it around while gently sucking on it. This caused his hips to fuck up into your hand at a distorted rhythm. “That’s it baby. That’s it.” He was so close and he didn’t want this to end, but he needed to cum. You continued to tongue at him as you kept pumping him when you felt his hips still and you could feel his cock twitch. “That’s it Eddie, cum.” His hips rutted up slightly as moans of your name fell from his lips. You could make out a slightly sheer coat of sweat on his forehead as he sat himself back up. 

You didn’t take the toy off immediately. You slightly pumped his overstimulated cock to see how sensitive he got. He gasped and tried to move away. You lightly laughed as you carefully brought the toy up and off of him. His cum quickly followed and dripped all over his stomach and pelvis. It truly did look like he just came inside a pussy and that made something in your lower stomach churn. “That was fucking incredible.” He was slightly out of breath as he sat up fully. He reached over and took off the distressed Iron Maiden shirt. He used it to whip the cum off of him and the toy, as much as he could. 

“Do you do that with all your shirts?” “That’s what you're concerned about right now?” “Well, I do wear them often so yes.” He couldn’t believe you and just laughed as he tucked himself back into his sweats. Tossing you an old Sabbath shirt, he made his way to the headboard, gesturing for you to join him. You crawled up to him and slotted yourself under his left arm. “I think we should do that more often, but maybe not with any sex toys,” you shyly said. “Yea? I would love to do that too.” 

You both sat in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. You spotted something on his nightstand to the right of him. Sitting on top of an issue of Heavy Metal was the glass pipe that had gotten you into all of this. “Fuck me,” you muttered as you reached across his torso to grasp the delicate item. “Can you pack a bowl while I get some snacks?”

[writingwip]

A fic I probably wont finish but the thoughts there. Anyone’s free to take it up if they want. Basically Five wakes up and finds out he’s the god of a cult. Klaus better explain this one in .5 seconds or Five’s gonna have his head on a stake. 

Five had found himself sat on a throne of sorts, expression wild and confused. People were lined up on both sides with fruits and drinks held neatly on platters and kneeling stiffly with faces respectfully angled downwards. They all had on similar clothing, soft flowing fabrics that draped over them but fit nicely, deep blues and soft beiges. The room was lit with candles and incense that made him feel sleepy and lightheaded. 

A bizarre experience is how Five would put it. Bizarre and slightly amusing and confusing and interesting. 

He had caught the eyes of a figure standing out among the rest, closest to him and wearing slightly altered clothes. He had a little cylindrical hat with funny symbols Five realized were his math equations, only if all the letters and numbers were shoved into one image haphazardly made to look semi-symmetric. His eyes lit up as they made eye contact and a smile quickly took over his face. Five already wanted to punch him. 

“Awake at last, my lord,” and oh jesus, he was being called a lord. What had he gotten into this time? “We have long awaited you to arise. Welcome back, dear lord,” and the man deeply bowed. Five wasn’t sure whether to run yet or see where this was leading. “Lord Klaus had predicted today would be the day you awoken and joined us once again. Such divinity has blessed us and we had quickly gotten ready for your arrival.” Klaus? What had that oaf done? Five sighed and stood up. 

He had been sitting criss-cross on a soft, velvet pillow sat on a raised platform. Surrounding it were more candles and a burning stick of incents strong enough to make Fives head dizzy. This was ridiculous. 

“Where is Klaus?” Five asks the man. He seemed downright euphoric that Five had spoken, let alone directly to him. He was quick to fully stand and reach his hand out, offering support as Five’s legs wobbled. Five shot him a glare and raised his hand as a warning. He would slap this man if it came to it which, judging by how he’s acting already, it will. 

“Lord Klaus and Lady Vanya are awaiting you in the congregation room,” The man says quickly, shuffling forward slightly before turning back to Five to see if he was following. As if he were a child. Five sneered and walked in front of the man if just to prove a point. He felt an ache in his chest and eyed the food platters suspiciously, taking an apple off of one. The woman who was holding it squeaked and when Five looked away he heard a bang. He was pretty sure she passed out. Five had half a mind to tell everyone to fuck off but his head was too busy trying to figure out what was going on to really put the thoughts into action. He wondered idly if it were poisoned or drugged, but quickly pushed that thought away. These people were way too adoring of him to try to touch him, let alone poison him. Plus, he was almost sure Klaus wouldn’t let a weird cult drug him. Almost. He shoved the apple into his mouth and made it to the end of the room, pushing the two doors open with a grunt. 

Sweet, succulent fresh air invaded his lungs. It wasn’t choking in incense and body heat. Thank god. The door opened up to a bright room with an arched dome ceiling entirely made of glass. Sunlight streamed in and lit up the white pillars supporting it all, dancing across the fresh green leaves that decorated the walls and sat prettily in the center of the room. It had soft looking benches lining the walls, though other than that it was barren. It was a room made to look pretty and that’s about it, apparently. Such a waste of space. Five stepped in and looked around. There were three doors on each wall. Five looked back to the man trailing behind him and gave him a pointed look. The poor buy was sweating bullets. 

“Right this way sir,” He stumbled out and veered off to the left. The air was fresh and crisp and slightly cold, like a cloudless october morning. It made his fingertips cold to the touch. He rubbed them together and followed the man. 

“Who are you?” Five asked, just so he could stop calling him ‘the man’. He jumped up at the broken silence and looked nervously towards Five. 

“I’m the head priest, my lord. Priest Bence, of your religion, sir,” Five’s brow rose at ‘your religion’ but otherwise didn’t comment on it. He’d grill Klaus on it when they got there, for now he’d like to enjoy the pretty scenery and let his stiff joints loosen up and pop. 

They ventured through a few more rooms with similar architecture, though some were more furnished than others and were obviously meant for people to hang out in. It was all very cozy and bright, something Five wasn’t much used to. 

With a final push of a door the lighting changed. It was still bright but it shone with a dulled yellow glow. Soft pews lead up like dominos to a stained glass window portraying… something. Five couldn’t really wrap his head around the colors, though they were obviously meant to represent a silhouette of a scene. Five wasn’t much of a visualiser anyways. 

Directly below the intricate glass were his siblings. Two of them at least. Klaus was sat on a bright pink bean bag chair that looked wildly out of place front and center in a church setting, gesturing bodily as he narrated whatever odd story Klaus spun. Vanya was standing, leaning against the wall and looking at Klaus with a smile. 

When the door closed behind them, the two looked up. Smiles, soft and warm and kind and so uncanny directed at Five, were immediately on their faces. 

“Five…” Vanya said, voice choked up as if she were about to cry. Five really hoped she wouldn’t because he was lacking in social skills and wouldn’t know how to comfort her. Thankfully she seemed to be holding it in. 

“Five, buddy! We’ve been waiting like, forever for you! Took you long enough, sleeping beauty!” Klaus was grinning ear to ear and even he seemed a little choked up. What was going on? Five made his way up to his siblings as they patiently waited. Head Priest Bence trailed after him like a lost duckling all the way, making as if to grab for Five then quickly putting his hands back. It was odd and awkward and Five just wanted him to leave. 

When he got in front of them Vanya leapt in for the kill, hugging Five tightly and burrowing her head in his shoulder. Klaus was standing now, kicking the bean bag slightly to the side and squeezing the two siblings. 

“Group hug!” Klaus laughed. Fives fingers twitched. There was silence for a second before Klaus looked directly at Head Priest Bence. “Dude we’re having a moment. Go, shoo, off to the dinning hall or whatever,” and before he could even finish his sentence the man was out the door, eager to accept any of their orders it seemed. Five watched him go with detached amusement. He pulled away, though both siblings looked dejected. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Five asked first, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Vanya and Klaus looked at eachother knowingly. This can’t be good. 

“Straight to the point as always, Five-o!” Klaus grinned. Vanya snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s good to have you back. It's… it’s been a while,” she said and her eyes fogged up again. 

“How long exactly?” Five glowered. He felt like he wasn’t going to like this answer. The two siblings sent each other looks again. He really hoped they didn’t learn telepathy or something. Vanya looked away first and Klaus looked victorious. 

By god they did, didn’t they?

“It’s uh… it’s been a couple… hundred… years?” She stutters out and looks at the opposite wall with great interest, fiddling with her hands. Five wants to either slam his head through the stain glass or scream into one of the very soft pillows. Possibly both if he positioned himself right. Klaus looked at him with a shit eating grin. He knew exactly what this was about. 

Five could settled for neither of those options and instead wanted to punch his brother directly in his stupid nose. 

“You really are sleeping beauty with your hundred year rest,” Klaus grins. 

It would be so easy. He could probably break his nose.

Surprising even himself, Five showed an impressive amount of restraint. He only punched him in the gut. Vanya choked on a giggle as Klaus hunched over. 

“I wasn’t even the one to tell you,” he wheezed out pathetically. “This is totally unfair.” Five scoffed. 

“You know damn well Vanya’s my favorite,” and Klaus said nothing to that, admitting defeat and slumping down to the floor. Five looked down on him like a lion looks down on a prairie mouse. Vanya smiles goofily next to him, crouching down and patting Klaus’ back. 

“Why didn’t you guys just, i dunno, wake me up?” Five hisses, arms tightening around himself. Vanya opens her mouth to reply but Five cuts her off, “And before you say it’s one of those self-induced healing comas, I know I had like a thousand viles of that kick start you could have pumped into me”. They’re both quiet. 

Klaus still seemed winded so Vanya spoke up after a few hesitant seconds. “Your lab… may or may not have… blown up…” She smiles nervously. Five clutches his arms tightly against his chest and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting his tense shoulders unwind. He opens his eyes and smiles back. 

Vanya screams, sharp and ringing, and books it towards the door. Klaus is scrambling to stand up and clutch the bean bag up to his face, cowering in a corner. Five’s smile widens and a vein throbs in his head. 

He had been awake for less than twenty minutes and he already felt a headache ebbing its way into his temple. 

With pinpoint accuracy he picks up the nearest object, a wooden pedestal that was probably supposed to have a book on it, and chucks it directly at Vanya. She’s out the door in time, however, and now there's a wooden pedestal halfway out the door. He hadn’t been trying to actually hit her, he never would, but hearing that sentence had him teetering the line more than he had ever thought possible. 

By the way she said it, she definitely had something to do with it. 

Five looks over at Klaus with a cold glare and he flinches deeper into the small corner. He sighs, head in his hands, and takes a minute to compose himself. Klaus peaks his head over the bean bag and gives him an innocent look. 

“Okay, I’m fine now,” Five declares and Vanya shakkily opens the door. Wood Splinters rain down from the gaping hole only plugged up by the pedestal itself. She creeps up to him, though she has no real fear lining her shoulders. 

“So let me get this straight. I was out of commission for a few hundred years and since none of you could wake me up, you decided to start a cult,” Five practically growls. Klaus is now stomach-down on the bean bag, kicking his feet to make it slide back over to his siblings. 

Klaus makes a placating expression of contemplation before shrugging. “Yeah pretty much,” He says. 

Five contemplates murder, for just one second. One beautiful second. 

“And why am I a part of it, pray tell?” Five asks, annoyed. He had made it specifically clear that he didn’t want to be a cult leader or a ‘god’ a good few thousand years ago after the train wreck that was his first and last cult. At least, it used to be his last. He was genuinely confused, knowing his siblings would comply with at least those restrictions when asked to. Vanya's face screws up a bit, looking almost pained. 

“When you, uh, were attacked and put in that state, we weren’t sure where your body was. We’re still not entirely sure. We just got word a few hundred years ago that there was a small cult forming around an ‘immortal sleeping child’ and we were willing to take a gamble and look into it,” Vanya muttered out, seemingly embarrassed. So they had lost his body then? How?

“What happened? Why was I attacked in the first place?” Five asks, walking over to Klaus and sitting next to him. He leaned heavily onto the beanbag and Klaus shuffled over, though Five never climbed on. 

Vanya’s fingers grew somehow more twitchy. “That's the thing…”

Klaus beat her to it, though his usual happy air was completely gone. He looked serious for once. 

“It was one of us, and we don't know who”

[cc-sketchbook]

Y’all like Monsters? I hope you do because that’s what I did this week! 8D  So I have a comic I’ve been writing for a bit called “Monster” (which I will put a link to as a comment in the notes because Tumblr is weird about links to things...) and one of the things I like to do is take characters from things I like and turn them into well, monsters! Since I’ve been on an Invader Zim kick for a while I thought it was about time to do some for them! I even did a process video for it!

I ALSO wrote some neat little dossiers for each one past the “keep reading” :D hope you all enjoy them!

Vorare-Schism (Zim)

Size Rating: Titan (more than 5 stories tall)

Danger Rating: Apocalyptic (even a momentary manifestation of this monster causes natural disaster level damage)

Minions: yes

Nest: unknown

Vocalizations: Makes sounds like distorted or corrupted audio; resembles laughing, crying, or screaming. Accompanied by additional sounds similar to recordings of "space sounds".

Behavior: Roaming/Aggressive

When manifested this creature seeks to consume all matter in its path, appearing to prefer organic matter and man-made structures/objects. It seizes its targets with mechanical-like tentacles and "feeds" them to the mouth like opening in its central mass. It has been reported by magical girls who have survived an encounter with this creature that they find it difficult to look away from the "mouth" and that they experience a feeling of being "drawn in". These reports correspond with those that human and animal victims who make eye contact with the creature do not move or offer up any kind of resistance to it. Once enough matter has been consumed it "regurgitates" it in the form of a much smaller minion, bearing a strong resemblance to the "body" structure attached to it's "head". These minions are tethered to the main creature via cable like tendrils. Their main purpose seems to be to disable or kill anything not dominated by their master. This creature has been seen to move in a somewhat erratic direction as though searching for something. The only deviation from this behavior is when it is confronted by the creature labeled Tinnebriel, whereupon the two will fight until Vorare-Schism eventually kills it after which it will disappear, presumably back to its nest. It is noted that no matter how many times Vorare-Schism has killed Tinnebriel it does not consume it, whether it chooses not to or physically can't is unknown. Magical girls are advised to avoid confronting this creature directly and focus on rescuing civilians. They are also strongly advised not to try to follow it back to its nest as none who have attempted to do so have survived.

Solitaria (Gaz)

Size Rating: Large (between one and two stories in height)

Danger Rating: Lethal

Minions: none

Nest: yes

Vocalizations: none. However, is accompanied by varying volumes of static.

Behavior: Territorial/Provoking

This creature has set up a nest in the remnants of a mall. The reality-warping effects of its nest have recreated the location as fully functioning, with bright neon colors and twisted geometry. Solitaria does not leave its nest and seems to spend most of it's time within it toying with electronics or interacting with the attractions it has created. It has been observed that the substance constantly flowing from its smaller more animal-like skull bears a visual similarity to paint and can be seen evaporating after it has been deposited on the floor, becoming the gas that makes up the lower portion of the main body. The smell has been described as acrid and acidic and indeed victims who have come into physical contact with the substance are found to have moderate to severe burns. At times it appears to become frustrated and throw violent tantrums, smashing and breaking any nearby objects or structures and becoming more aggressive towards intruders. Despite its highly destructive power Solitaria is not inherently aggressive, choosing to ignore intruders unless provoked. What may provoke the creature, however, is unclear, the two most common triggers appear to be making a great deal of noise and attempting to approach it, but other "offenses" have included: knocking over an empty soda can, touching the wrong archaic arcade machine, and looking at it for too long. Magical girls are advised to engage only in groups of at least four.

Tinnebriel (Dib)

Size Rating: Large (between one and two stories in height)

Danger Rating: High

Minions: none

Nest: yes

Vocalizations: Unusual. Resembles young boy reading a series of numbers in a similar fashion to a "numbers station"

Behavior: Territorial/Migratory/Aggressive

This creature is unusual in that while it possesses a "nest" and stays within, it is also prone to moving to a new place and bringing its nest with it. It seems to favor places like museums, schools, and libraries, which has caused concern that this may be a monster capable of seeking information, though to what end is currently unknown. The interior of the nest is based upon wherever it is currently located, the lighting within will be severally lowered or put out entirely and replaced with fog and an ever distant blue light, geometry will fold in on itself and perspective will become distorted. The latter distortions are so extreme that no matter what size of a room or hallway, the creature has been observed moving through them with ease, even when it should not be able to. Of note is a giant cylindrical structure of some kind in the center of the nest made from sheets of metal and electronic parts. It possesses large glass apertures showing the interior to be filled with a swirling phosphoric blue substance similar in appearance to stellar plasma, possibly the source of the blue light. The creature can be seen scaling the structure and attempting to force objects into it, predominantly forms of writing: books, magazines, comics; and electronic items like laptops and phones, lending more to the theory that it is trying to collect information for some unknown purpose. It is very protective of its nest and will immediately seek out and attempt to kill any intruders or people already present in it's chosen location. In a disturbing turn of events, it has been reported that this monster vocalizes human speech, analogous of whatever the most common local language is. Despite this it doesn't seem capable of communication as all it does is recite numbers. Those who have heard it "speak" report feeling dizzy and lightheaded and as though something was "rooting around" in their head. The creature is surprisingly fast and agile despite having no legs and appearing to have lost the lower half of its body. It pulls itself around on it's larger arms and while not capable of prolonged or coordinated flight, it's many wings have been seen to propel it through the air when making large jumps. It has also been seen "flopping" along over rooftops while migrating. The most puzzling behavior however is Tinnebriel's heralding of Vorare-Schism's appearance, to the point that this change in behavior can be used to evacuate civilians in advance. Tinnebriel will abandon its nest and travel to the next location Vorare-Schism will appear in, at times up to a week before manifestation, the way Tinnebriel determines this is unknown. Once Vorare-Schism manifests Tinnebriel will attack it and will not stop until Vorare-Schism has killed it, often by vivisection. After a short time, Tinnebriel's body will dissolve in a manner similar to most slane monsters, but will almost immediately reappear at its last nest. Because of its value in predicting the appearance of a far worse creature it has been decided that magical girls are not to engage with the creature beyond keeping track of its movements and protecting civilians.

Scruffles (Gir)

Size Rating: Moderate (less than a story, taller than an adult human

Danger Rating: moderate

Minions: none

Nest: none

Vocalizations: animalistic squealing and shrieking

Behavior: Roaming/Provoking

[fangirlshrewt97]

Witcher Fic: I’ve Never Had A Friend Like You

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier|Dandelion

Characters:  Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier|Dandelion, Roach

Rating: Teen and Up (for swear words)

Warnings: None apply

Additional Tags:  Bonding, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Could be read as Romantic or Platonic, Injury,  Emotionally Constipated Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved, Touching, Self-Doubt

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Jaskier takes care of Geralt. This gives Geralt the time to realize how much the bard means to him. And how precious he makes Geralt feel.

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24017500

                                                           ******

The callouses always surprised him even they should have been the least surprising thing about this situation. Jaskier was soft with him, softer than any human had ever been with him. Or any had ever been with a Witcher, Geralt was willing to bet. The Basilisk poison was still coursing through his body, the potion he had taken before the fight the only reason he wasn’t dead. But he had been slow, still healing from dealing with a werewolf mere days ago, the Basilisk had been happy to put up a fight.

The poison had him in a half paralyzed state, his limbs feeling as though they were made of stone. Jaskier, the self-preservation lacking fool had wandered into the cave when Geralt had taken too long coming out even after the sounds of the fight ceded. Although, in this case it had worked out had it not? As had every other time Jaskier had followed Geralt and pulled him out of whatever trouble and injury he had gotten into. After nearly five years travelling together, the bard had adapted far better to the Path than Geralt would have believed possible.

So he was laid up on his bedroll, the darkness of the night being kept at bay within their camp due to only a small campfire Jaskier had whipped up in between stripping Geralt’s armor and cleaning the wound. He had also set up a small pot with water to boil. The bard had moved away to retrieve his potions from Roach’s saddlebags, still having difficulty telling the concoctions apart unless they were different colors.

“Alright, I have three different things that all smell three different kinds of awful. Which one would you like?” Jaskier announced lightly as he brandished his treasure in front of Geralt’s face. The fire was bright enough to make out the different colors. “Blink once for the black one, twice for the green, thrice for the transparent one.”

If he could, Geralt would have growled. As he couldn’t, instead he delivered the angriest two blinks Jaskier had ever seen. Unfazed, Jaskier set aside the black and transparent potions, and removed the cork of the green one, nearly dumping it when the full smell hit him. Geralt didn’t blame him, there was a reason Witchers swallowed potions in one gulp rather than sips after all.

“Oh Melitele! I think I am going to vomit. What the hell is in this Geralt?” When he saw the Witcher glaring at him, he sighed. “Right you can’t speak.”

Jaskier sat on his knees by Geralt’s head, using one hand to cup Geralt’s face gently and coaxing his jaw open with it, before pouring the potion he had into his mouth.

The potion burned on the way down, allowing Geralt to track it as it made it’s way through his body and entered his blood, setting it on fire. He started unconsciously gritting his teeth as much as he could to obscure the pain, only stopping when Jaskier pressed his calloused fingers against his forehead.

“Here, darling, unclench your jaw. There you go. Yes just like that.” Jaskier said as he guided Geralt to relax. “Open your eyes?”

Bright amber met light blue, and Jaskier smiled. “Thank you Geralt. I am going to wrap your wound now, and I need to move your shirt. Blink once for ok.”

Geralt blinked.

“Good. This might hurt for a second, but I’ll try to be quick,” Jaskier warned as he untucked the Witcher’s tunic from his pants. He then put his hands on Geralt’s uninjured side and pushed, using his own body for Geralt to fall against until he was on his side.

With a fast yank, Jaskier moved the shirt until it was below Geralt’s armpits, and then he produced a roll of bandages Geralt hadn’t noticed before. Taking the rag he had been using to clean the wound, he dipped it into the pot of water, wringing it till it was damp and lightly applied it to the wound, moving quickly but gently to clear any other dirt or mud in the wound. Once done, he bandaged it, motions practiced after 5 years of doing them.

“Alright, all patched up. Now, blink once for staying on your side, or twice for me to roll you onto your back.”

Blink. Blink.

“Brace yourself” Jaskier warned softly before rolling Geralt onto his back. Once settled, he reached into his own pack and brought out his spare blankets, and rolled them into a tight cylindrical shape before scooting over to Geralt’s feet.

Gently, because Jaskier, for all his loudness and brashness, and eye-hurting brightness, was always gentle with Geralt. Geralt confessed, he did not understand the bard most days, but least of all when Jaskier not only fearlessly followed a Witcher other humans avoided like death, but treated him with kindness the like he could not recall ever being shown. And he did it so easily, because for him, it was easy. He considered Geralt a friend, declared it proudly in the empty woods as often as in crowded taverns, unquestionably showing everyone who his loyalties lie with.

Geralt his teeth once again as a new pain shot through him, even in his paralyzed state.

“You broke your ankle. Although, considering your healing speed, we will probably be back on the road in two days,” Jaskier ranted, “But then again, considering your stubbornness, I would not be surprised if you woke me up tomorrow at the crack of dawn and yelled at me to move faster. Oh Jaskier, slow human bard, hurry up and keep up with me, trained Witcher with the power to snap you in half like a twig.”

But Geralt had to give it to the bard, he was smart. He had used his rant to keep Geralt focused on his words and not his hands, and sneakily placed the rolled up the blanket under his broken ankle.

He placed a warm palm around the skin above his ankle, the heat reaching Geralt’s very core. One thing he had never expected before meeting Jaskier was to have a human be so unafraid of him. Don’t get him wrong he didn’t want the humans to be afraid of him. And he had met his fair share of humans who were brave enough (or drunk enough) to come and hold a conversation with him. He had had whores who touched him as if with desire, but whether that was truly because of him being the object of their desire, or his coin, he never cared enough to sense.

And then there was Jaskier. He had never been afraid to come near Geralt, to get up in his face and yell at him if he was reckless, to bandage his wounds when he got hurt. He touched Geralt as if it was a gift, not a duty or a chore. The first time he had touched Geralt, the Witcher had slammed his wrist against the nearest tree, a cruel curl of satisfaction at the bard’s cry. Thinking back on it now, it makes his stomach curdle, Jaskier had taken all the abuse and insults and vitriol Geralt had spewed on him and repaid him with steadfast loyalty and kindness, gutsy in his confrontation with any barkeep and tavern visitor who defamed the Witcher.  

Jaskier who touched him so gently, as if he was something precious, something worth protecting. Once, after a performance, half drunk on the raucous audience, and half plain drunk, he had thrown his arms around Geralt and pulled him in for a hug. It had left Geralt in a similar paralyzed state, stiff as a statue. He could not recall the last time someone had hugged him for the sake of doing so. And while the embrace itself had lasted mere seconds, the feelings it had stirred in Geralt had lasted him through the night and into the next week.

“Geralt.” Jaskier called out.

When Geralt opened his eyes from where they had fallen shut, Jaskier was half obscured by shadows, but he could still make out a fond smile on his face.

“You sleep now. The sooner you get better, the sooner we can get a move on.”

A faint rumble rolled through Geralt’s body, making Jaskier look up at his face again.

“Oh. Oh darling.” he exhaled.

He moved up from his current positioning, rising onto his knees. If he hadn’t already been paralyzed, Geralt knew he’d be frozen.

The callouses always surprised him even they should have been the least surprising thing about this situation. Calloused fingers touched his face hesitantly, caressing the thin skin before Jaskier’s thumb brushed under his eye. Geralt felt a slight coolness spread across his cheek and realized he had tears. He was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He hadn’t even realized his body was capable of doing so anymore.

Jaskier wiped his tears away with the same tenderness he treated Geralt, as if they were something precious to be treasured.

“I’m right here my dear. Right here.” Jaskier cooed. Normally, Geralt would have most likely bitten Jaskier off for such behavior, but paralyzed and entirely in the hands of the bard, Geralt did not feel as though his vulnerability was a weakness. Because for once, he trusted the person on the other side not to hurt him. And right there, with what felt like his entire body flayed open and every nerve exposed, Jaskier’s reverence felt as painful as a thousand scorpion bites and as soothing as a cool river bath on a burning summer day.

Geralt did not know when exactly he fell asleep, but when he stirred the next morning, it started with his brain waking up and the twitching of his extremities. There was also a pleasant heat curled up on his uninjured side. When he twisted his head, he saw Jaskier had coiled himself into a small ball, one arm thrown across the Witcher’s torso, the hand laying protectively over the bandaged area, and the other tucked between the two bodies. His forehead was resting on Geralt’s chest, and his breaths were smooth and even, still asleep.

Fearful of disturbing the sleeping bard, Geralt languidly stretched each of his extremities, biting back a groan at the satisfaction of being in control of his own body once again. Deciding to push his luck, considering Jaskier was usually a heavy sleeper, Geralt tried to stretch his spine as well, but froze and Jaskier emitted a small whine, and the arm around his waist tightened. Geralt lowered himself back to the bedroll, and stayed still as Jaskier shuffled in closer before settling once again. Geralt let out a deep breath. Craning his head, he surveyed the campsite. Off to one side he could see Roach was still asleep as well. The fire from last night had burned out, a small wisp of smoke blowing from the ashes. The pot where Jaskier had made dinner was turned upside down against the stones lining the fire pit.

Their saddle bags had been placed next to Roach, and Jaskier’s lute was leaning against the tree. Turning his head the other way, Geralt winced. His armor had been tossed carelessly into a pile last night, and his smell was telling him the blood would be a bitch to get out of. Their spare rags were put in a nearby pile, all bloody too. Frowning, Geralt looked around as he tried to find his swords, before he saw two sheaths peeking out beside Jaskier’s lute. Geralt supposed he should be grateful Jaskier had remembered to wipe down his swords and put them back in their sheaths.

Focusing on lifting on arm, Geralt gritted his teeth before succeeding, and gently moved it on top of the bard’s head. Twitching his fingers, he rubbed across the silky soft hair, so much shorter than his own,  but most likely much cleaner.

Geralt brushing out Jaskier’s hair with his fingers till he heard the bard shift and let out a small groan. He heard his heartbeat start to beat faster, and felt the hand over the bandages jerk as Jaskier woke up. Within one blink of the eye and the other Jaskier had lurched out of Geralt’s grasp, standing and spluttering. “Ah,Geralt, we, uh, I didn’t, I mean I did, but not like that, uh no, that’s not true, uh…” Jaskier trailed off at Geralt’s unimpressed stare. “Please don’t kill me?” he squeaked out finally.  

Geralt sighed. “Thank you Jaskier.”

“No I totally get, but in my defense, wait what?” Jaskier started to babble before he processed what Geralt said.

“Thank you Jaskier” Geralt repeated, customary growl starting to creep into his voice.

“Oh, um. You’re welcome.” Jaskier said as he stood up straighter. There was a beat as both men just stared at each other. As usual, Jaskier was the one to break the silence. “Let me check your wound?” he asked.

Geralt grunted his consent. To be entirely honest, he could feel the skin had knit itself back together overnight, considering that despite the circumstances, Jaskier had been diligent in cleaning the wound to lessen the possibility of infection. He could check the wound himself. But Geralt wanted to feel those soft calloused hands on his skin again, enjoy a few more stolen touches where he was held like he was worth protecting.

He stayed still as Jaskier sunk back to his knees besides where Geralt had pulled himself up to sit on the bedroll. He managed to control his breathing enough to mask the deep inhale he took when Jaskier bent to remove the bandages, his noses filling with the scent of Jaskier’s vanilla and citrus bathing oils as well as the day old sweat from the road. He could also scent his own smell on the bard, and a small primal part of his brain surged with foreign possessiveness over the bard.

“Well, the wound looks all healed up to me Geralt, though the skin is still a little pink, so it might be tender.” Jaskier commented, rising back up to sit on his heels, unwound bandages in his hands.

“Hmm.”

“What are the chances I convince you to not wear armor today? Give the wound some more breathing room.”

“You want me to walk with you through well known monster infested wounds with no armor?” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier turned pink. “Ah, I guess not. Well if you don’t mind a late start, there is a fresh stream really close to here, I’ll just go wash these real quick and get back. I’ll bring our food packs to you, and you can start on breakfast in the meanwhile?”

Before Jaskier could move too far away though, Geralt’s hand whipped out and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist. He simultaneously heard and felt the bard’s pulse jump, but it wasn’t out of fear, just surprise. Again, what other human would trust him that much? He couldn’t even look at Jaskier, focusing instead on Roach, who was observing the proceedings with her usual knowing gaze.

“I mean it Jaskier, thank you.”

Jaskier tilted his head as he looked at him from beneath ridiculously long lashes. “Alright? Honestly Geralt, I’m glad you are starting to realize manners matter, but I have bandaged you up before.”

Geralt harrumphed out of frustration. “Not just- I’m not saying thank you for the bandages. Thank you for -” The words choked their way out of his throat. “being my friend.”

There was another beat. Geralt felt his own heart speed up, pumping painfully against his chest. The sounds of the forest seemed dull in comparison, and he still couldn’t get himself to look at those blue eyes.

He was so lost in his thoughts he was taken entirely by surprise when two arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, Jaskier leaning his weight against Geralt’s chest. After an aborted jerking of his hands, Geralt cautiously placed his own hands on the bard’s back, struck by the difference between their builds.

He nearly jumped upright when he felt something cold hit his neck, and panicked further when he realized the bard was crying.

“Jaskier?! Jaskier what- why? I am sor-”

Jaskier pulled himself away, eyes red and puffy but determined as his hands dug themselves into the Witcher’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare you bastard. Don’t you dare apologize for calling me your friend or for whatever other reason you can think of.”

Geralt was dumbfounded. “Why are you crying?”

Jaskier laughed, removing one hand to wipe away his own face before giving Geralt a dazzling smile. “I’m happy, idiot.”

“Uh-”

“Geralt, I know you care about me even if you never say so in words. Mainly because I know how difficult words are for you. So thank you for saying the words out loud.”

“It’s the least you deserve.” the words escaped before Geralt could stop them.

“Huh?”

“I just-” Geralt exhaled. “I cannot remember the last time someone held me like I… like I was something breakable. Like I was important. You are the first human in- no the first person in general in a very long time to look at me and see me beyond my skills to kill or fuck or be a body to put in between yourself and danger. Thank you.”

Jaskier looked ready to cry again.

“Please don’t cry.”

Jaskier hiccuped his sob, wiping both eyes once again before nodding.

“I won’t. And Geralt? You are something worth protecting. You are not just my bestest friend in the whole world. You are a hero, you are kind, and you are moral, and you care. You are as far from a beast as any person I’ve met. Hell I have known humans who are far more monstrous than you could ever imagine being. I am sad that you have not had this. Someone who can tell you this before. But I promise you now, for as long as I am by your side, I will protect you.”

The words sounded ridiculous, but Geralt knew in his bones that Jaskier would stay true to his promise, to his vow.

So, the only thing the Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken this extraordinary human bard had transformed into the White Wolf, could do was haul Jaskier into another hug and hold on for a long time, tears once again falling as he let go of decades of loneliness and anguish. Knowing Jaskier would catch him.

Knowing Jaskier would hold him for as long as he needed.

Knowing Jaskier would protect the heart he had helped Geralt realize he still had.

[adenei]

The Mixtape Mishap - Chapter 7

Countdowns & Reveals

Ron walked down the stairs first, with his shoulders hunched over in defeat. He stalked back over to the chair he’d been occupying before Harry and Ginny had forced him to go talk to Hermione and clear the air once and for all. He saw his best friend and sister give each other a look before Harry walked tentatively over to Ron.

“Er, everything alright, mate?” 

“Sure, yeah, everything’s just peachy!” Ron said sarcastically.

“Erm, alright, then…” Harry didn’t think now was a good time to ask for an explanation, but one look from Ginny told him he had to figure out what was going on. Why’d you have to go and fall for her anyways, you slick git. And she has no idea she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Or does she? Who the hell knows with girls. Harry abandoned his inner dialogue to appease Ginny, and to hopefully get himself out of this uncomfortable situation between best friend and crush.

“Were you able to talk to her?” Harry asked.

“Nope. She never came out of the bloody loo. I waited five minutes. Finally just slid the parchment I’d been working on earlier under the door for her. Had to borrow a quill from Ginny’s room to add that I’d wait fifteen minutes for her to come talk,” Ron explained.

“And I’m guessing she never took you up on that offer?” Harry finished.

“Nope. I even waited longer, you know, just in case. I don’t know what else to do,” Ron lamented.

“Sorry, mate. I’m, er, sure it’ll all work out? Let’s go try out more of those ‘shot shots’ the twins have. There’s only a little over an hour until midnight anyways.” Harry’s suggestion didn’t really inspire Ron to move, so he took the initiative to get some sweets and a couple of twin’s newest items to bring back to Ron. He caught Ginny’s eye on the way back to Ron and silently shook his head.

Hermione came down shortly after. She figured she’d give Ron a five minute head start before returning downstairs in an attempt to make their plan believable. After all, they only had just over an hour to keep up the awkward row guise before managing to position themselves close enough for the countdown, where they’d shock everyone with a midnight kiss. It can’t come soon enough, Hermione thought to herself. She was already missing the feel of his lips against hers. 

If she didn’t want to stick it to Ginny and Harry with their meddling, she would have forgotten everything and just gone to climb into Ron’s lap where she noticed he was sitting again. She steeled herself against the thought and walked over to the refreshment table, forcing her traitorous body to stick to the plan. She picked up a couple of the different ‘shot’ shots the twins had played up earlier, as if trying to decide which to use. 

“Trying to decide which flavor to indulge in?” Fred had sidled up next to her, watching her contemplation.

“Er, yes, I think so. I just don’t know which to use.” Hermione was holding a shot labeled ‘spiced mead’. 

“It all depends on what you’re in the mood for, or what you’re going to pair it with. For instance, the firewhiskey would pair well with the cinnamon cookies mum made, and the spiced mead you’ve got there would go with the vanilla custard. My personal favorite is the chocolate liqueur with the raspberry shortbreads.”

Hermione set down the mead and picked up the chocolate one instead. “That does sound really good.” She moved down the table to pick up a raspberry shortbread, and injected the liquid from the shot into the cookie. She bit into it, and the taste overwhelmed her mouth. It really was the perfect combination of raspberry and chocolate. “Wow. Thank you, Fred. You and George really are quite talented when it comes to all of these creations.”

“A compliment from the one and only Hermione Granger? Well, thank you! Just wait until you see what’s in store next!” Fred looked down at his watch. “Speaking of, it’s time for the next reveal!” he said as George wheeled in something that was covered by a sheet.

Fred turned down the wireless a touch as George called everyone over. “Gather round to see our next creation!” Once he had everyone’s attention, he continued. “This is a party roulette wheel! There’s an enchanted notepad on the back where you can put the names of all the attendants and their names will magically appear on the wheel.”

“The wheel has many uses, and the notepads can be replenished when they're out so it’s not like you need to buy a brand new wheel each time. You can use it to pick partners, or to determine who answers a question, or really whatever you want it for!” Fred chimed in.

“It doesn’t have to be just names either. Could be anything! But for us, on this wonderful evening, we’re going to play Dance Partner Roullette!” George pulled the sheet off the object, revealing a brightly lit wheel with everyone’s names already included and ready to go. “At exactly 11:00, we are going to celebrate one hour to the new year as Lee plays a slow song over the wireless, and the wheel will pick your partner!”

“...but there’s an odd number of us,” remarked Tonks.

As if on cue, the back door opened, and Verity, the twin’s assistant at the shop, came in. “Not anymore!” said Fred. “Verity here has agreed to spend New Year’s with us, making an even ten,” he explained as George added her name to the notepad. The board shimmered as it updated to show her triangle now.

“Hi everyone! It was really very kind of the twins to invite me, as my family’s on holiday. I’m excited to see the new products in action,” Verity said with a big smile.

“Should we get started? We’ve only got five minutes until Lee plays the song.” George brought everyone back on task.

“How will it know once someone’s already been picked?” asked Hermione.

“Excellent question! Want to spin first and find out?” Fred smirked at her, clearly anticipating her question.

“Oh, I-” Hermione stuttered as Ginny pushed her towards the wheel.

“Come on, Hermione, spin the wheel!” Ginny encouraged.

With no other choice, Hermione grabbed hold of one of the pegs and pulled down on the wheel watching it spin round and round. No one noticed George adding something to the notepad as the wheel was spinning. The wheel slowed and came to a stop on none other than Ron’s name. She looked at the wheel in disbelief and then back at Fred and George.

“Excellent!” said Fred. “The wheel has spoken. Fleur, you next!”

Fleur walked up to the wheel as George crossed Hermione and Ron’s names off on the notepad, allowing them to dim on the board. “See? Now that your names are dim on the wheel, it won’t land on you again!” Fleur spun the wheel as George once again manipulated the outcome. He placed a star next to Bill’s name. He didn’t want to chance it, considering he knew what song Lee was going to play. Fleur smiled and walked effortlessly back over to Bill when it landed on his name. George crossed both their names off as Fred asked Tonks to come spin.

Tonks spun the wheel incredibly hard, and the onlookers were a bit worried it was going to break until it finally slowed down. Tonks gave a sheepish smile and made a retort about not knowing her own strength when the dial landed on George. Everyone laughed good-naturedly as Verity made her spin next. Ginny was pouting because she was last, and wouldn’t even get to spin due to the process of elimination.

“Guests should always be invited to spin first, little sis,” Fred reminded as he waved her off.

Verity’s spin landed on Fred, which left Harry and Ginny as partners. Ginny grinned at Harry, and made a comment about being glad she didn’t have to dance with any of her brothers as Fred turned the wireless back up. Ron was still on the outskirts of the circle by the chair, and Hermione was awkwardly standing next to Harry and Ginny.

“Don’t you dare think about running back upstairs to get out of this,” hissed Ginny into Hermione’s ear. 

The music started to play and Ginny pushed her towards Ron. Hermione stopped as awkwardly as she could in front of him. Despite having been in his embrace not longer than half an hour ago, Hermione still wasn’t sure what to do next. They were trying to continue the ruse, so she wasn’t sure how to proceed. She hadn’t anticipated this.

Just then, Ron held out his hand to her, and she took it as her other hand found his shoulder. Neither of them looked at the other, as Ron whispered, “Might as well play along. I reckon they’ll take more mickey out of us if we fight it.” Hermione felt his hand wrap tightly around her waist as she nodded in agreement.

They did a spectacular job at managing to not make eye contact, but still muttered comments to each other throughout the duration of the song.

“Oh, I love this song. It’s on the album I have upstairs.” Hermione said.

“Interesting song choice by Lee. ‘Specially considering the lyrics.” Ron added.

“It’s on the muggle wireless all the time. Ed Sheeran’s all the rage right now. The song’s called Thinking out Loud, and it’s one of the most popular on the weekly countdowns.”

“Maybe not as peculiar then. Wish they’d all stop staring,” Ron muttered. 

“Just ignore it,” Hermione said, trying to make her voice sound annoyed, though she was thoroughly enjoying this time in his arms.

Eventually, the song ended and they broke apart. Hermione was once again missing the warmth of his body. She quickly forgot though, as Ginny squealed when Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down Swingin’ came back on the wireless. The group fell into more dancing for the better part of the hour when all of a sudden it was already five minutes to midnight.

George was popping champagne and pouring it into the glasses on the table as Fred picked up the cylindrical objects to pass out to everyone. As Hermione took hers, she examined it. She noticed that there was a small button towards the large circular end.

“Don’t press the buttons, yet everyone! Not until midnight!” Fred said just in time, as Tonks was about to see what the button did.

“And make sure you point them at the ceiling, and not at anyone else!” George added. “These are only prototypes so we didn’t get the warnings etched on them, yet. Everyone come get a glass! It’s almost time!”

Just as Ginny was about to say ‘one minute,’ everyone’s attention was turned to the balloon wall. There was a soft pop and one of the balloons had turned into confetti raining towards the ground. No sooner did one pop, than another one start.

“Is that a countdown?!” asked Ginny eagerly.

“You guessed it! One balloon turns into confetti each second, leaving only the NYE 1997 balloons at the end,” Fred said triumphantly.

Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry were all gathered close together, and Hermione made sure she was by Ron’s side. Ron was trying really hard not to grin at her because it was almost time. They set their champagne glasses on the side table in the midst of the countdown craziness.

Tonks started the ten second countdown and everyone chimed in, “10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Everyone cried as they pushed the buttons on the cylinders, which exploded more silver and gold confetti, and the balloons that had been outfitting the ceiling also turned into confetti that rained down on them. Bill and Fleur embraced in a kiss as Harry and Ginny hugged. Hermione looked up at Ron who cocked his eyebrow at her, and she nodded. In one swift movement, he pulled her in and kissed her again, this time for everyone to see. He didn’t break apart immediately, instead deepening the kiss slightly in an effort to show Hermione how much he cared. Too soon, though, they did pull apart, both grinning from ear to ear.

“What the fu-” Their moment was interrupted by Ginny who was watching them with widened eyes. Harry stood next to her, his mouth wide open and also shocked. The rest of the crowd either showed knowing smirks or mildly surprised faces.

“What?” asked Ron nonchalantly.

“But- you said- I’m missing something here,” Harry tried, but couldn’t formulate a full sentence.

Ron and Hermione laughed. “Gotcha!” Ron said. 

“So you’re sorted then?” Harry asked as they both nodded.

“Finally!” Ginny shouted as Fred and George held up their champagne glasses.

“To the new year!” they cried as everyone echoed in kind to the toast. 

“And hopefully the best year yet,” Ron whispered in Hermione’s ear as he kissed her cheek. She smiled as she nuzzled into his neck. The year may not be free of danger, what with being Harry Potter’s best friend, but she could worry about that later. For now, they’d celebrate the new year and their new relationship.

[hysteriium]

The Irony of Fate [2]

Gif not mine! 

(A/N): Uhhh this gif kills me holy fuck LOOK AT HIM- UGH. OK, SORRY this took so long lmao, my writing has honestly been so slow lately. I’m trying to fix that but idk I guess it’s a work in process. ALSO!!!! I’m so GRATEFUL for y’all! You’ve all been so kind and supportive with the series, I honestly thought I was going to be swamped with hate! I’m really glad you’re all enjoying it, and love Arthur as much as I do. It’s really made me feel better about my shitty writing. So without further ado, I’ll let you read. Sorry for the monster essay! 

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn’t seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word Count: 3,400

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Warnings: None! 

!! SPOILERS FOR ANYONE WHO HASN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE !! 

Anxiety coursed through (Y/n) like a turbulent storm, its rage coursing throughout her body, numbing her fingertips. Her mouth was abnormally dry and her attempts at swallowing - to try and lessen the prominence of the drought within, were all in vain. Counting down the seconds in her head silently, her jaw ticked. Large multicoloured drapes burned into her eyes, their bright colours harsh if looked at for too long. As she stood behind them, backstage, the familiar, upbeat music filled her ears, a tune she had known since teenagehood. In person, the arrangement of instruments beyond the curtains sounded different. It was raw. Loud. Unfiltered. The difference was something she found she prefered, it’s authenticity shining through. 

Despite the nostalgia, and the thrill of her dreams coming true, the song was hardly comforting, adding to the growing nausea in her stomach. Solidifying the presence of the knot within.  

The fact she was there was surreal. 

The crowd, in response to the anthem, went wild, clapping on cue, along with the song.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Murray shouted. His renowned dance moves, which had him swinging to the beat, were perfectly timed. 

Although (Y/n) was shrouded by the massive curtains in front of her, she could practically hear the smirk on his face. Sickly sweet and, dare she say, sickly fake. While she was eternally grateful to be where she was, the disingenuity unsettled her. It rubbed her the wrong way. 

Good ratings meant more money, and more money meant fewer problems. 

“Now, tonight, we’ve got an extra special guest,” he said.

(Y/n) swallowed.

She felt her fingers twitch in anticipation while the majority of the public oohed at Murray’s news.

“She’s a gorgeous woman…” a handful whistled, earning a soft chuckle from the host, “though I must say, she has an even lovelier voice.”

“It’s quite funny actually, I met her on the street the other day. I was blown away when I first heard her performing. And...I usually don’t do this, but I just had to have her on the show. You all know how much I love talent.” 

“However, there was just one thing that left me confused. I asked her, ‘why on the streets?’” Murray gave a quizzical look, “with such a gift, you’d expect her to be in the clubs!” 

“She shrugged her shoulders and told me, ‘you gotta start somewhere’.” 

“Now while I respect that, starting from humble beginnings and all, I told her, ‘honey with a face like that, you don’t gotta go around singing on the streets for money,’ if you know what I mean.” 

The spectators laughed, and (Y/n) rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly, she was glad she was hidden. She wouldn’t want her annoyed expression to give the wrong impression. She didn’t want to be labelled. The last thing she needed was to wake up and read some shitty news article painting her as a ‘diva’ and ‘ungrateful’. Gotham thrived on negativity, so once that was out there, she’d never recover from the defaming blow. Sexist jokes or not, fighting up against one of the most dominant television personalities in Gotham, as well as the media, was a deathwish careerwise. 

“Now that’s enough from me, you’re all probably sick of my face. Please welcome, (Y/n)!” 

Swiftly, the live band played their tunes, signalling her entrance. Murray directed attention to the infamous curtains, his arms stretching, his fingers wiggling towards the material. Screams of joy echoed off the studio walls.

At the sound, her hands raced to her form-fitting black dress, smoothing out the wrinkles before the curtain opened. When they did, they were slow. A cringe formed its way onto her face as the pully system squeaked along. As ready as she’ll ever be, she cemented a smile, hiding the wince, and walked through the drapes, deciding against waiting. 

Feeling a little dramatic, her form hunched over into a bow. A leg darted behind the other, with one hand in front, another resting against her back. Wolf whistles decorated the air at her arrival, though they were promptly replaced with roaring laughter as she made her way towards Murray and planted two firm kisses on both of his cheeks. Eventually, the clacking of her heels signified movement from the older man as she moved to occupy the yellow chair next to Murray’s desk.

Murray made a face after her display of affection, a look although (Y/n) couldn’t see, with his back towards her, she knew it transpired because of the public’s response. She could only imagine the face: one of shock and surprise, or perhaps confidence, as he winked towards them. Either way, both weren’t hard to envision, and the thought made short, distinct, puffs of air release from her nose in amusement.  

Shortly, he followed her lead and took a seat behind his table. 

“You’ve got some flare kid,” Murray chuckled, and (Y/n) could tell a genuine smile had replaced the false one. A twinge of pride wriggled in her chest at the realisation. 

“Are you nervous?” Murray asked suddenly, his eyes flying to the hands in her lap, fidgeting, “you seem nervous.” 

She shot the audience a look, her teeth clenched as her eyebrows flew up. 

“Yeah,” was all she said, her tone coming out high and unsure. 

Laughter. 

“You’re already doing great. This your first time on live television?”  

The reminder that this was live exacerbated her anxiety, her leg threatening to bounce. The pressure was on; if she screwed up, everyone would remember. 

“Pretty much,” a hint of fear wavered her voice, and the laugh that followed was shaky, “this is really surreal.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he flicked his wrist at her, “it’ll be second nature the way you’re headed.”

Her hands flew up to her cheeks, a tinge of pink coating the area while she tittered, “thank you, but I’m not so sure of that.”

“So humble!” 

Murray adjusted himself in his chair, his leg crossing over his other. He leaned forward towards the singer, form angled away from the onlookers. His concentration was solely on her.  

“So (Y/n), what have you got planned for us tonight?” 

A diffident expression crossed the woman’s features as she recalled her song.

“One of my favourites. Put On a Happy Face by Tony Bennett.” 

Murray nodded.

“Interesting choice. But, a classic.” 

His formerly interlocked hands were thrown into the air, giving a signal to the band. At this, (Y/n) stood up from her seat, and headed towards the already arranged set up towards the end of the stage. Once she arrived, she gripped the cylindrical microphone with both hands, its body supported by a stand. The object was cool against her heated fingertips.

The music started, the funk infectious and the woman’s hips began to sway.

---- 

Arthur barely held the gasp within him when he gazed upon (Y/n) ’s form, her flattering black dress a spectacle to behold. Her bow, cute and pure, converted the gasp he was restraining into a lovestruck sigh. 

He was sold, struck by the arrow of the little rascal Cupid himself. 

She looked just as good on TV.

He found it endearing how honest she was, admitting to her nerves. In his eyes, she was genuine, not like the scum that riddled Gotham’s streets; not like those who laughed at him; not like Randall. 

Similar to a child who was urgent to take in his favourite cartoon, he moved himself closer to the screen, a meter away at best, as he sat cross-legged. The tickling sensation of excitement shot throughout his slender body. 

As the music started playing, the overly happy tune seized him. When the camera panned on (Y/n) ’s walking form, he took in every little detail. The sigh she let out when she reached the microphone. The wobbling of her hands, which she tried to hide by clutching the device. The movement of her throat, suggesting a swallow. The jaw that clicked. 

Arthur saw it all.

Then, she started singing. 

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

The spectators interjected, drowning out a portion of the lyrics as they released sounds of support. 

As Arthur leant into his tv screen, he was absolutely convinced nothing could deter his eyes, his hypnosis. Not even the whining of his mum, who had been entirely obstructed from viewing the screen.

He hadn’t even realised she was there, he’d forgotten all about her.  

Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy

It’s not your style

You’ll look so good that you’ll be glad

You decide to smile

Arthur wished he was there in the room with (Y/n). In the crowd. To see her pretty (e/c) eyes glance over him and shoot him a wink. Or perhaps a smile. Anything - like the acknowledgement she gave him days prior. Just something to know that he really existed. That he wasn’t riding through life like a doormat - invisible, stepped on, beaten up and chucked around. No one really noticed the object, nor cared to, as it dejectedly rested below the door. Day after day.

Pick out a pleasant outlook

Stick out that noble chin

Wipe off that “full of doubt” look

Slap on a happy grin

Arthur began to grin when she saw her nerves were starting to leave her. Oh, how badly he wanted to applaud her. Encourage her. 

And spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy face

One hand released the microphone, moving to her face as she traced the outline of her upturned lips, a short, accidental giggle slipping out. It made Arthur’s heart swell! 

The band complemented her style perfectly. Their contrasting deep voices were melodic as they harmonised with her humming. 

Gray skies are gonna clear up

Put on a happy face

Brush off the clouds and cheer up

Put on a happy face

Arthur found his form lightly swaying to the tune, his grin extending from ear to ear, impossibly deeper.  

She was really into it now, and he could tell she could feel the music rushing through her, now a conduit for the art. When he saw the confidence which had manifested, growing with each passing second, his mind swarmed with joy, his mind conjuring a bundle of soothing words he noiselessly projected through the cubic barrier before them - to her. 

And if you’re feeling cross and bickerish

Don’t sit and whine

Think of banana splits and licorice

And you’ll feel fine

She disconnected the microphone from the stand, bringing it under her chin. Quickly she departed from her spot with a small spin, strutting across the rest of the stage - something that got the fans rowdy; wooing. Her body swung to the beat, shoulders moving with her.

I knew a girl so gloomy

She’d never laugh or sing

She wouldn’t listen to me

Now she’s a mean old thing

Now incredibly expressive - antithetical from when she first began - she accompanied her singing by miming the lyrics. A fist rocked below her eyes imitating tears in a burlesque manner, and a fake frown contorted her features. Though, no matter how sad she pretended to be, Arthur knew just by the twinkle in her eyes that she was bursting with happiness.   

So spread sunshine all over the place

And put on a happy, happy face

Put on a happy, happy, happy face

During the final verse, she had moved closer to the camera, dragging out the closing note with a high. 

Oh, come on bubby, smile, it’s your birthday!

She made direct eye contact with the lens and winked. 

Arthur’s chest tightened at the action, and he couldn’t help but take it personally; as if the playful act was directly meant to be for him. Him and only him. 

Applause nearly deafened Arthur as it reverberated around the room, projecting shockingly loud for such a small device. Scrambling, his hands tried to lower the volume. Unfortunately, in his rush, his clumsy hands instead knocked up against another button, changing the channel entirely in the process. 

Regrettably for Arthur, the noise emitted only worsened. Although the tv was no longer on the Murray Franklin show, it was now on a channel playing an old war movie. Explosions and the earthshaking noises of artillery filled his crappy apartment, gunfire jolting his poor, unexpecting form. Letting out his shock with a shout, and a string of curses, his hands automatically moved to cover his ears - a reaction he midway stopped; gaining some control, he felt the device vibrate beneath his fingertips when they finally discovered the volume button. When he had readjusted the strength, he returned back to the station, free from the clamour, the show now on commercial break. 

He sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. 

Why was he so fucking clumsy? 

Even the smallest things he couldn’t seem to get right. 

Gentle snoring shifted his awareness from his self-deprecating mental exchange, and when he looked over to the noise, he saw his mother asleep in her chair. Her head was tilted against her shoulder, her mouth open. It was a sight that made him laugh through his nose; something that managed to halt the negativity which began to swarm in his mind, like a vicious cloud of hornets. 

Arthur didn’t know how his mother could one minute be the lightest sleeper on earth, then the next, swing to the other extreme. It was a miracle she slept through his fuck up, but then again, if she were in a deep sleep, he was confident enough to bet she’d sleep through a natural disaster. 

It was honestly impressive.

Emitting a soft groan as his palms pushed himself up from his sitting position, he trailed from one end of his apartment to the other. He opened one of the squeaking cabinets near the bathroom, the small storage space containing miscellaneous items. Though, it mostly harboured their modest collection of towels and blankets. As his eyes skimmed the shelves, from top to bottom, they soon fell onto what he was searching for. On the very bottom, his hands gripped onto an old quilt. It was soft to touch, though when he moved to collect it, he felt small pricks against his flesh as his arms maneuvered to fit its length. 

Feathers. 

The floral pattern, which was a chaotic blend of reds, pinks, whites and cremes was gaudy and straining to look at. Arthur guessed it was a victorian design, and it was quite apparent that it was a style he wasn’t fond of. He didn’t think he ever understood the things his mother liked. It was definitely a selective taste.  

Shaking away his absentmindedness, and the staredown he was giving the blanket in his hand, he moved back to the living room, rounding behind his mother’s chair as he gently placed the cover against her. She was still snoring, some of them morphing into snorts. He honestly did try to contain his giggling, but most of it slipped out. To try and lessen the ache in her neck she was bound to wake up with tomorrow, he lastly righted her position. 

The upbeat music coming from the tv began again, letting Arthur know his favourite show had returned. Hurried, his lips pressed up against his sleeping mother’s forehead before returning back to his spot in front of the tube.  

“Welcome back, everyone! If you’re just tuning in, we have the lovely (Y/n) with us.”

For what was probably the 100th time, the crowd responded to Murray, who was sitting back at his desk, gaze set towards the camera. 

“And I’ve got good news for you, kid!”

(Y/n) looked up at the host from her chair, eyebrows furrowing. 

“What do you-” 

Murray interrupted. 

“I’ve set you up with a few clubs. We can’t let talent like yours go on without reward, it would be a disservice. On behalf of Gotham city, I think we can all agree we need some joy in these troubling times, and your presence just seems to radiate it.”

(Y/n) was evidently stunned. Suddenly, to her, some of his awful jokes had been worth it. 

“This isn’t a prank, right?” she turned to the audience, eyes expanded wholly making the audience explode into chuckles. Arthur found himself joining in. 

“I assure you lovely, we wouldn’t do that to ya.” 

“Your first gigs gonna be at Pogo’s comedy club. And yes, although it is a comedy club, they’ve made an exception. It’s best to start small and work your way up into the bigger names.”

Arthur’s chest constricted. 

He went there all the time! 

He could see her perform!

Talk to her! 

Finally have the chance to introduce himse-

“So what do you say, darling?” Murray piped up, his eyes giving her an encouraging glance.

Arthur leaned forward, nose about to touch the screen in anticipation.

Her hands found her cheeks as she tried to conceal the spreading heat. Even in darkness, she was convinced the crimson flush would be bright enough to light up the room. While Murray had said a few off comments here and there, things she didn’t agree with, he truly had been welcoming to her. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had been too harsh on him.   

“I-I don’t know what to say?!” 

Please say yes - please say yes - please say yes. 

“You could say, yes?” Murray shot her a playful look.  

The woman finally nodded, adrenaline and joy manipulating her quaking frame, “yes! Yes! Thank you so much!” 

Arthur’s fists shook in the air, a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding, released.

(Y/n) got up from her seat, shooting up like a rocket as she made her way behind Murray’s desk. He followed her actions and removed himself from his chair, and accepted the hug she pulled him into with a ‘whoa’.

“Well, there you have it, folks! Pogo’s, Friday night, at seven. Be there or be square!” 

With a little whisper to (Y/n), she was sent off, back to the area with the microphone. 

“Goodnight, tune in next time, and always remember-”

Instantly, the legendary keyboard tune started playing, and (Y/n) prepared herself to sing once more. 

“-that’s life!” Arthur mimicked.

For one final performance, the camera panned away from Murray, setting on (Y/n) as the credits rolled. Arthur relished in the sound, the lyrics hitting his very soul. 

That’s life (that’s life), that’s what people say

You’re riding high in April, shot down in May

But, I know I’m gonna change that tune

When I’m back on top, back on top in June

I said, that’s life, (that’s life), and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks,

Stompin’ on a dream

But I don’t let it, let it get me down

Cause, this fine old world it keeps spinning around

He sunk into the numbing feeling of the lyrics, forcing himself to close his eyes. He didn’t even realise the song was nearing its end until she reached the final verse.  

My, My!

With the expression of dazed euphoria, Arthur opened his eyes, watching her part from the microphone, the credits now over. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing she said, her beaming expression the last thing Arthur saw. 

The show ended. 

Arthur, who was abandoned by the gentle, radiant hue of the cube before him, was consumed by the darkness. It dwelled within the room as the device had been switched off by his lingering hand. 

He didn’t know how long he sat in silence for. His mother had finally stopped snoring.

He didn’t want to watch television; didn’t feel like it. He wanted to soak in the episode he’d just witnessed - flick through the memorable moments for the rest of the night. 

He wanted to think about what he’d say to (Y/n) when he finally met her officially - he wanted it to be perfect. While the little wave she gave him days ago would have been such an insignificant action to most, it wasn’t to Arthur. It was real.

And the fact that he knew it was, reeled him in like an unsuspecting fish speeding to bait. 

Well and truly, Arthur was bewitched.

The sombre air surrounding him - a mood that always seemed to cling to him - and the dim blue hue which encompassed his apartment, strangely didn’t feel so bad for once. Hell, he didn’t feel so bad for once.

With the image of her smile repeating in his head, he didn’t feel so...

Alone. 

[angelofthequeers]

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 46

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@smolplantmum tagged as requested :)

Chapter 45 | Chapter 47 | AO3 link

Although the plan is to go and visit Master Fu and discuss their next move, a wrench in the form of Adrien’s sleek car pulling up at the Eiffel Tower and honking is thrown into that plan.

“You sure?” Marinette says when Adrien heaves a deep sigh at the sight. “You can transform, you know, and they can’t exactly do anything about it.”

“No, I should go,” Adrien says. “I’ll just be delaying the inevitable. But trust me, Father won’t be stopping me from Chat Noir. That’s one thing I will put my foot down on.”

Marinette smiles and pushes herself on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Adrien’s lips. “Good luck,” she says and squeezes his hand. “Text as soon as you’re free, okay? I’ll probably gather the team now instead of waiting until tonight. That reminds me, who’s Petite Souris?”

“Mylène,” Adrien says. “I was…well, I was desperate once I knew that Sanguisuga would get to Luka first. I just kind of knew that the Rat would be helpful. And she was the first one I found. Is that…okay?”

“Of course it is, silly kitty.” Marinette kisses Adrien on the cheek. “Don’t doubt your instincts. Mine haven’t been wrong yet and neither have yours.”

Adrien smiles and looks down at the ground with pink cheeks. “She suits it, doesn’t she?” he says. “I don’t think Alix or Juleka would’ve pulled it off as well as she did.”

“A hundred percent,” Marinette says. “Can you text her and tell her to meet at the hotel, since she knows you’re Chat Noir?”

“Of course. That’s my bugaboo.” His cheeks still dusted with pink, Adrien squeezes her hand, then turns to head for his car, ever so slowly letting go of her hand so that they’re left joined by their pinkies before he inevitably has to fully release her. Once his car has driven off, Marinette lets out a deep sigh and pulls out her phone.

[1:56 pm] miraculass

ladyBIrd: @everyone nvm about tonight, meet at hotel asap, I’m heading there now so I’ll meet Honeybee on the roof

honeybeetch: asdfghjkl ok lb

what does the fox say: kk

mess w turt u get hurt: how’s adrien?

ladyBIrd: facing the music with his dad

mess w turt u get hurt: :|

airhead: I’ll be there soon and I’m bringing Luka

what does the fox say: wait why does luka get to sit in on superhero business

ladyBIrd: I’ll explain everything

honeybeetch: lb hurry the fuck up and get here

what does the fox say: smooth

honeybeetch: fuck off

Marinette can’t help the snort that escapes her at Rena Rouge and Honeybee’s banter as she shoves her phone back into her purse, then takes extra care to make sure that no one can see her behind the Eiffel Tower leg.

“You ready?” she whispers. Tikki darts out and nods.

“All recharged, Marinette!”

“Tikki, spots on!”

.

“Adrien.”

Adrien gulps. If Gabriel’s waiting on the staircase rather than hiding away in his atelier, this conversation is not going to go well.

“H-Hello, Father,” he forces out. Gabriel dismisses Nathalie with a nod, then descends the staircase and pauses directly in front of Adrien. The gleam in his eyes as he takes Adrien’s hand and examines the ring leaves an unsettled pit in Adrien’s stomach. Gabriel’s probably just a Miraculous enthusiast, right? Hence why he’d had the Peacock? But there’s just something…unnerving about his face right now. Something almost greedy and…triumphant?

“All this time…” Gabriel murmurs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Father,” Adrien says. “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone –”

“Oh, I know. We all have our, ahem…little secrets. And I think it’s time I shared mine with you, in light of this new information. Come with me. I have a task for you…son.”

Okay, so Adrien had expected his father to act weird because of the news that he’s Chat Noir. But there’s weird and there’s leading him into the atelier and pausing before the painting of his mother with an odd smile.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Gabriel says. “You look so much like her. Perhaps that’s why it’s been so hard to look at you. To see Emilie in you every time you’re around…”

“Perhaps that’s why it’s been so hard to look at you.” The words are like a slap in the face, leaving Adrien reeling back with an audible gasp that Gabriel seems to ignore. Plagg darts out and nuzzles against Adrien’s cheek to comfort him.

“It all makes sense. You’re never around when akumas attack. Adrien was never in danger because he had magic to protect him.” The hungry gleam in Gabriel’s eyes as he watches Plagg unblinkingly sends sick shivers down Adrien’s spine. He can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to happen, something massive, and it involves Gabriel, and…is Gabriel really Hawkmoth like they’d suspected all those months ago? It’s a thought he’s shelved for his own sanity, especially after Gabriel had been akumatised, but with the way Gabriel’s acting right now…

“F-Father?” Adrien croaks. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Gabriel says nothing. Then he sighs and reaches out to press several spots of Emilie’s dress simultaneously, and the ground beneath them starts to descend so rapidly that Adrien yelps and instinctively clings to Gabriel’s arm. For some reason, Gabriel doesn’t even react and shake Adrien off like he normally would.

Okay. Another point for the “Gabriel is Hawkmoth” theory. Who the hell has an elevator installed in their atelier?

Oh. Shit. Gabriel could be Hawkmoth. And the Black Cat Miraculous is literally right next to him. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Adrien pushes Plagg back into his shirt with the hand containing his Miraculous, wiggling his fingers until Plagg finally gets the message and the ring starts to slip off Adrien’s finger. If it comes down to it, so long as Plagg can get away with the ring and warn the others, that’s all that matters to Adrien right now.

“Come,” Gabriel says once the elevator grinds to a halt before a metal catwalk in a dark room. As he and Adrien cross the catwalk, lights begin to slam on, bathing the room in artificial fluorescence and revealing it to be full of greenery, with an odd, cylindrical object in the middle of the patch of grass.

“Father –”

“You must understand.” Gabriel stops next to the cylindrical thing and grabs Adrien by the shoulders. There’s so much tension in his hands that Adrien can’t help but wonder if he’s two seconds from snapping like a taut string and shaking the life out of his own son. “Everything I’ve done has been for you.”

“F-Father…are you Hawkmoth?” Adrien whispers. A corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitches.

“I never intended to hurt you,” Gabriel says. “One of my mortal enemies, my own son…well, there’s definitely a sense of poetry in that, is there not?”

The nausea bubbling inside Adrien threatens to rise into his throat at the confirmation; the confirmation that his father is the magical terrorist who’s been traumatising Paris all this time. No. No. It can’t be! Having that suspicion all the way back when he’d found the book and the brooch is nothing compared to having the confirmation before his eyes. But how can he warn the others?

“…the Butterfly’s akumas create internal change within the target themselves, and so a transformed Butterfly cannot affect themselves with an akuma.” Master Fu’s words from months ago come swimming to the forefront of Adrien’s mind. “And akumatising themselves when not transformed, without the safety net of the holder’s control over the akuma, can potentially have harmful effects on their psyche. Only a truly desperate holder would akumatise themselves.”

Is Gabriel really that desperate that his own son isn’t enough to stop him from going to these lengths? And just how much of this is Gabriel? How much has he been warped from akumatising himself into the Collector? Judging from the Collector’s single-minded drive to capture and collect everything around him, does that mean that Gabriel’s just gotten so much more obsessive about achieving his goal? If so, how dangerous is he to Adrien right now, and is he seeing Adrien…or Chat Noir?

“You’re a monster!” Adrien bursts out. “You’ve been terrorising Paris all this time, and for what? Ultimate power? A wish that comes with a price?”

“You don’t understand!” Gabriel shouts. Adrien takes a reflexive step back, then freezes when a small purple thing comes zooming out of Gabriel’s jacket and rests on Adrien’s shoulder. A…kwami with butterfly wings? Is this Nooroo?

“Master, you’re scaring your son!” Nooroo says in a little, high voice. “I’m sorry, Adrien. I never wanted to be part of any of this.”

Gabriel visibly takes a deep breath. “Very well. I’ll explain. And then you’ll see, Adrien, why you should help me in my goal.”

“I’ll never help –”

But the cylinder starts to whir and the top of it slides open before Adrien can finish his sentence, to reveal – to reveal – no –

“Mother?” Adrien claps a hand over his mouth to hold back the bile that rises at the sight of Emilie Agreste inside the cylinder – the coffin – with her eyes closed, dressed in a sleek white suit, looking as though she’s just sleeping rather than – rather than –

“She’s not dead,” Gabriel says as Adrien sinks to his knees and rocks back and forth, trying desperately to cope with the sudden influx of emotions coursing through him at the knowledge that his mother isn’t dead, she’s been here all this time, underneath his feet! “Merely damaged by the Peacock Miraculous. You ask why I want the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses? I want to fix the damage done to her, to bring your mother back for you!”

“Did Nooroo tell you there’s a price to pay?” Plagg comes darting out of Adrien’s shirt and hovers in front of Gabriel, thankfully without the ring. “You really wanna mess with the universe, Gabriel Agreste?”

“I know…sacrifice myself –”

“– don’t get to pick who –”

The whole exchange is distorted, like Adrien’s underwater, but it still somewhat registers in his frying brain. Desperate, he fumbles in his pocket for something, anything to ground him, and his fingers close around something bumpy, something that turns out to be a little charm when he pulls it out – Marinette’s lucky charm! Of course! His lucky charm from his lady!

“– universe could take Adrien, but you don’t seem to give enough of a shit about him –”

“– you dare –”

Adrien can’t breathe – why is the light so bright, why is his mother there, taunting him, just out of reach, little butterfly thing in front of him, mouthing something, but he can’t hear, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe, purple light, why did butterfly thing disappear –

“– universe would shift to accommodate – not just as simple as swapping a life for a life –”

“Enough!” Adrien clutches at his hair, yanking, gasping, struggling to draw in oxygen as black spots dance at the edge of his vision. “Why? Why? Why? Just leave me alone!”

“Adrien. Son. Look at me.”

Purely on autopilot, Adrien’s body obeys and when he looks up, his father is no longer there. No, now it’s a man with a silvery head mask, dressed in a purple suit – it’s Hawkmoth, his mortal enemy, his father –

“You can help me,” Hawkmoth says in a voice that sounds a million miles away. “Join me, son, and help me take Ladybug’s Miraculous. Then you’ll have your mother back. Isn’t that what you want?”

Hawkmoth’s words are smooth, honeyed, sticking to Adrien, trying to draw him into their trap. But…no. He’s a hero. He can’t betray his lady, his Marinette, all his friends, the world, just to bring back someone who he’s already started to move on from, because yeah, it hurts to think of Emilie, but he’s been making progress, he’s moving on –

“No,” Adrien gasps around the iron band constricting his chest. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“Don’t be selfish!” Hawkmoth hisses. “You want your mother back! I’m doing this for you!”

“Not like this!”

Hawkmoth sighs and flips open the top of his cane. “Then I have no choice.”

“Adrien, look out!” Plagg cries as an evil, dark butterfly emerges from the cane and makes a beeline for Adrien. He gasps and shuffles back, trying desperately to avoid it, because he can’t give in, he can’t betray everyone, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run, why can’t he get away from this?

“Plagg! Please!” Adrien’s voice cracks as the akuma darts at his lucky charm, and he’s suddenly filled with despair, betrayal, he’s drowning in it, he wants to cry and scream and do something, anything, to fix this, to right this wrong that’s been done against him, he just wants it all to go away, he can’t cope –

“Be strong, kid!” says a voice through the fog as something brushes against his side.

“No!” Hawkmoth bellows, both far away and deep in Adrien’s mind, so deep that he can’t get away no matter how much he gasps and cries and tugs at his hair. “Fine. It matters not. You can just get the ring back for me.”

“No,” Adrien chokes. It’s clear in that moment that he’s not going to be able to hold out, not in his current state of mind, but if he can just hold on, he can give Plagg a chance to get away and then the ring will be safe from Hawkmoth.

“Yes.” The word reverberates through Adrien’s mind, compelling him to obey. “Phantom, you will obey me. I grant you the power to possess others, to control them and bend them to your will. Once you bring me the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses, you’ll have your mother back. Your family will be whole again. Do we have a deal?”

“N-No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Stopitstopitstopit – get out of my head –”

“Obey me!”

The direct order from his father slams into him both physically and mentally, unbalancing him, and that brief lapse in resistance is just what Hawkmoth needs, and cold, sickly power washes over Adrien, enveloping him, pushing him down into the abyss until everything is dark and he knows nothing…

Devoid of spirit, Phantom rises to his feet. The purple man in front of him grins, and he knows he should hate this man – Hawkmoth – but he just can’t muster up any feelings of hatred. He’s blank, floating in apathy, and it’s actually kind of blissful in a way, to not have to care about anything except what Hawkmoth tells him to do.

“Good boy, Phantom,” Hawkmoth purrs. “You’ll listen to your father, won’t you? Tell me: who is Ladybug? Who are the other Miraculous holders?”

Opening his mouth to follow that order is like a bucket of cold water falling on Phantom; he gasps and staggers back, then fumbles for the pitch-black bracelet around his ghostly white wrist to get this evil butterfly away, far away, and if he can get it to Ladybug – to Marinette – because he can’t betray his teammates, he can’t, if he has a smidgen of resistance then let it be for this –

“Enough!” Hawkmoth says, and Phantom sinks back beneath the waves of apathy, swaying on the spot as he awaits his next order, his resistance thoroughly squashed. “No matter. Phantom, you will simply take me to the other Miraculouses yourself.”

They’ll all be together at the Eiffel Tower, but that won’t be until tonight. And the thought of betraying Ladybug causes the faintest stirrings of some kind of feeling deep in Phantom’s core, so he steers himself as far away from it as possible so that he doesn’t have to leave this blissful apathy.

But if Hawkmoth wants Miraculouses, well, Phantom knows exactly where to go to get them.

[pkmn-downtheline]

2 or 12 with the Rocket Trio and their daughter???

March 23rd, 2040. Evening. Outside Mt. Coronet, Sinnoh.

Julia’s head was pounding and her ears were ringing. The smoke all around her shrouded her vision as she laid motionless on the ground. She could barely make out her Liepard laying just a few feet from her. She gritted her teeth, attempting to rise so she could make her way to it, but her strength wasn’t enough and she collapsed. A searing pain shot through her arm, causing her to writhe in pain. She wondered if it was broken. 

The smoke was beginning to clear, and Cassidy’s figure took form several yards away. She stood with a hand on her hip and a devilish smirk on her face. Her Granbull was beside her, pounding its fist into its paw, ready to continue the fight.

“What’s the matter? Having trouble standing?” Cassidy mocked, and Julia scowled. “How pathetic. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Jessie’s kid.” 

Julia pressed her fist to the ground, gathering whatever strength she could to rise up. But it was useless and she fell once more, wincing as she made contact with the ground. It didn’t matter. Liepard was breathing in heavy pants, making no attempt to rise and keep battling, and she knew none of her other Pokemon were in good shape either. Cassidy had her cornered.

The shadow of Mt. Coronet hung over her and she internally cursed herself. She was sure Skye and the others were nearing its core by now, and yet here she was unable to do so much as stand. She had let them down. She had let Liepard and her other Pokemon down. She had let Espeon down. She had let the world down.

She really was pathetic.

Cassidy stared at her for a moment longer, waiting to see if Julia would press on. But when she continued to lay unmoving, she let out a sigh and waved her hand. “Let’s finish this, Granbull.”

“Gra!” Granball stepped forward, opening its mouth as a ball of light began to form a Hyper Beam attack.

Julia closed her eyes tightly, bracing for the impact as the beam began hurtling toward her. But the sound of a collision made her eyes snap open. A figure masked in a green glow stood over her, acting as a shield protecting her from the Hyper Beam attack.

“W-what..?”

That was when the Hyper Beam was sent flying back to Granbull and Cassidy. Clearly shocked by the sudden turn of events, Cassidy was unable to order a counter for Granbull, and the two were pushed back by the force of the attack.

Julia sat up just the slightest, realizing that she recognized the cylindrical blue figure in front of her. Her eyes widened, and she breathlessly managed, “Wo…”

The Pokemon turned to face her, offering a salute. “Wooobbuffet!”

Julia couldn’t find the words to muster, and as if out of nowhere, a familiar voice from behind her shrieked, “Stay away from my daughter, you ugly hag!”

Julia inhaled sharply through her nose, turning her head to see her mother standing over her. Her eyes were burning with anger, gritting her teeth as she gripped Wobbuffet’s Poke Ball tightly in her hand.

As if on cue, her father stumbled out of the treeline. He made his way toward her, breathing huffs and puffs. “Julia!” he called, crouching down beside her. “Are you all right?!”

“M-Mom!? Dad!?”

“Hey Jewelz,” Meowth greeted, jumping off from his spot on James’ back and thumbing to himself, “don’t forget about old Me-owth!”

“W-what…” Julia breathed, looking between the three as the shock began to settle, “what are you doing here?”

“What are we doing here?! What are you doing here?!” Jessie snapped, pointing at her daughter. “Have you lost your damn mind!? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?!”

“J-Jessie,” James stepped in, holding up his hands. “Calm down…”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

Cassidy, who was finally beginning to recover from the blow of Wobbuffet’s Mirror Coat, rose to her feet. She rubbed the back of head head with a wince, scowling upon catching sight of Jessie. But after a beat she closed her eyes, brushing herself off.

“Aw, what’s this?” Cassidy taunted, getting the family’s attention. “Did the baby need Mommy and Daddy to come rescue her? How sweet.”

Julia grimaced, trying to push herself up more, but the pain in her arm struck again and she recoiled. James placed his hands on her shoulders and Meowth frowned. Jessie’s burning gaze was focused on Cassidy.

Cassidy took notice of Jessie’s stare. She smirked, placing a hand to her cheek. “I see aging hasn’t treated you too kindly, Jessie,” she teased, tossing Granbull’s Poke Ball up and down as the Pokemon finally rose to its feet beside her. “I know, how about I put all of you down together? Then you won’t have to worry about getting more wrinkles than you already have.”

Jessie’s eye twitched, and her body began to shake with rage. “Wrinkles!?”

James winced. “Oh dear…”

“You mean you haven’t noticed? You’re covered in them. Not like it matters,” Cassidy said with a shrug before focusing on Julia. “But you know, I do have to say before I kill you—I thought your daughter would have been much prettier. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Something inside of Jessie snapped, and Julia could have sworn she felt some sort of dark aura coming off of her mother. 

“Cassidy…” Jessie started, her voice low and dangerous as she took a step forward, “you can throw your insults at me and call me wrinkly all you want…”  She looked Cassidy dead in the eye. The small embers that were flickering inside of her had grown into a full-on hell fire ready to be unleashed. “But the second you insult my daughter you’re writing yourself a death wish!”

Cassidy grinned, obviously taking pleasure in her old rival’s rage. “Oh really?” she laughed, her grin growing wider. “Let’s see about that, then.”

“James, Meowth,” Jessie barked, and the two stood erect. “It’s time we gave Cassidy a little makeover.”

James hesitated, but then huffed with a smirk, running a hand through his bangs. “Then I guess that means she should prepare for trouble…”

Meowth snickered. “Deez claws haven’t seen battle in a while…” he said, bearing his claws with a grin. “But dat don’t mean dey can’t leave a scratch or two!”

Julia pursed her lips. She wanted to do something, anything. She couldn’t just sit back and watch as her family fought her battle. “I’ll—”

“No,” Jessie objected, her tone so sharp that it made Julia recoil. “You’ll stay here.” She began to walk toward Cassidy, James, Meowth, and Wobbuffet by her side. “We’ll talk later.”  

In that moment Julia could do nothing. With barely enough strength to sit up, all she could do was watch as her family entered the fray. The fight against Cassidy was just getting started, and she was useless.

Send us a number and 2 or more characters!

[darks-ink]

What A Nice Surprise CH.2

This thing just keeps getting longer and longer. I have vague ideas for future chapters (and a more defined plan for the next one) but the characters keep derailing my plans, so idk how long it'll be. As I've said before, this is just a story that I write whenever I feel like it, as opposed to Disinterred. That, and the chapters are longer than Disinterred's.

Also normally I stick to a specific POV per scene, but I kind of... switched from Jack to Maddie in the big scene? And idk how I feel about it, so I would appreciate hearing what you guys think.

(Previous Chapter - Next Chapter) (AO3 - FFnet)

Danny threw another glance at the clock. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl, even more so than what was normal for Lancer’s English class. He shoved his leg against his backpack, which was resting on the floor next to his desk. The rounded shape of the Thermos met him in what should be a comforting feeling.

It wasn’t. Not after the events of earlier that day, during lunch.

There had been a ghost attack. Of course there had been a ghost attack. Not a big one, nothing he couldn’t handle himself.

But Cujo had mistaken the Thermos for a toy. He had lunged for it, and before Danny knew it, Cujo’s teeth sunk into the metal of the Thermos.

He immediately distracted the ghost dog, but it had been too late. His fangs had punctured the metal of the Thermos, and an arch between the two punctures showed where the rest of his teeth had met the cylinder’s surface as well.

There was nothing he could do to fix it. He had send off Cujo, thanking his luck that at least the dog would be easy to get rid of without any kind of catching technology. But if another ghost showed up… He would be nigh powerless. And while his parents had created different ghost catching devices, none of them were as easy to carry or hide as the Fenton Thermos.

He had already decided that he should pay his parents another visit as Phantom. They didn’t know Fenton carried a Thermos, after all. Didn’t know that he carried ghost-hunting equipment at all.

Besides… They had asked him to come by without injuries.

Danny just hoped that they had another Thermos. Or maybe they could fix this one, but he highly doubted it. And… This Thermos had been through a lot. Maybe he had just been tempting fate by not looking for a replacement earlier.

The bell rung, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. He swung his backpack on, the cylindrical shape of the Thermos pressing against his back. One of the sharp edges of the punctures dug into his flesh. A constant reminder of how badly it needed to be replaced.

Like he could’ve forgotten.

He quickly swept by his locker, glancing at the sticky note stuck on the inside of the door. The handwriting was neat and loopy, and anyone who knew him could tell it wasn’t his. They usually thought it was Jazz’. Danny was fine with letting them think that.

‘overheard mr. falluca mention a pop quiz tomorrow – check chapter 8’ the note said. Danny grinned, gratefully. They might not have gotten along well at the start, but Sidney was a good friend to have.

Besides, who else could pass him notes for class by just leaving them in his locker? Someone had to make sure he could keep up with class, with how often he had to leave to fight ghosts. And while Sam and Tucker were fine with playing along at first…

Well, Danny was sure that he would’ve gotten tired of his secrecy if he had been them, too.

They were still his friends, of course. But he just didn’t have much time to hang out with them anymore. And he couldn’t tell them the truth. Besides the obvious concern of what they might think… The danger that it would put them in was simply too great. It would make them a target for his enemies.

Besides, Sam would never allow herself to stand by if he was going out to fight ghosts. She would insist on fighting by his side, never mind how dangerous the ghosts were. She would get torn apart.

And Danny couldn’t allow that. So he let them think whatever it was that they thought about him. It was safer that way.

After making sure that his math textbook was in his bag, Danny made his way to an empty bathroom. It had been attacked a few time when ghosts first started showing up, leading to rumors of it being haunted. After some encouragement, Sidney had gladly taken to reinforcing those rumors. It had become a perfect spot for Danny to ‘go ghost’, since no one ever entered it.

Moments after Danny walked in, Sidney flickered into visibility. Danny quirked an eyebrow at him. Usually if Sidney left a note, he wasn’t planning on showing up. “Hey Sid, what’s up?”

“Found your dog,” the boy said with a frown. He lifted up his leg to show Cujo hanging off of it, thankfully in his puppy form. The dog was wagging his tail like crazy.

“Oh, uh. Oops?” Danny grimaced, grabbing Cujo. The dog immediately let go, tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” Sidney confirmed with a comforting tone. He brushed off his pant leg. “And he was so distracted by me that he didn’t hurt anyone else either.”

“That’s good.” Danny looked at the wriggling dog in his hands. He should bring Cujo back to the Ghost Zone. He was already going to FentonWorks as Phantom anyway. But… the dog had an awful tendency to cause trouble wherever he went, and Danny didn’t need his feeble truce with his parents to be ruined.

He shot a doubtful look at Sidney. “Hey, Sid. Could you… keep an eye on Cujo for the rest of the day? I need to get a new Thermos from my parents, and I can’t take him with me.”

“I guess.” Sidney sounded as uncertain as Danny felt. He crouched next to the dog, reaching out with his hand. Cujo squinted at the boy ghost, apparently trying to gauge if he was an enemy or not.

Danny set the dog on the ground, keeping a hand on Cujo’s back. Then he grabbed Sidney by the wrist, gently putting his hand on Cujo’s forehead. “Cujo, this is Sidney. He’s a friend, okay?” Then he released Sidney again.

The dog looked unsure, glancing at Danny and then Sidney. Finally he started wagging his tail again, allowing Sidney to pet him.

Danny sighed in relief. That was one problem taken care of, at least.

Sidney grabbed the dog, cradling Cujo in his arms. “Well buster, I guess I’m taking care of you now.” Then he stood up, nodding towards Danny. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks Sid,” Danny said as he started rifling through his backpack.

“Don’t mention it.” And then the ghosts were gone, leaving Danny alone in the bathroom. He was glad that Cujo had accepted Sidney. If the dog showed up again, he might be coaxed into playing with Sidney instead of him.

Besides, if Valerie saw those two hanging out, she might finally understand that Cujo wasn’t his dog. Or she would think that Sidney was dog-sitting Cujo for him. Which he was, technically.

Danny’s fingers met the sharp edge of the Thermos, and he pulled them away with a hiss. That’s what I get for getting distracted, he reprimanded himself mentally.

He pulled out the Thermos, laying it on the floor next to him. Then he closed his backpack again, swinging it on his back. Once he shifted into Phantom, the backpack would be inaccessible. Would cease to exist until he became human again.

In a flash of light he morphed into his ghost form. Grabbed the Thermos, careful not to cut himself on it. And then he shot off towards FentonWorks, making sure to stay invisible.

The doorbell rang, and Jack automatically looked away from the experiment he and Maddie had been working on.

“Do you think that that’s…?” he didn’t finish his question, but he knew his wife would know anyway.

“Maybe,” she said, pulling her goggles off. “It has been a few weeks since he last came by.”

“I hope he hasn’t gotten himself injured again.” Jack frowned at the partially dismantled invention in front of him.

The two of them had been working on the Booo-merang, hoping to reassemble it to pick up on an actual ghost. In fact, they were hoping to tweak it into picking up Phantom specifically. The first time he had come to them for help, he had barely made it to their house. As much as they disliked it, there was a decent chance of Phantom getting hurt worse. And if he disappeared… There was no one who would look for him. No one who would miss him, not really.

Except them.

So they had to be ready to help. In any way they could. From tweaking their inventions to ignore Phantom’s ecto-signature, to building ones specifically intended to help him… Whatever they could do, they would.

“He probably has,” Maddie said with a sigh. “We better go check.”

“Yeah.” The Booo-merang could wait. If Phantom was injured, he was more urgent.

The two of them raced up the stairs, swinging open the front door. No one was there, but Jack stepped aside with a small grin on his face anyway.

“Thanks,” said the empty space, voice surprisingly light and airy. He didn’t sound like he was hurt, but he might be putting up a front.

They entered the living room, and Phantom became visible. His jumpsuit was shiny and pristine, hair disheveled but undirtied. His glow was bright and didn’t flicker. He seemed… healthy. As much as a ghost could be, that is.

“Not injured for once?” Maddie queried, cocking an eyebrow at the ghost.

“You did ask for me to come by without needing stitches,” Phantom quipped back. Then he deflated a little, nervously playing with something in his hand. It seemed metallic, reflecting the light of Phantom’s glow. But Jack couldn’t see it well enough to tell what it was. “I, uh. Could use your help, though.”

“Of course!” he boomed. “What do you need us to do?”

Phantom hesitated for a moment. Then he held out his hand, showing the metal object he had been playing with.

It was a Fenton Thermos – or used to be one, at least. The cylinder had been badly dented and even punctured in two places. Jack couldn’t even imagine the power needed to achieve such a thing.

More importantly, however… How did Phantom get a Fenton Thermos?

There had been stories, descriptions of Phantom using a tool which certainly sounded similar to their Thermoses… but this was the first time that Jack had seen it with his own eyes. And it was, without doubt, a Thermos just like theirs.

“How did you get that?” he asked, cautious. People had been describing Phantom with this tool for a long time. Way before they ever got a truce. Phantom couldn’t have gotten it back then, not unless… “Did you steal that?”

“What? No!” The ghost seemed offended by the suggestion, pulling the Thermos against his chest again.

“Then how did you get it?” Maddie repeated the question, frowning at the ghost. She also seemed put-off by the suggestion that Phantom might not have been as good as they thought.

“I- Jack threw it at me!” the ghost exclaimed, throwing out his hands.

“I did?” He didn’t remember doing so… but it also sounded strange enough that he couldn’t imagine a ghost coming up with it as an excuse.

And apparently Maddie thought the same, because she now let up her frown to quirk an eyebrow at Phantom. “When? And why?”

The ghost huffed, crossing his arms in a somewhat disgruntled fashion. “How am I supposed to know why he threw it? As for when, it was during my first fight to protect Amity Park. Against the Lunch Lady ghost.”

Phantom turned to look Jack straight in the eye. “He hit me right in the face, and he wasn’t even aiming for me!”

That… did sound like something that he would do. But he couldn’t imagine just throwing out one of his ghost hunting inventions, not while there were ghosts running rampant! Unless…

“Hey Mads… Wasn’t that when Jazz convinced us to give up on ghost hunting?”

Phantom blinked, apparently surprised by this revelation. “You… almost gave up on ghost hunting? I… really can’t imagine that. What changed your mind?”

“You, actually,” Maddie added, now also remembering that day. “You phased by and showed us that ghosts really do exist.”

“Huh,” Phantom said, playing with the Thermos in his hands again. “That must’ve been right after I caught the Thermos.”

“And that’s what you were here for, then.” Jack held out his hand.

“Uh, yeah.” Phantom handed over the Thermos. “I was hoping you could fix it? Or, uh.” He glanced over at the device with a grimace. “Or replace it, if you have something else I can use.”

Jack shook his head at the state of the ghost-catching gadget and handed it over to his wife. There was no saving it. But maybe his wife could see something he didn’t. “We got plenty of capture and containment devices.”

“But something small, like the Thermos?” Phantom vaguely gestured at himself. “I can’t exactly go about dragging a vacuum with me, can I?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, before frowning. “Wait a minute, how do you know about the Fenton Weasel?”

“Honey, you caught Phantom in that. Remember?” Maddie looked up from the busted Thermos and also shook her head in the negative. “And there’s no fixing this, you’ll need something else. We’ll have to check the Weapons Vault if we have another Thermos for you.”

Jack, meanwhile, frowned in thought. He had captured the ghost kid before? “When was that?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean the catching thing?” Phantom scratched his cheek, thinking for a minute. “That was… Oh, that was during that bounty thing. You let me go so we could work together to save your family. Remember?”

“Oh yeah.” That was when all those other ghost hunters came to Amity, just to catch Phantom! And then the Wisconsin Ghost had tried to steal their Portal! That dastardly specter!

“You never told me you two worked together.” Maddie’s tone was accusing, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. She seemed… amused.

“Wasn’t much working together,” Jack said with a shrug. “He phased me out of the cage the Wisconsin Ghost trapped me in and he flew me most of the way to FentonWorks. And then the ghost hunters showed up so he left me to fight the Wisconsin Ghost alone.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, crossing his arms again. “His name is Plasmius. And I did come to help you in the lab, but you didn’t need it.”

“You did?” Jack didn’t remember seeing the ghost… Oh, duh. “You were invisible?”

“Yeah,” Phantom confirmed with a nod. “And you kicked Plasmius’ ass. It was fantastic.” His grin was wide and clearly heart-felt.

“Language,” Maddie chastised. Then she stopped and blinked, apparently surprised by her automatic reaction.

Phantom, in turn, stuck out his tongue. The incredibly childish gesture was ruined only by the fact that his tongue was as green as the rest of his ectoplasmic flesh.

Jack cleared his throat, catching the attention of both his wife and the specter. Then he stuck a thumb in the general direction of the Weapons Vault. “Let’s go check the Vault, shall we?”

His wife nodded and got up. The two of them made it all the way to the hallway before they realized that Phantom wasn’t following them.

Maddie turned to look over her shoulder at the ghost. “Are you coming too?”

Phantom blinked, apparently surprised by the question. “You’re letting me, a ghost, look at your Vault of ghost hunting equipment?”

“We’re letting a fellow ghost hunter look at our ghost hunting equipment, yes.” Jack shrugged at him. “Unless you don’t want to see it, of course.”

“No, no, I would love to.” The ghost drifted towards them, remaining roughly at eye level. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jack replied as he started moving towards the Vault again. “You won’t be able to access it, since the lock runs off of DNA and you don’t have any. But if you come to us we can open it for you, or grab you whatever you’re looking for.”

“I mean, it’s not like I need ghost hunting equipment very often.” Phantom floated by on his side, keeping pace with the two humans. “Besides something to catch them in, of course.”

“We don’t just make weapons, you know,” Maddie added, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’m sure that a ghost scanner of sorts could come in handy.” Then she frowned. “Although you seem to be perfectly capable of finding them already.”

“Yeah.” Phantom shrugged. “I kind of have one built in. One of my first abilities, and my first non-standard one, was the ability to sense other ghosts. I’ve honed it so I can sense direction and strength, too.”

“Now that is a convenient power for a ghost hunter to have,” Jack exclaimed with a grin. “Can you imagine, Mads? Not even needing a ghost scanner? Just knowing when a ghost is nearby?”

“I can even identify some ghosts by their ecto-signatures,” Phantom proudly added, now also grinning. “Mostly the ones that show up a lot, though. And all my allies, of course.”

They stopped in front of the large metal door that led to the Vault. While Maddie went to unlock it, Jack turned back to the ghost. “We’re working on something similar for our gear, too. Getting it to exclude your ecto-signature.”

“Really?” Phantom asked, smile brightening. “That’s- That means so much to me.”

The mechanism of the Vault unlocked with a beep and a metallic clunk. Maddie withdrew her hand and pulled her glove back on, simultaneously turning to look at Phantom. “Well, we said that we were going to help you. Making sure our equipment doesn’t target you is a good start, no?”

Phantom huffed, blowing a few stray hairs out of his face as he did so. “You would think that, but Red never bothered to do so. Then again, we usually go for temporary truces, not… this.”

“You’ve worked with the Red Huntress before?” Maddie questioned as she opened the Vault door. “Do you know who she is, then?”

“A couple times,” Phantom admitted with a shrug, drifting towards the Vault as it opened. “And yeah, but I’m not telling anyone without her permission. She wears a mask for a reason, you know?”

“You’re not worried that she’s gonna get hurt?” Maddie stepped aside to let Jack enter first, quirking an eyebrow at the ghost.

“Of course I am!” he answered, sounding offended. “I worry every time I see her out there hunting ghosts! I worry about everyone in this damn city!” Then his shoulders slumped, a somewhat defeated look coming over him. “But she doesn’t trust me to keep Amity safe. And I can’t stop her from going out.” He sighed heavily. “And she has someone looking out for her. If she ever gets in too deep… Gets hurt… He’ll take care of her.”

“And you have us.” Maddie gripped his shoulder comfortingly, before she started guiding him towards the Vault. “And we’ll take care of her too, if you want.”

“Thanks.” Phantom floated into the Vault, then glanced around at the shelves of equipment. “Wow, this is a lot of stuff.”

“And you haven’t even seen the stuff in the lab and the shed yet!” Jack exclaimed, appearing from deeper in the Vault. In his arms were several pieces of ghost hunting equipment – none of them weapons. “Here, I gathered some of the things that might be helpful to you.”

Phantom opened his mouth to reply, but then Jack dumped all of the gear into the arms of the ghost. He struggled to keep a hold of all of it, and Maddie watched as a glass contained of Ecto-Dejecto toppled off-

and stopped right before it hit the floor. A green aura lit around it, and it slowly floated back to the stack of things Phantom was holding.

She cocked a questioning eyebrow at the ghost. “Since when do you have telekinesis?”

“A couple of months,” the ghost admitted, attempting to shift the stuff he was holding to get a better grip on it. “But I don’t use it much in combat. Takes too much focus.” The vial settled on the stack, this time without falling off. “I’m still working on it. I don’t know how useful it would be in a fight, but it could be useful to keep the citizens safe from debris and such.”

“It could be useful to grab projectiles before they hit you,” Maddie offered, glancing over to figure out where her husband had gone. “Things like nets and such.”

Phantom blinked, then groaned. He looked like he would’ve slapped himself in the face if his hands weren’t already occupied. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Maddie laughed at his forlorn expression. “Glad that I was able to help.” Then she eyed the teetering heap of equipment the ghost was holding. “You can bring that downstairs if you want, see if there’s anything that catches your attention. I’ll check for a Thermos or something similar in the meantime.”

“Uh, alright.” Phantom nodded before turning transparent. The items he was holding followed soon after.

“See you downstairs,” he said with a grin before falling through the floor. Maddie blinked for a moment at the display of his ghostly abilities. She hadn’t had much opportunity to observe him using his powers yet, so seeing him use them so casually… It was a little startling.

Not bad. Just… unexpected.

Maddie came down not much later to find Phantom in the kitchen. The stack of gear that Jack had handed him laid on the table, the ghost already picking through it. Most of the gadgets were put to the side, clearly discarded.

She cleared her throat to catch his attention. “Sorry Phantom, I’m afraid that we don’t have a Thermos for you.”

“Oh,” he said, disappointed. “Nothing else I could use, either?”

“No, sorry.” She sat down on one of the free chairs, looking over the pile of inventions. “We can build you a new one, though. If you come back this weekend we should have it done for you.”

“Really?” He perked up, eyes bright. “I’ll be sure to drop in, then.”

Maddie smiled at him, then gestured over to the gadgets he had been sorting through. “No interest in most of these?”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Most of em I have no need for, or they’re things I can already do on my own. These three could be useful, though.” He picked up three items he had put aside, showing them to her.

One was the vial of Ecto-Dejecto he had almost dropped earlier. The others were a broken Fenton Ghost Fisher and some Fenton Phones.

Maddie took the snapped fishing rod from his hands. “Why do you want this? It’s broken.”

“I’m more interested in the line,” he confessed. “It could be useful to tie up enemy ghosts, if I can’t quite catch them in my Thermos, or if I need to talk with them.”

She hummed, handing him the fishing rod back. “That’s fair. What about the Ecto-Dejecto and the Fenton Phones? You are aware of what the Ecto-Dejecto is supposed to do, right?”

“Well, yeah.” He grinned, a little cockily. “But its current iteration strengthens ghosts, right? It could be useful if I ever get in a really tight spot.”

How did he know that? He was right, of course, but how did a ghost know about this recent invention?

“Yes it does… But Phantom, how do you know about that?”

His eyes widened, like he realized that he had accidentally told her something she wasn’t supposed to know. The bright green irises cast shaky light all over the kitchen.

“I, uh.” He started fidgeting with the vial in his hand. “Um. I might’ve… occasionally spied on you two in the lab. Because it was easier to avoid getting hurt if I knew what kind of inventions you had.”

Maddie eyed him suspiciously. She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, but if he was… Well, as much as she hated the idea of a ghost spying on her, his reasoning was understandable.

She sighed. “I suppose that that’s fair. We did target you with experimental inventions a lot.”

“Heheh, yeah.” He smiled somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a motion that reminded her of her son.

She wondered, suddenly, what her kids thought of Phantom. Because while she and Jack were now on his side, they hadn’t talked about their truce with their children. And while most teenagers seemed to side with Phantom… Her kids were also raised by strongly anti-ghost parents.

They might hate Phantom, not knowing that their parents supported the ghost.

Phantom’s face fell, and he dropped his hand too. He looked vaguely worried. “Is something… wrong?”

Maddie realized that she must’ve been frowning at him. She waved off his concerns. “Oh no, sorry Phantom. I was just thinking…” She eyed the ghost speculatively. “Are you… familiar with my kids?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘familiar’.” He shrugged. “I know a lot of kids that go to Casper High by name, especially those that get caught up in ghost attacks. But I don’t really know any of them.”

Then he grimaced suddenly. “Except Paulina Sanchez. I’m a little too familiar with her.”

Maddie quirked an eyebrow at him. “How so?”

“Well, I’m sure that she doesn’t think so, but, uh.” He flushed bright green. “She kind of… has a shrine dedicated to me in her locker. I saved her a couple times and now she’s got a huge crush on me.”

She snorted at his confession. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. “Reminding you of those worshiping ghosts of yours?” she teased Phantom.

“At least they don’t have a crush on me,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “And even if they did, at least they’re also ghosts. There’s something weird about a living girl having a crush on a ghost.”

And he did look very uncomfortable. Maddie felt for him. It couldn’t be easy, to be a ghost and so aware of the difference between you and the living. Especially since he was still so similar to them.

“Well, if she ever gets a little too persistent,” she laid her hand on his shoulder, “just tell us. Jack and I will play the role of overprotective parents if need be.”

Phantom huffed out a laugh, his glow brightening in joy. “Thanks, I’ll… keep that in mind. But, uh. If you can not give her ghost hunting equipment if she asks for it, I would appreciate that. Last thing I need is for her to be able to trap me.” His eyes sparkled with joy, making it clear that he was just joking around.

“I’ll make sure,” Maddie promised him, lifting her hand off of his shoulder to ruffle his hair instead.

She was about to say more, but Phantom shivered suddenly. His aura flickered brighter for a moment, and a puff of blue vapor trailed out of his mouth.

The ghost groaned, floating out of his chair. “Well, duty calls.”

“Was that your ghost sense, then?” She pushed herself out of the chair as well, reaching for one of the ecto-guns stored in the kitchen.

“Yup,” he confirmed, stuffing the Ecto-Dejecto and the fishing line into bags on his belt. He eyed the Fenton Phones for a moment, stuffing two in another pocket but leaving the rest.

Maddie holstered a gun and reached for one of the other pairs of Fenton Phones. Phantom caught her hand, however.

“You don’t have to help,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just the Box Ghost, no one threatening.”

“Oh, that one.” Maddie relaxed her posture a little, pulling her hand away from the earphones again. “Yes, I’m sure you can handle him alone.”

Phantom nodded, floating further towards the door. “Yeah. It’ll be a little harder without a Thermos, but it should be doable enough. I’ll see you and Jack this weekend, then.”

“Yeah. Bye Phantom, good luck.” She smiled and waved him goodbye.

“Thanks!” he called back as he left.

[nitewrighter]

Care Package

The box appeared outside the gates of the watchpoint some time in the small hours of the morning, Christmas day. All the watchpoint security cameras picked up was a spiral of black smoke and the box just... appearing there. It was wrapped in twine and brown paper, with a “To: Aedan” tag and a “Do not open until Christmas” stamp on it. The poor little box had gone through the gauntlet being scanned by every device imaginable on the watchpoint. All confirmed. No electrical bugging. No corrosive or explosive materials. No Vishkar tech. Aedan was still in his pajamas (or rather the Overwatch logo-slathered sweats which he used as pajamas) when Jack had summoned him to Winston’s lab, at a weary 5 in the morning, to hand him the box. 

“Is this from you?” said Aedan, looking over the box.

Jack shook his head.

“...Do I have to open it in front of you?” said Aedan.

“I wish I could say, ‘I don’t think Talon would pull anything on Christmas,’ but I wouldn’t put it past them,” said Jack, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

 He handed Aedan a boxcutter and Aedan cut the twine, tore past the brown paper, and cut the tape securing the box open. Jack leaned over his shoulder slightly as Aedan pulled out an old pair of his skinny jeans, a new pair of corduroy pants, several of his old shirts (the blackstar shirt, the Velvet Underground shirt, a tacky gag shirt that read ‘Pipette, Cry, Repeat,’ and two dress shirts), old and new underwear, and one of those athletic wear quarter-zip base layer wool tops in black, new. 

“Well.. you won’t have to keep borrowing stuff from around the watchpoint as much,” Jack said with a shrug as Aedan pulled out a small envelope from the interior of the box. It was all done up in the fancy stationery of his mother’s Ministry of Genetics office, even embossed with a wax seal that bore the stylized double-helix of her office. Aedan didn’t think looking at something as boring as stationery would make him miss Oasis that much harder, but it did. He opened the letter.

Dear Aedan, (And I assume Jack or Ana or the ape or whoever’s reading this because they’re probably treating you like a criminal at best there)---

Aedan gave a glance to Jack, who was reading over his shoulder, and Jack gave a quiet scoff, before looking back at the letter.

This is not forgiveness. This is not acceptance. This is only so you might have slightly more dignity while you’re on that Watchpoint (if they don’t burn this package like the animals they are). I acknowledge that you are my son and my creation and my responsibility, but I also acknowledge that you are your own person, and that you can make your own decisions (however terrible they may be). You have gone beyond my protection, and you are choosing to protect a world that will not protect you--it either takes a great deal of fearlessness or a great deal of stupidity to do that, and I know you take after me, so it must be mostly the former. You know I have never been one for blind faith or sentiment, and as such I have never placed much stock in these holidays. I will say that your presence in my life gave them more merit and your absence now makes them far more difficult than they ever were before. I don’t know what the future holds for you, but you may as well have some proper clothes to face it with.

You are my greatest creation. I hope you never forget that, and I hope the world sees that, someday.

Nollaig shona duit, a thaisce,

Mum

Aedan closed the letter and tucked it back into the envelope.

“Sure manages to turn ‘I miss you’ into a mouthful, huh?” said Jack.

“Yes,” Aedan smiled a little, but then that smile faded.

 Jack awkwardly patted his shoulder. “This can’t be easy... first Christmas here, and all.”

“I can manage,” Aedan folded up some of the clothes he had taken out and put them back in the box, “Any plans?”

“Same old,” said Jack with a shrug, “If you want to spend your Christmas triangulating terrorist locations...”

“I’m good, thanks,” said Aedan, picking up the box.

-----

Aedan slept in another few hours that Christmas morning, had a light, lonely breakfast in the Watchpoint mess hall and returned to his quarters at the watchpoint dormitories. He was folding and putting away his new and old clothing in the locker at the foot of his bed when he accidentally knocked the box over pulling out the pair of corduroys and a small holographic-red foil wrapped object bounced out of the bottom of the box and rolled a little bit. Aedan picked it up and found it was a Christmas cracker.

“Not without your sense of humor, are you, Mum?” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at being festive or some sense of holiday traditions on her end, or if she was making clear how alone he was this holiday without someone to hold the other end of the tube. In any case, he shrugged and took hold of both ends of the foil. Might as well, he thought, pulling on the ends of it.

“Merry Christmas!” a clear voice cut across the room and Aedan flinched hard at the sudden sound, sundering the Christmas cracker with a loud pop. He looked over his shoulder to see Rei in the stairwell down to the dorms with a small wrapped package under her arm.

Aedan exhaled. “You really ought to give me more warning before you sneak up on me like that.”

Rei rolled her eyes and continued down the stairs, “I wasn’t ‘sneaking,’” she said with a smile, “Though I am naturally undetectable by the untrained eye...” she spoke with mock gravitas and then made a chopping motion with her hand.

“Ninja,” both she and Aedan said at the same time and Rei snickered, “What was that? The popping?”

Aedan held up one half of the destroyed Christmas cracker. “Just... this—it’s stupid, don’t worry about it,” he said quietly, setting it aside.

“Huh... cool. Anyways--Here,” she held the box out to him.

“Oh--you didn’t have to--you really shouldn’t have--” Aedan started.

“I wanted to,” said Rei, holding the box out to him.

“When I say ‘You shouldn’t have’ I mean, ‘I don’t have anything to give you,’” said Aedan, glancing off.

“Aedan, I would literally be dead without you and you gave up everything to be here,” said Rei pushing the box forward, “Come on.”

Aedan bit the inside of his lip and took the box from her. The wrapping paper itself had some kind of nonsensical unicorns-in-santa-hats pattern on it and was hemorrhaging glitter. She watched with a smile on her face as he unwrapped it and lifted the lid off of the box. Inside was a round, flattened cylindrical object, roughly hand-sized in diameter.

“You said you missed your music the most right?” said Rei, “And you were also into like... ridiculously outdated stuff like vinyl or phonograms or whatever.”

“Just vinyl,” said Aedan, picking up the object out of the box, “This looks pre-crisis as well, though.”

“It’s a ‘C-D player!’” said Rei, as Aedan turned the object over, “Athena helped me, ‘burn a disc’ for it--which is what they called making music discs back then? That’s kind of dumb...like, why would you call it ‘burning,’ you know? Oh! Here!”

She pressed a button on top of the CD player, opening it up to reveal a CD covered with marker drawings and the words “Welcome to the Watchpoint” written in spiky letters.

“It’s got old and new stuff, Rajeev and Marti helped out, too,” said Rei, “We can burn another if you don’t like—“

She suddenly found herself caught up in a tight hug.

“Go raibh maith agat,” his voice was muffled into her shoulder.

Rei smiled and patted his back. “Yeah! Uh... gurra ma-hagot to you too!”

A chuckle shook Aedan as he broke away from her with his hands on her shoulders. “I—sorry,” he pulled his hands away from her, “I can’t thank you enough for this. I really—I wish I could give you something...”

“Well you could handle dishes tonight,” said Rei, crossing her arms slyly.

“Dishes?” Aedan tilted his head.

“Y’know, after dinner,” said Rei.

“Dinner—you mean Christmas dinner.”

“Well yeah— Uncle Jesse always cooks way too much and the Amaris are over in Canada and—“

“You’re inviting me to Christmas dinner...” Aedan said the words, trying to make sense of them.

“Mm-hm!” Rei nodded, all bright eyes and wide smiles.

“Your mum hates me—“ Aedan started.

“Christmas armistice. If she can put up with Uncle Hanzo, she can put up with you. She’ll be nice. Promise,” said Rei, “And I’ve got your back.”

Aedan stood there, stunned for a few seconds. “Y-yes,” he managed at last, “I’d love to.”

“You know where our apartment is, right? Be there at 4!” said Rei, backing towards the stairwell, “We start early!”

“Right—early,” Aedan said, glancing over at the pile of clothes on his bed. His eyes flicked to the Christmas cracker, “Wait!” he blurted out, picking it up.

Rei paused on the stairwell as Aedan stepped up toward her. He picked through the Christmas cracker and gingerly unfolded a gold foil crown. “It’s... not a proper present but...” he trailed off and set the crown on her head. Normally the crowns from those poppers were annoyingly loose around the head, but the thickness of her hair kept the crown well-positioned. She looked better than most in it. Or maybe he just thought she looked better than most all the time. He wasn’t sure.

Rei adjusted the crown on her head slightly and smiled, “It’s perfect,” she said smiling.

“There’s a terrible joke that comes with it,” said Aedan, holding up a small slip of paper from the Christmas cracker.

“Save it for Uncle Jesse,” said Rei, gently chucking him on the chin, “Four o’ clock.”

“Four o’ clock,” Aedan repeated after her as she hurried up the stairs.The words sounded almost magical.

“Four o’ clock!” Rei’s voice trailed behind her even as she disappeared past the top of the stairs.

“Four o’ clock,” Aedan said quietly as Rei slipped off. His shoulders slumped slightly in a dreamlike stupor, as he stared up the stairwell. He stood there smiling for a few moments, but then he suddenly perked up. “Shit, I need to cook something.”

[khicken121]

HanMei Week: Day 3: Say Something

Nobody: Me: HanMei in a canonical divergence AU. Will it make sense? Probably not, but I’ll try. Tags/Warnings: First meeting, Canonical divergence, Unresponsiveness, Brief mentions of needles/IVs (Intravenous). Note: Something I’d like to clear up: I incorporated some Mandarin and Japanese characters in here. I had some help with a few of the lines from a friend (bless them), but I had to use an online translator for the rest (which I don’t like doing because I know a lot of them aren’t reliable). I apologize if the established formalities/dynamics don’t align with the Japanese and/or Mandarin characters used, or if the translation is just way off in general. In case I did, I put what I meant for them to say in English and in brackets. [Like this]

-----

Mei pulled herself through the snow with all her strength. The wind grew increasingly overwhelming against her body. When it wasn’t pushing her backwards, it was cutting through every layer of clothing that protected her skin against the bite of the fierce wind. She knew where it was coming from, and it was only a warning of what was to come with the storm looming overhead. The distance between herself and it was growing shorter, and the only place she could go was into it. She could see the small shack-like building through her fogged glasses. She had just a little further to go, then she would be safe from the wind.

The ferocity of the wind drowned out the faint beeping coming from Snowball, but the signal wasn’t hindered. Regardless, it needed to be amplified if she wanted to increase her chances of getting off the ice-covered land.

Her mind didn’t register the time that passed. Only the wind that became harder to resist and the strength she needed to fight it, but wasn’t sure she had. Even Snowball was finding hard to not fall victim to the powerful force of the blizzard that was moments away from engulfing them both. Once inside the abandoned safe point, all that greeted them was black screens. Mei didn’t even have to say anything before Snowball lent some of his battery life to bring some of the devices to life. The soft beeps coming from her soft companion grew louder as her distress signal amplified.

Her call for help was out there, and the adrenaline left her body. Her knees buckled and the cool metal of the floor cut through her clothing. She tumbled onto her side and her breathing grew slower and deeper. She could barely see beyond the fogged glasses that clung to her nose, but she could feel Snowball’s virtual eyes on her. The cold seeped into her body and what previously hurt was now going numb. The throbbing of her hands and feet became an afterthought as the tug of her eyelids sent her vision into nothingness. A small smile stretched her lips as the beeping grew faster, indicating that her signal was picked up, indicating her signal was heard.

-----

The storm subsided as two tall men entered the room where she laid on the frosted floor. There was no need to check for a pulse, as her shallow breaths came out in short white puffs, nearly invisible to the naked eye, but there nonetheless. An aggressive tap to her shoulder provoked no reaction from her. Neither did an attempt to sit her up, as evidenced enough with her head drooping due to gravity while her body was held upright. She was heavier than they anticipated, especially with the equipment strapped to her back, but they didn’t bother to leave it, as they were under orders not to.

She was hauled to two small land vehicles. She was strapped down on a stretcher attached to one of them, and the equipment attached to her back was loaded onto the other. They brought her to a large ship waiting for them on a hidden shoreline. Words were exchanged in their native language, sharing theories on why they would take such a detour. They were ordered to go back and salvage what items may be of value. Their question was soon answered when they found the official Overwatch emblem on several of the objects they scavenged.

A pretty penny could be made from this impromptu extension of this trip

-----

It was hard to determine what caused Mei to wake up. Her own breaths reverberated unusually loud in her ears. The strange warmth that surrounded her body. The tension that held a tight grasp on her muscles. Perhaps it was the bubbles that brushed against her forehead as they rose. It took a while for everything to register, as her mind was still clouded from sleep.

Mei’s eyes stung as they adjusted to an environment they weren’t meant to see in. She attempted to move her arms to investigate the pressure wrapping around the lower half of her skull. The action was hindered as it moved through what felt like liquid against her skin. When her fingertips reached her face, they were met with hard, artificial material. As she felt it, she discovered it completely covered her mouth, nose, and even wrapped around the back of her head akin to a heavy, metallic mask. This one, however, prevented water from touching any part of her ears as well. Something cylindrical is snaked out from the underside of it. It traveled upward before abruptly disappearing into a harsh glare from some kind of light source. Something clicked in her mind.

Water.

She was held in a glasslike vessel and completely surrounded by water. Oxygen was fed to her through the black tube attached to whatever what fastened to her face. Her body was restrained in a harness around her shoulders and upper torso, and her toes hovered above the floor. Upon gazing down, she found she wasn’t wearing her snow gear anymore, but rather a sleeveless, solid silver bodysuit.

Curious, Mei pulled at the thick mask she wore, but it didn’t budge. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices an IV injected in her forearm and taped securely to her skin. A smaller, transparent tube pumped clear liquid into her veins, and it snaked up like the black one attached to the mask. On her other wrist, a snug cuff with blinking lights that synchronized with her heart rate.

She doesn’t hear or feel the surface of the water lower until the weight of her hair pulls at her scalp and her feet touch a solid surface under her. Her body still ached, but the buoyancy of the water -now at her shoulder line- and the harness took off most of the weight from her legs and feet. It prevented her from collapsing to the bottom of the enclosed environment she was kept in, which her body wished it could do more than anything, but she still willed herself to stand. The cool air graced her cheeks before a brief series of quiet hisses reached her ears before she felt the mask around her head loosen. She pulled it off with ease, and it hung limp on its connector to the ceiling.

Her eyes and lungs adjust to the new atmosphere with rapid blinks and gasps. Within many prolonged seconds, she retook control of her breathing and the lights on her wrist flickered at a slower tempo. She observed as much as she could without the aid of her glasses.

Several people she didn’t recognize stared back at her. All but one of them were in long lab coats. The only one without one wore an expensive black and blue suit. As he stepped closer towards her, the other men and women in the room backed away. The aura of authority coming from his person caused Mei subconsciously stepped backward, too.

Her back touched the edge of the receptacle she was in before she managed to take one whole step.

The suit-clad man was undeterred by her reaction and continued his approach toward her. As he grew closer, her vision grew crisper. His hair was short and spiked and slicked back, with the exception of a stray piece in front of his forehead which he paid no mind to. His height was tough to determine since she was looking at him at eye level, but if both their feet were on the same ground he stood on, he’d most definitely be at least a little taller.

He reached up towards something that was hidden from Mei’s view, but it brought her attention to the tattoo that decorated his toned arm.

“あなたは私を理解していますか？” [Do you understand me?]

A deep, masculine voice spoke from above her. His lip movements matched the sounds that She didn’t understand the language it spoke in, but her thoughts were cut off before she could formulate a response. “なんとか言え！” [Say something!]

“我不明白!” [I don’t understand!] Mei said in a startled and apologetic tone.

He held his emotionless gaze to hers. Mei was putting as much effort as possible into not showing fear, but she wasn’t sure how well she was holding the illusion. “I speak english… if that’s any help,” she said. Hopefully there'll be a lingua franca between them.

His expression remained cold.

“They’ll help you prepare for questioning,” was all he said to her before taking his leave from the room.

He is not a man of many words.

The rest of the water was drained before the transparent walls were lowered and two people stepped up and freed her from the harness and removed the IV from her arm. She was handed off to two women technicians who brought her to another door that blended in with the dark walls of the room. “You’re warm now,” one of the women told her with reassurance in her voice. As she said this, she handed Mei her freshly polished and scratchless glasses.

“But we must hurry,” the second of the two began. “Shimada Hanzo is a very impatient and extremely busy man.”

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 8: Don’t Kick That One Out

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up

Warnings:

Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet)

Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Andsvarr

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Loki is Educational, Andsvarr is a Fanboy, Loki is Considerate, Brunnhilde Ships It

Summary: Loki is a Responsible Prince, who makes an effort to keep mistakes from repeating. Loki is a Responsible Prince who teaches Reader further in the the ways of history and magic. Thor and Brunnhilde have taken notice of how much of a Responsible Prince Loki is trying to be.

You awoke from dreams of other worlds to be faced with another tasty breakfast and a new set of clothing. You really hoped it was Saldis or Roskva bringing your clothes now, as there were various underthings among them that the men that were suddenly in your life simply did not need to know about. There were also some aspects of your new garments that you weren’t entirely sure on how to go about wearing, but you’d be hanged before you went to ask Loki to help you dress yourself. You were not a child; you didn’t need anyone’s help to put your own clothes on, least of all his.

The dark green dress was easy enough. It was somewhat shapeless, soft and comfortable, but clearly not new. There was wear in the shoulder and neck areas, and the hems and sleeves had clearly been shortened to fit your stature. They’d hidden the hasty alterations with a wide black ribbon, woven with a dark yellow braid pattern. Somehow, the fact that it wasn’t brand new made you more comfortable with wearing it. It would be so much easier and cheaper for these already busy people to simply recycle old clothes for you.

The loose drawstring trousers and thick socks that went under the skirt were very welcome. Your feet had been cold since yesterday, and there was no rug on the floor of your room.

You noticed with some surprise that your apron from work had been altered with decorative ribbon as well, and was clearly meant to be worn with the rest of the ensemble. You had seen some people out in the encampment who had been wearing overdresses that looked a bit like aprons. Maybe the Asgardian clothiers had though that’s what your apron was. You put it on like you always did. You’d grown so used to wearing it. Now it looked so lovely, with its simple ribbon addition, it was like you’d never seen it before.

Now you were confronted by the objects you weren’t as sure about. A braided yellow and green sash that you sincerely hoped was a belt, because that was how you were wearing it. A triangular piece of cloth that you thought might be some kind of mini cape. It looked warm and fluffy, and Loki had said he’d get you a coat. Maybe this was the best he could find? It draped over your shoulders easily enough.

There was a pair of oval pins, decorated with knotted snakes, a length of yarn braid strung between them. They were obviously meant to be worn as a connected whole, so you held them against various parts of your body, trying to guess where they looked best. You settled for pinning them to your sash belt. A pair of fingernail clippers and a tiny, cylindrical sewing kit with a single needle and spool of thread wrapped around a toothpick inside, both hung from short chains attached to hooks. You hooked them through the braided belt, tied the warm shawl around your shoulders, and stepped out into the library.

Loki was there, nibbling on some toast, leafing through a yellowed journal filled with odd-looking runes; like lines with tally marks on them. He seemed to be attempting to transliterate them into his own runes, in his notebook.

“What do they say?” You asked. Could you learn to read these things?

“They are descriptions of an artifact the writers were searching for. It had been used against them in war, and they believed it had been left behind when their enemies withdrew. They never found it.”

“Who were they?” You wondered. “I’ve never seen writing like this.”

“How many kinds of writing have you really seen?” Loki asked, slight mocking in his tone. You, who are poor and uneducated, how much could you know? Was that what he meant?

“Well, I’ve got the internet.” You pointed out. “I’ve at least seen words, even if I couldn’t read them.”

“Very well then, from where does this come?” He scribbled a few letters.

“I think that’s Greek? I can’t read it.” His pen moved again. “An Asian language. Probably Chinese? I can’t read that either, and I’m not good at telling them apart. I just know there’s a lot.”

“And these?”

“Those are the same runes you always use. So…Viking, I guess?”

“They are Asgardian in origin.” Loki explained. “Brought here and taught to the ancestors of your people, likely at about the same time this writing was.” He tapped the yellow page, with its strange, stick-like runes. “But these are not the same as what humans came to use. Humans did not learn Asgardian, they simply adapted our writing to their own purposes. Your kind is very good at doing things like that.

But this writing did not catch on as well as ours did. It seems to have disappeared and resurfaced several times over the centuries. That’s simply to be expected, I think, because the originators of this language, the Alfar, are a rather aloof people, and so their customs simply didn’t travel as far as ours did.”

He finally looked up at you, and another almost-smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

“You nearly got it right.” He said, almost praising. Then he casually reached out and unfastened the pair of pins from your belt. You made a startled sound, stepped back, but he bid you stay still while he re-pinned them in their proper place; at the shoulder straps of your apron. Your face burned at the closeness, and at the fact that you hadn’t known how to wear simple jewelry, and you looked away.

This sparked some amusement in him.  “You want to look proper when I parade you out in front of the guards, don’t you? You know, when I tell them all ‘hey, you know that obvious human that’s been following me around? Don’t kick that one out’.”

You brightened right up at that. You would get to meet some new people, and see more of the building. You had grown familiar with Loki’s rooms, and with the medical area, but other than that, you had no grasp of your surroundings.

How tiny your world had become.

Evidently there had been word of your coming. The yard outside the guardhouse was stuffed full of people in full armor and horned helmets. They were lined up in flawless order, each with a spear, and a beautiful round shield. They looked ready to take on anything.

“Gotta admit.” You whispered to Loki. “I’m super impressed.”

“It doesn’t take much, does it?” He quipped, then quickly raised his hand to shush you. “This is but a tiny remnant of the force we could once field. While it’s likely we won’t need a great army any time soon, it’s still a mere shadow of what we used to have. Almost half of them are new recruits as well. Not fully trained. It takes more than armor to make einherjar,  _____.”

“They didn’t…they didn’t come back? After you set the universe right?”

He shot you a quick glance.

“I mean all of you.” You amended. He hadn’t even been there. He’d been dead.

“They died before all that, I’m afraid, not because of Thanos. And this is all that’s left. They aren’t wasted though. Rather than battle, they are dedicated to the protection of the city and the people. And now you.”

People gathered in the street as Loki stood before the neat rows of guards, and addressed them in a ringing voice that filled the area. You couldn’t understand, but he placed his hand on your back and pushed you forward, and you heard your name among the flow of words. Knowing why you had come in the first place helped you get the gist of what he was saying.

Of course, he could be saying any kind of insulting thing, and you wouldn’t know. The guards-Einherjar-wore helmets that entirely covered their faces, and could betray no expression, and when you turned to the people gathered on the sidelines, you saw only a mix of adoration and distaste. It seemed Loki was a figure controversial even among his own people.

Or perhaps that disapproval was aimed toward you; a stranger, a human, standing at the side of their prince.

“Hold out your hand.” Loki ordered. “Let them see the mark, so they can recognize that, even if they do not remember your face.”

You held your hand up high over your head so they could all see.

“And if any of you were looking for an excuse to learn more Midgardian languages, may I suggest the challenge of English? For it is all she speaks, I’m afraid. You are all dismissed to your duties.”

With the dismissal, most of the guards left, either to their patrols, or back into the guardhouse. Some removed their helmets to converse with each other. The young guard from Loki’s rooms approached with a small smile.

“Yuu, stae?” He asked shyly.

“Yes.” You told him. “For some time, at least.”

“Guud. So I will…” He trailed off, looking for words, speaking to Loki with a searching tone.

“Ah. Andsvarr here wishes to convey to you his dedication to your personal protection.” Loki said, lips pursing in clear amusement. Andsvarr continued speaking. “He considers it an honor to see to the well-being of the first human resident of Asgard.”

“Oh. Uh, can you tell him that I appreciate his efforts?”

Loki obliged, and the young guard-Andsvarr, you would remember-beamed brighter than his armor. He was called away by another guard, whom you assumed must be his superior.

“No doubt you’ll be able to convey your appreciation without my help soon enough.” Loki said. “He’s proven to be a fast learner.”

“Are humans considered exotic or something?” You wondered. “Because the whole world is full of us. We aren’t exactly rare.”

“Oh, that’s not exactly it. There are a set of Asgardian that isn’t terribly fond of humanity as a concept. And then there is a set that wishes to adapt to our new circumstances as quickly as possible and, perhaps hastily, has decided to welcome humans with open arms. Andsvarr is one of the latter, but he comes from a family that is the former. And so he has embraced this new life with extra vigor.”

“Oh. Is that why you don’t allow any other humans in? Because some of your people don’t like us?”

“There are several reasons.” He offered you his arm, which you slowly and hesitantly took. You’d only seen that gesture in fairy tale movies. “Most of the area is a construction site. You don’t just let random people onto construction sites, do you? Why?”

“It’s dangerous.” You answered obligingly as he led you away, carefully avoiding areas where large amounts of dust were being kicked up. “People who don’t know what they’re doing could get hurt. Okay, that’s fair.”

“And maybe not every human in that camp out there is what they say they are. We have enemies. I have enemies, for what I’ve done. Thor has enemies, among the less kind of your species. And of course, there are the humans who feel threatened by outsiders, or who are jealous, or who are violently opposed to the theological questions we represent. Any such person could prove dangerous to us. Harm our citizens, or sabotage our work.

Also, at the risk of sounding dismissive, worshippers and admirers are simply too much trouble for now. While the prospect of worship is gratifying, we have so much to do at this point in time that we simply cannot have unvetted people running around underfoot. This is all for their safety, as well as ours. And yours. Just because the guards know who you are now doesn’t mean you can go wandering off wherever you want. Most of us have no idea how fragile Midgardian bodies are, compared to our own. There is still too much potential for an accident.”

That was annoying. The prospect of being cooped up all the time was driving you nuts, and it hadn’t even happened yet!

“Maybe you should put me in some of that armor.” You joked. He pretended to be mulling it over.

“You couldn’t even put those brooches on correctly.” He teased. “I can’t expect you to even know what a ‘pauldron’ is, much less how to wear it.”

You huffed. “All right, fine. I don’t know what that is. But you could show me, and then I would.”

“How about I show you more magic instead?” He offered. Part of you was elated. Magic was amazing! But the other part remembered the day before just a bit too vividly. Magic was also frightening.

“Can we not do what we did yesterday?” You asked. “That kinda fried my brain.”

“We are going to have to continue with the experiments, I’m afraid. But you won’t come to harm.”

The courtyard he led you too was lovely, and would be even lovelier, once it was finished. Loki had blankets and bread brought out and sat you down with him, like you were having a nice picnic. He took your hand and spread out your fingers.

“Did it hurt yesterday?” He asked, fingertips brushing the brand. It tickled.

“Well, not exactly. Not pain. Or not what I call pain. It was just too much, that’s all. It was like all the things that come with pain, without the pain part?”

He nodded slowly. “The power is probably circumventing your pain receptors altogether. That might be an involuntary defense mechanism, allowing your body to redirect the magic through the least damaging channels. Possibly partially converting or absorbing it?” He was barely speaking to you at this point, more like he was simply thinking out loud. “Definitely using a portion of it somehow, to maintain health through our closeness.”

Closeness indeed. You were both out in the open, for all to see, sitting cross-legged together on a blanket, heads close, holding hands. Anyone who saw you would get the wrong impression. How could they not?

“Will you let me join with you again?” He asked. You flinched. Did everybody in this city need to work on their phrasing? It seemed he mistook your expression, quickly adding, “I will not let there be a repeat of yesterday, don’t worry. We will be careful.”

“Geez. I guess so. What is the goal though?”

“Like yesterday, I want you to try to push the energy back down. Try to push it into me, through the link. You won’t hurt me, so push as hard as you like.”

You spent several hours practicing and experimenting with moving the energy back and forth. It was truly exhausting, for all that you never even moved from that spot. Loki explained the fatigue as being like exercising a whole new set of muscles that you had never used before, and it certainly felt like it.

When it got too much, he would let you take a break, leaning your head against his shoulder so you could wolf down the bread, while he slowly stroked your shoulders and back. The familiarity of it put you on edge. You wanted the comfort very badly. The past few days had been very stressful, and all you’d been able to do was let it sweep you along. You wanted someone to hold you for a moment, but you weren’t really sure you wanted it to be him. You didn’t have anyone else in mind, but he was, in some part, the center of half a year of suffering, and responsible for uprooting you from everything you had ever known, and setting you adrift. Even though he had vowed to take responsibility for it all, you weren’t sure you wanted it to be him.

When you resumed, the energy was easier to handle, and you could work a bit longer before weariness took over. You thought it must be because you were less tense for the work of his hands. He worked you until you couldn’t do anymore, until you movements trembled and your words came slow and thick, then he lay you down on the blanket to sleep while he compiled his notes.

It was evening before you awoke to Andsvarr calling softly through the door that it was dinnertime. You rolled out of bed to brush your hair and smooth your clothes-which you were very glad to find still on. You grabbed the pad of paper Saldis had left for you and scribbled ‘English Language Books’ for her to find.

Dinner felt awkward. Loki was still being casually tactile, and everyone seemed to notice but him. You probably should have said something, but for all the sleeping, you were still tired, still letting yourself be swept along.

When you were escorted back to bed, you fell right back asleep, and found yourself dreaming of golden spires and flying ships.

                                                                            *****

“Loki, may I speak to you?” Thor asked. Loki could hear concern and confusion in his voice. What was it this time?

“And what have I done to perturb you now brother? I do believe I have behaved myself adequately, at least for a few hours or so.”

“You’re getting pretty handsy with that woman.” Brunnhilde pointed out, punching his arm lightly. “Good for you.”

“It’s not like that!” He insisted. “Touch stabilizes the energy within her. It allows her to push herself further, to remain strong for longer, and mitigates magic fatigue. Bjarkehild, you know, the head healer? We all found this out together.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you put up such a fight.” She teased. “Oh no, I’ve got to get all cuddly with the cute little mortal girl, whatever shall I do?”

Loki heaved a martyred sigh. “Not you too.”

“What?” Brunnhilde shrugged. “She’s cute. Whatever. You lucked out.”

“I am bound against my will to a magical dilemma, which has forced me to bring mayhem into an innocent woman’s life.” He said gravely. “Luck has not favored me for years. I just want to do it right this time. Do something right, anyway.”

“Loki.” Thor said. “However you want to do this-“

“Yes, I know. ‘Be careful’. Now if you will excuse me, I believe I will get some rest as well.”

He listened at your door for a few moments, just to make sure everything was all right, then retired to his own room.

He dreamt of home.

[victorian-cocaine]

Zutara Month, day two: Hidden Identities or the time Zuko won a Carnival game and gave Katara his award

A thousand colourful fireworks fill the skies with with loud booms. Music drops in his ears with the same infectious rhythm it always has during carnivals. The aroma of various fried foods pushes through his nose. It’s overwhelming, in a bad sense. Zuko despises carnivals.

Carnivals not only are full of people, but they are full of unknown loud and happy people. Zuko is not loud nor happy and has therefore no desire whatsoever of being reminded of his lack of joy and loudness.

It is tiring just to be standing there, under the dim lights of the less crowded part he could find. Uncle Iroh is somewhere in the most crowded part he could find. Uncle Iroh enjoys carnivals, and that is the reason ex-Crown Prince Zuko can be found in a carnival, in an Earth Kingdom Colony.

The air is slightly chilly. Zuko finds it very ironic to be in a Fire carnival where the air is less than warm. It feels somehow wrong and contributes to the ill feeling twisting his gut into knots. Zuko warms himself with his inner fire, but it's somehow not enough. Something's just wrong and the skin in his arms and legs keeps prickling.

He is eating fireflakes, but they don't taste like fireflakes. They taste dull, fireflakes should not taste dull, they should taste spicy and like crunchy fire. It's a vague, insufficient imitation. If asked Zuko would say he didn't care about it, but he does. It feels like such a spoiled-fire-princely thing to say, and even though he was a Fire Prince Agni knows how long ago, he had never been pampered nor spoiled, –he was too much of a failure to deserve pampering and/or spoiling– he feels stupid. But there he is, judging  and complaining to himself about bland inauthentic fireflakes.

Zuko wishes his hair was longer, so that he could hide his scar. He hates being looked at, he hates the pity in the eyes of strangers, he hates the ugly, blatant red that covers half his faces.

He is staring off at the crowd when he sees her. He doesn't know why he recognises her. It is really of no use anymore. He's got not crew, no way of taking the Avatar she accompanies to the Fire Nation so that he can have his honour and his place in the line of succession restored. He is a refugee now, just traveling until his uncle decides where to settle. He knows why he won't tell any authorities about who she is and who is somewhere near her. If he can't bring the Avatar to his father, he sure won't let any other stupid general take credit for it. He doesn't know why instantly upon recognising her, he feels the need to follow her even if it serves no purpose at all.

He drops the fireflakes and his legs are moving before he knows it, pushing one step over the other as his eyes follow her green clad form. It's odd to see her in anything but blue, but she will get in trouble wearing blue in a Fire Carnival, green is allowed, if barely. Zuko picks up a blue and white mask from the floor and puts it on, she could recognise him, and that would mean trouble for him.

She's looking at the Fire acrobats. Her eyes are lit up and glowy. Zuko doesn't know if she is about to cry or if the spectacle is really that moving. In order to see for himself, he concentrates on blocking the background noise and directs his gaze to where hers lays. Now that he notices it, drums are being played, it's sort of a mix between acrobacy and dancing. There are two dancers, playing the part of lovers and who are being torn by the acrobats and trying very hard to meet again in any possible way. The dancers don't bend but the acrobats do. The fire on one side and the lack of it on the other create a sort of paranoid but truly incandescent atmosphere. It does look beautiful.

Zuko turns to see her, her eyes are still fixed on the acrobats and the dancers. Her brown hair is arranged in the same fashion it always is. Her eyes are blue. It's not the first time he has noticed it, but it is as if he had never known it before. He had looked at her eyes quite close while fighting her, but they were just eyes back then, now they are blue, bright and– there's another word, pulling at the back of his head, but he cannot bring himself to form it. She's smiling. Her lips barely curved upwards, serene but joyful.

How long has he stared at her? Zuko doesn't know, he feels like an intruder in a very intimate moment. It's ridiculous, there is no intimacy to be found in  a carnival. There's, nevertheless, something about watching her unguardedness that feels intimate. But when the spectacle has ended and the waterbender moves to another attraction Zuko follows her, longing for something he cannot name but that he knows, it's related to her.

To Zuko, life can be comprehended through facts.

Fact: Zuko is a fool and anyone who disagrees has not met him.

Fact: he just stumbled upon a rock and fell directly at the waterbender's feet.

Fact: she is giggling because obviously she thinks he is a dumb idiot.

“Are you okay?” Zuko looks at her, her face has nothing but kindness painted in it (it also has a pointy nose he finds terribly cute). She doesn't know who he is. And she is being kind and offering him her hand to help him stand up. He takes it wordlessly and bows his head to her. He doesn't want to open his mouth, if he does, he is sure he will mess up, she'll recognise his voice or he will make up one and then get confused and talk with another, or forget he is faking his voice and speak with his normal voice after a while.

“You don't speak much, do you?” Zuko shooks his head. “Well, don't worry, I don't mind a little bit of silence.” She continues walking and he assumes she expects him to walk with her, so he does. She starts telling him about his brother and their traveling companion, how she has to mother them, how her brother (Sokka, oh and my name's Katara, by the way) is a chauvinistic idiot who cannot mend his owns socks but expects her to be able to mend his, Aang's (our travelling companion), keep everyone fed and provide them  with clean water at the same time as if she was born with a needle on one hand and cooking utensils on the other.

She is funny. Zuko feels something warm curl in his stomach and he is not sure when he stopped feeling chilled and uneasy.

“So, what's your name Mr. Silent?” Zuko coughs. A name! What's his name?? Agni.  His name is Zuko, Zuko, he is Zuko. Prince Zuko. Agni, what can he tell her? He can’t tell her his real name. He has a refugee name, he remembers. What was it? Agni he needs to remember it now, if more seconds pass this is going to be too awkward and she will leave and Zuko doesn't want her to leave. Leave. Lea- Li! His refugee name is Li.

“Li.” He forces his voice to lower an octave, he hopes she doesn't recognize it. She doesn't.

“You really don't like talking, do you?” Zuko shakes his head. “I must be driving you nuts then,” she laughs a little to herself but Zuko thinks she really is considering her chatter to be bothering him so he tells her that no, she does not bother him, he just prefers to be quiet, and Agni is it difficult to pitch his voice to such a lower tone.

Zuko feels very warm, relaxed, he feels like floating. Walking with her and listening to her and being able to appreciate the wonder that fills her eyes as they roam the carnival shouldn't  mean much. It really shouldn't make him feel warm and like floating on a cloud. It does, and it troubles him, so he does what he does best: he ignores his feelings. Right now he feels too good to be invaded with unease again. Unease can wait to wash over him like waves of drowning, damning reality.

She doesn't know, she doesn't know! She doesn't have to know.

He grabs her hand and drags her to the games. He finds the throw that- (object Zuko doesn't remember how it's named but it's wooden and cylindrical and… it's a)- glass(!)-with-your-fire game and puts them in line to play.

“One, please.” He says, surprised he remembered to pitch his voice as low as he had to.

“So, you're a firebender?” Zuko nods. She suddenly appears to be nauseated and Zuko feels stupid. How did he not see that coming? Of course she wouldn't want to spend time with a firebender. Agni, why was he such a fool? Zuko forced the anxious ball of self-hatred down his throat and started shooting fire at every  glass in the display until they all fell. He has won her a very delicate looking wooden turtleduck. When her face lits up and she stops looking as if him being a firebender was a punch in the gut, Zuko feels a mix of relief and utter happiness. She hugs him tightly to her and he can feel her front and the blush that creeps over his cheeks.

“So, you like it then?”

“I do, it was very nice of you.”

They walk hand in hand while he listens to her chat, and wishes he could take off the mask and talk back to her, give opinions on what she is talking, make suggestions, agree with her (yes! Finally someone who also views tea as the hot leaf juice it is!) But he cannot. She will see his face and she will tell the first guard she can find that Prince Zuko is on Fire Nation territory or worse, she will run away from him.

After a while, she starts preoccupying on where her brother and Aang are. Maybe they are hungry, maybe they are lost, maybe they spent all their money on a rabbit-monkey, maybe they got lost and hungry and Sokka decided to buy a

rabbit-monkey –thus wasting all their money– to eat it while Aang was trying to convince him that the rabbit monkey could be their friend but not their dinner.

Zuko chuckles. She really is funny. He absentmindedly accompanies her to find her them. He thinks she found them too quickly, because once she has found them she starts walking towards them, and Zuko does not feel comfortable approaching them. More than one person at the same time has become overwhelming to him so before she can drag him with her he drops her hand and says a rushed goodbye to her.

Only when he has walked a safe distance from her, does he take off the mask and notices that he had been holding hands with her half the time they walked together and that he still feels the warmth of her. He wishes he hadn't let go of her hand, he could have bore being in the presence of three people at the same time, he had done so before, a lifetime ago. But he didn't, and now he doesn't know where she is or when will he see her next, if ever.

He feels that unutterable something shake just behind his conscience. He longs for something he cannot name, a closeness, a contact, her warm unguarded hand.

[randomfandomimagine]

I rolled my eyes, waiting to get some actual useful information. Hank was talking to one of the witnesses, and Connor had wandered off somewhere. I took a look around, trying to advance the investigation by finding some solid proof, but I found nothing. 

“Lieutenant” I said in a resignated sigh. “Where did Connor go?” 

Hank turned to me, briefly interrupting his conversation, and lazily pointed his finger to the right of me. 

“He went to the kitchen, there are three androids in there and he wanted to question them”

“Isn’t he taking a bit long?” Connor was very efficient, and surely he didn’t have any problem interrogating them to be so slow. 

A shadow of concern crossed Hank’s face, but he hid it fast. Then he shrugged. Just as I was opening my mouth to say something else, I heard a loud noise, like something falling to the ground. I had a bad feeling.

“I’m gonna check on him” I followed my instinct, after all it had never failed me. 

“Shout if you need help” Hank nodded, and I could tell he was gonna have a bit of a difficulty focusing on his previous conversation now. 

I walked through the corridor with determination and resolve, trying to get to the kitchen as fast as I could.

“Connor?” I called hiim, feeling my anxiety growing. I waited several seconds as I kept walking, but had no reply. “Connor!”

Something must have been wrong, he always replied when I called him. What if he was in trouble? 

“Connor?!” I called again, starting to really worry. 

“Y/N...” I heard him calling me faintly, so much so that I wondered if I actually heard him or if it was just my imagination.

I finally made it to the kitchen and I froze in place at the sight. There were two androids in there, not three. A chair was on the floor, which explained the loud noise I heard, Connor probably kicked it down to garner our attention. Because he was lying down on the ground, motionless.

“Connor!” I ran to kneel next to him, hoping there was something I could do to help him. There was blue blood everywhere. 

He didn’t move, but he was blinking and his LED was flashing red. He was alive, for now. I frantically looked him up and down, trying to find the origin of his clear injury. It took me a few valuable seconds, but I finally realized one of his vital biocomponents had been removed. It had to be replaced in less than a minute for him to survive. I just had that, a minute, sixty seconds, to save him. Probably less because it seemed like he had been struggling for a while now. 

“Connor, hold on” I exclaimed, searching for the pump regulator. I knew it was a cylindrical object, it had to be black and blue. “Hold on, Connor!”

I didn’t even know if he could still hear me, and when I looked at him, his eyes had closed. My hands started to shake. I spotted the regulator and quickly reached for it, holding it tight and immediately going to Connor. 

“Please don’t be too late...” I whispered to myself, putting the pump regulator back in its place with a grimace. Connor still didn’t move. 

The silence that fell over the room was anguishing me. I waited for him to react, but he remained completely motionless. I held on to his arm, shaking him a little, yet it was useless.

“Hank!” I shouted, holding on to my last hope, thinking that he might be able to help. Even if I knew that, if it was too late for Connor, Hank wouldn’t have any magical solutions. 

I didn’t know what to do, so I checked on Connor. No movements yet. So I held his face and moved it slightly to the side to take a look at his LED. It was still blinking. Red, but still. 

“Connor? Connor, c’mon!”

Just as I called his name, he opened his eyes and gasped. He sat up quickly, making me jump up to my feet in surprise. 

“Detective...” Connor looked up at me and then back down to himself as he placed a hand against his chest, analyzing himself. “You saved me!” 

“Yeah...” I said, completely out of breath. “You’re okay...” 

I had to lean in the table when I felt my energies failing me, and I would have fallen to the floor if I hadn’t. 

“The android” Connor frowned gravely. “There was a deviant, I need to-”

“Just forget about the fucking deviant, Connor!” I interrupted him, even if I found myself breathing laboriously.

“Thank you for saving me” Connor smiled, probably to fix the fact that he upset me, but that gesture only made my blood boil in anger. 

“You motherf... You piece of... you son of a...” I was so shaken up that I couldn’t catch my damn breath. And he was sitting there like nothing happened!

“Detective, are you alright?” Connor tilted his head in that way of his, but for the first time I didn’t find it adorable, it made me want to punch him.

“No! I’m recovering from a freaking heart attack!” I yelled at him, trying to get him to see how much he had scared me. 

“I notice a certain arrhythmia, but your-”

“It’s a figure of speech, Connor, shut up!!”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his mouth opened a little as he observed me, probably trying to figure me out. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He said as he slowly stood up.

“What’s wrong?!” I repeated, finally feeling strong enough to walk closer to him. “You scared the shit out of me, stupid!” 

I punched him in the shoulder, moved by the adrenaline that still ran through my veins, not remembering about his hard and metallic body. 

“Your hand!” He exclaimed, trying to hold it in his hands to take a look at it. 

“Get off me, Connor!”

“What the hell is going on here?!” Hank had arrived, probably alarmed by my shouting. 

“The detective... punched me” Connor mumbled, confused.

“Why the fuck would you do that, Y/N?” Hank asked me, dumbfounded. 

“Because he gave me a heart attack, that’s why! I found him on the floor dying!”

Hank looked from him to me and back to him. Connor still watched me, trying to get ahold of my hand. 

“You keep saying that, but I can’t find any clear symptoms that you suffered from a heart attack” He said with his soft voice, calmly. “I think she might be a in state of shock, Lieutenant”

“You think, Connor?!” I clutched my hand to my chest, yet finally allowing him to examine it. His hands were surprising gentle as he held mine, almost delicately. 

“There are no signs of injury, other than a mild swelling” 

“Thanks for the input” I sarcastically replied.

“You’re welcome” He replied, still as calm.

“C’mon, Y/N, you know you’re not mad at him” Hank chuckled. “Relax” 

Only then, when I felt like Hank actually understood how I was feeling, did I calm down a little. I took a deep breath and put my hand away from Connor’s reach, although softly. He showed me a friendly grin.

“Your heart rate is estabilizing, you-”

“Shut up, stupid android” I chuckled in the end, giving him an urgent hug. 

It took him a few seconds to get over the initial shock, but then Connor slowly put his arms around me too.

Tagging: @the-violet-shadow, @overpowered-insanity

[scarlett-sketch-studios]

Fantasy story extract

The hand keeps moving, signaling off each minute that passes. It’s ticking filling the silence that resides in the nearly empty, and incredibly bland, interrogation room. It’s perfectly square and spacious with its walls, ceiling and floor made of concrete; the only things of interest here is the simplistic circular clock on the northern wall, a metallic slab being utilized as a table in the centre with runic etchings creating a border and a single large white crystal embedded into the ceiling casting a whitewash onto the room.

Three people are present here, utilizing the room in a very inactive way as they sit here in tensed silence. Not a word escapes them to break the monotonous ticking, the sound just substantiating the stiff atmosphere that has been created. Two of the three people sits before the one, the pristine metal table being the only thing between them that is more tangible than their hostile energy.

The mood shifts slightly as movement is made, a man who appears to be in his prime leans back into his chair letting the stale light fall harshly onto his face giving him the appearance of a gargoyle. A look that is only encouraged and enhanced by the void that are his grey eyes and the wrinkles around them that look like cracks in stone. His hands move to the pocket of his tailored pants to conjure up a joint in one hand and then a stout, cylindrical wooden gadget that has a faint glowing rock embedded into the side of it in the other. In one motion he puts the joint into his mouth and presses onto the rock of the gadget, allowing a sharp crack to cut through the air and powder blue smoke to delicately fall off the end of the joint.

Apparently this action from the old man is a stimulant for the much younger man beside him; he presses his forearms on the reflective table, leaning far on them so that he could stare at the girl in front. The hard look that forms on his face is unsettling, as if he isn’t the kind of man to express such harshness with his perfectly sculpted nose, his arched and angular eyebrows, and his clefted chin. That the brown eyes of his were meant for warmth and comfort as opposed to malice - intentions of the worse kind. His whole form looks to be moulded and touched upon by ethereal entities for no other explanation can be given in regards of how perfect and balanced his whole being is. He looks to be created for only the pure things of this world, for only the kind, yet he is here with coldness in his eyes, tension in his shoulders. Such a counter to his friend beside him who continues to smoke from his joint, relaxed.

The young man parts his lips, just enough for a soft melody with a razor sharpness to float out.

“Answer the question.”

The girl sitting on the receiving end of the command is far younger and far different than the elders before her, her whole existence- image- juxtaposing the immaculate and statuesque features of the two men. The crimson essence of a person paints the left side of her body, taints the ripped and dishevelled clothes she wears. Her thick blonde hair is gathered up in a poor excuse of a bun with small shards of blue glass poking out from the strands like crumbling gravestones in a cemetery. However the state of appearance is not what makes her so curious and is not what makes her so distinct from the two men opposite her, it’s the very noticeably small threesome of triangles emerging from her hairline on her left temple, faint dots trail the outer line of it and draw attention to her mismatch eyes as they curve under it. The one closest to the marking is a soft, warm amber and the eye furthest away is a cold and icy blue. But while both eyes are different colours they remain the same in how they lack any emotion; well any emotion relating to fear that is.

“Princess?” She speaks in a soft tone but her voice trips over the word, hinting at weakness. “Don’t know about any princess.”

Not a muscle moves in the ethereal man’s face, his brown eyes glint like the ones of a reptile being the only sign that the answer brings him a kind of displeasure and frustration. However, his colleague remains to be as impassive as ever; still giving off an air that this situation is one of importance yet allowing one to think that this is a special case and can take its time- answers aren’t required just yet.

The gargoyle puts the joint back to his lips and slowly draws it away, blue smoke dribbling down his chin as he stares at the girl. He reaches for something hidden, fishing for yet another object that he then places on the table and slides it over to the girl.

“Now, now.” He says, gravel in his voice, “let’s not just skip to the end, we need to go the beginning. Now, my dear, do you mind telling me what exactly this is?”

She stares at him for a little, watching as the smoke twists and dances all the way down. She slowly turns her eyes onto what has been now presented to her- a small piece of paper with blotches of colour on it arranged to be representative of an event, a person. Even though the objects are not all that distinct it was enough to gather a fountain of knowledge from.

The shades of green that make up the background with the pinpricks of colour is familiar enough to the girl to understand when and where this had been taken, and the short figure dressed in their peculiar outfit that’s standing next to her did well to inform her about what exactly she will be questioned about. Despite that knowledge she still can’t help but feel emotion; she draws in a breath out of shock and her hands tremble slightly as a memory of that time flash into her mind.

The gargoyle looks at her still, a small smile shifts the cracks in his face and a glimmer of knowing fills his void eyes. He leans back into his chair allowing his colleague to question her.

“It’s from your solace of the sixth month, yes?”

The girl says nothing, she just lowers her eyes and clasps her hands.

“That’s when you got those beads of yours too isn’t it?” He refers to the blue shards of glass on her head and she cringes as if their fragments are piercing her now. “Would you like to tell us about that event?”

Not a sound escapes her, she just proceeds to sit there and stare at her hands as if that will make an improvement on her situation. But it’s clear that she has used that tactic one too many times already in this encounter for the ethereal man is showing his impatience with how quick he ends the silence and how there was a melody of harshness to his words.

“Fine, let’s just go through our list that we have on the event, shall we?” He brings out a scroll and rolls it out on the table, reading the words scribed there. “On the Sixth day of the Sixth month, upon the week of the Solace festival in Elvania, in which all six tribes came together for said festivities, Alliane Jarlinunth- of tribe Jarlin was bequeathed her ancestral beads as well as thirty other females and thirty males whom have reached their seventeenth solune. In attendance of this festival, and seen interacting with residences of the tribe Jarlin days previous to the day that is being mentioned, was Stateldrin Valoss of Dhemit  whom has been convicted of one Dhemit felony, committed his first international felon and thereby his second felony overall as of that time on the eve of this Sixth day of the Sixth month with the aid of Alliane Jarlinunth-“

“I didn’t help him,” she whispers, she looks up slightly at the men before her, maintaining eye contact with the ethereal. “I didn’t do anything, it was him.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then explain.”

She looks back down, her hands now beginning to shake and tremble as she looks back on that day. She didn’t do anything, she knows that. She would have never done those types of things, it was all him.

She shuts her eyes and takes in a deep breath, trying to calm her quickening heart as she recalls that day.