#even though there's nothing in the paperwork to indicate any need for that and the surgeries don't differ all that much
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the way we handle medical leave in the states even for people with good benefits is cruel
#the number of hoops i have to jump through. the way that my requirements for one surgery are apparently different from another surgery#even though there's nothing in the paperwork to indicate any need for that and the surgeries don't differ all that much#the way that they lost my initial letter and now i'm up against my deadline next week and they haven't even told me what day next week#so i'm worried that it's literally tomorrow#the way i am not receiving ANY pay for an entire month because of all the delays so i'm having to live off my savings#the way that every single person i've talked to has said something different about what is and isn't required#the way that for a lot of this i had to be navigating it while high on painkillers immediately post-surgery#the way that the group my employer contracts through has two different emails and names and flips between them constantly#the way that my healthcare provider does it differently than every other healthcare provider so i need special forms from them#instead of the leave group but then the leave group doesn't seem to accept the forms that they send#the way that the doctors office has seemed incredibly confused by my requests#the way that the ROI office told me they'd send over a completed form and never did#the way i literally don't even know who to call next to try and sort this out or if it's possible TO sort out#like i guess i'll call the leave group tomorrow and cry and beg for an extension. i guess i'll grovel bc it's the difference#of getting a few thousand dollars or not and i can't just be like oh well guess i won't get my short term disability pay#especially bc none of the hospitals have billed me yet and i'm getting scared bc i don't know what my ER bill is going to look like#bc they did xrays and a CT scan and they gave me a splint and a sling and a lot of drugs#so i do need the money. just sitting here like. idek what to do lmfao.#not tagging this bc i'm on desktop and i can't do the accent mark easily and idk where my phone is rn sorry
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Shepard holds a funeral for her clone.
The paperwork is almost harder than the ceremony. Turns out itâs tricky to register the death of someone whose birth - creation? Decanting-from-vat? - was never recorded to begin with. Then thereâs some kind of question about whether the clone needs to be retroactively registered as a Council space citizen to have her death put on the official record, and if so, whether she counts as a member of the Systems Alliance or as an âundocumented alienâ. Which is pretty fucking ironic, considering how utterly sheâd have loathed having the word alien attached to her.
And once Shepardâs ground her teeth through a dozen calls and bludgeoned through the first layer of formwork - a death certificate still needs a name.
âI have to put something,â she says. Sheâs aware that her voice is ragged, and that Kaidan is watching her as he brews her fourth coffee of the evening with concern heavy on his face. She must look barely alive, up near midnight in a kitchen that was Andersonâs and still feels nothing like hers, hair falling forward, eyes shadowed grey. Datapads and empty mugs strewn around her. Fine. Sheâs felt barely alive ever since she woke up in a Cerberus lab.
âYou could choose one for her,â Kaidan says gently. A lot of people speak to her gently, these days.
âSheâd hate that. A name makes you individual. She didnïżœïżœïżœt want to be an individual; she wanted to be me.â
The cofee machine whirrs softly, sounding louder than it is in the open space of the apartment. It still doesnât feel right, all this space for one person. Someone could drown in this much space.
âShe didnât want to be you, though. Not really.â Kaidan pours out the coffee, his eyes only leaving her face for a moment. âWhat she wanted was to be the symbol. The face on the vids.â
He carries the mug over and sets it down beside her hand. Shepard grips it tight. The unfinished form blinks up at her from the datapad screen, and she looks away.
âIâm not asking this because I donât support you doing it, or to judge you for it, or anything,â Kaidan says, after a moment. âI just want to understand. Can you tell me why this is so important to you? I mean - I get that you were trying to save her, and she... she let go. But...â
He hesitates, and in his silence Shepard hears, she tried to kill you. She tried to take you away from me, and everyone who cares about you, for a second time - because she was jealous.
Shepard sips her coffee. It hasnât had time to cool down, and her lips smart. She ignores it. She thinks.
âWhat you said about... being the symbol,â she says at last. âI get why she wanted it, or thought she did. I understand feeling that Commander Shepard is someone bigger than you are.â
Kaidan breathes out slowly, and takes a seat beside her.
âI get feeling that youâre so small, so nothing, next to everyoneâs idea of what Commander Shepard is. And when I fall short -â She sees him prepare to protest, and cuts across him. âI do, I do all the time - I feel like itâd be easier if I were the symbol. Not...â She waves a hand, indicating all the sleep-starved mess of her. âThis. I donât even know when what would Shepard do and what will I do stopped feeling like the same question.â
She lets her hand fall back onto the table. Kaidan takes it and holds it tight.
âAnd I think of her, the clone, waking up in some Cerberus med bay. Confused. And Brooks - Brooks was there, feeding her things to believe, manipulating her, turning her into the symbol she wanted. And I get it.â Shepard bites her burned lip. âBecause I woke up in a Cerberus lab. And I was scared. And they used me, and I let them.â
What she does not add is, and sometimes I donât feel any more real than her. I donât have any way to prove that Iâm the woman who died in the wreckage of her broken ship. They wiped away that womanâs scars. There could be all kinds of tech in my head, feeding me a lie, telling me Iâm real.
She swallows. Her throat feels raw. âAnd now the cloneâs dead, and no one cares. Weâre planning a fucking party. If I donât push for a funeral, sheâll just go unregistered and undocumented and everyone will keep joking about how crazy this whole mess has been, how I fell through a fish tank and a mad clone tried to steal my life, and itâd be like she never existed at all. I donât have to fill in these forms. I could take the easy road and let her be a ghost. But I canât do that, Kaidan. I canât.â
He looks at her, his eyes steady and patient and full of worry. Then he slips an arm over her shoulder and pulls her in, and Shepard leans into him, needing the surety of his touch, his warmth. Anything that tells her sheâs something more than a force piloting a set of N7 armour.
Kaidan presses a slow kiss to the top of her head. He holds her until she stops feeling ready to howl. Then he sits with her and helps her fill in the forms, helps her choose a name for the clone, one that fits. When morning comes, he calls C-Sec and stays on the line until they agree to release the body to the Normandy, into the custody of the only person who could be considered the dead womanâs relative.
He doesnât ask Shepard any more questions as to why she needs this done.
In the end, they bury her in space, as Shepard would a crewmate. And no one has stories to tell of what she meant to them. They have nothing to say about the achievements of her angry little life. But they wear their dress blues, and speak softly, and they turn the lights down low.
Shepard doesnât know if this is what her clone would have wanted. Maybe she never learned to want anything for herself at all. It doesnât matter. A funeral doesnât help her clone; it helps her.
They lift the casket into the airlock. EDI opens the outer door. And the casket leaps away into space in a blur of silver-grey, like the body within is hungry for the stars.
#anyway the clone is a walking tragedy and ill never be normal about it#yes this is still a cr blog. but im doing a mass effect replay and i have feelings#mass effect#femshep#shepard#kaidan alenko#shenko#sky's writing#oc: sita shepard
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FRIENDS IT IS HERE. As promised even! We are technically just under 20k for this chapter, but still not small enough that cutting it in half has stopped it from brutally murdering the app, soâŠ. Weâll see how this posts! đ
I did myself a whole honkinâ reread on the whole thing too, refreshed my lil reminders of what I named things and all the lil threads I was playing with⊠and hot damn itâs a beast huh?
The good news is, although we are getting into plot, we are getting out of the heavy stuff, at least for the next little bit! Back to our silly happy fun times with the boys đ„°
And, yâknow, dealing with Jasonâs death and first transformation and all. Totally all fine! Nothing to worry about! đ
Todayâs chapter is a lil Bruce-heavy in this front half because the main thing stopping me was that I got most of the way through before I realized I needed to rewrite Jasonâs entire first scene, but Iâm a lot happier with it now đ
First Chapter and AO3:
Previous Chapter:
ââââââââââ
The Finished Core part 1
When it finally happened, Jasonâs core coming in was pretty anticlimactic. For all theyâd worried it might trigger a transformation, rile up the pit, or even have a physical shockwave⊠the event itself was almost disappointing. Buried busily in some paperwork for the library, Jason himself hadnât actually noticed.
Heâd already started feeling what he thought might be his core over the past few days; like a vibrating ball of energy, usually in the middle of his chest (although it wandered in all directions). Which would make the knot of tension that sometimes sat in his gut and sometimes went as far up as his throat⊠probably Pitty.
Not fun having a distinct sensation that went along with everything else the Pit was. Did nothing at all to ease his worries about what the hell would happen when they were both actually completed.
But when the day finally came⊠yeah, nothing. The soft, warm glow in his chest when he thought about the project had grown steadily stronger over the week and a bit heâd known Danny at that point, so he hadnât really paid enough attention to notice a change.
Theyâd still been seeing each other every day, although now that the new school semester had started up it had slowed down to a couple hours in the evening. Jason had dived headlong into his restoration project both on Frostbiteâs advice, and to keep himself from counting the hours. Which, apparently, worked?
The biggest disruption was actually Danny blasting in through the wall not a minute later, invisible until he dived through one of Jasonâs freshly legal goons and almost knocked the table over. Luckily there were no actual Red Hood links lying around - Catherineâs name was staying clean, which was for the best since Jason still hadnât thought of a way to bring it up.
Even now, back from another appointment with Frostbite to confirm all was well, Jason didnât actually feel any different? It was official though; both cores were complete, and now all they had to do was wait until the pit matured enough to actually leave Jasonâs body and do its own thing.
Now that he didnât have any choice but to confront it, he couldnât have said what heâd expected anyway, but⊠well, surely there should have been something? More energy? More corruption? Hell, even increased ghost senses or some indication that the powers would be coming in.
According to Danny, intangibility usually came with the pit dropping out of your stomach and feeling floaty. Accidental floating came with a head rush or feeling like falling. Invisibility just fucking happened.
All he felt was weirdly normal? The fancy ecto ice was working, and his little ghost succulent - that or all the time with Danny; even Pittyâs flares of emotion were manageable. The green haze hadnât come back since meeting Lady Gotham.
And okay, maybe he was pushing that by going right back to the manor the next day, but listen. Frostbite had reminded him to do calming tasks, since Pitty should start being more aware of their surroundings now.
Baking with Alfred was as calming and soothing as Jason could imagine, without stapling himself to Danny in classes. And sure, heâd helped with Dannyâs homework the past couple nights, but the guy would get sick of him eventually. Faster if they stayed attached at the hip.
(And that had been another âfunâ tidbit Frostbite had dropped on them; if they were actually making their own ghost baby, theyâd have been able to trade the core off between them. Jason hadnât thought anything could make that idea sound appealing, but if he coulda just stuffed Pitty into someone else⊠well, he probably wouldnât actually wish its corruption and constant tantrums on anyone else, but having a break woulda been nice.)
Now that his core was done, technically the daily hanging out probably wasnât as necessary. So long as Jason had some backup plans to keep himself calm and in control. Which should mean that they could go from hanging out as a necessary chore to just⊠friends.
And since no one in the city wound Jason up like Bruce, if he happened to also be at the manor heâd have a trial-by-fire for his shiny new core. Heâd kept his word and tapped out of patrol since meeting Lady Gotham (and apparently Harley had taken the manor in fire and glory the night after and locked Bruce⊠somewhere for two full days), so heâd not heard from B since.
According to Tim, Constantine hadnât returned to Gotham at all.
The thought of their names only stirred angry bubbles from Pitty, and Jason absolutely wasnât self destructive or a masochist, so he was just testing to see how far thatâd last. How careful heâd need to be, and how aware the little guy was.
So obviously he wasnât even all the way into the manor before he ran into the man himself.
Stopping short, Jasonâs fist clenched more from force of habit than any actual desire. Sucking in a deep breath, he thought of his ghost succulent (which had started glowing faintly blue a couple nights ago, which was hopefully a good thing?) and carefully unclenched. Nodded a little stiffly.
This would be the first time theyâd been alone together since⊠shit, he didnât even know. He hadnât seen the guy without the buffer of at least one other bat in months.
âBruce,â he said warily, half hoping the man could just⊠be normal. For once. Nod, say hi, fuck off about his own business. He couldnât still be on his anti-Danny crusade, could he?
The man actually flinched, face twitching through a couple of expressions Jason couldnât even guess at. A sudden urge between his shoulder blades did nothing to help, distracting him long enough for everything to be smoothed under the usual masks.
If Bruce just had a damn aura⊠okay, thatâd be one change with the completed core. All of his attempts to reach out with his own aura before had basically involved his whole body actually leaning in the same direction.
That⊠urge, itch between his shoulders, if that had been his aura trying to reach out, felt more like an entirely new muscle group. Curiosity won and Jason focused, trying to follow the urge and reach out⊠and wasnât sure it had worked at all.
Because all he could feel was sorrow and regret, and that didnât sound like B. At all. His compartmentalizing was out the ass, sure, but what the hell would he actually feel sorry for?
âJason?â And from the sound of it, not the first time heâd said his name. Great.
Shelving the apparently-faulty aura for now, Jason frowned back.
âIâm here to see Alfred.â It wasnât exactly a warning. Wasnât exactly a threat, although it carried the possibility. Meant that if B pissed him off enough to leave, heâd face some British disapproval.
Bruceâs shoulders sagged just a little, and then he drew himself up, his face firm and resolved. Jason tensed automatically; if he actually tried to bar him from seeing Danny face to face, would he still be able to walk away?
That was why heâd brought the glacierfrost. Slipping a hand into his back pocket, he crushed a crystal quickly before the man could open his mouth. Wintergreen mint burst across the back of his tongue, another brief flicker of distraction that, for some reason, came with another pang of sorrow.
âIâm sorry.â
Jason nearly stumbled, and he hadnât even been moving. Bruce looked⊠tired, all of a sudden. More tired than he could remember ever seeing him.
âWait⊠what?â
Bruce gave him a sad smile.
âItâs been brought to my attention⊠multiple times⊠that you should have heard that from me alone first. And then I kept adding more and more to be sorry for. And I know you donât want to see me, so now seems like the best time to start.â It was jerky, and awkward, and probably the most uncomfortable Jason had ever seen Bruce in a conversation.
Which only served to confuse him further. Bruce overplanned everything; he never acted without at least two layers of backups. It was why he had a million plans for every possible micro-scenario. He didnât do spontaneous.
âWhat are you even talking about?â He asked, half exasperated, and Bruceâs smile widened a fraction. That only made it more self deprecating.
âThere are too many things to count, but⊠Jason, Iâm sorry I sprung the apology on you at the gala. I thought having the world as my witnesses would show you I meant it, but I should have asked first. I should have apologized first, to you. Alone. Iâm⊠aware what it says about me that I couldnât.â He was almost wearing one of Brucieâs self-deprecating smiles now, but the edges were raw. Unpolished. Certainly not camera ready.
Real?
Jasonâs mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain entirely short-circuited. Of all the things Bruce could have said to him⊠of all the things the man might apologize for, heâd honestly forgotten all about the damn gala speech.
Forcing himself to focus, he folded his arms and regarded his former father figure warily.
âSure, thatâs a place to start,â he agreed, more sarcastically than heâd meant to. But he couldnât take it back.
There was another moment of stiffness, and then Bruceâs shoulders sagged as well as he breathed out, still looking⊠well, so much more human. More breakable, more fallible. Or was that just from hearing him admit heâd been wrong?
âI do mean it, Jason. I did mean it,â he said softly, piercing blue eyes unusually gentle as he looked him over, and suddenly Jason knew what was bothering him.
The mask. The iron mask of Batman, the bumbling shield of Brucie. B always had a mask, over every interaction. Every situation, every possible scene, B always had a character to play. And he played them well.
That was what looked wrong about him. He wasnât⊠intentional. His posture was open and unthreatening, his face lax in a way it never was while he held every muscle in check.
This was just actual, sincere B.
Jason wasnât completely sure why that made him want to run or cry, but it said a fuck of a lot about him too.
More that he just couldnât bring himself to return it.
Sucking in a sharp breath, seriously considering grabbing for another crystal, he nodded sharply.
âOkay. Now what.â Because that was the thing; Jason had never wanted B to be sorry that he hadnât come for Jason. That he finally hadnât been on time to save him from himself.
He didnât want the apology, he wanted things to change. To be better. For Bruce to accept that it had happened, and Jason was who he was now because heâd decided to be, not the pits or Tallia or the Joker.
He wanted so many things.
Bruce was searching his face, eyes sharp even as he consciously kept the rest of the expression open. Jason could see the tick of muscle in his cheek. Fuck, was it that hard for Bruce not to put on the act?
After a moment, he spread his hands. A gesture of peace? Not holding a weapon, not tensed for an attack?
âThatâs all. For now. I just⊠wanted you to know. Iâm sorry. And IâmâŠâ the expression pulled a little, becoming pained, âI have been told I am overreacting to the news from Amity Park as well. I should trust your judgement. So Iâm pulling myself from the case to focus on the Anti-Ecto Acts.â
This time Jasonâs jaw just dropped. B⊠Bruce never. Never pulled himself from a case. Not for broken bones, ruptured organs, not even if heâd died.
It was almost worse than the rage; all of a sudden he was lost at sea, the one grounding, immovable rock in his life swept away. Part of him was even angry at that - at B suddenly deciding that now, this time he was going to be reasonable.
When all Jason expected from him was judgement, antagonism, stupid overbearing demands and being held at armâs length, now all of a sudden the Bat was human.
It was too late to pretend the moment hadnât happened, to completely hide his shock, but he also couldnât stop the bluster from rising. Not the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously, even when every part of him that had been Robin desperately hoped this was real.
âAnd what the hell brought that on?â Not the accusation in his voice, although for once Bruce didnât rise to it. He just chuckled dryly, like heâd been expecting Jasonâs reaction.
âBecause you were right.â
And now Jason was fully on edge again, scanning the man more closely for any signs of hypnotism, mind control, that this was a clone or a replacement. A trap or a trick. Because B⊠Bruce would neverâŠ
Bruce raised both hands quickly, possibly expecting Jason to just⊠jump him. Which, to be fair, would have been a more normal interaction.
âYou were the one who brought the Amity Park situation to our attention. And youâre right, that I canât expect your doctor or any other ghost to come here to help you until it is safe for them to do so,â he added quickly, and Jason rocked back onto his heels.
Of course, the caveat. That made sense, bitter in the back of his throat as it was. Just an inarguable set of facts.
Not like heâd ever actually admit that Jasonâs judgement was reliable or anything. Folding his arms again (partly to stop his fists from clenching), he gave Bruce a sceptical look.
âRight, so what finally yanked your head out of your ass about it?â He asked sharply. Bruce gave him that same wry smile.
âDiana. And Harley. And Alfred. And Selena. I have been⊠extensively informed I had my head up my ass. So. Iâm sorry for that too. I just wanted to tell you before I left, since I donât know when weâll see each other again.â
And it shouldnât have been funny that he actually looked more pained talking about this, admitting a mistake, than he had when nursing broken ribs in the infirmary. Than heâd looked during any of their fights, than when Jason had all but grabbed his face and forced him to see that it really was him, that his dear little Robin came back wrong.
But dark humour was a refuge for all the bats, and if Jason didnât laugh he had a horrible feeling heâd cry. All that tension, all those days heâd worried about what heâd say or do when they came face to face again⊠heâd never have imagined any of this.
Could imagine another bloody battle before imagining Bruce saying sorry.
All of a sudden he was just tired. Ha. Dead tired.
Nothing drained the life out of him like dealing with Bruce.
âGreat. So where are you going?â It was almost a rhetorical question; he didnât really expect an answer.
Should have, though. Obviously B had to stick his foot in it again.
âAmity Park. As Bruce Wayne, not Batman,â he added quickly when Jasonâs head snapped up, glare sharpening, âit seems the logical place to begin work on the acts.â
And alright, Bruce didnât sound defensive. He never did; just obstinate, which meant so many things that guessing when it meant what was a losing game.
Jason groaned loudly, raising both hands to scrub down across his face. Because of course all that weirdness hadnât changed a damn thing. B was gonna B, creepy and intrusive and all.
âAnd look into Danny.â He said flatly, locking eyes with Bruce in time to see his expression twitch. Was he actually gonna lie?
Apparently not. Bruce sighed and nodded.
âMy focus will be on establishing a connection between âBrucieâ and the Anti-Ecto Acts, and investigating the GIW. Danny has been involved in both, and Zatanna has requested the elder Fentons provide me with protection,â he said like it was anything but a weak excuse.
Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then figured fuck it. Actually telling them before he left was technically still an improvement, and Danny and Jason were both well aware that there was gonna be some nosy bullshit.
Heâd warned Danny this was gonna happen, and Danny had said it was fine. That he didnât care about anything Batman might find⊠and knowing just how badly the Justice League had fucked up was going to eat the asshole alive. Which he could have avoided just by listening.
About to just walk away, Jason hesitated. There was actually one thing⊠technically not a necessary for a halfa, but fuck it. Might as well get B used to some ghostly etiquette early.
âHave you asked Danny?â
Bruce stilled, giving Jason a complicated look that mostly felt like judgement. Like Jason should know better than to ask.
âI was under the impression that removing the Anti-Ecto Acts is a priority?â He said stiffly, all awkward tension again.
Jason really did roll his eyes this time.
âSure, but youâre going to his haunt. You text Superman before investigating in Metropolis.â Which technically hadnât even been true when Jason was actually Robin, but B did text Clark before getting caught investigating in Metropolis. By anything but Kryptonian hearing.
The protocol basically only applied whenever another hero wanted to operate within Gotham because only Batman cared, but it was on the Leagueâs books.
Bruce had picked up the wording though, because of course he had.
âHis haunt?â He asked carefully, that tiny tick between his brows that meant he was processing starting up.
Jason rolled his eyes harder. For emphasis. Had JL Dark actually missed this part of the briefing? He was so not writing up Ghost Etiquette 101 for the league. No way.
But. It. Might be kinda cool. To have for himself. Especially since it was gonna be increasingly relevant.
âHeâs a ghost hero, B. He died there, he protects the city. Heâs like, the only one whoâll actually get your territorial crap, because in his case itâs part of his makeup.â
Actually, might be part of Bâs too. Danny hadnât said how liminal Bruce in particular was, but it really wouldnât surprise Jason if claiming a haunt was part of it. Or if Lady Gotham had already picked out a spot for him.
That thought stung, so he dismissed it immediately and turned towards the kitchen. Hell with the brownies heâd been planning, he was gonna need something much more complicated to keep his mind off the latest wave of bullshit.
Alfred liked soufflés. Jason could activate the house defences to keep the little gremlins out until they were done.
âJust fucking text him, B. Entering a ghostâs haunt without permission is declaring intent to throw down, and thatâs a fight none of us need.â No matter how much he might like to watch B go up against the ridiculous power-set Danny was packing.
Sure, the Bat went toe to toe with the gods, but that was with plans, tech, and often, backup. Apparently he still didnât know shit about ghosts, so itâd be fun to watch him try and adapt on the fly⊠especially when even Danny wasnât sure how many actual powers were on the table.
**
Bruce hesitated for a long moment, looking at Jasonâs retreating back.
That had gone⊠frankly he did not trust his own read on Jason enough to tell. Neither of them had yelled. Heâd said what he was prepared to; he was still working on the appropriate format for the rest.
Jason⊠hadnât reacted. Not with anger, which was a blessed relief, but not with anything else either. Except disbelief. Exasperation. Shock.
Not really any aggression, though. That had to be a decided improvement. And while part of Bruce suspected heâd been told to inform Danny so the boy could hide anything unsavouryâŠ.
Heâd known that was likely to happen when he told Jason his plans. Jason would tell Danny; his allegiances there were firmly (and worryingly quickly) established.
Telling Danny himself⊠there was a chance that Jason had been serious about it being a matter of protocol. A formal request, for contact with an inter-dimensional entity.
Despite that entity being present and active in Bruceâs own city without so much as a nod to the Bat. But then, Batman was not a ghost, despite what the goons liked to suppose.
Firmly marshalling his own suspicions, Bruce pulled out his phone to message the youngest Fenton.
Stopped.
Bruce Wayne didnât have the boyâs number. But Danny knew at least Nightwingâs identity; it was possible he knew them all.
He was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not Batman. But Brucie Wayne had no way to get the correct phone number. Unexpected contact from Batman was⊠well, expected, to an extent.
And his investigations would be handled and presented as Batman. Surely no one would challenge Brucie Wayne to a fight?
Mind made up, Bruce took his vigilante phone out and did a quick scan through his childrensâ updated contact lists. Most of them seemed to have been enjoying the company of the Amity Parkers; it wouldnât be hard to get Dannyâs contact information.
**
So. New year, new problems. Danny used to say it as a joke, but this year it was looking pretty darn literal.
Last year, for example, he hadnât had to worry about his parents finding out about his supposed âlove lifeâ from a magazine (that Jazz must have sent them after theyâd gone back to Amity Park, the traitor), and calling to hound him for details.
Heâd managed to talk them out of driving the GAV straight to Gotham to threaten Jason into âtreating him rightâ⊠which Jason thought was funny solely because he still didnât actually know how large Jack Fenton was, nor how intense Maddie could be.
He still thought of them as civilians, and maybe a little less than competent, thanks to the database and their zero capture record.
Maybe Danny was cultivating that ignorance specifically so he could watch the moment of truth in person. Sue him, it was funny.
Unfortunately, since the magazine had also included that the gala theyâd been âhooking upâ at had been to celebrate Jasonâs return from the dead, his mom had reached the halfa conclusion on her own. Danny had wanted to let Jason decide when to tell her, but that very first phone call the first words out of her mouth had been âDaniel James Fenton, have you met another halfa without telling us?â
And Danny had been so taken aback by them actually noticing anything (it was to do with ghosts, of course theyâd noticed, heâd kicked himself for days after) that sheâd taken his speechlessness as confirmation.
So.
They had that out of the way before they even said hi.
Despite Dannyâs firm assurances that he and Jason werenât actually dating, the papers were making the whole thing up (the photos hadnât helped, but his dad seemed to buy that heâd been. Trying to help Jason fix his shirt. After the rogue attack, yâknow), his parents had insisted on another call with Jason.
And Jazz. Because he had to introduce his sister to his new boyfriend too.
Jason had⊠taken it well? Hadnât gotten much of a word in edgewise, around Jack Fentonâs boisterous laughter and insistence that he come around some time soon. Heâd agreed with Danny that they definitely were not dating, which.
They werenât.
They just werenât.
They were just. Friends. Who hung out after classes in the evening. And texted all day. And told each other their deepest darkest soul secrets in like, a week after theyâd met.
Dannyâs mom had seemed a little more convinced by the end of the call, but still insisted Jason should come down to Amity Park anyway, to get to know the family.
Danny was still in denial about it being even a little bit helpful, but Jason had decided to drop the Fright Knight bomb right away. It was the actual real reason they were so close now, so it made sense as an explanation that wasnât them being partners or whatever.
(Danny still hated it. Resented he couldnât be trusted to just⊠have a friend. It always had to be something stupid and dramatic.
And he was totally offended by how immediately relieved his mom had been that heâd have someone âlooking after himâ. Like he wasnât a whole ass adult for years already, and the king of a realm for longer than that.)
And now he was gonna have to call them back, and probably get a message to Fright Knight, because Dannyâs newest problem was that Batman now had his phone number.
And was asking his permission to go to Amity Park to deal with the Anti-Ecto Acts.
(âBrucie Wayneâ was officially the one going for the Acts, the message only said that Batman would be escorting the billionaire and gathering evidence separately, but Danny wasnât fucking buying it.
And since Batman had his phone number and had used it, Tucker could technically get into Batmanâs phone and prove it. Like Constantine showing up at Wayne Manor left a shadow of a doubt.
But noooo, Danny knew all about dramatics and billionaires and their sketchy underground labs. He could play along.)
Which, technically, might wind up solving one of his biggest problems.
It was also gonna completely ruin all the work he and Jason had done persuading the Fentons they werenât dating; he could already hear his dad booming delightedly about meeting future in-laws. Because why else would Jasonâs dad go to visit?
Not like there were actual laws on the books declaring Danny as a mandatory extermination target. Or like the Justice League might finally have gotten their thumbs out of their asses and want to check in.
Clearly Dannyâs love life was the only thing that mattered.
At least he wouldnât have to worry about that crap from Frighty; all the ghosts were gonna know all about Danny and Jasonâs soul resonance (be still his beating fucking heart that was still ridiculous). He would have to let him know a superhero was gonna be in town though.
Actual ghosts werenât likely to mistake Batman for one of their own and these days most of Dannyâs rogue gallery was cool about not picking fights with humans without Fenton tech, but Danny figured better safe than sorry.
And.
Maybe.
Really wanted to see Batman and Fright Knight hang out. They were gonna totally love or totally hate each other, and either way he was a little sorry he was gonna miss it.
Unless he gave in and took time off class, kidnapped Jason from whatever work he did, and made the trip home⊠because heâd been direly warned that if he did show up without Jason, Jack Fenton would drive him back to Gotham personally. So, no. Nope. Not happening.
The long and the short of it was that instead of being blissfully free of his parents nagging him to visit until the summer, he was now fielding calls and texts demanding he come back home for March Break, at the latest. And bring Jason.
Mom wanted to âassess himâ, which was fucking terrifying and the more Jason didnât take it seriously the more Danny was tempted to actually make the trip. It would at least come with a defined end date. And force Jazz to take a break if she wanted to come too.
She at least had been less insistent on calling him every single day to bug him about it; probably because she was busy frying herself to death at university. Sheâd apologized for missing the group chat too, and the first family phone call, but it wasnât a huge surprise.
Jazz had had the helicopter parent firmly knocked out of her by double majors, which Danny used to think was a good thing. Now he considered it might actually be a sign she was⊠not cracking under the pressure? But not taking care of herself.
Hopefully it wouldnât return full force once she got some actual sleep and decent food in her.
Honestly, Danny wasnât unaware that this was the most normal his problems had ever been. Just a few years ago heâd have done anything but wish to Desiree that his biggest problem would be âmy parents think Iâm dating one of my friendsâ.
Right now it was looking pretty good too, actually. Because at this precise second, Dannyâs biggest problem was that he was running out of excuses not to talk to Nocturn.
***
Tim was beginning to think he had a bit of a crush on Tucker Foley. It was a surprise to him as much as anyone else; normally the kind of fawning adoration that tech geeks usually followed him with was an instant turn off. There was just⊠no point getting close to people who saw him as an idea, not a person.
And, frankly? The mere existence of Timblr probably would have been a red flag for anyone else. Sure, Tucker had closed it down, but it still existed - and Tucker Foley could have taken care of that easily.
The thing was⊠even under the hero worship heâd caught in Tuckerâs eyes when they were first introduced⊠well, Tucker wasnât exactly respectful to his heroes. That did tend to follow along with a friend in a teen hero career; everyone else was instantly less cool by association.
Tucker just plain wasnât a good fanboy. He hung on Timâs every word, right up until they started talking tech - the subject he most admired Tim for. Didnât admire him enough not to cut him off half way through an explanation, call an idea âarchaicâ, or ask if Tim was serious.
(And okay, once or twice he hadnât been; just testing his technical chops.)
The thing was, Tucker wasnât only a genius with regular technology, he was a prodigy in an entirely new field of software and occult collusion, and he knew it. He was delighted to upgrade Timâs systems (although Danny would still need to do the full ecto-infusions; Tucker could interface, but didnât produce his own ectoplasm), and more than happy to point out everywhere they needed improving.
Tim genuinely respected his opinion, which wasnât a distinction he gave to many people whoâd never worn a cape; heâd already ccâd the other, Lucius Fox, into his and Tuckerâs email chains. (Lucius was very enthusiastic about the oncoming apprenticeship - for him.)
And Tucker was funny, allergic to personal privacy, and⊠well, Tim was pretty sure heâd felt those first twinges when, as promised, he tagged Tucker in to help interrogate the Riddler.
Digitally, obviously. With Tuckerâs classes starting back up and the New Years hangovers finally clearing the board, the next time they saw each other in person might be upsettingly far out. But Tucker had cheerfully hacked his way into Gotham PDâs systems and made himself comfortable while Red Robin and Batwoman waited for Riddler to be brought in.
Tim had so few pure pleasures in his life, but watching Kate try to keep a straight face when the interrogation roomâs speakers began blasting what was essentially a stripper theme perfect for Eddie Nygma the second the door closed?
Riddler had been utterly baffled as well, talking over the beginning until they reached the chorus, where the singer practically spelled out his name. His stunned silence had given way to a burst of offended protest that was entirely undercut by the way his fingers kept time.
As the teen hero in the room, Red Robin was allowed to snicker at him, but Batwoman had to pretend to be an adult about it.
And when the first song ended, silence had fallen for what must have been a perfectly calculated fifteen seconds, and then the Jeopardy theme began playing.
Of course, soundtracking hadnât been Tuckerâs only contribution to the interrogation, just Timâs favourite. Red Robin had the tablet from the gala back from evidence, from which Tucker had cheerfully admitted in Matrix style scrolling green text that heâd been the one back-hacking Nygmaâs files⊠and locking him out of them.
And replacing every single link Nygma had clicked from the night of the gala to the day Batwoman hauled him in to a random page from Riddles.com, which Riddler had declared a new vendetta against every time anyone would listen. It was beautiful.
Robins were professionally annoying, it was part natural talent on all of their parts (except Damian) and part intensive training on how to disrupt thought patterns and push people into mistakes. Tucker could have led the class, and Tim had been overtaken by a powerful urge to kiss the smug grin he could feel through Tuckerâs text straight off his face.
Of course, Tim had a boyfriend. And had been overtaken more than once by similar urges for almost every one of his friends, when they did something brilliant.
Steph called it oral fixation, Tim preferred positive reinforcement. Conner found the whole thing extremely funny, especially since Tucker still stumbled over his words if Conner was so much as looking at him.
Which made all of his siblings trying to tease him about Tuckerâs âcrushâ on Tim look ridiculous, by the way. Tucker Foley was not a subtle man; he couldnât even string a sentence together around someone he actually liked.
He could string plenty of sentences together around Tim, the two of them could finish each othersâ half the time.
(He wasnât upset about Tuckerâs obvious interest in Conner either; Tim knew damn well his boyfriend was an incredible catch and he was lucky to have him. Tuckerâs crush was just⊠peer review.)
Already he was counting down the days until March Break, when Tucker was going to visit in person again. Honestly, he might push to get a zeta put in nearer to MIT in the meantime.
It wasnât like the institute was never targeted by supervillains, it would just be practical.
But Tim himself couldnât suggest that now, because then all of his siblings would jump on the Tucker thing and heâd never hear the end of it. It was a dilemma⊠because even if Conner or Danny could just go and pick him up again, zeta was just faster.
It had nothing to do with missing time that Conner and Tucker were bonding, or being a puppy waiting for his master to come home, whatever Steph said.
(And honestly, Tucker Foley? Not exactly commanding âmasterâ material. Until he was talking about his area of expertise. Then he was certain and confident and got this really attractive gleam in his eyeâŠ)
The quickest solution would be getting all of Team Phantom officially involved in the Justice League, of course. Then he wouldnât even need to suggest it; close zeta access was vital for all of the heroes.
But Team Phantom couldnât join the League until Phantomâs existence was no longer illegal. So they had to dismantle the Anti Ecto Acts. Bruce was investigating the GIW, and planning what he probably thought was a secret trip to Amity Park, but none of it was happening fast enough for Tim⊠because it probably wouldnât be done by March Break. In two months.
Heâd broken more than just the American government in two months; all it took was the right leverage. And a complete lack of self restraint.
So, yâknow, Tim had a new side project in and around his other Gotham cases. All he needed was a house and then senate majority, and they could get those laws repealed the second the government came back from break.
Lois Lane was already working on the story, Clark would probably join Bruce in Amity Park (whether he knew Bruce was there or not) for interviews. There was only so much public pressure could do though, and that never worked fast enough either.
Not compared to Timâs preferred methods. He liked the personal touch.
****
Fun fact, slower core formation? Had not meant slower ghost powers. Not in Jasonâs case, anyway; not even a week after his core came in, a coffee cup had slipped straight through his hand and shattered on the floor.
Heâd stopped handling Alfredâs good china that day, mindful of Dannyâs many horror stories about the school labâs glassware. Alfred hadnât actually questioned it, although heâd gotten a couple of raised eyebrows when he slid a junk mug toward the kettle.
It was just a good thing heâd already cut down patrolling; heâd been planning to take a step back anyway for a while. Just until he got the balance right between being Red Hood and the newly resurrected Jason Todd.
Heâd had to stop entirely, at least until he got the intangibility under control. Sure, becoming temporarily impervious to weapons would be convenient when he got to choose when it switched off or on. Phasing various limbs half way through solid surfaces and getting stuck though?
No.
Not a chance in Hell. That was not an acceptable risk.
Invisibility had started not long after, which had definitely complicated his trips to the manor; all the bats were good, but vanishing completely out of the blue? That would raise comment.
The good news was that the glacierfrost seemed to be helping there too; either because of the ecto in the ice, or just keeping his emotions regulated, which kept the powers from acting up. Jason wasnât taking unnecessary risks, but heâd noticed that for at least a couple hours after a hit, he was in more control.
Intentionally turning the powers on was still a struggle, but apparently thatâd just get better with time. And probably fighting - that was the common denominator under all his ghost problems.
Ghost Fight Club was officially starting the second heâd got the transformation down, but how exactly they were going to try and trigger that in a controlled environment was still⊠less clear than Jason would like.
Theyâd have to work it out soon though; the only other ability that was likely to kick in before he could transform was flight, according to Danny. Time was a-tickinâ.
And⊠alright. It wasnât like Jason was sat at home every night; that was what he and Danny were doing after school now that theyâd cut back to at least a couple days a week. A little practice on budding ghost powers, with backup.
âSurveying his hauntâ was what Danny called it, but it basically meant Danny going ghost and Jason putting on a domino he claimed he borrowed from Dick, and the two of them bouncing around the Alley. And occasionally Danny pushing him off roofs to see if flight had kicked in yet.
(It hadnât, but he still had his grapples, and refused to let Danny rescue him from his own bullshit.)
Sensing the cityâs natural ecto had gotten much easier with his core fully developed, and Danny was teaching him how to mark it with his own. Pittyâs ongoing corruption was fucking it up though; it was still producing corrupted ectoplasm, and actually more of it now that they were both whole.
(Jason had started sleeping with Frostbiteâs ghost succulent next to his pillow. That was how heâd noticed the new blue glow, which he still meant to ask about. It was still firm and strong, and it⊠didnât feel sick?)
Corrupted ecto reeked so strongly of that corruption that it was completely useless for anything else, apparently. So until they finally finished purging Pitty, what all their little adventures actually amounted to was tagging.
Danny made them special ecto-spray-paint, and they spent the nights finding weirder and weirder corners to spray a little mark onto. Jason would have liked to use something to do with Red Hood, for the symmetry, but. Well. He hadnât worked out how to have that conversation yet.
Heâd been making do with little ghost doodles. It had been years since heâd done any real graffiti art, but it was like riding a bike, and the ecto sprayed really well. A cartoon ghost wasnât all that hard anyway; an elongated little blob, occasionally with little fangs or unattached clawed hands.
Heâd been going for something like an Among Us bean, but Danny had declared that he was drawing Pitty, and well⊠it stuck. Doodling little Pit ghosts was the order of the day, ranging from cute little Pittys (modelling good behaviour, Danny called it) or vicious little bastards, depending on how both Jason and Pitty had been that day.
Because that was definitely one piece of good news, in with all the bullshit new ghost powers was causing. Before heâd felt surges of rage, the moments where the Pit was reaching out and trying to affect him. Universally bad, aggressive, and violent, pre-Danny.
He could kinda feel it all the time now, like a heated scarf draped over his body, or the constant breathing of a dog just behind his ear. It was quiet mostly, and he was beginning to suspect it had cost more energy than heâd ever expected for it to reach out to him at all.
For all that heâd worried about it being too much like raising a kid, it⊠well, the nice way to say it was probably that it wasnât that bright. It could talk to him in ghostspeak, kind of; most of what he actually heard felt like emotional reactions, closer to speaking through auras than words despite how much itâd felt like it was crawling up his throat.
The Pit could handle basic concepts, recognised Dannyâs name, but other than that? It mostly seemed to follow Jasonâs emotional lead⊠and then dial it up to eleven. Which, yeah, was exactly what heâd been scared of when he thought it might be like, a whole ass person. Toddlers were terrifying little sponges.
Jasonâs experience of kids wasnât exactly what heâd call normal, sure, but Pitty was reminding him less of a kid and more and more of some kind of small and bitey animal.
Which, yâknow, was a relief. Sort of. It wasnât like he could fuck up an animal in the same way as he could a kid. Nowhere near the same level of responsibility.
Just. When he thought about the pit rage, the idea of it being attached to something which literally had fangs and claws was not exactly reassuring. Even at the size of a chihuahua.
A little impromptu art therapy while they marked his haunt wasnât exactly helping with that part, but it wasnât hurting. And he was trying to explain that feeling bad was not actually dangerous or harmful⊠via spray paint.
He was only about 70% sure that Pitty could see.
But it got him out and about, kept him in shape at least for swinging from roof tops, and gave him an excuse to hang out with Danny. It did involve actively avoiding anything heâd normally investigate (at least until he had a reasonable explanation⊠or brought up the Red Hood thing)⊠but it felt good. It was soothing.
Even knowing full well heâd made plans, prepared extensively, still had his guys making sure the Alley was safe and all was well, he still found himself itching to patrol on the nights he stayed in.
He could only assume that was part of the whole Haunt thing; he had good people working under him, and a couple of bright lieutenants that while heâd never let them wear the hood, he was comfortable giving them some solo enforcement missions to keep the fear of Red Hood in everyoneâs hearts. All relevant parties, anyway.
Luckily he still had the library project as a convenient excuse for the bats. It kept them off his ass, and Jason could admit that it probably wouldnât have taken much to persuade him to take a night run.
And get his ass stuck half way through some fucking wall somewhere, or lose a foot to a rooftop, and need to break himself free or call Danny in the fucking suit. Nope.
(Heâd been tempted to let his family think he was saving his nights for Danny, which wasnât even completely untrue; Danny wasnât over every night anymore, not with his school schedule, but if he wasnât over they texted.
Jason had begun saving a meme folder just for things to show Danny, which had quickly absorbed his full folder for death jokes and just kept going. Danny was going to be a very supportive âfatherâ for their fake pit-kid, and had clearly been stockpiling dad jokes to send back.)
Honestly though, Jason was just relieved heâd already planned to slow the vigilante side for a while in the wake of his official revival; there was a lot that had to be done to come back from the dead, and a lot more he could do with official Wayne backing for areas of Crime Alley that Hood couldnât touch.
Heâd even let some of the bats in on those plans before Danny showed up; it wasnât a surprise that he wasnât patrolling. They were mostly leaving him alone about it, although Dick had offered to pop his Red Hood gear on and run a couple of patrols if things got too rowdy.
Jason had told him to fuck off, then got his street kids spreading the rumour that Hood was gearing up for something big. Let people think that the momentary quiet was just the first rumbles for an oncoming storm.
Hell, let them think Hood was in cahoots with Jason Todd-Wayne; that or preparing to run him out of the Alley. Let both of his lives work together for a while. The rumours shut half the fucking low-level dealers up; no one was pushing anything within three blocks of his territory, in case Hood was planning an expansion.
Thatâd boil over after a while and bite him in the ass if he didnât go and kick something down, but for now it worked. He had so much to do for the library, for the new shelters from the Wayne foundation, for the soup kitchens. He actually was pretty busy, even on his nights in.
Fuck, heâd even taken time to hang out with the actual Alley kids, as Jason and Hood. The mouthy little shits kept him grounded, and maybe heâd tried it as a trial run for Pitty, but since that wasnât gonna be the same problem heâd kept it up as a test of his own patience.
Which had. Very abruptly. Become the cause of one of his biggest concerns. Because the biggest change since his core came in had actually taken him a couple more days to notice.
Because now, Jason could see the fingerprints of the new entity.
That hadnât been fun to work out; heâd been intentionally taking it slow until his core formed. Part of him had been sorta hoping to be able to just avoid anything that might set them both off until the Pit was ready to pop out on its own. Nothing related to the new case he couldnât start, nothing related to the Joker or pits or any of that shit.
So when some of the kids had been showing up with some weird shadowy smudge on their clothes, heâd assumed it was the usual Gotham grime. They claimed not to see it, he threw them at the laundry room and cussed them out, it always came off.
Now the Curse, the Curse was staying out of Crime Alley entirely. Heâd seen it during the day once or twice, a shadow attached where it shouldnât be, a flicker over Damian or Timâs shoulder. He always knew when the Curse was around now, a frosty fog filled his lungs whenever it was close.
(Danny had called it his âghost senseâ, which was lame but Jason didnât have a better idea.)
And those smudges didnât have the same kind of ozone-aftertaste that the Curse left in his mouth.
And then one of his girls, maybe seven years old, had come in with that same kind of smeared shadow sticking through soft black hair. Heâd had some sharp fucking words with the older kids about that, he didnât expect them to stay pristine at all times, but for fucks sake it was clumping.
Basic hygiene fucking mattered on the street, none of them could afford a proper de-matting or even a decent razor to shave their heads, so Jason had instilled the importance of bare-minimum finger combing in every one of them years ago. You could live with a fucking rug dragging at your skull, but it made absolutely everything harder.
Heâd sat the girl on a stool and washed her hair in a bucket himself, while repeating the same fucking lecture to the other girls. Noticed half way through that while the sticky shit was indeed washing out of her hair, it wasnât being broken down by the soap.
It was clinging to him instead, seeping into the creases of his fingers and under his nails. Heâd tried not to visibly react, giving her a last rinse and wrapping her hair in a towel-hat that she didnât stop touching for the next forty minutes, fucking it up a dozen times.
The smudgy crap had washed off his hands eventually, but when he saw Danny the next day heâd visibly backed up a few steps, then given Jason about six shots of ecto because his was apparently rancid again. No prizes for spotting the connection, and from there it was obvious.
And then heâd seen Harley the next day, that same smudgy crap a handprint around her fucking throat, and heâd seen red. Hot, angry, blood red, and it not being green had startled the life out of him.
(Harley noticed. Duh. It was her thing. And while Jason couldnât just tell her some malevolent fucking entity made from her shitty ex was crawling through the city, heâd been as honest as he could be.
Harley definitely couldnât see the smudges. Danny hadnât had any answers or way to make it stop fucking touching people.)
Hypothetically, this was all gonna be good in the end. Itâd make things easier, being able to see and track this shitstainâs work.
It did not feature in his âdonât get pissed off or think about workâ plan.
It was just faintly possible that obsession, self flagellation, and a desire to be personally responsible for fucking everything might be more than just Bruceâs problem. Could maybe be a family affair.
Jason made more pies. Occasionally narrating what he was doing aloud, half for Pittyâs benefit and half for Dannyâs when the little shit was crashing on his couch.
It was fine. He was coping. Another couple weeks, Danny reckoned, and Pitty would be out of his body and he could get back to his fucking life.
With a pet Pit ghost in tow, apparently, but if the worst came to the worst he could fucking soup the thing once it was outside him.
(He was also going to teach Danny to make soup. Proper soup. On principle.)
**
Preparing for his trip to Amity Park had taken longer than Bruce had expected. Not least because Alfred had finally run out of patience, and sentenced him to bedrest for the next 12 hours after he returned from the Justice League meeting lest he unlock the tranquilizer guns and give his children free reign.
In the old days, when heâd just become Batman, Bruce had assumed Alfred would never be able to catch him anyway. Heâd been cocky and confident in his skills, and often ignored Alfredâs demands.
And yet the man always seemed to know, raising a disapproving eyebrow at Bruce every time heâd slipped back into the room just before Alfred made his rounds.
And then Steph came into his life, and Bruce learned all too fast that Alfred had merely been waiting for appropriate safeguards. That was three kids along of course, but by now Bruce knew exactly why it had been Steph Alfred had waited for.
His relationship with Dick was too tumultuous. While Dick never feared Bruce and was perfectly happy to join Alfred in nagging and bossing him around, by the time Dick moved out Bruce had half expected to only see his son at Justice League meetings, if at all.
They were different men, and Dick had always had an anger in him that Bruce couldnât fathom. Heâd mastered it, his control very rarely slipping, but⊠Bruce had trained Dick himself, and he was one of a very short list of people that Bruce had no concrete backup plan for.
Nothing but hope to make him cocky with the first attack, and pray the second caught him off guard.
His relationship with Dick hadnât improved until Tim came into his life⊠and helped him get his head out of his ass.
Jason? Jason had been an angel. A scruffy, beaten down angel with badly bruised wings when Bruce first picked him up, but heâd flourished in Wayne Manor. Heâd taken to Robin with joy and enthusiasm, but had more devotion to his studies than any of Bruceâs kids before or since.
Heâd even stay in to study for tests, and if things had been different⊠perhaps heâd have been the one to break Bruceâs obsession with his night life.
But Bruce had begun taking that good heart for granted, pushed when he should have listened, and sent Jason to his death.
Tim had a hard enough time keeping Bruce from killing himself, along with anyone who stood in the way of his mission. He was a solemn, serious little boy from the start, and though Dick took a more active role this time around and declared himself a big brother (possibly to spite Bruce)⊠well.
It had to be Steph.
Steph, who would vehemently deny being one of his from whoa to go, was just like all of his children; a feral little gremlin. But Steph had that one more element too, the one which young Dick had had in spades but pulled back from with Bruce years before.
Steph liked to have fun.
Tim treated Bruce as a mission just as much as Gotham was Bruceâs, and Dick had never forgiven him for Jason. Or the fights that went before. Neither could pick up a Nerf gun and hunt him through the city in pure play in those days.
Until Steph gave them the guns, of course. Now any and every one of his children would happily take a tranq gun from Alfred and merrily stalk him through the manor and city at large, and even to the Watchtower if he tempted fate (and Tim).
Bruce was powerless against them, although pride warred with frustration every single time one of them managed to drug him to sleep. Heâd trained them well. Well enough that theyâd put what was right over what he wanted, that none of them were even a little afraid of him.
Heâd planted the seeds of his own destruction.
So when heâd seen Duke and Dick hanging âcasuallyâ around the halls while Alfred escorted him to bed, heâd resigned himself to twelve hours of rest.
Heâd slept for sixteen. And woke feeling much better, to his own chagrin. His head felt clearer, the migraine almost gone, and the sudden swoops of nausea had finally begun to pass.
He still had odd moments, especially when heâd been on the computer planning the trip to Amity Park for too long, but heâd reluctantly agreed with Alfred. He needed to fully recover from his concussion; that meant rest. And taking days and weeks instead of hours.
Amity Park would still be there, after all. He couldnât get back the years theyâd been late. Heâd had to concede another two weeks.
Zatanna had also demanded an explanation for why he was suddenly interested in the town - luckily the Anti-Ecto Acts provided a sufficient cover. They were even most of the reason he was going.
She could also see the gravity of the situation, and offered to put him in touch with some local specialists who claimed to have tech that would keep him from being possessed. Specialists named âFentonâ. Because of course they were.
Sheâd offered him a ward as well, but mostly in jest. She knew how Bruce felt about magic, and had told him science was on the table almost immediately.
Bruce knew full well it wasnât a coincidence. Formerly regarded as quacks, the Fentons had been featured prominently in all of their Amity Park news sources. Usually as menaces and a hazard to society, which aligned with what the Mansons had told him.
Still, their actions had nothing to do with the character of their son. Danny Phantom had been Amity Parkâs protector for six years, although heâd not had many serious ghosts to fight for the last three.
As Foley had claimed, the ghosts seemed to have settled into a status of local nuisance that was oddly aligned with the Fentons senior; loud, intrusive, and often an inconvenience to your day, but not the threats to life, limb, or infrastructure that had characterised the first years after the portal opened.
Amity Parkâs general consensus seemed to be that Danny Phantom had tamed the ghosts, won over the Fentons, and quite efficiently saved the day. He hadnât been sighted there much in the past year, but that was because heâd been in Gotham.
In school. Finally being able to study and look towards his future.
His main heroic endeavours in the last three years of his career had involved the same GIW, the Ghost Investigation Ward that Foley had told Tim about. They unfortunately had not followed the general trend of de-escalation⊠although they had been rather subdued in the last year.
It felt different to Bruce, though. Incidents were less frequent, but those occurrences where they did find a ghost had become markedly more violent. The decreased frequency seemed to have lulled the townsfolk into believing they were also less of a threat, but the problem with pushing your enemies into a corner was how much more dangerous a cornered animal became.
There was something worrying happening with the GIW, that would have borne looking into even if he wasnât also looking to understand Danny better. Preparing everything heâd need for the official investigation was most of what had slowed him down.
Of course, he was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not as Batman. Vlad Mastersâ friendship was going to help him there; the man had been delighted to invite him down for the weekend when Bruce had reached out.
A little faked enthusiasm for football and interest in Vladâs favourite team and he was a seemingly completely open book. He was more than happy to give Brucie the grand tour of his little town, and even promised a personal escort from the airport.
Bruce was beginning to suspect that getting away from the man might be more of a challenge, although he was another potentially useful source of information on the Amity Park situation.
Not that Masters was a particularly high priority source. But Bruce could admit he may have been hasty to dismiss his views on Danny as being biased, and as mayor he should know something about the GIW operations in his city⊠and given how many contracts with the agency could be traced back to his companies in the early days of the agencyâs formations, he would be a much more serious subject for investigation than a source.
The good news was, everything was now in place. He had Dannyâs permission and would be flying down to Amity Park in a matter of hours, and had already bought out the entire top floor of a local hotel, so he should have plenty of privacy to operate from.
With any luck, being able to set things in motion to repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts could also be a first step towards patching things up with Jason⊠and with Danny. No matter what conclusions Bruce came to in Amity Park, the Justice League owed Danny Phantom a serious apology, and the Infinite Realms some swift action.
Their negligence could have sparked an inter-dimensional war, and nearly had cost a young man his future. Bruce was self aware enough to admit that the guilt of that knowledge was a major factor in why he hadnât spoken to Danny face to face again.
Yet.
At least Danny had given him permission to visit and explore his haunt. That had to count for something.
He was going to apologize. Probably after giving Jason the proper apology his son so richly deserved. Perhaps Jason would even be willing to help him work out how to properly apologize to Danny too; Bruce wasnât good at apologies at the very best of times, but Harley had made it explicitly clear that he was going to be getting in a lot of practice.
**
Now, ya can call Harley Quinn a lot of things (and people definitely have), but one thing she ainât despite the goofball act? Stupid.
Somethinâ was up in Gotham, somethinâ one heck of a lot weirder than all the weird shit that had marked her time in the city.
Oh, sheâd gone anâ had another word with Brucie after Waylon told her how Jasonâd had to leave through the roof after his talk with Constantine.
(Sheâd hunt Johnny-boy down later too, probably just after he decided she wasnât gonna come for âim and stopped hiding, but odds on? Brucieâs fault, and Connie was just his unfortunate messenger.)
The thing was, heâd decided to sicc Johnny on poor Jason before theyâd had their little talk, so by the time she caught him again he was already all downcast and shamefaced. Already admitting he done fucked up.
And it just wasnât satisfyinâ to kick him while he was down, anâ while he was already tryinâ. Heâd even decided on his own to leave both boys alone for now, to let things cool down before tryinâ again.
Now, Mama Quinzel didnât raise no dummy, she could see a million ways olâ Brucieâs plan to go and try anâ fix Amity Park for Danny was gonna go wrong. But she wasnât an expert at this ghost business, so she didnât pretend to be.
She did exactly what sheâd told Brucie to do; consulted an actual expert.
She asked Sammy and Jazzy, Dannyâs big sis who was just a real darlinâ, in their group chat (which had been popping off since Sammy was a lil sweetheart and set it up for âem; Jazzy-boo was of doinâ all kinds of neurological shit but sheâd read some psych textbooks in her day, and Harley loved watching a self taught student grow). Anâ then she hunted down Jason and Danny, to ask âem directly.
Which had been when sheâd got her first clue that somethinâ was up; when Jason looked at her like she was still wearinâ a certain other clownâs paint, all stiff and locked up and full of anger.
See, thatâd happened before. When they first met, him fresh outta the grave, her fresh outta Hell. When heâd asked if she and Joker were really through, anâ sheâd told him hell yeah.
When heâd asked if sheâd get in his way of killing the asshole.
That anger, all tight anâ tense anâ burstinâ had been wrapped around his throat then, chokinâ him on it. It was cooler now, more human, more like somethinâ the sweet lil sunshine child who could melt her heart with his tears could feel.
It still wasnât, yaâknow, in the vague vicinity of healthy, but sheâd seen Jason Todd about to lose his shit before. Anâ his hands shook when he touched her, when he asked what the hell sheâd done to her neck.
Harleyâd taken a good long look in several bathroom mirrors since. There was nothinâ she could see there, but Harley Quinn had been a short term guest in more than one Hell. There was plenty of shit she was all too happy not ta see.
Then there was olâ Harvey. Sheâd run him down fasterân the bats, because she wasnât also chasinâ Riddler, Great White Shark, at least three new plots from olâ Pengy, or a suspiciously quiet and freshly escaped Scarecrow.
Two-Face had been all quiet anâ polite since his heist on the young Mr Toddâs party went tits up, so heâd flown under their radar.
Not hers.
Harley always made time for her old friends.
And Harvey had been weird too. Twitchy, on edge, jumpinâ at shadows. That happened if he thought the olâ Bat was after âim, but heâd had no reason to think that. Anâ for all heâd flipped his little coin and played up the bit, Harley knew when her friends were off.
Something had put Harvey on edge. Stuffed a bee up his ass and made him all snappy.
Heâd even tried to pull a gun! On her! His sweet, darlinâ, perfectly loveable and innocent Harleen!
So, yaâknow, when sheâd touched ground again anâ heâd run outta bullets, sheâd knocked it outta his hands before he could reload and reminded him there were more than just Bats to fear. There was also her bat.
Anâ by the time they were both all tired out and slumped against each other to order smoothies, heâd admitted he didnât know why heâd decided to go fer young Jason. To attack their buddy Brucieâs boy.
Now, Harley wasnât sure Harvey knew silly olâ Brucie was the Big Bad Bat. She suspected he did, somewhere, in the part of him he hid from all the unpleasantness.
If he knew, he was repressinâ it real deep.
But heâd seen word of the gala, anâ something inside him went dark, and heâd flipped a coin. Got all sorts of plastic explosive of all things ready to really give Gotham a show they wouldnât forget.
Anâ then when it was time to roll out, nunna his carsâd start. Anâ heâd flipped the coin again. And stayed home.
She snagged the detonators on his explosives on the way out, on principle. There were some rules after all, and while the Bats could certainly handle anythinâ olâ Harvey could build, he shouldnâa shot at her.
Harley Quinn was officially out of the rogue game, but that had nothinâ ta do with shit disturbing. She was beginning to wonder though.
Somethinâ was weird in Gotham, a kinda energy in the streets that wasnât the same black stubbornness sheâd known and loved. Somethinâ that felt a little nastier. A little closer to biting.
Now, Harley Quinn was a lotta things. She also wasnât a lotta the things everyone else thought she was.
She was no quitter. She was no fool. She was no coward to turn tail from some nasty vibes. She might still be a teensy weensy bit mentally disturbed, as you say, but she had her shit together.
Anâ she knew when somethinâ else was tryinâ ta play with her head.
Much as she loved Gotham like a second home, she was beginninâ ta wonder if she shouldnât head back to Pammy anâ let their mystery of who was givinâ Coney Island a hard time sit with the Bats.
ââââââ
The song Tuckerâs playing for Tim and Nygma is here:
Tag List - @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence e @skitscratched @blackroserelina a @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin n @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 7 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson n @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291
IMPORTANT NOTE! Since about half the tag list no longer links to a blog, I will probably be retiring it for chapter 20, so either comment and let me know you still wanna be on it, or proceed on over to AO3 for alerts!
Part two:
#dfdali#danny fenton dead and loving it#dead on main ship#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#chapter 19 part 1#the finished core
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(inspired by this post by nullphysics)
How had he gotten here? McCoy had just finished his gamma shift and had paperwork to finish when he entered his office and found Spock sat in his desk chair in low lighting. Other alpha shift crew members would be getting well needed shut eye but Spock was awake, because of course he was, and in a moody lighting no less. Like this was normal. As McCoy stood there, in the middle of his own office, staring at his own occupied chair, the Vulcan watched him intently.
"I think you'll find Sick Bay is my domain, Mr Spock. You stay in your lane. Or is there a reason why you're crowding up my office?"
Spock was silent, so Leonard stalked around his desk and faced him directly with his hands on his hips. The first officer of the Enterprise rotated the chair to face McCoy but said nothing.
"Well?"
"I believe we have many things to say, but so far, only actions have been prevalent in our communication."
McCoy blanched.
Yes, exactly that. That-which-he-had-avoided-thinking-about-as-much-as-he-could, Spock just finally put some semblance of words to what the hell had been happening between them both for a long while now.
Stolen glances across the bridge that lingered for a few seconds longer than appropriate.
Working together in the sick bay labs, noticing they were standing too close, closing the gap a little further, Spock pausing.
McCoy grabbing Spock by the front of his science blues in anger during one of their disagreements and the fury filtering out of Leonard at the heated stare Spock gave back.
Spock pulling Bones from a treturous fall from a ledge on a beam down just last week, and their bodies being pinned for a few moments after the rescue, feeling the rise and fall of deep breaths of relief against the other, a subtle push and pull as they pressed their chests together harder.
"Listen, Spock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortableâ"
Spock held out his hand. "Cease speaking, Leonard. You misunderstand." With that hand, Spock took McCoy by the wrist and pulled him gently, but it took the doctor by surprise and he fell haphazardly into Spock on his desk chair.
He paused, gripping Spock's shoulder for balance and before Bones could retract the position, Spock lifted his knees to shimmy McCoy squarely into his lap.
The doctor felt his face heat immediately. It only got even hotter as he felt cool finger tips at the hem of his tunic lifting it and exposing his stomach, when the air touched his exposed flesh he groaned in the back of his throat.
Spock's hypersensitive hands must be feeling the tremor of anticipation in McCoy's abdominal muscles; the pads of those long elegant fingers could surely feel Bones' racing heartbeat as they traced up his torso slowly. He trusted the Vulcan was shielding his touch telepathy, to defend McCoy against betraying his own thoughts projecting to Spock, protecting his privacy even in this intensely intimate moment. Not that it mattered, as every goddamn emotion was projecting from his face and told Spock all he needed to know.
Stop. Don't stop. We can't do this. I've been wanting this for so long I can't remember when it began but all I know is if you stop touching me I'm gonnaâ Combust.
Spock's left hand joined the right in its ministrations, as though trying to touch as much of McCoy as he could, as though he were irresistible. Bones' shoulders shrugged up self-consciously.
Leonard knew the strength behind this soft sensuous touch, that Vulcan strength could easily snap him in two without any effort at all, and if that wasn't hot as hellâ the physician's tension in his shoulders seemed to snap at the thought and he squirmed in Spock's lap, his hands coming down on Spock's thighs and holding on tightly.
"Something on your mind, Doctor?" Spock asked, cool and calm, the only indication that anything was getting through that Vulcan façade was clear for McCoy to see if he dared to glance down.
"Don't you mind me, Spock." Bones' chest rose and fell in one deep breath. "Carry on, then." He added haughtily.
Spock's eyebrow quirked. That bastard.
There was a beat where nothing happened, but McCoy straightened himself so he could gaze at Spock and gauge what the hell he was playing at. He was acutely aware of Spock's muscled thighs under his ass, and opened his mouth to say something because he had no idea what to doâAnd then those cool, soft, competent fingers rose higher and higher and warm palms smoothed along his ribs. McCoy groaned and fell forwards, his face inches from Spock's neck.
Here Bones could see Spock's expression up close. Those micro movements of th Vulcan's features that gave him away, and the bastard looks like he thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. I'll show him, McCoy thought, and pressed his lips to Spock's.
#star trek#spones#spock#McCoy#bones#leonard mccoy#genshosart#genshos#fic let#spones ficlet#nullphysics
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The Lost Boys The Promise
Chapter One
Moving to Santa Carla, California, had been too stressful for Mom. Following the curtails of her divorce, where Dad took everything, Mom had to uproot us back to her old home. Dad didn't want us; he had shouted when the divorce papers had been served. He didn't want to have to deal with a crazy, ill daughter or a son who read comics all day long. I remember feeling as if my heart had just stopped beating after being stabbed with a knife.
My dad had some choice words for my mother, too. By the time my father had read through the divorce paperwork, my Mom had dissolved into tears. Sam had crept into my room, trying to appear older and rougher than breaking into his own tears. I had welcomed my brother into bed, flipping down the light coverlet for him to crawl under.
Sam had hugged my stuffed animal, face buried in the soft fur until the screaming stopped. Usually, I would have sung to my little brother to help him sleep, but with the divorce, the fighting, and my own personal issues, I'd start withdrawing. Which meant not even speaking.
The school had ended by the time the paperwork had been signed and settled. Sam gave Mom grief about moving to her hometown, but I said nothing. There wasn't anything left for me in Phoenix - my toxic relationship had ended badly. I touched the lightening bruise on the side of my face in memory. I didn't have any friends, and now Mom had divorced Dad.
I felt hopeful that Santa Carla would be a better place. Something deep inside me yearned for the sandy beach, the hot summer sun, and the scent of saltwater in the air. I could faintly remember the summers spent in the town; Dad always griped about coming to Mom's hometown. Our summers spent in Santa Carla were few.
Sam grumbled for most of the ride. I was content to let my brother sit in the front seat while my Mom tried to ease the growing tension rising with every mile closer to Santa Carla. I didn't bother to protest - not wanting to spend one more minute in Phoenix. I didn't want to be any closer to my paternal figure than I had to be. Sam was popular. He wore designer clothing and had a lot of friends in Phoenix, even though he was a comic nerd.
"Honey, you need to eat something," My Mom's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. I sighed granola bar in hand. I had picked each piece of oats off the bar for two hours. "Please just eat the granola bar."
"I'll eat it!" Sam reached back and snatched the granola bar from my hand. Before Mom could protest or reprimand my brother for taking my food, he had it half-crammed into his mouth. My stomach turned with disgust at seeing his bulging cheeks and flecks of chewed food on his lips. "Mmm!"
I just sighed and returned to gazing out onto the landscape. I could hear the seagulls becoming louder, indicating we were closer to Santa Carla and the sea. Mom wanted to say something else about my food situation but turned her attention to my brother as they messed with the radio.
For the past three years, my parents have struggled with my eating disorder. I didn't want to eat anything at all. My dad tried to ship me off to an inpatient facility, but they released me after I didn't gain any of the much-needed weight back.
Nanook, my brother's husky, set her head on my lap, offering warmth and protection. I reached down and pulled a copy of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina out of my bag. I knew it would be at least another hour before we reached Grandpa's place in Santa Carla.
"We are stopping!" Mom announced loudly, startling me. I was engrossed in the pages of Russian literature, the illicit affair between Anna and Vronsky. I jumped, the sharp tone of my mother's voice cutting through the scenes playing out in my head as I read.
I grabbed the discarded ribbon across my thin thigh and pressed it between the book's pages. I always needed to find my bookmarks; therefore, I would use any material to track my progress. Mom pulled into a gas station parking lot, needing to fill the car's tank.
"I'm taking Nanook to potty!" Sam yelled, jumping out of the front seat. He grabbed his dog's leash and then took her across the lot. I watched as my brother had no qualms about walking past all the people.
I blinked as I took in the people milling about us. My Mom was busy putting gas in the tank, so I just gazed at those passing by. All the individuals were bright - and colorful. It differed from what I was used to in Phoenix, but it made sense with my Mom's aesthetic. She loved colorful clothing and gauzy skirts.
Looking around, I saw that everyone was different but fit together. There were women clad in bikinis, roller skating down the sidewalks, and goth kids covered from head to toe in black. Homeless kids in worn layers, alongside surfer guys in wetsuits, carting around surfboards. It was astonishing to see all these individuals walking beside one another.
They wouldn't be in the same vicinity as their counterparts in any other town. People of the same cliques and gangs would stick together, not daring to break into another group.
However, as I stood there, gazing around at the people, I felt a seed of jealousy take root deep within my soul. It might have been the heat of the sun, but the hot feeling radiated from within my body as I looked around. These people felt comfortable enough to express themselves through their outfits and appearance. They weren't afraid to show their originality - some had numerous piercings, colored hair, and weird hairstyles. Even their tattoos and clothing - or lack thereof - demonstrated that they weren't shying away from their individuality.
"Honey," my Mom's soft voice brought me out of my musing as I leaned against the back of the Range Rover. "Can you go give those two this money?" I looked to where my Mom was indicating, pulling my cardigan closer. I saw two teenagers around a dumpster, looking for food scraps in the trash bags. I took the proffered money from my mother's hand and walked towards them. The two gave me a slight, grateful grin before snatching the money and disappearing.
Sam had finished letting Nanook stretch her legs and came across the parking lot towards us. I slid into the backseat, not bothering to fight Sam about the passenger seat. There was no use - I wouldn't argue or talk with him. Sam let Nanook climb in with me, unclipping the leash before shutting the back door.
"Mom!" Sam was excited about something he had seen on his travels. "Did you know there's an amusement park on the beach?"
"That's called the boardwalk, sweetheart," Mom educated the both of us. I just raised an eyebrow in question. My Mom seemed to be more excited about the boardwalk than Sam. "We will go to the boardwalk tonight. Unless, Aria, do you want to go look?"
"That's not fair!" Sam crowed, spinning around to glare at me. "Why does she get to go?"
"Because she's older, Sam," Mom tried to allay his upset. I just shook my head, knowing Mom saw it in the rearview mirror. "Okay. Then we'll all go tonight."
I thought that Grandpa's house would be closer to town, but it was a few miles outside of the main attraction in Santa Carla. I didn't bother to pull out Anna Karenina again; I just gazed out the window. Mom eventually pulled off the city streets onto an unmarked and unpaved road. A cloud of dust, comprised of the dirt making the lane, billowed behind the car. Mom pulled into the driveway, which was lined with wood chips. Sam was looking in horror at the house.
The decor and house were attractive. It looked like an old log cabin converted into a modern-sized dwelling. Grandpa obviously had a knack and talent for wood carving, as many of his projects littered the yard. There were several small trailers, and wind chimes around the lawn. I actually liked the feel of the house.
Exiting the car, I noticed the paddock with at least three horses. They were grazing on the lush, green grass growing, tails lazily swishing in the wind. I could smell the scent of sharp manure and the salty breeze from the sea.
"Grandpa has horses?" I asked, breaking my silent streak. My voice was husky from misuse. My Mom and brother looked at me, amazed that I had spoken.
"Yes," my Mom smiled, happy I had spoken for the first time in several days. I nodded, not saying another word. I looked towards the house entrance that we would call home, noticing the figure of a man lying on the porch.
My face paled, immediately assuming the worst. Sam and my Mom went to investigate the situation, but I stayed by the car. I didn't want to walk onto the scene to find my grandfather dead of a heart attack.
"Honey, he's just a deep sleeper!" My Mom tried to settle my nerves with a gentle smile. She waved her hand to make me come over and join the trio on the porch. I sucked in a deep lungful of the salty air before walking across the yard towards the porch.
"If he's dead, can we move back to Phoenix?" Sam asked, causing my Mom and I to glare at him. He shrunk back as Grandpa opened his eyes and moved.
"Playin' dead!" Grandpa's innate masculine voice filled the air. It was a relief to hear his voice, knowing that he wasn't dead. I turned to look down at the man with whom we would live for the unforeseeable future. "And from what I heard, doin' a damn good job of it."
My Mom chuckled as she leaned down to hug her father. I can imagine it would be a relief to be comforted by one's parents, especially as Grandma had died when Mom was just a preteen. Her dad was her rock, someone Mom could depend upon in life.
Sam looked weirded out by the situation, but I wordlessly motioned we should return to the car. We had little to move since Dad got everything in the settlement. Mom had wanted the divorce over and done with, so she took the lowest agreement with Dad. Even though Mom could have won more in the divorce since she was taking care of Dadâs two kids, she just signed the paperwork. Chapter Two
#literature#imagines#the lost boys#the lost boys x reader#the lost boys 1987#david tlb#tlb 1987#the lost boys paul#the lost boys marko#the lost boys dwayne#the lost boys david#the lost boys x emerson sister#emerson sister#fanfiction#part 1#paul tlb#marko x reader#dwayne x reader#david x reader#paul x reader
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The Flower Dance - Harvey x Farmer
Chapter 1 : A Thoughtful Gift
Tags: n/a
A/N: hello my loves! Itâs been a long time between stories, but in typical me-fashion I have two assignments due and havenât touched either of them, so have a Stardew Valley fluff fic! This is also my first foray into first person perspective, so any notes are much appreciated and, as always, if you would like a tag for the next chapter let me know!
CW: n/a
Word count: 1.8k
đžđžđž
The quiet hum of the waiting room in Doctor Harvey's clinic was a sound I never thought I'd grow to like. I was often in the clinic for more severe injuries - a laceration from my sword or a broken bone from a dangerous encounter in the mines - but today it was sheer clumsiness that landed me here, holding a ziploc bag full of ice cubes against the back of my head. That's the last time I swing a pickaxe in the quarry without wearing a helmet.
"I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose," Maru mused, chuckling softly to herself as she sorted the paperwork she was filing behind the front desk. "What is it, like, the third time this week you're in here? If you wanted to see Harvey, you could just come in to say 'hi'. No need to injure yourself."
"Very funny." I responded sarcastically, my eyes fixated on the wall opposite me. Even though she was my closest friend in this town, Maru sure knew how to get on my nerves. "If it wasn't for my mishaps, where would Harvey get all of his work from? Annual checkups? I think not."
"Ooh, someone's getting flustered over there..." Maru chuckled again as she glanced over at me, fixing her glasses flush against her face a push against the bridge. She quickly changed the subject. "You gonna go to the Flower Dance tonight?"
I shifted slightly in my seat at the mention of the Flower Dance, an indicator that I had, in fact, been thinking about it. I had missed the last Flower Dance the year prior by staying back at the farm - large events like that had never been my strong suit. As the months approached to tonight's dance, however, I grew more and more fond of the idea of attending. With the renovation of the community centre, I knew for a fact that Mayor Lewis had planned a big celebration for this year's dance, shifting it from its normal morning start time to an evening event. I cleared my throat once and shifted my glance to Maru.
"... Maybe." I muttered, trying to play off my nerves coolly. That reaction only garnered a smirk from Maru, who spoke again.
"I know Harvey's gonna be there... maybe you can stop playing around and ask him. I know he'd like that."
"Maru, will you please keep your voice down?" I begged in a sharp whisper, shifting in my seat to face her. "I don't want Harvey to hear this."
Maru shrugged her shoulders, her smirk still plastered on her face. "Fine. Keep kidding yourself. Did you at least get my text?"
âYes, I got the text.â I answered back quickly, my voice raising slightly from a whisper. âItâs in my bag, but it wonât be much of a surprise if he overhears us!â
As if on cue, the double doors beside Maru's desk opened, and an all too familiar voice spoke calmly to his patient.
"Now, like I said, George: if you have any concerns you'd like me to take a look at, I'm more than welcome to make a house visit next time."
The doctor came out through the doors pushing George in his wheelchair, Evelyn close behind the two of them.
"You're a good man, Harvey," Evelyn said kindly as she took over the handles of George's wheelchair. "We'll see you tonight."
I shared a quick smile with Evelyn as she took George through the clinic's front doors- George grumbled something to himself as they disappeared out the doors together. My gaze shifted to rest on the doctor, and I felt my cheeks grow warm as I saw him turn his attention to me. The way he looked in his white coat was nothing short of handsome, and the way his ginger hair was neatly groomed made it more so. Harvey looked over at me and sighed, taking the makeshift ice pack against my head into account as he put his hands into his pockets.
"Another accident?" He asked softly, although a hint of amusement could be heard in his voice. I gave a sheepish smile in return, feeling a little embarrassed at him seeing me like this.
"Come on back, I'll take a look at you." He said with a polite smile as he turned on his heel and headed back through the double doors. I grabbed my backpack from my feet and followed quickly behind him, catching a glance at Maru as I passed by. I watched her mouth the words 'ask him' as she gestured towards the doors, which was met with me gesturing a hand under my neck for her to cut it out. I followed quickly behind the doctor, the double doors closing behind us with a soft 'click'.
We made our way into his office. I set my bag down at the base of the small bed in the room and took my usual place right in the middle of the bed, my legs hanging off the side as I looked over at Harvey.
"What happened this time?" Harvey asked calmly with his back turned to me, grabbing some equipment from a drawer in his desk to check my vitals.
I lowered the bag of ice from my head and placed it gingerly next to me on the bed. "I was down in the quarry today. I guess I wasn't paying attention. I swung back a little too hard... hit the back of my head with the side of the pickaxe."
I heard Harvey chuckle softly to himself as he shook his head, the sound of his laugh made my cheeks grow warm.
"What am I going to do with you?" He asked as he sat down in his swivel chair, wheeling it over to me as he took out a small torchlight from his breast pocket. He shone the light in my eyes and made me look over the room in different directions, asking typical questions to ensure I wasn't too badly hurt; my name, the date, where I was, that sort of thing. After a few seconds, he smiled as he turned off the torchlight.
"Well, it's not a concussion," he started, his voice methodical yet kind. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: You need to be careful when you're working."
"I'm fine, Harvey," I replied softly. "I guess I've been... distracted."
Harvey smiled warmly. "I can understand that. It happens to the best of us. If you need any help with it though, you're more than welcome to talk to me about it."
The comment made me smile up at him. "Really? Youâd do that?"
"Sure! You can always book an appointment for a consultation regarding your mental health, it's what I'm here for."
"... ah."
I sighed softly to myself, remembering where we were. I felt a nervous feeling growing in the pit of my chest, and I remembered what Maru had said earlier. My window to ask about tonight was here, and I knew Iâd be kicking myself if I didnât at least try. As Harvey turned back to his desk to scribble down some notes, I spoke up softly as I grabbed my backpack.
"I, uhm," I began nervously. "I hope you don't mind, but... I've brought you something."
Harvey's ears perked up, and he swivelled his chair around to look back at me, a surprised expression on his face.
"Oh? What is it?"
I rummaged around in my backpack, my fingers taking a few seconds to finally grab at a small bottle. I got my words out quickly, my nerves getting the better of me as I pulled out a small bottle of wine.
"Well, a little birdie may have told me that you like your wine. I had some grapes left over last summer from the harvest and I didn't know what to do with the excess so I..."
I presented the bottle to Harvey with a nervous smile. It had a small sticker on it with my handwriting, reading 'For the best doctor in Stardew Valley'.
"... I made you some."
Harvey's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the small bottle of wine in my hand, his smile widening in both delight and astonishment as he reached out and carefully took the bottle. He was touched, not having expected me to make such an effort.
"I'm... this is...." He trailed off as his voice caught in his throat, clearly at a loss for words. After a moment, he cleared his throat and smiled warmly. "You've made my day..."
I chuckled sheepishly as my gaze drifted to the floor, shuffling in my seat at his compliment.
"Nah... it's the least I can do," I insisted. "I'm in here almost weekly, I'm probably taking your attention away from your other patients when I come in."
"Nonsense," Harvey insisted. "This is wonderful. Thank you."
There was a comfortable silence between the two of us, and it took me a moment to snap back into my thoughts as I cleared my throat.
"Right, well... I best be off. Those crops won't water themselves."
I made my way off the bed, pacing quickly to the door. At that moment I remembered what Maru had said again. If I didn't take my chances and ask Harvey about tonight, my window would be closing. I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face him, leaning against the doorway as I tried to be casual.
"So... I heard Mayor Lewis talking about the Flower Dance happening tonight? The one that's happening down near Marnie's Ranch? Are you, uhm... are you gonna go?"
Harvey nodded once, a small knowing smile crossing his lips as I mentioned the dance.
"Yes, I do believe I will be attending. The dance has been a tradition here in town for years. Have you picked out a dance partner?"
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the doctor. "Dance partner?"
Harvey nodded once more. "It's customary for the bachelorettes of the town to have a partner in mind when attending the dance. There's a 'singles only' dance after dinner where you have to pick someone out to dance with. It's meant to symbolise true admiration to be chosen..." Harvey cleared his throat once before continuing on softly. "Not that... I've ever really participated in it."
"You're kidding," I said, leaning against the doorway with my arms folded. "You've never been asked to the dance?"
He shook his head once. "Never. But, y'know..."
His glance drifted to the bottle of wine in his hand, a soft smile growing on his lips as he looked back up at me.
"I still hold out hope."
The implications of his words were not lost on me, and I felt my cheeks start to blush as I smiled down at him.
"I'll... keep that in mind when choosing my partner. See you tonight, Harvey."
"See you then."
With that, I turned on my heels and headed quickly out of his office, flinging my backpack over my shoulder as I raced down the hallway. I had a newfound confidence for the night that couldn't be matched, and I made sure to high-five Maru on my way out the front door for the tidbit on the wine.
#fanfic#stardew valley#Stardew valley Harvey#stardew harvey#harvey x farmer#fluff writing#geesegooseblog#harvey x reader#sdv harvey
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What once was.
Alex Keller Ă Reader. ( Code name/ nickname: Boomslang)
Your heart broke when he decided to follow someone else, now you have the chance to prove to yourself you don't love him anymore.
Warning: spelling or grammatical errors.
đą Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
- NO.
- Excuse me?
Everybody in the room looked at you, you never complained or went against your Captain's orders but this time you needed to.
- Y/N, it's not a suggestion, it's an order.
- I know, and I'm sorry but I can't do it Sir. I refuse to do it.
Price made a movement with the head to indicate to the boys to leave the room, Soap smirked and whispered at you «You're in serious troubles little one» while Ghost and Kyle dragged him out of the room.
Price wasn't happy but neither was angry, he knows the reason for your refusal to follow the plan. He pointed to the chair in front of you.
- Listen Y/n, I know this is hard for you, I know how you feel about this situation but I think it's time to make peace with the past. You have to learn to separate the job and the feelings.
You can't believe what you're listening to, but you will try to escape this situation.
- That is what is all about, are you trying to give me a lesson? I learned my lesson very well Sir, there's no ne...
- Good, then take this mission as the opportunity to prove to me you left all behind or you will stay at the base to make boring inventory and paperwork. You decide.
Fuck, for a moment you considered the idea to stay at the base, it's better than see that idiot. Alex Keller, the man who broke your heart, the name that provoked you nausea and made your blood boil, He fell in love with Farah and stayed with her 'to help', how kind and considerate of him you thought, you weren't in a relationship but fuckin hell, it was clear that you loved him, everybody noticed it even you thought he knew it, you realized that In fact he didn't, he told you he wouldn't go back with you and the rest of the boys because he would go wherever Farah went, that was the end for you, you say goodbye to Alex and never spoke to him again, he tried, you were like his best friend but you never attended his calls or replied to his messages, you were depressed, distant and distracted, your mind was everywhere but here in the present, Price and you had a serious conversation about it, he sent you home to take a few days, weeks or months. You went back after three months, those three months were full of food, alcohol, mountains, rides in your 1970 red maverick until you decided you wouldn't risk your career and place with the 141 just for a man.
That was a long time ago, you're better now, and like Price said, this was the opportunity to prove it, not only to Price, you will prove it to yourself too.
The helicopter left you far enough from Alex and Farah's location, you walked for almost one hour until your radio issued a sound.
- Echo 3-1 and Kilo, reporting.
Ah... Fuckin hell, you can do this Y/N.
- Here's Boomslang, arriving at your location Echo 3-1.
- Copy.
And there he is, smiling at you as if nothing happened, calm down, breath, as soon you finish your job you will go home, it's easier to say it than do it though.
- Y/N! How long!
- Keller, Farah.
You smiled kindly at her, it is not her fault and you won't blame her or treat her wrong, she returned the smile and both started to talk, poor Alex, was in silence nodding and barely speaking.
- Well, Price told me someone stole your resources and sent me here to support you so... I'm at your service Kilo.
- I appreciate the help, It should be easy, Alex will put some smoke grenades around, just as a distraction, you will cover me, once Alex drops the last smoke grenade, you will join us
- Sure, let's do this.
Farah is actually kind, smart, brave and pretty, you're excited to be in action with her.
- Good, Echo, let's go.
She started to walk leaving you and Alex behind. You walked in silence until he started to talk.
- Why are you being so cold? I haven't seen you in awhile and I was expecting a little more enthusiasm or something.
- Echo, let's focus on the mission, you actually should be further than Kilo and me, since you're the one who will drop the smoke grenades.
You were right, he went back to the silence and Walked faster, you thanked the universe for being on your side and didn't make you spend much time with him, It is easy to focus on the job but you realized it wasn't easy to think about the fact that Alex will want answers, an explanation about your attitude, you weren't ready to talk about the feelings you had for him and how heartbroken he left you.
- Boomslang to Kylo and Echo. I'm in position, ready to clean your path.
- Here's Echo 3-1, I copy you Boomslang, I'm ready too.
- Kylo to Eco and Boomslang, let's have some fun, good luck.
All was quick, you discovered you worked really well with them, the job was done with no setbacks, Farah thanked you and left you and Alex alone while she was on a call with Price.
- You're a great sniper y/n...
- Thanks.
«Ahhh...» he exhaled with annoyance.
- Okay, I... I can't with this. Now that the mission is done, will you please explain to me this attitude, you... Became a fuckin stranger and it's unfair... I...
- Unfair? You think I'm being unfair? You... Stayed here, in this place without considering our friendship or my feelings, you're the one who decided to leave me behind.
You're not yelling at him, you're not sad, you're being cold, after all, those are the facts, he didn't care about you.
- You're the one who abandoned me, you erased me of your life, I tried y/n! I called you, I texted you, I tried and you never replied! Now that we're face to face, tell me, tell me what makes you hate me so much, come on, tell me!
You're so angry that you're not considering the consequences of your actions or words, your anger is boiling.
- Do you really wanna know?
- Yes, please!! Say all you want to say!
- Fine, I hate you because you left, I hate you because you broke my heart, I hate you because you fell in love with someone else who actually is too busy to notice you, I hate you because I showed you my feelings in every chance I had and you never saw it, I hate you because I loved you with every little inch of me, loved you so much that all my body hurts!
The tears appeared, he tried to hug you but you pushed him away, this is not what you planned, it was supposed you wouldn't lose control, you took a deep breath, he stayed in silence, just waiting for you to calm down, you dry your tears And turned to face him one more time.
- I'm... I'm really sorry y/n, I can swear to you that I didn't know about your feelings. Please forgive me, if I knew I wouldn't...
You interrupted and smiled at him the best you could.
- It's fine Alex, don't say more. I just hope at the end of the day you feel happy with the decisions you took that day, I really mean it... I learned to live with a broken heart, I hope you learn to live with the memories of what we once shared, because that won't ever come back.
«Boomslang, the helicopter is landing, hurry up!» your radio spoke. You took your backpack and looked at Keller, there were a lot of emotions in his eyes you would love to run and hug him one last time but no, you started to walk, and just how he left you once, it's you who leaves him this time.
#141 x reader#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#long reads#x yn#alex keller x you#alex keller x reader#alex keller#fanfiction#farah karim#x reader#reader insert#alex echo 3 1
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Papa(i cant decide what number 1-4) : angry at his lover, because she avoids him..
Reader in her bedroom: p-please love...kill me i have a fever
https://themidult.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/painting-woman-ill-sick-fluey-unwell2-800x500.jpg
(sorry for the link im too shy to send this ask as me, but i think its kinda funny)
ghosting | papa x gn!reader
I could not decide on a Papa either, so I kept it as neutral as possible and (I hope) you can all imagine the Papa of your choice :) and anon, you need not be shy, I am so grateful for your ask <3
summary: your papa thinks you're avoiding him but once he finally finds you, he realises that he got it all wrong.
content: 2.5k words, sick care, some suggestive remarks, fluff mostly
masterlist â Ao3 link
⊠⧠âŠ
Papa scoffs into his afternoon coffee, nearly spilling the hot liquid all over his papal robes. Still nothing. Heâs staring at his phone, the screen cracked from when it slipped out of his pocket while he fucked you on his desk two days ago. And yet he can clearly make out the two blue hooks indicating that youâve read his message from this morning.
What he also sees is that there is still no reply. Your silence, your absence, the uncertainty â it drives him mad. He is so used to having your undivided attention, seeing your name pop up on his screen with a frequency that keeps him from getting any work done as of late. Not your name, though, no. He saved you under âamore mioâ a long time ago. Not that youâre aware of it just yet, but his feelings for you have long since surpassed mere lust and friendliness.
His mind constantly wanders to you. Knowing your schedule by heart, it is easy to imagine what youâre doing, what may have you so distracted. Right now, you should be helping in the gardens, sweaty and panting from the exertions in the warm afternoon sun. He knows how pretty you look like that, even more so when youâre sprawled out underneath him as he gets lost in the soft curves of your body. He yearns to lick the salty sweat off your heaving chest, to hear your whimpers as his lips leave not a single inch of your skin untouched.
Alas, he is stuck in his office, brooding over paperwork.
Heâs trying hard to concentrate on the words in front of him, not to stare at his screen all day like a depraved, starving man. Impatient, he even set the phone to vibrate but despite knowing heâd get a notification if you texted him, he taps the screen every two minutes to check. Just to make sure he doesnât miss it.
Oh how heâs longing for even the most delicate touch, a simple kiss on his cheek as you tell him to take it easy today, your hand squeezing his across the table. You used to do that, visit him in his office at least two times a day. Not always innocent. Actually, very rarely innocent. He can almost hear the echo of you screaming his name for half the abbey to hear. And yet, you have not been anywhere near these four desecrated walls in almost two days. Not since the last time you were intimate with him.
Why wonât you reply? A flash of doubt and a pang of anger. Could you be getting tired of him? Did he come on too strong? If that were the case, you should tell him. Heâs a busy man, you of all people know that, and yet here you are practically ghosting him, as the younger Siblings call it. By now itâs almost dinner time, you must have had a chance to at least type in a yes or no. Papa knows if he canât see you tonight he is going to lose his mind. He needs the confirmation or heâll be nervous and distracted for the rest of his day.
Generous as he is, Papa gives you another hour, finishing up the dreadful paperwork before he has a quick dinner of reheated pasta from the day prior. It tastes like nothing to him and the emptiness of his quarters only adds to his foul mood. His eyes are still trained on his phone, the battery still half full, unused with the lack of texting. The only time his screen lights up this evening itâs to remind him that his screen time has gone up by eighty percent over the past week. It seems like thatâs an issue youâre solving for him right now.
Papa knows he cannot go another night without seeing you. He needs to confront you, ask if you really lost interest or if you just need more space. Whatever it is, having clarity will be easier to bear than silence.
Entering the dorms is always risky business. People gossip, someone is going to see where heâs knocking, and while everyone knows the two of you are⊠something, heâs not keen on everyone speculating about why youâre suddenly on cooldown.
But when he knocks, nothing happens. He repeats the motion, rapping his knuckles against the wood three times, louder now. Nothing. He hears music, some sort of electronic beats, the tunes wafting over from another dorm room. A party, surely. Yours however remains eerily quiet. In a last attempt to find out if youâre even home, he tries the door.
It is unlocked, so you must be home. For a moment he considers leaving again but then a painful thought hits him: If youâre home, not opening up⊠it means youâre avoiding him. Clearly.
What crime did he commit to deserve your ignorance? His anger propels him to enter, despite knowing heâs invading your privacy. But he cannot go back to his quarters without confronting you, not when heâs already in such pain. Heâs feeling the anticipatory grief over losing you and itâs all because he let his guard down way too fast, leaning into your kindness, your loving nature. He always had a feeling that this was too good to be true, that despite thinking this time would be different, heâd end up in pain. Everyone just wants the sex, the fun, not the commitment that being with a Papa, maybe even loving a Papa, meant.
Fiddling with the doorknob, he feels awful for even thinking these things. You never gave him reason to doubt you, but it is just so easy to slip back into his old insecurities. Certain that heâs just seeing ghosts, Papa pushes the door open silently.
Upon entering the small antechamber that leads to your bedroom, he hears you moaning. He hears the rustling of sheets, the mattress creaking. A loud fuck.
Papa stops dead in his tracks, nearly toppling over as a wave of nausea hits him. For a second, his worst fears and his deepest insecurities melt into one big gooey ball of panic. He wants to be sure that what you have is special, but you never openly decided to be exclusive, that you wouldnât see other people. Heâs been meaning to ask, to tell you how he feels⊠too late, it seems.
But no. He soldiers on. If anyone else dares to touch you, they will receive all of his demonic, unholy wrath. He has a whole company of ghouls who would love to get a taste of human flesh again, if need be. Papa opens the door to your bedroom, anxious but driven, ready to face whatever lies behind. And he does find you in bed like he expected, only⊠youâre alone.
You donât even look up. Are you sleeping? The room is stuffy, curtains closed and all he hears is your whimpering.
âHello?â he asks quietly, his heart hammering in his chest.
âP-papa?â
Your voice is barely audible. His anger turns into concern as he hurries to your side, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Immediately you reach for his hand in an attempt to squeeze, but it seems like youâre too weak to clench your muscles.
âKill me, Papa. Release me from this torment,â you whine. âPlease.â
âTesoro, what is going on?â
You groan in reply, a sound only made more horrifying by the soreness of your throat. You sound like a dying animal and if heâs honest, you kind of smell like one too. He wonders how long youâve been in this position.
âI am dying,â you whisper.
âWhat happened? Are you injured?â
Heâs scanning your body but most of it is covered. Before he can pull away the duvet, you try to squeeze his hand yet again, this time with more vigor.
âS-sick,â you choke out. âThe flu.â
âThe flu?â
Papa ignores the bad conscience thatâs settling in his mind and gives into his worry. He jumps up, opening the curtains and the window to let in some fresh air. You hiss like youâve been burned, despite the sun already setting. Disregarding your complaints, Papa finds a thermometer and pain killers on your bedside table.
âWe need to check if you have a fever, tesorino, can you open your pretty mouth for me?â
You giggle at his words. âIâm too sick for that, Papa.â
âYou clearly have a fever if you think Iâm going to laugh about this right now,â he states, removing his gloves and throwing them aside. His scowl is not in earnest, heâs not annoyed, of course, but he needs you to know your health is paramount.
âYouâre so dramatic,â you whisper but you let him slot the thermometer between your lips anyway.
âI am dramatic? Whoâs been locked inside their room like they have the plague without replying to my texts?â
Papa presses the backs of his hands to your hot cheeks, acting like a mom who doesnât trust the thermometer. Youâre burning up, worrying him even more. Your skin is ashen, hair tousled, and he can see you shaking slightly.
At his words, your brow furrows. âI texted back,â you say, words muffled by the device in your mouth.
âYou did not, amore. I have been wondering what I did to upset you so,â Papa admits. âI thought you were avoiding me. Ghosting me, as they say.â
Your eyebrows shoot up and as soon as Papa pulls out the thermometer, forehead scrunching up as he reads the 38.9°C, you start babbling.
âI was not, Papa. I would never. I was so sad I could not see you.â You swallow, groaning as the pain in your scratchy throat hits you. âCan you check my phone? I dropped it.â
Papa finds it under your bed. He lets you unlock it and youâre right, you did reply, only you never hit sent. I am sick in bed, Papa. I miss you too, but I would not want you to catch the flu. â„ïž
âI would never avoid you on you purpose,â you whisper, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
He bends down to kiss your feverish forehead, feeling the heat against his lips. âI know that now, amore, donât worry about it. Iâm sorry I ever thought such a thing.â
âAmore?â you ask, grinning through a thick layer of haze. âThatâs new, Papa.â
He can practically feel his cheeks turning rosy under his paint. âYou know I like you, gioia mia, that is not new.â
âBut amore is not just liking, right? Itâsââ
âYou have a fever, dolce. I need you to take the ibuprofen. Where do you keep your glasses?â
You pout at his interruption and with one last look at your puckered lips, he jumps up, avoiding not only your question but also the intense urge to kiss you. Youâre in no condition to have a deep conversation right now. He searches the cupboards in your tiny kitchenette until he finds a glass he can fill with water. By the looks of it, you have not eaten all day, itâs far too clean.
âI donât know if I can swallow,â you whine upon his return.
âWe both know youâre very good at swallowing, amore. Open up.â
You frown without any real intensity and itâs an adorable sight, even in your messy, unkempt state. âI thought we werenât joking about this.â
âIt is allowed when I do it,â Papa says, practically shoving the pill into your mouth. âDrink, amore. You need liquids.â
You manage to swallow and the water feels like honey but only for a moment before the pain returns and your throat protests wildly. Even so, your mind still clings to his words.
âPapa,â you whine, reaching for his hand as soon as heâs set down the glass.
His mismatched eyes flicker to yours, still worried. âYes?â
âYou never answered.â
âWe should talk about this tomorrow, sĂŹ? When you feel better.â At your sad expression he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. âI will go find some soup for you now, some other medication.â
âBut I donât want you to leave.â
âI will come back, dolce, you donât make that pretty head worry too much, eh?â
You whimper dramatically. âBut what if I am dead by then?â
Papa sighs but itâs followed by deep chuckle as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. âYou win, amore, I will text one of the ghouls.â
As soon as the text is sent, Papa closes the window again and starts to undress. From your position on the bed youâre watching him like a hawk, pulling a fuzzy blanket over your mouth to hide your grin. He canât help but find it endearing and suddenly he feels even worse for assuming the worst today. Once heâs in his briefs and undershirt, he crawls into bed behind you, pulling you close. Youâre a little sweaty, not exactly smelling fresh, but he doesnât mind. Feeling your warmth, having you tucked against him, itâs all he really needs.
And as his heart does a flip, racing thanks to your proximity, he gently cups your cheek. âDo you think you can give me a kiss, amore?â
âBut youâll get sick,â you whisper, the protest dying as soon as he tilts your chin up.
His lips graze yours, softly pressing in more and more until you melt against him. Even your lips are warmer than usual and he keeps it chaste, breaking away to look into your eyes again.
âPapas donât get sick, eh?â He gives a tender kiss to your forehead, gently running his fingers through your hair before they settle on your back. âNow, you wanted an answer.â
Your look is pleading and itâs like your shining eyes are trying to lure the words right out of him. He wonders how he ever worried you may not feel the same when itâs written all over your face. His nerves start showing then, fidgety fingers drawing tiny patterns on your back, and he can feel your hands pressing into his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt.
âI love you,â he finally says. âYou are my amore, my love. Tieni il mio cuore in mano. Please, I want to ask you to be mine.â
âI love you, too.â A big grin spreads out on your face. You lean in to kiss him again, softly moving your lips against his, and you stay impossibly close as you whisper. âAnd I am yours, forever, if you are mine.â
Papa smiles against your mouth and for a moment he forgets that youâre sick and kisses you harder. When he breaks away, youâre breathless, coughing softly, but he can tell by the happy look on your face that it was worth it.
âI am yours, amore,â he says. âI am yours forever, if Satan allows me.â
You settle against his solid chest, warm cheek pressed to the skin just above the neckline of his shirt. After today, your Papa vows to take better care of you, to trust you fully and cast any doubts aside as soon as they arise. And so he wraps his arms around you even tighter, whispering soft praises into your hair until youâre finally asleep again, the only sound in the room your soft and even breathing.
non vedo lâora di baciarti â I canât wait to kiss you
tieni il mio cuore in mano â you hold my heart in your hand
#papa emeritus x reader#papa emeritus iv x reader#papa emeritus i x reader#papa emeritus ii x reader#papa emeritus iii x reader#the band ghost fanfiction#ghost fanfiction#copia#papa iv#papa iii#papa ii#papa i#papa emeritus#papa emeritus iv fanfiction#papa emeritus iii fanfiction#papa emeritus ii fanfiction#papa emeritus i fanfiction#papa x reader#asks#anon
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i have no idea if you write for adam, but here i am
i am the ultimate angst asker, if you're okay with that
adam or lute(ilovewomenbumpersticker) x reader who does in the extermination without them knowing.
- FEED ME A BONE,
carcass
aaaa thank you so much for the request!! i am a fellow lover of women, so I will do Lute at a later date. i wasnt too sure about what you meant by 'does in'. i did give you a sad ending though, so hopefully that makes up for it!
how would adam or lute react to the reader finding out about the exterminations? Part 1
- Adam -
you and adam started dating before he started the exterminations
you're an amazing person - kind, sweet, innocent, everything an angel should be. and also everything Adam isn't.
adam is already so insecure about anything that has to do with hell bc lucifer stole his wives (cue pussy eating hand gesture)
so he doesn't even mention it when he starts thinking about the exterminations
you're suspicious, obviously, because he's going off on so many meetings and is becoming more distant
but you dont say anything because you love adam, and he would never lie to you.. would he?
when adam finally gets his extermination team approved, he's overjoyed
he comes home and immediately kisses the shit out of you
You whine as he pulls away from you, your lips swollen and your face flushed. You try to catch your breath. "Not that I'm complaining, but, uh, what exactly was that about?"
Adam grins widely, squeezing your hands. "What, am I not allowed to kiss my beautiful partner hello?" You sense a hint of deceit in his voice, but choose not to question him about it.
you and adam always sleep in the same bed at nights. you have practically since you started dating.
so when one night he doesn't come home, alarm bells immediately go off in your head
is he cheating on you? maybe he found someone else, someone better
no, you reason, surely he's just held up at work
your suspicions only intensify when he returns the following morning, hair tousled and clothing ruffled
he looks exhausted, like he didn't get any sleep. usually this would indicate a long day at work, but theres a smile on his face that paperwork could never cause
dread grows in your stomach
he greets you happily, like nothing's wrong, and you play along, not wanting to fight with your boyfriend about something that could very well have been a misunderstanding
next year, though, when he disappears again and comes back looking thoroughly satisfied, your suspicions are confirmed.
adam is cheating on you.
you're a very conflict-averse person, so these yearly meetings go on for nearly two decades (time works different in heaven ok just roll with it. 1 year = a month to them basically)
eventually, though, you come home from a hard day of work and Adam isn't there.
that pushes you over the edge. you pack a bag and store it in the closet before going back to your room.
you would look for an apartment in the morning. for now, you just want to sleep.
you wake up and join adam in the kitchen for breakfast. he looks like he always does after these meetings - ruffled, yet satisfied.
"Adam," you say simply, "we need to talk."
"Uh-oh," teases Adam, "am I in trouble?"
"Where were you last night?"
Adam swallows thickly. "What?"
You glare at him. "Where were you last night?"
"I was busy with a work thing - you know how it is, babe, they work me to the bone. It's ridiculous."
"Why do you look so happy, then, so fulfilled?" You sigh. "Look, Adam, I know you're cheating on me. I've known for years now. I guess I just hoped you'd have the balls to admit it."
adam tries to frantically explain that he's not cheating on you, that he's been leading a yearly extermination
he would never cheat on you, he loves you
you demand to know what an extermination is, and he tells you in more detail than you ever would have wanted
you listen in silence as he describes the joy he gets from killing demons - from killing human souls
you retrieve your bag and leave your shared apartment for good
adam begs you to stay, says he'll change, that he'll do anything
but you can't be with a murderer
#hazbin fanfic#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel adam#adam x reader#gn reader#x reader#reader#reader insert#angst#heavy angst#sad ending#no happy ending
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Moriarty the Patriot x sick!child! reader (Platonic)
Chapter 3
Chapter 4 here
So sorry for not uploading earlier! I had a lot of things going on in my life and I wasn't in the mood to write and when I was in the mood all I wrote was just trash D: But anyways here is the next chapter! btw the coloured texts indicate that those are the readers notes/cards
âYouâre awfully quiet today. Is something bothering you?â William passes back your plate after chopping up the steak into small bite sized pieces. âMaybe itâs because I literally canât?â You remind him.
âTrue.â Albert places his fork back on the table. âBut you tend to exceed your limits in order to convey your thoughts. âWhat happened?"
You finish your meal instantly and wipe your mouth with a napkin. Itâs been almost three weeks since you moved in here and things were going splendidly. Two entire libraries were at your disposal along with William, who taught you mathematics and science whenever he was free. Albert too doubled as a maths teacher since he showed you ways to handle paperwork, how to levy taxes on the estate's citizens and how to even calculate your own taxes. Louis did an excellent job teaching you etiquette for all forms of formal functions. But whatâs the point of learning that if you never have the opportunity to use them? It started to get boring, seeing the same faces over and over again. But oh God you do not have a single bit of courage to tell these men that. They have been nothing but kind to you ever since they took you in and you feel a pang of guilt for even thinking of saying itâs getting boring.
Louis cuts off your train of thought. âItâs alright y/n. If you never open up, how will we solve the problem? We are family now, so do not fret. We shall try to keep an open mind.â
You nod to his advice and pick up your pen to write. Albert and William are relieved (and maybe a little jealous) that you have already established a bond with Louis. They pestered you continuously and yet you only answered him.
It makes sense why though. Both of you know well what it feels like to have a disease that dictates the entire course of your life. You see some parts of you in him and he sees some parts of him in you.
âItâs getting boring here. I want a friend.â
âAre we not your friends?â William replies.
âI was thinking of someone closer to my age.â
Both Louis and Albert look at William with a smile, taken aback by your remark.
Two nights ago
âY/n needs to spend more time with girls her age, or any women so to speak.â William argues. âShe is a growing child and needs to socialise. Itâs a normal want for any human really.â
âI know, I know.â Albert agrees hastily. âItâs just that-â He sighs and rubs his palm over his face. Louis takes this as his sign to continue his elder brother's sentence. âHow are we going to find a long term friend for her without interfering with our plans dear brother? No noble would allow their child to play with her since sheâs adopted.â
âAnd no commoner would even come near her because she isnât âOne of them.â â Albert finishes. William understands their reluctance very much. âI understand your worries and Iâve come up with a temporary solution. Why not let Y/n play with Helena?â He proposes. âThe daughter of the department store owner?â Albert sits on top of the table while Louis sits down on the couch.
âYes I think sheâll work for now.â Albert calms down a little. âItâs good you came up with a solution brother. Although Fred is closer to her age, even he cannot handle her bursts of energy.â Louis smiles
William turns towards him. âYou introduced them to each other?â Albert too joins Louis on the couch and leans onto his back âYes, We both did in fact, but although he wasnât wary of her he never spoke a word! He only kept nodding his head for a yes or no. Even Y/n who doesnât talk found it weird.â
âWas he shy? Why would he be?â Louis is confused while Albert chuckles. âNo, no Itâs for a different reason.ââ
Present
Guess that planning paid off. William was able to exactly predict your need which surprised both of them. A child is very unpredictable in nature and all three of them were inexperienced in taking care of one. Although this is nothing compared to plans usually William creates, it still deserves a round of applause. Louis made a note to make William favourite dessert for tomorrow night as thank you for this.
âWe were actually planning on telling this later but we were going to take up to a friend's home.â Louis reassures. âThey have a child who's your age.â
âOh really? I'm glad.â You sigh.
The men awkwardly chuckle, ending lunch.
And with that, evening arrived quickly, so Louis and moneypenny accompanied you to her home.âHow do you feel?â She asks you while you look outside the carriage.
âA little nervous.â
âThat's alright. I'm sure you'll like her and she'll reciprocate it too.â Louis gently strokes your hair and reminds you âLike I said, she can perceive sounds in the form of colours due to her colour synesthesia, and she seems to be insecure about it too. You may use this as an opening for a conversation but make sure not to offend her.â Naturally you nod to his advice.
What kind of person is she? From Williams perspective she seems to be a âuniqueâ and âintelligentâ individual but those descriptions seem to be vague. But one thing is obvious. She is just like you, a child who lost her parents. Maybe it would be a topic you could talk about if you grow close.
At last you arrived there. Both adults help you get off the carriage. You approach the two people in front of you and the father comes close to you.
âGood afternoon miss Y/n.â Normally in high society, miss and mister are only used with people who are close like friends are. Although this doesn't apply to them since they are of a normal background, Louis noticed this minute detail, a desperate indicator that he wanted Y/n and his daughter to interlink. You however payed no heed to this and simply offered a handshake with a smile. You looked next to him and saw Helena.
âHello, I'm Helena Curtis. Nice to meet you. What's your name?â
âY/nâ you show her your card.
âI heard that you can see people's personalities in the form of colors. Can you tell me what color I am?â
âHmmâŠâ She looked at you sharply. âI would be able to tell more clearly if you talkedâŠâ
âHelena!â Her father looked at her with wide eyes. You patted his forearm to signal its alright. It's nothing to take offence about. She just wants to hear your voice.
âHow about now?â Your voice came out much raspier than expected.
âOhâŠ.OHâŠâ she looked at you with wonder. You cleared your throat and apologized. âI'm sorry about that. It happens when I go long periods of time without talking.â
âNo not that. You. You are a balance.â She answers
âA balance?â You frown. That's a neutral reply.
âYes a balance, like the Chinese concept of yin and yang. Both your positive and negative traits cancel out, making you a perfect shade of gray.. or maybe nothing. I would go as far as saying you're⊠the perfect human being.â
âNobody's perfect.â
âAnd yet you are.â She finally smiles back. âCome inside. I want to show you something.â Helena runs off inside and you try to catch up to her.
âIt looks like theyâll get along well. Iâll come to pick her up at sundown. Farewell Mr Curtisâ Louis tips off his hat.
âFarewell.â
âAnd then we both realised it was pointless and went back to play with the ships.â You took a deep breath after your summary. All Louis asked was if you had fun there.
Look like both of you hit off. A good portion of his worries has been lifted off from his body.
âThat sounds lovely Y/n. Now get ready for dinner.â
âWhat about both of your brothers? I didnât even see them when I arrived back. Where are they?â
âOh they went out for some work related stuff. You shall meet them at dinner.â Strange. Overtime such as this is understandable for a military officer but not a university professor. You wanted to ask more so you started writing rapidly, to ask further questions and while Louis was reading your card, a blond man with a blindfold barged in making both of you scramble in shock.
âHey did you see Williamâs cane? I swear I put it somewhere over here.â He looks around.
âYou can see through the blindfold?!?â
He sheepishly replies âyes and no.â
âHow many fingers am I holding?â You hold 4 fingers.
âNegative 3.5.â He looks around hastily. âThe point is, where is his cane? I put it right here.â He shows us a side of the drawer facing the wall.
âMaybe it is there.â He patiently inserts his fingers between the gap of the drawer and the wall to miraculously pull out the missing cane. âAh there it is! Iâve been looking for it for such a long time!â He snatches it from Louis, who in return only frowns. You on the other hand roll your eyes and write a note, showing Louis to tell him. Herder instantly recognises the pen youâre using by the sound of its scratches.
âYouâre using the pen that I made.â his expression goes blank.
âYou made this?â
âYea!â He lights up. âI didnât quite understand why William wanted me to make a pen but he told me it was for a person who writes a lot, which honestly wasnât a satisfactory explanation. How is it?â You look at him in the face and the man seems to be expecting approval. Itâs honestly kind of endearing. Such a genius like him wanting the approval of a child so desperately. And of course you lie.
âItâsâŠokay I guess?â Herderâs expression drops. âW-What do you mean itâs just okay?! I personally sat down, chose the materials to make that! It took me 10 hours to make a single pen!â He screams. Louis seems very displeased by his attitude hence he strikes him at the back of his head.
âOW OW! Sorry!â He backs away. Maybe you shouldn't be here for long. âW-Wait child I have something to show you.â He pulls out an object that seems to be a pen and hands it towards you. When you open its cap, you notice the tip of the object has a pencil-like barrel but there is a small ball at its very tip. âGo on. Write with itâ
With his permission you begin to write with that pen on your card. The pen glided smoothly on the paper. Its ink was unlike any of the inks you have used before, forcing you to write faster.
âThis pen is amazing! What do you call it?â
Herder finally seemed satisfied. âThank you! I plan on giving it a simple name. Since it has a tiny ball at its tip, why not call it a ball pen?â
âThatâs a great idea! From the looks of it you seem to be some sort of engineer. Do you have any other inventions?â
âOh yes I do, Come with me.â He grabs hold of your hand. âMy lab is just nearby if you wa-â âThatâs enough Herder. Sheâs only a child.â Louis interjects. âBut, Bu-â âNo buts, no ifs, nothing! If you have any safer invention already present inside the house, you may show it to her.â You can almost see his face droop to disappointment. Louis cuts the tension. âItâs almost dinner time, we should head out now. Mr Q, would you be joining us? Iâve prepared extra food just in case for moments like these.â
âNo thanks Louis.â He declines. âHowever I really enjoyed seeing a new face, even though I actually canât see you.â His voice trailed off after that. âWell anyway goodnight!â And with that he finally left the room. For some reason you think this encounter is comical and will serve you a greater purpose in the future. But that aside, itâs dinner time! You ran towards the dining room even though Louis was warning you not to and plopped yourself onto the chair, eagerly awaiting dinner.
A few minutes go by but you didnât care much about it. Rather, you were wondering what the dinner will be. But those few minutes turned into half an hour making you rather worried. Although Louis was just behind you, he took another route since he wanted to inspect the food and serve it himself.
Your patience ran thin. Naturally you got irritated and left your seat. Where is everyone?! Using your ears you were able to find a mix of voices from the entrance of the manor. This mix contained the voice of Albert, William, Louis, Moran, James, Fred and of some random lady. Considering the volume it seems that they were yelling or atleast one of them was.
Out of curiosity, you hid behind the main door and saw all the men gathered around the lady just near the gates. Moreover Moran and James were holding the ladys arms!
Albert flat out tells her. âIâm sorry mam but we canât let you see her no matter how big the reason is.âThe lady seems to not like his response considering the fact that she started to get even more aggressive. âWe cannot allow you to meet her however if you want we can convey a message to herâ James proposes this idea in the hopes of calming her down.
âI have no intention of seeing her. That girl is a monster!â She booms her voice.
Wait a minute. You knew that voice, She wasn't a stranger, she-
James chuckles.âMam I would highly disagree on that part. Y/n is a sweet young girl who just wants to-â
âI AM HER MOTHER!â
Everyone looks at the woman in shock
âI AMâŠher mother.â Her voice faints down. âTrust meâŠthat girl is a MONSTER.â
#moriarty the patriot#albert james moriarty#william james moriarty x yn#yuukoku no moriarty#louis james moriarty#sebastian moran#james bonde#william james moriarty x reader#platonic
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Link x Male Reader
A/N: repost from wattpad
Length: 1.7k
Originally Published: Feb 23, 2023
CW: none
In his line of work, customers were infrequent, and new customers were almost unheard of. Regardless of the "untapped potential", as (M/N) often called it, of the Poe industry, it was an unsurprisingly under-utilized--or perhaps useless?--and unheard of industry, and his parents, when he visited them, would often remind him of that. Despite his parents' disfavor towards his particular career choice, (M/N) found it liberating: he had little to no competition, which meant more money for him; he had lots of free time, which he used to peruse different hobbies; and he was alone, which he liked. Well, he was alone outside of cases such as now, where a customer--a new customer, in this case--had wandered into his modest little shop in Castle Town.
The surprise of a new customer was largely (M/N)'s own fault. His shop was never open at the same time twice in a week, he never advertised (outside of an obligatory pamphlet in the Kakariko Village Graveyard, of course), and the only sign that indicated there was a shop here (and more than that, what the shop was) was posted in fine print on the door. All of this, combined with the obscure nature of the Poe industry, led to few, if any, customers in any given day. And when there were customers, they were the same regulars he had come to know since the founding of his little Poe boutique--all were sketchy, most were scummy, and one was crazy. To explain his regulars would be a digression, though, and something (M/N) could not ponder upon due to the current circumstances--that is, having a customer. Now was not the time for thinking; now was the time for quality Customer Service. So, kicking his feet back and forth from his perch on the counter, (M/N) put on his best Customer Service smile.
"Welcome! Are you here to sell or to buy?"
"Uh, I'm here to sell."
(M/N) did a once over his new customer. Blond. Obviously active and reasonably buff. Cool sword. An adventurer... I should send him on a quest. I'm sure he's not busy with other things.
"Of course. What do you bring me today?" the Poe merchant asked.
The blond held out a bottle.
"Oh! Let me see that." (M/N) grabbed the Poe and held it up to the light. Hmm. Orange aura. He tapped the bottle. Not too small, yet not a lot of space for it in this bottle. He ran through his mental list of local Poes. Rare! A Big Poe. Just what I needed. "Young man, you've brought me quite the specimen."
"What's it worth?"
"To your average person? Nothing. To me? 50 rupees, and if you want, 100 points on your tab."
"Tab?"
"Yessir, 'tab.' For Big Poes, which this is a Big Poe if I've ever seen one, I'll give you points on your tab. If you get 1000 points, I'll give you a special gift!" Without giving his new customer time to object, (M/N) continued, "Now, what's your name? I'll get the paperwork."
"It's Link."
On the top of the blank paper (official blank paper, mind you), (M/N) wrote, Link (blond twink) 100 points as of XX/XX/XX.
And now, it was time for (M/N) to sucker this new customer into doing his dirty work.
"...and you're all set, Link. A pleasure to meet you, by the way. I'm (M/N). Now, you seem like the adventuring type..."
Link sighed. As a worn out hero, he was used to this opening phrase, and it always led to some request. He was not particularly excited to undergo more (arguably) meaningless tasks, but he had little else to do now that he saved the world from evil or whatever. Perhaps something less dramatic would help him relax.
"What do you need me to do?"
Thank the Heavens! He took the bait.
"I'm looking to employ someone to do some hunting for me."
"Go on."
"A client of mine has requested 10 Big Poes from me. Unfortunately, they are particularly hard to find, and even harder to capture. Seeing as you've brought me a Big Poe, though, you are clearly more than capable. If you can get me 9 more, you'll have 1000 points and win a gift! Of course, I'll pay you accordingly for each Poe; I might even throw something extra in. I'll consider it an internship. What do you say?"
Now, Link didn't consider himself to be a ghost hunter, but in times like these, when his only choice was to eternal boredom or an "internship" with a some odd man, he was willing to do anything,
"I'll do it."
"Consider yourself employed, then! Welcome to the team, intern."
(M/N) wasn't expecting to see Link back so soon. Of course, it had been a week since Link had brought in his first Big Poe, but from what he had seen, a week to find a Big Poe was a new form of efficiency. He almost doubted the man even brought a Big Poe back.
"Back so soon?" The Poe merchant dropped his hood down, revealing his messy (H/L) (H/C) hair, and gazed questioningly at the adventurer.
"I think I've found a Big Poe."
"Oh, glorious! Hand it over." Link held out a bottle and (M/N) grasped it.
The merchant tentatively tapped the bottle. Hmm. He stared at it. Orange aura. He shook it. Definitely large.
"I dare say, Ghost Hunter, you've found us a Big Poe. You're exceeding my expectations," (M/N) said, pouring the Poe into a crate.
"I've, uh, had some experience with ghosts."
"In the Kakariko Graveyard?" Link nodded. "That's the bulk of my experience, too. We don't have Poes or ghosts where I'm from. Too cold, I suppose," (M/N) said, leaning back against the wall. "Anyways, I'm giving you a bonus for your hard work. 75 rupees. Oh! And 100 points to your tab. Keep it up--there's more where that came from."
Link gladly accepted the rupees it, placing them into his wallet. "So, where is it 'too cold' for Poes? I've seen Poes all over Hyrule."
(M/N) looked at Link and tilted his head. "You can't tell? I'm not from Hyrule. I'm from somewhere much more North. It's a small town. It doesn't rain there; it only snows."
"And you came all this way to sell... Poes?"
"To sell and to buy Poes, yes," (M/N) responded indignanty. "It's a niche interest of mine." He glanced up and down at Link. "And what about you? You're awfully pretty compared to the people around here. Where are you from? What do you do?"
Link considered telling the truth about his majestic adventures, his conquest to save this very apocalyptic town they were currently in, but he decided against it. Despite the idiosyncrasies of his newfound "employer," he wanted to put his temple-diving, life-risking adventuring days behind him... at least for a while.
"I'm from a small village in the south-east, near the forest. I'm an adventurer."
"An 'adventurer', mysterious! Y'know, if I was pretty like you, I'd be doing a different sort of business." (M/N) leaned forward, arms crossed, and offered a flirtatious wink. Link flushed a dark red. Before he could respond, (M/N) was already dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Anyways, a pleasure as always. I expect to see you again soon with more Big Poes! Scurry long now."
And a week later, (M/N) did see Link, who brought a Big Poe. And a week after that, another Big Poe. And a two weeks after that, two Big Poes. And now, Link was prepared to drop off his seventh.
Unlike his usual visits to the shop, though, the torches were unlit and no light escaped from the windows. Regardless of what is considered "acceptable" when no one appears to be home, Link, with a key gifted to him by (M/N), unlocked the door and tentatively opened it.
"(M/N)?" he called into the darkness. He did not receive a response.
Link closed the door behind him, and, in the soft glow of the moonlight, crept across the room. Again, he called out.
"Ugh," a tired voice called out, "Link?" Lantern light floods through an open door into the store, and the hunched frame of (M/N) followed it. He wore a pair of shorts and nothing else. He rubbed one eye and lazily looked at Link with the other. "It's awfully late to be doing business."
Link blushed lightly in embarrassment. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."
(M/N) gave him an odd look. "Link, it must be, what? Three in the morning?" He sighed. "What are you doing here?"
Link didn't respond right away. While he had, in fact, showed up to do business, he didn't want to admit that seeing the merchant's sleepiness.
(M/N) sighed again. "Oh, whatever, it doesn't matter. Come on, Link, let's have a sleep over."
Link hesitantly followed (M/N) into the adjoining room. (M/N)'s room was small, containing a mat and blankets serving as a makeshift bed. A milk crate next to the bed served as a table. Haphazard stacks of books on ghosts and supernatural creatures filled up a corner.
"Sorry it's so small," (M/N) said, scratching his naked chest. "I'm not exactly, uh, used to company." He eased himself onto the mat, laying down with his arms behind his head. He gave Link a once over. "I hope you don't plan on bringing a sword to bed."
"Oh! Right." Link discarded his sword and shield and outer layers of clothes in a corner. To avoid scandal and remain modest, he left his pants and undershirt on. Then, when (M/N) patted the space next to him, sat down. Link's body was noticeably tense, and he seemed unsure of what to do.
"For a ghost-killing adventurer, you're awfully new to sleep overs," (M/N) joked. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I don't bite." He extinguished the flame in his lantern, then furrowed his brows in thought. "Well, unless you're into that."
Link didn't respond, but taking a deep breath to relax, he laid next to the (H/C) man. The dark itself served as a shield against the outside world, and for a moment, Link felt safe. It was a simple moment of peace, free from adventuring, free from responsibility, and free from near-death experiences. I could get used to this, he thought.
He felt an arm slowly make its way around his waist. "Is this okay?" came (M/N)'s gentle whisper.
"Yeah," Link replied breathlessly, "it's okay."
"Good." (M/N) softly tugged him closer and let out a content sigh that tickled Link's neck. "Good night, Link."
"Good night, (M/N)."
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untitled neal suffering
sooo iâve had this 90% written for like two years at this point, and iâm finally satisfied enough to post it. this is part 1, more will come almost immediately i just wanted to break it up a bit. enjoy!!
Thursday
Peterâs team was a tight knit group, almost a family. It was honestly one of the things Neal loved most about his job, even if their closeness sometimes led to less than stellar situations.
When Diana had sneezed once in the elevator down to the van, she quickly brushed it off as nothing.
It was more than nothing now, if the sudden blessings from Peter ringing in his earpiece were any indication.
âGesundheit.â A long pause. Neal was barely paying attention to the store he was meant to be casing, straining to hear the conversation going on in the van.
âYeah, we can handle this. Go home.â
Looking out the window across the street, Neal smirked as he watched Diana hop out the back of the van. She got a few steps away before clearly bending with the force of a sneeze caught into her cupped hands.
As he watched her sneeze again before walking away, he felt a brief sympathetic itch in his nose. He gave it a firm rub, taking a deep breath and getting back into character as George Price.
The rest of the day was uneventful, though after dinner there was a scratchiness lingering in his throat that several cups of water didnât wash away. He went to bed early, hoping to stomp any buds of illness before they took root.
***
Friday
Neal woke up feeling like he hadnât slept at all. His head and throat ached, and when he tried to draw a breath it whistled stuffily through his nostrils, sending a tickle cascading through them.
âHihâkSSH!â He caught the quiet sneeze in his folded fingers with practiced precision, then pinched his nose against the lingering irritation.
Standing felt like a monumental task, but once he was up Neal was pleasantly surprised to see he didnât look half as bad as he felt, maybe a touch pale.
Getting dressed actually made him feel somewhat better, more alert at least, even though his collar and tie felt slightly suffocating against his sore throat. He downed a glass of water, not finding any appetite for breakfast, and headed to the office.
Stepping off the elevator, Neal noted Diana was nowhere in sight, still out for the count then. He tried to sniff inconspicuously, fighting with the growing itch in his nose. His cause wasnât helped when he saw Jones turn away from his desk and into his elbow, mostly muffling a violent sneeze.
âHWRRFSSSH!â
âNot you too,â Neal offered as he approached with a sympathetic smirk, willing his own nose not to betray him.
Jones brushed him off with a flick of his hand. âIâll be alright, we need the manpower on this case. I told Peter Iâd go home if I needed to.â
Neal just nodded, turning back to go to his own desk, scrubbing briefly at his nose.
By the time Jones went home a few hours later, coughing often enough to agree he was distracting more than helping, Neal was barely holding on to his veneer of health.
An uncomfortable, itchy fullness consumed his nose, and his whole body was starting to ache. His head was swimming, and he wondered if he wasnât getting feverish. He still wasnât looking too bad, from his brief assessments in the bathroom mirror when he hid there to blow his nose. He pointedly avoided Peter anyway, determined to stay undetected and on the case after theyâd lost two agents already.
He made it through the day apparently without raising Peterâs suspicion. He was immensely grateful it had been a stay in the office, pore over paperwork kind of day, as he had zero energy for fieldwork and suspected his voice would give him away before long. With that in mind he kept his goodbye to Peter as short as possible, turning down a ride home and leaving as fast as he could still make seem casual.
His nose started to drip and itch in the stuffy elevator, and he cursed the fact there were other people riding with him, or he would have let himself sneeze. As it was he held it back, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and taking shallow, careful breaths. When the doors finally opened, he rushed to get out of the building, where the cold sting of fresh air and the holding back combined to overwhelm him. His face fell into his steepled hands as a mess of overdue sneezes forced their way out.
âhehâTSsh! huhâtTCH! hHâPSSch! -tSSch! -kSSChh! hHâESCHSschuh!â
Thoroughly disgusted and embarrassed, Neal reluctantly tugged his silk pocket square from its place, wiping his moistened hands and upper lip before shoving it in his back pocket and striding away. Luckily, it seemed like all the FBI agents streaming out the doors were far more interested in getting home than paying any mind to Nealâs display.
***
Getting home took any remaining wind out of Nealâs sails, and finally walking through Juneâs door was an enormous relief. He hurried upstairs, not inclined to share his burgeoning illness with his sweet landlady.
Once in his apartment, Neal took off his shoes and tie as fast as he could as he beelined for his bed. As he disrobed the rest of the way, a glance in the mirror told him he was definitely looking worse for wear now. He pointedly averted his gaze and collapsed into bed, not caring that it wasnât even 6pm.
Sleep came quickly with the promising thought that he had nothing to do for the weekend, he could just sleep this sickness away.
***
Saturday
It was especially upsetting, then, when Neal woke with a start to the shrill tone of his phone ringing. Grabbing at it, he blearily made out Peterâs name and the time: 9:13am. He groaned and answered it.
âHm?â His voice was strained and hoarse, he fought the urge to cough.
By contrast, Peterâs voice sounded strong and clear. âNeal. Sorry if I woke you, but itâs important. I just got word that our suspect is attending a brunch downtown. If we catch him there, we just might be able to close this case early. But weâd have to send you in. Are you game?â
Neal rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, weighing his options. He felt much worse than he had yesterday, head heavy and nose completely blocked, almost definitely feverish. But the idea of finishing the case early and the subtle trill of excitement in Peterâs voice made him push it all aside.
He covered the mic on the phone for a second, clearing his throat forcefully.
âIâm game.â
âGreat.â Neal could hear the smile in Peterâs voice and couldnât help but smirk himself. âItâs not too far from you, Cafe Lune, meet me there at 10.â
âOk.â Neal hung up without another word, suddenly unable to hold back a couplet of itchy sneezes.
âhihâTSSChh! -kâtSSCH! UhhâŠâ
Reluctantly he slid out of bed and immediately found himself freezing. He shivered his way to the shower, and though the hot water felt amazing at first, after just a couple minutes he started to get lightheaded. Even after getting out and drying off, the dizzy, overheated feeling followed him, and he started to sweat as he buttoned his shirt and pulled on his slacks.
After getting dressed and forcing down a slice of toast, Neal felt⊠just as awful as before. The shower had cleared his breathing somewhat, but outwardly he looked a mess. Shadows hung under his eyes, his cheeks were flushed, and despite all his effort, he just couldnât hold himself with the same casual confidence that was usually second nature to him.
A brief look at his watch had Neal sighing, tightening his tie, and setting out for the cafe.
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CW: scars, past abuse, mentions of torture, abuse of power.
..............................................................................................................................
âYou know you can ask about them.â
The new team member jumped and looked around the room to confirm Team Leader was talking to them before looking back to their superior.
âWha-what?â
âMy scars. You keep starring at them. I would much rather you just ask.â
âI- Iâ Newbie stuttered, trying to come up with some excuse. They had often wondered about the marred and twisted skin on Team Leaderâs hands and up their arms. But they hadnât thought they were starring. That being said they realized they had been looking at Team Leaders arms when they had commented on it. âIâm sorryâ they finally finished.
Team Leader sighed and put down their paperwork. As Newbie watched they began to roll up their sleeves more than they already had been. Past their elbows and towards their biceps until they couldnât go any further. The map of raised and discolored skin blanketed over the whole area, extending even further under Team Leaderâs clothing without any indication of tapering off. They looked painful and old, and Team Leader held their arms out purposefully so that Newbie could see all of it.
âItâs okayâ Team Leader told them pragmatically âIâm used to people looking, but Iâm going to need you to focus on something else eventually.â
Team Leader turned their arms so Newbie could get a better view of how the lines or mutilated skin faded into the back of their hands.
âThey go most of the way down my back, and part of my stomach too.â Team Leader said âyou donât need to see that thoughâ
âWhat happened?â Newbie asked. Now that they had actually permission to look they couldnât take their eyes off of them. Studying the different shades of discolored skin and random pattern of the angry lines.
âI was about your ageâ Team Leader said âalso new, and really stupid. I got myself captured by Old Whumper. You probably havenât heard of them, we dealt with them years ago. Anyway, they tried to use me to get to the rest of the team. They tortured me and would send recordings of it Former Team Leader.â Team Leader had been very matter of fact about the whole story up until this point, but their face suddenly darkened.
âIt took Former Team Leader weeks before they gave in and came to get me. To be fair it was a pretty obvious trap.â With that Team Leader began to roll their sleeves back down.
âThey look painfulâ Newbie said to which Team Leader only shrugged.
âThey where when they were healing. Actually the bigger problem now is that I don't have much feeling thereâ
Team Leader rolled their sleeves all the way down to their wrists now. And they and Newbie both remained silent as they buttoned them up.
âI used to hate looking at them. I would shower in the dark, cover mirrors. I even used to where gloves for awhile. The whole nine yards."
Newbie startled. Team Leader didn't seem self conscious about their scars at all. In the little time Newbie had been with the team, Team Leader had never seemed to be trying to cover up their scars. They mostly wore long sleeved shirts, but most of the team did. Headquarters was a cold building. And they usually rolled up their sleeves. In fact, this was the first time Newbie had seen them acknowledge the scars at all.
"What changed?"
To Newbie's surprise, Team Leader smiled.
"I became the team leader." They told them fondly. "I always showed respect to Former Team Leader when they were in charge, but I never forgave them for throwing me aside the way they did. When I was put in charge, I promised myself I would never let anyone under me go through that. My scars became a reminder of that promise. That nothing we protect is worth more than each other."
Newbie glanced down at the scars on the back of Team Leader's hands again before Team Leader went back to their paper work. It was awful that Team Leader had to go through that. But a certain fear eased in Newbie's chest that they didn't even know they had. Team Leader had been hurt badly in the past, but they were going to do anything to make sure that that wouldn't happen to anyone else.
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P.U.N.K Girl
Finding a job has never been so hard.
Retail isn't cutting it anymore. Not only is it draining, but the hours are far too long. The pay is fine, but not good enough to keep paying for therapy. And your insurance is a bitch.
So now, you spend most of your days scrolling through jobs, looking in the newspaper, or going to a library to print a resume for those few offices that still require physical paperwork. You do rarely get an interview, but it always ends the same. We'll call you. We'll think about it. You never end up hearing back from them.
Your patience and funds are running low, and you've gotten to the point that you're applying to every job that's hiring. Janitor, security, hell, you even applied to be a factory worker, though you're hoping they don't contact you for that one.
Long story short, you absolutely need a job.
It's another day of scrolling through your email, looking for anything that indicates someone even looked at your resume. You sigh. You know there won't be anything new, but you're hoping that one of these days, your luck will change. That you'll get a response. Just maybe, today is that day. That there's a company willing to hire a broke, recently unemployed person with very little experience to their name.
A few more clicks and a refresh gets you nowhere. You sigh. Are you really that unemployable?
Before you can start spiraling, you decide to check your mail. Maybe there'd be another job offering in the newspaper. You step outside and walk down the hall of your apartment complex, turning left towards the elevator. You press the button, and it immediately opens, which is good since you don't feel like waiting. You step inside, pushing the button to the lobby. The doors shut, and the elevator descends. As you watch the numbers, you wonder if this is what being trapped feels like. Not in a metaphorical way. You literally are trapped in a tiny, metal box. It's not exactly claustrophobia-inducing, but it's close. You're thankful when it dings and opens its doors. You walk out and head towards the front door, exiting the building and making your way towards the mailboxes.
You've never been religious, but you feel like it couldn't hurt to send a prayer up to any higher power listening.
You pull the mailbox key out of your pocket and open the mailbox, reaching in to grab the mail. You don't really have many letters these days. A few coupons and bills, but nothing you really want or need. That is until you pull out the newspaper and flip through it. Your eyes light up as you see an ad for a job.
Fazbear Frights.
Immediately, you're hit with a wave of nostalgia from the name 'Fazbear' alone. Fredbear's Family Diner. You used to go there all the time as a child and you absolutely adored the place. Springbonnie was always your favorite, there was just something about him that you couldn't get enough of. You loved the other Fazbear locations as well, but nothing could top the original.
Even after all the missing children and animatronic malfunctions, nothing could make you hate the franchise. It made you a bit of an outcast as you were growing up, but who cares? You were just a child back then, you're older than you'd like to be now but at least you don't have to deal with the endless teasing anymore.
Looks like the new location is more of a horror attraction looking for a security guard. The pay is good. Really good, actually. The hours are a bit undesirable but you have nothing better to be doing from midnight to six AM.
With a renewed sense of optimism, you race back up to your apartment and call the number listed under the ad.
The phone doesn't ring for long before someone picks up. "Hello?"
The person who picks up sounds young. Maybe even younger than you.
"Hi, uh, I saw your job offering in the newspaper." You can barely even speak without stumbling your words, and, honestly, it's embarrassing. "I'm wondering if there's still an opening?" You hold your breath as you wait for a response. It seems like an eternity passes before they reply. It's the most excruciatingly long minute of your life.
"Yeah! Yeah, the opening's still available. We're gonna need you to work tonight though, is that alright?" The man inquires. You don't have a problem with that. Anything to get you off your feet and stop relying on your savings account.
"Yeah! Yes, that's fine, I'd be happy to work tonight!" Gotta sound enthusiastic.
"Rad, dude, you have the address? Come by at midnight!" Before you get a chance to reply, he hangs up.
It takes a second for everything to process. But, holy shit, you got the job! You're overjoyed. This is the first thing to go right in a while and it feels amazing. And what do you do? You celebrate with some leftover dessert in the fridge.
The place isn't hard to find despite being in an amusement park; it's the only remotely horror-themed thing in the whole place. It's very, very stylized, the windows are boarded up and the whole place looks run down. They did a good job, you know, if you were a little dumber you might've believed this was the original restaurant.
You walk inside and the place is, unsurprisingly, run down. Despite all this, the interior looks a lot like the original location and there's a feeling in your gut that that's exactly what this place is. But your rational thinking has you thinking they did a good job replicating the whole place.
After walking around for a while, you find what you assume to be your office. It's a pretty big office, it even has a closet! There's a monitor on your desk with a sticky note on it that reads 'turn on camera, play audio.' You're not sure why you could possibly need to play audio but you do know you're meant to keep people out, so there's got to be some logical reasoning behind playing audio.
As you settle into the office, you decide to follow the instructions on the sticky note. With a click, the monitor flickers on, displaying a grid of cameras showing various sections of the attraction. Each view feels oddly familiar, reminiscent of the layout from the childhood memories you hold so dear.
You're not really sure what you're supposed to be doing. You look around and see a small box of tapes, and a phone that sits beside the monitor. You grab the box and read the label. It's a bunch of tapes, but none of them are labeled. Before you can continue looking through more of the tapes, the phone next to your monitor rings. You jump, not expecting the sudden noise, and pick it up.
"Uh, hello?" You don't know what you're expecting. Maybe it's the person who hired you?
"He-hey! Glad you came back for another night! I promise, it'll be a LOT more interesting this time!"
It's your first night and you have no idea what he's talking about, but you recognize the voice as the guy who picked up the phone earlier.
"Excuse me?"
"We found som-some great new relics over the weekend, and were out tracking down a new lead RIGHT NOW!" The guy seems to be in his own world and it doesn't take long for you to realize the thing is pre-recorded, somehow. You decide to let him go on since there's not much else you can do. "So, uhh- let me just update you real quick, then you can get to work."
The guy continues on for what feels like forever but he does tell you what exactly you have to do. Keep people out. Watch for anyone on the cameras. Reboot systems. Seems simple enough.
"Okay, keep an eye on things, and we'll try to have something new for ya' tomorrow night."
Then, the recording cuts off and you're left to place the phone back onto it's hook. At least it answered the questions you had. The monitor on your desk is your most important asset, and you're pretty sure it'll give you all the information you need, so you're not too worried.
"Okay, okay, so.." You look around your desk. The monitor, the tapes, the phone, the closet, and some kind of tablet-like object. You have no idea what to do first, so you decide to investigate the tapes. You highly doubt someone's going to break in on your very first night working here. Even if your luck's been bad, it's still unlikely. And you can't imagine anyone breaking in to steal stuff, not when it's a horror attraction. If they're willing to risk being arrested just for some souvenirs, they're not exactly a threat.
You decide to turn the tape player on and grab a tape at random. The moment you do, a static, high-pitched noise fills the room. You wince. The noise hurts, and you're not sure if it's a glitch or a malfunction. Whatever it is, it doesn't last long. Within seconds, the noise dies out and the voice of a man begins to play. "Oh, Hello! Hello, hello! Uh, welcome to your new career as a perfomer slash entertainer, for Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Uh, these tapes will provide you, with much needed information on how to handle slash climb into slash climb out of, mascot costumes."
Obviously, you're appalled, confused, and intrigued. You're not sure if the tapes are meant to be for the attraction or if they're genuinely old training tapes for employees back when Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was still a thing. But the thought of it being part of the attraction makes no sense. It doesn't fit the theme, and, quite frankly, it doesn't even sound that good. It sounds like a terrible idea to have something like this in a horror attraction. But, the thought of these tapes being the actual training tapes has a strange feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. It's not a pleasant feeling, but you can't quite put a name on it.
You listen to the whole tape and are pretty entertained. You're now leaning towards the thought that these tapes might be genuine relics from the Pizza place. It seemed too detailed and knowledgeable to be made up. If they really were used by employees back in the day, it's a fascinating find. And the fact that they're so well preserved is impressive. You're not sure why anyone would keep a tape from their job from thirty years ago. It doesn't matter, it's still a cool find, even if it's just a coincidence.
You listen to a few more tapes before you hear something that isn't the trainer's voice from outside the tapes. A loud banging on what seems to be a door. It sounds further away from either of the exit doors, so it can't be anyone on the outside. It sounds like it's coming from inside the attraction and despite everything in your brain screaming at you to ignore it, you decide to check the sound out. You get up from your chair and grab the tablet, figuring it'd be better safe than sorry.
The banging leads you to a boarded-up room near the back of the attraction. The banging is desperate and you hear someone's breath rattling amongst it.
"Hello? You're not supposed to be in there. You're trespassing."
You think you hear soft laughter in there, but it's raspy like it belongs to an old man. Or a smoker. What's more, it sounds metallic.
"How did you even get in? This room is boarded shut...Either way, you gotta leave. I'm the security guard for this place, and I really don't want to have to call the police or anything. You'd be making things easier for us both if you just leave."
"I'm afraid it isn't that easy." The voice seems to belong to an older man. He's got some vague accent you can't really place, mainly due to the metallic aspect of his voice. You still have no idea how his voice sounds like that. Hell, it even sounds staticky, you consider the fact he may be using some kind of device to emit his voice but what would be the point of that? His voice is really raspy like he hasn't used it in a while.
"Why's that?"
"Open the door and find out."
Everything in your body is telling you not to open the door but you can't help but wonder if the guy's stuck in there...somehow. It still doesn't make sense how he got into this room but you can't just leave him in there.
"Just stay there, I'm gonna get something to get the planks off the door." You don't wait for a reply before you're off back to the office and looking in the closet. You find a box of tools, inside is a hammer, and a crowbar.
This should be able to do the job. You run back to the room with the tools in hand. You're not sure if the voice is still in the room, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
"You still in there?"
"I can't really go anywhere else, my friend."
It takes a shit ton of effort to peel off the planks on the door. Maybe you should start going to the gym. The door, for some reason, opens inwards.
"Okay, um, stand back, I'm gonna open the door now."
You don't get a response back. You jam your crowbar into the doorframe and put your weight on it. The door is shut surprisingly tight. It's incredibly solid. You really have to push, putting all of your weight on it. You can hear the metal door groaning before you lose your grip on the crowbar. You just barely catch yourself on your hands on the dirty floor. Thankfully, the door opened just a smidge.
"There you are! Now get out so I can lock this room up again." You pant, exhausted.
You hadn't even considered that this person might be a threat to you. The room's smell drifts out, creating a dense haze that immediately assaults your nose. You instinctively cover your nose and mouth.
It smells absolutely putrid. It's like...rusted metal and rotted meat. Honestly, it smells like death.
You watch as inhumane fingers curl around the rusted door. The door slowly opens and out comes an animatronic. You think back to what the guy on the phone said. About seeing things sometimes if your oxygen system needs rebooting but a quick glance down at your tablet shows no errors on the screen. The thing takes a step forward, slouching in order to fit through the door frame and you slowly move back. It makes another step toward you and you take another step back. The further you move back, the closer it gets to you, until you hit the wall behind you.
"Thank you so much...You have no idea how long I was stuck in there."
Its tone is sincere, yet it doesn't put you at ease and you find yourself holding the crowbar up. Like it's gonna do anything to the huge 7-foot robot.
It takes a moment for you to register what you're looking at. A really long moment. When it finally dawns on you, you scream. The animatronic extends a mechanical hand and roughly covers your mouth, although the roughness seems to be accidental like it doesn't know its own strength.
"Please be quiet, your scream's the loudest thing I've heard in a while." See, now you feel saliva build up in your mouth and you're sure you're about to throw up from the smell. It smells like something's decomposing behind the suit. You gag and it backs up a bit. It looks a bit apologetic despite not having human facial features to work with. "Look, I'll let you go if you promise not to scream, okay?"
You nod and it lets you go, backing up a few feet and raising its arms in a non-threatening manner. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
Its voice is soft and quiet. It doesn't move, waiting for you to speak first. It's surprisingly patient for an animatronic (but also why wouldn't it be patient?). After a few seconds of analyzing him, you recognize the animatronic as Springbonnie. He's all torn up and you can see the endoskeleton inside. It has detailed and complicated mechanisms, which seem to have grown rot all around it and along the furred lining of the suit. That wasn't the part that caught most of your attention, though. It's whatever's inside of him. It's all rotten and looks like flesh. Whatever it is, it's disgusting, and you figure that's what's making him smell so bad.
For some reason, you decide to put the crowbar down, trusting it enough not to attack. Though the thought of it attacking does scare you. You don't respond to it, not knowing what to say. It's not every day you're met with an animatronic supposedly from the 80's.
The animatronic looks at you expectantly, awaiting an answer. You're not really sure what it wants you to say. So, instead of saying anything worthwhile, you blurt out the first question that comes to your mind, which happens to be a rather stupid one.
"What are you?"
"Assuming you meant to say 'who are you,' I'm..." it hesitates, "I'm Springtrap." The way he hesitates before answering the question makes you think the name's been made up on the spot.
"No, uh, that's not what I meant, sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing to him. "Like are you an animatronic, or a spirit, or something?" When you were younger and all those kids went missing, you remember there being rumors about the ghosts of the supposedly dead children haunting the animatronics and it's the first thing that comes to mind when you ask the question.
Springtrap looks at you curiously before he decides on an answer, seemingly trying to be as vague as possible. "Both."
Okay, then, that didn't give any clarification on the situation. You're not sure what to say now. Should you leave? You have no idea what's going on, but it's starting to get a bit uncomfortable, to say the least, and the smell is suffocating you.
Springtrap stands there, waiting for something you're not sure about. "Um, okay, Springtrap. Nice to meet you, I think," you stammer, still trying to process the situation. "But why were you in that room? How long have you been in there?"
He takes a second to think about the questions before ultimately giving you the vaguest answers ever. "I've been here...a while, and as for how I got here...they forgot about me when they closed down the restaurant."
His response, albeit vague, sends a shiver down your spine. The idea of being abandoned and forgotten in a closed-down restaurant sounds like a nightmare. "Wait, wait, wait, you've been here for...like 30 years, how are you not, like, y'know?"
"If you're asking why I haven't moved onto the afterlife, I don't think there's an afterlife waiting for me."
You feel a bit saddened by his somber response. You wonder why you're feeling bad for an animatronic before putting it down to the fact he was your favorite animatronic in the franchise. And the fact that he's a poor ghost kid unable to make it to heaven. Wait, is he a kid? He seems too mature to be a kid but also he's been here for 30 years.
Your curiosity gets the best of you and you absolutely have to ask about him. "So, Springtrap, tell me about your past, you were a human before?"
It's a dumb question again but he gives you an answer nevertheless. "I was once a woman, yes. Though, I'm not sure what I am anymore."
"Wait, you're a chic?" You'd been assuming she was a man this whole time due to her voice but the fact that she's a woman doesn't change anything. "Sorry, I kinda just assumed you were-"
"Don't worry about it," she interjects, "people assumed the same when I was alive. But, yeah, when I was alive I used to work here."
You nod, listening intently.
"I was putting on this suit when I had a little...accident. I died in the suit, basically."
"Wait, how?" You wonder if you're asking too many questions but she doesn't seem to mind, not in your eyes at least. If she's bothered by the questions, she's doing a damn good job at hiding it.
"Well if I could show you I would but, I doubt you want to get any closer to me, right?" And right she is. You nod and she continues to explain. "The Springbonnie and Fredbear suits were the only suits with springlocks in them and well, the springlocks locked into place while I was in it and slowly killed me." You swear you see her shiver at the thought of the accident that killed her.
You both stand there in silence for a moment, feeling the weight of her story. It's a lot to take in, the atmosphere in the room feels heavy. You feel bad for her.
"I'm sorry that happened to you," you finally say, not quite sure what else there is to say.
Springtrap gives a slight nod, acknowledging your words. "Thank you. It's been a long time, and I've had plenty of time to...come to terms with it, I suppose."
You decide to change the topic, trying to lighten the mood a bit or something. "So, why were you banging on the door? Were you trying to get out?"
She looks down, almost as if embarrassed. "Yeah, I guess I got a bit desperate. It gets lonely in there, and I thought maybe someone would eventually find me. I didn't expect it to be a security guard, though."
"Well, I did find you, "you say, half-jokingly, "and now I have an animatronic ghost as a friend, I guess."
She chuckles. "Friend, huh?"
"Yeah, unless you don't want anything to do with me, which is fine." You, once again, have no clue what you're doing acting like this with a dead woman stuck in a robot.
"No, no, being your friend sounds like great fun." You're glad she thinks so because you might be moving too fast. Do people consider each other friends this quickly? How would you know? You didn't have friends growing up.
You decide to check the time on your tablet. It's getting close to six, the time you're meant to end your shift.
The initial shock of meeting Springtrap is still lingering, but you need to focus on your responsibilities. After all, you did take on this job to earn a living. "Hey, Springtrap, I hate to cut things short, but my shift's almost over. I need to make sure everything's in order before I leave. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?"
She nods understandingly. "Alright, I appreciate you helping and hearing me out. Um, should I come find you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, that'll work fine. Take care."
You head back to your office, checking the cameras and ensuring everything's in order for the night. The encounter with Springtrap was unexpected, but it adds a unique twist to your job at Fazbear Frights.
As the clock chimes and your shift officially ends, you leave the office and head towards the exit. The sunrise is just beginning to paint the sky with warm hues as you step out. You look back and swear you see Springtrap staring as you leave but you could very well be imagining it. You don't remember her following you, and you're sure you would've heard her following you with her heavy footsteps. You brush it off and walk back to your car, heading on home. Tomorrow should be a lot more fun.
#springtrap#fnaf#fnaf au#william afton#fnaf writing#fanfic#fnaf fanfic#fnaf x reader#springtrap x reader
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cleaning out the drafts (unfinished fic)
I haven't touched this is many months, i reread it and INTESENLY dislike it but as usual it's too long for me to want to throw away
Explicit fic, Harry/Kim, 7k words, features mutual pining, transmasc Harry, jealous Kim, and lots of jerking off/sexual tension. And it is UNFINISHED so to anyone that does read this: I apologize for that ending. It's also unedited.
"Kim," Harry murmurs quietly, lips trying so hard to not break into an overenthusiastic smile. He looks up from where he's kneeling on the ground, shirtless, hands wound tightly behind his back but being held by nothing but himself. He doesn't need anything more than just the knowledge that Kim doesn't want him using his hands. That's a tighter bond than any pair of handcuffs could give him. He's covered in a thin layer of sweat, hairy chest heaving with labored breaths, as Kim stands over him seemingly unaffected. He's fully clothed and at parade rest with the only indication that he's not bored being the pink flush to his ears. Harry, meanwhile, is flushed from his face, down his neck, and even has parts of his chest colored. There is a sizeable tent in the front of his pants that, if Kim was feeling merciful then he would release it from its confines. Those ridiculously tight disco pants can't be comfortable at all in Harry's condition. But, just as easily, he could bring up one of his boots and press.
Harry's still speaking. "Kim? Did you want to grab lunch?"
Kim blinks. He's sitting at his desk, paperwork and pen in both hands, poised as if he was reading something intently. Harry is standing over to the side and standing with his hands at his sides, rocking playfully between his heels and the tips of his feet. His eyes were shiny and alert, not full of any amount of concern so Kim could tell that he wasn't spaced out for a significant length of time. He probably read as just hyperfocused on his work.
"Yes, it seems like a good time for a break." By pure habit, he turns his work over so that prying eyes can't see anything as they walk past, even though there is nothing on there that is a secret. Harry lights up and together they walk to the kebab stand placed in the perfect spot to cater to the officers of the Precinct, with nothing else as close or as convenient to grab. Kim lets Harry fill the space with animated conversation and periodically provides a dry quip when needed, but otherwise focuses on remaining reserved.
This is how it's been in the weeks after Kim transferred to the 41st. An easier transition than he honestly expected, even though they were severely undermanned, overworked, and unappreciated. They eagerly accepted any extra hands they could get, barely waiting for the ink to dry before assigning Kim several cold cases to try and knock out. But more than the work, he's also felt like socially he meshes better than he did with most anyone back at 57. He found himself warming up to everyone there quicker than he could really wrap his head around.
And on top of that, not making it any easier, there's been a lot of fantasies about Harry.
He hasn't felt this out of control since his teenage years, and just being reminded of those times is enough to be frightening. But it is especially bad practice to be having those thoughts around Harry considering his innate ability to just know things. Not that he can read minds, Kim would never stoop to believing that, but he can't deny that he is intuitive beyond what is normal for most people to know. This is a dangerous game he is playing, he knows. There is no possibility that this won't crash and burn and tank his professional relationship with Harry with it, possibly with everyone else there if the worst of his anxieties speak the truth.
But as they sit on a bench together and Harry starts attacking the kebab in a way that Kim has to question his ignorance of how it looks, he finds that he has accepted the risk of it all.
Besides, he has mastered the art of keeping his face under control. No one could ever look at him and guess the filthy thoughts brewing underneath the surface.
___
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Impossible: failure] - Hmm.
REACTION SPEED: Again?
LOGIC: [Easy: success] - This is the fifth time in a row.
Is everything okay up there?
VOLITION: [Medium: failure] - Nothing that you should worry about.
HALF LIGHT: [Medium: success] - Someone is hiding something from us. Someone is lying to us.
But not Kim though, right?
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Impossible: failure] - It is. . . impossible to tell. I'm sorry.
HALF LIGHT: TRUST NO ONE!
VOLITION: [Hard: success] - Everyone here is still your brothers in arms. You can trust them with your life.
INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: success] - The wind picks up the scent of pine needles.
SHIVERS: In East Revachol there is a lover left alone. Without his partner. They are youthful, in the throws of new passion still, and convinced that the fire will never burn out. When they reunite at night he will claim that not a single thought crossed his mind unrelated to his partner's body, from their smell, their warmth, and it will be true. When they embrace they will not release until the sun rises tomorrow morning.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Impossible: failure] - Satellite Officer Vicquemare is sitting at his desk, currently.
. . . Yes?
ESPRIT DE CORPS: - He might enjoy a free kebab.
EMPATHY [Trivial: success] - He enjoys it as spicy as they come.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Challenging: success] - You get up from the bench and crumble all your lunch trash before throwing it overhanded into the nearby trashcan. It sinks.
"Score!" You smile brightly and turn to Kim to make sure that he saw that.
SAVOIR FAIRE: He did! He is looking right at us!
Kim hums. "Good job, detective. Littering is - how would you say it? Not praxis."
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Tell him that skills like that deserve a reward. A post-lunch hump, perhaps. "It looks like you're still hungry, perhaps you could eat me out? Yeah?"
RHETORIC: It'll aid in digestion for you both!
Really?
LOGIC: [Trivial: success] - No.
VOLITION: [Easy: success] - It would not do good to hit on your new partner, for multiple reasons. Not just for the anti-fraternization rules of the C-wing, but also the risk of it hurting you is very high. Even though you've been doing very good lately -
ENCYCLOPEDIA: As many as 60% of recovering addicts experience at least one relapse.
LOGIC: It has been two months since your last one.
VOLITION: Hiking your ankles above your head and telling Kim to 'chow down' is very likely to result in another night of binge drinking.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I beg to differ!
"I'm gonna get something for Jean." You point back toward the cart in a completely unneeded gesture and Kim nods, sliding next to you to wait as well when he could have gone back inside to finish up his paperwork.
EMPATHY: [Easy: success] - He is having a harder time focusing on work today than usual. Giving his brain these extra moments outside, around people and fresh air, will do him good.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Impossible: failure] - Erm. Yeah. . .
Okay, I'm putting points into you ASAP.
_____
He keeps his bedroom warm, at the exact temperature that even if he were sleeping naked above the covers, something he isn't akin to do, he would still be comfortable. Never too hot to sweat but warm enough to forget the world outside, at least for the night. He should be asleep. It's late and he has work tomorrow. But instead he's -
Harry whines as he tugs on the silk knots tying him to Kim's metal bedframe. His muscles bulged in the same way that Kim had seen them when he lifted heavy objects and he looked at Kim with pleading eyes, pouting, begging to be touched. He was completely naked, well, except for the love marks dotting all along his neck collarbones. His cock was resting so nicely amongst an unruly forest of pubic hair, red and leaking and begging for Kim.
Kim is leaning above him, smirking, his face centimeters away from Harry's mouth. Close enough to feel the hot pants as Harry tries in vain to stretch and kiss him, stretching the little bit he can but never getting close enough. "Now now Harrier, don't you want to be good for me?"
Before he could answer Kim pinches one of his nipples, twisting the pink nub between his fingers until it was bright pink and standing at attention, making it so the only thing that comes out of Harry's mouth is more pitiful whines and moans. Kim relents, letting Harry catch his breath. While he waits he admires Harry from his position over him.
A part of him wishes that he was a little less in control because it would prove useful in moments like this. Harry was perfectly shameless enough to change clothes in the middle of the street back in Martinaise and Kim was composed and polite enough to avoid being caught taking any peaks, even if there was a sincere chance that he could have gotten away with it. But now, in his imagination, he doesn't have a clear picture of what his chest would most accurately look like. He's seen Harry wearing low V-necks or caught a sliver of skin as Harry's shirt would ride up before he hastily tugged it back down, but he doesn't have a full picture. And he desperately wants to know every inch, every scar that he could have seen if he was a bit more daring. But he has to settle for this - an image of a typical chest with curly hair and a smattering of vague scars that he could feasibly have.
"I want to be good for you, Kim." Harry whispers, his voice deep and gravelly and so fucked out even though Kim has only been teasing him so far. You would think that they'd been at this for hours - and maybe they have. That'd be the perfect way to spend his night off: keeping Harry tied up for the entire night, only giving him brief reprieves before attacking his delicate skin again. Make it so he can barely walk the next day.
In real life Kim has lost all pretense of patience with himself and he's stroking his cock in the exact way that he likes it, so close to the end that he can feel it starting at the base of his spine.
The fantasy changes. Kim is holding both of Harry's meaty legs as he furiously fucks Harry, wet slaps bouncing off of the walls and no doubt loud enough for his neighbors to hear. And if they can hear that then there's no doubt they can hear Harry unleashing moans and pleads at the top of his lungs, the only words that are recognizable in their shared language being 'please' and 'more' and 'Kim!'. His cock is bobbing between them deliciously and Kim leans forward so that his body sandwiches it between his frame and Harry's, providing friction as he keeps moving at a punishing pace.
"Oh fuck," Harry moans "Oh Gods, Kim, I'm gonna - I'm - "
Kim finally leans down to kiss him as both the Harry of his mind and him in real life orgasm in unison. In his head Harry is loud, only barely muffled by Kim's mouth, but Kim just gasps as he finishes into his hand. Before he could fully come down from this high, before he could start to feel the same guilt and shame that has been accompanying the end of every single one of these fantasies, and before he could promise to himself, again, that this would be the last time and he needs to get a hold of himself, his phone rings.
In the empty space of his bedroom Kim lets his thoughts: an agitated groan accompanied by the muttering of 'what is it now?!' before getting up to answer.
It's not his day off which means that, theoretically, if an emergency happened and there were no other officers available during the night shift then he could be called in. He is a light enough sleeper that he could have kept the phone out in the living area but if it were a true emergency then every second counts. He expected the timber voice of Jules telling him there's been a murder only moments ago and someone needs to be there at the scene, but the voice on the other hand is one much more familiar.
"Hey," Harry's tired voice says through the crackles of the phone and Kim's insides turn to ice. This is it, this is the moment that Harry has seen too much. For all of his self-restraint he has exhibited for his entire life, he will now be known as just a pervert who lusts after his partner. "I couldn't sleep either."
"It's the nature of the job, sometimes." Kim murmurs, sounding only tired and not like he - well. He shouldn't even think that with Harry on the phone.
There's the sound of rustling on the other end, what Kim has learned from enough phone calls with Harry to know that he was nodding along even though they cannot see each other. "I got the uh - the sense that we're about to be called in. Something has happened. I wanted to let you know before."
A small part of Kim relaxes, though he still is trying to keep his mind on guard. Which is ridiculous, Harry cannot read his mind. He knows that. But still. "Well, thank you for letting me know."
"Of course!" He could practically hear Harry beaming through the phone and, despite himself, there's the warm glow of fondness settling over him. Before Kim could reply with anything, Harry kept speaking. "Why were you - if it's not too personal! You don't have to tell me, but since I was also already awake, what was keeping you up?"
Blame it on the late hour, or his exhaustion, or the fact that he had cum only minutes ago and he had subconsciously stored the little bit of energy he had at the prospect that he was about to be called in, but his mind projected the words 'I was still awake because I was thinking about fucking you. Would you like that?' clear as day before he swiftly shoved it down, repressing it as harshly as he could.
But it was too late. There was a pause in the conversation and Kim could easily picture Harry's eyes looking off into the distance, glazing over as he convened inside that mind of his, latching onto something that no one else would even catch a hint of. He held his breath.
Harry let out a groan of disappointment. "I'm not on top of my game lately, there's something I keep missing."
Kim had the fortitude to move the receiver away from his face before breathing a sigh of relief. "We all have off days. The late hour is certainly not helping."
"No it's not - ah!" Harry gasps right as Kim hears the noise that indicates he has another call coming in. "I'll let you get that. I'm already dressed. Wherever we're going, could you - "
"Yes, I'll come pick you up." Kim lets himself smile softly. "See you soon, detective."
Harry was, however he got the information, correct. Something was indeed happening. A woman had called the emergency line saying that she knows with certainty that her stalker had found her again and that he was going to try something soon. Everyone else was dispatched in various parts of the city which would make it too long of a drive to make it to her place in time. He gets dressed in record time, only with the necessities.
___
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Easy: success] - At least 10% of all car accidents every year are caused by exhausted drivers on the road.
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Medium: success] - If he's tired, no one can tell by how he was driving. You make it to the woman's house at the perfect moment: her stalker is attempting to break down her apartment door with his noodly arms.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Pathetic. Show him how a real man does it!
The ensuing encounter is nothing special. He's a pathetic wisp of a man that couldn't beat you in a fight even if it were that moment in Martinaise, minutes after waking up for the first time in your life and you failed to catch your horrible tie three times as it spun lazily on the ceiling fan. Well, nothing special to you. The woman is very grateful to not have been murdered.
The only thing that puts any snag in the arrest is when the stalker - having heard you two pull up and knowing his goose was cooked - attempted to run away, resulting in him falling down the stairs and breaking his nose.
"That's going to be more paperwork later." Kim mutters unhappily as he handcuffs the man. Before he could swing him around to push him in the backseat cage of the Kimeena, he spits a mouthful of blood on your shirt.
SAVOIR FAIRE: [Hard: failure] - EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
COMPOSURE: [Challenging: success] - You do not say that. You instead grimace akin to the way an action movie star - like Bruce Hardstaff, as an example - would. Lip curling up to show only your right canine, eyes looking down at him in disgust. You gruffly say "Ew!" in a much cooler, less whiney way than you really want to.
You let him stew in the back while you talk to the woman. Kim doesn't join you - despite the Kineema being his precious baby it is still RCM property first and foremost, but that doesn't mean he enjoys the idea of leaving a volatile suspect in the back unsupervised for long. He might start knawing at the leather or something. The woman is eternally grateful, if a bit honest about her not knowing if anyone was going to come quick enough. When you make it back to the front seat and he starts driving to the precinct, the blood on your shirt has seeped through and was sticking uncomfortably to your chest hair.
PAIN THRESHOLD: And it's not like it hurts or anything - it's just a sensory nightmare. But its a sensory nightmare on top of being bone tired, on top of this being one of your favorite shirts -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: On top of you seemingly giving up sex along with everything else -
PAIN THRESHOLD: It's just not helping your mood. Every time the dried blood in the center of your chest tugs at another chest hair you feel that much more overstimulated. In a way, it's painful.
"Good job," Jean grumbles to the both of you. He only got back to the office an hour earlier and he looks drained, dark circles even more pronounced than usual. Despite how tired you feel, you preen a little at his words and he rolls his eyes.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Challenging: success] - He has just come back from performing a field autopsy on the body of a murdered teenager. He's always been uniquely hit when kids are involved, and this one is special. The kid lived in one of the boy's homes in town, though not the one that he grew up in. He had no one, and now he's dead. Jean plans on pulling an all-nighter and passing out on the couch in the break room.
You reach out to his bicep and give it a manly, affectionate squeeze. "You too."
EMPATHY: [Medium: success] - He doesn't react at all, which is already a step up from how he would have reacted if you tried to touch him during the day. As it stands, it's only the three of you in a deserted precinct, he's more lonely than usual, and he sincerely appreciates the little bit of comfort you have attempted to give him.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Hard: failure] - Out of the corner of your eye you see Kim stiffen. He's getting fidgety and would like to go home to his bed.
"Go home, the both of you." Jean says and you break apart. "And don't come in at the start of the shift, we'd like you to have more than three hours of sleep. Come in after lunch. This one time you won't be late."
You make it until the door of the Kineema closes behind you before you lose it with the damn shirt.
INTERFACING: [Medium: success] - You unbutton the shirt urgently but not crazily - while saying "I can't stand the fucking feeling anymore - ahhh." Your skin finally stops feeling like it's attacking you now that the stickiness of the shirt has been removed.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: success] - Kim is fully staring at your chest.
VISUAL CALCULUS: [Formidable: failure] - There are thoughts brewing in that handsome head of his. Thoughts you cannot decipher.
"Kim?" Falls out of your mouth like the gentlest wind and it still startles him. He abruptly turns away and starts the car, pulling out onto the road on the way back to your place.
PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: success] - The tips of his ears are pink.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Mmmm. Love it when that happens. You should lean over and bite his earlobe.
VOLITION: [Hard: success] - Nope. Not doing that.
LOGIC: [Formidable: success] - This is the first time he has looked at you completely shirtless. Specifically, this is the first time he has noticed the two raised scars underneath your pecs, running from your nipples to almost your armpits. Every time you would get shamelessly undressed he had politely avoided his gaze to give you a little bit more modesty, but not tonight.
EMPATHY: [Challenging: success] - He didn't mean to look. His brain is running on a little bit of a delay.
ENDURANCE: It's barely five in the morning, you've stayed up longer without being affected this badly. What is he? Some weakling?
EMPATHY: No.
"Oh yeah, these?" You gesture to your chest scars. "They're another thing that I forgot about. I thought there would be a badass story or something, like I went toe-to-toe with someone with a broadsword or something? But then Nix told me I just used to have boobs and now I don't. Really boring." You intended to give Kim time to think about what you said and reply with something, but for some reason, there's now an electric current running through your brain and you need to explain more. "It's apparently a whole thing? Like I'm supposed to take injections once a week - not drugs! And I've been good about the schedule, don't worry. And I also don't have a dick." You squirm nervously, unsure why.
"You don't - " Kim starts and clears his throat before starting again. "Did Gottlieb explain to you the 'why' about any of this?"
"Maybe? Honestly, it all happened right after we got back and I was still recovering from the gunshot, infection, withdrawals, all of that. He said a lot that I didn't catch. I haven't asked him to elaborate because I didn't want him to think I wasn't paying attention."
EMPATHY: [Easy: success] - He's currently feeling a whirlwind of multiple, conflicting emotions. The strongest is fondness, only slightly stronger than his attempts to not laugh at your insanity.
AUTHORITY: Laugh?! Who does he think he is? Show him you're nothing to be laughed at.
"Who needs to pay attention when you got guns like these?" You flex your biceps like a real circus Muscle Man.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Challenging: failure] - You spread out too much too quickly for the small space and smack your elbow roughly into the window.
"Ow. . . "
"That was very impressive, Harry." Kim says gently and somehow, despite the pure warmth that the statement fills you with and how it makes you feel like you're almost floating, you are able to pay attention to what he says next. "It might make you feel better to know that you're trans-gender."
ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Challenging: success] - A deeper, previously unmentioned level of the underground. Trans- meaning 'on or to the other side of. Across or beyond.' A group of people, you included, that have changed their outer gender presentation from what was previously assumed. Some people call them 'converts' in a wave of poetic prose.
SHIVERS: YOU'RE STILL ONE OF MY CHILDREN.
INLAND EMPIRE: The crackle of electricity inside of you hasn't calmed down but it is like a switch was changed. Kim has found two wires that you did not know were active and connected them, creating a hot surge to flow through a part of you that previously felt burnt out, gone, useless.
"Oh," You say rather limply. "That - ah. Makes a lot of sense."
Only now have you realized that you have stopped moving. When did he park? Doesn't matter. You put your bloody shirt back on but don't button it, hoping that no one would be out at this ungodly hour to see you in this state. "Oh! Thanks!"
"Always," Kim says. He looked like he had something more to say, probably along the lines of this very serious and life-affirming conversation but the words weren't making sense in his exhausted mind. Eventually, he gives up. "Get some sleep, okay?"
"I don't think that'll be much of a problem." You lie and give him finger guns. You rush out, knowing that the sooner you close your door the sooner Kim will be able to go home and rest.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Godly: success] - He will pass out as soon as his head touches the covers and he will arrive to take you both to work on time, where he will do the necessary paperwork and go through the motions of a long day. Then, after he drops you off tomorrow he will make a stop on the way home for something.
Ooooo, what?
ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Impossible: failure] - . . .
LOGIC: [Hard: success] - One can assume it will be related to the conversation you two just had. He doesn't have a lot of practical knowledge on trans-gender issues and, while he doesn't view himself as your personal guide into self-discovery of all things queer and underground, he does want to help you.
___
There is a small, dusty bookstore located in Central Jamrock that, thanks to being hidden between larger and much more imposing buildings, goes mostly ignored by most patrons. They carry exclusively non-fiction books and the owner is a woman who looks much older than she really is with a death-rattle cough and very little patience. The store has no order to it but it prides itself on housing material that was, and currently is, banned. Within certain circles, it is lovingly infamous.
Yes, Kim does go there after work but he never brings it up with Harry. They do have more conversations about the topic, a little, some of them heavy and emotional and some of them light and to give Harry room to joke around in a space unlike he has ever had before. But what Kim gets from the bookstore is for him.
For twenty-two reĂĄl and nearly thirty minutes of searching he acquires a thick book of black-and-white, glossy photographs meant for discerning coffee tables. Titled 'An Exploration of Masculinity' it is a lovingly homoerotic collection of male bodies of random, mostly anonymous men that have lived in various parts of Elysium, wherever the photographer was willing to travel. Out of the 70-odd men included, the photographer was able to capture four trans-gender men, all anonymous.
"You're a pervert." The Harry of his mind says, weeks later, when he is yet again alone in his apartment. Unlike previously, Harry is not tied up and waiting for Kim to do whatever he pleases but instead of peering at him from over his shoulder, where he is bent over Kim's kitchen table, smirking mischievously. "That's not what the book was meant for, you know. It wasn't meant to tweak your sick fantasies so they'll be more accurate."
Gods, he knows. He knows he knows he knows. He should have stopped this weeks ago, he should stop it now. But it's an itch that never gets satisfied for more than a moment. He scratches until it bleeds and then continues to dig.
"How can you - oh," Harry groans as Kim bottoms out inside of him. He gives Harry a few moments to adjust before he starts pumping in and out slowly, enjoying the way that Harry's back muscles stretch as both of his hands reach to grab at the edge of the table, as if preparing for the ride of his life. "How can you live with yourself, Kim? I'm your partner, I need to trust you to have my back in life-or-death situations, and all you can think about is treating me like I'm your personal cock-sleeve." He pants.
In real life Kim lets out a groan under his breath, stilling his hand so that he doesn't finish quite so soon. In his mind, his counterpart snaps his hips sharply and it causes Harry to yelp in surprise before letting out a deep, gravelly moan.
Things shift and suddenly Harry is on his back, arms still outstretched so now his full body is on display. His chest now being picture-perfect accurate to the real Harry, top scars and all, as Kim pounds his hole roughly, stomach bouncing along in time with him. He's still talking. "I'll find out eventually. You know. A few wandering thoughts, that's fine, no one would fault you for that. A few masturbation sessions are no sweat to me, but this many? Even I have to have a limit on what is acceptable weirdness. Do you think I would be flattered? Do you really think I would enjoy being the star of your sick dreams every night?"
Despite the fact that the words are making him feel like a bucket of hot, black tar was dumped over his head, his hand speeds up again.
Kim reaches over to Harry and fondles his cock while not breaking his stride, rolling it between his fingers. Harry lets his head fall back and lets out a string of pathetic whines and mews that Kim desperately wants to know if he's even capable of making in real life, before his head surges back up suddenly and he's talking more. "There's just so much you want to know, isn't there? About what I like. How I think. How I know the things I know, but most importantly how I don't know about this yet. I'm able to just know so many things - what Pryce is thinking, if Judit is having a bad morning. I can guess exactly what mood Jean is in before I even see him. But I haven't figured this out yet."
Outside the fantasy, Kim grimaces and he feels his chest heat up uncomfortably, not from arousal. In his mind, he shoves three fingers in Harry's mouth to quiet him.
"Oooo, you didn't like that," Harry says clearly despite the gag. "I used to know you so well and sometimes even respond to your thoughts as if you said them out loud. And now you're practically projecting how much of a dirty pervert you are and I'm not seeing any of it. I'm too busy thinking about Jean. Getting back in line to make sure Jean gets lunch. I go out of my way to get Jean a coffee when he's in a bad mood. And you're at home with your dick in your hand."
Kim open palm slaps him with a deafening crack and Harry lets out the loudest moan yet. Fuck worrying about the neighbors, the apartments across the street could have heard him. If this were real, of course.
Harry, with a red-hot palm mark on half of his face, squints his grey-green eyes and smirks. "He didn't appreciate Vicquemare while he had him, and now that he has you, he's gone crawling back. Do you think they're fucking? What right do you have to be mad about it?"
Kim huffs in frustration and curses to himself, louder than he anticipated. His cock stands at attention but it's quickly flagging. The words that Harry - not even real Harry, but the image that he conjured himself - prove too real and leave an intense negative feeling in him pretty much obliterating his arousal. He doesn't even think that there's anything going on with the two of them, nothing more than a slowly repairing professional relationship after whatever they had (and the only one that knows for sure what they ever had previously is Jean) imploded. Harry tells him everything. But even if Harry hadn't thought to mention anything and they do have something going on (and his cock was now and truly disinterested in the current train of thought) then he doesn't have a right to get angry. Besides maybe a professional wariness at his partner dating a subordinate. But not anything more. Harry is his work partner and nothing more.
Still. He stares at the landline, anticipating it to ring. Any moment now. He's not even sure if he wants it to ring.
(He does.)
He's almost given up hope that it would until the shrill ringing causes his blood to freeze. He considers not answering at all - he knows this isn't the station. But by the time the thought crosses his mind, he's already saying "Hello," to the receiver.
"Hi," And the way that Harry says it so meekly - it's over. He's all but ready to explain himself (what is there to explain? He doesn't know what to say. At best, he knows how to apologize and how to put in for another transfer.) but Harry beats him to it.
"Are you angry at me?"
"What?" Kim blinks, tension not leaving his body.
"I just got - " he lets out a frustrated groan. "There's been something wrong with my brain. I know I've never been good at really explaining how it works up here," he can't see, but he imagines Harry tapping a finger to his temple. "because it's really hard to explain it in words. The simplest way is that there's just been something that I'm not seeing and I've been spending a lot of time improving one specific area and there's still just. Nothing."
"Like a thought project?" His voice is level despite the fact that he feels a large amount of guilt build up at the obvious distress this is causing Harry. And at his own cowardice to not own up to it now.
"Kind of? But also no, that's a different thing." Harry's tone was forced into something lighter and attempting to be playful. "One of my skills said that you were dreaming of slapping me. But that's ridiculous! Right?"
Kim says nothing. Harry swallows.
"You could slap me if you wanted to." And the way he says it - it's not him attempting to be seductive. There's no overtly lecherous lint to his voice. It's whispered like a confession. If Kim wasn't already holding his breath then he might have missed it. But then Harry barrels over him again.
"HAHA! That was weird! I didn't actually say anything, especially not something really weird! Okay bye Kim, goodnight love you!" And then all he hears is the dial tone.
Kim hangs up but as he is dialing Harry's home number to call him back, barely having spun the dial, it's ringing again. "I meant goodbye!" Harry exclaims. "Or 'love you' in a purely platonic and non-sexual sense! I haven't fantasized about you eating me out."
"Harry,"
"Ignore that last bit as well! Or don't because I specifically said I haven't been which is the truth and you don't need to worry about what or what I haven't been thinking about."
"Harrier," Kim is expressing a truly diety-level amount of composure in how his voice is still level. It got Harry to stop talking for the moment. Even if he hadn't, it'd be hard to hear anything else he would say through the blood pounding in Kim's ears. "I can shed some light on what you're asking about."
"Oh that's a relief," Harry sighs, but he's Harry so he doesn't end it there. "See, I knew that it was someone in the precinct because of the specific skill that kept failing, and for a little while, and I mean very briefly, I thought that maybe it could have been Jean? But - "
Kim could not contain the subtle grimace that overtook him. The line suddenly went quiet for a moment.
"You're jealous," Harry said with startingly clarity. "Of Jean?"
"Khm. I suppose I am."
There are another few moments of agonizing silence as Harry convenes with the voices in his head. Then he lets out all the air in his lungs as he cradles the phone even closer to himself, almost obscuring his words completely as if he can bridge the distance between the two of them without having to say goodbye. "You thought that we could have been - and you felt - which means that you also?"
"Harrier," Kim spoke softly into the phone, dipping into dulcet tones that he hoped would have the desired effect on the man so far away. At one point being alone in his apartment felt like a sanctuary away from the world but now it feels like a prison. A room with four enclosed walls that promise to keep out everything including the things he very much wants to have. "Can I come over?"
"Please," Harry whimpered and they hung up in unison.
___
Kim is a very good driver, so when he stood at Harry's door and realized briefly that he had little memory of the drive itself, he was only worried a little bit about the obvious safety issues of it all.
The door opened before he knocked at all. Harry had swung it open with such ferocity that a gust of wind blew through him, giving Kim a whiff of shampoo and freshly washed clothes. The fact that Harry had showered between them hanging up is made further obvious by the fact that he's still dripping wet and towel-drying his hair. He was wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants but seemingly nothing else. Kim was dressed just as casual - sweats and a black tank top, no jacket, no gloves this time. More casual than he ever lets himself leave the house looking, but tonight is a marvelous exception.
"May I come in?" Harry nods wordlessly and moves aside, letting Kim step inside. He drops the towel on the ground carelessly.
As soon as the door is closed behind him Harry gingerly approaches him and Kim, sick of playing the coward when it comes to things of the heart, cradles Harry's face in both of his palms and looks up at him. Here he is, with real Harry, not someone he created in his imagination but a real living person. He can feel the heat coming off of his cheeks as Harry peers down at him silently, with enough reverence that he almost has stars in his eyes. "I've never been very good at talking about these sorts of things, but I believe I owe you an explanation."
Harry almost looks like he wants to interrupt, perhaps with a 'you don't owe me anything, ever, Kim.' but Kim silences him with a raised eyebrow. His mouth snaps shut obediently and Kim smiles at that. "I may have been, for too long of a time, imagining you in situations that are not entirely professional."
He could feel Harry's cheeks warm up underneath his palms and he started to, very subtly, shake with concealed effort.
"You may talk."
"I don't know if I want to ask how long or what you have been imagining first."
Kim hums in contemplation. "You may ask one of them now."
"Is this really happening?" Harry asks instead and Kim is surprised at the turn. Yes, he got the idea that Harry was open to being with him earlier, he wouldn't have come over if he didn't, but this is the confirmation that he had thought about Kim in the exact same way in his private moments. Maybe just as often, too.
A confirmation that they are both a little stupid, as well.
He took this as an opportunity to pull Harry into a kiss. It was sweet at first - Harry's lips were dry and very warm, almost hot, and the kiss deepened within seconds. Kim could taste that Harry, perhaps out of insecurity at how his frequent coffee drinking and chain-smoking might make his mouth taste, went a little overboard with the mouthwash, but it wasn't unpleasant. It became something that he cataloged and put aside as he let himself fall adrift in the sensation of finally kissing Harry. He slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth and ran it along his teeth, feeling Harry moan into his mouth.
"I can't get pregnant, by the way." Harry said suddenly, as soon as they broke apart.
Kim smiled. "Mmhmm. And I need to know this because. . . ?" he teases. One of his hands leaves Harry's face to gently scratch at Harry's scalp, feeling him shiver. He wants - needs to hear Harry say it instead of the constructed version of his voice in Kim's head.
Harry's face warms up even more. "I am so horny that my brain could leak from my ears and I'd really like it if you would have sex with me. Homoerotically."
Kim snorts and as much as he wants to counter with 'as opposed to?' his previous denial earlier in the night has come back with a vengeance and he is facing a Harry that is saying the stupid, silly, impossibly sexy words to his face and he can't deny either of them this for much longer.
#if you read it and liked it then im especially sorry it isnt getting finished#maybe ill do something with this idea? but not like this. something VERY different
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Fanficton: Reciprocation, Chapter 1
A Chlolix Chapterfic with an Aro/Ace Felix! The whole thing is written, I'm just posting it a chapter at a time, here and on AO3 (link in Bio) Set in a canon Divergent S5 where Felix chose not to steal the Yo-yo.
I hope you enjoy, and welcome all comments. This is my first Aro/Ace chatacter, and I've taken the time to enlist a couple of Aro/Ace friends to beta for my in addition to doing my own research.
Full text of Chapter 1 after the break.
The image in the mirror regarded him with disdain. Under that harsh gaze he turned and twisted, checking hair, collar, buttons, cufflinks, belt, even raising one foot and the other to examine the soles of each shoe. It was all immaculateâas alwaysâyet immaculate was the bare minimum. Perfection brought no joy when it was a standard.
Felix crossed to his dresser and assembled the rest of his accessories: watch, wallet, cuff-blade, wire, fool's powder, and, lastly, his cell phone. A quick glance indicated his preparation alarm was about to go off. Nine more alarms for the day were set and ticking down. Each an activity that would not be happening today. Felix left the alarms in place, it was important to remember the cost of these outings. It added to Gabriel's tally, though at this point it was pennies against a mountain of gold bullion.
Felix stepped out of his room, then swayed back in as his mother swept down the hallway in a sudden rush. He followed smoothly in her wake. Amilie began to scour the living room frantically yet wordlessly. Felix glanced beside the television, then reached between the couch and the end table.
"Here it is, Mother." Felix held up her purse.
"Felix!" Amilie spun in surprise, but immediately a smile bloomed on her face. She walked to him and took the purse before air kissing beside his cheek. "My wonderful baby boy, what would I do without you?"
Felix remained focused, but did briefly wear a smile; his mother appreciated such things. "You're welcome, Mother. I am glad I caught you before you left."
She waved him off as she turned to rummage in her purse. "I won't be gone long, Felix. It's just more endless paperwork from your father's estate."
Felix grimaced. "I'm going to Paris today. I won't be back until late. I might stay over." He internally began to catalog the things he would fall behind on if he extended his visit.
His mother frowned worriedly. "Again? You just came back. Is it really that important?"
He met her questioning look with a level one. "It is, Mother. It involves Gabriel."
Amilie finished rifling through her purse and zipped it up so sharply she winced at the end, sticking her finger in her mouth to suck the bruise. She took it out to carp, "Everything seems to involve that beast of a man."
Felix reached out, hesitated, then told himself this was his mother and completed the action. He settled his hand on her shoulder. "Hopefully, not for much longer."
Amilie looked ready to fight, but Felix held her eyes and she relented. "Just be carefull, honey. I don't want you getting hurt. You're all I have left."
He completed the ritual. "And you're all I need." He took his hand back. "I will be careful. I don't expect to cross his path directly, and there is nothing else in Paris that holds any mystery for me."
---------------------
Paris spring was a charming affair, if you had the mind for it. Felix recognized the beauty in an abstract way. The healthy greens smattered with the colors of blooming new life were well balanced against the more staid and stark architectural choices of the old city. There was more here to stir the soul than in the clutches of old industrial London.
The greater part of his mind was focused on one house in particular though. Agreste manor stood out in its compound, but even more so the secrets it held. Gabriel Agreste, his uncle, was Shadowmoth. He'd tested that theory at personal risk.
Risk. His last visit here had presented a chance to upset the balance. A chance to free himself. As Felix stood staring up at the observatory window of his uncle's manor he turned over his split second choice one more time.
Ladybug's yo-yo was there, the trusting hero's back was turned. He needed only to touch it once and he would have the ultimate bargaining chip with his uncle.
What?! The idea had run headlong into everything that made Felix who he was. He was better than these fools. He was better than Gabriel. He was better than humans made by random chance. Trading a bounty for a single miraculous, no matter how precious, was a weakling's ploy. Past that, even his bumbling uncle might win with all that power to command. Where then would that leave Felix with his paltry gains? Self determination in the face of utter destruction?
He had let the moment pass. He had returned the miraculous and shared the encounter with his cousin. Let Adrien worry about living up to my standards of heroism. Yet now he was taken to task by his own pride. Having given up the easy path, he must make the hard path work.
He began to notice onlookers out of the corner of his eye. They had been longer in coming than usual. Adrien Agreste could not be out and about in Paris for long without the public catching wind. As his doppleganger, Felix was subject to the same attentions despite his wishes. It had been a full fifteen minutes this time, rather than ten. Had something changed? Had the failure of the First Love campaign already taken its toll on the brand?
Felix moved away from Agreste manor. His swift pace left curious onlookers in the dust, and he was once more alone with his thoughts. How do I get back into the mansion? Gabriel will be on his guard after tricking me with the fakes. Perhaps I can draw him out? Adrien⊠do I seek out my cousinâs help? What excuse can I use for a swap yet again? He obviously canât handle the truth of things. A night time break in risks much. Perhaps I can make my move while he is distracted with Ladybug. There is a more gruesome bargaining chip in play. Why give, when I can take away? She is my motherâs sister though. Will he call my bluff?
Variables swam through his head, nothing was lining itself up neatly. If he had more time, he could force things into a better position, but with Gabrielâs trap sprung Felix couldnât count on his uncle remaining passive much longer. He would not let the fallout from this entanglement ensnare his mother. She was only just now free herself.
Felix rejected plan after plan as he walked blindly through Paris streets. Too risky, too slow, too complicated, too dangerous. Nothing worked and his frustration rose to a crescendo. It took him a full minute to realize the chime wasnât an internal screaming, but rather one of his alarms.
Felix took out his phone and silenced it. So much for boxing practice today.
A quick glance around told him he had ventured into one of the commercial districts. Oblivious masses trudged about their lives, ignorant of the very gift of being. That truth smeared itself across Felixâs rational thought, blowing apart the fragments of his latest plan. The stress was attempting to overwhelm him. Felix would not let it; he needed a distraction.
As if signaling his cause was just, fate provided him an outlet. ChloĂ© Bourgeois stepped out of a shop two stores up. Oddly, she was alone, and carrying only a single bag. These little details were easily glossed over by her mere existence however. Felix quickened his pace to catch up to her, while running a hand up through his hair to muss the well groomed locks. He pitched his voice higher, and sucked all sense of duty and purpose from it. âHey ChloĂ©. Itâs great to see you! I was just thinking of grabbing a bite to eat. Do you want to join me?â
She turned as quickly as ever, but immediately something was wrong. Instead of a bright smile there was a sharp scowl on those painted lips. She didnât charge him. She didnât gush. Even before she spoke, Felix felt an itch between his shoulder blades.
âYouâre not Adri-nobody. Donât even bother trying to pretend you are!"
Felix wasn't one to give up so easily, and Chloé was always a sucker for this game. He heaved a sigh and stuck his hands into his pockets, letting his shoulders slump like some vagrant. "That's not very nice, Chloé. I came to apologize. Are you really going to hold a little misunderstanding against me? I thought we were friends."
Those twilight blue eyes remained mere slits instead of widening. There was no shout of joy and reconciliation, nothing for Felix to mock. She stalked up to him and looked him over in a calculating way she never had before. It was all wrong, the itch grew.
"You're pretending to be Adrien. If you were Adrien you'd be far too busy with your baker girl and your new friends for the likes of me. Sorry to disappoint you, but your game is over. Keep trying if you want though. I can laugh while you look ridiculous, utterly ridiculous."
Chloé tried to finish with a glower, but Felix could hear her teeth grinding behind those pouting lips. She was beyond angry, but he hadn't been the cause. He felt⊠cheated?
He dropped the act and straightened up, running his hands back through his hair to tame it. When he spoke again it was his own voice, cool and confident. "What on earth happened, Chloé? Was it you or my cousin who was the fool this time?"
Both were equally plausible.
She leveled a finger at him, nail hovering like a dagger just below his chin. "That's none of your business, discount Adrien! You just stay away from me, you hear? All of you Agrestes are nothing to me now. From ugly Gabriel, to stupid Adrien, right down to annoying you."
She spun at the end of her pronouncement, giving him no room for a retort. The most he could say was that she looked absolutely silly stomping away. Yet, he hadn't been the cause. He had barely been involved in the entire over-emotional exchange. She had even called him-
Felix screamed after her, unaccountable rage flaring from sources he couldn't name. "I AM NOT AN AGRESTE!"
#miraculous ladybug#ml fanfiction#chloé bourgeois#Felix Fathom#Felix Graham de Vanily#Chlolix#Amilie Graham de Vanily#Aro/Ace#season 5 divergent#ml fanfic#Felix X Chloé
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