#he flips between two extremes he’s either ghosting you for a month (watching you from a distance longingly like a possessive bad smell) or

[shibaraki]

dabi does this fight or flight thing where he tries to convince you he’s a big bad monster that I shouldn’t love and it’s like… is the monster in the room with us right now

[wrenhyperfixates]

All I Need is You

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: You do so much for everyone else and so little for yourself that when you almost collapse, Loki finally gets you to agree to let him take care of you. Warnings: the reader skips some meals; a lot of fluff A/N: Its really just Loki taking care of you. But please remember to take care of yourselves too everyone!! Hope you enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02​ @frostedficrecs​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163 @lokislittlesigyn @wolfish-trickster

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki was watching you even more carefully than normal these days. Yes, you’d caught his eye even on your first day in the Tower back when you were just a new recruit, a SHIELD agent with some kind of sixth sense that let you anticipate things, recently transferred to the Avengers Tower. Even now no one was entirely sure if it was a power or just an uncanny knack you had that made you extremely good at your job. Regardless, the trickster god could see how the ability had shaped you.

You’d only been in the Tower a week when you’d started running errands all over the city, offering things to people before they could even think they needed it themselves, then going to pick it up for them. Loki had declined the offer after hearing all the places you were already going. He’d hoped it was a fluke, that you wouldn’t make it a habit of taking care of everyone. Not that it was inherently bad, he just knew how tiring it could be to please everyone, worried that you would burn out. Of course, you had kept doing it, and his worries turned out to be justified.

“Darling, are you going out again?” Loki asked as you passed his seat in the common room on your way to the elevator. He set his book down, frowning. “Did you not just go yesterday? Unless, of course, this time it is for you. Then by all means, please be on your way.”

“No... It’s just Steve and Bucky were talking about some cereals they used to like and we don’t have any in the Tower so...” you trailed off, shuffling your feet.

“And can they not wait for it until the next scheduled trip to the supermarket?”

“Well, yeah, they said they could. But I don’t mind.”

Loki stood and sighed, walking over to you. Gently, so you didn’t have to comply if you didn’t want to, Loki lifted your chin to look at him. You looked tired. Admirable as it was that you wanted to do things for others, you needed a rest day.

“And tell me, darling, when was the last time you did something for yourself?” He waited a moment for an answer, but was met with silence. “What about that drawing you started two months ago? Have you worked on that more?”

“It wasn’t any good, anyway,” you shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“It was wonderful,” he reassured you. “What about eating, though? Have you eaten today?”

“I... I had a mint.”

“That does not count.” Now he was outright worried. You did this every once in a while, saying you just got so caught up in other things, you forgot to eat. Whatever the reason, it troubled Loki. “You have had some water at least? You know what, do not answer. I am sure I know already. Just wait here a moment.”

You waited by the lift as Loki padded to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle. The problem went beyond just these shopping trips. Sometimes when Tony or Bruce got stuck on one of their projects, you’d pore over books and blueprints for hours, searching for the answer, losing sleep. Then other times, you took it upon yourself to plan events for the team. It was more than a simple, casual invitation. No, it usually involved at least three days of extensive planning. Everyone enjoyed them and was appreciative, needing a break from their day-to-day lives, but it just took up more of your time and brainpower. Pile that onto your own training and missions, it was enough to wear anyone out.

But what he both loved and hated the most was how you’d always be there to talk. Not just for him, but for everyone. And not merely a laid-back chat, either. No, they were practically therapy sessions. Again, just like all the other things you did, that would be all fine and good, except for the fact you never talked about your own issues. You just did so much for everyone else and practically nothing for yourself, even something so basic as remembering to eat, that it broke Loki’s heart a little more every day.

“Here,” he said, handing you the plastic bottle. “But I am coming with you.”

Smiling brightly, you led the way out into the city streets. You chatted as you went about your task, and Loki was yet to take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t until you started the journey back, however, that he began to grow worried. You hadn’t taken even the smallest sip of the water he’d fetched for you, and on this hot day, it was clearly taking its toll. You stumbled a little, suddenly looking more out of it than Loki could stand. He gently gripped your arm to steady you and led you to a bench. Grabbing the water out of your backpack, Loki uncapped it and held the bottle to your lips.

“Drink,” he ordered, but with kindness in his tone.

One of your hands that was gripping the bench a bit too tightly in an attempt to ground your dizzy mind came up to take the bottle from him. Complying, you downed nearly half the bottle in one gulp. It seemed that was a mistake as your empty stomach gargled, rebelling against the sudden intake. Loki rubbed large circles on your back while you scrunched your eyes closed, breathing deeply as you tried to force yourself to feel better.

“Are you alright, darling?” Loki asked when you felt well enough to take another few small sips. You nodded your head, eyes still closed. “Now do you see why it is important to take care of yourself? Will you please get some rest this afternoon?”

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry, I-”

“That is madness!” Both Loki and you flinched at his sudden increase in volume. He removed his hand from your back, feeling unworthy to make contact with you after snapping like that. You were his friend, and he was yelling at you for something like this? It made him disappointed in himself. He sighed. “Listen, I am sorry. All I mean is I care about you. I do not like to see you like this. It is not healthy, and I believe you know that.”

You opened your eyes, blinking at him. “You-you care about me?”

Loki felt heat flood to his cheeks as he realized that he had, in fact, said that. “I do. So will you please let me take care of you?”

You bit your lip for a minute. “I will,” you sighed, giving in.

Satisfied, Loki coaxed you into accepting a piggyback ride the rest of the way home. You placed your forehead in the crook of his neck, enjoying his cool skin against yours, which was noticeably overheating. He quickly tossed the grocery bags of cereal onto the counter and brought you to your room, your own little pocket of the world that you trusted Loki enough to share with him if even for a moment. Laying you down on your bed, he told you to rest for a minute, lips placing a ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

The god moved to your bathroom, looking for what he needed. After preparing a bubble bath with nice, cool water, Loki left you to sink into it with only the order to relax. While you did, he hurried to prepare you a light meal, something that wouldn’t upset your stomach. When you padded out of the bathroom in the soft pajamas Loki had left for you and saw the meal on a tray on your bedside table, a smile tugged at your lips.

Loki peeled back the silken sheets he’d put on your bed so you could get under them. With a little bit of difficulty—Loki never had gotten a firm grasp on understanding Midgardian technology—he flipped through the channels on your TV until you found something you wanted to watch while you ate.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked once you were done eating, before leaving you to your own devices.

You bit your lip as you thought before ultimately shaking your head no. “I’m good thanks.”

“Please, darling, be honest with me,” he pleaded. “Anything you want. Name it, and it is yours.”

“Will you stay with me?” you blurted out. “No, I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Darling,” he tsked. “The only thing on my schedule today is taking care of you.”

You smiled as he slid under the sheets next to you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you onto his lap. You twisted your body so you could look at him and tuck a few locks of his raven hair behind his ear. You were living in your own place in time, the two of you finding a safe haven in each other’s arms.

“You know what would make me really happy, Loki?” you began. “If I got to give you a little, thank you. Would that be alright?”

The god hesitated for a moment. “I suppose. Depending on what it is.”

“Can I... Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“Well, that depends, again.”

“On?”

“On whether or not we can make it a regular occurrence,” Loki replied with a playful grin.

“You know, you are always saying I should do things that make me happy. So yes, yes we absolutely can.”

“In that case,” he said, already leaning in, “what are you waiting for?”

Giggling, you bridged the gap between you. As Loki smiled against your lips, he realized something. No matter how stubborn either of you were when it came to accepting help for yourselves, you’d always have the other to take care of you. And even more importantly, Loki thought, you’d have each other to love.

[owletstarlet]

the grand deeds of great men, the smallest of gestures

"My hero."

An (extremely late) request of sorts from @taizi for some solid nishi content, involving Tanuma putting those childhood karate lessons to good use. Established tanunatsu.

Ao3 link in the notes. 

“Your boyfriend,” Satoru announces without preamble, dragging Tanuma by their joined hands through the hotel room door, “is a badass.”

Natsume looks up sharply from where he and Atsushi are huddled over a pile of rumpled travel pamphlets on the bed. But it’s Taki who’s on her feet first, closing the distance to the door with a pinched look and taking the shopping bag out of Tanuma’s hand.

Satoru’s grinning. Tanuma is very much not.

But they’re both shaking.

Satoru doesn’t let go of Tanuma’s hand until Natsume’s there to take it. Atsushi’s there to grab Satoru by the shoulders, and the five of them shuffle back as one towards the beds.

Natsume doesn’t press for the explanation until they’re all seated, he and Taki pressed up against either side of Tanuma, their knees bumping up against Atsushi’s and Satoru’s in the narrow space between the two beds. The muttered question is probably more directed at Satoru than at Tanuma, because Tanuma’s gray-faced in the lamplight, gaze a little too wide, breaths coming a little too fast. Both Natsume’s hands are wrapped around Tanuma’s slack one, and on his other side Taki’s hands are gentle where they rub his back, but her keen eyes keep darting over to Satoru, expression tight with all the same concern. Satoru, for his part, is practically vibrating where he sits tucked against Atsushi’s side, from nerves or exhilaration or both, Atsushi can’t quite tell.

“He flipped a guy!” Satoru declares, with a wide one-handed swoop of a gesture at Tanuma, sounding positively giddy about it.

Well. Whatever Atsushi was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

“What,” Natsume says, blankly, at the same time that Taki says, “…wait.”

And then they’re all looking at Tanuma. Who very much looks like he’d rather not be looked at.

“It was the actual best thing I have ever seen,” Satoru says, nudging Tanuma’s knee with his own, and there’s something fierce and warm in his eyes. “And he thinks he’s gonna go to jail or something for it, which he’s not, because the guy deserved it, so that would be dumb.”

“What happened?” Atsushi blurts, now well and truly alarmed.

And he tells them.

They’re in Osaka for a long weekend, because Natori had invited them all along for some premiere of a new period piece that Satoru had been gushing about for months. Natsume’s not exactly ecstatic about attending the event itself, but he’s clearly happy that Satoru’s happy—Atsushi gathers that that’s whole point of this—and even if Natori himself is all booked up with press events for the majority of the weekend, it’s a chance for them all to explore the unfamiliar city together.

Not thirty minutes ago, Satoru and Tanuma had volunteered to make a combini run for snacks, only about two blocks from the hotel. But once they’d finished and were through the door, bags in hand, Tanuma had realized he’d forgotten to get the ice cream Taki had asked for. He’d gone back in to get it, while Satoru stayed out front to sip at the cocoa he’d bought. They hadn’t really paid any mind to the group milling about out front. Salarymen, by the looks of them, three or four younger guys in tidy suits with raucous voices and beers in hand. Satoru had been making his way to the bench near the entrance to wait, not quite looking where he was going, and he’d bumped into one of them, causing some of his beer to slosh over the lip of the can and onto the guy’s blazer sleeve. From his place in line Tanuma had heard it, the sharp “Oy!” and the rumbles of displeasure from man’s friends. Tanuma’s not sure what became of the ice cream he’d been holding—maybe he dropped it, maybe he shoved it into the hands of the customer beside him—but the next thing he knew he was out the door, wedging himself firmly between Satoru and the man who now had him by the arm.

“And then he just…bam!” Satoru mimes the motion, as though he’s grabbing something heavy with both hands from behind, and twisting it downwards in front of him. “Like. Grabbed him. And just. Flipped him! Guy went down beer and all, and he looked super confused about being on the ground all of a sudden. And it was amazing, and I had no idea he took karate before.”

And with that, three sets of startled eyes all land squarely on Tanuma. Natsume taps his knee, like he’s trying to break him away from whatever’s got its grip on him behind his own glassy gaze.

“Karate?” Taki looks, at first, gobsmacked by this piece of information. But it morphs into something like slow-breaking delight across her features.

Tanuma’s nod is a single, tight bob of the head. “Just, um.” It’s the first time he’s spoken since walking through the door, and his voice is a ghost of a thing, like it might get swallowed up by the stale air of the room. “Until I was twelve. On and off. I don’t remember much.”

“You remembered plenty,” Satoru tells him, tone banking no argument, before clasping his hands together dramatically. “My hero.” His grin is so wide and irresistibly cheesy that Tanuma looks up, just for a moment, with the barest twitch of his lips before his gaze drops back down towards the stretch of flowery pink carpet beneath their toes. Natsume shoots Satoru a grateful look, even as Atsushi finds himself doing the same to Tanuma. Somewhere, during the course of the story, he’d found himself squashed up impossibly close against Satoru, arm tucked firmly around his shoulders. He seems genuinely excited, not distressed, but against Atsushi’s side he still feels wound up tight as a coiled spring. It’s definitely not lost on Natsume, either, judging by the glance he gives Atsushi. Atsushi nudges Natsume’s foot—he’s okay, I got him—and Natsume nods, once, though his gaze lingers a moment longer on Satoru’s flushed, still-beaming face.

“So you’re afraid someone saw?” Atsushi asks, while Taki fishes out a tea bottle from the shopping bag, uncaps it and presses it into Tanuma’s hand.

Tanuma doesn’t answer, but that touch of a grin from before has twisted itself into something distinctly nauseated.

“If anyone did see, they’d know the dude was fine.” Satoru shrugs. “Also that he deserved it, remember. We ran, anyways.”

Natsume blinks. “You ran here?”

And Atsushi can’t help but see the comedy in that being what Natsume seizes on, considering the truly impressive amount of times Atsushi’s seen him tearing through town apropos of nothing like he’s got a swarm of invisible hornets on his tail.

“Yup,” Satoru says, brightly, tapping Tanuma’s knee. “Felt like an action movie.” A pause, before he tacks on, not unkindly, “Y’know, if you’re not gonna drink that tea, then I will.”

Tanuma blinks down at the tea bottle, which had tilted enough in his hand to nearly spill onto the scratchy comforter as though forgotten about. He manages a couple measured sips before letting Taki take it back and cap it.

Natsume squeezes Tanuma’s fingers in his own, looking unsettled. Taki looks thoughtful, idly tapping the bottle in her hands.

“Were you thinking they had a security camera out front or something?” she asks.

Tanuma says nothing.

Taki leans into his side. “You know, even if anyone watched the footage, it’s like Nishimura said. All they’d see is that man getting exactly what was coming to him,” she says, fervently.

“And you being cool as hell,” Satoru adds. “Seriously, they teach twelve-year-olds how to do that?”

The way his shoulders loosen, just a fraction, feels like a win. “I don’t…actually know?” he starts, squinting like he’s trying to recall. “I was in this class for high-schoolers at the time, because there were nothing else available in the town I lived in.” A shrug, a sheepish glance up and away. “Usually I was just partnered up with my teacher.”

“That actually sounds kind of brutal, though,” Atsushi says, curious now. “Did the teacher demonstrate take-downs and stuff on you?”

“She did, but. Really slowly,” Tanuma replies, and it’s as though the warmth of Natsume’s and Taki’s shoulders pressed up against his has started, though incrementally, to seep into his voice, his eyes. “And I never really got the hang of doing any of it back to her. I’m surprised that worked, earlier.”

Precisely none of this explanation seems to have made Satoru look any less starstruck. Atsushi has to hold back his snort. “You should totally pick it up again,” Satoru’s saying now, around a mouth full of the lemon ice pop Natsume had fished out of the shopping bag for him. “What color belt did you get up to?”

“Um.”

Just that half-second’s hesitation is long enough to put a loaded look into Natsume’s eyes, for him to slot their fingers together properly and squeeze.

Tanuma lets out a breath, and there’s something years-old and lonely clinging to the edges of his smile. Atsushi doubts he’s aware of it. “None.” He shrugs. “I didn’t pass the one exam I took. I got pneumonia that year and had to quit after that, so.”

He looks faintly embarrassed, now, and Satoru opens his mouth as though ready to nip that right in the bud, but Taki beats him to it.

“Tanuma,” she says, solemnly, turning around to face him. “You have got to teach me how you did that.”

***

By the time the polite-yet-firm call arrives from the front desk, indicating a noise complaint from their neighbors in the next room and forcing them all to call it a night, things are better.

By then, Tanuma had been goaded into demonstrating some unwieldy modified version the maneuver behind his earlier takedown, executed on a poor unsuspecting hotel pillow because the entire room had immediately nixed Satoru’s offer to be the human test dummy.

Now, Satoru and Taki are a boneless, lightly snoring tangle of limbs on the far bed, one of Satoru’s arms thrown over Natsume’s whale shark plushie. (A surprise gift from all of them, Taki’s idea, after they’d caught him eyeing it more than once in the aquarium gift shop yesterday. If he’d walked out of the aquarium clutching it to his chest just like he might’ve done with his fat cat, currently hundreds of kilometers away, none of them said a word about it.)

Natsume himself is dozing in the other bed, but he lies facing Satoru—and Satoru’s fine, he’s unharmed and happy and completely safe, he is. But for some reason the longer the night’s worn on, Atsushi’s had to remind himself of these facts more, not less. He knows the dark cast to Satoru’s slack wrist is the lamplight-shadow of his sweatshirt sleeve, knows because he checked.

Still.

Tanuma’s in the bath, now. And he seems, well. Better than he was, certainly. But Atsushi had seen the taut-lipped glances he’d stolen at Satoru, and he looks about the same way Atsushi feels. At least the unwelcome scenarios and possibilities unspooling in his own mind have got to be more vague than whatever Tanuma’s imagination was serving up. Tanuma had seen it. Had stopped it.

Let Satoru wave it off, insist ‘til he’s blue in the face that it was fine, all fine, that he hadn’t been in any real danger. If it would put his friends at ease, he’d have said the same with a smile on his face even if he’d just been robbed at knifepoint.

Atsushi really needs to stop thinking about this.

He’d heard Natsume earlier, voice whisper-gentle through the bathroom door after he’d led Tanuma in by the hand behind him. Satoru and Taki had drifted off by then. Atsushi couldn’t make out the words, and heard nothing at all from Tanuma, aside from a few isolated, stuttering breaths. Tanuma had re-emerged dazed, red-eyed, but calmer than Atsushi had seen him all evening.

When the door opens now, Tanuma steps out in a halo of steam, wet-haired and barefoot in an old t-shirt. Atsushi’s on his feet and halfway across the room before he’s even really aware of it, the change of clothes for his own bath forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Tanuma goes still, when Atsushi pulls him close. Atsushi almost lets go, but then he feels the tentative hands come up to rest on his back.

“Thank you,” Atsushi mutters into his shoulder.

“I—“

“No. Listen.” Atsushi pulls back, hands shifting to rest on his upper arms. And god but Tanuma looks exhausted. “You kept him safe,” Atsushi says. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t, because you did. Thank you.”

Tanuma opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. He says nothing for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, “…sorry for freaking out.” He smiles as he says it, but his voice snags on the words. He swallows again.

“Hey.” Atsushi waits until Tanuma’s now-dropped gaze returns to him. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for that, okay? Not with us.”

A sound like an inhale, somehow sharp and shaky all at once, and then it’s Tanuma that’s pulling them together again. A steadying breath, in-out-in that ruffles Atsushi’s hair. Stillness.

“Okay,” he whispers.

***

If he does go to jail, it's Natori who'll have to bail him out :)

Sensei didn't come along because I like to think Hiiragi, Sasago and Urihime have been taking turns watching over Natsume, which is more than sufficient, except for when it's *not* Natsume himself who's getting into trouble--

Fun fact, according to the most current iteration of canon, Tanuma's taken judo in the past as well as karate, but the bulk of this was written before that chapter came out.

All credit to taizi for the nice hug idea--

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Oh, that bit about Karl’s powers and XD’s company at the beginning of the overwatch timeline made the karlnapity brain go brrrrrrr, bro!! Very long post ahead!!!! And I know the chatfic is coming soon, and I totally understand if you wanna reserve the blog’s attention for that once it comes out because I am also extremely excited for it, so publish this whenever you want!! Also good luck with the title and summary!!

So like, it’s a few years after Overwatch fell, and Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl are more or less content! They feel for Sam and the other original members, they do, but Overwatch and the omnics honestly weren’t a very big part of their world. They all made it through the omnic crisis just fine, and now they’re just going about their lives in the relative peacetime. They’re even engaged, vague plans of a marriage someday cobbling together bit by bit, but they’re in no rush. They’re happy!

And then Karl finds out about this interesting experiment that’s looking into real, live, actual time travel. Like!! Karl was psyched enough when space travel started getting big again; he knows just about everything there is to know about Horizon One for someone who’s never been there. If time travel turns out to be real? Karl wants in, and he wants in now.

Sapnap and Quackity are half-convinced it’s a scam or a gimmick or something. Sure, they personally knew what amounted to a superhero team a few years ago, but there’s a difference between a small group of skilled fighters and literal time travel. Especially since it’s an XD-sponsored endeavor, Quackity is certain there’s some catch. If nothing else, it’s probably a way to waste a lot of people’s time and money to get XD some good press again.

But Karl is so excited to check it out, neither of them want to try particularly hard to shut him down. They decide they’ll keep an eye on it, obviously, just in case, but they wish Karl good luck and a good time. So he heads out with high hopes and a little suitcase, promising to call every night and to see them soon.

And for the first few days, it goes great! Karl does call them every day and talks for at least an hour about everything he’s learning about this theoretical time travel and how it’ll work: a ship called the Slipstream, which is supposed to use teleportation technology to travel between places in negative time, thus creating functional time travel. Sapnap and Quackity reserve their doubts, but Karl’s having the time of his life either way, and they’re glad to hear him so happy. Especially when he tells them that he gets to get in the ship and take it on a test flight tomorrow - not to try out the time travel yet, but just to make sure he knows how to fly it. Karl gets to fly a ship!! He’s gonna be an actual pilot!! He’s so excited!!!

Karl hangs up that night, clearly over the moon, and Sapnap and Quackity resolve themselves happily to at least four hours on the phone tomorrow night, hearing all about the flight and how it went and what Karl is looking forward to.

And the next night, the hour comes, and Sapnap and Quackity settle on the couch with snacks and drinks, ready for a good long listening session. They wait for the phone to ring. And wait. And wait.

After an hour, they reason that maybe the test flight took longer than expected. Maybe Karl is tired out from flying it. Maybe Karl got distracted. Maybe he forgot to charge his phone. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Either way, it’s not like they had agreed that he’d call at this specific time. So there’s no need to worry. They’re not worried.

Another hour passes. And then another, and another, and soon midnight finds Sapnap and Quackity, sitting in the kitchen with mugs of tea long since cooled, watching a phone that won’t ring. Looking up the experiment or the Slipstream doesn’t bring up any bad news, which sets them both a bit at ease; no news is good news, right? At least for now?

Uneasily, they decide to go to bed. Karl will have to have called or at least texted by morning, surely. And if not, they’ll call him, and then they’ll call the number they were given for questions about the experiment. There’s no reason to worry.

Despite having no reason to worry, when morning comes without word from Karl, Sapnap and Quackity worry. When they call Karl, it goes straight to voicemail. When they call the number for the experiment, it’s disconnected. When they look up the experiment and the Slipstream and XD in general, they notice what they hadn’t last night: not only is there no news, there’s no mention of the experiment. The website Karl had learned about the experiment from is gone. XD’s website makes no mention of time travel. Even with all of Quackity’s investigative power, as far as the world wide web is concerned, there has never been a ship or shuttle with the name Slipstream.

It’s like the whole project never existed at all, and Karl Jacobs along with it.

Thus begins Sapnap and Quackity’s investigation. They call anyone who will listen, telling them that Karl is missing and it’s almost certainly the fault of XD and his company and please please please help them find out what happened. They become the most annoying thorn in XD’s side in months, calling every division in every company several times over, demanding answers. At one point, they’re discreetly contacted and offered hush money if they just drop it, and Sapnap has never screamed so loud in his life as when he told them exactly what they could do with that money. Quackity immediately tries to follow up, tracing the offer to gather proof that something must have happened if they’re trying to cover it up, and only runs into a brick wall. XD is infuriatingly good at covering his tracks.

What finally marks the turning point in their investigation is XD’s most common underestimation: common human decency between strangers. Quackity and Sapnap are anonymously contacted by someone who was working in the experiment’s division and heard about their search, someone who has access to Slipstream plans and blueprints. Through them, Quackity and Sapnap learn that Karl vanished because he was pressured into activating the time travel function on his test flight, despite the fact that it wasn’t ready yet. They’re also given early blueprints for the Slipstream, which include some of the plans for the time travel mechanism.

It’s this mechanism that Sam is able to study and rework and reverse engineer, eventually leading to the development of the chronal accelerator, which should, in theory, bring Karl back.

And it had been a rough time for Quackity and Sapnap, spending nearly all of their free time trying to gather resources and to find the truth and then to help Sam however he needed. They’ve undergone their respective breakdowns, supporting each other through them: Sapnap kept Quackity from burying himself too deeply in his work and his research, getting him to sleep and eat regularly. In turn, Quackity made sure he was available for Sapnap to talk and vent to, redirecting his steadily burning fury to constructive outlets. They’ve settled into an uneasy but manageable rhythm of getting through the days, haunted though they are by the uncertainty of where Karl is and when (if) they’ll see him again. And with the invention of the chronal accelerator, they’re both struggling with just how much hope they can afford. If this doesn’t work - if they get so close to finally getting Karl back, only to fail… it’s not something they want to think about.

So when Sam calls them down to his workshop, saying that he thinks he has a working model to recover their fiance, they arrive hand-in-hand, Quackity guarded, Sapnap cautiously optimistic. They gather around the workbench, surrounding Sam’s invention, a mechanical-looking harness with a glowing, green-and-purple spiral at its heart. Sam looks to them, hovering one hand over the activation switch, waiting for their signal.

They share a glance. Sapnap squeezes Quackity’s hand, steady and secure. No matter what, it promises. No matter what, I’ll still be here. I’m with you.

They both nod to Sam, and he flips the switch.

The harness hums and crackles to life, its spiral glowing brighter and starting to spin. Sam stands at the ready, watching six different monitors to ensure nothing goes wrong. Sapnap and Quackity lean on each other, nearly holding their breath, eyes glued to the accelerator.

Slowly, a figure fizzles into existence. Half-transparent, arms curled close to their chest, they glance around the room, looking lost and unsure, until they meet eyes with Sapnap and Quackity. Then their eyes go wide, one hand rising to their mouth, hanging open in shock.

Sapnap? says the ghost of Karl Jacobs. Quackity?

And in the next second, the ghost comes back to life, lungs filling with air, color rushing to his cheeks, solidity returning to his form. And Karl gasps, coughs, leans forward with one hand clapped over the accelerator, and his gaze doesn’t leave his fiances for a second. He extends one shaking arm, reaching for his fiances with an open hand. The tension shatters.

Sapnap closes the distance in half a second, Quackity barely a breath behind. The fiances collapse against the table as the two of them all but tackle Karl. Because Karl is real, Karl is alive, Karl is here in front of them. The lingering doubts that have dogged their footsteps vanish. The fear in their hearts that three engagement rings would become two wedding rings dissolves. The aching absence they’ve felt between them for months melts away in tears and sobs and bone-crushing hugs, the three of them relishing the hard-regained closeness, pressing together as the weight of the world lifts from all of their shoulders.

They’re together again.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: Little Damerons

Series Masterlist

Plot: Poe and Y/n take a trip for Poe’s birthday.

Warnings: extreme fluff, so much fluff, chocolate dipped cotton candy with sprinkles kind of fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Life has been kicking my ass these past few weeks so writing has been on the back burner. It’s still insane but I found time to finish this one. It felt like the series deserved a nice piece of fluff consider it’s so intense 😂 Please forgive any typos, I’m lazy and tired and my brain is basically mush right now...

————

The first sound I heard upon waking up made me smile before I’d even opened my eyes. Bee’s beeps and squeals were moving around the room at a frantic pace.

“Thank you, Bee,” I groaned, “I got it from here.”

As it was every morning, Poe’s arms were locked tightly around my waist. It was of great difficulty turning myself around so I could face him. He hadn’t moved a muscle through Bee’s wake-up call and didn’t show any sign of changing that. I rolled over onto his torso and finally got a groggy moan out of him.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” I greeted him in a singsong tone, propping my chin up on his chest.

Poe rubbed a hand over his face and opened his bleary eyes, focusing them on me. “What if the birthday boy wanted to sleep?”

“As willing as I am to grant any and all wishes today, that one is a no-go,” I replied sweetly, tapping him on the nose lightly, “We’ve gotta haul ass if we’re going to make the most of a rare day off.”

I began to roll towards the edge of the bed but was apprehended. Poe pulled me back into his arms and maneuvered me to straddle him in one smooth motion. His hands found their way up his shirt I was wearing and rubbed circles into my back, sending a shiver through my body.

“I’ve actually got other plans for our asses at the moment,” he said, his gruff morning voice and suggestively raised brow making it nearly impossible to deny him, “Ten minutes tops.”

“You and I both know neither of us does ‘ten minutes tops’, Dameron,” I said, trying my best to ignore his hands wandering south and failing as a soft moan escaped me. “But I did say I was granting wishes today.”

Poe lazily smiled up at me as I slid my hands up his smooth chest and lowered my lips to his. He took me by surprise and flipped me over so I was trapped underneath him, the two us laughing into the kisses that followed…

————

A significant amount of time more than ten minutes later, Poe and I were far from Ajan Kloss in the cockpit of his new X-Wing. Ever since we’d planned where to spend his birthday, I’d been dreading the destination we were fast approaching. But there was no chance of me ruining the day with ghosts from the past.

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Poe reported as he performed the action, bringing us face to face with the planet. A shiver of panic ran through me as my blood ran cold. The blue waters only reminded me of blue blades clashing in a fit of desperation and rage. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah,” I said firmly, trying to feel as confidant as I sounded, “I’ll be fine, there’s no way I’d miss this.”

Poe hummed in disbelief but kept us on course, steering us towards a greener portion of the menacing planet. I tried to center myself, I wanted to be fully in the moment for the day. It was too important to Poe and I’d been looking forward to it ever since we’d started dating. Anxiety ran through me again as we flew above the greenery, memories of wandering aimlessly above trees flooding my mind. As we got closer to our destination though, my stress began to lessen as the excitement set in.

Eventually, we were landing in a large clearing of land near a small house. I was the first to pop out of the cockpit and make it down the ladder with Poe following close behind. Our feet had barely touched the ground before a figure emerged out the front door of the house and made a gentle sprint towards us. Poe left my side to jog over to meet him, the two of them embracing upon collision and laughing joyfully. I watched from a distance, beaming as I watched the reunion between father and son.

Poe kept an arm on Kes as he gestured for me to come join them, “Dad, this is Y/n.”

Kes Dameron was, I had a feeling, the spitting image of Poe in thirty years. They could have passed for brothers with a significant age difference. As soon as I made it over, I was pulled into a warm hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to finally meet you, Y/n,” he said over my shoulder, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You as well,” I returned as we pulled back to get a look at each other, “Poe’s told me such wonderful things about you.”

“However many times he’s brought me up, I can promise you,” Kes said, his eyes flicking to his son briefly, “It’s nothing close to the number of times I’ve heard about the captivating Y/n Solo.”

I smirked and turned around to face a very pink cheeked Poe, “Captivating, huh?”

He stammered, “I mean, I may have used it once…”

Kes’ chest rumbled with laughter as he patted my back, “Come inside and I promise to embarrass him some more.”

He pulled me under one arm and his son under the other and we made our way into the Dameron homestead. It seemed that I stood to finally leave Yavin 4 with some pleasant memories…

————

We’d spent our day catching Kes up on our lives, it had been a while since Poe had last visited so there was a lot to fill him in on. The former comrade of my family gave me his sincerest condolences over the losses of Dad and Uncle Luke. It was so strange to think of my family and Poe’s having known each other, like there’d been a decades old string connecting the two of us together. Kes regaled us with stories from his days as a soldier and we told him a few of ours. I shared more than Poe, it was clear he didn’t want to worry his father too much with his particular brand of reckless. Kes eventually caught the lightsaber hooked to my belt and asked about my training. 

“Before you leave, you have to go out to the backyard,” he said, “Your uncle gifted us with a Force after the war, someone like you needs to experience it.”

Once the skies darkened and we sat around the dinner table, Kes made good on his promise to embarrass my loving boyfriend.

“So Shara and I come running into the backyard and there he is,” Kes slapped his son’s shoulder, “Cockpit closed, lifting the damn ship into the air!”

I had my napkin covering my mouth as I laughed uncontrollably, the image of Poe as a child giving his parents a heart attack was completely believable. “Had he ever been up before?”

“Only with Shara and she never let him touch the controls,” Kes replied with a laugh, “He’d watched her enough times to know how to get it off the ground.”

Poe was a sport about each story from his early years, defending himself occasionally, though very few of them left him with an opportunity to do so. He’d been just as much trouble as a kid as he was now.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” I chuckled, “My dad never let me touch a thing on the Falcon until I was thirteen. And I didn’t fly her on my own for much longer.”

“Keep up, Solo,” Poe teased from across the table, “Some of us are doers.”

I smiled and shook my head at him, “I think you broke enough rules for the both of us in your younger days.”

“You calling me old?” Poe asked with a palm thrown over his heart in mock pain.

“Are you calling thirty three young?” I quipped back, swirling my wine in its glass, “I saw a couple gray hairs the other morning I didn’t tell you about.”

Poe’s cocky expression faltered briefly as his eyes widened before returning to normal, “You’re lying.”

Kes and I caught each other’s eye and shared a sly smile, both choosing to take a sip of our alcohol and leave Poe in suspicion. His confident exterior was broken by the tentative hand that ran through his jet black curls.

I’d convinced the two Dameron men to let me clean up after dinner so that they could spend some uninterrupted time together. They didn’t get to talk as much as either of them wished, that was a reality of war. Some went months without speaking to their loved ones. I felt unbelievably lucky that my mother was only a few minutes away at any given time of the day.

As I’d finished, Kes and Poe entered the kitchen. Seeing them side by side, it truly was astonishing how similar they looked.

“I think I’m going to head to bed and let you two have some time to yourself,” Kes announced, patting Poe on the back before making his way over to me, “I’ll be up early tomorrow so I can see you off.”

He wrapped me in a fatherly hug and I sunk into it, I couldn’t remember someone as quick to welcome me into their life as Kes Dameron. In a single day he had practically initiated me into the family as one of his own. Though nothing could ever replace the holes left by the fathers I’d lost, it was comforting to be around a dad again.

We bid our goodnights and with Bee charging in our room, it was just Poe and I left. He slung an arm around my neck and I laced my fingers with his as we walked back to the living room.

“So have you had a good birthday?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Poe laughed under his breath, “Are you kidding? This whole day has been perfect. And Dad loves you…”

“I love him,” I replied as we made our way to the sofa, “But I feel bad for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Judging from his stories, the poor man has spent every day worrying about you since you were in diapers,” I answered as Poe fell back on the couch, keeping our hands locked.

“Every parent worries,” Poe stated plainly, “Are you saying you never worried Leia and your dad as a kid?”

“I didn’t pull half the shit that you did,” I chuckled, “I hope that particular Dameron gene doesn’t carry over to our kids.”

As soon as the words had left me, I wished I could have retracted them. Poe’s eyes eyebrows lifted in surprise as he gripped my hand. “Our whats?”

“Our…nothings,” I scrambled for a sufficient denial, “I said nothing.”

“No, you said-“

“No I didn’t,” I faked a yawn and attempted to pull my hand away, “It’s late and we have to leave early so we should get to bed.”

Poe tugged me by the hand so that I had no choice but to land next to him on the couch, “Oh no, I want to hear about these kids we’re having.” 

My cheeks felt red hot to the touch as I rubbed my free hand over them and groaned. While I’d thought of mine and Poe’s future in daydreams, we’d never actually talked about it. Why should we? We’d only been together for five months. Even if we’d practically been a couple before that, it felt like a conversation for further down the line.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Poe pulled me closer and wrapped an arm around me, I settled against his chest and prayed that he let the subject go. “Well, if it’s nothing then it shouldn’t be so hard to talk about.”

“I just think about what our lives might look like after the war sometimes,” I explained timidly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sweater I wore, “We could retire somewhere like here, build a house…”

“Sounds nice," Poe said, “We’re married in this scenario, right?”

I looked up at him and caught the mischievous gleam in his eye, “I don’t know, are we?”

Poe shut his eyes and nodded, “Oh, definitely.”

“Alright,” I smiled, trying to hide my glee at the thought, “We’re married, living in our house on a planet we’ll decide on later and the war is over.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, rubbing his thumb back and forth against my shoulder, “And our army of kids are wrecking all sorts of havoc in the backyard.”

My body shot up at his words and I stared down at him, “Who said anything about an army?”

“I think we should have at least ten,” Poe answered so straight faced that I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, “We could totally handle it.”

“Says the man who’s job in the child making process takes ten minutes. Who do you think’s giving birth to these ten children?” I shrieked, sending him clutching his chest and into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, fine,” he finally said after regaining his composure, “Ten’s not the magic number. But can we agree that it’s higher than two?”

I grabbed the two fingers he was holding up and settled back against his chest, “Agreed.”

“So we have an undetermined number of kids waving around lightsabers and trying to fly their old man’s X-Wing.”

“No,” I strongly objected, “No lightsabers or piloting till they’re old enough.”

“C’mon, we both know that at least one of them is going to be a Jedi considering your family. Might as well start them young.”

Of course there was no guarantee but it was safe to assume that yes, at least one of our kids would probably be Force sensitive. “Well, I hope at least one of them takes after you. I don’t think I could handle more than one little Padawan running around using the Force to throw things at their sibling’s heads.”

Poe snorted, “Knowing us, they’ll be a handful. But they’ll be great.”

“Damn right they will,” I agreed, rubbing a hand over Poe’s chest as I tried to conjure up an image of our children in my mind, “They’ll probably have your hair.”

“And your y/e/c eyes.”

“They’ll run their mouths like you.”

“But be the first to protect their family like you.”

“They’ll be reckless.”

“They’ll be stubborn,” Poe stated before inhaling deeply, “The galaxy better watch out, the Solo-Dameron-Organa-Kenobi kids will be unstoppable.”

“Okay, we’re definitely gonna have to drop a few names,” I made note of.

“I disagree, I think it conveys strength,” Poe objected, stroking a hand up and down my arm, “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

I hummed for him to continue, “How come you don’t add Kenobi to your name?”

We’d had so many conversations about my fateful visit to Ahch-To, but my family’s name was a sore spot that I hadn’t talked to him about yet. I had no way of finding out my father’s last name or if my grandmother had given my mother her last name of Kryze. Kenobi was the only name I could claim. “I thought about it but it’s not safe,” I answered quietly, “If it got out that I was the granddaughter of Obi-Wan, everyone in the galaxy would be after me even more than they already are. Believe me, I wish I could but it’s not realistic.” 


Poe squeezed me tighter on hearing my explanation, not saying a word because there was really nothing to say. Neither of us could change the fact that I was a wanted woman. Nevertheless, it killed a part of me to not be able to take pride in bearing both of my family’s names.

“So I’m guessing you’ve thought about our future too considering how many details you’ve been providing?” I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood of the conversation.

“Maybe once in a while…” he teased, “On long fights back to base or sometimes before falling asleep at night. It gives me something extra to fight for on the tough days.”

I traced the sharp outline of his jaw as I watched him speak. The thought of Poe flying his X-Wing with one of our kids on his lap or me teaching one of them how to levitate objects made my heart beat fast in excitement. But for every dream I had, there was an equal amount of doubt. I knew that the reality of our lives were that even after the war, we’d probably never have a peaceful existence. And if I shifted the focus to myself, I held my own fears about raising children.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even a good idea though…” I admitted, lowering my gaze, “I’ve never had any sense of normalcy in my life, I doubt I’d know how to provide it for our kids.”

“Normal is overrated, and are you kidding me? You’d be the best mom in the galaxy,” Poe said, pecking my hair softly before stroking his hand over it, “We’ll make all of it happen, might take a while but the Damerons will have their day.”

“The Damerons…” I repeated back to him, a smile spreading across my face, “I like that.”

We laid there in the quiet a while longer, soaking in the peaceful silence before our lives descended back into chaos. The one day leave for Poe’s birthday had been a gift to both of us, a 24 hour oasis in the midst of the raging storm we were caught in. We spent our days strategizing, fighting in the skies and undergoing intense training. But here we could just be…soft. We could be what we would’ve been had there been no war. I fell asleep that night on Poe’s chest, dreaming of a free galaxy and curly haired children chasing playing with BB-8 as Poe and I watched.

————

Kes hadn’t exaggerated, the Force tree my uncle had gifted him and Shara was extraordinary. I didn’t even have to try to feel connected to the Force, the second I’d stepped foot in the backyard it had overwhelmed me. There wasn’t enough time for me to properly meditate underneath it, but I still used the little time I had left to center myself. I could feel the Force flowing through every part of me, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

“I’m glad you got to see it,” Kes’ voice called from behind me, “It’s something special.”

“Sure is,” I agreed, opening my eyes but still unable to turn away from it, “Is Poe done checking the ship?”

Kes came to stand next to me, admiring the tree too, “Almost, he sent me to come get you but you take all the time you want.”

“I wish I could,” I smiled sadly, finally turning to face the man, “But we can’t be late getting back to base. There���s so much going on, we’re lucky we got a full day off. Well, I don’t need to explain wartime to you…”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about. I saw my share of action during the Rebellion…” Kes paused, staring off into the distance as he relived a decades old memory. He snapped back after a few seconds, shaking his head and returning his gaze to me, “Well, I’m just glad I got to see the two of you for however long I could. I worry about both of you.”

“You worry about me?” I asked with a quirk of my lips.

Kes’ expression shifted further into its somberness, “Of course I do. I know how dangerous war is but I also know how dangerous it is to be in love during war. There wasn’t a day during the Rebellion where I wasn’t worried about losing Shara. I know both of you know that feeling well.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. The thought of something happening to Poe was quick to make me emotional.


“I’ve lost the love of my life, the last thing I want is for either of you to have to go through that. The two of you…You’ve got something very few people are lucky enough to find. Something that deserves to live on long after this war is over.”

There didn’t seem to be a right thing to say in response. Poe and I’s worry for one another never waned, it was like a constant white noise in both our minds. There was no guarantee of seeing the next day during war. It was a reality we lived with every day whether tucked away in base or on mission off world. How many couples were casualties of war? Too many to count, my parents having been one of them. But the belief that Poe and I wouldn’t lose each other was something I clung to each day. The future we both fought for was one where we didn’t have to worry about losing one another.

“It’s a constant fear, losing him,” I mused as I stared out at the clear sky, watching the rising sun, “But I don’t regret being with him, not for a second. He’s worth all of it.”

“I know he feels the same way,” Kes smiled softly and patted my arm, “From what Poe has told me, you’ve pulled your share of stunts.”

I swiveled back to face Kes and raised a finger, “If he’s talking about what happened above Batuu, I’d like to play up the fact that I took out eight TIE’s singlehandedly.”

The former rebel soldier cocked an eyebrow, “Impressive, but no…He told me about Crait.”

“Crait…” I sighed, finding the ground much more interesting to look at.

“Even before he told me I’d heard about it. You were the talk of the city and I imagine everywhere else.”

“Yeah, apparently news travels fast…”

Crait seemed like a lifetime ago. It was no longer the actual fight between Ren and I that bothered me, though I’d admit to still questioning why he hadn’t killed me occasionally. It was the legend status I’d achieved without trying to. The over exaggerated tale of my heroics had spread across the galaxy quicker than I knew what to do with. Not only was I one of, if not the, most wanted woman in the galaxy but even the Resistance had begun treating me differently. Seemingly everyone except my mother and friends treated me as if I was some deity. I was glad no one else knew about my being a Kenobi or the attention would become too much to handle.

“I hope you’ll see that more as a symbol of what I’m willing to do for the cause rather than my personality. What I’m willing to do to protect the people I love,” I said, staring at him with all the conviction in the world, “That includes Poe.”

“I know, and that dedication is what makes the Resistance, and Poe, lucky to have someone like you.”

I could hear Bee’s squeals, only making out my name and knowing that we needed to head out. Kes and I turned to each other regretfully before he put an arm around my shoulders and we began to make our way out of the backyard. I turned my head to get one more look at the Force tree and silently promised myself that the next time I came, I’d spend a proper amount of time underneath it.

Poe was beginning to load Bee into the X-Wing when Kes and I rounded the corner of the house. Even though we were headed back to base where as soon as we landed we’d be thrown back into our responsibilities, he still looked relaxed. He hadn’t put on his commander’s hat yet and was simply Poe Dameron at home with the people he loved. He reminded me of the day I’d gotten back from my last stay with Dad, when we’d flown back from the transport station. We’d both been so carefree and at ease and I’d wished then what I was wishing now…for the war to be over.

“Any more Poe stories you want to send me off with?” I jokingly asked Kes, we were still far enough away that Poe wouldn’t hear me.

“There was one I wanted you to hear, he’d never forgive me if I told him but…” Kes chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, bringing our walk to a halt. “It was the day he arrived at the Resistance base. We’d talked after Leia recruited him about how excited he was about having command of his own fighting wing, meeting the other pilots…Pretty much everything he spoke about had something to do with an X-Wing. That night he called me and you could’ve paid him any amount of credits to talk about anything flying related and he wouldn’t have cared. The first thing he said to me after ‘Yeah, everything’s fine’ was ‘I’m pretty sure I met my future wife today.’ And for the rest of the call, not one mention of any ship. Just about this girl who had shown him around base and ate dinner with him and who he tried to be extra funny around just to make her smile. I made sure to make note of what he was saying so once I finally got to meet this Y/n he spoke so highly of, I could tell her that there hasn’t been one day that boy’s known you where he hasn’t been in love with you.”

My grin was practically idiotic by the time he’d finished telling his story. Poe had only mentioned that he’d fallen for me the first day we’d met and he’d never mentioned anything about telling Kes about me. I gazed over at Poe, standing atop the ladder next to his ship and my heart swelled. Just as it did when he returned home from a mission and we’d embrace outside of his ship. Or when we’d climb into bed together at the end of a long day and his arms would instinctively wrap around me. Or when I’d work late nights in the command center and he’d send Bee in with a sweet note stuck to the droid’s body. I didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love with him, but every day he showed me it was. He spotted us and waved me and his dad over. After a tearful goodbye with Kes, Poe and I were on our way back to base.

When we were in hyperspace, I tilted my head to press a kiss to the side of Poe’s mouth. He smiled at me, “What was that for?”

“I just love you,” I shrugged.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I love you too,” he replied, taking my chin between two of his fingers and locking our lips together.

————

A/N: I’ve been getting notifications every few days that people have been liking chapters which causes me to skim over some of them. I really can’t believe I started this series back in May as a way of coping with quarantine boredom and here we are six months later and I can see the end in the distance. I’m so glad that you guys enjoy it and it can distract you from the nightmare that is this year for just a few minutes. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one! Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers!! 🦃🦃🦃

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[exodusmc]

“Please stop moving so much..”

Genre: Smut(not too explicit)

Words: 1963

Paring: Sehun  x   Reader

Warning!: Mentions of horror movies and scens(nothing major), public dry humping, very light pet naming and dirty talk, swearing, 

a/n: This one was requested :)

Gif is not mine 

“Come on Y/n!”Chanyeol’s voice was loud over the phone and had always been, ever since you met a few months ago. 

He was in one of your classes and he laughed the loudest out of everyone but he was a good guy, it wasn't hard to get to know him when you had a group project. You two clicked and he was like a brother to you, annoying and nice. Happy virus Chanyeol who moved a little too quick, figurative and literally. You can't count on one hand how many times you seen him trip over air, but he also thought it was a good idea to introduce you to all his friends when you’d known him for about three weeks. 

It had been Sehun first, his roommate, a boy built like a skysharpe with wide shoulders and the deepest eyes you had seen. He was your age and the youngest out of them all. Maybe you had a teeny tiny crush on him, a crush you blamed on his god like features. 

“I promise they want you to come and you have already met everyone, so I don't see why you are hesitant!”Chanyeol and his friends had a movie night every Sunday and he had begged you to come for the last two times, the only times you actually were glad you had work. 

“I know, I know…”biting your lip, you knew you couldn't lie to him or he would send you the biggest puppy eyes and whine for about a month.”Fine, I’ll come..But who is picking the movie?”

“Yes!”you couldn't help at smile at his excitement, a dreading feeling creeping over your spine.”Jongin is...so expect a horror movie, by now!”

Just great..

-

Arriving at his apartment, you wondered if you overdressed or if you stank or if you had something between your teeth or if you should have brought something or if-

The door opened and your thoughts stopped, nothing was in your head, not even a cricket. Just empty..

“Oh, hi..”Sehun stood in the door, his hair pitch black and nothing like the orange you remember seeing on him when you first met him over four months ago.  

Back then had it been short and colored like an orange but now was it long, so long that it fell down to his eyes, and black, so very black.

He moved from the doorway, showing you that you could come in and damn were you feeling your face slowly burning off. You had stared at him for far too long, ogled at the perfection of his face. 

“A-ah, hello to you too..”taking of your shoes you wondered if your horrible gut feeling was telling you to run away or if you were just ill.”I like your hair..”

“Thanks..”Sehun smiled slightly, a twitch on his right upper lip which told you that he was not so comfortable.”I like your li-..hairpin..”

You couldn't marvel too long at what he was about to say since the thundering steppes of Chanyeol shook the ground and you.

“Y/n! You made it!” Sehun was pushed to the side as Chanyeol whisked you away the second your shoes landed on the floor.”See, I told you she would come!”

Waving slightly, you stared back at everyone, mouth feeling way too dry. This friend group had always made you a little confused since it doesn't seem likely that half of them would actually be friends but you guessed that was what made them so close.

“Yes yes, we see now come sit down so we can start the movie!”Jongin grinned to you, like he always did  but you thought you saw something else, a glimpse of mischief that made you sweat. Something was going on,  something everyone else knew.”Hurry hurry.”

The lights were already off but as you glanced around the room did you realize there was a small problem, a tiny problem that weren't actually a problem but still. 

All the seats were occupied, Chanyeol literally squeezed himself between Jongdae and Baekhyun on the sofa, while Kyungsoo and Jongin shared the slightly smaller one. Junmyeon, Minseok and Yixing sat on the floor, while Sehun occupied the last chair.

You had nowhere to sit, all the floor spaces were taken if one wanted to see the Tv. Panic spread through your system and you scolded yourself for not listening to your gut. 

“You can sit with Sehun..”Chanyeol smiled, rolling his eyes after.”He always takes the chair so everyone else has to sit on the floor..”

“I don't!” the younger whined, glancing at you for a second. He doesn't want to share the chair with you...You should have stayed home. 

“Just go sit down Y/n so we can start!”Jongin once again usered everyone to settle down, so with defeat were you making you way to Sehun.

The sofa chair may be big but it wasn't big enough for two people and you contemplated running away when you locked eyes with Sehun. They were so dark but glowed due to the Tv and god had you just stared at his thighs as well. 

You tried smiling slightly, standing still until Chanyeol kicked you from the sofa so you fell right on Sehun. Everyone laughed loudly while you face was bruied against his chest, never feeling the hammering of his heart since yours were flying away. This is going to be a long night.

   The movie was playing and took away most of the tension with sitting on Sehun’s lap but you weren't sure if you liked looking at the screen. 

Jongin’s choice was the silence of the lambs and you hated horror movies, feeling like your soul could jump out your body any second. Everytime Hannibal spoke were you waiting for something to go awfully wrong. And suddenly was he just biting of a cops face, which had you, Chanyeol and Baekhyun screaming. 

You pushed yourself back, face turning until you could press your forehead towards Sehun’s neck, closing your eyes. Your breath fanned across his collarbones and you didn't know it but you had been squirming the whole time on his lap, so Sehun had a hard time concentrating on the film at all. Those fuckers knew exactly what they were doing, making you sit on his lap while they watched horror movies. 

“Are you okay?”Sehun sounded like he was in pain but you were sitting on his things so you guessed he had every right to be. 

“Y-yeah..”glancing up, you managed to get caught in those eyes again.”I’m fine thanks..”

He smiled for a second, gaze finding your lips. They looked too soft and tempting, alluring without you trying. 

   “I need water..”standing up on slightly shaking legs, you stumbled to the kitchen, trying to not think about the movie. 

It left Sehun glaring at each and everyone of his friends, frown pulling down his mouth. They knew about his crush since Chanyeol couldn't keep a secret for his life and still forced him through this situation. 

“Fuckers..”he muttered but his face brightened up when you came back, eyes slightly in a haze. Everything would be fine as long as you wouldn't feel the boner he had.

“Now it’s time for Annabelle!”your eyes widened, hands becoming clammy at the thought. You hated dolls with every fiber in your body and the wanted to watch a movie about them!

Sitting down on Sehun’s lap again, you didn't even want to face the Tv, shamelessly turning your body so you could easily hide. He was warm and the only thing you had in the moment. It’s going to be okay, the sentence repeated in your head over and over again as the film started, adrenaline racing through your system.

You didn't really know Jongin that well but  sure as hell would you beat him for making you watch these movies, softly muttering to yourself a promise of hurt, which was extremely cute to Sehun.

An hour in and you were sitting facing the Tv, eyes locked on the screen as the music became more and more ominous. You leaned forward as Mia’s hand reaches for the window and then you screamed, making Baekhyun and Chanyeol shriek as well. 

Your back pressed against Sehun but this time did he let out a groan and that’s when you felt it, the tent he had in his pants. Gasping, you tensed, forgetting the movie completely and drowning out the chatter of the others.

“P-please stop moving so much..”his whisper was strained in your ear, igniting fire through your body all the way to your core. Sehun’s hands came to rest on your hips, holding you but not sure in what way.”So-sorry..”

He muttered while you felt your cheeks heat up. Your mind wasn't paying attention to the film anymore but to the feeling of his jeans covered things, the fact that you wore thin pants didn't help at all. 

“It’s okay..”your voice was low and innocent, however, your thoughts muddled into differents scenarios which had you screaming in another way.

You actions weren't nice to him but your body had a mind of its own, ignoring all logic and how you were not alone. 

Moving your hips ever so lightly, you turned so you faced him, not looking in his eyes. This was it, you were too horny and didn't want to see Annabelle anymore. Leaning in, you placed your head between his neck and shoulder, legs on either side of his while your knees rested on the chair cushion. 

“I don't mind Sehun..”he swallowed hard, hearing the change in your voice, your lips ghosting over his pulse point.”I...I like it..”

It was like a switch flipped inside his head, fingers digging into your skin while he started to move you across his thighs. Sehun nudged his head so you had to look at his eyes, stare right into cloudy and fiery orbs. A mere inch was left between the two of you and you wanted to kiss him, push your lips against his skin but just sat there, grinding on his lap as your breath came out in pants. 

“Dirty dirty girl..”you tried to ignore the heat his voice spread through you, how the smirk dancing across his mouth made you want to jump him right then and there”Moving your hips so greedy over my thighs..Does it feel nice, hmm?”

Sehun forced you down harder and the denim rubbed against you aching pussy. The tv let out a scream in the exact second you moan softly, covering the sound so no one else heard, no on but Sehun. He was also greedy, greedy for the expression on your face, the pretty gasps from your lips. It was hard containing himself, surrounded by his unsuspecting friends. While you were on the brink of cumming did the end titles start playing and the lights turned on, giving Sehun the chance to see your burning face. Your body was tingling, desperate for release but you couldn't hid there anymore and  you didn't know if you could ask him to go home with you. Another smirk spread all over his face and even if it was late, would he not let you go. 

“I really hate when Jongin gets to choose the movies..”Chanyeol whine as everyone made their way out of the room. He sent a glance over his shoulder, seeing the two of you.”I have somethings I need to do with Kyungsoo so I’ll stay at his place. Night night.”

With that were you and Sehun alone, all alone.

“Now why don't we continue, baby?”

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze (18/25)

Previous __________

It was ten o clock on a Monday morning and Jaskier was still in bed.

He was in heaven.

He woke up naturally and peered at his phone, the numbers were blurry without his glasses but he could just about make it out. He smiled and hugged his phone to his chest before turning back over and pulling the covers over his head.

He fucking loved the school holidays.

He didn’t fall back asleep but his bed was just the perfect temperature and he wasn’t ready to get up yet. He could stay in bed all day if he wanted to, and the idea was incredibly tempting. His bliss only lasted another ten minutes before his bladder betrayed him. He sighed and felt around for his glasses before turning on the light. After he’d finished up in the bathroom, shower and all, he decided it was probably time for breakfast. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and his dressing gown before shuffling into the kitchen. After a few minutes of deliberation he decided that pancakes were on the menu.

He’d been tempted by waffles but his waffle iron tucked away in the back of a cupboard and he honestly couldn’t be bothered to find it. So pancakes it was. He knew the recipe off by heart so it didn’t take long to whip up some batter. He peered at the mixture once it was finished and then dived straight back into his cupboards. It was the holidays and he wanted chocolate chips. He’d earned chocolate chips, it had been a hell of a term.

His relationship with Geralt had been all over the place and he felt liked he’d just gotten off one of those crazy rollercoasters. Between the fire and their sort of break up and then that rather splendid hour wrapped up in Geralt’s arms.

Fuck.

It had been better than Jaskier had ever imagined. Unfortunately, in his post-sex daze he’d forgotten about the broken glass on the floor and Geralt had ended up having to pull shards of glass from his feet. The care with which the fireman had bandaged his feet had astounded him. For such a large man, Geralt was capable of being extremely gentle. Jaskier had been incredibly grateful that they’d already yelled out confessions of love, because the way Geralt had looked at him whilst he cleaned and bandaged the wounds and been all too much for his poor heart.

They’d promised to avoid each other until summer now which was just heartbreaking but Jaskier had said himself, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love Geralt. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve and he knew that anyone would take one look at them together and just know the truth of his feelings.

It hurt, but it was necessary. They knew it was necessary.

“Bollocks!” He yelled into the empty apartment.

It wasn’t fair.

Why did he never have any luck in long term relationships?

The smell of burning pancakes hit his nose. “Oh shit! Cock!” He pulled the pan off the hob but it was too late. The first pancake was burnt.

“Fuck’s sake.” He growled.

He snapped a photo of the burnt breakfast and sent it to Geralt

J —This is your fault xxx

He didn’t expected the fireman to reply straight away, if at all, after all they’d promised to stop talking to each other until summer.

And yet, before he’d even picked up the next spoonful of batter, his phone had buzzed.

G — How is that my fault?

Jaskier beamed.

J — I was too busy thinking about the other night. xxx

He sighed happily as he watched the batter in the pan carefully. It was slowly starting to bubble and Jaskier was getting ready with his spatula to flip the pancake when his phone buzzed again. He groaned and stared intently at the pan. He could not answer it. He could not look at it. He was cooking!

His phone buzzed again.

“Oh cock!” He quickly flipped the pancake and scrambled for his phone.

G — Sounds like a you problem.

— Sorry I didn’t put any kisses.

Jaskier laughed and began to type.

J — Save them for summer, dear heart. I’ll make an IOU. xxx

Geralt didn’t reply immediately this time which was excellent news for his pancakes. He finished up the rest of the pile and then pulled out a tub of cookies and cream ice-cream from his freezer. Once he was done, he held the plate up and took a selfie with his creation to send to Geralt.

J — I finished it! No thanks to you, darling! xxx

Jaskier ate his breakfast happily. He fucking loved the school holidays. After breakfast he could go back to bed and watch television or read a book or just have a nap! He ran a hand through his damp hair whilst he considered his options. Maybe he could ring Pris and see if they could have a composing session. They hadn’t been in the studio in a while and he was itching to get something recorded. He’d been composing like crazy over the last week. Apparently getting fucked by the love of your life really did wonders for your motivation.

The sugar was already beginning to kick in by the time he’d finished his breakfast and he was singing happily around the last few mouthfuls of pancake. He could barely contain the energy rush as his leg began to bounce under the table. He was halfway through the washing up, singing and dancing as he went, when his phone buzzed again.

He shook the bubbles from his hands and patted them dry on his dressing gown.

G — You wear glasses?

Jaskier was about to respond but Geralt was still typing and beat him to it.

— They suit you.

— A lot.

Jaskier grinned at Geralt’s flurry of messages, unbelievably he was still typing. He considered replying to put Geralt out of his misery but honestly he was enjoying this too much.

— Are you cooking naked?

— Fuck. Hang on.

Jaskier’s phone began to ring in his hands and he laughed as he answered. “Are you ok, darling?”

Geralt growled on the other end of the line.

“If I’d known you would react like this to my glasses I would have worn them months ago!” He giggled.

“It’s not just the glasses.” Geralt grumbled.

“Oh?”

“The dressing gown, your hair, your stupid face.” Geralt continued.

“My dressing gown?” Jaskier asked incredulously. His dressing gown was the fluffy cosy sort and probably one of the least sexy things in his wardrobe. “Oh and hang on! My stupid face?! I thought you liked my face!” He absolutely did not shriek.

“You look cute.” Geralt admitted quietly. “Like you’ve just woken up, all disheveled and soft.”

“I have just woken up.” Jaskier replied slowly not really understanding Geralt’s point.

He heard a long drawn out sigh on the other end of the line. “I wish I was there with you, waking up, making pancakes.”

“Are the pancakes before or after morning sex?” Jaskier teased as he hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter.

Geralt grumbled something unintelligible on the other end of the phone.

“What was that, dear heart?” Jaskier laughed, oh he was having far too much fun with this.

“I’m at work.” Geralt muttered. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Oh but darling, you make it too easy.” Jaskier giggled.

Geralt was silent whilst Jaskier got over his laughing fit.

“After.” He spoke softly, in a low husky voice that made Jaskier feel things.

“W-what?” He stammered.

“The pancakes, would be after.” Geralt practically purred in his ear and Jaskier almost fell of the kitchen counter.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined. “I thought you were at work.”

Geralt laughed. “You started it.”

“Yes, true but we can’t finish it!” He pouted.

“Ciri is away with Yen this week, girl’s trip.” Geralt answered casually.

Too casually.

Jaskier grinned. “Dinner at your place then?”

“If you’d like.”

“Oh dearest, I would love nothing more.” Jaskier sighed wistfully. “But weren’t we supposed to be waiting until summer?”

“Fuck summer.” Geralt said succinctly.

“Rather you fuck me.” Jaskier teased. “Or I could fuck you. I am not opposed to that.”

Geralt ignored him, which was just rude! But he supposed Geralt couldn’t exactly answer that one appropriately whilst at work. Jaskier did find the idea of the fireman getting all flustered at work rather titillating, as long as Geralt never decided to turn the tables on him. He worked with children after all.

“No one needs to know. There’s no one at my house, no one at yours either. It’s a week of freedom.” Geralt’s voice was quieter now, and Jaskier heard faint voices in the background.

“Forbidden love. How exciting!” He sang. “Let me know when you’re off work, and text me your address. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. “I really do love you, you know. I know it seems too soon and we have barely even started this relationship but I do, I love you.”

Geralt laughed quietly. “I know. You too. More than I should.” Geralt sighed. “I have to go.”

“I know.” Jaskier moaned. “But I’ll see you later, my dear.”

“Yeah. See you.”

The line went dead.

Jaskier let out a shaky breath. A whole week where he could see Geralt whenever they pleased, well when Geralt wasn’t at work at any rate. The added forbidden element of the whole affair only made it more exciting, some dark secret that only the two of them could know. He wondered when it had all gotten so out of control. When had he gone from harmlessly admiring Geralt’s god-like physique to orchestrating forbidden dates and stolen kisses whilst no one else was paying attention.

He remembered feeling floored at just the prospect of Geralt’s attention being on him.

But now that he had it.

To the gods he never wanted it to end.

_____________________________

Jaskier Pankratz was inside Geralt Rivia’s house.

And the world was not on fire. There were no demons reaching up from hell ready to drag him below to their fiery depths. Stregobor wasn’t lurking around the corner like a ghost ready to hang him from the battlements for his behaviour. Philippa Eilhart wasn’t looming over him with a clipboard in her hand ready to toss him aside like she had with the others.

He peered around the living room. There were framed pictures of Ciri and Roach pinned to the wall, next to ones of a couple holding a tiny baby. Ciri’s parent’s he supposed. He’d never seen a picture of them before. There were a few photos of Geralt’s colleagues at the pub. His heart ached when he saw the photos of Geralt and Yennefer.

Fuck they were a beautiful couple.

Yennefer’s stunning violet eyes against the natural tan of her skin and raven black hair was the opposite of Geralt and his silver hair, pale skin and warm amber eyes. Together they looked like something out of a fairy tale.

He stared for too long.

Geralt cleared his throat behind him.

Jaskier turned around with a sheepish smile and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Sorry. I’m being nosey.”

Geralt just tilted his head and smiled fondly at his antics before pulling him into a warm embrace.

Jaskier melted into Geralt’s arms. It had been just over a week since he’d seen the fireman and he had been yearning for his touch ever since.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s hair and hummed contently. “You smell good.” He murmured.

Jaskier just pressed his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck, the frames of his glasses squashed against his nose and cheeks uncomfortably but he didn’t care, not in that moment. He had no intention of leaving any time soon. For once he felt calm, the restlessness that followed him day in day out ebbed away as Geralt held him close.

“You brought your guitar?” Geralt eventually broke the silence that had fallen between them.

Jaskier finally pulled back from Geralt’s chest but kept his hands on the fireman’s arms. “Lute, actually. I keep my guitar in a cupboard at school now. I can’t afford to replace it again for a while.”

Geralt guided Jaskier to the sofa gently and tugged at the strap of Jaskier’s lute case. “Play for me?”

“What?” He asked in disbelief.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided to bring his instrument along. He just knew whenever he was in the vicinity of the firefighter he was almost overwhelmed with the urge to play, to compose, to sing ballads about his eyes… amongst other things. Jaskier now had a good few rhyming couplets about the delicious curve of Geralt’s butt. That being said, he hadn’t actually expected to play, especially not at Geralt’s request.

Geralt cupped his cheek and gave him a small half smile. “I’ve never heard you play, not in person, not properly.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his chest and gazed into Geralt’s beautiful golden eyes in awe.

How was this man even real?

Maybe this was all a dream?

Surely he didn’t deserve all of this.

He licked his lips and leaned into Geralt’s touch. “What shall I play?”

Geralt captured Jaskier’s lips in a chaste kiss. Jaskier hummed happily into the kiss that ended far too quickly. “You’re the musician. Play something that makes you happy.”

“Three things that make you happy?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt didn’t hesitate like he had all those months ago.

“You.”

“Geralt!” He whined and buried his face in the man’s chest. “You cannot say things like that!”

“Too bad.” He smirked.

“No regrets?” Jaskier asked timidly.

“None. You?” Geralt frowned.

Jaskier laughed. “My only regret is that we can’t enjoy this until the end of term.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier gently bumped his forehead against Geralt’s “Three things, Geralt. Even my buttercups can count to three.”

“You, your smile, your eyes.” Geralt listed off, his eyes boring down into Jaskier’s. There was barely any space between them like this and every word, every breath tickled against Jaskier’s lips.

“I’m on your list three times?” He laughed breathlessly.

“Problem?” Geralt murmured.

Jaskier closed the gap between their lips and kissed Geralt, his fingers gripping onto Geralt’s biceps as the man pulled him closer.

When they pulled away they were both breathless. “No.” Jaskier whispered. “No problem.”

“Good.” Geralt laughed and stepped away, putting a wider gap between them. Jaskier pouted but let Geralt go. He didn’t want to appear too needy. “Now play for me?”

So he did. Jaskier pulled out his lute and quickly made sure his precious instrument was in tune before starting to strum on the strings. He played a new composition, it wasn’t quite finished yet but with Geralt looking at him as if he’d hung the stars and moon he couldn’t help but play the melody that escaped him whenever he thought of his silver-haired fireman.

There were no words.

Not yet.

But right now it didn’t need any. The soft sound of lute strings filled the living room. Jaskier closed his eyes as he played. He couldn’t handle the overwhelming love in his heart whenever he caught Geralt’s gaze. It was too much. Geralt was too much.

So he let himself get lost in the music. He let his fingers dance on the strings of his lute, let every note tell a story of love, of destiny, of heartbreak. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Geralt brushed a finger across his cheek to wipe away the tears. His eyes fluttered open and Geralt’s eyes were the only thing he could see. The rest of the world just faded away. It was Geralt and only Geralt.

Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Gods he was so gone on the man.

And by some miracle of fate, Geralt seemed to feel the same way.

Geralt gently pulled the lute from his trembling fingers and placed it carefully on the floor beside them. Jaskier half laughed and half sobbed as he lunged forward to kiss Geralt, like a starved man at a banquet.

He needed.

Gods he needed.

Geralt returned the kiss eagerly and it wasn’t long before they fell into bed together, the need to be close, to feel each other becoming too much for them. The knowledge that after this week they would be parted for months again, that the world was against them right now and they had to make use of every second that they had together until they were torn apart.

_____________________________

It was half past six on a Tuesday morning and Jaskier was woken up by the alarm clock.

He groaned and buried his face in Geralt’s hair.

In Geralt’s hair?

He blinked as the man in question thumped the clock on the bedside table with a grunt before rolling onto his back and pulling Jaskier to his chest. His very naked chest. Jaskier held his breath as he let his fingers trail across the expanse of exposed marred skin. Geralt hadn’t taken his shirt off the first time they’d hooked up, after Geralt had spontaneously turned up at his flat, and last night Jaskier had found out why.

Across Geralt’s chest was a large puckered scar, the kind left behind by some serious burns. Jaskier didn’t question it and Geralt didn’t offer any explanation, they’d been too busy with other more important matters at the time but now, in the quiet of the morning, Jaskier had time to wonder.

Geralt’s hand clasped over his. “Morning.” He grumbled, his eyes were still shut but there was a faint smile on his lips.

“Hey.” Jaskier replied softly.

“I have work.” Geralt said bluntly, finally his eyes fluttered open and he looked down at Jaskier sadly.

“Yeah.” Jaskier pouted. “I gathered.”

“Could call in sick?” Geralt suggested with a twinkle in his eyes.

“We could make pancakes.” Jaskier added his voice full of longing.

Geralt hummed and rolled them over so Jaskier was on his back, looking up at the beautiful creature that he was allowed to love. Geralt brushed Jaskier’s fringe from out of his eyes and then leant down to place a lazy kiss on his lips. Jaskier let his hands thread through Geralt’s loose hair. It was knotted from where Geralt had slept on it and from Jaskier’s wandering hands the night before but Geralt didn’t complain when Jaskier’s fingers caught in the knots, he just moaned into the kiss and caught Jaskier’s bottom lip between his teeth.

The alarm clock started to beep again and Geralt groaned, rolling off of Jaskier so he could turn it off.

He sat on the side of the bed with a heavy sigh. Jaskier crawled across to sit behind him. He pressed a kiss to Geralt’s shoulder. He let his hand trail down Geralt’s arm and then rest his chin on his shoulder. “You have to go.” He stated with a sigh.

“Yeah.” Geralt grunted.

“That’s ok. Just let me get my stuff together, I should get home too. I have to sort out my lesson plans.” Jaskier couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

Fuck.

When had leaving Geralt become so difficult?

Were they just in their honeymoon period?

That must be it. He remembered his relationships from college and university burning this brightly at the beginning too. The need to be in each others space constantly, every second apart like pure torture. He always hoped it would never end, but it always did. The initial spark would fade and his partners would lose interest in him. That’s all he was good for in the end, a good fuck.

Still, he was an optimist. Maybe this time would be different? He prayed to all the gods that this time would be different.

It took them a while to get dressed. Partly because every time they made eye contact they were drawn together, like there was some kind of bond between them, some kind of spell. It was as though now that they had tasted each other, now they had been allowed to touch, caress and love, it was impossible to do anything else. Eventually they were sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Two large mugs of coffee, one black and one doused in sugar and cinnamon, were place between them. Geralt was munching on some toast but Jaskier found it difficult to eat in the mornings so he settled for watching Geralt eat.

“What are we going to tell Ciri?” He asked quietly.

Geralt froze and scowled at him. “Nothing.”

Jaskier sighed. He had expected that answer. He didn’t know why he’d gotten his hopes up for anything else. It had been said time and time again, they couldn’t date. They couldn’t love each other. They were friends.

Friends that were in love.

Or was it only lust and infatuation?

No. For Jaskier, at least, it was love. He knew love. He knew the way it made him feel. He knew the longing in his heart, the way he trembled under Geralt’s touch, the way Geralt’s very existence made him want to sing.

He had to trust that Geralt loved him too. That against all the odds they had come together.

“Nothing, yet.” Geralt amended softly, taking Jaskier��s hand in his.

Jaskier smiled sadly. “Of course, and in the summer?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Geralt.” Jaskier moaned. “Please.”

“I don’t know, Jask.” Geralt admitted.

“Are you still angry at me?” He asked quietly.

They still hadn’t really talked about the weeks when Jaskier had effectively ghosted Geralt. It was painful for both of them, for whilst Jaskier had had the right intentions, the sudden cut off of their growing and intimate friendship had acted like a knife in Geralt’s back. He was usually slow to trust, unlike Jaskier, and Jaskier’s quick and thoughtless actions had burnt away that trust.

Geralt frowned as he considered the question, a storm brewing in his gorgeous eyes. Jaskier turned his wrist and gripped Geralt’s hand so he couldn’t pull away.

“I’m not angry.” Geralt sighed. “You did it for Ciri.”

Jaskier bit his tongue so he wouldn’t interrupt Geralt.

“I’m cross at myself.” The fireman continued. “I didn’t have your strength to stay away, and now I’ve put everything at risk.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed “No. You haven’t.”

“I have!” Geralt snapped. “You could lose your job, Ciri could lose her teacher, I could lose you.”

“We can be careful.” Jaskier insisted but Geralt just scoffed. “We can!”

“Is this being careful, Jask?” Geralt growled.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” Jaskier admitted. “But it’s one week of lover’s bliss whilst no one else can spy on us.”

“And then after that?” Geralt grumbled “When I see you at school? The next parent’s evening?”

“Then we will have to act.” Jaskier said stubbornly. “Staying away from you was too hard, Geralt, dear heart, please.”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s jaw was clenched and Jaskier could see the tension he was holding in his shoulders.

“I just think we should have a plan for summer. If you still want me around by then.” Jaskier said, his fingers tapping anxiously on the table.

“I will.” Geralt answered firmly.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do.” Geralt insisted.

Jaskier narrowed is eyes at Geralt and then swiped up his mug of coffee. It was too early for this. He licked his lips, the taste of coffee and cinnamon clung to them.

“Yeah well.” He hummed, not quite believing Geralt, not believing that he could be enough to hold his attention for that long.

“We’ll tell her we’re friends. Go from there.” Geralt suggested.

Jaskier glanced up at his lover through his eyelashes, not quite brave enough to full on look him in the eyes. Geralt’s gaze was unwavering as always. Melitele, the intensity of it would be the death of him one of these days.

Jaskier leaned across the table and pulled Geralt into a searing kiss that made his whole world spin.

When he pulled away he let his forehead rest against Geralt’s. “Ok, dear heart. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“So you’ll come over tonight?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded. “Or you can visit my flat. I could teach you how to play piano!”

“Hmm.” Geralt answered dryly but there was a small smile gracing his lips.

“Although,” Jaskier sang mirthfully. “I think sleeping with one of my students would be a step too far even for me.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt snapped and gently cuffed him over the back of the head.

“What?!” He laughed.

“Get out of my house, Jaskier. I have to go to work.” Geralt grumbled with an exasperated smile.

“Alright! Alright!” Jaskier downed the rest of his coffee and picked up his lute case. “I’m going, my dear, but I shall see you tonight.”

He placed a kiss on the top of Geralt’s head and ran for the door. If he was lucky there would be a bus back to his part of town soon.

He hummed happily as he skipped from the house towards the bus stop. It was going to be a brilliant week!

___________

Next

[hollowisthyname]

🖊 Onyx!

I am. so sorry. I have been writing this for over a month at this point I think?? I've got a lot on this character but I'm not good at writing it down, so..... ah. yeah :') hopefully I got enough in this to justify the wait, but either way let's go!!

[as per usual, infodump under the cut]

TW // brief mention of suicide in the paragraph where I explain how they died, mentions of death throughout (ghost character, kinda hard to avoid)

Onyx Hart: ghost, performer, and excessive flirt. they are extremely fun to make up stuff about, especially bc they're one of my only extroverted characters. I have so so many ideas for them and they're one half of the third "cannon" pair of characters ("pair" meaning they have backstory together and I associate them with each other so it's easier just to think of the two of them as their own little group. the other two are Marcel and Sorrel, and Cory and Rhys).

they have black hair that goes down to a little above their shoulders and then flips out (think Kokichi, but slightly less drastic), and the.... sides? of their hair, like the parts that go in front of your ears or something, are much longer than the rest of it, about to the middle of their chest. their skin is v pale bc they're kinda anemic and don't spend much time in the sun, and their eyes are really bright green and reflective like a cat's. they've got freckles across the bridge of their nose and they kinda glow. I don't have all the details of their outfit worked out yet (bc I just changed it a bunch ehehe) but their general style is v punk. ripped denim stuff, chokers, pins, etc. they wear mostly dark colors but with bright accents, it's extremely cool :] the kinds of clothes they wear for performances are..... very different. their color palate for shows is black and gold, and they wear a lot of flowy stuff- silks and whatever makes them look extra cool flying through the air like they do. it's definitely fun to watch, but they're actually pretty hard to get around in. Onyx is not a fan.

so. ah. for all I've thought about this character, I don't actually have a backstory for them fully formed or written out at all. I know some basics- performing has always been a big part of their life, of course, but the reasoning for that varies. they come from a family of acrobats, they ran away and joined the circus, they were recruited by Lavka very young..... so many possibilities. so instead of trying to decide on one now, let's skip to the part I know more about!! enter Lavka, the ringmaster :D

very brief explanation of Lavka: fallen angel/deity, amnesia, still powerful and malicious enough that he decides to create a.... what do I even call it? magic circus thing??? and it traps people or he kills them or something. it's bad but very cool. think of him as like, a siren, but tall and with a lot more eyes.

the thing about a circus is, you need acts. and Onyx is the star of the show. Lavka went around recruiting people to work for him and thought they'd make a good central act. they were great, and the two of them worked together for a while. aaaaand.... that's as far as I've gotten :') I have virtually no concrete story for them, and seeing as the thing that would probably prompt them to leave the circus is meeting another of my characters and I've been avoiding deciding anything for that..... yeah.

it's the same thing for how, exactly, they became a ghost. they died by suicide during a performance, but I don't know when, how, or why. gotta work on that but I'm awful at backstory and I can't always think abt it without triggering myself :') I think my brain lets me create either a personality or a backstory for a character and. not both hgdf

however!! this brings us to their personality, which I somehow completely forgot to do earlier even though I've come up with much more for it than the backstory!!!! I said extrovert and flirt already, but I don't think that encompasses just how good they are at talking to people. hardly anyone could work a crowd the way they do- Lavka and Marcel can both be good with people as well, but they all do it in very different ways. Marcel becomes whoever people want them to. Lavka radiates power and charisma. and Onyx is just impossible to look away from- they're always doing something, and it's always flashy and spectacular and amazing to see. even when they're not performing, there's just something kinda irresistible about them. they're also a very good liar, which- esp when combined with Marcel's ability to completely change how they act at the drop of a hat- has gotten them into some. situations (it's gotten them out of them too, though, so it kinda evens out) Onyx is the kind of person who will push themself past their limits to keep up appearances and please everyone. and once they can't take it anymore, they completely shut down. they'll shut themself off from everything and everyone until they have the energy to go back to acting the way they always do in front of people. usually when this happens they go completely nonverbal, and are very easily overwhelmed. it's a stark contrast from how they usually act, and they only trust a handful of people enough to actually interact with them when they shut down. most of the time around people they're constantly being charming and performance-y, but when they're just with close friends they chill out some. they're still p energetic most of the time, and they love pulling pranks on.... everyone (especially Elis, and Cory's their partner in crime for pranks) but they're not trying to make everyone love them all the time. they have HEAPS of anxiety btw, they might be great with people but that doesn't stop them from worrying that no one likes them. they're very much a people-pleaser and have trouble saying no and setting boundaries, but at the same time they have no problem with confronting someone they don't like or who hurt anyone they care about. (it seems contradictory but it's not I promise)

and then we have their whole story with Everest. I think I explained this before but I'm not sure and you've probably forgotten by now, so basically: I came up with an Onyx-centric "au" where Onyx is one of two humans from a human world to get transported into a magical one. and from that came Everest, complete opposite to Onyx and their best friend. Everest is also mostly not included in my main story bc he's my newest character and I don't have as much about him, but he's cool and I love their whole opposites-attract dynamic. I really don't have any more backstory for this version than I do for the main one, and I'm kinda wavering between the two of them running away and getting transported together, or them not knowing each other before getting sent to the magic world but ending up in the same place and becoming friends. anyway that whole thing is kinda confusing but v fun!!

now it's time for a list of facts that don't need whole paragraphs!!

- Onyx knows sign language p well bc of going nonverbal a lot (they all have to so they can talk w Rhys effectively, this is my explanation for them lmao) - they really want to perform with Elis (they have wings, great for acrobatics stuff) but Elis absolutely hates the idea - I originally came up with them for a. wattpad applyfic. absolutely fucking amazing reason I know - they're just transparent enough that it's kinda unnerving but you wouldn't really know why unless you knew what you were looking for - various other species ideas for them are selkie and nine-tailed-fox spirit - Onyx's pronouns are actually they/it and a lot of neopronouns but I usually just use they/them bc I either forget or worry abt being judged (for absolutely no reason lmao)

a moodboard I made for them!! I need to remake it bc I figured out how to make them better but I still really like how this one looks :D

[fountainpenguin]

L X and Y

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

ZoneSwap AU!

I love the concept of a Danny Phantom/ChalkZone AU where Danny, guardian of the Ghost Zone, tries to protect the Ghost Zone from humans who might exploit or destroy it (and protect its people from the dangers of the outside world, such as fading from reality if they spend more than a few hours outside). Rudy guardian of ChalkZone, has the ability to “go chalk” the way Danny goes ghost (a power he utilizes to actively fight monsters that have been erased into ChalkZone).

I have a ZoneSwap AU tag on my blog if you’re interested in reading my concepts for it. THIS is the main post that outlines my thoughts. The idea was “ChalkZone but it’s darker and more action-y and Danny Phantom but cuter and with extreme levels of worldbuilding.” In this AU, Zone guardian powers are flipped: Danny’s ghost powers now only work in the Ghost Zone while Rudy gains the ability to use magic chalk in the real world.

Reggie the Red was my favorite part of this, with him taking Valerie’s role as dangerous rival whose motivations overlap the hero’s on occasion, but not often since he usually has his own agenda.

“I am perfectly able to do things on my own!”

The red chalk has the same malicious intent in ZoneSwap that it does in ChalkZone canon, overwhelming Reggie quickly and turning him into a puppet if he tries to use this form for long. ZS!Reggie has become so corrupted from repeated exposure that white chalk won’t respond to him, so any time he wants to use magic chalk he has no choice but to use red.

Like canon Rudy, ZS!Rudy swore off drawing living things when he realized he couldn’t handle the responsibility. Reggie has no problem creating masses of minions, so it makes for interesting fights.

You don’t understand how much I love Reggie.

Tucker is also dead in ZoneSwap AU and is for Danny what Snap is to Rudy in ChalkZone: a guide and friend. He’s friends with Technus, who loathes letting Tucker out of his sight.

There’s a lot of fun stuff to this world and if I wasn’t already neck-deep in Fairly OddParents, I’d love to revisit this idea. I’ve actually planned to introduce my little brother to ChalkZone this coming week, so maybe you’ll see more chalk on my blog these next few months.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Mmm… I have to say Cosmo.

Foop goes through a lot in my fanfics, but I don’t think he sees his life as suffering (He’s the opposite of Poof in that he doesn’t think his trials are that big of a deal). Poof faces a lot of struggles, but I wouldn’t say I enjoy it. Poof’s one of the characters I prefer writing in the downtime between drama; he’s laid back and fun. I prefer watching him juggle his baggage to the moments he receives said baggage in the first place.

I like watching H.P. and Anti-Cosmo overcome their struggles, but “suffer” is a harsh word. H.P.’s entire story revolves around him thinking his life is worse than it is, and his wealthy, high-status entitlement is obvious when he’s placed beside Anti-Cosmo… He’s not suffering as much as he could be. Anti-Cosmo is energized by suffering in an “I can’t wait to conquer this obstacle; this is exciting!” sort of way. Conflict is a pleasurable learning experience in his mind (Unless he’s in a depressive mood swing and withdraws… though I don’t enjoy throwing things at him while he’s at his lowest either).

Cosmo is… special. I enjoy knocking him down. I think it’s because he feels things so deeply AND interprets his suffering in a heartbreaking way, so he’s refreshingly different compared to the other characters I normally write. It was important to me to utilize both “Cosmo wrote an astrophysics textbook” and “Cosmo is forgetful and can’t read very well” canon so I, uh… I did.

“Author of distinction?” Yes, that was canon. Once upon a time, a long time ago. I really put him through the wringer in Frayed Knots. While Anti-Cosmo is having the time of his life wielding power and swooning over Anti-Wanda, Cosmo… is battling his inner demons. There’s a reason I can’t post “Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Pixies” for another year or two… Can’t have Cosmo sharing his pain with Poof just yet!

That said, while I do like knocking Cosmo down, I love seeing his high points too because, again, he feels so deeply. It’s funny… in my files I have his postpartum depression ‘fic right next to his hygge ‘fic. Whenever I write scenes where he’s suffering, I add more lines to his self-care story because he and I both need that mental break. I do him wrong, but I treat him right.

Y: A character you want to protect.

Youngblood (Danny Phantom). He deserves the world. If you guys have recommendations of nice ‘fics he appears in and does NOT die a horrible second death on top of already being a ghost child, I’m all ears. I wish I could find the time and motivation to finish my own ‘fic about him, but ALAS!

You didn’t ask for Question Z, but the “character whose death I can’t tolerate in ‘fic” is absolutely Youngblood. He doesn’t appear in many to begin with [going off what I was reading two years ago], yet I’ve read like five that unexpectedly kill him off in the end. Maybe my explorations into DP ‘fic were limited, but I never came across any other ghost being killed off. Only this one child who never enjoyed a happy ending. What’s up with that?

Fanfic Ask Meme

[my-love-peterp]

Mistaken Chapter Seven

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 4268

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: So this is definitely a chapter on my list of necessary revisions HOWEVER,  I’m writing one from some other characters POV just to shed some extra light on the circumstances surrounding what happens in this chapter. I think for sure we’ll get some Tony vignettes and maybe Steve and Darcy as well, just assessing Kaida and Tony and their states of mind (fragile, not great) and get into some motivating factors. Also, I know it’s a long time in coming but the big bad is coming soon. It’s not just Kaida vs herself as the main conflict in this piece. 

Warnings: drinking, smut, the like

Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four   Chapter Five Chapter Six

The next day, I was reading the next book on my to be read list when Peter came screeching into the common room. “Cranewood!!” He practically shrieked as he ran, hips first into the back of the couch I was lounging one. He miscalculated his own speed and toppled over the back, faceplanting right into my lap.

“Oh my god, oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t-oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry I just totally invaded your personal space and literally put my face there and oh my god.” He cut his own self off and blushed so deep, the tips of his ears almost flowed red. Peter licked himself back up and adjusted his blue sweatshirt before running his hands through the hair on the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact with me.

“Peter?”

“Y-yeah what’s up Kaida,” he managed to squeak out before coughing and clearing his throat, lowering his voice to compensate. I just stared back at him expectantly, dog-earring my page before slamming the book shut between my thighs. He blinked twice before shifting uncomfortably between feet. I swear, for an adult man, this boy sure acted like a gawky sophomore a lot.

“Oh. Oh yeah!!! We’ve met before. Cranewood School for Girls. Technically you and Spider-Man met but... I’m hurt that you were never even going to mention the first time I saved your life. What’s up with that? And also how did a Hydra ghost end up on Long Island at an elite prep school for upstanding young women and-“ I tuned him out unconsciously.

In truth, I had completely forgotten my run in with Spider-Man when I was 13. My sister and I were much too busy then still readjusting to a normal lifestyle we’d never had and covering our tracks while breaking enough laws to provide for ourselves, day in and day out.

Nadia had laundered enough money that We had more than enough for a down payment on a small apartment in the Long Island area and I was proficient enough in my mimicry and illusion work that we were able to enroll in school with a late start due to our “parents” and their extremely generous donations. It certainly helped that Nadia and I were both whip-smart.

I remembered the day Spidey was talking about. Some jack booted Hydra thug had stormed the grounds and held my class hostage, because his primary target, Anna, who was the daughter of a senator, was my classmate. Luckily, she sat about as far away from me as popular so the Agent was never able to see my face. I didn’t realize the whole upset was over until I had felt a large hand rubbing my back.

Of course, it was Spider-Man that came to my rescue. That day seemed to repeat itself over and over with no end sight. Of course, he was comforting me. His super hearing was the first power I’d ever assimilated by accident. We should test that more in the lab.

As I opened my mouth to finally suggest a battery of tests to Peter, FRIDAY started shouting instructions to be heard over the loud clang of the emergency bell.

Science could wait.

A few months later

The alarm cut through my concentration. It turned out to be just a bigger Code Green false alarm. We’d had two in the last week. I’m not blaming it on any specific individuals but there’s was something to be said in the 200% uptick in near Code Green’s since Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, intern and mechanical engineer extraordinaire returned from Reykjavik. But who was I to complain? After the relocated to the Tower back in May, just three months ago, there were more Strawberry pop tarts in the pantries than I’d ever seen before in my life. And it was so relieving to have another ‘devil may care’ woman around the Tower.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Natasha for all that she is but she’s just a teacher to me. And Wanda read as more of a mom friend in my mind. Darcy is the kind of girl you make up desperate housewives drinking games with. We gravitated toward each other immediately, bonding over baking, needling Tony, and then bemoaning the lack of clubbing appropriate company. She also held no judgment for me about my past, which I couldn’t believe until I saw her and Bucky making googly eyes at each other from across the room, then it all clicked.

Darcy Lewis had become my best friend, big sister and closest confidant and just a week’s time. Now, a few months later, there were still no hydra threats and my probation was set to be lifted this evening. “The perfect time to go clubbing “ Darcy had declared it, before enlisting my strengths to remove, forcibly if necessary, the science squad from their labs. And then to force them out into the world of the living. The only member to straight up refuse was Tony, as was expected. We had been… Cordial to one another but never anything more. I am nearly positive he had Friday keep tabs on my location just so he could avoid me at all times. Inevitably, we would run into each other Coming and going from our quarters or as we made our way to and from our designated lab spaces. I still didn’t quite understand why Tony lived on the same floor as the rest of the Avengers when I knew damn well he had his own penthouse in the tower.

Anyways, my lab was certainly something to behold. The calling it my lab was a bit of a stretch considering I didn’t build anything really, I just tested my powers and checked my biological markers with gadgets that Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Helen Cho had come up with together. We were still waiting for a contact from a group called the guardians who would potential he be able to determine what part alien I am. But it was the world’s most high tech library/relaxation room/artist’s studio. All to make remaining in it all day for the sake of data aggregation tenable.

To say I was bored out of my mind at first was an understatement. But over time I began to have visitors. Darcy was a daily, and surprisingly, so was Pietro. Peter and Bucky also visited, if less frequently. And, oddly enough, Vision was there almost all the time. I asked him about it once and he shrugged (how does a former AI program shrug so effectively) and simply stated that my presence combed his mind. Whatever that meant.

In any case, I wasn’t as bored or lonely anymore. In fact, I could almost swear that something was developing between Pietro and I.

Earlier this week, as I was doing the Times word search and also project in my powers to deflect incoming projectiles, my hair was flipped up and into my face, causing my concentration to skip which led to a tennis ball smacking me right in the face. Above me, Pietro burst out laughing and DUM-E beeped apologetically.

“I don’t think I can forgive you for this,“ I deadpanned, reaching back to jab him in the kidney, which he promptly dodged, all the while still cackling. When his laughing fit finally subsided, he stood back up straight.

“I have an idea, “he announced proudly.

“Stop the presses everyone, and called the Vatican, Speedy here has an idea. It must be a miracle. First one in a decade. The world must be ending,” I replied, looking at him and trying not to smirk. I will give him props because the obscene shocked and hurt that filled his face moments later was almost convincing. He chuckled and moved to sit on the stool next to me. He said nothing, only staring at me.

“Okay Zippy, what was your big idea?”

“You haven’t tested your instinctual and biological responses enough. For example, the fight or flight instinct is recreated too imperfectly in simulated situations to be of any use to you. However, there is another way around that beyond throwing yourself into open combat.” I tilted my head, waiting for him to continue. He leaned forward placing his hands on my side and leaning closer. Hesitant but not opposed, my eyes fluttered chat. Instead of kissing me as I had assumed (hoped!) was his plan, I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I shattered at the sensation, anticipating.

“I have a question “, he whispered. I mumbled my acknowledgment and it took me a few seconds to process what he had said and by that time it was already too late. “ are you ticklish,” he had whisper gently. Now he was mercilessly attacking my side with one, extremely quick fingers, whenever I moved to try to escape, he was there.

I collapsed to the ground, giggling breathlessly before I cut myself and put on my grumpy face. Pietro smiled lazily and shifted so his knees were on either side of my thighs.

“ if you tickle me again, I’ll scream,” I warned him.

“ I bet I could have you screaming my name,” he replied cheesily.

“ I actually hate you right now. I’m considering making you my official arch nemesis. I might make T-shirts. And badges. Definitely badges.”

“Who’s making badges? Didn’t you know nemesis badges are so last season? This is why you should consult the great and powerful Darcy on all things,” came the snarky voice of my best friend from the lab door. I urgently pushed Pietro up and off of me. But as was the theme of the day, I was seconds too late, and Darcy saw us in a position that looked extremely compromising without context.

She raised her eyebrows at me, cheeks twitching as she managed, for once, to hold back whatever retort she thought of once she saw me beneath Pietro. Instead, she readjusted herself and offered me a hand to pick me up off of the slightly dusty floor. I made a mental note to give DUM-E the Swiffer tonight.

After I was back on my feet and thoroughly dusted off, Darcy approached the silver-haired man who was currently leaning against one of my shoulder high bookshelves, jabbing her finger into his sternum. “You hurt my sister and I know an Asgardian who can make your life a living hell. And no, I’m not talking about Thor. Plus, you should be scared of me, I’ve bested him in combat once before and I can certainly take you. So watch yourself Maximoff,” she growled before stomping away, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me along behind her. “We’ve talked about this,” she hissed at me after her suite door slammed behind us. She’d been silent the entire elevator ride down to her floor. I loved Darcy but she was still a little paranoid about FRIDAY always being present and listening in.

“Darcy it wasn’t like that, he... tickled me?”

She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, I bet he did. Looked like he wanted to do a lot more from where I was standing kid. I’m telling you he’s bad news. What do you see in him anyway?”

I scoffed at her insinuation that somehow, Pietro would be the rotten one between us. “Dee I was literally sleeping with Tony Stark a few months ago while I had intimate knowledge of his fiancés fate. Plus I’m not exactly innocent in literally any sense if the word...” I trailed off but she just glared at me, which was her way of telling me that we weren’t leaving until I answered all of her questions.

I sighed and plopped myself down on her cozy armchair, putting my feet up. “It’s just... he’s easy to be around Darcy. It’s not hard, I don’t have to think about anything twice, there’s no pressure. He’s funny, makes me smile, puts up with my shit. And he doesn’t want more from me than I’m willing to give. We’re as easy as breathing.” I blinked, shocked at the words that had just come out of my mouth. Sure, I would admit to having a crush on the guy, he was hot and snarky. I loved that. Wait, love? I really was losing my mind.

“You know what, forget anything I just said. Let’s go out clubbing like you suggested and find me a man to get under for the night. I have to blow off some steam. I’m delusional and sappy over here.”

Darcy shrugged, noncommittally. “What?!” I demanded, confused as all hell.

“If you really feel that way about him, you should tell him. He may not be pushing you to give more than you’re ready for, but is he going to be prepared to give you everything you want, or is he just here for the safe convenience of it Kaida? You two have been prancing around each other like orphaned fawns, afraid to let yourselves get hurt and calling it sacrifice for the other. Or maybe he just doesn’t care and wants to play dirty because you’re available and convenient. “

I was a little hurt at her words but I could see the truth behind them. It was time Pietro and I had a chat. But not before I went out and had fun with my best friend. I relayed that thought to Darcy who excitedly squealed as we plotted to get the Science Squad out and about with us.

That brings us to now. Several of us piling into the biggest limo I’d ever seen. Bruce, Jane, Nat, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Helen, the super soldiers, and even Peter had elected to join Darcy and I out tonight. It was certainly going to be one for the history books.

Smushed as we were in the back of the vehicle, it was oddly calming. For the first time today I felt as though I had time to just think for myself. I brushed my hand along my inner left forearm and shivered as a chill climbed down my spine. The perfectly raised but horrifically off-kilter writing simply read ‘cereal?’ today. Not much to go on if I were actively looking for my soulmate. Not that I would.

Whatever being it was that decided that two halves, or sometimes thirds or fourths of the same soul, would be imprinted with the first and last words their counterparts said for that day, was a complete and total madman.

It wasn’t a whole lot to go off of. I knew they were older than me because I’d gotten the marking before I could speak and I was advanced for my age. I knew they were New Yorkers just by the way they’d mention certain places and things offhand.

But I wasn’t looking for them. It was fairly obvious to me, at that point, that becoming a fixture in my life was beneficial to absolutely no one. And, based on the blip of feeling or insight I’d get mentally from my soulmate bond, whoever they were had a strong sense of duty. Someone who felt duty bound to a person like me would only end up dead.

And yeah, maybe I was kidding myself and these were really just excuses to protect myself from losing more of the people I cared about but honestly who gave a fuck. There were millions of people in this city. What were the odds we’d even run into each other?

Too high. But there was nothing I could do about that.

And then, after what felt like hours, the car stopped and the group spilled out on to the sidewalk before scrambling to the door of the club, bypassing the line. It was one of the classier, more exclusive establishments in town but not too high brow to preclude any riff-raff.

Cue Darcy Lewis, the bane of all rationality. Darcy’s personality was that of an instigator. I, on the other hand, would never back down when challenged. That meant five tequila shots in five minutes in addition to getting three random numbers. Just for fun. A few shots later and Darcy hauled me on to the dance floor.

We writhed and twisted around each other, alternating between cackling at one another and concentrating on looking appealing and feeling sexy. Her hands roamed my body and rested on my hips as I playfully ground myself back into her.

I could see Natasha posted up in the corner, sipping a sea breeze and keeping her eyes open. Bruce stood a few feet away from her, nervously twitching but slugging back some whiskey. Clint was at the bar pounding back beers with Helen, Jane, Thor, and Sam. All seemed deeply invested in a manic take the Asgardian was telling, arms flailing and making weird shapes as he attempted to act out whichever feat of heroism was on tap for tonight. Wanda stood behind them but looked a little lost. That’s when I noticed that Pietro and Peter were both missing.

Peter was easy enough to find, he was perched next to the top of the stairs, keeping up surveillance of the entire place, the boy having no idea how to relax. I was about to mention Pietro’s absence to the brunette behind me when the wind rushed around me. Suddenly, I wasn’t on the dance floor with Darcy but back at the bar with Pietro.

“What the fuck dude,” I bit out, slapping his arm. “You can’t just speed someone without permission, it doesn’t work like that.” Pietro just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. It was the kind of smile that got him off for everything. And now was no exception.

“But Kaida, you promised to show me what body shots were some day. I would like to do them now if that is okay. I still have not learned all of your silly American customs.”

I was just gone enough to nod eagerly while my body flushed hot. Body shot demonstrations were requested and so they would be done. We started simple, cleavage shots, I showed him with Darcy and then he practiced on me. His scruff scraped pleasantly against my overheated skin and I trembled. Then Darcy whispered salaciously in Pietro’s ear as I rested up against the bar. In a flash, Pietro‘s hands were squeezing around my hips and I was laying on top of the bar, shirt hiked up.

Tequila was poured and salt sprinkled around my Navel by Darcy freakin' Lewis, who, just hours earlier, had scolded both Pietro and I for our touching antics. But now, here she was, encouraging Pietro to haul me on to the bar. Before I could process that emotional whiplash, Pietro’s face was hovering over my stomach, a wicked smile filling his expression. I squirmed and he responded by dipping his head, using his tongue to swipe up the salt from my body before continuing down and sucking on my navel, slurping up all the tequila. My body was positively on fire. I opened my mouth in a breathless moan and nearly choked when my best friend shoved the rind of lime between my teeth. Her face was quickly replaced by Pietro’s. His eyes burned into mine, his pupils were blown, dark and hungry. He placed his mouth over mine, biting down surprisingly gently so lime juice with a hint of a taste that must be pure Pietro flooded my mouth. Icy fire burned through my veins as I completely forgot the discomfort of the hardwood bar pressing against my back. We were drawing closer and closer to each other as Pietro decisively removed the line from my mouth.

The trance was broken by a cough and a throat clearing. The Spiders Two, Peter and Natasha, were standing behind Pietro, arms crossed. Nat’s face was expressionless, but Peter‘s emotions were somewhat clear. He looked uncomfortable, annoyed and something else I couldn’t quite get a read on. My mouth fell open in a drunken grin, as I waved awkwardly to them, attempting to lift my head and slide off the bar and to my feet. Unfortunately, I was still more than a little boneless from the whole “Pietro‘s lips and tongue on my body“ situation, so, while I did manage to slide off the bar, landing on my feet and my high heels was a whole different story.

Long story short, I simply didn’t. Fortunately, when you’re friends with other enhanced people, their reflexes are typically pretty good. So I felt long, pale arms lock around my middle and stop me from falling. I grinned widely again at the feeling of thick ropey muscles encompassing me.

As I righted myself, the arms remained around me, hints of spicy cologne filling my nostrils when I slouched back into the warm body that stood behind me, closing my eyes and tilting my head back to nuzzle into Pietro’s neck. His breath caught and he let out a weirdly high pitched squeak in surprise.

“Oh shoot,” I stammered reflexively, looking down, “did I step on your foot or something? I know these heels can be a bitch.” It took me a minute to realize why what I was seeing felt so wrong. Instead of the tight black jeans Pietro had been wearing that night, my rescued had on dorky khakis and a blue button up. Peter.

“Fuck, Peter I didn’t know it was you, god damn I like almost assaulted you there. I’m so, so sorry. Jesus Christ, no more tequila for me ever.” I just kept rattling off apologies until he waved me away and Darcy took my arm to lead me out to a cab that was pulling up for us. It was time for me to go home, so Clint was being sent with me to supervise and make sure I made it back to the Tower in one piece and then he’d take one of Tony’s cars to drive back to his farmstead. “I’ve gotta take the kids to school tomorrow. Laura has a doctor’s appointment and I’m trying to be a good dad. You know, the whole nine yards. Or at least as good of a dad as a world-renowned assassin can be.” He ended up using the ride to babble on TL me about everything Nathaniel was getting up to at the moment and the big fiasco when he found out he was named after a girl and the killer meltdown when his parents rebuked him.

Clint deposited me in the elevator and hit my floor for me before he took off to the tunnel leading towards our parking garage. For the first fifth floors, everything was silent save for the occasional squeak of a gear or run of a pulley. Until the elevator stopped on one of the lab floors. I should have realized at that moment that all but one member of the Science Squad had been out that night, but it didn’t until I saw him step into the elevator beside me.

We stiffened simultaneously as Tony and I took the other in. Taking opposite corners, we studiously ignored each other as the elevator began moving. It was uncomfortable and deafeningly quiet, but that was probably more than I deserved. And then, as though whatever cosmic being had a direct line to my thoughts coupled with a sick sense of humor, the elevator froze, the lights went dark and an alarm started blaring, quickly followed by the emergency sprinkler system.

So to recap, I was trapped in a metal box, in the dark, being pelted with cold water, quite similar to what my parents used to do to Nadia and me.

It was at this moment that I had my worst panic attack to date. The sharp sense of panic cut down whatever buzz I had built up from the night before. Pure unadulterated terror flooded my chest as I collapsed to the floor, twitching. My chest heaved with silent sobs, my trauma reminding me that if I made a sound, Nadia would be punished and vice verse. Tears streamed down my cheeks and bile coated my throat. I could hear tony working frantically to desired the elevator panel and talking at me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. It didn’t matter. I was too far gone.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Before I could think clearly, I was entirely disassociated and then sleeping in a wet puddle on the floor of our stalled elevator.

When I woke up the next morning, I was in my own bed, drowning in an oversized hoody that I recognized as one I had stolen from Bucky weeks ago, that if I had to guess, he had originally stolen from Cap. It was royal blue number with a vintage style logo for the Brooklyn Dodgers, whose move was still a sore spot for Steve Rogers.

I sat up groggily, head pounding. As I finger combed my hair and stood to use my restroom, I heard gently snores coming from the plush sectional in my living room. Lo and behold, the Tony Stark was slumped over, not even under a blanket. The events of last night all came flooding back to me and I flushed a bright pink in embarrassment. I’d never shown just how deep that particular weakness ran for me. I turned back and tried to tiptoe out of the room and down to the communal floor for breakfast when Tony’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I think it’s time we had a talk.”

TAGLIST: @peeterparkr @private-bucky-barnes @laurfangirl424 @bucktitybarnes

[deepdisireslonging]

Family Found Part 47: Resigning

After last week’s contract catastrophe, it’s time for another round. People make the last of their plans for WrestleMania 35.

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, angst

Word Count: 4765

Note: Oh my goodness. Some of the stuff in this chapter I wrote three months ago. It’s such a weird (sentimental/hesitant) feeling to finally see them in place. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter and series with comments, reblogs, or even anon messages. Enjoy!

Part 1: Welcome to the Team

Part 46: At the Worst

The show was almost complete. In each hall, there were bustles of activity. You looked through the papers on your clipboard and smirked. Knowing your crew, the last few spots would fill themselves. The pen clicked in your hand as you were about to make a note when the lights flickered. Odd, you thought, observing the ceiling. When you looked back down at your work, you saw something move. You jumped back with a gasp as Dr. M stepped into view in front of you.

“Miss Ambrose.”

You stuttered through a breath. “Dr. M. Is there something I can help you with?”

He chuckled and circled to your other side. “Not really. Instead, I have a diagnosis to share with you.”

The pen clicked again, and you slid it out of the way. Crossing your hands over one another, you gulped. “Oh? Are any of my superstars in danger?”

“Yes, of course,” he tutted. “All of them. And you have put them there. You are blind, miss Ambrose.” He stepped closer, making you take a step back. “It has led us to here, Monday Night Raw in ruin and wrestlers ready to rip each other limb from limb. Because you couldn’t see past the fault that you built yourself, in a flip of things, the only title being talked about is the Universal. The one your cousin is fighting for on Sunday. The Intercontinental, the women’s championship and tag titles, and AOP’s tag titles are an afterthought. You should never have become manager.”

Your back hit a wall as he stepped forward again. There was nowhere to go with his arm to one side and a steel trellis to the other.

“Too young and inexperienced. That’s my diagnosis. Hunter and Stephanie knew a puppet when they saw one. And in turn, you have played and pulled the heartstrings of the athletes of this company to direct them to your whim. To the whim of the ghost of the Authority. Because of it, you almost lost the one person you were trying to protect. You might lose him still.”

“Stop.”

He grinned, knowing he’d won. “You can’t refuse the medicine when it’s the truth.”

Panting, you shoved him away. He lunged forward to say more but was speared out of sight. Through your fingers, you saw Roman beating him into the floor. Dr. M eventually worked his way free. He ran off, giving you a smug glance over Roman’s shoulder.

The Big Dog turned to you. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t answer. Not at first. “Why are you protecting me? I don’t really deserve it.”

Roman tightened his wrist guard. “If I’ve learned anything about working with an Ambrose… miscommunication isn’t a sin. It means that he needed someone to watch his back for people wanting to kick him when he’s down. I’m just extending the favor.” He sighed, lightly placing a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to sit on a crate. “I see what you were trying to do. I don’t approve… but I see it. I see you. Protecting your family in the only way you thought you could. Dean’ll be fine on Sunday. He’ll have Seth. Either one of ‘em could kick Lesnar’s ass by himself. Between the two of them, Lesnar doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not so sure,” you muttered. “I still haven’t seen what the rewritten contract look likes. He could still lose everything. And I-”

Just then, Dean and Seth walked up. You cousin plopped down next to you, missing how fake your smile was. “So… when I asked about a match last week, you said something along the lines of ‘who and how many?’ Is that still on the table?”

“Yep,” Roman answered for you. “You guys up for a tag match versus Dr. Wyatt and his protégés, Authors of Pain?” He grinned as Dean and Seth agreed. He turned his attention to you. “We just hadn’t figured out when.”

You had to chuckle. Give the guys a match and all was right with the world. WrestleMania wasn’t until Sunday, and the contract to be signed wasn’t a bubble of worry. “Give me time to alert your opponents, it’s tonight.”

“Great!” Dean slung his arm over your shoulders and beamed up at Seth. “My favorite time for a match.” He bumped his head against yours.

***

There would be a couple of matches before theirs, though. Up first was the tag-team battle royal to find out the first opponents of whoever won the titles at WrestleMania.

“I don’t know what Dr. M was talking about,” Renee said, watching the teams as the bell rang, “look at this match Y/N set up.” She nodded as Michael Cole rattled off the team names: Ascension, B-Team, Gable and Roode, Heavy Machinery, Lucha House Party (with Kalisto on the floor), Slater and Rhyno, Titus World Wide, and one more. “Do Tyler Breeze and Dana Brooke have a name for their team yet?”

“If they did, Cole would have said it,” Corey suggested.

As teams were eliminated (by one member getting thrown over the top rope to the floor) the competition was whittled down to a surprising few. Lince Dorado dodged and tossed out Tucker Knight, eliminating Heavy machinery and bringing it down to his team against Slater and Rhyno, and the team of Breeze and Brooke. Dana matched the luchador flip for flip, cartwheeling him into a corner. With Slater’s help, they threw him over. Breeze drop-kicked Rhyno, guffawing that it hadn’t made the man budge. It took Dana knocking Slater to the canvas and helping Breeze to do the same to Rhyno to give them enough edge to eliminate them both.

They jumped and cheered. Come even as soon as the Monday after WrestleMania, Tyler Breeze and Dana Brooke were going to have a tag title chance.

***

Drew McIntyre waited impatiently for his opponent. On social media, he’d called out Elias to meet him in the ring like a man. When Baron Corbin’s music hit instead, Drew gripped the top rope like it was the last strand of is sanity.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Drew,” Baron drawled, “but no one has seen heads or guitar of your WrestleMania opponent.” He grinned. “The way I see it, you can’t go into WrestleMania without a match. Blindly or otherwise. The Intercontinental deserves to be represented.”

“Get to the point,” Drew growled without a mic. He stood to his full height.

Taking big clomping steps, Baron made his way down the ramp. “I can solve both problems. How about this? We have a match tonight since Elias hasn’t shown up. When I beat you, I get to replace him in Sunday’s match. You get to defend your title. I get to take it from you. And nobody has to listen to that awful guitar. Everybody’s happy.” He stopped at the bottom, giving Drew a shrug.

Drew nodded, motioning for the referee to ring the bell. The match was on. With everything in place, the lone wolf was set on adding another title to his wall. And Drew was suffering the consequences of the drive. Baron sucker punched him, instantly regretting it as Drew turned to face him like nothing had happened. The match switched. Maybe not having a match at WrestleMania wasn’t such a bad idea. More secure. But he didn’t doubt Elias would show up then; he wouldn’t miss his greatest concert.

Maybe if Drew hadn’t been thinking about Sunday so early, he would have heard the swell from the crowd before the guitar cracked over his back. The match disqualified, Elias beat a hasty retreat. Baron followed him as far as the ropes, kicking Baron to the side.

“I hope you bring that guitar on Sunday,” he shouted. “You’re going to need it. Sanctioned or not, our match just became a no disqualification match. And you’re going to be stuck in the ring with me!”

Elias simply grinned. “Why not make it an extreme rules match? Go all the way for the grandest stage of them all?”

***

Finally, it was time for the match Roman technically set up. He and Dean and Seth marched down to the ring, ready for battle. Dr. M flanked by Akam and Rezar took his own sweet time getting to the ring. You groaned, watching a backstage screen. There was a schedule to keep!

The match went quickly though. Frequent tags. Flash pairings of opponents. But a pattern emerged. Dr. M wasn’t using most of his attention on Roman like you thought he would. It was still there, but mostly he wanted to fight Dean. He pinned your cousin to a ring post from the floor while the ref was occupied with the other four.

“She’s going to lose you. And be all alone again. Just like when you abandoned her the first time.”

“I didn’t abandon her!”

“Yes, you did. You didn’t fight hard enough. How can you fight hard enough on Sunday with your brother’s career on the line? You’re going to have to choose, Dean. Seth or Y/N. And I can bet which one it won’t be.”

“You son of a-“

That caught Seth’s attention, and he left Roman to knock Akam out of the ring and almost pin Rezar. By the time your team was reunified, Dr. M was back in his corner, reaching for a tag like nothing had happened. He circled inside the ring with Roman, muttering other worst case scenarios. “Hard to protect your family, isn’t it Roman? Hard to see the infection of power from the inside. It’s almost like you’ve lost your edge, if you ever had it. What will you do if you lose both of them on Sunday? With Seth and Dean gone, I doubt there’ll be any fight left.”

He caught a Superman punch for his troubles. And then a three count.

Backstage, you listened to a techie, the blood rushing from your face. You hurried towards the ring.

Akam and Rezar helped Dr. M escape the ring. He laughed. Dean looked conflicted. Roman looked defeated. And Seth looked angry to the point of unstable.

He was gone by the time you made it to the stage. You froze in your steps as Triple H’s music followed you. The hand that landed on your shoulder was uniquely heavy. And you resented it already. Hunter followed you into the ring, tossing you a mic from his jacket pocket. The guys went for some as well, trying to catch their breaths.

Seth gained control of his heaving first. “Of course you would come out here right after a match. It’s your way,” he said, looking at Hunter.

“If you guys know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this ring. And you can resign the contract backstage.”

Roman shook his head. “We’re not leaving. And we’re especially not leaving you out here with her.” Seth and Dean nodded. Their stances shifted. Ready for another fight.

You were half a step away from being frantic. “Dean, you need to get out of the ring. Now.”

“Why? Do I ruin his perfectly crafted plans by being here? In the place I earned?” Dean smiled at Hunter and stepped to him, pushing you behind him. “Didn’t train this one as well as you did the last one, did ya? She’s got too good a heart. Guess that’s what happens when you take the best of us and try to twist them to your plans, Trips. You fail. You’ll always fail. And Vince’s command over this company will always overshadow yours. You’ll never be good enough for him.” He twisted as Hunter punched him in the jaw.

It took Roman and Seth to keep you from rushing forward.

Your cousin waved you away. “Don’t worry. He’s hit me harder than that. Just a warning shot. Or evidence that the Game is going soft.”

Panic made your voice crack. “Please. Dean. If I can only help one of your tonight, it’s going to be you. Sorry, guys.” Seth sent you a sympathetic nod. “You don’t have much time.”

Hunter chuckled. “You never had time. And now, because of what you chose, you’ll never have it.”

He’d ripped your heart from your chest. And it was all your fault. You sucked in a breath. The music that followed knocked it back out.

The Beast had arrived.

He marched down the ramp with Paul Heyman in tow. At the bottom, he paused just long enough to give the booing audience a smug smile. As they entered the ring, Hunter went to the other side and called for the contract. Seeing the leather folder made you sick to your stomach.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Paul Heyman.” He smirked while all of you except Brock, even Hunter, cringed to hear him speak. “And I am the advocate for the Beast Incarnate, the former Universal Champion, the destroyer of each man standing opposite here, Brock Lesnar!” He gave you a little wave. “And the bane of Y/N Ambrose’s existence. Not the most important accolade, but a fun one, none the less.”

You stuck your arm out to keep Dean from taking Heyman out right then.

Tapping the folder with a pen, Hunter moved to stand between everyone. “Since the events of last week, the contract has changed, returning to Y/N’s original plan. Only the competitor pinned will have to leave WWE. For good. Now, we really need to make sure we all sign on the proper lines this time. I’d hate to have to cancel this match because of a technicality. Especially since some of you,” he looked pointedly at Dean, “went through so much to get here.”

“Heh, and some so little,” Roman chuckled, nodding at Lesnar.

“Roman, this does not concern you.” Hunter flipped open the folder and passed the pen to Lesnar. Once he had signed, he passed the folder to Dean, hesitating with the pen. It was snatched out of his hand. Dean made a point of making sure Hunter could see where he was signing, and Seth did the same. Then he turned to you. “You should do the honors of signing as witness. It was your idea after all.”

Again, the pen was snatched out of his hand. But you hesitated to sign. Putting pen to paper felt like hammering a nail into a coffin. By signing that sheet of paper, you possibly condemned Dean in one way or the other at WrestleMania. Possibly. You hung onto that word as you handed the folder back to Hunter. “Satisfied?” You held your breath while he checked it.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he nodded. Hunter led you out of the ring, with Heyman sitting on the ropes so you could get through. It wasn’t until you were on the floor that you realized that only the three of you had left. You turned. Brock was staring down Roman, Seth, and Dean. Hunter caught hold of your shoulder again before you could take a step.

“Let it happen,” he warned.

So you had to watch. Roman acted first, immediately jumping with a Superman punch. Brock took it, then caught Roman and flipped him with a suplex. Quickly, he knocked Dean out of the way and did the same to Seth. He returned to Dean when he was finally on his feet. Together, they tried to stand up to rally a combined attack, but Lesnar didn’t give them that chance. He took turns attacking them individually until each man was unable to move. Lesnar turned from Seth’s body. Before he could step towards his next target, you wretched yourself away from Hunter and slid into the ring. The Beast paused when you suddenly appeared before him, blocking his path to Dean.

On the canvas, Dean tried to get up. His arms gave out.

You flinched as Lesnar laughed. He poked at your shoulder. Over your head, he saw Dean growl. “You’ve got some balls, little girl. But you’ll know better than to stand in my way after Sunday. After I rip apart your family.” He snorted. But he left, jerking his head to make Paul Heyman follow. Hunter smirked at you and followed them. But not before motioning to the carnage around you.

If you were to ever get one wish, it would have been to end that moment like the end of Summer Slam. The Shield standing tall and behind you. Instead, time ticked on and the show had to go on.

***

Backstage, Curt Hawkins was bouncing on his toes. His friend and former teammate, Zack Ryder, watched from his bench seat. “What are you doing?”

“Warming up my muscles.”

Zack slowly nodded. “Okay. What for? Neither of us has a match tonight.”

“Just because we don’t have a match doesn’t mean we can’t make something of tonight. Getting the blood pumping in my body is going to help me think while we plan for the Andre the Giant Battle Royal.”

Jumping to his feet, Zack did his best to catch his bouncing friend. “Wait. Hold up. You’re entering the battle royal? Since whe-“

Curt stopped jumping long enough to catch Zack’s shoulders. “We both are. If we work together, we have better odds of making it to the final two. I can promise you now, I won’t eliminate you until then… if you promise the same to me?” He held out his hand.

Zack looked at the outstretched hand, tilting his head to do so. With a sigh that morphed into a smile, he took it. “Deal. Until then, what do we do?” He yelped as Curt abruptly made him sit down. Enraptured, he listened as the first bits of a jangled plan was laid out.

***

The stage lit up in flashing purple, then in bright neon as Sasha Banks and Bayley entered the arena. They hurried to the stage, excited to make their announcement. Sasha spoke into her mic first.

“Another week as champions, and I still can’t believe it.” She stroked at the white and gold around her waist. The lump in her throat was too much, so she nodded at Bayley.

She wasn’t doing my better in checking her emotions, and her voice cracked. “It’s bee a long hard road. Not just for us, but for the women’s division. Last week we said that the Riott Squad accomplished what they set out to do. They defended the titles often and well, and they brought them to the forefront of the company. This may be only our second week holding these championships, but we don’t want them not to be defended on the grandest stage of them all.”

Now that the conversation was back to business, Sasha had control of her voice again. She nudged shoulders with her partner. “At the moment, we don’t have just one team that stands out above everyone else. So, if we could please have all of the women’s tag teams come out here, we have a proposition for you.”

It didn’t take long for the groups to file out. Alexa Bliss came out too to stand with Mickie James and Alicia Fox. Nia Jax and Tamina dominated one side of the stage. The Riott Squad commanded the other. As for the tea of Natalya Hart and Rhonda Rousey… they stood on opposite sides of the stage. Something all the woman noticed and averted their eyes from.

“It would be easy to give all the teams a chance at these titles,” Sasha smirked. “But we have to admit, that doesn’t really give a lot of a chance to Bayley and I. We don’t have to be the ones pinned, we don’t even have to be in the ring. And that’s not right. So instead, we’re going to leave it up to you.”

“Next week,” Bayley said, “we don’t really care you come to the decision, but only one team is going to face us at WrestleMania. Only one team is going to get their moment.”

Sasha cocked her head. “And nothing is official until that bell rings. Best of luck to you all. We’ll be ready for whoever steps up.” She unhooked her belt, with Bayley mirroring her. They held the championships up, showing them off to a whole stage full of possible opponents.

***

Corey did not approve as the women filed out of the arena. “That’s just like Sasha. So manipulative. And she’s sunk Bayley with her.”

“I think it’s smart,” Renee offered. “The Boss n’ Hug Connection can focus on retaining their titles, while everyone else will have to watch their backs until it’s time to enter the arena. Or even the ring. I guess getting attacked last minute on the stage is still possible too.”

“But that’s still not till next week.” Michael Cole did his best to pull them to the present match. “This week, Ruby Riott will be defending her time at WrestleMania. If she beats Alexa Bliss tonight, she can relax and back up her squad. If she loses, she will have to face Little Miss Bliss for the Raw Women’s Championship.”

The women came out one by one; first Alexa, then Ruby. As the match started, it was obvious that Ruby’s plan was to toy with Alexa as much as she could. She tested her height and her patience. Two things that bothered Alexa, but only one that she could control. Ruby snickered as Alexa huffed. Then she winced, doubling in pain as Miss Bliss hurdled into her attack.

It was getting close to end the show and both women were exhausted. Alexa was stumbling around on wobbly feet. Ruby was still smugly smiling, but it was drawn and overly forced. It was time for the plan. She knocked Alexa down to the canvas, hard. The referee counted to two while the bottom woman was trying to get her breath back. Then Ruby pulled Alexa up. Ending the count. Alexa’s head bounced off the canvas as Ruby let her go. Confused, both the official and Alexa twisted to watch Ruby leave the ring.

The referee began to count to ten.

Ruby continued up the ramp, walking backward. She gave Alexa a little wave as the count ended, also ending the match. While the championship couldn’t be won by count-out, ruby ensured her WrestleMania moment with one. And she ensured that neither woman was leaving the ring until she couldn’t kick out, or until she admitted being the lesser woman and submitting. Realizing this, Alexa growled. Brilliant strategy, but she hated that she hadn’t thought to use it first.

Part 48: WrestleMania

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @hallemichelles @laochbaineann @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @savmontreal @southsidebucky @tinyelfperson @chwehansol98

WWE/Series Tags: @a-home-for-stray-stories @crossfitjesusismysavior @top-1-percent @mother-forker @neversatisfiedgirlfics @racheo91 @roman-reigns-princess @secretagentfangirl @thetherianthropydaily @scuzmunkie @cait-kae @ramsaypants @sony-undead18 @brianaraydean @st4yingstrong @dopeybubbles @crystallizeme @jessica91073 @denise8691 @stalelight @kenyadakblalock @1dluver13xx @lauren-novak @lunatic-desert-child @littledeadrottinghood @livelifewondering 

[thelazyeye]

'Ghosts don't exist' Stanlon (no one dies, leave my boys alone)

I’m so sorry this took me literally a month to write. But here you go. Some Stanlon Ghosts

Read on A03 the formatting is better there

Tag List:

@richardtoz @aizeninlefox @chocolatemangoose @godtozier@jem-carstairs-is-perfection  @studpuffin @oldguybones @its-stranger-than-you-think @reddiepop

“Stan, come on! Please! You know I’ve been dying to do this!”

“Then do it by yourself.”

“No way! You know it’s always so much better if there’s more people.”

“Lay off, Richie. I’m not going with you.”

“Don’t make me get on my knees and beg, Stan. We all know you’d rather have Mike down there than me.”

“You are on thin fucking ice.”

“Come on! We all know how this is gonna end. We’re gonna bicker for twenty minutes and you’re going to give in. Let’s just cut the shit early. What do you say?”

“No. Fuck you.”

“Come on! Mikey, help a boy out!”

Mike looks over from his place on the couch to where the two boys are standing. Stan is leaning against the wall while Richie is practically tearing his hair out in desperation. Mike offers no more than a shrug at them both, keeping his vow to stay out of it. If Stan agreed to go Mike would go. But if Stan said no they were going to stick to the plan on watching B-list horror movies with the others until everyone passes out.

“Fuck you, too, Hanlon.” Richie shoots before turning his attention back to Stan. His light tone betrays his harsh words. Richie is nothing but jokes and unabashed love for his friends. And stubbornness. Which is how they’ve ended up in this situation: Richie begging Stan to explore an old, supposedly haunted house with him while Stan adamantly refuses.

“Richie, give up. This is a stupid idea and we all know it. We could get hurt!”

“I’m going no matter what, Stan. It’s just your choice of whether or not you want to be there to help me when I inevitably fall through the floor.”

It was a low blow and they both knew it. Stan, despite his standoffish nature, is extremely protective of his friends. He would rather do something he knows he’d hate than watch one of his friends get hurt.

And just like that, Richie wins the battle.

At a quarter to midnight the three boys find themselves walking along Neibolt street to the old, abandoned house near the trainyard.

“Rumor has it this is the house where Bob Grey killed all of his victims back in 1989,” Richie says from his spot between Mike and Stan. “They caught him on Halloween night, exactly 29 years ago. It’s kind of funny that we’re going there tonight. I mean, its 29 Neibolt street and it’s the 29th anniversary of his death.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. Nothing about this is funny,” Stan cuts. He can feel his nerves creeping in the closer he gets to that damn house. Everything about it is freaky, even during the day. The windows are all boarded up and the outside is practically falling apart. He doesn’t want to know what the inside looks like but he’s going to find out anyway.

“One of the kids was Denbrough’s older brother, George.” Richie continues, unphased by Stan. “Grey killed him when he was only six and Bill was nothing more than a twinkle in his father’s eye.”

Mike groans from the left before delivering a quick elbow to Richie’s ribs. Richie just staggers and grunts in response before pressing on. “They say that when they caught Grey they found all kinds of fucked up shit in his house. There were bones in the basement and body parts in the fridge and –”

“Alright, Richie. That’s enough,” Mike sighs. Nothing seems to deter Richie, though. He’s like a little boy on Christmas day as they turn onto the property and begin to climb the steps of the porch. He takes the lead, leaving Mike and Stan together on the steps as he runs up to the door and tries the handle. Because Richie possesses some kind of terrible, dumb luck the door opens without a problem other than the loud, screeching creak it makes as it swings in.

That sound makes a shiver run right through Stan’s spine. He honestly didn’t think they would get this far. He can feel the weight of the situation settling in the pit of his stomach, making it flip and turn in the worst kind of ways. There’s no reason for them to be out here right now. It’s late at night, the trick or treaters are long gone, and everyone who is sane and normal is inside watching movies or sleeping. Which is where they should be right now.

“You okay?” Mike asks, moving into Stan’s space and resting a large hand on his shoulder. Stan jolts slightly at the sudden touch, too caught up in his own thoughts to hear Mike approaching. He recovers quick, sending Mike a curt nod in a vain attempt to fool them both into thinking he’s okay.

“Let’s just get this over with. There can’t be that much to see in this place. The quicker we get in, the quicker we get out.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Richie exclaims, stumbling into the main room. His face lights up like a firecracker and he practically skips around the center to look at the old, decrepit furniture. Everything is either falling apart, covered in a once-white bedsheet, or both. The dust is thick and coating everything in sight. Stan can see the way it dances in the streetlight that leaks through the boards as they disturb it from its thirty-year sleep.

Altogether, the house is unremarkable. Stan thinks it could have been a beautiful home once. The stairs lead up to a second floor with a banister that wraps around the landing. He can see two, maybe three doors at the top that might be bedrooms, closets, or maybe even a bathroom. The downstairs living room leads into what might be a kitchen and there’s a door at the far end of the room that probably leads down into a basement. Maybe this place was beautiful once. Maybe in another life he could have lived here.

Stan feels another shiver roll through his body. This is not the house of a well-loved family. This is the house of the damned.

Ahead of him he can see Richie sifting through an old bookshelf lining the wall. Stan watches as he continues to disturb the dust. It dances up, up, up in the streaks of moonlight until he can’t see it anymore. A vague part of his mind wonders where it’s going, where it’s going to settle next.

A loud crash sounds to his left that sends him practically out of his skin. Reflexively, he yelps and jumps to his right, knocking into Mike who wraps his arms around Stan and effectively steadies him from toppling over to the ground.

“Hey now, it’s okay. It was probably just some old furniture that gave out. It’s probably been so long since this stuff has been touched that our footsteps alone are knocking them down,” Mike says, voice low and soothing in Stan’s ear. Stan relaxes gradually, muscles loosening at the feeling of Mikes hands rubbing gently against his side and shoulder.

“Yeah,” Stan agrees, voice shakier than he wants it to be, “you’re probably right.”

“Let’s go check it out. Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” Mike suggests and before he has any time to process Stan’s being led through the doorway and into the kitchen. “See, nothing to worry about. It was probably just that chair in the corner giving out.”

Stan looks to where Mike gestures and sure enough he sees an old, rotten chair collapsed in the corner. Instead of responding, Stan just wraps his arms around his body and nods. It makes enough sense but it does nothing to ease his anxiety. Mike pulls him closer, tucking him away under his arms and making himself a temporary shield against the darkness in the house. The hug is tight and comforting and it instantly relaxes Stan.

Mike releases him too soon for Stan’s liking but the warm smile he sends is comforting on its own. Together they make their way back to the living room. When they get there the find the room surprisingly empty. Stan glances around a few times before looking at Mike.

“Where’d Richie go?” He asks, voice quiet in the still room. Richie was just here a moment ago and now he’s gone.

“I’m not sure. Maybe upstairs?” Mike says, voice equally quiet but firm. Something about the way Mike is standing puts Stan immediately back on edge. He’s tense and his shoulders are squared off. He’s looking over the room as if he’s searching for something other than their friend.

“Mike, I don’t –” Stan starts but he doesn’t get the chance to finish. Another loud crash comes from the second story of the house. Stan jumps back again, backing up and frantically pressing his back against the wall. The house is eerily silent following the noise. Neither boy moves for a moment, the air hangs like static between them and the rest of the room.

“I’ll go check it out,” Mike whispers, carefully walking forward. Stan goes to try to stop him, ready to beg the other boy to please, please not leave him alone when Mike continues. “That was probably Richie. Who knows what he’s up to up there. I’ll bring him right down and we can get out of here.”

Stan goes silent at this. Any protest he has on his lips dies. Mike is right, it’s probably Richie. Their combined weight would probably be too much for the old structure of the house. He just nods solemnly in Mike’s direction before Mike starts up the stairs, disappearing from view.

And with that Stan is left entirely alone in the ground floor of the house.

He tries to keep himself calm. He swears he can feel the house breathing. The floorboards seem to shift and the doors move from left to right. Its disorientating and alarming. Stan can’t tell which way is up or which way is left. The door to the kitchen that he swears was on his left is suddenly behind him and it doesn’t even look like a kitchen anymore. Who knows where it leads but Stan feels himself being drawn there. As he turns to move something from the corner of the room catches his eye. The door to the basement, the one Richie was standing by when they last saw him, has a faint glowing light coming from beneath it.

Suddenly, the house rests beneath his feet.

“Richie,” Stan grumbles beneath his breath. He changes his course and walks to the basement door, stopping directly in front of it. As he reaches his hand up to the knob he feels a chill run up his spine.

There’s no way he’s stay in this house longer than he has to.

He grips the handle and slowly pushed the door open, peering down the stairs into the dim light. He could have sworn it looked brighter from under the door but now, staring down at it, there is nothing but a faint glow. He can see the floor and some of the surrounding area but nothing else.

“Richie?” Silence answers his soft call. He listens for a moment but he can’t hear anything, not even a footstep. “Come on, Rich. Games over. Mike and I wanna leave.”

Nothing. The feeling that follows the silence is nothing short of unsettling but Stan shucks it off in favor of his annoyance. Richie really is going to make him go down there, isn’t he?

Stan weighs his options. He can wait for Richie to come up from where he’s hiding or Mike to come down from his fruitless search. Or he can take matters into his own hands and go get Richie himself and end this early.

He takes the steps slowly, one at a time. His weight on the old wood makes an unforgiving sound as he descends the steps into the glow.

When he reaches the bottom, he looks around. There is an open door in the far corner leading to a dark room, several decaying boxes and crates, and a large slope of coal leading up to a window. The room itself is rather unimpressive but Stan finds something captivating about being down here. As he moves toward the center of the basement he can feel the weight of the situation lifting off of his shoulders. Each step he takes is another pound that he doesn’t feel. Soon, he thinks idly, he’ll be weightless.

A soft squishing sounds from beside him that draws him out of his thoughts. Its faint, nothing more than a squish, squish, squish from the darkness of the other room. It catches his attention, bringing him back to the moment. The moment proves to be exactly where he wants to be. He finds himself acutely aware of the smell that lingers in the room. It can’t be but it is. It’s impossible, yes, he distantly knows that, but it’s also so very real. The smell of popcorn, the kind you would get at a carnival, wafts from the darkness.

Squish, squish, squish.

It’s just enough to lure Stan’s natural curiosity out. He finds himself drifting toward it. He isn’t aware of the way his feet hardly move. He all but glides across the floor and when he reaches the doorway the smell is so intense its clogging up every other sense Stan has. He can taste the thick butter on his tongue, feel the grease of it on his fingers.

Squish, squish, squish.

His arm raises, hand floating through the space that separates him from whatever is on the other side. When it passes through the darkness, shadows slowly consuming his fingers, hand, and wrist, he feels the faint touch of ice.

Squish, squish, squish.

Startled, Stan pulls his hand out and stumbles backward. The smell in the room instantly changes. The sweet, buttery scent he had smelled just a second ago is suddenly rotten. He coughs twice but it overwhelms his system. Its putrid, burning up his nose and down his throat and choking him from the inside out. It smells like garbage mixed with rotting meat, decaying flesh, rotting fish.

It smells like death.

Stan could feel his breath getting shorter. It comes in and out in quick, shallow huffs and no matter how fast he tries to gulp the air down it still feels like he’s suffocating.

The noise sounds once more before the room settles into silence yet again. Out of the darkness steps a little girl no older than eight. Stan can’t take his eyes off her. He can’t look away from how the flesh of her neck hangs open and the dried blood soaks her chest and stomach. She stumbles on one leg, the other mangled from the shin down and dragging behind her. Her mouth hangs open in a constant gape and her eyes – fuck.

Stan found himself staring at with a grim, sick sort of fascination.

Her eyes were the worst part. Stan could come to terms with the gore of it all. He could understand the way her body was broken in some senseless, horrific murder. But he could never unsee the way the whites of her eyes were actually pitch black. They framed bright blue irises that were glinting in the soft glow of the room the same way Richie’s would if he were down here.

Suddenly, Stan remember why the fuck he came down here in the first place. She starts to amble toward him, leg dragged against the hard ground behind her and Stan knows he needs to get the fuck out of here right now but he can’t. His legs are rooted to the ground. It was like the air around them was frozen cold. The flesh of his arms and legs rose in the sudden change of the room and time ticked slowly to his inevitable death in this dark, musty basement.

His mind was screaming at him to move! Run! Do something you honey roasted shithead! but he can’t. All he can do is watch her move. He can feel her getting closer, invading his space. When she’s close enough to reach him, she does. One bloodied, gashed open arm lifting from her side and reaching out toward him. Her fingers feel like ice on his skin, slowly dragging up the side of his face and tangling almost tendering in his curls. The horror of this situation contrasts with the stupidity of her gentleness. She brings herself impossibly close to him, dark, dead eyes devoid of all emotion baring into his soul as she moves her face toward his.

“Where’s my shoe?” She asks, lips all but pressed against the shell of his ear. Her voice is rough, grating against this skin like an old knife might be and it’s just enough for him to break out of his trance, stumbling backward and causing her to yank strands of hair off of his head.

Once he’s far enough, he turns on his heel and full on sprints to and up the staircase. The door is in sight and he feels relief flood his system. He’s so close, only a few more steps and he’ll be free. He’ll be safe.

When he reaches the top he practically throws himself against the door and turns the handle. He’s lucky he has enough awareness to hold on, though, because the door does not budge and Stan feels the reverberation echo through his body. He almost falls down the stairs but his grip on the doorknob saves him.

He frantically wiggles the doorknob, the rattling sound mixing with the squish, squish, squish he now knows in the dead girl approaching him from beneath. It won’t budge. It’s like someone locked it from the outside but he doesn’t even remember closing it behind him. He can’t even really remember how he got down here, though, and it doesn’t help him now so he shucks the thought from his mind. He has to get out of this basement, now.

“Mike!” He screams, voice desperate and shrill, “Help! Please, for the love of God!”

He gets nothing in return. No one is on the other side of that door. No one is coming to save him.

Squish, squish, squish sounds from below him again and he knows, he knows, he’s going to have to decide or die in here.

He tries the door one more time, throwing his whole body against the wood, before he turns and flies down the stairs. He doesn’t look for the girl but he knows she’s here, waiting for him. He looks around twice before seeing another door on the far end of the room, opposite the door the girl came out of. He takes his chances and runs. He can feel the ice on his skin, something grazing his arm and warmth splitting his arm, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. He can’t. He makes it to the door and this one opens for him. He doesn’t think before he throws himself through it and slams it behind him. Distantly, he hears a screeching noise and then the room settles into an uncomfortable silence.

Stan looks around, taking in the room he’s now in. There’s something oddly familiar about it but he can’t place it. He doesn’t spend too long trying to and instead he moves to the center to get oriented. There are no other doors but there are no dead little girls, either.

Stan closes his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath as he weighs his options. He could stay in here and wait for the sun to come up or he could turn around and fight the good fight. He remembers the window at the top of the coal pile and he knows he has an out if he gets there fast enough. Ultimately, it’s the idea that his friends are still somewhere in this horror house that has Stan opening his eyes with a new determination. He has to find them and get out.

Stan looks around the room again before his eyes settle on the door. It’s almost as if the room had changed while he was thinking. Nothing seems to be how it was. There are new boxes and an old table that he knows wasn’t in here before. There’s still only one door but he swears it was behind him. Now, it is immediately in front of him.

He doesn’t have much else of a choice and he doesn’t waste time weighing the one option he has.

Stan is ready to run as soon as the door opens. Or fight. Or scream. Really, he’s ready to do anything it takes to survive. His eyes are wide, alert, as he watches each inch of the other room come into full view. Unlike before, there is no glow. There is no nothing. Instead, there is only a long, strip of hall laid out in front of him lit only by several dim overhead lights and a quiet, unidentifiable sound coming from the other end.

Stan hesitantly steps through the doorway. There is nothing in the other room for him to go back to, no other exits, no way out of this hell he’s found himself in.

Stan can hear the noise getting louder and louder as he makes his way down the hall. A quarter of the way down he realizes he’s listening to someone crying. And not just crying, its full out wailing. That feeling from before creeps up his spine again. It makes its way into the base of his neck and creeps all the way down his shoulders and into his hands. His sweaty palms are numb with fear, a dull tingling sensation crawling all the way to the tips of his fingernails.

The walk down the hall seems never ending. Stan steps carefully, slowly moving from foot to foot to keep his steps as silent as possible. This could be a trap. This could be the monster he saw in the basement luring him into his death. The cries only get louder and louder until he’s standing right outside of the doorway to the room at the end of the hall.

He peers in, careful not to expose himself to whatever is on the other side. He’s surprised when he doesn’t see the bloodied, beaten corpse of the young girl. Instead he sees a figure practically crumpled in the middle of the room. Their dark skin glints off the soft moonlight coming in through the window and. Wait. Holy shit.

Holy shit. It’s Mike. He’s folded over himself, face practically buried in the hardwood floor. His hands pull desperately at the hair on his head as he rocks back and forth on his knees.

Stan doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen Mike like this before. Mike is strong, fearless. He’s faced down Bowers with more courage than any of the Losers ever have but he’s also soft and kind. Gentleness flows through his veins and courage roots his feet to the Earth under them. What the fuck happened to him?

Mike’s head suddenly snaps up and suddenly Stan’s they’re face to face and Stan gets a good look at his face. The skin below his eyes and nose are shiny with tears and shot. His eyes have a hazy glaze over them and arm framed by red, swollen rims and his lips are red and almost bitted through.

“Oh my god,” Mike gasps, sucking down air between his broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, Stan. I couldn’t save you.”

“Mike, I don’t – what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry,” Mike repeats, shaking his head and grasping blindly at the floor under him.

“Mike, I’m fine. I’m right here,” Stan says, grabbing Mike’s face and forcing him to look Stan in the eye. After a moment his eyes seem to clear.

“Stan, oh my god.” Mike says, throwing his body full force against Stan’s and wrapping his arms around Stan’s shoulders.

“I’m right here, Mike.”

“I swear to god I saw you, Stan.” Mike says, voice too loud and too desperate. His hands are clutching at Stan’s shoulders and his body is shaking so hard Stan’s scared he might fall apart. “It was you. I thought it was your ghost. You were so mangled. There was blood all over your hands and face and your entire stomach was wide open. You screamed at me. ‘How could you let this happen to me Mike! I thought you cared! Why would you leave me down there!’” Mikes voice crumbles again, breaking off into heaving sobs between his words. “You walked through a wall and disappeared.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Mike!” Stan screams, voice shaking despite how desperate he is to remain calm. He wants to believe it, he wants to be so sure of himself, but the dead little girl he saw standing in the basement has him questioning his own beliefs.

Mike quiets against him. His body still trembles but his sobs fade until there is nothing but the gentle sounds of their breathing. Slowly, Mike pulls back. His brown eyes dance in the soft light of the room. He looks at Stan as if he wants to say something, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes darting between Stan’s own in a searching way.

“I thought I lost you,” he says as he brings a hand up to Stan’s face. Stan closes his eyes automatically, leaning into the warmth. Mike’s palm is huge on his face and cover most of his cheek, his fingers reaching up and touching the tips of Stan’s curls.

“You didn’t,” Stan whispers back. A beat passes between them before Stan hears a gentle inhale and then the soft press of lips against his. It’s over as fast as it begins. Mike pulls away almost immediately and Stan opens his eyes but the weight of it lingers between them. It’s a mixture of please don’t let me go and escape escape escape.

“There is a staircase over there,” Mike says, clearing his voice with a quick cough and gesturing toward the corner of the room. He stands up and takes Stan’s hand in his, pulling Stan to his feet gently. Together, they take the stairs one by one. Stan doesn’t even realize he’s back on the ground floor until they’re in the kitchen, practically back where they started.  

“Mike. How – I never went upstairs,” Stan says quietly, hand still in Mike’s. “I went into the basement to look for Richie and I – fuck. Mike. Where’s Richie?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t upstairs.”

“We need to find him!” Stan cries, spinning around to scan the kitchen. Panic begins to cloud his head again. He hasn’t seen Richie since they got here. Neither of them have. Both of them have gone looking for him but neither of them managed to find him and, logically speaking, they’ve searched the whole house. But logic went out the window a long time ago and he knows if they don’t find Richie soon they never will. He can feel it in his bones.

He slips his hand from Mikes and before he knows it he’s sprinting out of the kitchen and into the last room they were all together in. The living room.

“Richie!” Stan calls, frantic and desperate and scared. He can feel his heartbeat all the way in the roof of his mouth as he calls for his friend.

Mike is on him again, arms holding him from behind and grounding him. He hears Mike suck in a breath to start talking, probably to chastise him for trying to go alone, but it never comes. The sudden absence of air by his ear hangs heavy between them. Stan cranes his neck back to look at Mike but Mike isn’t looking at him. His eyes are trained on the far corner of the room, wide and shocked and confused.

Stan goes to follow Mike’s eyes when he sees it. A thick, viscous red trail leading to the corner. There isn’t a doubt in Stan’s mind that it’s blood. The trail starts in the middle of the room and moves in the direction of a larger puddle in the corner. And in the center of that corner is none other than Richie himself.

Stan doesn’t move at first. He doesn’t even breathe. All he does is stare at the crumpled shape of his best friend. Richie has his back propped against the wall, head lolled to the side and arms dangling from either side of him. His shirt is torn open and stained a deep red. The rips frame two deep gashes across his chest running from his right shoulder to his left hip. From what he can see, blood is drenching practically every inch of Richie. His hands are slick with it, his arms are dripping, and the legs of his pants are splattered, likely from him crawling to his current position.

He looks like a shell of the boy Stan saw only an hour earlier.

He looks dead.

Mike moves first, releasing Stan and rushing to Richie’s side. Stan watches as gentle hands take hold of Richie body, one on the side of his neck and the other on his chest.

“He’s still alive, Stan!” he calls, moving his hands to take his shirt off and press it against the wounds.

“Mike, we have to get the fuck out of here,” Stan says, voice wavering with the effort it takes him to stay composed. He comes up behind Mike and presses his hands to Richie’s face, choking down a sob as he feels it roll to the side lifelessly. “Richie, come on man. Please. We gotta go.”

Mike grabs Richie’s shoulder and pulls the body to his chest. He then hooks his right arm under Richie’s legs and lifts him up, cradling him close to his body and motioning toward the door. Stan gets the hint immediately and runs to the exit, grabbing the handle. Just like in the basement, Stan finds himself unable to get the door open. No matter how hard he twists and slams his shoulders against the door nothing budges.

Just as he feels like he’s making progress, he feels the ground of the house begin to vibrate under his feet. He can hear metal rattling in the kitchen and furniture collapsing around them from the force of the vibration as it turns from soft to violent. Stan braces himself against the door and watches, wide eyed, as Mike kneels to stop himself from dropping the unconscious boy in his arms.

“Come with me, Stan. Float with me. With me, you can stay children forever,” a haunting, broken voice sounds from above them. Stan whips his head around, desperate to figure out where the voice is coming from but it echoes throughout the house from every direction. It comes from the basement, the kitchen, the stairs. It’s everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Stan!” Mike screams, voice dulled from the sounds shaking house. His eyes are wide and terrified as he holds their friend. “Stan we have to go!”  

A bright light flashes and suddenly they’re not three anymore, but four. Across the room, no more than ten feet from the boys, is a tall, hellish figure of a man. His red hair stands at every angle and his smile is painted on in a bright, bloody red. Brightly colored pom poms dance up the center of his silvery, tattered clown suit. He resembles the kind of clown in they might see in a horror movie.

“You’re not real,” Stan says. His voice is laced with terror and nothing but a soft squeak.

“Yes, I am, Stan. I am real and I am going to kill you,” the clown says, stepping slowly toward where Mike and Richie are. His eyes train on the boys and Stan knows that this is it. This is how they’re going to die if he doesn’t do something.

“No!” Stan says, more defiant this time. He steps between the clown and his friends, squaring his shoulder and puffing his chest out in an act of pseudo-bravery. “You’re not real! I don’t believe any of this!”

Stan steps forward and, to his surprise, the clown steps back. “Ghosts aren’t real!” He says, voice rising with each word until he’s screaming. “Houses are just houses and they don’t move around! Dead little girls stay dead and they don’t live in basements! This is real! This isn’t happening!” When he finishes, Stan lets out a scream he’s been holding in the entire night. It comes from deep inside his chest and it rattles the house in a new, frightening way and when he’s done they’re left alone in the quiet, empty, decrepit house.

Two weeks later

Stan watches from his place on the couch as Richie attempts to do a cartwheel for the second time.

“You’re going to fuck up your stitches, Richie,” he drawls, only mildly concerned.

“No, I’m not. Doc said I’m almost fully healed!” Richie shoots back, chipper as ever. For someone who was on medical bed rest less than a week ago, Richie was as energetic and spry as ever. Despite his argument, Richie relents and towers over Stan. The bandages he’s still required to wear poke out from under the collar of his blue Henley.

“Yeah. Almost. If you keep dicking around you’ll never get there.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I saved both your asses from that fucking bear.”

“Yeah,” Stan says, eyeing Richie has he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “We’d be goners if it wasn’t for you.”

“Tell me the story again, Staniel. I still can’t believe I can’t remember anything.”

Stan rolls his eyes and launches into his rehearsed script, grabbing the handful of doritos that Richie offers him. It’s a tall tale of out they came out of the house in the backyard and decided to fuck around in the woods due to sheer boredom. They’d encountered a bear and Richie had jumped in front of Mike and Stan, taking a near fatal paw to the chest. His scream alone managed to scare the beast away and save them all. Stan and Mike carried Richie to the closest occupied house and called an ambulance.

The doctors said it was a miracle Richie survived the hit and they all weren’t killed then and there.

The last part is the only true part but Richie doesn’t need to know that. No one does. No one needs to know how they tumbled through the front door, faces soaked in tears and snot, and ran as fast for their lives from 29 Neibolt street.

As Richie listens intently, Mike saunters through the front door of the Tozier household, settling on the arm of the couch next to Stan and gently combing his fingers through the gold curls on his boyfriend’s head.

“And I can’t believe I missed this! I was out for two days, two days, and all of a sudden you two are macking all up on each other. I can’t believe all it took was a near death experience for you two to finally get your shit together.”

Stan feels his face flush as Mike chuckles and pulls him close. He feels the warm press of lips to the crown of his head and hums in appreciation.

“We just figured we should stop wasting our time. Life’s too short,” Mike says, fondness in his voice. Stan looks up and catches Mike’s smile.

“Yeah,” Stan says, echoing the sentiment. “You never know what could happen.”

Mike catches his lips in a chaste kiss but it says all the things they almost don’t get to say.

I almost missed you.

I almost lost you.

I love you.

[caroline-min-max]

Don’t say it Yet

Caroline’s never been so happy before in her entire life. She has a home of her own, lives comfortably, is wealthy, gained the respect of her fellow Gotham rouges, and has even found herself in a wonderful relationship.

Her paranoia persists, however. Worrying that one day, without warning, any of these things could change there’s a certain word Caroline refuses to let the twins say to her yet.

Their alarm went off, waking Min up in the room he shared with his twin. He groaned, leaving it to Max to turn it off as he pulled his covers over his head and held his pillow close. He absolutely did not feel like getting up, hearing Max let out a sleepy yawn.

“Come on, Min,” Max encouraged, looking over at his brother’s bed and seeing he was staying put. They hadn’t been up late with a job; there was no excuse to be lazy today.

“I’m going to stay in bed,” came Min’s muffled reply. “We’re not doing anything today.” He could sleep in for once. There was no harm in it. “Umph!” he said in surprise when he felt Max give him a shove. “Go away!”

“Just get up!” It would be such a waste to lay around all day long. 

Min peeked out from under the covers. “Give me one good reason.” If Max couldn’t he was going to get a pillow to the face for bothering him before he went back to sleep. 

“Hmm...” Max crossed his arms and thought about it. “I got it!” He snapped his fingers, Min hoping for his sake he’d really come up with something. “We should start giving Caroline a kiss good morning everyday! I mean...” He trailed off for a moment. “I could always do that on my own...” he teased.

Like hell he would! Min was up in an instant. That was all the motivation that he needed! Now that was an idea! The two of them and Caroline were still getting comfortable showing physical affection to one another. A kiss to start off the day would be a welcome routine and nothing that should be too overwhelming for Caroline!

Caroline thought so too. A sluggish riser herself, the twins sometimes made it into the kitchen before her where they met for breakfast. She walked in to see the twins busy making eggs and pancakes when Max surprised her with the first smooch when she approach. 

The moment Max’s lips made contact with hers’ Caroline’s ears sprang up as she blushed. She wrapped her arms his neck and shut her eyes, savoring the contact. 

“Good morning, Honey Bunny,” Max said once their lips parted, keeping his forehead pressed against hers until he was done speaking.

“Good morning,” Caroline answered cheerfully. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“The same thing you did to deserve this,” Min answered, gently pulling Caroline out of Max’s arms and into his.

Min’s kisses were much more intense, Caroline feeling light on her feet to get one from him next. Unlike Max he was a little bolder with his tongue, Caroline feeling it meeting her own for a moment before he let her go.

“W-well...” Caroline stammered, cheeks flushed. “I...” She suddenly paused to sniff the air. “The eggs are going to burn!” 

The twins gasped, returning to the stove just in time to save their breakfast. The pancakes were starting to get too done as well on one side, Min flipping them while Max dealt with the eggs. 

“It’s almost done!” Max said as he turned to talk to Caroline. “Go ahead and sit down!”

Since Max was busy finishing up their breakfast Min hurried ahead of Caroline to pull her chair out for her. Not a single meal had gone by where one of them didn’t perform this chivalrous gesture for her since they moved in. Caroline thanked him as she took her seat in-between two vacant chairs where the twins would soon be joining her. The table had already been already been set, Caroline helping herself to a glass of milk as she waited.

 Adoration was in Caroline’s eyes as she watched Min return to help his brother. They were such good boys... Caroline did plenty of cooking but she appreciated how Min and Max had gotten so much better at making breakfast. They’d make it themselves if she wasn’t up and they were great helpers with lunch and dinner if she wanted it.

There wasn’t a single time Caroline felt like she was taking care of overgrown children. She’d heard her former female co-workers complain about feeling more like mothers than lovers to their men. Caroline wasn’t the kind of woman who would put up with that. There were no gender assigned chores in this house; they all teamed up to get it done together and that was that.

Min and Max plated up their food. Max placed Caroline’s breakfast down in front of her while Min followed with both his and Max’s meals. They then took their places beside Caroline to eat.

The twins quickly took bites of the food to make sure the taste was suitable for their Caroline. If they’d made a mistake they’d apologize profusely, beg her not to eat it, and let them try again. They were pleased with themselves, being sure to compliment each other. 

Caroline couldn’t help smiling at both her men as she watched them. It was a beautiful day outside, sunshine coming in through the windows, making the atmosphere feel warm and cozy. Min and Max were too busy eating that they took a moment to notice that Caroline hadn’t touched her food yet and seemed distracted.

“Are you OK?” Min asked.

“Is something wrong?” Max asked at the same time. He was positive the food was fine! 

Still smiling, Caroline shook her head. “That’s just it; I’m perfectly fine and nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.” Seeing the confused looks on Min and Max’s faces she elaborated. “I never imagined my life would be like one of those happy sitcoms is all. Waking up peacefully and getting kisses good morning before sitting down to a nice meal together... I wanted to take it all in is all.” It was hard to believe the two gentlemen she had the privilege of dining with and calling her lovers could lead this double life with her. They were so domestic when not committing crimes it was hard to believe they had it in them to rob and kill anyone. 

The twins returned her smile. Hearing Caroline put it that way... They appreciated it as well.

“What do you think a show about us would called?” Min wondered aloud.

Caroline chuckled. She hadn’t thought of that. “I’m not sure...” She pondered it for a moment. “‘Our Wife has Rabbit Ears‘, maybe?”

Upon hearing this suggestion both twins faces went violently red. Max dropped the fork in his hand, it falling with a clink! to his plate. Min simply tugged at his collar, a habit of his when he was embarrassed. 

“What?” Caroline asked with a laugh. Weren’t their reactions just a tad extreme?

“You... You said ‘wife’...” Max answered with difficulty.

“It was just an idea for a title!” Caroline replied. They’d only been dating for two months now. They were all head over heels for one another but for them to take what she’d said so seriously... “You know how conservative TV is! I doubt there would be a chance of our story making it to the airwaves as a sitcom if we were living in sin.” Really most of the important details were too hot for TV anyway. She assumed they’d all just been kidding; a woman dating two twin brothers at the same time? Truly scandalous! 

The twins said nothing, letting their imaginations run away with them. They were fully aware of how new their relationship was. It was SO new that they had a hard time believing that they were both lucky enough to call Caroline their girlfriend now. For her to jump to “wife” like that when they hadn’t even slept with her yet was a little too much for them.

Caroline recalled a bit of advice an older woman she used to work with gave her: “If a man who says he’s interested in you doesn’t act flustered and nervous he doesn’t actually care.”. That seemed to be proving quite true. 

However... A devilish grin crossed Caroline’s face. They were too adorable; she had to tease them a little more. They had it coming after all the times they’ d made her blush, after all.

“Do you boys want me to be your bride?” she asked, breaking her good table manners by placing an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm as she looked back and forth at them with amusement.

“W-we...” Min stammered before swallowing hard.

“You’d be so pretty in a wedding dress...” Max could just see it now.

“Would I...?” Caroline wondered about that. “If I wore white I’d look like ghost,” she thought with a chuckle. With her white hair and pale skin she couldn’t imagine it would flatter her at all.

“I was thinking a light pink!” Max replied. “It would bring out your eyes...” He smiled lovingly at her. 

“That would be beautiful...” Min agreed, able to picture it. “Caroline... I’ve always said to Max that you’re so perfect all I want to change about you is your last name.”

“Oh... Well...” She sat back in her chair. Drat! Now SHE was the one getting flustered! She could see it too... Walking down the isle to her two tuxedo-ed lovers anxiously waiting for her at the alter... Well, if that sort of thing were legal, that is. While not recognized by the law she supposed there could still be a wedding and no could stop them from saying “husbands” and “wife”.

They’d known each other for two years and lived together for one during that time before starting this relationship. Caroline supposed that was why it was so easy to already be thinking about marriage. She’d doted over and taken care of these two like they were married already as they did her. 

“It’s still too early to be talking about things like that so lets put a pin it for now...” Caroline decided. Everything was so exciting and new. She thought the twins likely felt like her, that this relationship would last forever, but who knew what would happen as time passed? “I swear you both have odd tastes in women. I don’t know what I did for you to feel so strongly about me.“

Caroline looked down for only a moment to finally start eating. She cut a piece of her pancake, noticing once she’d began chewing both twins were staring at her with looks of disbelief. When they saw her looking at them they crossed their arms.

“What?” she asked after she’d swallowed. Had she said something wrong?

“Right from the start you tried to stop Two Face when he’d get angry with us,” Min pointed out, not realizing she only did that to prevent wasting time.

“You always helped us we were injured,” Max recalled with a fond smile before she could correct Min. She still did, complete with her overly cute band aides for minor scratches. 

Caroline only managed to get her mouth open before Min continued. She was never fast enough to get a word in once the twins got going. 

“You kept trying until you could tell us apart!” Min had been so grateful and impressed by that. 

“You brought us soup when we were sick!” Max had been in complete disbelief at the time Caroline had gone out of her way to do such a thing.  

“You took us in when Two Face wanted to kill us!“

“I for sure wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t!”

The twins started taking turns pointing out every single thing Caroline had done for them since they’d met her. Not a thing about her looks or how attractive they found her. Just her actions and abilities that they appreciated and admired.

Caroline put her hand up. “OK, boys. I get it.” She looked fondly at them. “You two remember all of that...”

“Of course we do!” Min replied.

“It was all important to us!” Max added. “No one else ever did things for us like that!”

“Well...” A frown started to overtake Caroline’s face. “There’s people out there who so easily forget all the things you did for them, how much you care... Once they don’t need you anymore, or you need something from them, they’re gone.” She paused for a moment. “But... I can’t pretend that I’m such a good and caring person either. I can’t stand most people now. If I didn’t want to I wouldn’t have done all that for you two. I would have told Two Face right where to find you. It made me so happy to be of use to you and I couldn’t imagine not having either of you in my life.”

They deserved to know. Caroline couldn’t let them go on thinking she was some kind of Saint. Everything she did was out of selfishness. She found the twins made her happier than anyone and that’s what really saved them. If it had been anyone else she would have killed them herself to stay on Two Face’s good side if he’d wanted her to.

Instead of thinking less of her, the twins grinned broadly.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Min replied with a wink.

“We knew what our bunny is like,” Max added with pride. She was normally grumpy, irritable, and uptight. He and Min knew around them that changed. They were the only two people who made her face light up when they entered the room. 

“Well then!” Caroline supposed there was nothing left to argue with. “I suppose we really are a match.”

“It’s more than that...” Min said seriously, looking straight at Caroline.

“Caroline...” Max said as he and Min each took one of her hands. “Min I think that we lo-“

“If you’re using the word ‘think’ than you aren’t sure.” Caroline interrupted sharply as she pulled her hands out of their grasps. “I take that word very seriously. I take it for keeps. Unless you two know that you’re going to feel that way forever about me I don’t want to hear it said so casually. I’m not going to say it until I’m positive as well.”

“OK, Caroline,” Min replied gently.

“Alright,” Max agreed softly at the same time.

They knew Caroline had been through a lot. They knew they were lucky that despite all of it she wanted to try a relationship with them. That alone proved how deep her feelings were for them. They’d take it at her pace and adhere to her requests. She hadn’t asked a single unreasonable thing so far.

“Thank you,” Caroline said sincerely. She placed her hands over the top of one of each of theirs and gave them gentle squeezes as an apology. “I know I ask a bit too much and I’m sorry for that. You two are so sweet and patient with me.”

“You’re worth it,” Min replied, he and Max leaning in to kiss her cheeks.

“Let me warm up your plate for you,” Max said as he picked it up, knowing it must almost be stone cold. “Min and I talk too much.”

They did, but Caroline found she enjoyed that about them as well. She let Max take her food over to the microwave, thanking him when he returned. From there the twins let Caroline each in peace, exchanging happy looks with one another. All three had been good for another and improved each other lives. They’d take whatever baggage was there and be glad to deal with it. 

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations, ABBY! You’ve been accepted as IAPETUS.

Choosing between two extremely well-written apps is never easy and I apologize for the wait. But, Abby, this app blew me away! Describing Jack as someone who “existed in sharp fragments littered against the pavement, indistinguishable from shattered glass” is quite possibily the perfect way to describe him; he’s there and you know he’s watching, but you can’t figure out where because he hides so well. Jack Mizuno is a ghost, as you mentioned in your app, but he is a ghost that I want to know more and more about. 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information: 

NAME/ALIAS: Abby PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: 22 TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST, 6-7/10 – I’m a full time grad student take a pretty heavy course and research load, so generally I’m busy during the day but my schedule is kind of flexible? Generally speaking I’ll be online every day but either in the early mornings or evenings.

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jack Mizuno / Iapetus

GENDER/PRONOUNS: cis male & he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

Jack Mizuno did not exist. He was a ghost, a dead end paper trail carefully crafted to lead whoever wanted to look in pretty little circles. Knowing all the back and trapdoors of the internet better than the alley behind your poor excuse for an apartment tended to make that an easy feat. Jack Mizuno existed in sharp fragments littered against the pavement, indistinguishable from shattered glass; you needed to know just where to look to find him. This is by design. Jack has secrets, knows secrets, has seen and buried the terrible things mutants will do in the name of survival. 

He is not a charity. Before Alma held him up by his hair and gave him a choice that wasn’t a choice at all, Jack had to make his own purpose. That was expensive. Pro Bono lawyers don’t drive the sports cars or wear expensive watches. In mutant terms – the ones who can dig and bury and burn as well as Jack can and do it for free end up dead. So, no, Jack is not a charity, but it doesn’t mean he has no heart. He has quite a lot of it, actually; he needs it not to drown in all the destitution he bears witness to. It surprises a lot of people the true extent of cruelty human beings are capable of. It doesn’t surprise Jack, anymore, but that doesn’t make him immune to their equal or greater capacity for kindness. Alma showed him kindness; he’s still trying to understand how to pay it back with interest. 

Self-preservation is paramount. Jack has been a bottom feeder for as long as he can remember – taking the ugly, awful work law enforcement doesn’t care for and PIs find distasteful. It bred in him a fine-tuned intuition, sharp as a knife’s edge. He knows when to take the money, when to ask no questions, and when to disappear. Disappearing is an art like any other, and Jack is exceptionally good at it. A fool’s errand is inviting Jack into your life and thinking you can keep a secret from him after. He’s not curious, he’s careful. Thorough. Leaves nothing and then less to chance.

The knife’s edge is double sided – Jack has a flighty, nervous nature to him that he stamps down with caffeine and cigarettes. It doesn’t go away, and dampens at the expense of his better judgment, but doing so sweeps down the hair at the back of his neck and stills his fingers when there’s work to be done. Jack is a shark; stop swimming for too long and he’ll sink straight to the ground.

BIO: There is no minimum or maximum requirement here. But, we do ask that you provide enough that gives us a good grasp of your writing style. 

Everyone expects it to still be snowing in March. Chicago, they say, with an endeared little smile and the flat ah to tell you without telling you they’re a native, winter from October to April. In 1989, March rained. Buckets of it for more days that most folks bothered counting. March was a gust at the end of winter just warm enough to make it miserable. Jack was born smack in the middle, when the city was drowning. 

The rest comes in fragments; a story quilted together by Jack’s own fragile memories and what he’s managed to take from others. The power flickered in and out in the hours leading up to his birth – concerning, perhaps, but neither catastrophic nor unexpected for the Gage Park General Hospital.

Jack’s mother was a nervous woman. He wondered, later, if that anxious constitution was something inherited from the womb; if his mother’s uneasy heart set in his a parallel double-step from conception. Perhaps it was imparted later, swallowed up by Jack in the spaces between the lined up bills on the kitchen counter, angry shaking of locks that stuck in the cold – which was a frequent visitor, in their house – and trembling hands over thread-bare collars. 

Jack’s father was a ghost, but the kind that lingered heavy, an almost-hand that threatened above his shoulder and the doorway. More than once Jack wondered what he inherited from his father, what strange neuroticisms – or, indeed, mutations – he left in place of a hand print. It’s the only secret Jack has refused to recover.

School passes unremarkably. Jack is neither the bully nor the victim; insignificant enough to slip under the radar and glaze by. Not a top student. Not struggling. Lost in the waves that ebb through the blown-out halls, into the rusted chairs, out onto the buses that only run on hope and cold air. It’s all very – fine. It’s fine. His mother comes home with a hand in his hair and a question about his day she doesn’t wait to hear the answer to. His school work is swept aside to make room on the table to count what they’ve lost and earned for the day. When he’s old enough, Jack will drop his books to do the same. 

They don’t quite get that far.

See, Jack doesn’t have a flash-bang mutation. There’s no schoolyard scuffle that goes from rowdy to lethal like the flip of a coin and gets the whole neighborhood straight on the news. His is a slow crescendo, and goes like this: His mother is spending laters nights at work, which means a locked door at home and the silent command to find something to do with his time. He’s about fourteen – not old enough to work somewhere safe but too old to be knocking on neighbors doors alone and hungry.

He settles for the library next to school. It’s warm, well-lit, and they have a computer. Jack only gets to go on those an hour a day at school. He noodles around when he’s bored of his homework, stumbles on things he shouldn’t but doesn’t know any better to avoid – or, rather, doesn’t know aren’t normal. He’s smart and stupid enough to keep this to himself, age up into high school with this secret tucked under his tongue; wait until the conversation has already turned to mutants before he dares to bring it up on his own. He doesn’t tell his mother, just yet, wants to know for sure that what he can do is something he can also control. Jack isn’t afforded that chance, either.

Eviction notices were a big red staple of Jack’s childhood – taped to the door or slipped quietly underneath it. It’s only when he’s seventeen and a hair’s breadth from graduating that their landlord finally follows through. Jack comes home to the door wrenched open and their meager belongings scattered or gone. He finds his mother in a house down the street – an aunt’s maybe, or a distant cousin’s – with her face in her hands and shoulders shaking. It goes like that for some time, drifting just the two of them, until Jack comes back to their newest makeshift home and finds her gone.

What comes next is – dark. Jack comes to in an apartment reminiscent of his childhood, wearing clothes he doesn’t really recognize but smell like him. There might be someone in his bed. He might be squatting. He shut off for a while, he isn’t sure. The laptop left open on the floor is definitely his – it has his fingerprints all over it. Digital, mostly, but there’s the odd smudge that gives way to physical ownership. This is what he has now, neck deep in the chasm of loneliness: a keyboard and a client list a mile long.  

It goes like this for some while. Jack stays in his probably-not-legally-rented apartment, waiting for the people who know how to find him, well – find him. Most of them pay well. He takes what feels safe and keeps himself warm, but freelancing for strangers with an envelope of cash is a near-vertical learning curve. Jack has an edge, but he’s also stupid in the early days. He still searches for his mother, when he can. He moves apartments twice and nearly gets taken into two more times beyond that. 

The months of smooth sailing and steady income that flow in afterwards makes him arrogant, and reckless. It’s something between a favor and a job that gets him caught – a favor, because, damn him, he cares about the client more than he should, but still technically a job when there’s a paycheck at the end of it. Sentiment makes him desperate, experience makes him careless, and the resource he’d heard Blackburn might have had access to was never even there in the first place. 

The first time he met Alma, the only thing Jack smelled was blood – his, probably. His mouth certainly felt full of it. He never had much use for religion in his short, cold life, even if his mother was devout for all of hers. Staring at Alma, one hand in his hair and offering him a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all, he might have almost understood. With a strong hand and an outstretched arm, he remembers the verses and psalms, as he stares at her. They might even feel true.

Jack is not a watchdog, but he’s something close, maybe. Alma offered him a purpose he already had in front of him but didn’t know how to take. There is no doubt Jack’s loyalty to the Blackburn Syndicate runs deep and unwavering. He believes in the cause, acts for the cause, maybe even lives for it. But he is still a solitary creature, and the rising tensions pull tight at his skin.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS: Please expand on at least one of the connections set out in the bio. There can be as little or as much as you want to be written here. We would love to see how you interpreted the connections we set out!

LENOX. Jack has spent time adrift – living through a haze that blurred the lines in his mind. He has no desire to return to that state, ever. He grounds himself in reality, more so than ever. His life depends on truth and the relentless pursuit of it. Lenox is a direct threat to his own stability, and worse, they seem to find pleasure from seeing him squirm under their little games. He hates it, he hates them, and he hates more how he doesn’t really hate it at all. Jack has built his life into a routine, and the illusions annoy him. They set his teeth on edge and give him the shakes for days after, but there’s a reason he hasn’t asked Alma for one of her fists into Lenox’s pretty little face.  

ILIE. Jack doesn’t make a habit of sitting on any of his secrets. He tried it, once. He almost bled out on the pavement. The second time he was nearly locked up in a testing facility. So, no, he doesn’t hold on to the transgressions of others any more than he needs to. Chances are there’s some way to spin it in his favor – or, the Syndicate’s, now. It’s – different with Ilie. Jack is meant to be playing nice with the King’s Collective, so says the hand on his leash, but he just can’t help this small amusement. It’s a vice that will get him killed, or worse, he knows. The second he slips Ilie will go running, but it’s so nice to be the one in control for a time. Even if it’s not really enough, only the illusion of it. 

RAHIM. Jack isn’t sure quite what to make of Rahim, and that’s a dangerous thing. Jack likes to have the answers – is rather used to it – and doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is left wanting for them. Enter, Rahim. A man Jack is meant to be getting along with, tries to get along with, but can’t quite seem to figure out. They dance around each other, careful, and Jack is unwilling to take the first step forward or back. He’s a watcher, so he watches. He knows it unsettles Rahim, and maybe that makes it all the more worth it. It’s more fun to earn the answers, anyway.

EXTRA: 

Pinterest

Headcanons

Jack Mizuno is an alias, easy enough to assume. He told Alma his real name privately after he agreed to his terms, but no one else knows it as far as he’s aware.

He’s left handed; insignificant, but it’s a pet-peeve of his when people point it out like it’s something secret or exciting. There are lots of secret or exciting things about him, this isn’t one of them.

Jack doesn’t define his sexuality in strict terms or labels. He’s more of a convenience person who recognizes he has needs, but doesn’t much care who satisfies them. If he had to choose he might prefer men, but it’s only by a slim margin.

ANYTHING ELSE:

Uhhh this was not proof read so apologies for inevitable typos!

[grinwolfe]

What it's like living here

I would like to tell you a story. A long story. It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. Maybe one day you'll find yourself in a situation and some part of this will resurface from ancient memory and absorb some of the shock. Or maybe you already know, and my story might provide some validation or relief. The point is, it's a story and we always learn things in stories. I live in a prairie. I live where hardly anyone comes to visit and half the people who live here want to leave. I live with extreme heat and drought, extreme rain and floods, the occasional snow and hail in July, 8 months of winter, the highest crime rate in my country, plagues every year of different insects and animals (this is the jack rabbit and bumblebee year, so it's a good year), and the most light on average in a year, with our 180° skies and endless fields. It takes hours to get anywhere else, there aren't any public buses anymore for between the towns, so if you're on your own and have no car, best of luck to you and see you in two days. There is nowhere to hide from the sun, the bugs will feast on you, as will bears, cougars and coyotes once you've been trampled/gored by a moose or stag. This is a desolate, dangerous, empty space where if you stop and listen for a while, you start to feel the great expanse of ever consuming existence and how small and very very mortal you are. How fragile and brief we all are, and quite meaningless. That silence can either take you to new levels of consciousness and understanding, or drive you insane until you are babbling and screaming just to hear anything beyond the soft drone of all those bugs who want to eat you and the hungry giggling of a pack of coyotes. That is where I live. I also live in a century old house. This is quite the accomplishment; there aren't many of them left in the community where I live. Anything old, antique, or possesses character is immediately destroyed because 'it doesn't appeal to businesses.' A plain metal box always replaces it, which is the ugliest damn thing you've ever seen. My house is 110 years old, maybe older; the furthest the records go back is 1906 and my house was already built then. It came from a Sears catalogue and was built by laymen. I exist because of this house. It brought my parents together; my mom was my dad's first and last renter who only ever paid one months rent because she lost her job. I grew up in this house, amid the constant reno's saw dust, rusty nails, century old horse hair, exposed wiring, and power tools. My father is still renovating it. No, it isn't in that bad of shape, he's just really bad/slow at it and is very possessive of the house so he refuses to let anyone outside of me or mom help. And we don't like to help him because he's a huge jerk when you help him. You need to know all of this because understanding the circumstances of growing up in this house, in this place, adds another unnerving layer upon my tale. It's hard to know if it was like what I remember before I was born, or if activity ramped up as I grew up. I have no way of finding out because neither of my parents are a)organized, b)observant c)tolerating of differences. The earliest event I can remember was the most traumatic. I was around the age of 4, and while my parents watched tv in the living room, I went into the kitchen with their permission to grab a caramel candy. Our kitchen has one huge single pane window looking into our backyard and midway up I saw two lights reflected in the glass. My first instinct was that those lights were reflected from a hallway light behind me. I wasn't wrong. I just didn't immediately grasp that the light was rebounding off two eyes that were over ten feet (over 3 m) off the ground. Not little eyes either. They were yellow white, round, forwards facing, 1 1/4" (32 mm) in diameter and roughly 8 inches. And they were staring right at me. Do you know what that is? Because I still don't. Frankly, it's amazing I didn't pee myself. I was so scared, I couldn't scream or make a noise. I collapsed and played dead like a baby deer while trying to slowly crawl out of the kitchen while gasp crying softly for my parents, terrified that the monster will come through the glass. I eventually made it, got rebuked for crawling on the floor, and then I hid under the coffee table while they watched their show. It wasn't until the end of their show that they bothered to ask why I hadn't said a word and was still under the coffee table. They dismissed my fears. To this day they denied it ever happened, yet they still mock me for saying back then, 'the trees have eyes.' From then on, I avoided that window, or any ground floor window at night, afraid of what I would see for 10 years. Blinds and a heightened night vision became my friend. I figured if the lights were off around me, then nothing outside could see me. I would not, and still don't sit with my back to windows. That was only the beginning. As I child I remember hearing things that didn't make sense; footsteps around the house, mysterious bangs, someone calling my name, and a full blown tea party in the kitchen when no one was home. I challenged my parents the next day about why I wasn't invited to the party, it was only 9:30 but they replied there was no party, the babysitter left at 9 and they didn't get home until 11. Things went missing and I would get blamed until I realized how disorganized and irresponsible with other people's stuff my parents were. Then we all blamed each other. Toys that I broke by accident were mysteriously repaired, and I know for certain that my parents would never miss an opportunity to turn something I did into a lecture, and pound their chests on how benevolent and wonderful they are to fix it and how grateful I should be for the next year and how Santa would bring me one less present. When I was ill, someone would tuck me in and wipe my forehead but when I opened my eyes no one was there. Our three cats also saw things, as did I. Things that moved fast but were otherwise transparent. The cats were very affected, flight or fight modes activated, hissing, growling, mews of fear, charging and fleeing. I was 6 when I heard about ghosts from a friend, and that seemed to make sense. But ghosts scared me so ghosts became a banned thought in my home and if you dared bring up the subject you were met with 'don't be ridiculous, that's a silly thing to think, you're letting your imagination get away with you and are irresponsible with your things,' and I had to agree because I was six and what the hell did I know? As I got older and my dad ripped more of the house apart, events became less frequent but more intense. Once in the early morning before school, my stereo went crazy, flipping through all the station MANUALLY (the dial was turning) while a very loud buzzing traveled around my room, occasionally dive bombing me. If it was a bee, then it was a bee the size of a guinea pig, but I would've seen that and I saw nothing. I screamed for my dad, who also heard it, who also couldn't figure out what was making it, and then leaving it unresolved with a 'stop wasting my time.' I ran in, grabbed the rest of my clothes and changed in the bathroom. I never heard that buzzing again and never found a very large insect in the house. I saw shadows watching me at night in my room, and shadows of insects and insect like things crawling around in my home. I honestly thought I was going crazy. Since then I've been tested for schizophrenia and psychosis and nope, I'm an average crazy, no more sane than anyone else. Then things got more obvious. Once, while dancing in my kitchen (i only dance when I'm alone) I was startled by a young man, about 16, quickly leaning out from behind my refrigerator to say 'hi!' in the most excited pleased tone you can imagine. I screamed of course and tried to leap up onto the opposite counter tops and by that point he was gone but I still remember what he looked like from the waist up (the rest was hidden behind the refrigerator). He had suspenders, a green shirt, one of those paperboy caps, a round raw face like it had been cooked, with a short button nose and bright blue eyes. He was genuinely pleased to meet someone close to his age, or that's how it felt. On another occasion, in the morning, a different young man walked into my room and said 'my name is Marlow.' It was so clear. I sat right up, he had vanished by then and said loudly 'who the f@ck is Marlow???' Funnily enough, he did resemble Christopher Marlowe a little, but I refuse to believe a 17th century poet/writer decided to visit me in my bedroom. Also, I still don't know who the f@ck Marlow is. When I misbehaved or shirked chores I got tapped. Anywhere, often on the top of my head, sometimes on my ear or shoulder. Soft the first time but if I had been ignoring it by the 3rd then they got harder. Last year a hand fondly patted/ ran through my hair. I could feel the individual fingers on my scalp. Not everything has been benign. My dad took down a wall in the basement and suddenly there was a Shadow Person, which for the uninformed is a non-human entity and they generally mean bad news, like this one. I did not know this at the time, I thought I was going insane and the internet couldn't answer my questions. They are incredibly malevolent, and this one kept threatening all of us, intending to kill any and maybe all of us for pleasure. But my feckless parents were in more danger than me because they couldn't see it. It fell entirely to 15 year old me to research and handle it. I begged my mom to help, even though she laughed in my face, and I told her I was scared for their lives. They couldn't even help me keep it contained in the basement (for some reason the doors -which were original, kept it from moving around freely.) For a month, that thing steadily increased its energy and territory. It grabbed my ankle as I was going up the stairs and chased me the rest of the way up. Half of me thought I had finally lost it, but another part of me, that rational side, trusted my instincts because if we were really in danger, now was not the time to ignore it. I eventually triumphed; I used the door trick, specifically the front door. I locked it out of the house and now it's out there in the world but not terrorizing me. I thought when I went to college that all that would change, that I'd be away from trigger memories and in a new place in a safe supportive setting doing something that I loved. Not so. The forest next to the college also possessed things, some of which were even worse and more powerful than the Shadow Person. Luckily, I only saw them from a distance and through my window. I have had CAT scans done, MRI's, I've talked with psychiatrists, neurospecialists, psychotherapists, and have had 3 psychoanalysis done. None of them can explain any of this and no one wants to try. I tell them what I've experienced and they go silent because they're rational, scientific doctors and though in every other way I am sane, what I am saying must be impossible. So I researched. And researched. And researched. Now? I'm not scared of ghosts, nor do I go looking for them. They're people without bodies, but still people. They're going to be just as enthusiastic, seedy, annoying, mean, bossy, or kind as they were in life and mostly don't want to be bothered or have their home ripped apart. Don't mess with things you don't understand is a good rule of thumb. It might be fun to scare yourself and your friends silly by trying to summon something BUT DON'T. It's not worth it, and you might have to face consequences that will stick with you forever. Plus, it's kinda rude. But if you get a Shadow Person, or some other non-human entity, dude, get that shit dealt with right away by a professional. They do exist. As for me, I'm just fine. Back in this old house for now, the remaining spirits are on good terms with me and are waging war on dad and his eternal renovations. I expect when he passes, he'll be in this house too, there is no wall, no floor, nothing he has not put his mark on. And as long as the people standing in the back yard watching the house don't get in, we'll be fine for a while yet.