#i think they’d look a little bit like me

[chaos-vixen]

@starry-bi-sky AAAAAA it’s 1:01am

I’m reading all the dp x dc I can find

And I want more scenes!

Like- Vlad has a business meeting in the morning, so Danny is forced to stay at this fancy ass expensive hotel (small miracle that Vlad got him his own fancy master bedroom type deal) overnight. But before that, we need to leave the party >:)

The Gala was set to end for roughly another hour, maybe hour and a half.

Danny didn’t give a shit.

So what if people parted a little when he walked back into the room. He didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t give a shit when he locked eyes with Bruce across the room. (not with the same damn subtle furrow in his brow he alway had when he was concerned but in public)

He didn’t give a shit when Vlad gave him a thinly veiled stink-eye. (Damned piece’s shite! What right- what right does that smug self serving bit-)

He didn’t give a shit when Tim found him in the bathroom trying to cover at least some of that lingering smoke smell (Didn’t give a when Tim gave him some of his cologne– that it hid the smell decently. Didn’t give’a when he told Tim that he was “Just a bit tired, head’d ou’early”. Didn’t give’a when half way through his goodbye his accent slipped with a wet voice crack. Didn’t give’s when Tim looked him with something horribly close to pity, made worse by the undertone of understanding)

Didn’t give anything (no reactions. No evergreen left for that or caring) when Vlad saddled up to him at the exit wondering just where he was going.

Did’t give a blessed thing about the one paparazzi guy touching it out to see who the first to leave was, not the final flash (heh, just one bright flash of light-) as he stepped and followed the sidewalk to where the cars where, knowing that Vlad was probably seething behind him.

Danny felt numb all the ride back in the car, up in the elevator, and down the hall to their neighboring rooms. Where Vlad, in his infinite wisdom, poked the bear.

“You know,” Vlad started, in all his slimy evilness (yes evilness- sue him, Danny’s too tired for better adjectives), “Ypu have cost me quite a bit of grief tonight, first with the cameras, then wondering off, then with this! Why, it’s like you want me to stop lending a helping hand to your parent’s funds! Or my little nudge for Jazz’s tuition?”

Danny cares. He doesn’t care about much. But Jazz?

He looks Vlad dead in those greedy, self-important eyes, his breath fogs, his rage and grief weighing the air down, thick like blood, suffocating– “You touch her, you threaten her or what she loves, and you’ll face Rath.”

Then he turns on his heel and slams the door (albeit not too hard, it’s a hotel) firmly shut.

A glance to the bed, perfectly inviting and soft. The alarm on the bedside table reads 10:37.

Whatever logic is left in his frizzled brain says that a shower would might help, but the rest says that bed is way to comfy to ignore. The only good thing to come of being forced to travel with Vlad was that the beds were usually not too bad.

Danny ends up staying up late, time slipping away (‘Why are there so many cursed metaphors?’) surfing through florist after florist for the perfect selection (Jay had always loved red—they’d joke about what color their suits would be if they where one of the richy-rich— also the zinnias where weirdly hard to find), though honestly there weren’t as many florists as there typically would be for a city as big as Gotham.

‘Probably Ivy’s fault’ he thinks tiredly, glancing at the alarm 1:07 seems to jeer from its spot on the bedside table.

With a big stretch and a groan, he decides with a mutter, “welp. ‘M already dead anyways”, rolls off his bed and heads to the balcony for a smoke.

Just as he stands, a ding sounds from his phone.

And for one, ancient’s forsaken moment, his stupid, hopeful mind thinks ‘it’s him’-

It’s squashed the the parasite it is.

Jazz, checking in, seeing if he’s alright. He flips back down on his bed, send a quick reply, how he’s turnin’ in early. He doesn’t bother trying to say that the Gala ended early- even hundreds of miles away Jazz could sniff his bs.

He also should maybe sleep. She concludes the same.

And eventually (but not peacefully, never peacefully) he drifts into the darkness.

——————————————————————————————————————

The morning is bright- because idiot tired Danny didn’t bother to close the fucking curtains.

Thankfully, Gotham isn’t exactly early riser either (smog doesn’t let much sun in until it’s bright enough to stab through the cloud coverage). This allowed a peaceful and lazy wake up all up until the Thud Thud on his door. Clock reads 8:23.

‘Never too early for the bullshit is it, dear universe?’ He thinks bitterly, dragging himself out of bed, mentally trying to prepare for whatever this could be.

There, as expected, stands Vlad, with his usual smug self standing straight with a slight smirk- until he sees an unkempt Danny, still in his suit and that smirk drops to a distasteful sneer.

With an upturned nose, “Disgraceful, anyways, I’m headed off to a business meeting elsewhere in the city. Plan leaves at 3 o’clock.”

Danny gives a slight nod, and immediately shuts the door again. That enough frootloop, especially since he hadn’t even had caffeine yet.

The promise of drugs (the legal kind) has his mind finally figuring out a course of action: shower, dress, boy flowers … then a visit to Jay. A proper visit.

So, with a list of tasks in mind, he sets off to do just that

Unbeknownst to him, a certain revenant was just waking up after not falling asleep 3 hours ago.

I desperately want to keep writing- but my shift starts at 7:00 am tomorrow and it’s already 2:24 am! Plz continue this!

also quick headcannon(s)

Danny still smokes the same cig brand Jay use to carry, the first cig he ever smoked, Jay’s brand

Jay is heartbroken at this broken echo of who he knows and loves (/pl)(present tense because angst) crumbled by grief, pit back together given hope just to have it all ripped away again

Alfred wants to see his honorary grandkid

Since Young Danny insisted on helping with dishes

Aaaand it’s now 2:30am

I’m probably screwed a wee bit. Oops!

*2:32

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian��s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

[jjkbambi]

is it new years yet? luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! you run into ex-boyfriend!luigi mangione at a nye party! smut!

warnings: fratboy!luigi, darkfic (very much implied he slips something in ur drink), cnc?, long fic, mentions of calvin harris music, inspired by the fact that he had to nominate himself to win this category

the new year was meant to feel different.

yet, the doors at phi kappa psi open for you and a chances of anything more seems to slim. a record number of beer cans trashed in the hallway, the kitchen buried in chaos, and the overwhelming stench of beer clings to the air, impossible to ignore. you were surprised at how easily they’d let you enter—the bouncer was known for being a bit mean, strict on names and IDS and ages and sorority associations, yet one short smile was enough to get you and your best friend, lacy, into their annual new years eve party.

there wasn’t a second break from avicii or calvin harris, the crowd bouncing with red solo cups in hand. about a dozen of drinks were spilled on you already, and you were sure this was an indicator of a good night.

“is that him?” your friend’s nudge proves your prophecy wrong. your stomach drops immediately as you turn to the direction she was staring in—and yes, there he was, shirtless and six-packed on new year’s eve, surrounded by his pack of fraternity brothers.

the world suddenly feels so much smaller. you turn quickly. “lacy, he cannot see me.”

“have you spoken since the breakup?”

“if i had, id be in classier heels,” you retort, shaking your head.

you show her the reason you’ve been off your phone so much recently. about 34 days since you’ve seen each other in person, and a stunning 78 texts and 29 missed calls left in lieu of a breakup conversation. it honestly felt like too little an amount considering how long you’d been dating, but perhaps that was the least of your relationship problems, seeing as though you’d caught him making out with another girl at a football game.

she groans. “why’d we have to come to this house?”

“free entry? fireworks?” you come up with a lie that’ll make the both of you feel better. “i honestly don’t think we’ll run into each other. it’s such a big place.”

“he’s walking over here.”

“aaand we’re moving,” you sing, dragging her into the crowd of calvin harris enjoyers. for two hours, slipping in and out of the chaos seemed to be a surefire solution in avoiding your ex-boyfriend. that is, until you turn and suddenly your best friend isn’t there. you stiffen immediately, backing into the kitchen. in that step back, you bump shoulders.

“y/n,” an all too familiar voice says.

oh for fucks sake.

you smile tightly at the sight of luigi, trying not to make this already awkward situation more awkward. he looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. his usually short hair had grown out longer, his beard more prominent. he looks… grown.

“hey!” you say, attempting to make a swift getaway. “happy new year, man!”

“get back here.” he grabs your wrist, pulling you right back to him. “what’re you doing?”

“it’s new years!”

“what are you doing here? wearing that?”

you smile, feigning innocence. “getting a re-fill!”

luigi’s eyes were dark and his grip firm. your air of innocence is almost completely defeated at his warmth, his body leaning into you, intent. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

no, you can’t do it. this was gonna be a new year for you. no setbacks, no cheating ex-boyfriends.

“i’m surprised you even noticed, with all your other distractions.”

luigi’s head tilts. “what does that mean?”

“you know what it means.” you pull away from him with as much force as possible. “seriously, lu, it’s over.”

“no, it’s not.” he argues. you shake your head as you walk away. “y/n, we’ve got to talk about this—“

“just leave me alone!” you leap out of the kitchen as soon as opportunity arrives, and pour the entirety of what’s left of your cup into your mouth. the wicked sting of alcohol had never been so relieving.

minutes pass but the sound of avicii is constant. phi kappa psi has promised fireworks and began to gather in the backyard and you want nothing more than to join in on the party—but lacy. your best friend. you need to find her. the recovery mission begins with a stumble down the hallway and a headache. it’s more than a headache, it all of a sudden feels like you reallyreallyreally need to take a nap.

“hey, hey, i’ve got you,” it’s luigi again. you can tell by his warmth and his scent and the way he grabs your hand. “where are you going?”

“lacy.”

he takes the drink out of your hand, then lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck. and suddenly, the warmth of his body isn’t so intimidating anymore. “that’s not my name.”

“i know.”

he leans in closer. “come on then, what’s my name?”

“lu,” you murmur. “i need to go.”

“you’re not going anywhere.” luigi promises you.

within a second, his lips are on yours, and suddenly his warmth is everywhere. you whimper into the kiss, trying to spell out protest but you’re too weak. “relax for me,” he tells you.

you were entirely too relaxed. any reasonable part of you wouldn’t allow for him to be this close. but before you can stop him, his hands slide down to grip your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate him, and you gasped at the feel of his length pressing against you. he’s so hard.

“i love this dress on you,” he murmurs.

desperate, you try to push, “no, no, we need to find—”

“we’re taking care of her, too, baby, don’t worry.”

you squirmed underneath his touch, which only made the friction hotter. “what?”

he doesn’t care to tell you anything more grinding into your resistance mercilessly as his hands clamp around your hips, rocking your body back and forth on his thigh.

“you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, you know,” he grumbles into the kiss, his voice so low and gravelly, you felt its deep tenor roll down your spine and settle in your core. every kiss he gave you was hungry and heated, and you gasp when he goes to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “walking around my house dressed like a fuckin’ slut. got me all worked up in front of everyone.”

you despise the helplessness that washes over you as he holds you down. tears sting at your eyes as you beg, “lu, stop.”

“pull your dress up,” he orders, drinking in your scent. his scruff scratches your skin.

“no.” you shake your head again, though his kisses are persistent. “luigi, we can’t.“

“you’re right,” luigi agrees, chuckling into another kiss. “i’m not fuckin’ sharing you.”

his lips don’t leave yours—theyre all over your lips, your cheeks, your neck, your tits—as he carries you into the nearest room, and you’re too lost in the moment to notice whether it’s his own. your dress hits the floor and his hands are all over your nude. the mix of confusion and pleasure leaves you breathless. before you can process it, you’re on the bed with your ex-boyfriend on top of you.

“you know how many other guys were looking at you tonight?” he growls as he flips you over. “swear ill fucking kill them”

he was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made luigi laugh. a choked gasp left you, and your mouth was soundlessly parted as he started to thrust into you, hips snapping against yours every time.

“fuckin’ knew it,” lu groans. your teeth sink into your lips as you tremble underneath him, his hard length relentless in its assault. “knew you’d take it f’me like this, yeah? like a good fuckin’ girl.”

the bed shook beneath you as he pounded into you. he goes to bite your neck, his curls tickling your skin. he feels so good, but the weight of how wrong it is lingers in every touch. “lu,” you moan.

“what?” he says, smug. “what d’ya wanna say?”

“it hurts,” you whine.

”i don’t care,” luigi says in your ear, grinding his cock into the depths of your cunt until you were whimpering beneath him. “you know how fuckin’ long it’s been since ive had you? no, you’ve got no clue. drove myself crazy thinking i’d never have this pretty pussy again.”

“it’s your fault—“

“shut the fuck up.” his hand comes down hard on your ass and a whimper slips from your lips. he growls low, feeling how tight you’re holding him. “you’re mine,” he grunts. “don’t you ever forget that.”

“luigi, wait,” you moan, your mind going blank. it’s too much—wrong in every way, yet too good to resist.

you feel him smirk against your neck. despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length as a flood gushes from your trembling core. he chuckles darkly, mocking your resistance. “can’t take it? too much?”

“lu, please.” your voice was embarrassingly breathless. he goes faster, which felt entirely impossible.

he must’ve heard the plea this time, because he doubled his efforts. he picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand went to massage your clit. you could hardly breathe.

“so good,” he groans. “be a good girl and cum for me, princess. all over me, come on.”

“please,” you whimper again. you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but it hardly mattered. the most devastating orgasm of your life was building deep within you, an unstoppable force growing stronger with every moment—and you were desperate to chase it.

“you’re all fucking mine,” he laments. “i wanna hear you say it.”

you couldn’t possibly. your mind goes blank as he ruts into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the room and almost drowning out the sound of the new year celebration.

“tell me what i wanna hear.” he demands.

“yours,” you mewl.

“good girl.” he bit out, his mouth brushing against your cheek, his stubble rasping against your skin and making you shiver. he fucks you harder, faster, slamming into your slick cunt like he was trying to leave a mark inside you.

you couldn’t take it anymore. your pride snaps inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating his massive cock in your cunt. pleasure consumes you until all you knew was the sensation of ecstasy drowning out everything else. he groans at the sight of your orgasm, his cock still driving into you, his thrusts turning wild and desperate as he growled in your ear.

luigi grumbled a soft, “fuck,” and then pressed deep, burying his cock deep into your still pulsing cunt as he came. he let out a long moan, his cock twitching against your inner walls while he emptied his balls into your pussy, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

“i’m so glad you came around, so glad,” he murmurs, turning you over to kiss you over and over and over again. “i love you, baby, you know that, right?”

the day after

[harryspurpleloofah]

A Taste of You Instead

Picture is most definitely not mine ‼️‼️‼️

Summary: y/n is a chef who travels the world working in little restaurants and having her own pop up stands at festivals. She ends up having to stay in the villa because of an emergency and her and Harry come down to get water at the same time and end up hooking up.

Warnings: start and end are just fluffy, p in v sex with protection (use protection guys), nipple play, no one really plays the role of a Dom or a sub, subtle flirting between y/n and Harry the entire time, tit sucking

Mr and Mrs Lowe owned a beautiful holiday villa in the Bahamas. It was complete with a private chef who they had hired about a week ago for the high profile guests coming to stay. It was Harry Styles. With his guitarist Mitch and his drummer Sarah. Their son Arlo was with Mitch’s mother back in England. They’d also brought their mutual friend Pauli so Harry wouldn’t be third wheeling.

The whole group was buzzing with excitement, voices overlapping as they scattered throughout the villa to pick rooms. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a reminder of how far away they were from real life.

“Is this real?” Sarah called out from upstairs, her voice echoing. “I think this bathroom is bigger than my flat!”

“Dibs the room with the outdoor shower!” Pauli shouted, already halfway down the hall.

Mitch, less concerned about claiming a space, threw himself onto the oversized couch in the living room, right next to Harry. He grabbed the sleek brochure that had been left on the coffee table, flipping through it casually.

“Check this out,” Mitch said, holding it up so Harry could see. The cover had a photo of the villa bathed in golden light, with a caption that read, ‘An Exclusive Escape: Your Paradise Awaits.’

Harry leaned over, squinting at the text. “They really went all in on the marketing, huh?”

Mitch chuckled, turning a page. “It’s not just the house. They’ve got this whole... experience thing planned. Private yoga sessions, snorkeling tours, and—” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “a one-night ‘luxury dining experience’ with a personal chef. Fancy.”

Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like us at all.”

“Speak for yourself, mate. I fully intend to live like a billionaire this week.” Mitch grinned, tossing the brochure back onto the table. “Who do you think the chef is? Like... a real one from a show or something?”

Harry shrugged, leaning back “Don’t know. Probably some bloke who makes tiny portions look pretty.”

A soft but deliberate ahem cut through the air behind him. Harry froze, Mitch’s eyes widened slightly as he looked past him.

Harry turned slowly, his gaze landing on her. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“Not a bloke,” she said simply, her voice calm but with a hint of teasing, “and the portions will be perfectly sized, thank you very much.”

“Right..sorry about that.” Harry smiled apologetically and ran a hand through his hair.

She smiled back, “don’t worry. Mr and Mrs Lowe just asked me to drop by and make sure you guys have settled in well. Any problems?”

Sarah comes back just then with Pauli, his face in a pout, “there’s no hot water from the sink.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow as she thinks for a second, “huh. Shouldn’t be a problem. Did you leave it running for a bit? Takes a bit of time.”

“Yeah for a good few minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll ask someone about that and have it fixed for you.”

“Thanks so much.”

Her gaze switches back to Harry, “now if that’s all I’ll see you guys at dinner tonight. And it’ll just be me no bloke with tiny portions.”

Harry winces in apology at being reminded once again of his mistake.

As Y/N turned back toward the kitchen, the group lingered in the living room, a little quieter than before. Sarah raised an eyebrow at Harry, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

“‘Probably some bloke,’ huh?” she teased, plopping onto the couch opposite him. “You’re off to a stellar start.”

Harry leaned back, crossing his arms defensively, though his cheeks betrayed him with a faint flush. “I didn’t know she was there,” he muttered.

She doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge,” Sarah offered, smiling.

At dinner, the patio was set with a long wooden table under a canopy of string lights, the sea breeze carrying the scent of fresh herbs and sizzling garlic from the open kitchen. The group was buzzing with excitement as they sat down, wine glasses clinking and laughter filling the air.

Y/N emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray, setting down the first dish with practiced ease. “Tonight’s menu is a little taste of the Mediterranean,” she said, her voice calm but warm. She explained the dish, a roasted red pepper and goat cheese tart without missing a beat, her eyes skimming the group until they landed on Harry.

“Not too small, I hope,” she added with a sly smile.

Harry sighs at the subtle jab at his earlier comment before chuckling, “alright that was a bad move. I’m sorry.”

She smiles softly, “enjoy your food guys.”

Dinner had stretched into an easy, flowing evening, laughter filling the air as everyone sat back and enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. By the time Y/N had cleared the last of the dishes and wiped down the kitchen counters, it was well past 11, and she was starting to feel the weight of the day.

She’d tried calling her usual driver earlier, but he’d canceled because of an emergency, and now, every taxi app she tried only showed unavailable drivers. She frowned at her phone, frustration building

“Still here?” Sarah’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked at Y/N with a small smile. “Everything alright?”

She glanced up, showing her phone to Sarah with a frustrated sigh. “My driver canceled hours ago, and now there’s no way to get a car out here. I was thinking of walking down to the path, but I can’t get anything close”

Sarah’s face twisted into concern. “Wait, what? Walk down the path? It’s pitch black out there. You’re not doing that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I wasn’t planning on going on a hike, just needed to get to the main road and hope for a cab.”

But Sarah protested “No way. It’s way too late and it’s not safe.”

Pauli came into the kitchen, “What’s going on? Is someone trying to leave in the middle of the night?”

Y/N shrugged, holding up her phone. “Just trying to figure out how to get home. My ride bailed, and now it’s too late to get a replacement.”

Pauli shook his head. “Not on my watch. I don’t care if you’ve got a time machine, you’re not walking down that path to the main road alone, and that’s final.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Pauli. I’ve done worse.”

Mitch, always the quiet one, stepped into the room and leaned against the doorframe with his usual laid-back vibe “You sure about that?” he asked glancing at the clock. “It’s getting late. Maybe you should just stay the night.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing between them. “I don’t want to intrude. It’s your getaway. You didn’t sign up for a surprise roommate.”

“Nonsense. You’re basically our friend now. Besides you��ve already done enough for one day you gave us a lovely dinner.”

“She’s right.”

Harry stood in the doorway, his presence effortlessly commanding. His sweatpants and t-shirt were simple, but the way he carried himself made them look intentional, almost tailored. His hair was slightly tousled, and he held a bottle of water loosely in one hand.

“You don’t even know what’s happening.”

Harry stepped further into the room, his smile soft but sure. “I don’t need all the details. Just heard you’re thinking about heading out on your own this late, and that’s not happening.”

“You make it sound like I don’t have a choice,” Y/N said, tilting her head.

“You don’t,” he replied easily, leaning one hip against the counter. “Not because anyone’s forcing you, but because it’d be ridiculous. There’s more than enough space here, and I’m pretty sure none of us want to wake up to a news story about someone wandering down an unlit road in the middle of nowhere getting hurt.”

Pauli nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. ‘Chef disappears into the abyss’ is not a headline we’re aiming for.”

Y/N glanced at the others, then back at Harry, whose gaze was steady but relaxed. “And if I insist on leaving?”

Harry smiled, his tone light but firm. “Then we’ll insist you stay. It’s a holiday—it’s supposed to be easy, remember?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re awfully persistent.”

“It’s a skill,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening. “One night, Y/N. You’ll thank us in the morning.”

“Fine,” she said with a playful sigh, throwing her hands up. “But only because it’s easier than arguing.”

“Smart choice,” Mitch said with a small smile.

The villa was quiet, its sprawling layout and darkened hallways lending a hushed intimacy to the late hour. Y/N crept down the stairs barefoot, her silk pajama pants brushing lightly against her legs. She hadn’t meant to stay up this late, but the weight of the day had settled in her chest, leaving her restless.

Water. That was her excuse. She needed water.

When she entered the kitchen, she stopped short.

Harry was already there, standing by the counter in loose black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the hem brushing his hips. His hair was an unruly mess, like he’d been tossing and turning before deciding sleep wasn’t worth the fight. He was mid-sip from a glass of water when he noticed her.

“Midnight cravings?” he asked, his voice low, the kind of quiet you only hear when the rest of the world is asleep.

“Just thirsty” she replied, stepping further into the room. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

“Me neither.” He set his glass down and leaned against the counter, his hip jutting out just enough to make it look effortless. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

She went to the sink, reaching for a glass from the cupboard. She filled it slowly, her movements deliberate. “You always wander around this late?”

“Sometimes,” he said, watching her with an easy smile. “Hard to turn off the brain y’know?”

She nodded, turning to face him. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence stretching but never uncomfortable. The kitchen, dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, felt almost too small, the air thick between them.

“You seem more awake than I’d expect for someone who’s had a long day,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his green eyes sharp but warm.

Y/N shrugged, lifting her glass. “Water’s magic.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “That what they say?”

“That’s what I say,” she said back, taking a sip.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, closing the space between them. “You always this quick on your feet?”

“Occupational hazard,” she replied, her voice steady even as her pulse quickened.

“Impressive,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for just a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again.

The shift in the air was palpable, like the pause before a storm. Y/N felt her breath hitch as he reached out, his hand brushing hers where she held the glass.

“You’re really hardworking y’know?,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower. “I like that.”

“Is that right?” she replied, arching a brow, her fingers still wrapped around the glass even as his lingered on hers.

“Yeah. Ambitious and..driven. It’s refreshing.”

She should’ve said something clever. She should’ve stepped back, put space between them. But instead, she stayed where she was, her gaze locked with his.

“I don’t think this is the kind of conversation most people have at this hour,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Harry’s smile deepened, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance. “Guess I’m not most people.”

And then he was closer, the glass forgotten as he set it down on the counter. His fingers brushed against her wrist, his touch featherlight, but it sent a spark racing up her arm.

“Is this usually how your late night kitchen runs go?” she asked, her voice steady despite the heat blooming in her chest.

“Not really but I’ll make an exception.”

Y/N barely had time to process his words before he leaned in, his lips brushing hers. It was soft at first almost testing, but when she didn’t pull away, it deepened. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew hungrier.

She let the glass slip from her fingers, the sound of it landing on the counter distant and unimportant. Her hands found their way to his chest, the soft cotton of his shirt bunching beneath her fingers as she clung to him.Harry’s breath hitched as he pressed her back against the counter, his body warm and solid against hers. His hands explored her sliding from her waist to her hips then back up to her jaw.

Y/N’s hands fisted in his shirt pulling him closer, her body instinctively arching toward him as the cool counter pressed against her back. She felt the warmth of his body seep through the thin fabric, the hard lines of his chest against her palms making her head spin.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against her leg as he slotted himself between her thighs. The motion was unhurried, but the weight of him was unmistakable. His hand slipped from her waist to her hip, his thumb pressing into the curve there, grounding her even as the heat between them grew.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured against her lips his voice low and gravelly, his breath hot against her skin.

Her response was immediate, her voice steady despite the way her pulse thundered. “I’m not telling you to stop.”

Harry pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his green eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his lips quirked into a crooked smile, one that made her stomach flip.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice a velvet promise.

His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, where he lingered nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Y/N’s head tilted back, a soft gasp escaping her as his hands slid under the hem of her shirt, his touch searing against her bare skin.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough but steady, his fingers pausing just above her waistline.

“Yes” she breathed, her own hands trailing down his torso, brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants.

His hands slipped beneath her top, skimming over her waist and ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of her chest. He paused glancing at her, waiting for the slightest indication that she wanted him to stop.

When she arched into his touch instead, he let out a quiet groan his lips finding hers again as his hands moved higher, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive skin.

One of his hands trailed down her side, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. He paused again, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Still okay?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice firm, though her breath hitched as his hand slid lower, his fingers exploring with a confidence that left her dizzy.

Her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more of his touch, and Harry obliged, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring every reaction he pulled from her.

Harry’s lips were relentless his hands moving with practiced precision, sliding up under her pajama top to cup her breasts fully. His thumbs brushed over her hardened peaks, drawing a gasp from her. Her hips bucked against his instinctively the ache low in her belly becoming unbearable.

“Sensitive aren’t you?” he murmured. He dipped his head to her neck again, nipping the delicate skin, tugging her top up and over her head in one swift motion.

“You talk too much,” she shot back, her voice breathless but steady, her hands tugging at his shirt in retaliation.

He smirked, pulling back just enough to help her peel it off him, revealing the toned planes of his chest and the tattoos scattered across his skin. Her eyes lingered for a moment, taking him in.

Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues now, their earlier teasing giving way to raw, unfiltered need.

Harry’s hands slid down her sides, hooking into the waistband of her pants and pulling them down in one smooth motion. His palms trailed back up her thighs, spreading them as he stepped between her legs again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed, his voice low. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter, and the cool marble against her bare skin only heightened the heat pooling between her legs.

His fingers traced up her inner thigh. He groaned low in his throat at the feel of her, leaning in to press a kiss just below her ear. “So wet already,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval.

Her response was a whimper as his fingers began to circle her in slow, deliberate motions, teasing and testing what made her writhe against him. Her head fell back, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance as her breathing grew ragged.

“Harry,” she gasped, her voice cracking on his name.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his lips traveling down her chest, his tongue flicking over a hardened peak before he took it into his mouth. His free hand gripped her waist to steady her as his fingers worked her over, building her higher and higher until she was on the edge.

“Please” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders as her hips moved against his hand.

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice a low rasp as he pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You” she said simply, her gaze locking with his, her cheeks flushed and lips parted.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of care.

She blinked up at him, her own breathing uneven, and watched as he stepped back slightly, his hands reluctantly leaving her body. He reached for his sweatpants, which had been discarded hastily on the floor, and pulled a small foil packet from one of the pockets.

“Just gotta be careful yeah?”, he smiles at her.

She watches him put the condom on and nods.

Harry gripped her thighs, pulling her against him. Their eyes stayed locked as he aligned himself with her, pausing just long enough to let her adjust to the feel of him.

The first thrust stole the air from her lungs, and Harry groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he began to move. His pace was measured at first, but it quickly became clear that neither of them was interested in restraint.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against her skin, his voice barely audible over their shared rhythm.

Her reply was incoherent, a mix of moans and whimpers as her release built to a breaking point.

You’re stunning,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

Y/N let out a small laugh, “Flattery gets you nowhere Harry.”

“Doesn’t feel like nowhere,” he countered, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her to the edge of the counter. “Feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, “God you’re so big..” he gripped her thighs to hold her steady. The sound of their bodies smacking together filled the kitchen, mingling with their ragged breaths and soft moans.

He pulled back, almost completely, before thrusting forward again pounding his cock deeper into her, the motion deliberate and slow. His hips snapping against hers with more urgency, each thrust driving deeper, harder. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room.

Her cries grew louder as she reached the edge, her body arching into him as the tension inside her snapped. Her release hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her shaking and clinging to him, her nails digging into his back.

Harry followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep a guttural groan escaping him as he came undone. His grip on her hips tightened, holding her close as he spilled into her, his body trembling with the force of it.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet of the kitchen, both of them still trembling slightly as they came down from the orgasm. Harry stayed close, his body pressed against hers, his hands gently smoothing over her sides as if grounding them both.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice soft and low, the usual cheeky edge replaced with genuine care.

Y/N nodded, her fingers brushing through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice still a little shaky. “You?”

“Better than okay” he said, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. He eased back, his green eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

When he was satisfied, he carefully slipped away, helping her down from the counter. She wobbled slightly, and his hands were instantly at her waist, steadying her with a gentle smile.

She watched as he went to get a glass of water and a clean dish towel. Settling beside her, he handed her the glass, his hand resting lightly on her thigh.

“Drink,” he urged softly.

She took a sip, the cool water soothing against her throat. Meanwhile, Harry unfolded the towel, dampened with warm water, and began gently cleaning her up. His movements were tender his eyes flickering to hers every so often to make sure she was comfortable.

After a while, Y/N shifted slightly in Harry’s arms, reluctantly pulling herself upright. “I should probably... you know, head up,” she said softly, glancing toward the staircase.

Harry’s arms tightened around her for a moment before he let her go, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, probably a good idea,” he agreed, though the reluctance in his voice mirrored her own.

She stood, smoothing down her borrowed t-shirt, one of Sarah’s from earlier and glanced back at him as he leaned back against the couch. His hair was a mess of soft curls, his face flushed and glowing in the low light, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips. He looked far too good for someone who’d just spent the last hour being utterly wrecked.

He caught her staring and raised a brow, that effortless charm creeping back into his expression. “What? Already miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Hardly,” she said, though the warmth in her voice gave her away.

Harry stood too, stretching slightly before stepping closer. “I’ll walk you up,” he offered, his voice softer now.

“I can manage,” she replied, but there was no real protest in her tone.

Together, they padded up the stairs, their bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden steps. The villa was quiet, save for the faint rustling of palm trees outside.

Soon it was the group’s last day at the villa. Y/N hadn’t stayed over every single night but the time she’d spent with them was savored by them all and they’d definitely miss her.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the villa’s open windows, casting golden light over the long dining table where Harry and his friends sat, their plates filled with the last meal Y/N had prepared for them. The air buzzed with lighthearted chatter and laughter, the group savoring both the food and the company.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Y/N,” Sarah said, setting her fork down with a satisfied sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy a regular sandwich again.”

“Agreed” Mitch added, raising his glass in a silent toast to her.

Pauli leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face. “What’s the secret? Is it the knife skills, the seasoning, or just pure magic?”

“Third one.” She responded while smiling as she made her way over to start to gather the plates.

Harry watched her from across the table, a soft smile playing on his lips. She moved with an effortless grace, her presence brightening the room just as much as the sunshine pouring in.

After lunch, the group lingered for a while, lounging on the couches and soaking up the last moments of their holiday. Eventually, though, the time came to start packing up, and the air grew tinged with the bittersweet weight of goodbyes.

Out on the front porch, their bags gathered near the waiting car, Sarah enveloped Y/N in a warm hug. “Thank you for everything,” she said earnestly. “You’ve been amazing.”

Pauli was next, wrapping Y/N in a dramatic bear hug that made her laugh. “If I’m ever in a food coma again, I’m blaming you,” he said, winking as he stepped back.

Finally, Harry stepped forward, his hands in his pockets and his smile soft but radiant. “They’re not wrong, you know,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve been incredible.”

“And you guys have all been lovely guests.” She replied.

Harry chuckled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “So, uh,” he started, holding it out to her. “Any chance I could get your number? For... you know, culinary emergencies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, but her smile widened as she took his phone and punched in her number. “Only if you promise not to text me at three in the morning asking for pancake recipes,” she said, handing it back to him.

“No promises,” he replied, his grin boyish and charming as he glanced down at his phone.

The car honked softly, breaking the moment, and Harry gave her a small, reluctant nod. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

“Guess so,” she replied, her chest tightening just a bit as he stepped back.

As the car pulled away, Y/N stood on the porch, waving as they disappeared down the winding drive. The villa felt quieter already, the absence of their lively energy palpable.

She glanced down at her phone, the screen lighting up with a new message: "Thanks again, Chef. Hope this isn’t goodbye."

A soft smile spread across her lips, and she typed out a quick reply: "Not goodbye. Just see you later."

[stardust-falling]

Yours, and That's Enough

requested by @gaywarcriminals on ko-fi

Fandom: SVSSS Pairing: Shen Jiu/Yue Qingyuan (Ace-spec relationship) Summary: After resolving their differences, Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan become close once again. When questions arise from their martial siblings, Shen Qingqiu starts to wonder about the nature of their relationship, and what it is they really are. Words: 1.5k

“So… have you and Shen-shixiong become… cultivation partners?”

Shen Qingqiu very nearly spit out the tea he was drinking when he heard those words from across the hall.

The peak lords’ meeting had just concluded. Yue Qingyuan was doing his usual bit of socialization with his shidi and shimei, while Shen Qingqiu simply did his best to ignore them, as usual. So long as he ignored them, he was slightly less tempted to bash their heads in with the nearest rock— or inkstone, more realistically, but that was beside the point.

It was Jiang Qingyue who had asked the question that made Shen Qingqiu’s head snap up and turn toward where she and Yue Qingyuan were standing near the door to the meeting hall. Yue Qingyuan seemed a little embarrassed, a slight flush on his cheeks, and it seemed almost as though he were deliberately avoiding looking in Shen Qingqiu’s direction.

Shen Qingqiu, for his part, was not having that.

“Ah, well… not exactly…”

Before Yue Qingyuan could stammer out some kind of perfunctory answer, the Qing Jing peak lord stood up quite abruptly, both hands clapping onto the table before he whirled across the room to loop one arm around the sect leader’s, fixing his shimei with a sharp glare.

“Shouldn’t Jiang-shimei be minding her own business?” he asked, tugging Yue Qingyuan close to her side.

Jiang Qingyue tilted her head, glancing from one to the other.

“I suppose I’d forgotten just how sensitive Shen-shixiong’s ears are,” she noted, with a slight twitch of her lip that could be either playful or annoyed… Shen Qingqiu wasn’t sure which, so he would just assume it was annoyance. Not that it really mattered either way.

“So what?” he asked.

“It’s nothing, but… you go from avoiding Zhangmen-shixiong at every chance you can to practically clinging to him inseparably. Can you really blame me for being curious?” Jiang Qingyue shrugged her shoulders, lightly twirling her belt tassel between her fingertips, rotating the beads back and forth. “Besides, it isn’t a bad thing— after all, Li-shijie and I are already—”

“It isn’t like that,” Yue Qingyuan interrupted her with a solemn shake of his head. “Qingqiu and I have simply known one another since our childhood. We had a disagreement once, but now we’ve made up. That’s all there is to it.”

Jiang Qingyue didn’t reply at first, and she didn’t seem entirely convinced either, but if Yue Qingyuan was going to deny it there wasn’t much she could do.

After all, it wasn’t like he was lying. There really wasn’t anything more than that… at least not in the way most often implied by “cultivation partners.”

They were just close, that was all.

They’d been close before.

If Shen Qingqiu had to think about how to describe it… Yue Qingyuan was more like his guard dog than anything else. Or maybe that was Shen Qingqiu? After all, he was the one who would do the protecting. Stupid, impulsive Qi-ge would just get himself killed otherwise. Still… Shen Qingqiu was definitely the one holding the leash.

It wasn’t easy to categorize, and it wasn’t any easier to explain, and yet it was still the most natural thing he’d felt in all of his years of playing Peak Lord.

Now, if only there weren’t any annoyances to ask questions about it and make things awkward.

“Zhangmen-shixiong,” Shen Qingqiu stated, giving a little tug on Yue Qingyuan’s sleeve.

“Yes?”

“I have some things to show you on Qing Jing Peak if we’re finished here.”

“Of course, Shidi. Pardon me, Jiang-shimei, but I must be going now.”

Without another word, Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu departed, with Shen Qingqiu’s arm still tightly hooked around Yue Qingyuan’s, practically tugging him along as though the sect leader were some precious thing that he could hardly bear to allow others to look upon.

Jiang Qingyue— and some of the others, too, who had grown curious after Shen Qingqiu’s sudden rising to his feet— could only watch as they went.

Since when had Shen Qingqiu of all people ever been one to hang off of someone else’s arm?

The situation was just too strange with those two.

Later on, back at Qing Jing Peak’s bamboo house, things had settled into a sense of normalcy as steam rose up from a warm bath, carrying with it the delicate floral fragrances of fine bath oils.

“I didn’t expect they would ask about it so abruptly,” Yue Qingyuan murmured as he carded through Shen Qingqiu’s long, silky hair, gently tugging loose any tangles without pulling at his scalp.

Shen Qingqiu, in the bath, tilted his head back, releasing a little huff of annoyance. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “They’ve always liked asking all sorts of questions about me, poking around when they’re not wanted.”

It had been a few months since he decided he actually wanted to be around Yue Qingyuan— since he’d started showing up at Qiong Ding Peak once in awhile, and a few times even sent for Yue Qingyuan himself to stop by his bamboo house for a cup of tea… and in the end, it had come to this.

Whatever “this” was.

The closeness they had once had when they were children had simply been transplanted onto their adult selves, and now Shen Qingqiu found himself getting annoyed any time Yue Qingyuan started to talk to someone or spend time with someone that wasn’t him. He held himself back quite a lot— he’d lasted a good incense time at least back in the meeting hall, until the topic of conversation had turned to their relationship.

That wasn’t anyone’s business to be asking about anyway.

Just because Shen Qingqiu enjoyed the feeling of Yue Qingyuan’s fingers running through his hair, or perhaps liked to lean up against him and tuck his chin over the sect leader’s shoulder from time to time watching him write out whatever messages he had to send or notes he had to take down, none of that meant that he wanted them to be cultivation partners!

It was… something else.

He tilted his head, letting it rest up against Yue Qingyuan’s arm.

“You should get into the bath as well,” he suggested.

“It isn’t large enough for both of us,” Yue Qingyuan replied.

That was true.

Shen Qingqiu sat himself up with a huff, wringing the water out of his hair.

“Then let’s just go to the springs, shall we?”

Yue Qingyuan smiled a little, wrapping a robe around his shoulders as he stood. “If that’s what Shidi wants.”

Afternoon was fading now, the sun dipping beneath the mountains and the sky turning hues of red and gold. Within the deeper reaches of the peak’s Qingshui Springs were a few secluded hot springs, tucked away in misty caverns. The fading sun entered in through a distant skylight, casting its reflective glow upon the glistening surface of the waters.

“What are we?” Shen Qingqiu asked after they’d spent awhile basking in the warmth of the springs. There was a little frown on his face. He’d wanted to ignore it, because it didn’t matter— but the question still poked at the back at his mind. “You and I… all of this…?”

Yue Qingyuan didn’t answer right away, seeming to ponder the question. “I haven’t thought much about it,” he admitted. “I suppose if we were being technical… then you would be my closest friend, or perhaps a brother?”

“Mn,” Shen Qingqiu replied. The answer didn’t satisfy him, though. It didn’t feel quite right.

Just like calling themselves cultivation partners wouldn’t be exactly accurate, nor did he have any real wish to get married like Jiang Qingyue and Li Qingxiao had, there was still that sense of wanting Yue Qingyuan all to himself that would make far more sense in that sort of framework… not to mention that if they weren’t cultivation partners, then Yue Qingyuan was technically available, and the last thing Shen Qingqiu wanted was for him to be available to anyone…

Yue Qingyuan’s fingers found his own beneath the water, and all of a sudden the sect leader had leaned in to press his forehead up against Shen Qingqiu’s.

“I don’t think it matters what we are, just that we are whatever that is. If you need something to call us, just call me yours,” he said. “I think it gets the point across, don’t you?”

Shen Qingqiu blinked, pulling back a little to meet his gaze. He was quiet for a few moments, then shook his head so quickly that water droplets flew from his hair.

“Stupid Qi-ge,” he said with a sigh. “You really don’t need to be so happy about this— why don’t you wipe that ridiculous-looking grin off your face?”

Despite all that, even he couldn’t deny that his own lips had curled into a smile as well.

Maybe Yue Qingyuan was right. In the end, he was Shen Qingqiu’s… and Shen Qingqiu was also his.

Wasn’t that the important part, after all?

[bellesmadeofsilk]

What to wear M.M x FEM! reader

Overture- Matt's worried about meeting your parents

CWs- Mentions of bruises, not being perceived as good enough, one joke about stripping and not a whole lot else

A/N- oops it's kind of late but Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and happy chanukah if you celebrate that. And have a nice Wednesday otherwise. Also the divider is courtesy of @anitalenia

You’d never seen Matt this worried before. You’d seen him have nerves before court, or even genuine fear over some of the things happening in his city– but they were always overpowered by his endless resolve. You’d listen to him talk through his problems, through opening statements, and lines of questioning– and at the end of the day he’d feel a lot better. But tonight he was spiraling a little bit and no amount of nervous pacing was helping him. 

He had three near-identical suits laying on his bed, and was pacing from the bedroom to his living room where you sat on the couch. It started with him trying to decide on his clothes for tomorrow and had become– this. 

“What if they don’t like me?” You really tried not to laugh at him— like your parents wouldn’t like the nice guy with perfect manners and a stable career. 

“Matt, they’ll love you– it’ll be a great day tomorrow. I’m cooking, you’re going to be so wonderfully charming, and my parents have never even been to New York before– you’ve got the home field advantage.”

“What if they see one of my bruises– or my scars? I don’t want them to think I’m violent.” Currently his bruises were confined to his upper arm, chest, and back— no one would see them.

“Well then I guess you can’t strip at dinner.” It wasn’t especially often that you could tease Matt, but he was being more than a little ridiculous– no one would guess that your blind boyfriend got a bruise because he was fighting someone on a random rooftop at one in the morning. You laugh a little bit as you put your hands on his shoulders, stopping his pacing. He allowed you to give him a peck on the lips, even though he was still antsy. When you pulled away, he put his hand over yours, still on his shoulder. 

“I’m serious. They’re going to think I’m not good enough for you.” 

“Oh Matt– they’d never say that.”

“But it’s true. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Matt– I think you are wonderful, smart, and sweet, and my parents are going to think you’re great– I’m sure of it.” He could hear your heartbeat. He knew you were telling the truth. But you could think that they’d like him all you want, it wouldn’t change the fact that they might not. And much to your dismay he could only sigh in response, looking down at you. 

“Matt, I'm serious. At the very least, they’ll think you’re a polite young man with a stable job and a nice suit.” That got a laugh out of him— it was self conscious, but an improvement over the frown he had before. 

“Well that’s good at least. Something in my favor.” 

“And Matt? Just for the record it doesn’t matter to me whether or not they like you. I love you, and they love me, and nothing is going to change that.” You’d never said that to him before. Not out loud at least— you’d thought it, and when you knew he was far enough that even he couldn’t hear you, you’d practiced saying it. But he’d never heard you say it before. 

“You love me?”

“Obviously— I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re pretty fantastic.”

“And you’re sweet. And I love you too.” He kissed your forehead and pulled you into a hug, your face buried in his chest. 

“So you’ll be ok tomorrow?” He just gave a contented sigh and pulled you even tighter to him, inadvertently squishing your face. 

“As long as you’re there, I’ll be fine I think.” You squirmed away from his hold just enough to press a light kiss to his jaw, then to his lips. You could physically feel him smile, and then feel that smile fade a little bit when he started talking again. 

“But seriously, which suit do you think?”

[crispydonutninja]

Teacher’s Pet promo

Satoru would never admit it, but she was so cute when they were screaming at him. Sure, maybe his student shouldn’t be the one yelling about their safety and his need to show off putting them in danger. He scoffs internally and externally, like he’d ever let her get hurt. The ideas more idiotic than their attempts at trying to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat. His gaze lingers on their mouth a bit too long as she talks, thinking about the softness, the color, the taste. ‘Shit.’ He thinks to himself, feeling like a massive perv and freak for thinking about his student this way.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Princess.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand in their direction . “You and I both know, nothing was gonna happen to ya. But it’s so cute that you were so worried about me.” A shit eating grin forms on his face as she gets flustered and stamps their feet like a child. Only he can get this reaction from them, only he deserves to see this side of them. It’s…wrong that the anger in their voice, the flush in their cheeks and the darkness in her eyes brings a sense of joy to him. It’s not that he enjoys you feeling a constant state of anger. No, Satoru just has…a sick fascination with seeing them react to him. Maybe it’s because he needs attention and he needs her to focus as much of their on him as possible.

He’s already walking away from her by the time they start to reply. His hands slip into his pants pocket and he takes a shaky sigh as they walk back towards the edge of the barrier surrounding the alleyway they’d exorcised the curse. It disappears to reveal a busy downtown Tokyo Street. They’ve finished the job, and now the two of them will go back to school and go their separate ways. A part of Satoru knows that soon enough, she is going to be gone from his daily life entirely and all too soon. Still, he surprises himself as he calls back to her. “Cmon, let me treat my favorite student to dinner. You did good today. She bent over the counter grumbling her skirt rising up. Satoru's eyes widen as he sees her skirt hike up, revealing their cute baby pink panties. He feels a surge of heat rush through his body, his cock twitching in his pants. Fuck, those are adorable. He thinks to himself, his mind immediately going to inappropriate places. He imagines ripping those flimsy panties off with his teeth, spreading her legs and burying his face between their thighs. The thought makes him shudder.

Get it together, Gojo! He scolds himself mentally. She is his student, and an innocent one at that. He can't be having these perverted thoughts about them. And yet, he can't look away from the tantalizing view of their ass and the smooth skin of their thighs. His mouth goes dry and his pants start to feel tighter.

Satoru swallows thickly, trying to will his cock to behave. "U-Um, princess Your skirt..." He trails off, his voice cracking slightly. He's never been so flustered in his life. Not even in the heat of battle has he felt this kind of intense, primal desire. And it's all because of the sexy little minx that happened to be his student.

[asktheritochampion]

Happy Yule, Master Revali.

We know you have a sweet-tooth, so Saki and I decided to bake a log cake and some hot pepper windmills. I managed to get some smooth cocoa paste from a traveller down in the Faron Region for you to make hot cocoa with. Apparently it’s made from a rare type of cacao bean that has a distinct fruity taste. Haven’t tried it myself but I think you’ll enjoy it with the pastries.

I also bought some ancient arrows from the Sheikah scientist in Hateno. He was pretty ecstatic when I managed to find the right materials. I thought they’d be useful if you ever encounter an enemy you don’t want to deal with. Just don’t point them at Link for any strange experiments.

We ended up getting a few eye paint containers from Swanphora as well. There’s purple, green, and yellow. I chose these ones specifically because they remind me of Saki, Tulin and I, so…I hope you’ll be reminded of us if you do use them.

Master Revali, you’ve proven yourself more than capable time and time again. In spite of your upbringing and the opposition you faced, you continue to persist through challenges with an unwavering spirit. Without a doubt, you are the best role model I could ever have. You’re known as the Pride of the Rito for a reason, after all.

Although you may not yet realize it, we already see you as part of our family. You’ve taught myself and Tulin a great number of things. You saved our lives and Rito Village countless times. I’ll admit, your words can be…unrestrained at times and I am more than willing to call you out, but your perseverance and genuine love for the people around you far out way your demeanour. I would be proud to call you my son with your consent, though we’ll still treat you as family even if you refused. Both you and Link are sons in my eyes.

Thank you Master Revali…for everything you’ve done, for us and the village. I’m forever grateful that you chose to be a part of our lives after you returned. I look forward to spending more time together in the upcoming year.

From,

Teba

Tch - that man is so soppy and emotional.

How dare he think I have any need for his pride, it's not like I care what he thinks. I don't care if I'm part of their silly little family or not, I've always been a lone wolf anyway, I don't need anyone, especially not someone to call me their son. I don't need anyones approval. Though I supose I don't care what he calls me - whatever, he can call me that if he wants I guess, it's none of my buisiness.

How ridiculous and unessessary. I supose I shall accept the thoughtful gifts though to be polite.

M-maybe I could drop in for - just for a bit to- help out with the yuletide cooking and decorating- just to be polite-maybe-

[biblical-chronicles]

Back to you

_________________________________________________

where Noel finally returns from tour, and in the quiet of their little flat, him and the reader take the next step in their relationship [18+]

_________________________________________________

The tour was finally winding down. After weeks of endless driving, lugging gear, and crashing on questionable sofas, Noel was ready to be back home—to see you. The Inspiral Carpets gigs had been mad, as usual, and while he loved the buzz, the energy, and the music, his thoughts always wandered back to your little flat and your laugh, the way it could drown out even the loudest amp in his head.

He let himself in quietly, the key turning in the lock with that soft click he’d missed hearing. The smell of your home hit him immediately—a mix of your favorite candles and just... you. It made his chest feel tight in the best way.

You must’ve heard him, though, because before he could even drop his bag, you came flying out of the bedroom, your socks sliding across the floor as you threw yourself at him.

“Noel!”

He caught you just in time, your arms locking around his neck as you kissed him full on the mouth. He laughed against your lips, a little breathless, but didn’t waste a second before kissing you back. His bag thudded to the floor as his hands settled on your waist, holding you as close as he could.

“Bloody hell, love,” he mumbled when you finally pulled back to breathe. “Missed me, did ya?”

“Missed you?” you repeated, your voice pitching up in mock disbelief. “You’ve got no idea, Gallagher. I’ve been losing me mind without you.”

He grinned, cheeks going a bit pink under your scrutiny. “You’re makin’ it sound like I’ve been off for years.”

“Feels like it,” you huffed, tugging him by the hand into the living room. “You’ve been gone ages, Noel. Ages. I mean, how’s a girl supposed to cope without her boyfriend, huh?”

“Dunno,” he said with a smirk, “seems like you managed alright. Flat hasn’t burnt down or owt.���

“Cheeky bastard,” you muttered, but your smile gave you away.

You sat him down on the couch and immediately curled up next to him, your head finding its usual spot on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, the tension in his back easing as he leaned into you. This—this was what he missed.

“Tour alright?” you asked after a moment, your voice softer now.

“Yeah, same old,” he replied, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Lads are mad as ever. Good gigs, though. Couldn’t wait to get back here, sick of havin’ no decent brew.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ah, so that’s what you missed most. Me tea.”

“And this.” He squeezed you lightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Reckon I’ll put up with you if you keep supplyin’ the brews.”

You pinched his side, making him yelp and laugh.

After a while, the two of you moved to the bedroom. Noel stripped down to his boxers while you rifled through a drawer for your comfiest pajamas, the ease between you two so natural it was like he’d never been away. When you finally crawled into bed, you tugged him down beside you, tucking yourself into his side.

“God, I love you,” you murmured, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting for weeks.

He blinked, a bit caught off guard even though you’d said it before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “I’ve missed you so much, Noel. And not just in the ‘wish you were here to do summat for me’ kind of way. Like... properly missed you. The flat felt so empty without you. I’d just sit there thinking about you, wondering if you were okay, if you were tired, if you were eating enough—”

“Christ, you sound like me mum,” he teased, though his voice was softer than usual, his cheeks coloring.

“Oi, I’m being serious!” you said, poking him in the chest. “You’ve been lugging around gear for weeks, Noel, and I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should. I just... I love you, alright? And I want you to know that.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as he gave you that small, shy smile you loved so much.

“Love you too,” he said, the words quiet but firm, like they’d been there all along. “More than you know, love.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow. He pulled you closer, his hands splaying over your back as he deepened the kiss. When you finally broke apart, he was grinning up at you, his shyness giving way to his usual cheeky confidence.

“Right, you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice playful but warm. “No gettin’ rid of me. Not after a speech like that.”

“Good,” you said, your smile matching his. “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

The moment hung between you like the soft glow of the streetlamp outside the window, its light filtering through the thin curtains. Noel’s eyes searched yours, his hand cradling your cheek as his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. There was a gentleness in his touch that made your heart ache in the best way, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, your lips meeting his.

This kiss wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was deeper, fuller, charged with a longing that had been building for weeks. Noel responded instantly, his hand slipping into your hair, holding you steady as his lips moved against yours.

You shifted closer, your fingers trailing up his chest before wrapping around his neck. The heat between you grew, and when his tongue grazed your bottom lip, you opened for him without hesitation. The soft groan that rumbled in his throat sent a thrill through you, and you pressed yourself tighter against him.

It was a blur of hands and lips and quiet sighs, your bodies moving like they’d been waiting for this moment all along. When his hand slid down your side, resting just above the curve of your hip, you gasped into the kiss. It wasn’t planned or deliberate; it just happened—a small sound of want slipping out before you could stop it.

Noel froze, pulling back slightly as his eyes flicked open. His cheeks were flushed, his lips kiss-bruised, and his chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice husky but tinged with concern. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t apologize.”

His brows knit together. “But—”

“I want this,” you said firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I want you, Noel. I’ve never been more sure about owt in me life.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and you saw the conflict flash in his eyes—hesitation, protectiveness, and something deeper, something tender.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... I know you’ve not... y’know.”

You nodded, your fingers stroking his cheek. “I know. But I trust you, Noel. I love you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, all he could do was look at you, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Then, with a shaky exhale, he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, your hand cupping his face. “Takes one to know one.”

He let out a breathy laugh before capturing your lips again, his touch more deliberate this time, but still gentle—always gentle. He took his time, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of your clothes, testing and teasing as though he was afraid of rushing anything.

“Does this feel good?” Noel asked, his voice low and rasping, barely louder than a breath. His blue eyes met yours, searching for reassurance, for a sign that he was doing it right.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing, but the shyness that crept into your chest made it difficult to speak. You bit your lip, your gaze flickering down as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oi,” he said softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you’d look at him. “Don’t get all shy on me now, love. Just tell me, yeah? Want to get it right for you.”

His honesty made your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you whispered, “It’s good. Really good.” Then, swallowing your nerves, you added, “You can... you can touch me a little more, if you want. Just, um, here.” You guided his hand to rest on your waist, the contact sending a spark of warmth through you.

Noel’s lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile. “Here, yeah? Alright.” His hand flexed slightly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your side through the thin fabric. “How’s that?”

You nodded again, your voice catching. “Perfect.”

Encouraged by your response, Noel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another just below your ear. “What about this?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips. “It’s nice. I like it,” you managed, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said, his own confidence growing. He shifted closer, his hand trailing higher along your side, careful and unhurried. “If I do anything you don’t like, just say the word, alright?”

“I will,” you promised, your hand resting over his as if to anchor yourself. “But you’re doing everything right.”

As his fingers brushed the bare skin where your top had ridden up slightly, your breath hitched, and Noel froze. “Too much?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s—it’s good. Just... maybe slower?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Slower it is.” His touch became even more deliberate, his movements tender and precise. “You’ll have to keep bossin’ me about, though. Can’t be fumblin’ through it like a clueless muppet.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you glanced up at him, your shyness melting under his warmth. “You’re not fumbling. You’re... amazing.”

“Yeah, well,” he teased gently, his lips brushing your temple. “Got a decent teacher, haven’t I?”

You smiled, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders. As his hand continued its soft journey, your nerves ebbed away, replaced by a sense of closeness that felt both thrilling and comforting.

For a few moments, you simply enjoyed the way he touched you, his calloused fingers so careful as though you were something precious. But there was a small ache in your chest, a yearning that made your voice tremble when you finally spoke.

“Noel?”

“Yeah, love?” he murmured, his lips now pressed softly against your jaw.

You hesitated, your hands tightening slightly on his shoulders. “Could you... um... touch me here?” You reached up with shaky fingers and gestured to your chest, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze.

Noel froze for a second, his eyes darting to yours as if to confirm he’d heard you right. “You sure?” he asked, his voice hushed but steady, his hand hovering uncertainly.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m sure. I just... I trust you.”

Those three words seemed to undo him. His expression softened, and he exhaled deeply, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “Alright,” he said, his voice a quiet promise. “If that’s what you want.”

Slowly, his hand moved to your chest, his touch featherlight at first as though he was afraid of overstepping. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with care.

“Yes,” you whispered, your breath hitching slightly at the sensation. “It’s good.”

His thumb brushed experimentally over the fabric, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His eyes darted to yours again, checking in even as his confidence grew. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling slightly. “Really good.”

Encouraged, Noel leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips that was both tender and deeply passionate. You clung to him, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing more of the warmth and safety that only he seemed to provide.

“Noel,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling but sure.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to search your eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breath mingling with yours as he studied your expression. “Yeah, love?”

“I want... more,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing as you fumbled for the right words.

Noel’s brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “More, eh?” he teased gently, his voice low but still tinged with that cheeky edge that made your heart flutter. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, sweetheart. I’m not exactly a mind reader.”

Your lips parted as a nervous laugh escaped, but your hands betrayed your intent, sliding down to the hem of your top. With a deep, steadying breath, you started to lift it, exposing more of your skin to the cool air of the room. “I just... I want you to touch me here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down toward your chest.

Noel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice more serious now as his hands moved to gently cover yours, stilling your movements. “I don’t wanna rush you into anything.”

“I’m sure,” you said, looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and yearning. “I trust you. I want this—I want you.”

His breath hitched at your words, and he nodded, his hands releasing yours but remaining close, ready to pull back if you changed your mind. As you slid the fabric up and over your head, leaving your upper body bare before him, Noel’s eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands reached out hesitantly, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The reverence in his tone sent a warmth flooding through you, and you smiled, leaning into his touch. “You can use your mouth, too,” you whispered, your cheeks burning as the words left your lips.

Noel’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks coloring slightly even as a slow, cheeky grin spread across his face. “Me mouth, eh?” he teased, though his voice was tinged with shyness. “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone before his lips finally found their way to your chest.

Noel’s lips moved slowly, almost reverently, over the soft curve of your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, sending tiny shivers dancing down your spine. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips finally closed around the sensitive peak of your breast, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders. The sensation was both tender and electrifying, a mix of heat and softness that sent your pulse racing.

He hummed softly against you, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that made your toes curl. His tongue flicked gently, tentative at first, as though testing what you liked. When your fingers tightened in his hair and a breathless whimper slipped from your lips, it seemed to spur him on.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin but still carrying that cheeky charm.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling with both nerves and pleasure. “It’s... so good, Noel.”

Encouraged, he took more of you into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before gently sucking, his hands bracing your sides to steady you as you instinctively arched closer to him. The combination of his mouth and the way his hands held you—strong but tender—made your head spin in the best way.

The quiet moans and sighs you couldn’t hold back seemed to fuel him further, and he alternated between gentle sucks and soft kisses, his teeth grazing lightly just to see how you’d react. When your breath hitched and a quiet, broken moan escaped, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Didn’t think I’d have you makin’ sounds like that,” he teased, his voice low and husky, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his eyes.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when he was looking at you like that. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice soft but sure as you gazed down at him.

His expression softened at your words, the teasing edge giving way to something more serious, more intimate. “Don’t plan to, love,” he murmured before lowering his head again, his lips and tongue lavishing the same attention on your other breast.

The way he explored you, so attentive and eager to please, made your heart ache with affection. You couldn’t help but thread your fingers through his hair again, holding him close as he worked, every touch and flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you. “You alright?” he asked, his hands gently rubbing your sides. “Not too much, yeah?”

You shook your head, a dazed smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him

The kiss grew sloppy but no less intense, all wet heat and stifled moans. When your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, he groaned against your lips, the sound making your thighs clench around him instinctively. You arched into him, your body pressing flush against his chest as if trying to get closer, though there was no space left to close.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, his voice thick and gravelly, as your movement caused your chest to brush against him. His hips twitched beneath you, the involuntary reaction drawing a surprised gasp from you.

You pulled back just slightly, panting, your lips swollen and slick as you gazed down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide with desire as he looked up at you. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his accent even thicker than usual, his voice a low rasp.

A shy smile tugged at your lips, but before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides again, and he leaned forward to recapture your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, your body responding instinctively to the overwhelming closeness.

When his hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding you to settle more securely in his lap, you gasped into the kiss, the sound turning into a quiet moan when his tongue dipped into your mouth again. His groan in response was just as guttural, the vibrations against your lips making you arch into him again.

“Noel,” you breathed when he finally pulled back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you trembling.

“What, love?” he murmured against your neck, his voice laced with a teasing edge as his hands skimmed your sides again, his thumbs brushing just under the swell of your breasts.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with enough need to make him shiver against you.

His hands tightened on your waist, and he pressed another kiss to your neck before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Not plannin’ to,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, cheeky grin. “Long as you don’t start shyin’ up on me now.”

His cheeky grin widened as he saw the way your eyes darkened, your breathing uneven, your lips swollen from his kisses. You didn’t hesitate, surging forward to kiss him again, a deep, desperate kiss that left no doubt about what you wanted.

“Noel,” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze. There was a hunger in your eyes that made his teasing grin falter for a moment, replaced by something deeper, more serious.

“Yeah, love?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, his hands steady on your hips.

“I want you,” you said, your voice breathy but sure. “I really, really want you.”

He blinked, his expression shifting to something unreadable for a moment. “You sure?” he asked softly, his hands pausing their movements to hold you steady. “I need to know you mean that.”

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as they moved to his chest. “I mean it, Noel. Please.”

His grin returned, softer this time, as his hands slid down to rest on your thighs. “Alright, then,” he said, his tone both teasing and reverent. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands gliding up your thighs to the waistband of your bottoms. His fingers toyed with the fabric for a moment, his grin turning wicked as he felt the heat radiating from you. “Fuckin' hell, love,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. “You’re soaked already. Didn’t know I had that kinda effect on you.”

You flushed, burying your face in his shoulder with a groan. “Shut up,” you mumbled, but your hips shifted instinctively, pressing against his hands.

“Oh, no, I’m enjoyin’ this far too much to shut up,” he teased, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband to tug your bottoms down slowly. “Guess you’re just as mad for me as I am for you, eh?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on the way his hands moved, the way he touched you like you were something so precious. He helped you lift your hips to slide your bottoms and underwear off, tossing them aside carelessly before settling back to look at you. His eyes swept over your body with an intensity that made you shiver, a mixture of reverence and desire that left you breathless.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said, his voice almost reverent as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your stomach, then lower, his lips trailing over your skin in a way that made you tremble.

“Noel,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way back up your body, his hands steady on your hips.

“Alright, love,” he said softly, his tone turning serious as he shifted to align himself with you. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as you looked up at him. “I won’t,” you said, your voice filled with quiet confidence. “I want this. I want you.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushed into you. The stretch was unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and the way he watched your face, gauging your every reaction, made you feel safe, cherished.

“You alright, love?” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he paused to let you adjust.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You can move.”

He did, starting slow, his movements careful and deliberate as he found a pace that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body, his touch both grounding and electrifying as he whispered soft praises and teasing comments against your ear.

His hips moved with a steady rhythm, but his breaths were erratic, loud moans slipping free despite his best efforts. The sound sent a rush through you, knowing he was as undone as you were. “God,” he groaned, burying his face against your neck.

You arched into him, your hands running down the planes of his back, urging him closer. “Noel,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling gently. “You’re perfect. You’re making me feel so good.”

Your words sent a visible shiver through him. He lifted his head, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of awe and desperation. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, his vulnerability stark and beautiful.

“Of course I mean it,” you replied, your tone filled with earnest affection. You pressed your forehead to his, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You’re everything, Noel. Everything.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to kiss you, messy and fervent. He moaned against your lips, the sound deep and guttural, making you feel as though you were the only thing holding him together. “Fuck, love,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “And you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” you whispered back, your lips brushing against his. “So good to me, don’t stop, please.”

The praise made him falter for a moment, his rhythm breaking as he let out another moan, this one louder, raw and unrestrained. “God, you’re killin’ me, sayin’ things like that,” he admitted, his tone shaky. His hands gripped your hips as though grounding himself, his breath hitching as he moved deeper.

You clung to him, tilting your head back as waves of pleasure coursed through you. “Noel,” you gasped, unable to stop yourself, “you feel so good, so perfect. Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

His response was almost immediate, his movements growing more urgent as his forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out another loud, desperate sound. “Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whimper.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as the tension building within you suddenly snapped, another loud cry of his name spilling from your lips. The sound seemed to push him over the edge, his body trembling as he followed, his voice a mix of ragged gasps and broken moans.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths. Then he looked at you, his cheeks flushed, his expression soft but filled with a shy sort of pride. “You alright?” he asked, his voice still shaky.

You smiled, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “More than alright,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “That was everything, Noel, I love you.”

His lips curved into a small, bashful smile as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “I love you too” he murmured.

_________________________________________________

Bit long, maybe, but there you go, roadie Noel lovers (I’m right there with ya—give me all the Noel eras tbh).

Just felt like he’d be proper sweet and gentle, takin’ it slow and all that, hope you lot like it xx

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Things We Still Have in Common

Summary: In retrospect, Ford probably should have just warned Stan about the bunker's security system.

Author's Note: My sister asked me for a Gravity Falls fanfiction for Christmas, and wanted Stan and Ford trapped in a room together for 24 hours, so I put this together!

...

After hearing from Dipper about his experience with the shapeshifter, Ford makes it a point to head down to the bunker himself to check and see that it’s still secure.  It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dipper when he said they handled it, but the cryochamber Dipper mentioned pushing him into is fairly old, and Ford would just as soon make sure it’s still functioning properly.

So, after lunch, he heads down to the bunker, with a fair amount of tools to update the chamber if need be.

It’s been quite a long time since he’s been to the bunker, even after arriving back in this dimension, so he’s not surprised to find things moved around and changed.  Dipper did mention, with a fair amount of sheepishness, that they’d moved things around in the main observatory, and done quite a bit of damage in the tunnels.  Dipper might have oversold it a bit, however, because when Ford arrives in the observatory, he doesn’t find much damage apart from moved around papers and some flipped switches that appear to be long past use anyway.  The cryochamber is visible on one of the monitors, and the shapeshifter is still frozen inside, sure enough, looking just like Dipper.  The sight is more than a little unsettling, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about the chambers being on the verge of collapse.  There’s no sign of any thawing, or dripping water, or anything that would mean he had a time crunch in checking it over, and he doesn’t need to head straight in there.

He heads instead for the control console, and checks over the readings on the cryochamber.  It seems to be in good shape for the most part, and though he’ll need to replace the temperature modulator at some point in the next ten years, he did build it to last.

Ford writes down a couple notes in the third journal, which he brought with him, and is about to head back towards the entrance, when suddenly, a new figure appears on the monitor.

For a second, Ford wonders if the shapeshifter really has escaped and he’s seeing things, because he can’t think of many other reasons for Stanley to be down here in the bunker.  He’s carrying an armful of cans of “Baron Num Nums High Flyin' Beans,” and seems to be singing to himself.

Ford groans, but presses the button on the console that overrides the disinfectant closet’s doors, and marches over to it as Stan approaches the main room, making sure his irritation is plain on his face.

“Stockin’ beans for the apocalypse, do do do do,” Stan sings as he walks through from the tunnels, eyes closed and not seeming to have noticed Ford yet.

“Stanley,” Ford says, if for no other reason than to put an end to his singing.

Stan yelps and drops nearly half the cans as he opens his eyes and looks over at Ford.  He looks down at the cans on the ground, then glares back up.

“Great.  Thanks, Ford.”

“What are you doing down here?  This place is dangerous.”

“Relax, would ya?  The thing is locked up,” he says, gesturing to the cryochamber.  “And Wendy mentioned a whole bunch of cans of beans down here, so I figured I’d add to my stash for the apocalypse.  Hey, help me pick these cans up.”

Ford rolls his eyes and makes no such movement.  “You shouldn’t have come down here without my permission,” he says.

“Oh, excuse me,” Stan says, adding a fair amount of mockery to his tone.  “I’ve been pokin’ around your creepy inventions for thirty years, Poindexter, forgive me if I don’t start asking permission now.”

“I never wanted you poking around my inventions in the first place,” Ford says coolly.

Stan sets down some of the cans so he can shift around the ones in his arms, and starts singing again.  “Ignoring my brother, do do do do, ‘cause he’s bein’ a jerk, do do do do do do…”

Ford groans and turns to walk back into the control room, figuring he might as well give Stanley a taste of his own medicine.

He grabs his notebook, and is about to start back through the security room, when he hears Stan start walking again, sounding like he’s carrying far too many cans.

Ford turns around with a sigh, because if Stan’s going to insist on bringing all of the cans back Ford might as well take some of them, just to make the jangling of the cans quieter, naturally.  But before he can offer, one of the cans balanced precariously on top of the pile slips off, and Stan doesn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to balance another one that was about to do the same thing.

“Stan,” Ford starts, but he’s too late.  The can rolls just far enough into the control room for Stan’s foot to hit it as he steps out of the disinfectant chamber.  He tumbles down towards the ground, and all of the cans in his arms go flying— right into the security room.

“Wait!” Ford yells, leaping immediately for the control panel, but it’s too late.  Dozens of cans hit dozens of the alert panels, and the security mechanism slams shut at what to it is registering as a small army.  The disinfectant chamber slams shut and locks on the other side of the room, and an alarm starts blaring overhead.

Ford groans and turns a displeased look back on Stan, who’s currently climbing up from the ground.

“Uh,” Stan says, having the decency to look sheepish.  “Whoops.”

“Fantastic,” Ford mutters, sitting down at the control panel.  He hits a couple buttons, and the alarm shuts off, at least.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Stan says.  “Welp.  I’ve lost all of my beans.  You want to get us out of here so I can go home and mope in peace?”

“I can’t,” Ford says, glaring at him.  “With that many alarms, it stays up for 24 hours.”

“What?  Why?  Wouldn’t any intruders be pretty crushed pretty immediately?”

“Humans would, but they’re not what we were worried about when Fiddleford and I built the thing,” Ford snaps.  He tries a couple more switches to no avail, and sits back in his chair with a sigh.  “We’re stuck down here until it turns off.”

“Oh sure, and whose fault is that?”

Ford turns to him in bafflement.  “Yours?”

“I didn’t build a death trap for a security system.”

Ford leans forward to massage at his temples, then reaches into his bag, then pulls out the walkie talkie he’d given to Dipper in case he ran into some kind of trouble and needed to let someone know.  He presses the button.

“Dipper?  Come in, Dipper,” he says into it, and lets go.

“Great Uncle Ford!” comes Dipper’s worried voice.  “Are you okay?”

“Stanley set off the security system and we’re stuck down here for the next 24 hours,” Ford says.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have set it off if you hadn’t—”

“Will you two be alright until we get out?” Ford cuts him off.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dipper says.  “But do you need me to come there?”

“There’s nothing you could do anyway,” Ford says.  “Just hang out at the shack, alright?”

“Tell Soos to stay after,” Stan adds in.  “But I’m not paying him any extra.”

“Okay,” Dipper says.  “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.  Over and out,” Ford says.  Dipper doesn’t say anything else, and he drops the walkie talkie back into his bag.

“So,” Stan says, a smugness to his voice that makes Ford immediately regret his life choices.  “They should just hang out at the shack, huh?”

Ford gives Stan a confused look.  “What are you talking about?”

“That’s what you said to Dipper,” Stan says, leaning against the console.  “That they should hang out at the shack.”

Ford goes over his word choices and kicks himself.  “It is the shack until the end of the summer,” he says, trying to put “I didn’t mess up, I said exactly what I meant to say” into his voice.  “And then it will go back to being my house again.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Stan says, because Ford has never been able to properly lie to him.

Ford rolls his eyes and turns back to his journal, scribbling “I am writing this down in order to ignore Stanley,” in small letters.

It seems to work well enough, because Stan just shrugs and goes to collect what cans of beans escaped the security system.

Ford leans back in the chair and closes the journal.  He’s not exactly thrilled at the prospect of spending twenty four hours here with Stanley.  At least neither of them are hurt, and since they’re in this room specifically, they’ll be able to tell as soon as the security system shuts off, and get out right afterwards.

Out of the corner of his vision, Ford sees Stan set five cans of beans on the ground by the door, which seems to be all that survived the crushing.  Stan gives a disappointed sigh and wanders over to one of the shelves on the other side of the room.  He starts to whistle to himself.

“Please don’t,” Ford says instantly.  “Being stuck here is going to be hard enough.”

Stan’s only response is to start to whistle louder.

Ford resists the instinct to slam his head onto the desk.

It is going to be a long 24 hours.

…

With every minute, Ford is regretting more not putting a clock down here.  He can always radio Dipper if he needs to know what time it is that badly, but he doesn’t want to bother the boy with something so trivial.  It’s not like knowing what time it is will make the time they’re down here lessen.  Besides, then Stan could mock him for blinking first, and Ford can’t let him win.

Eventually, he and Stan settle into activities.  Stan has begun trying to balance the beakers that were sitting on the shelves.  Ford hasn’t stopped him because he hasn’t broken any yet, and at least he’s not saying anything.  Ford is reading through his journal and making updated notes and additions, though he often doesn’t have much space to do so.  His drawings tend to take up a lot of space.

Ford would be perfectly content to do just that for the entire time they’re down there, but he also would be a fool if he doesn’t expect Stanley to ruin it at some point.

Sure enough, as Ford is going through Dipper’s entries and highlighting parts that intrigue him, Stanley speaks up.

“So, uh, did you build this place just to house your shapeshifter guy?”

Ford sighs, and doesn’t look up from the journal as he responds.

“Not at first,” he says.  “I wanted to explore Gravity Falls underground.  I had planned to expand the tunnels at first, before—” the Shapeshifter turned dangerous.  And before Bill showed up, and all but robbed Ford of everything he’d loved about Gravity Falls in the first place, made all of the anomalies he’d come here for seem like pointless wastes of time.

“Before the shifter guy happened?” Stan asks, cutting off Ford’s train of thought.

Ford sighs, making sure his exasperation is clear.  The response “Actually it was before I got shoved into another dimension,” pops into his head, but he swallows it down and nods instead.  It’s needlessly callous, and would just add more tension when they’re going to have to be here for a while yet.

“You know, if you wanted to explore Gravity Falls underground, there was a dinosaur cavern already sitting there,” Stan says.

“I read about it in Dipper’s journal,” Ford says.  “I didn’t know it existed back then.  I’ll probably make time to go there eventually.”

“Watch out for pterodactyls,” Stan deadpans.  “Glad to know I beat you to that, though.”

Ford grits his teeth and opts not to respond.

“Did you hear about how I punched it in the face?”

“Are you trying to start an argument?” Ford snaps, glaring down at him.

“It would definitely make the time go faster,” Stan says, giving Ford a grin that’s just a little too smug.

“Considering how quickly I beat you last time, no it wouldn’t,” Ford says, adapting a smug smile of his own.

Stan’s face drops into a scowl.  “Hey, you caught me off guard after I’d just run from a bunch of FBI agents through an entire town.  Gimme a break.  I bet you couldn’t beat up a bunch of zombies.”

“Please,” Ford says, rolling his eyes.  “Most of them are in an advanced state of decay.  I did physically overpower quite a few of them once.”

“Oh, please.  If you had, you’d have written it in your stupid journals,” Stan says, rolling his eyes as he looks back up at the ceiling.

Ford clenches his teeth.  “They’re not stupid,” he says, in lieu of revealing to Stanley the pages that he ripped out of the journal.  He doesn’t want to revisit those experiences anytime soon, and especially not with Stanley of all people.

Stan doesn’t reply with anything more than a grunt, before going back to picking up one of the smaller beakers and placing it on top of the one currently balanced atop all the others.  At which point, his streak ends and they topple over, several of them shattering on the ground.

“Fantastic,” Ford snaps, standing and pushing the chair back.  “I don’t have any way to clean up broken glass right now, Stanley.”

“I don’t see any other way to entertain myself here,” Stan snaps back, bending down to pick up the ones that aren’t broken and setting them back on the shelves.  “I didn’t come down here with plans to stay, I didn’t bring anything to do.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Did I say it was?”

Ford groans in frustration and sits back down at the desk, getting back to work on the journal.

Stan doesn’t go for the beakers again, but instead goes and leans against the other wall.  He’s never been one to sit still for long, however, so Ford’s not surprised when he speaks up again before long.

“It grabbed Mabel’s pet pig, you know.”

Ford shot a confused look over his shoulder.  “What did?”

“The pterodactyl,” Stan says, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling in reminiscence.  “It uh, burst into the house and grabbed it right out of my hands.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Ford says, rolling his eyes and turning back to his journal.

“What, you’re not seriously gonna write in that thing the whole time, are ya?  We’re stuck here for a while, might as well reminisce for a bit.”

“I cannot think of any circumstance that would make me want to reminisce with you,” Ford says without looking up.

“And that’s just the kind of warm fuzziness that makes you so pleasant to be around, Poindexter.”

Ford drops his pen and spins around in his chair, glaring at Stanley.  “Need I remind you it’s your fault we’re here in the first place?”

“You think maybe if you’d helped me carry a couple of those cans we wouldn’t be in this mess?” Stan shoots back, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s not my job to help you with every hare-brained scheme you come up with.”

“Yeah, heaven forbid you have to help me out with something like carrying groceries.  Oh, the indignity.”

“I came down here for something important, Stanley!” Ford snaps, which seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Stan’s gaze darkens.

“Well,” he says coldly.  “If you don’t give a shit about my thing, why the hell should I give a shit about yours?”

Ford sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “It’s fine,” he says.  “There won’t be any long-term harm done, it’s just a rather large inconvenience.  We’re just going to have to grin and bear it.”

Stan huffs, and grabs one of the cans of beans, yanking the top back until it opens.  He pulls the metal lid off and bends it until it makes a satisfactory spoon, which he uses to scoop the beans up and into his mouth.

“Beans?” he grumbles, nodding down at them.

“I think I’ll manage,” Ford says, spinning his chair back around.  “I’ve gone longer than 24 hours without food.”

Many times, actually.  Food isn’t always easy to find in every dimension out there in the multiverse, and there are quite a few instances he can think of having to go without.  He’ll make it until lunchtime tomorrow just fine.

He’s not expecting a response from Stanley in regards to that, but to his surprise, he gets one.

“It’s uh, not a skill you can just pick right back up, Poindexter.”

Ford turns and gives him a curious look.  “Excuse me?”

“Not eating for more than a day.  It’s not a skill you can just pick right back up.  You’ve had, you know, stable meals for a couple weeks now.”

Ford looks at him for a moment, not sure quite what that means.

“I know,” he says eventually.

Stan sighs, and shakes his head.  He sets his open can down, grabs three of the cans of beans off the floor and walks over to the console, then sets them down next to Ford.  “Eat ‘em when you get hungry,” he says, and walks back over to pick up his open can again.

“I mean it,” he adds when Ford doesn’t say anything.

Ford sighs but doesn’t object, then turns back to his journal.

He’ll end up eating the beans in a couple hours.

…

As the time drags on, the quiet gets more comfortable.  Ford gives Stan a turn in the chair eventually, since it’s the only real place to comfortably sit in there.  To his surprise, Stan quickly falls asleep leaning against the desk.

It’s probably close to night at this point, but Ford had figured they’d eventually try to sleep on the ground, since sleeping in a chair like that would be bad for their backs at this age.

To be fair, the ground probably wouldn’t be much better, but he still can’t help but notice that Stan seems far more comfortable than he should be, hunched over a desk like that.  Maybe he just never grew out of his ease with falling asleep in class?

Or maybe, Ford realizes with a start, he’s fallen asleep in a desk chair a lot these past thirty years.

Ford doesn’t want to linger on that thought for too long, so he sits down against the wall with his journal and starts sketching out plans to install a failsafe to the security system.  Best to avoid a repeat of this situation in the future, and it’s easier to work without Stan jabbering on.

He makes his way through a decent amount of the changes he’ll have to make and the overrides he’ll have to install before his focus is dragged away by Stan starting to mutter in his sleep.

Ford sighs, looking at Stan in part exasperation, part amazement.  Even when he’s asleep, Stan finds a way to break his concentration.

Ford keeps his gaze on him for a minute, trying to decide if this is more or less annoying than Stan’s periodic interruptions.  He’s thrown out of that internal debate, however, when he hears what Stan’s actually saying.

He’s muttering apologies.

Maybe he’s also done that a lot while asleep at a desk chair these past thirty years—

Ford pushes himself to his feet, walks across the room, and shakes Stan’s shoulder.

Stan jerks awake immediately, and is already swinging fists towards him.  Ford steps back, just far enough to avoid the swing of Stan’s fists.  Sometimes those multiverse instincts are very helpful.

It takes Stan a minute, but eventually he seems to shake awareness back into his head, and blinks a couple of times at Ford.

“You— ugh,” he grumbles, the tension slipping out of his posture as he rubs at his eyes.  “What the hell was that for?”

Ford doesn’t answer right away.  “You were being unintentionally vulnerable in your sleep and I didn’t want to know things you didn’t want to tell me” doesn’t feel like it will go over well.  But it’s true.  If there’s anything three decades in the multiverse has taught him, it’s that you don’t just go around sharing your secrets with anyone.  It’s dangerous.  And that’s definitely what he’s thinking about.  It’s the safety thing.  It’s definitely not just that he doesn’t want to force anything like that on Stan.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Ford says instead.  “I’m trying to work.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan snaps, glaring at him.  “Let a man sleep, Poindexter.  It’s been a long day.”

Ford walks back over to where he’d been sitting before and sits down with his journal.

Stan huffs and puts his arms back on the control panel, then leans his head on top of his arms, shutting his eyes again.

“I have nightmares too,” Ford mutters, because he can’t help it.

Stan gives a very loud, obviously fake snore, and Ford pulls open his journal and gives up.

Stan does manage to fall asleep again, after a while, and the nightmares thankfully don’t make a recurrence.

Ford hadn’t thought that after forty years apart he would have anything in common with his brother anymore.  He wouldn’t have picked nightmares, if he had a choice.

Or food insecurity, for that matter.

In the end, Ford decides an all nighter is more appropriate.  There’s too high a chance that if he shuts his eyes right now, he’ll have a nightmare of his own.  Bill would come to pay a visit, if nothing else.  He wouldn’t miss out on a chance to show up and mock Ford for something like this.  Ford can’t be sure that Stan will pay him the same courtesy of waking him up, and Ford isn’t ready to be vulnerable either.

So instead, he finishes the plans for the security system override, turns to a new page, and sketches a drawing of what Stan probably looked like, fallen asleep at a different desk.

Purely to pass the time, of course.

…

Stan sleeps well into the morning, which Ford definitely doesn’t mind.  He gets one radio communication from Dipper, that it’s 7 in the morning and they have five hours left on the security system, and also that Soos is going to run the shack today.

That last part wakes Stan up.

“Absolutely not,” he says, before he’s even finished blinking the sleep out of his eyes.  “Tell him we’re opening late.”

“He can do it, Grunkle Stan!” comes Mabel’s voice.  “Besides, Dipper’s done a tour before, he can’t do worse than that!”

“Hey!”

“That is true…”

“Hey!”

“Oh, alright.  But you watch him, pumpkin.  You’ve got experience with bossing people around.”

“You got it!  Over and out!”

“Hey, I get to say—”

The radio cuts off.

Ford chuckles a little.  “So, do you think the place will still be standing when we get back?”

“Eh, I give it a 70/30 chance.  Apparently they did knock a new hole in the wall last time I let Mabel run things, but it was fixed by the time I got home.”

“You— I’m sorry?”

“Mabel and I made a bet.”

“Of course you did,” Ford sighs, though if the damage is already fixed he supposes he can’t be that upset.

Stan stands and stretches, with a couple pops in his back that sound rather painful.

“You’re up,” he says, jerking his thumb at the chair as he starts to walk around the room.

Ford gives a wave of thanks and walks over to sit down in the chair.  It definitely feels nice to sit on something cushioned instead of the cold floor.

“According to Dipper we have about five hours left, by the way,” Ford says.  Stan gives a grunt of acknowledgement.

Ford sets his journal open to the page where he drew the plans for the override, and spends the last five hours comparing his notes to the actual control console.  Stan takes an hour or so to wake up, then spends the time balancing the much less breakable bean cans in different ways.

The fact that they have less time to wait than they did yesterday certainly helps the mood of the room, but even so, by the time Dipper radios to alert them they only have an hour left, Ford can tell they’re both itching to get out of there.  Ford does his best to keep track of how much time passes in the last hour, since he doesn’t want to bother Dipper every couple minutes for an update, but the closer it gets to the time the system will shut off, the more Ford wants out of there.

“Gonna go home and make some food,” Stan mutters to himself at one point.  “And gonna have to thank Soos for watching the kids for so long.  Maybe I’ll just let him run the shack for the rest of the day, he would take that as thanks.”

“You’d just spend the day napping,” Ford says, and winces.  He’d actually been aiming more for teasing, but there’s far too much flatness to his tone for it to count.

Sure enough, Stan snaps back, “Yeah, and maybe I’ve earned it, huh?  I’ve had to put up with your ugly mug for the last 24 hours.”

“We have the same face,” Ford groans, looking up at the ceiling.

“Your point being?”

Ford grumbles and turns back to his journal, though he is most certainly out of anything interesting he could find it there.

And then, to his great relief, there’s the sound of loud clanking, and both he and Stan turn in desperate hope to see the tiles to the other room sliding back, leaving their exit from the bunker clear.

“Finally,” Stan groans, moving immediately towards the room.

“Stop,” Ford snaps, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him back.  “Don’t step on the tiles.”

Stan shoots him a dirty look.  “I know that, Poindexter,” he snaps.  “I came down here in the first place, didn’t I?”

Ford huffs, and pulls Stan back so he can slip out past him first.  He trusts himself more when it comes to avoid tripping, and he’s not going to get stuck down here again.

He hears Stan’s irritated grumbling behind him, but Ford just ignores it to turn on the radio and tell Dipper they’re on their way out.

“Awesome!” Dipper calls.  “I mean, uh, that’s good, Great Uncle Ford.  We’ll see you in just a bit!”

“See you soon, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford!” Mabel calls, sounding thrilled at the prospect.

“See you soon,” Ford agrees, with a fond smile, though neither Mabel or Dipper could see it.

“Oh, and you don’t need to worry about food or anything, Soos made you lunch!” Mabel adds on as an afterthought.

“Yeah, alright,” Stan calls as they both head out of the security room and towards the front room, and head for the staircase.

“You want me to tell him thanks, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asks.

Ford glances back to see Stan’s obvious distaste at the idea, but he responds, “Sure, pumpkin,” in a tone of voice that doesn’t let any of that through.  “But all of you prepare yourselves, ya hear?  I’ve got a whole day of annoying you knuckleheads to make up for.”

Mabel’s delighted giggles and Dipper’s exhausted groan both come through the radio.

“Roger that!  Over and out!” Mabel calls.

“I get to say that!  Hey, give me back the—” the radio cuts out.

Stan chuckles with a fond roll of his eyes.  Ford looks at him for another moment, then pulls his gaze away so Stan doesn’t think he’s staring.  Still, as they both start up the steps, it occurs to him that he might actually still have one more thing in common with his brother.

This one, he can’t say he minds that much.

[its-all-papaya]

merry christmas!!!! care for some of the deleted nutcracker fic jendo??? (originally existed before the guests take class with the juniors)

Lando feels hollow as he waits on the sofa, watching Franco and Abbi hug a half-dozen people each and chatter on and on with wide smiles on their faces. He’s not bitter, he’s not even jealous – he doesn’t want to talk now, anyway – but it makes his chest hurt a little all the same. A ghost, he thinks. That’s what he feels like. The voice that snaps him out of it is so familiar it makes his eyes burn, warm like a hug when it drawls, “Lando Norris,” from behind the chaos of students. Jenson never seems to age, not in Lando’s eyes. He kicks himself up to his feet in an instant, and his smile is all teeth by the time he reaches the doorway and tucks his face right into Jenson’s shoulder. Impossibly, even though he knows his shoulders are a bit broader, arms a bit stronger, he fits the same way in Jenson’s arms now as he had six years back, when they’d hugged on Lando’s last day before joining the company. “Didn’t know they still let anybody teach at your age,” Lando jokes to cut the emotion in his throat. Jenson squeezes his hip and then holds him at arm’s length, looking him up and down, “You’re looking strong these days. How’s Lewis treating you?” It’s pleasantries, and Lando is meant to say “good, thanks, you know how it is, pleasure to work for him.” Instead, he inhales sharply and slides his eyes away from Jenson’s, hesitant. Jenson’s brows lift. “Talk to me after, yeah? I need to get my class started.” “No, I know, I’m-” Lando laughs a little at the absurdity of the situation, “I’m in it.” “Are you really?” Jenson taps Lando on the chest with his knuckles, “Well, in that case, it’ll be an honor.” Lando ducks his chin, cradles his cheek with his palm, and feels 18 again.

[auntie-browning]

Blast! They couldn’t go just yet!

The doll’s neural cloud raced, continuing to drain the vehicle of its fuel while the pair encroached upon their position. For the entirety of that night, they did well to collect fuel without arousing even the slightest suspicion. This was their second to last vehicle before they could call it for the night and retreat to the wilds outside the city limits. Hell, she would forget the last bit of fuel if she could at least drain what she could from this one.

That desperation would ultimately lead to what would happen next.

Browning, continuing to hold out as much as they could, banked on her ability to keep a low enough profile to avoid detection. And at first, it seemed to work. The strangers were more pre-occupied grabbing the bags out of the car to really look around. If they held long enough, maybe they’d-

Slump…thud!

Down came the doll, gracelessly fumbling as her hand slipped on spilled gas. She tumbled forward, knocking that can over as well…spewing the petrol she waited for all over that asphalt floor and upon herself. None of that went unnoticed, as well. The two men peered over to the doll laid upon the ground, fuel canister besides her, and put two in two together. The jig was up and there was gonna be hell to pay.

Browning quickly picked herself off the road, trying to get some footing once again. She didn’t want to include her partner-in-crime to this little exchange if she could help it. Be it for her sake or theirs, the doll wanted to at least try to resolve the situation diplomatically first. That was better said than done, however. Emotions flared, bickering occurred, commotion raised.

“I-I’m sorry! P-Please, I just needed the fuel for money…I-I don’t have any other place to go to and I need to make ends meet!”

She reflexively lied to obfuscate what her true intentions really were. Needless to say, the pair weren’t buying it. Not the reasons, anyone can make convincing reasons. No, they didn’t think that sob story was good enough excuse to absolve her of her sins.

“And what!? You think we’re swimming in cash, bitch!? Your thieving cunt-ass lost me a whole month of fuel!”

The conversation continued like that. Browning trying her best to defuse the situation by pleading for some kind of forgiveness while the pair only grew further agitated. They started to corral the doll into one of the many alleyways that peppered this part of town. It seemed like nothing was working on the doll’s front. Tensions flared until eventually, the situation escalated with a single stab right into the gut.

Browning eyes shot wide while her receptors shot signals into her neural cloud telling her exactly what had happened. Injured, nearly fatal to a human. Soon, pain simulations played out in her neural matrix, simulating just how painful it should feel to sell her human reaction. Something Zaitrix would so easily pick up on with their connection. All before the faintest gasp for air as the doll tumbled down once again.

While Browning had to be so careful with how they moved, Ziatrix seemed almost casual about her movements yet produced no sound. Always seemed to be out of sight of people, in the shadows... like a creature will trained on being a predator, or perhaps she had another purpose when she was made.

Regardless of what was, she's now just a monster that eats, seeking to regain it's strength to eat larger things again. Or maybe it's looking for a food source to consume endlessly, a self repairing personality that could be nibbled at every day.

Ziatrix wouldn't admit it, but she enjoys seeing Browning panic and overthink everything she does. Every word that comes out of her, to see the poor girl run through a hundred situations in their mind only to accept their reality.

It's cute, and tasty.

But all good things come to an end, the entire day had been mostly fortunate if not amazing lucky for them to gather all they needed without a moment of strife.

That's over, Ziatrix leans in to Browning and covers her own mouth to speak very quietly.

"Someone's coming...heading this way.. from around the back of the building.." Ziatrix peaks over the other, looking into the vehicle to see bags. Whoever was coming, must of forgotten them inside. What rotten luck, their stealth was immaculate but..

"Two... people. If you wish for us to not get caught we must go.."

But the can was almost full, only a few more seconds.

[not-that-taliesin]

i shit you not, that drawing reference i reblogged earlier that explains the different ways that fat is stored in the body and its relation to bones and muscle groups, and how to use common drawing techniques to reflect a diverse amount of body shapes? that shit had me looking in the mirror before my shower just appreciating my own body shape and how it’s changed over the years and throughout my transition, and all i’ve gotta say is this shit is important

[7classyantiquestores]

I’ve heard some people suggesting that Veilguard is going to turn out being another DA2, and honestly, if it could scratch even a tiny bit of what DA2 accomplished in its clunky half-finished form, I would probably like it.

DA2 is a demonstration of BioWare knowing what their brand is all about, and knowing how to prioritize that over everything else. Legitimately it doesn’t matter to me how ugly the game is if the world is full of compelling characters and a tight, well-rounded narrative. Good writing and character performance can breathe life into a world, even if that world is just the same two cave and building maps pasted over and over. Just like having brilliant actors on a mid stage. Sure, you can see the stage ninja wheeling in the garden backdrop for the upcoming romantic rendezvous, but it doesn’t matter if you’re wholly captivated by the story unfolding in front of you. Honestly, I wish that upon Veilguard. Be a little clunky, have some odd quirks that fans will be divided over for the next decade, all that — but make the story something that will come grip me by the front of the shirt and give me something I’ll remember.

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[mars-ipan]

what was one of your formative gay experiences when you were a kid. a big one for me was random girls in gym class asking if they could play with my hair

[the-somwthing]

ppl will go on about Scott’s horrible treatment of Jimmy or even Pearl but I’m out here ranting and raving about his horrible treatment of Joel and nobody cares because I also say they’re gay 😔