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laracrofted · 2 years

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and so it goes

synopsis: bradley accepts maverick's invitation to spend christmas in the mountains, not realizing penny benjamin's hot niece will also be there.

pairings: bradley bradshaw x fem!reader (no y/n)

wc: 4.1K

warnings: an emphatic 18+, minors and ageless accounts dni, swearing, explicit smut, unprotected semi-public sex in a hot tub (writing this made me want to take a cranberry pill, please be safer than these two), thigh riding, dirty talk, a dash of exhibitionism, a sprinkle of praise kink

note: i... can't believe i wrote this. if you read we'd run inside out from the cold, i make a brief reference to bradley spending christmas skiing in the mountains. and somehow, here we now stand!

summoning @theharddeck (thighs) and @bioodforbiood (rooster is being slutty again) and a few people who wanted we'd run inside smut (if this isn't the worst thing you've ever seen, i'm working on that part two, i promise): @blue-aconite @thedroneranger @dhwanishah09 @six-bloodyminutes

“We should probably go inside…”

…is what Bradley should have said 20 minutes ago when Penny and Maverick turned in for the night, leaving him alone in the outdoor hot tub with an open bottle of champagne and oh yeah, Penny Benjamin’s niece.

December is frigid cold in the mountains, especially at this altitude, but from the deck, Bradley has a clear and perfect view of the mountains, peaked with snow and ice, glittering in the bluish moonlight.

He also has a clear and perfect view of you, sitting across from him in a bikini top that barely covers anything at all. Steam rises from the surface of the water, doing precious little to obstruct the sight of your smooth skin, the barest tease of cleavage with your every shuddering breath.

Are you breathing like that on purpose? Bradley wonders, almost accusatory, then feels like a complete asshole.

You could be having trouble breathing this high in the mountains. You shouldn’t risk altitude sickness, just because Bradley can’t look at your face without drifting down to your chest.

And once again, Bradley could've suggested going inside.

He didn’t do that, choosing to instead refill his champagne glass, and now Maverick is probably going to let the damn missile take him out next time. He could’ve spent Christmas in San Diego alone. Not risking death at Penny Benjamin’s rented cabin.

He’d met you a few times at the Hard Deck, covering a shift at the bar for your aunt, like a good and dutiful niece. You were damn sweet too, taking orders and serving up drinks with a wide smile and an untouchable brightness in your eyes, even against the rudest patrons who’d had too much to drink.

You would smile all the way to the bell, ringing it without missing a beat, calling the nearest and strongest-looking Navy guys over to throw the asshole out in the sand.

Hangman was the first one on the team to meet you, which was a little unfortunate for you. You did catch him in Relationship Jake mode when Jake had just started dating another Naval aviator on the team who was way too good for him. He wasn’t as much of an ass as usual.

Walking into the Hard Deck, dressed in his usual open Hawaiian shirt, Bradley did a full-on double take at the unfamiliar bartender that Hangman was chatting with. You were effusive enough to dim the lights and the noise, drown out the loud music and chatter. He walked closer without even realizing it, drawn in.

He didn’t catch the whole conversation, only the tail end.

Where Hangman had said something like, “Aren’t you sweet?” with a scheming edge to his expression, something that the new Hard Deck bartender wouldn’t know to catch, not knowing him like Bradley did.

And with a subtle shake of his head, Hangman tucked it away, buttoned behind his signature smirk, and caught an eavesdropping Bradley around the shoulder.

“Bradshaw! You meet Penny’s niece yet?”

Hangman shoved him forward, and Bradley stumbled into the bar hard enough to nearly knock the empty glasses from the counter. He turned to glare at the other man, but Jake had already melted in the crowd, no doubt seeking out his girlfriend – and again, too good for him – in the masses.

You were watching him with raised brows, clearing away the glasses that had nearly shattered in the chaos and wiping down the counter. An expectant look on your face.

He looked you up and down, like Bradley had been looking anywhere else for the past three minutes straight, and offered you a sheepish smile and a handshake. You met him with a warm smile and slipped your hand into his, telling him your name.

“Pretty name,” Bradley repeated it, holding your hand for a half second longer than was strictly polite. You looked down at your hands, still joined over the counter, the cutest wrinkle in your forehead. He gave you your hand back, already mourning the contact. “I’m Bradley.”

You eyed him and asked, “Bradley Bradshaw? What kind of name is that?” with a teasing lilt to your voice, passing him an IPA and opting to linger for a moment, despite the Hard Deck patrons clamoring for your attention on the other side.

Rested your elbows on the sticky counter and leaned in.

He nodded a confirmation. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

Women had always complimented him on his hands, wide palms and good fingers, and Bradley made sure to circle the bottle in his hand right in your line of sight, lingering there, not lifting it to his mouth. You watched him the whole time, an expression on your face that was unreadable. Not self-conscious though.

You didn’t seem to care that Bradley noticed.

“You can call me Bradley.” He traced a knuckle through the condensation on the bottle, watching you watch him, gaze flitting from his face to his hand and back again. “Rooster works too. Hell, I think I’d probably answer to Bradshaw.”

“Oh, so I can call you anything I like then?”

Something shifted in your expression, warmed that bright smile into something more knowing, more flirtatious. Look at that, Bradley thought, taking another sip of his beer, fist tight around the glass. Teeth dented your lower lip, and Bradley wanted to reach out and pull your lip from between them.

He wanted to sink his own into it.

He opened his mouth to let out his best line when Penny appeared from the back and called your name. You shot him a parting smile, rescuing a few crumbled bills from the counter on your way over, and Bradley was left to watch you go, mind spinning with the possibilities.

And now, Bradley doesn’t have to imagine the possibilities anymore.

Sure, Maverick will probably sabotage his snowboard on the Black Diamond tomorrow and make his death look like an unfortunate accident, all in the name of Penny Benjamin, but Bradley is feeling a little daring right now.

You last all of 10 minutes alone together before Bradley has you in his lap, grinding down on his bare thigh under the bubbling water with the damp fabric of that obscenely small bikini top balled up in his fist.

And in his defense, Bradley makes a gallant effort for those 10 minutes.

He really does.

He pulls out all the good conversation starters. Such as…

“Moon looks really cool tonight.”

He whips that one out around the 2:45 minute mark, after Bradley already finished his champagne and offered the rest to you in the name of being polite and like, a goddamn gentleman. Forgetting that Maverick had taken your glass inside.

You reassured him, “Oh, I don’t need a glass,” and proceeded to pour champagne directly into your open mouth. It bubbled over your parted lips, spilling over the edge of your chin, trickling down your neck and collarbone, and Bradley had to look at the stars overhead and count backwards from 200.

200, 199, 198… You can’t fuck Penny Benjamin’s niece and ruin Christmas, or Maverick will leave you for dead in the wilderness… 197, 196, 195…

And Bradley’s tried and true check out the moon distraction doesn’t work out so well for him either. You can’t see it well from your spot in the hot tub and end up moving next to him to get a better angle, and now, Bradley has a front-row seat to the steam drifting off your skin.

Not your best work there, Bradshaw.

“So…” Bradley tries again, around the 5:00 minute mark, after finding and losing Orion’s Belt six times. “You’re Penny’s niece, which makes you like… the daughter of her sister, right? That’s… cool.”

You send him an odd look and don’t respond, closing your eyes and leaning your head back on the edge. Tuning him out.

He probably deserves that.

And around the 9:30 minute mark, Bradley has thought too hard about the steam rising from your skin and the flush that is spreading down your torso from the temperature. You get to your knees to look out over the dark blue mountains, and Bradley watches a droplet of moisture run from your shoulder down the length of your spine.

He can’t get out of the hot tub like this. He’ll need to wait you out.

It is fine. He can wait.

He can stay out here all night.

Less than 30 seconds later, Bradley is digging his thumb into the hinge of your jaw, opening you up to him, licking inside your mouth. You are sticky warm from the steam. A stark contrast from the chill of your lips, cold from the below freezing temperatures.

He’d seen you sucking on a peppermint stick all evening, twirling it around a spiked hot chocolate, and Bradley can taste the rich chocolate and mint on your tongue. He could probably lick your neck and taste the spilled champagne.

He wants nothing more than to lift you onto one of the wooden lounge chairs and press his face between your thighs. He wants you to ride him into oblivion and make his last Christmas alive a good one.

Maverick can kill him on New Year's.

He doesn’t want to risk moving much closer to the still-dark cabin, so Bradley catches you around the waist, pressing and grabbing at any available skin. You make an encouraging noise against his mouth, and Bradley gets bolder, covering your breast with one large palm and anchoring you in place with the other one.

He bounces his thigh, grinding you down on him at the exact same time, and god-fucking-damn, Bradley could come from that delicious sound alone, as gasping and needy as the hands that cling to his slick shoulders.

He does it again, soaking in those gorgeous noises.

Bradley breaks the kiss, hooking a thumb underneath the loose sting of your bikini bottoms that are still on for some fucking reason. You don’t need them anymore. He needs to feel you.

“Get these off,” Bradley whispers against your throat, pressing a hot kiss to the spot below your jaw. A quick taste confirms what Bradley suspected. You taste like champagne and sweat.

“Take them off then.” You look at him with a challenge in your eyes, a twitch in your lips giving away your amusement. “I’m comfortable right here.”

And to demonstrate your point, Bradley feels you rock down on his thigh once more, moving your hips without his guidance. He watches you, incredulous and turned on behind comprehension, and as retaliation, Bradley doesn’t bother unknotting the tie.

He closes his fist around the strings and pulls hard enough to make them snap in two, shoving them to the side. Fabric floats up to the middle of the jacuzzi, joining the untied bikini top. It is damning evidence, and Bradley will need to remember to grab those on their way inside.

You go still on top of him, and Bradley bites back a smirk.

“Oh… my god, Bradley. I didn’t bring another swimsuit.” You slap your wet palm against his shoulder, looking about as menacing as Bradley has ever seen you look. Like a little baby kitten with a fluffed tail. “If I can’t use the hot tub for the rest of the trip because of you and your… your caveman hands…”

“Oh yeah? You seemed to like my caveman hands a minute ago,” Bradley teases, testing his luck to the max.

He grips your thigh in his ‘caveman’ hand, hard enough to leave marks, and yanks you forward. His swim trunks ride low on his hips, so Bradley can feel you against his torso, smooth and warm and spread wide.

“What changed, baby?”

You shiver, and Bradley sneaks a hand between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb right on your clit. Nails dig into his bicep, urging him on, and Bradley smiles again.

“You still like them, don’t you?”

“Maybe…” is more of an exhale than an admission. You look at him from under half-lowered lids, mouth slack from the feeling of Bradley gently circling your clit with his fingers. “But… I really did want to use the tub again. It’s, ah…” He sinks an index finger into you without preamble. You take him like a dream, all honey and silk around him. “It’s relaxing.”

“You need to relax?”

You nod, and Bradley nibbles at your neck, licking away the drops of champagne that still cling to your skin. He feels buzzed. It is probably just your proximity, the feeling of you on him.

“I’ll help you relax. Sweet thing like you, always looking out for everyone, aren’t you? Always helping everyone. You need someone who’ll be sweet to you too, don’t you, honey?”

He winds your damp hair around his fingers at the base of your skull, reveling in the way your mouth falls open, the way you clench down around his fingers, absently canting your hips into him. God. He is hard enough to hurt, watching you like this.

You don’t answer, and Bradley gives your hair a gentle but firm tug.

“Answer me, sweetness. I need to hear you say it.”

A sharp inhale brings your chest against his, and Bradley can feel your hardened nipples. He’ll get to those later, right now Bradley is too busy watching your face, feeling you flutter around his fingers.

“Yes.”

“Yes…?” Bradley prompts, capturing your gasp with a crushing kiss against your open mouth. He pulls away, letting your hair flow through his fingers, moving that hand back down to hold tight to your hips. He stills you, ignoring your whimpered protest. “Gotta be more specific than that.”

You look him right in the eye, despite the embarrassed flush that’s overtaken your cheeks. “Yes, I want you to be… I want you to be sweet to me, want you to help me relax. I want all of it.”

“Good girl.”

Bradley pulls away all of his fingers except the one that’s teasing your clit. You give him this sad, mournful look and open your mouth to complain, maybe even to whine, but Bradley slides you back down onto his leg. He slots his firm thigh between yours, bends his knee to push against you, and the only sound that passes your lips is a breathy ‘fuck’ that makes him groan.

“I’ll take care of you, baby. I’ll be sweet to you,” Bradley promises, guiding your hand to the front of his swim trunks. He is so big, straining against the loose fabric. You tug your lip between your teeth. “But I need to get you ready for me. I need you to be good for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I… Tell me how.”

“I need you to come all over my thigh.”

You really shouldn’t let him talk to you like this, shouldn’t be in this position at all, completely naked on the broad thigh of the cute Naval aviator who sometimes smiled and flirted with you at the Hard Deck.

Actually… You should probably give yourself a little more credit here.

You knew Bradley was interested in you. Had been able to tell from the moment Hangman called him over on the very first night when Bradley had been hovering only a few feet away, obviously listening in.

He’d smiled at you, all big and unassuming brown eyes that probably got him both in and out of all sorts of trouble. He was built like a brick shithouse, tall and wide and completely, utterly hot.

Hot enough that when Penny asked you to come on the annual Northern California trip while Amelia opted for a tropical Christmas in Hawaii with Aunt Penny’s ex-husband…

You might have not so subtly asked whether Captain Mitchell had any plans to invite Bradley there for Christmas, accepting the invitation after Penny snorted and informed you that yes, Maverick had asked him. You choose to ignore the knowing undertone of her response.

You hadn’t been expecting anything in all honestly, more curious about whether Bradley would act any different towards you outside the familiar environment of the Hard Deck. Hoped for a kiss under the nonexistent mistletoe at most. Maybe even a dinner invitation back in San Diego.

Nothing like this.

Bradley is still holding you between his hands, a crooked knuckle stroking and teasing at you under the water. It’s… different doing this here, hot water sloshing around your elbows, a fine layer of steam rapidly cooling on your skin in the cold mountain air. You didn’t expect to like it so much.

Snow starts to drift down from above, melting on the surface of the water, and Bradley is looking at you with liquid warmth swimming in his deep brown eyes, an intense concentration on his face.

Right. He asked you a question.

Not a question. He told you how to do something.

How to be good for him.

Shivers run down your spine at the thought.

“I think…” You aren’t doing all the much thinking right now to be honest. It is mostly overwhelming arousal and radio static up there right now. “I can do that. I want to do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And the corner of Bradley’s mouth kicks up into a self-satisfied smirk. “Better get to work then. Don’t know how long I can stand having you spread open for me and not fuck you, but I’ll wait for you, baby.”

Something about that flips a switch in you, the idea that Bradley is holding himself back from grabbing you and sinking you down on his cock. You pick up your previous pace, rolling your hips forward and down on his thigh. He meets you at your level, working your clit, letting you push against the palm of his hand.

It feels unreal.

Before Bradley even really gets talking.

“Look at you, baby,” He hums the words against your neck, littering the skin with open-mouthed kisses, sometimes pausing to suck and bite in the places that could easily be covered with a scarf.

“You’re so fucking sweet, aren’t you? Everyone loves you. Such a sweet little angel, and yet, I’ve got you out here riding my fucking thigh. Someone could come out and see us. You don’t care, do you?”

You can’t help the clench of your thighs, the too loud moan that bubbles from your lips. He shushes you and continues to torment you with dirty words whispered in your ear, voice deep and rasping.

Pleasure is building and building.

You are hot enough to burn.

“Fuck yourself on my thigh, angel,” Bradley instructs, pressing down on your clit. Everything disappears in a streak of white for a moment, and then Bradley comes back into focus, an apparition in the steam, urging you on. “Come for me. Come all over me, and then I’ll fuck you. You want me to fuck you, don’t you, baby?”

You can’t get the words out, too drunk on the sensation of his hard thigh slotted against you, the perfect friction of it. Feeling more benevolent, Bradley accepts your nod as an answer this time. You can feel him, hard as a rock against your thigh, and in your pleasure drunk state, fumble with the band of his swim trunks to free him.

It takes a few attempts, and one particularly well-placed thrust from Bradley almost makes you give up. You manage to get him out though, taking him in your hand, thick and heavy, running your thumb over the top of him.

It’s no small satisfaction that Bradley seems as needy as you right now, as unbalanced, groaning into your shoulder.

“Come for me,” Bradley repeats, low and warm against your skin.

It doesn’t take much more than those words and a few more strokes, and Bradley has to catch you against his chest, shaking and shuddering around him and over him, miles away from here.

You can barely make out the soothing praise that Bradley mumbles into your damp hairline. Good. Good. So good for me. Did so well for me. He is throbbing in your hand, and as soon as the white-hot pleasure has cooled, Bradley is pulling you back over him, sinking you down on him in one smooth thrust.

A large hand comes over your mouth to muffle the high-pitched cry that threatens to echo through the damn mountain range, and Bradley’s dark gaze flits between your eyes, waiting for your nod.

He doesn’t waste much time after that, seeming to realize at the same time as you that time is limited. Riding his thigh might’ve been a spiritual experience. It doesn’t mean that Penny and Maverick aren’t currently sleeping in a cabin less than 15 feet away.

Sweat drips down his neck as Bradley lifts you up and lowers you back down again, fucking you in deep and unrelenting thrusts, filling you up over and over again. You pulse around him, still sensitive from the aftershocks of that orgasm, and still moving in you, Bradley drops his head back against the edge of the tub, letting out a pained exhale.

“You’re so fucking tight. Taking my cock like a fucking dream. So perfect for me.”

He hits a spot that makes your toes curl, makes electricity shoot through your entire body. You cling to his chest, pulling at his broad shoulders and insanely muscular arms. Kiss the underside of his jaw, cupping his jaw.

You’re not even sure Bradley is aware of the words coming out of his mouth right now, eyes screwed shut, thrusting into you with increasing sloppiness, both of you growing closer to the edge.

“God, baby, I wish I didn’t have to be quiet right now, I want to hear your moans and screams. Want to hear you scream my name.”

“When I get you back to San Diego, I’m going to keep you in my bed for a whole fucking week, make you come on my tongue and my cock over and over and over.”

"Bet you'll be so fucking sweet. Can't wait to..."

“Fuck, I think… I’m…”

He brings up his fingers to pinch at your nipples, to get you there with him, and barely 30 seconds after your second orgasm of the night pitches you forward, Bradley is spilling inside of you, moaning your name.

Later, Bradley wraps you in a towel, carefully fishing the ruined bikini from the cooling water and grimacing down at the hot tub with his hands on his hips. He picks up the bottle of champagne, weighing it in his hand.

“Do you think if I tell Mav that I spilled champagne in the hot tub and not to use it for the rest of the trip…” Bradley starts, tugging at the towel that sits low on his hips, squinting at the remaining liquid in the bottle. “…that there is any chance he’ll believe me?”

A smile quirks your lips. “I’d say an even 50-50 split.”

“Good enough for me,” Bradley says with a shrug and dumps the remaining dribbles of champagne into the tub, tossing the bottle in after it. He looks proud of his work, tugging the cover back into place.

You are both silent on the walk back to the cabin, lost in thought. You are watching the snow that’s started to fall from the sky again, wondering what… all of that meant for the future.

Bradley is gnawing the edge of his lip, probably thinking about the champagne or the slopes tomorrow or…

He loops a naked arm around your waist without a word.

Giddiness warms your chest.

You clear your throat, trying not to let it show in your voice. You deserve at least a veneer of coolness after letting him fuck you senseless in a hot tub, what with the infection you’re definitely going to get from this.

Worth it.

“So...” You remember his earlier words, the ones from the heat of the moment that Bradley probably doesn’t even remember saying out loud. “‘When I get you back to San Diego’, huh?”

He scratches at the back of his neck, and in the dim light, you can make out the softest flush that creeps over his bare chest. How Bradley could be embarrassed now is beyond you. Sheepish is an adorable look on him though.

“Did… Did I forget to ask you out?”

“It might’ve slipped through the cracks.”

“Ah,” Bradley says, looking down at you with bright eyes and color high in his cheeks. Snow catches in his lashes and his mustache. You have the sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss it away. “Well, I’d like to take you out back in San Diego. How’s that sound to you?”

You stretch up on your toes to kiss him, right there in the snow, dressed in nothing but your towels. He is warm enough for the both of you right now, skimming his palms over your shoulder blades, cupping your nape.

You give your answer.

“Thought you’d never ask, Bradshaw.”

(...anyway... thoughts?)

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x reader #rooster x you #laracrofted writes #fic: bradley bradshaw

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otomehonyaku · 5 months

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Diabolik Lovers Lost Eden Stellaworth Tokuten Short Stories スペシャル特典小冊子 ☽ Ruki ver.

This short story booklet was part of the Stellaworth set for Lost Eden! Keep reading below the cut for Ruki's version. Yuma's, Kou's, and Azusa's are coming soon!

S ☽ [Ayato’s version by @kyouxa] [Laito’s version by @kyouxa] [Shuu’s version] [Reiji’s version] [Kanato’s version] [Subaru’s version]

M ☽ [Ruki’s version] [Yuma's version] [Kou’s version] [Azusa’s version]

TK ☽ [Carla’s version] [Shin’s version] [Kino’s version]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As always, special thanks to @karleksmumskladdkaka for providing the scans ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When I think about it, I have rarely been alone since those three became my brothers. It is not that we spent 24 hours a day in each other’s presence, but the fact that I had people to call family again after losing everything eased my loneliness.

I wonder if that’s the reason why I am still genuinely not used to not being in the pictures that my brothers send us from time to time, even though I don’t really want to admit it.

The one who’d made the suggestion after a while of living together was her.

“Why don’t we send them something back?”

And so the seed was planted.

“If I’m also thinking of sending them pictures, then they must be thinking the same thing at home,” she told me with a smile, “so I’m sure they’ll be happy if we do.”

I knew that she had a point, but there was a certain awkwardness to taking staged pictures with her and sending them to my brothers. I considered flatly rejecting the idea at first because I thought it was embarrassing, but I came around immediately when I remembered the way her face had brightened when she brought it up.

The two of us ran away from the human world. From Kou, Yuma, and Azusa. Ever since she and I started living together in a crumbling Eden, I have begun to realise something–I have become completely beguiled by her. Or, rather, I might have had a soft spot for her since the beginning, but lately, the moments when I dropped my guard around her have increased considerably. Of course, I cannot convince myself to tell her that.

It’s only natural when I consider all we have been through together. To stay behind in Eden even after the war ended, then, was nothing but my own selfish idea. She was under no obligation to join me.

Nevertheless, she has stayed with me all this time, and she has truly helped make the best out of every day. It’s simply impossible not to love her for that, even though I know she had wanted to be by my side from the beginning.

In all honesty, I am happy. Maybe that’s what has turned me into such a softie, I thought, smiling wryly. I was loath to admit it, but the plain fact that I had found happiness with her was probably the reason why.

“Ruki… Don’t you want to take a picture?” She gazed at me a little nervously. Maybe she thought she had upset me because I had kept quiet.

“No, it’s a good idea. Like you said, I think Kou and the others would love that.”

“Let’s do it, then!”

“Yes, let’s.”

Before I had even finished speaking, she darted out of the room to get the camera. As I watched her run off, I realised my approval might have pleased her more than it would my brothers. My expression inadvertently softened at the thought.

☽

She told me the camera was a gift from Azusa. Come to think of it, the photo album that my brothers had given me a little while ago had also been Azusa’s idea.

“Smile!”

“...Wait.”

I grasped her hand before she could click the shutter.

“What’s the fun in a picture of me by myself? Get over here.”

She hesitated a little, making some foolish suggestions on how we should take our picture, but I ignored her and snaked an arm around her waist. Holding her close to me would make things much easier.

“This way, you’ll be in the frame too,” I whispered into her ear.

Her shoulders twitched a little as she held her breath, and her ears started to redden. What a hopeless girl. I was sure this was not the side of her she wanted recorded on film for others to see.

If I truly cared for the picture for my brothers, I would have stopped there. However, the feeling of her warm body in my arms was too tempting. I decided to tease her a little more. I leaned down to whisper in her ear again, closer than before.

“Save that face for later tonight.”

Her voice quivered as she whispered my name in response...

Oh, this was bad. I wish I could say that I truly intended to leave it at teasing, but my body was acting on its own.

Sorry, Kou, Yuma, Azusa–you will have to wait for the picture a little longer.

However, when she understood that I wanted to take the camera from her, she spoke.

“But… we really are going to send them a picture, right?” So, let’s actually take a proper picture. Her unspoken words lingered in the air. She had gotten more perceptive recently.

“...Of course. Let’s continue this tonight, then.”

I let out a heavy sigh.

I really had been going soft, but it could not be helped. Especially not around my lovely wife.

#I'll do the Kou/Azusa ones too! the other ones maybe later #i'm going to focus on translating the novelization first after this #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers translations #dialovers #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers lost eden #lost eden #mukami yuma #mukami ruki #ruki mukami #yuma mukami #otomehonyaku #my translations

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 months

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It's Honest Work (Masc!Reader x NB!Ghost)

Pairing: Masc!Reader x NB!Ghost

Genre: Modern, Crushes, Pining

Word Count: 3380 words

Warning: N/A

Summary: You’ve started noticing some oddities of the old library you work at, smaller incidents building up to stoke your suspicion. Unbeknownst to you, the presence is looking less to haunt, and more to help.

A/N: Not sure if this is dark academia, but I hope I did some pining justice! This prompt was just so cute.

Request: Oooh could I request a Drabble featuring a masc reader who cares for an old library accidentally discovering that there’s been a timid but sweet ghost (enby) floating around the library’s old halls who’d been staying hidden cause they didn’t want to frighten reader and leave them all alone, all with some heavy romantic tension and pining please? Feel free to add whatever extra details you want if you feel like it, I’m just craving some sweet and spooky dark academia romance :)

Day 1: I think the library might be haunted.

You look at the drying ink on the page, wondering if the three hours of sleep you got last night is getting to you.

It’s easy for your mind to wander in the library. Especially on nights like these, when no one wanders in for hours, when every slight noise echoes across the giant bookcases, when the dark corners seem full of monsters. It’s human instinct to grow wary, the deep-seated monkey-brain part of you on edge.

But this has been more than that. It's why you’ve decided to write stuff down, to catalog all the weird occurrences.

March 11th:

Books in the YA section have been reorganized methodically to the dewey decimal system. Supervisor complimented me on my thorough work, and I know I did not do that good of a job.

Air conditioner that has not worked for months sputtered to life this morning after I complained about the summer heat. No one has been able to figure out what happened.

You look at your list, those doubtful thoughts once again creeping into your mind. These really could be explained away as happenstance, pure coincidence, or another fault of your sluggish, sleep-deprived mind.

But you must push on. They may jot happen everyday, but these oddities have stuck out to you the past couple weeks. You’re hoping that by writing them down you’ll either see a pattern that ascribes logic to all of this, or see that there’s no connection at all and be assured it's just your own overreaction.

The rest of your shift goes relatively normally, nothing too odd occurring. You allow yourself to sink into the normal routine of sorting books, helping patrons and cleaning. It’s a nice rhythm and it’s hard not to feel peaceful in it.

Even with an extra pair of eyes watching you.

—

You must really love this new artist. With the library closed down for the night you don’t stop your humming, nor the shimmying of your shoulders and hips. You even walk with a slight bounce, headbanging to the heaviest parts. It’s enough of a distraction that you completely miss a book falling from your cart, nearly left behind as you trot into the new section. Luckily, Gene is able to grab it just as quickly and slot into the cart, right next to the other books of the same genre. You continue to bop, muttering some half-lyrics under your breath as you sort books.

Ah, they’re always so cute when they dance.

For an avid reader who died in a library, you'd think Gene would never be lacking in entertainment. And yet after ninety odd years, even Gene had to admit reading could be snore.

But then you showed up.

You, the vibrant, young librarian, just bursting with passion. Who took the extra time to recommend a series based on people’s tastes, who always volunteered to be the reader at kids reading circle, enthusiastically acting out each part. Who remembered each familiar face and what they had just finished and what they were hoping to read next.

If we had met when I was alive, would they remember me, too?

Just the thought of talking to you has Gene in a tailspin, hands throne over their translucent face as if they still blushed like before.

No way.

You were so you and they were so themselves. Even if they were alive, Gene would never have the courage to come up to you. Not with that radiant smile, or your laugh…

At first Gene and contented themselves just to watch you. Convince themselves you were the first new face in a while, all your coworkers being people in their 60’s who had worked at the library for 30+ years. That hearing you banter over the phone was like watching a sitcom, getting a snapshot into an idealized life.

But then you had a particularly bad day, nothing going to plan. Someone had screamed at you, your coffee had spilled the minute you stepped into the building, and your hair was acting strange. You had hidden in a storage closet and cried, and Gene felt their dead heart breaking all over again.

That was the day they started helping, in their own way. It was win-win, really. You had most of your inconveniences done away with, and Gene got to feel like they were actually interacting with you. Like you guys were friends.

Maybe more, one day.

Gene sighs, breath unneeded but the emotion too heavy not to. The watch as you bop down another aisle, doing a quick air-guitar in between the aisles.

It seems I might be in over my head.

—

Day 5: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!!!

After a whole week’s worth of observations, your fears have been confirmed, not assuaged.

Something weird is happening. Umbrella’s don’t just pop up when the weather takes an unexpected turn and you forget yours at home. Fridges don;’ just close when you forgetfully leave them open. But the most damning thing of all is-

Some kid spilled apple juice all over one of the tables today. Luckily no books were harmed, but I went to go get some paper towels while the mom rushed her kid to the bathroom. When I was back, the table was clean. No bystanders, no thrown out paper towels, nothing.

I work alone today.

Something is happening, even if it's not necessarily a bad thing. More of just an odd thing, in a guardian angel sort of way.

You’re not sure where to go from here. You had hoped this journal would lead you somewhere, some kind of resolution. But this half-answer gave you nothing but confusion. And maybe a little gratitude.

Maybe…you should just leave it alone. Let your angel do their magic, and take the extra generosity when you can.

You’re closing up for the day, headphones left in their case as you put away leftover books and move the carts around. Your ears are pricked for another person, a small part of you still convinced that there must be someone else hiding. The front entrance has already been locked, you’re in a bottle here.

Nothing, not a peep. Not even a kid who lost track of time reading and hasn’t realized the library was closed. It’s quiet, too quiet.

With all the closing tasks done, all your stuff shoved into your bag, you’re just about ready to go home. It’s a bit anticlimactic, and you start wondering if this ghost theory came from a need to spice up your life a bit.

Still, you can’t help the feeling…

Right before you turn off the lights, bag slung over your shoulder, you turn to the looming library.

“Um, I don’t know if anyone’s actually there, but I just wanted to say…uh…thank you. For helping me out. If that’s what you're doing, anyway. I guess I don’t know it’s for my benefit but…I appreciate it.”

Silence lingers, echoes off long stacks of books. No response.

You sigh, wondering what you were thinking in the first place. You flick off the lights, turn towards the door and start moving for your car keys.

“You’re welcome.”

Your body bag hits the ground with a thump as you nearly jump 2 feet in the air, heart kicked into overdrive. Eyes darting around, your blood pumps fast across your chest, neurons firing.

“Holy shit.” You hold out a hand like calming a wild predator, even though there’s still only empty space all around you.

That was real, you heard that. It had to be.

“H-hello?” Anyone there?

Like a Dickensian dream, the kind that has you rubbing your eyes and questioning your sanity, a half-see through apparition peaks its head from behind a bookshelf. If it weren’t for the faded apparation proving your initial ideas correct, the fact that they’re hovering 3 feet off the ground would have.

Oh my god, I was right.

“Hello.” A gentle voice whispers, the transatlantic accent already apparent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” They tug at their long sleeves, eyes darting all over the place. The dumb expression of shock on your face probably isn’t helping.

“It’s no problem! I wasn’t scared…just surprised.” You rub the back of your neck, the beating of your heart slowing down just a bit. Of all the ghosts to meet in your lifetime, this one seemed pretty nice. “Um, I’m ____, Nice to meet you.” Taking a step forward, you hold out your hand, then pull it back, wondering if a bow would make more sense. Then you stop and think “That’s stupid”, and hold out your hand again.

God, even around dead people I am so awkward.

But it’s enough to make the ghost giggle, peeking out from behind the bookshelf. They hover over, laced shoes just barely touching the ground, and take your hand in a handshake

Touching their skin feels like touching a pile of feathers; A tickling of sensations that only last for a second, a vague imprint before it’s only air behind. It’s interesting, and less unnerving than you thought it would be.

“I’m Gene. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ___. Officially.”

You nod along, brain still reeling from the revelations currently occurring.

Though their silhouette is partially transparent you can see the hints of color of their clothing. Some faded brown slacks, tucked into high socks and shoes. Their button up is loose and striped, not as pressed or finely cut as for a suit, but more for everyday. All in all it looks like an oufti you could see being worn by a hipster of today, or a particular dedicated historian.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I think I already know the answer, but, are you the one who's been helping me?”

Gene’s face goes dark, no blood flowing through their veins but their blush still apparent. They tuck a stray lock of hair behind their ear, twirling it nervously.

“Yes…that was me. I never meant to spook you, it’s just…” Gene yanks at the wayward hair, eyes still pointed to the ground. “...seemed right, to help around. I have been sort of free-loading here in the afterlife.”

You nod along, silently cheering that your mad hypothesis was correct after all.

“Well, thank you, again. It’s actually been really nice, someone having my back all this time.” You scratch the back of your neck. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

“About, 90-ish years, now? I can’t remember the exact day, just that it was a Sunday, and I had come here on my day off. I loved this place.” Gene looks all around at the library. It’s a mix of nostalgia and melancholy, a quiet resignation.

“And…it’s just been you? No other ghosts around?”

“Nope.” Gene sighs a nonexistent breath, rubbing the bridge of their nose. “Just me. Guess I’m only one to be foolish enough to die in a library. By a copy of Moby Dick, no less.”

“Oh.”

There’s a twisting in your gut, a primal sadness at the fact. The library was large, larger than most, but even you felt stifled after working a particularly long shift. There were some windows added in recent decades, but the old construction of the building meant little light often crept in. The tall bookcases didn’t help, making the place seem more cramped and constricting than it was. It was nice in bursts, but nine whole decades?

And they still found the time to help me out.

You had been planning on heading home and crashing, maybe vegging out in front of the TV before dragging yourself to bed. It feels too anticlimactic now, given how this night is going.

What to do? You don’t want to ask too many prying questions, even though you’re dying to know more about the afterlife. Feels a little too personal, even tasteless. Then again, you can’t just leave. Not after they made the effort to introduce themselves, and have been your guardian angel these past few weeks.

“What books do you like?”

Gene looks slightly taken aback, their brow furrowing.

“Uhm, a little bit of everything, I suppose. I’ve read just about everything here. But I guess if I had to choose….” That blush returns, coloring their cheeks a slightly darker hue. “...Mystery. I’m partial to Mystery novels..”

“Mystery, huh?” You tap your chin, thinking about the last shipment of books you got. “Any particular favorites?”

Gene’s see-through eyes somehow light up, their mouth quirking into a grin.

“Agatha Christie, oh for sure Agatha Christie. I actually-” Gene stutters over their words, suddenly sheepish, “-I was reading one of her books when it…” They look upward at the tall bookshelves, rubbing a non-existent bump on the back of their head, “...when it happened.” Gene shrugs their shoulders. “Guess I was too lost in thought.”

Well, at least they have good humor about it, it seems.

“Oh, she’s really good! I’ve only read the Murder of Roger Ackeroyd, but I remember loving it when I did.” The library training kicks in, the familiar Christie Christie Christie you had to shelve and the countless kids reading her for English class haunting you. “We have a pretty decent mystery collection, their on the-”

“Third row down, shelves 28-30?”

Gene’s hand point the same way, not even looking in the direction.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Force of habit.”

Gene’s cheeks darken again in a blush, waving their hands back and forth. “I-it’s no problem! I know this place a little too well, by now I've read about every mystery book it’s ever had. I think I’m stuck with that knowledge forever.”

You’re about to say something, maybe ask them more about the books, when the clock chimes.

It’s an old clock, installed up at the front back in the 70’s. It still chimes at every hour, little less useful now that everyone carries clocks in their pocket.

“My Apologies!” Gene blusters, floating form jerking a bit upright. “I’m keeping you so late, you’d probably be home by now if not for me.” Gene’s hands tug at their sleeves, which probably would be threadbare at this point if not for the fact they are incorporeal.

“It’s no problem! I don't live that far anyway. Besides, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t thank my savior properly?”

Gene averts their eyes, a small smile on their face. The bask in the praise, sinking into it like a warm blanket.

Cute.

The thought surprises even you, the apple of your cheeks feeling hot.

“Do you like movies?”

Gene eyebrow furrows, a small dimple on the side of their cheek. It’s a sign of their thinking, a small detail you’re slowly starting to pick up again.

“I enjoy them. I saw a couple when I was alive. Those and the few they put on here, sometimes.”

Ahh, and those are few and far between. Most of them are stuffy documentaries or animated children's movies. Not that those are bad, per say, but it seems alongside everything else, Gene has been deprived of most other genres while trapped in the library.

An idea blossoms in your mind, locking the front door behind you and setting down your backpack.

“Gene, I think I found a way to pay back those kind deeds.”

“You don’t need to do that-”

“Nope, I’m gonna.” There’s almost a skip to your step as you hurry to the employee office, specifically the larger closet in the very back. It’s filled with all the stuff needed for those rare movie nights; blankets, pillows, foldable chairs for stability. You shove all of those into a big laundry basket, then gently fold the projector screen and tuck the projector on top of the soft pile.

Gene is in the same spot as before, puzzled as you bring out more and more things.

“And, of course.” You shake an old box of microwave popcorn. “No movie night is complete without this.” You ripe open the bag with some fanfare, popping it into the staff microwave before running back out.

“Movie night?” Gene tilts their head, reminding you too much of a puppy.

“Yeah!” You lay out the first blanket, setting some chairs up at all corners, then draping another blanket on top. “A wonderful modern soiree, The movie night is a classic occasion that everyone has to experience once in their life. Or, afterlife.”

The lights in the library are still slightly dimmed, only two flickering from when you were closing up. But they don’t seem as spooky as they did before, much more cozy.

Gene peaks their head in as you fluff up more pillows and blankets, using other chairs as supportive backs so the two of you can sit up.

You sit back on your legs, admiring your cozy masterpiece.

“Ta-da!”

Gene leans further in, feeling up the soft fleece and cotton. Their thumbs run circles over the fabric. It makes you wonder the last time they even laid in a bed, let alone wrapped themselves in the blanket.

“And I have just the movie too! You’re gonna love it.”

You prop the projector up on a seat covered in a thin sheet, shuffling out of the fort to hang up the projector on a nearby wall. By the time you’re turned around, you see Gene has curled themselves into the blanket fort, knees tucked into their chest, sitting on top of the blankets. You grab the now hot popcorn from the microwave, pour it into the large communal bowl, snag the nearby remote and join them, turning the device on and connecting it to your phone.

“Here, I got this just for ya.” You hand Gene a fleece blanket, a boldly decorated Lion King Merch blanket someone’s mom has donated too many years ago.

Gene takes it like it’s hot, holding it daintily in their hands.

“Oh, thank you.”

They lay it over their lap, smoothing out the wrinkles. Their back is ramrod straight.

“First rule of blanket fort, coziness comes first.” You quickie burrito yourself in blankets, settling the bowl in between you two.

Gene takes your hint, shoulders unlocking, knees untucking and splaying out in front of them. They daintily rest their nonexistent weight on the back of the pillow.

A familiar streaming site pops up on the director and your quick to search for your movie of choice.

“Knives out? I think I may have heard of this one.”

“Oh yeah, it was a huge hit. Really good mystery movie.”

You click play, hands shuffling through the bowl of popcorn and stuffing your mouth. You hold up the bowl for Gene.

Gene looks at the bowl, brows still crossed.

Wait a minute.

You struggle to swallow the handful of popcorn.

“Sorry…can you eat? I just realized, uh-”

A translucent hand shifts around the popcorn, moving it just like a corporeal one would. Gene lifts it up, just as surprised as you are that they can hold it.

“I don’t need to eat. But I guess I never tried to before. Never too many options.”

Gene daintily pops a popcorn into their mouth, mouth chewing in slow motion. 9 decades later, they're almost out of practice.

A dramatic swallow, and…

“Apparently I can.”

“Hell yeah.”

—

3/4th’s into the movie, your long shift finally hits you. It’s slow and gradual at first, Gene only noticing once your head hits their shoulder, a soft tap, half-of a sensation.

You’re still snuggled up into your blanket, the warmth of your body seeping into their half-one. Gene never realized how cold they were until they touched your hand earlier tonight. They had forgotten just how hot human bodies were.

But you don’t flinch away or shy from the cold breeze, snuggling deeper into the soft sensation, the weird texture of touching something half-way in this dimension.

If they still had a heart, Gene’s would surely be thumping wildly. So long they had wondered what it would be like, talking to you, doing things with you, touching you.

A stray hair falls onto your forehead. Gene brushes it away, goosebumps rolling down your neck. You look so cute like this, relaxed and in your element.

Maybe there could be something after all.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #ghost x reader #ghost

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 months

Text

give me love like a circle

My very first 911 fic! And it includes everything I took away from my binge watch of the show: Eddie Diaz adores Evan Buckley. Eddie Diaz overthinks everything he's ever done. Eddie Diaz is, at heart, a complete and total idiot. So here's a proposal gone (kind of ) wrong!

Huge thanks to my wonderful gf @hangsters for beta reading the fic and for getting me into this show in the first place!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3!

-----

Any firefighter who’d been around for more than five minutes knew the call out bell had a mind of its own. Each one had a vindictive streak, a nasty habit of ringing out when it was most inconvenient, when the last thing anyone wanted to do was drop everything and start scrambling into their gear. It was the same in every firehouse across the whole damn planet.

But Eddie Diaz firmly believed the bell in the 118 was a particularly spiteful little bitch.

He hadn’t had the time to collect any data on it (and, if he was honest, he didn’t want the bell to know he was on to it) but if he did run the numbers, Eddie knew what the tally would look like. It rang when they’d just sat down to dinner, when the smells of whatever amazing pasta dish Cap had cooked for them were filling the kitchen and making mouths water. It rang when Eddie had just gotten into the shower and, against all the odds, the water was exactly the right temperature. It rang when he’d just picked up a winning hand during one of Hen’s poker games. It rang when he and Buck had finally found a comfortable way to squeeze the two of them on a one person bunk because sleeping apart from each other was unthinkable. It rang when they’d just walked through the door, exhausted and sweaty from the last call.

And it rang when Eddie had just walked in after his lunch break, when he had something very, very important in his pocket.

“Motherfucker…” he groaned as the shrill, demanding voice rang out, before he’d even had the chance to stuff his jacket in his locker.

“Tier three curse word. That’s a full five in the swear jar,” Buck bounced up behind him, snagging his bag out of the same locker, blatantly ignoring the ‘Diaz’ nameplate.

And demonstrating neatly why Eddie couldn’t hide his very important item in there.

He kept any trace of that frustration off his face, easy when the sight of Buck made him smile reflexively, easy as breathing, “Or you could just not tell Christopher I cursed?”

“And lie to your child? That’s what you want?” Buck gave him that winning smile, the one with a higher wattage than most floodlights, “Where’d you sneak off to all lunch, baby, you missed Cap’s famous macaroni? Well, you would have if I didn’t hide some in the fridge for you.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Eddie spoke while his body moved independently, the two of them getting into their turnout gear side by side, a paired dance they’d done so many times it didn’t need conscious thought.

“See, I was wondering about that,” Buck laughed, stealing a quick kiss before darting to the engine, “Race you!”

Eddie gave him a head start, as much as it bruised his ego. He eyed the locker, eyes darting around before sighing and admitting defeat. He could figure something out later, the very important item would have to stay in his shirt pocket for this job.

He was just glad it buttoned closed.

—-

It had been a hell of a shift. That bell had been the first of many, it seemed a lot of people in Los Angeles were having a busy day and, as a result, the 118 did too.

But Eddie didn’t mind so much. Now his long days didn’t end with a few stolen hours with Chris that never felt like enough, sitting and hearing about all the things he should have been there to see before his son would go to bed, Eddie left in silence his brain was only too eager to fill. He’d never been able to relax when things were quiet. It was strange, he went and risked his life all day long at the firehouse but it was coming home to that emptiness, the sound of his heartbeat in his own ears, the long hours of nothing, that used to terrify him.

But his life was very different now. Hell, he was different now, as Buck would quickly point out, never letting Eddie forget his hard won progress.

This long day ended with dinner, the lasagne Buck made still tasting pretty damn good even after a few days in the freezer since the last time they’d had the spare hours to cook. Chris told them about his day, Buck told him about theirs, his stories full of large gestures and bad jokes that got the kid laughing all the same. They walked Captain around the block together, enjoying the golden glow of the sunset and the heat shimmering off the sidewalk, Buck’s fingers laced loosely through Eddie’s like he needed to know he was close. Eddie knew how he felt.

Chris disappearing up to his room for an hour of video games before bed was new. It used to be Eddie wrestling a squirming Chris and all his leftover energy into some pajamas, then storybooks to soothe him, Eddie doing the voices as best he could, Chris small enough to fit on his lap and help turn the pages. Now it was Eddie sitting on his son’s bed while Chris got ready by himself, the two of them talking through the open doorway about small things that could turn into big things if they needed to. The feeling was the same though, that gentle, safe rhythm of their easy conversation, the feeling of unwinding and letting go.

And Chris still let Eddie pull the covers up to his chin and kiss him lightly on the forehead. Eddie hoped that would never change.

“Night, kid,” he murmured, giving his curls a last ruffle, “Sweet dreams.”

He really hoped they would be, hoped hard enough it was almost praying. They weren’t guaranteed for Chris, for either of them really.

“Did you get it dad? The one we picked out?” Chris stage whispered, like Buck might hear them from all the way in the living room. His grin was a mile wide, so big it was hard to remember there were no Buckley genes in the kid.

“I did,” Eddie whispered back, giving him a conspiratorial wink, “It looks even better in real life.”

Chris squirmed like his body couldn’t contain all his excitement, “Only ten more days!”

“See, how can you remember that down to the minute but you forget your English homework was due yesterday?” Eddie chuckled, bedsprings creaking as he got up, finger hovering on the light switch, “Now get yourself some sleep.”

“Love you dad,” Chris somehow managed to pack his excitement away for the next day, nesting down in his blankets.

Eddie took one last moment to just look at him, safe and warm and knowing how loved he was before flicking the switch, blanketing him in darkness.

“I love you too, Christopher.”

He left his son with that, hoping it would be all the light he needed.

Eddie had an odd sense of deja vu walking towards the living room, he wondered how many times he’d been greeted by the tinny music and unrealistic gun sounds of that particular video game. Except it was usually his teenage son playing, rather than his boyfriend.

“Getting in some extra practice so you don’t get your ass handed to you so hard next time?” Eddie hummed, collapsing bonelessly onto the couch, letting the day catch up with him a little. Captain decided to help with that, jumping up onto the couch he definitely wasn’t supposed to be on, sprawling across Eddie and squishing him into the cushions with 75 pounds of Golden Retriever.

Buck didn’t turn around, his eyes were glued to the screen, his thumbs ratling on the joysticks as he sat cross legged on the rug. He had an adorable habit of making it look as though whatever he was doing in that moment was the most important thing he’d ever done and, right now, he was playing that game like his life depended on it.

“Could I get away with saying it’s more fun for Christopher to have a skillful opponent?” he asked, grimacing as his health bar drained another third.

“Nope,” Eddie snorted, ruffling Cap’s fur and earning himself a lick up the side of his face, “You know he likes destroying you.”

“And this way it’ll be more satisfying for him…shit!” Buck dodged to the left like that would save his little pixelated character but no such look, a fuzzy explosion swallowed the last of his hit points, “I mean…shoot.”

“Nice try,” Eddie smirked, “Dollar in the swear jar.”

He sat back until his spine hit the couch, tipping his head back against Eddie’s stomach, relaxing at Eddie’s fingers immediately running through his curls, “Fine…that was a hell of a shift, huh? Never thought I’d say this but that vacation can’t come soon enough.”

Eddie was glad Buck’s eyes were closed enough to miss the conspiratorial edge to his smile, “Just ten days. Then it’s just you, me, a cabin and a sky full of stars. No emergency for miles around…hopefully. No goddam bell at least.”

Buck smiled, bemused, even a little disbelieving, “The old me would be climbing the walls in ten seconds.”

“Whereas the new you will last a whole two minutes?” Eddie idly curled a blonde lock around his ring finger.

“Nah,” Buck turned his head to look at him, blue eyes adoring but utterly focused, certain now, like Eddie was the thing everything else in the universe revolved around, “New me can’t wait. Things really are different now, I guess.”

“They really are,” Eddie hoped Buck could see the same look reflected in his own eyes, that they were being more honest than his heart had ever been allowed to be.

Buck leaned close and kissed him, a kiss that promised more, a lot more, but not just yet.

“I should go get the laundry started,” he pulled himself up into his feet, stretching out in a way that pulled the hem of his shirt up, showing a stomach dusted with golden hair.

Eddie wanted to pull him back down, kiss him harder, turn not yet into right now. But things really had changed and they now had a whole family’s chores to cram into the few hours between getting off shift and slamming into the brick wall of complete exhaustion.

“I’ll give you a hand?” he started to pull himself up, making Cap whine unhappily.

“No way,” Buck put a strong hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down, leaving Eddie pinned helplessly under the two of them, “You did the dishes all by yourself, you can leave this to me.”

Eddie at least pretended to put up a fight, “You sure? No one pays any attention to that chore chart really, Chris sure as hell doesn’t.”

But Buck just shook his head, pressing a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to be smothered in Golden Retriever fur, “Well, I for one have respect for your chore chart. Cap, don’t let him get up!”

Eddie chuckled, stroking their dog’s silky ears, stage whispering to him, “I’m not gonna, I promise…”

With Cap’s tail beating a soothing, happy rhythm against his leg and the realization that this was maybe the first quiet he’d had all day, he was in serious danger of slipping into a dad nap. At least until his phone, forgotten on the coffee table trilled loudly, cheerily upsetting his quiet to tell him he had a text. He indulged in a scowl as he groped for it, squinting at the slightly too bright screen.

A message from the Captain, not the furry one who was now snoring on Eddie’s chest, having eagerly grasped the chance for a nap that his dad lost. The human one who always texted in full, perfect sentences with complete punctuation like Eddie would go through it with a red pen after.

Don’t panic but slight snag in the operation. Didn’t find anything in my locker. Hoping/praying you didn’t drop it off? Awaiting next instructions.

Like most soldiers or firefighters or people who’d been both, Eddie had the ability to snap from half asleep to up and running with a heartbeat, they worked on a switch, not a dial like normal human beings. He jerked upright, eyes wide and white with panic, Cap sliding off him with a shocked harrumph.

Of course Bobby had kept to the plan. Of course he’d checked his locker on his way out of the firehouse, putting his hand right into the left pocket of his fleece, exactly where they’d agreed Eddie would leave the package. He couldn’t hide it in his own locker, Buck treated that thing like it had ‘Buckley’ above the door. But the captain’s locker was a much safer bet.

The plan had been simple. Come back after buying it during lunch, knowing Buck wouldn’t ask to follow when Cap’s macaroni was on the menu. Don’t put it in his locker but slide it into Bobby’s, left conveniently unlocked for him, some time in between shifts, hopefully while everyone was still eating. Bobby would collect it at the end of the day, keep it safe at his and Athena’s for the next ten days. A simple drop off, rookie level operation. The kind Bobby Nash could do in his sleep.

And the kind Eddie had completely and utterly fucked up.

He’d never had a chance to put the package in Bobby’s locker, they’d just rolled right from one call out to the next with no break in between, the bell hadn't shut up for long enough. And in the chaos of it all, the rhythm of their jobs where it was adrenaline or nothing, he’d forgotten entirely.

Which meant that the very special, very secret package he’d taken such pains to hide from Buck wasn’t in Bobby’s house or his locker, it wasn’t any of the safe places it was supposed to be. It was still in the breast pocket of his work shirt.

The same shirt that was now in the laundry basket Buck was sifting through.

“Oh motherfucker,” Eddie groaned. He’d put the money in the jar later.

For now threw himself over the back of the couch, sprinting back through the kitchen towards the laundry room, narrowly avoiding at least seven different calls to 911 that would at least have provided a distraction.

“You know what, baby, you’ve had such a long day, I really think you should let me do that and-”

Eddie’s frantic, rambling attempt to sound normal was cut short when he rounded the corner and instantly knew he was too late. Buck stood in the middle of the small space, face frozen in a look of shock that would be almost comical in most other circumstances.

Eddie would take pretty much any one where Buck wasn’t holding a velvet ring box in his hand, open to show his own goddamn engagement ring.

Eddie felt his stomach drop and shatter on the floor, slumping against the doorway, “Goddamn it…Buck, I’m sorry…”

For a second it didn’t seem like Buck had even heard him, like the words hadn't punctured his still, silent bubble of complete surprise. But eventually he shook his head, jaw working some words free, voice weak like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Why…why are you sorry?”

Eddie took a breath, his hand tangling in his hair like it always seemed to when he was stressed, “Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be perfect, I was going to say all the right things and make it…make it the moment you deserved.”

Buck swallowed hard, “The vacation you planned. The cabin…”

Eddie winced, “Yeah. I was going to take you out into the mountains where you can see the stars and do it all traditional and shit. We had it all planned, everyone was going out of their way to help me but now I’ve completely messed it up and I’m really, really sorry.”

He almost flinched when Buck walked towards him, almost. Like he was still the teenager he’d once been, desperately trying to hold his family together, knowing that the smallest slip of his white knuckled grip would lead to raised voices, disappointment, disaster.

But things were different now and the only thing Buck brought him was a smile as bright and warm as the sun. He took Eddie’s hand, gently pressing the ring box into his hand.

“I didn’t see this. We didn’t have this conversation. I don’t know a damn thing.”

Eddie blinked, not understanding, “Uh…yes you do?”

The laughter that Buck had been fighting since he found the ring burst out of him and, like a kind of magic, an irresistible call and response, it had Eddie suddenly grinning too. The clouds moved away and now it wasn’t a disaster, it was a joke, just another one of the many stumbles they’d had in the too long road to where they were now. Suddenly Eddie could see them telling this story over and over, to their friends who would tease them and never let Eddie live it down, to his abuela who would shake her head fondly and proclaim it was clearly meant to be, to Chris and whoever else might come after him.

It didn’t need to be perfect, the two of them laughing in their laundry room until their sides ached and they were left holding each other up. It already was.

“Oh god, I’ve proposed to people twice now and I think I’ve actually gotten worse at it?” Eddie wiped his eyes, breathless.

Buck snorted in disbelief, arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist now like he needed to be as close as possible to him, “You think this is worse than blurting it out after a girl tells you she’s pregnant?”

Eddie grimaced, “At least it was a surprise that time?”

Buck shook his head, looking down at the ring again where it shone in its bed of navy velvet, waiting politely to be noticed. Eddie had agonized for ages over what Buck might want to see in his hand when he went down on one knee, spending hours on websites, touring every jewelers in Los Angeles with Chris in tow, who was apparently just content to watch his dad’s madness unfold.

And of course it was Chris who’d gently pointed out that he’d seen the right one in the very first place he’d looked, the little independent shop down on the promenade that made all their own pieces in house. Which was why the 118 had been called down there in the first place, after a little mishap with a handheld angle grinder. The owner may have been a little clumsy but she made some gorgeous stuff, one in particular had caught Eddie’s eye. A simple white gold band, filigree all around it that he could just picture Buck stroking his thumb over in that way he fidgeted with everything.

So it was that ring Buck looked down at, looking a little regretful as he shut the box and closed Eddie’s fingers over it, like he didn’t want to be saying goodbye but knew it wouldn’t be for long.

“So let’s say I didn’t see it,” Buck smiled up at Eddie, so wide his eyes crinkled at the edges, “You can do it however you want, whatever your plan is. Ask me under the stars or ask me right here, I’ll say the same thing.”

Eddie felt the tears that had been threatening finally break and run down his cheeks but he didn’t mind, he knew they weren’t anything to be ashamed of now, “I know. You can save it, I know.”

Buck laughed and pulled him down into a fierce kiss, a kiss that was as much a promise as any ring, one hand over Eddie’s heart and the other tangling in his hair, a reminder that he would always be there to hold him in one piece. That he wasn’t the only one holding on when it seemed like things might unravel, Buck was there with him. Maybe it was messy, maybe it wasn't what they planned but it was perfect all the same.

“Have this then,” Buck murmured, resting his forehead on Eddie’s, “I love you. I love you so, so much, Eddie.”

“I love you too,” Eddie thought about every time he would get to say those words, wondering if they’d add up to enough, if they’d ever come close to the deep, almost overwhelming feeling inside him.

But he would have the chance to try and, right now, that felt like the greatest gift in the world.

Eddie hadn’t asked yet and Buck hadn’t answered but in that moment, as they held each other and laughed at themselves, Eddie could see the rest of their lives laid out in front of them. The proposal, both of them crying before Eddie would even get the words out. A small wedding in the Nash backyard, all of their friends and family and friends that had become their family there with them. Buck adopting Chris, the two of them going to his plays and parent teacher nights and graduations side by side. Maybe even another little one, someone with Buck’s curls and Buck’s smile and his big heart.

Eddie saw the tears ahead as well, the near misses, the hospital waiting rooms, the moments when they would lose each other in the smoke and dark and chaos. And maybe the time would come when they wouldn’t be able to find each other again. He couldn’t see the ending to their story, there were too many to count, too many that were painful to even think about.

But Eddie knew it would be worth it.

And for all the moments they had in their future, Eddie knew most would be interrupted by that goddamn firebell.

But at least when that bell rang, Eddie knew he’d be going with Buck.

#911 abc #911 show #911 fox #buddie #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #please reblog and comment!#buddie fic

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nestastits · 2 months

Text

This is part 1 of my post about Cassian defending Nesta/thinking about Nesta since people have said he never does. Part 2 will be posted after I completely finish my reread ☺️. I want to thank @puffybistcuit for giving me the idea 🫶🏻.

“Cassian leaned forward in his chair, as if he’d leap between them. She could have sworn something like pain had etched itself across his face” (Nesta talking about Cassian when her and Feyre were arguing)

“Cassian’s fist tightened at the implied insult that they didn’t trust her enough to go farther than that…”

“Every word, every language he knew had vanished at the sight of her striding past…”

“He knew if he ever got the name of the human bastard who’d put his hands on Nesta, nothing would stop him from finding the man… He’d often contemplated how he’d kill the man, if Nesta gave him the go-ahead. Peeling his skin from his bones would be a good start.”

“If Briallyn made a move against Nesta, he’d kill the queen himself.”

“… hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten-“ This is Mate instincts. Lucien had to use his high lord powers (that he’s still unaware of 😭) to calm Cassian down.

“Cassian’s rage flashed red before his eyes. He’d revealed that weakness earlier. Let Eris see how much Nesta meant, what he’d do to defend her.”

“How his skin had become too tight at the way she said his name…”

“Wiping the sweat from his brow, he noted that her lips had taken on a blue tinge. Unacceptable.”

“… the flickering light dancing in her beautiful hair.”

“…he offered, suddenly desperate for anything to remove that hollowness from her.”

“The hesitation made his chest tighten unbearably… He wondered if she noticed his fingers trembling slightly.”

“He struggled to calm his racing heart…”

“His mouth quirked upward. She wasn’t fighting him. “For you, I have no strategies.”

“She surveyed him again, and Cassian willed himself to stand still, to appear open and non threatening and not like his very heart was in his bloody, outstretched hands.”

“I wanted you to know that. That we don’t- that I don’t hate you.”

“With that, she walked through the doorway into the House, as if she hadn’t hit him right in the gut, first with the words, then by using his name.”

“… though she could have sworn that her door opened at one point. Could have sworn a familiar, beckoning scent filled her room… He hadn’t seen anything when he’d poked his head into her room…” (Cassian checked on her after she missed dinner)

“There never are,” Nesta said coolly. She blocked out the image of Tomas’s face.” “There are here,” Cassian growled, as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts.”

“He’d gone still, though. “Something tried to eat you on another day?” “He blinked, his Siphons glowing. “Tell me.” … “Across from her, Cassian’s face was pale.”

“It never mattered to me whether you took half the Cauldron’s power or a drop. It still doesn’t matter.”

“Cassian surveyed her. Gazed into her eyes and breathed, “Beautiful.” 🥹

“He just stared and stared at her, marveling-hungry.”

“… Cassian leaned to whisper in her ear, “The first time I saw that look on your face, you were still human. Still human, and I nearly went to my knees before you.”

“His smile brushed against her temple. “Your power is a song, and one I’ve waited a very, very long time to hear, Nesta.”

“Cassian’s hands remained at his sides, though. As if waiting for her to give permission.”

“I’m always thinking of that look on your face.”

“It’ll take time,” Cassian consoled her when he read whatever lay etched on her face as she stepped into the training ring. He added a shade softly, “Keep reaching out your hand.”

“Cassian asked, hazel eyes dim with worry.”

“Cassian swore softly. Nesta is making progress- I know she is. Something set her off … It’ll take time. Maybe no more visits from her sisters, for the time being. At least not without her permission. He didn’t want to isolate Nesta. Not at all. If Elain wants to see her again, let me ask Nesta first.”

“Calm the fuck down, Cassian snapped. They have their own shit to sort out. You threatening to obliterate Nesta every time it comes up doesn’t help.”

“Whatever you need to throw at me, I can take it. I won’t break.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, voice rasping. “I am not like you and the others.” “That’s never bothered me one bit.”

“But the moment she had kissed him in the hall, he’d lost all semblance of sanity. He’d turned into something just short of an animal, licking and biting at her neck, unable to think clearly beyond the base instinct to claim.” (Mating instinct to claim each other. Mating instinct taking over making him loose control to claim her)

“Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.” (Cassian warning az to calm down after Nesta’s fight with Elain)

“Cassian cleared his throat. “Does it matter?” … “Even as something kindled in her chest at his words. His defense of her.”

“… Nesta dared a look at Cassian, who gave her a soft smile. Like in saying the few words she’d managed to get out, she’d somehow done something worthy. Her chest tightened.”

“He couldn’t stomach the thought of Nesta putting herself in danger, but he understood her motivations entirely.”

“Could only admire that she had stepped up…”

“His voice was rough as he said, “I’ve never seen you with your hair down.” … “It’s beautiful.”

“… played the one card that would get Cassian to remove his focus from an opponent.” (Az shoots a look to Nesta knowing Cassian would halt and make sure she was safe so he could hit him during their sparring scene. Dirty move Azzy 😭)

“It had happened before- against Hybern. Nesta had screamed his name, and even in the midst of the battlefield, he’d abandoned his soldiers and rushed for her, not caring about anything other than reaching her, saving her.”

“He knew Nesta had given the gift in part to tempt Emerie to join, but also from the kindness of her heart.”

“… but seeing Nesta’s tentative smile as she’d shoved the tea and spices into a bag had him suppressing the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her.”

“Cassian laughed, his earlier gloom chased away. By her. All by her.”

I want to remind all of you Cassian is an “actions speak louder than words” person. “I love you” does not need to be written out or said for him to love her. He shows his love through actions and physical touch. Please do not leave hate comments, if you disagree simply do not interact or just block me.

#acosf reread #acosf #pro cassian #pro nessian #nessian

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the-writing-mobster · 9 months

Note

Where I can read your fics? They seem pretty interesting!

Thank you for the ask, love! Fic links, anyone?

You can find all of my fics on Ao3! I need to make an actual like... Official link post, don't I? I used to have one pinned but other things take priority.

So I guess I'll sprinkle the links to my fics here for your immediate viewing pleasure instead of sending you on a wild goose chase ;)

IMPORTANT NOTE — A lot of my fics are locked so only people with confirmed AO3 accounts can read them. This is because of AI scraping, obvs. TMDG is the only one that I think is unlocked since it's fairly new. But it'll eventually get locked as well.

| The What Do You Want Duology | 🥀 💀 |

(YWIW, the sequel, still lies unfinished, unfortunately, but WDYW is completed and currently under revisions!)

Summary (for those still not in the know):

Frisk spent most of her life fighting to survive in a cruel world where her only upper hand was her soul's Determination and her feminine charms. After angering the most dangerous man in her life, she is thrown down into Hell to be ripped apart and destroyed by the demons said to inhabit it. With her soul refusing to give up, of course she survives.

However, when she is taken hostage by the infamous Gaster brothers, she finds herself trapped in the strange, abyssal gaze of Sans the Skeleton. With political and sexual tensions on the rise, can these two work through their differences? Or will they forever be asking each other, "What Do You Want?"

—

| Baby Face - UF Highschool AU | 💖 🤘🏻 |

Technically an au based off of my characterizations of the UF characters in wdyw. This one is tooth rottingly sweet and set in a surface Ebbott City in the 90s. Inspo was movies like Clueless & the documentary Kid 90. I actually loved this story so much I completely reworked it and turned it into an original novel.

Important to note that this fic isn't really a romance. It's more about platonic love and friendships than it is about Frans romance.

Summary:

Seniors should not date freshmen. No matter what. Not even if the freshman is hot. Not even if the freshman says it's ok. Not even if the freshman makes moves. That’s the mantra Sans lives by, and even though Frisk, one of the cutest girls according to all of his friends, catches a crush of epic proportions on him, he makes it a point to keep his distance. She’ll thank him later.

Sans is in a rock band and Frisk has a big ole unrequited crush on him.

—

| The Most Dangerous Game | 💙 🔪 💔 |

The dreaded serial killer dead dove fic we've all been raving about recently!!!

It's important to note that this one isn't a romance. They are (albeit obsessive) enemies through and through.

Summary:

Frisk Starling should've been used to cases like these. After all, it was her duty to investigate. Give the victims their voice back, catch the sick freak who did it and give the broken families the justice she couldn’t have for herself.

That is until a string of murders throughout the tristate area begin to appear. Women used like toys, mutilated and disposed of for the cops and journalists to find with only the tiniest slivers of useless evidence and the glaring fact that all the women...

Every…

Single…

One…

Look almost exactly like her… Frisk begins to wonder if maybe… the monster she's hunting down has turned her into the hunted.

And God, does she make the most exhilarating, delicious prey yet…

—

Honorable mention One Shots:

| The Witch, The Judge & the 3 Card Gamble | ♠️♥️♣️ |

Probably my best prose ever. Genuinely.

Summary:

After suffering a gruesome bullet to the ribs, the vengeful Witch hovers over a dying fire, praying her campsite isn’t spotted by vagabonds who’d surely make her pay for existing…

But as a shadow blots out the stars if not for the two red pricks of light glaring her down, she fears her true nightmares have come to claim her after all; The Grim Reaper, the judge of her fate.

And she doesn’t like her odds.

—

| We'll See - Christmas Rom Com | 🎄 💕 |

I wrote this as a secret Santa present to @themsource. It is very cute and fucking funny if I do say so myself. It puts the comedy in Romantic Comedy.

Summary:

Sans has some inhibitions about Christmas, clouded with cynicism and bitterness. But if there's anyone to make him have a change of heart, it's Frisk; Ebbot City's own Little Miss Mother Teresa.

—

☣️ HONORABLE MENTION SMUT ONE SHOTS ☣️

| French Kisses | Smut | 🫧💓 |

Summary: Sans has landed a well-paying position as a senior accountant and Frisk has a few ideas on how to reward him — one of those ideas involves a French Maid dress.

| The Librarian's Assistant | Smut | 📚💓 |

This one was pretty steamy...

Summary: Frisk's days working as a librarian can get pretty quiet and repetitive... Until a new patron with an obvious infatuation with her starts becoming a regular visitor.

Eventually she can't help herself...

I hope you are satisfied with my thorough answer! If you do end up reading, I'd love to hear from you again on your thoughts! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

‼️ Also — join my discord for readily available updates and fun discussion! DM me for the invite since those invite links expire ‼️

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abysswalkersknight · 1 year

Text

I've had quite a field day reading the fics created by serenescribe & admiraltdevanto. Honestly they were so good that it was just what I needed to inspire me to complete a piece that's been stuck in my head for weeks. Granted you could probably see where I got the inspiration from though if anyone's willing to give advice I'm all ears. Other then that I hope you all enjoy!

-----------------

‘I don’t remember siring a child. Especially a human one!’

Silver knew it was only a dream.

Not only that, it was a dream of the past. Lilia’s past.

Of course within the span of 400 years anyone’s perspective of things is bound to change somewhat. But when General Vanrouge declares that he would never start a family, it made Silver begin to wonder about his life back in Briar Valley, about all the times his father would spontaneously travel for days on end, for weeks even. At first Silver had no qualms about it, his father was an adventurous spirit and it was only natural that he shouldn’t want to be bound in one place for too long, and besides.

Lilia would always return in the end, always with a warm welcome that even rivals young Silver’s

‘Have fun, Papa! I love you!’ Silver would say every time his father went off on another journey, with a smile that Lilia would say could easily open a purse. He didn’t mind that his father never said ‘I love you back’ as he’d always return the sentiment with other forms of affection, a tight hug here, a little nuzzle there, maybe a little kiss. Still the meaning was there, or so Silver thought until they were all thrown into this whirlwind of a dream. He was seeing destruction everywhere, all because of these Silver Owls, it chilled his bones and Silver shuddered at the thought of sharing a name with these. These. Unpleasant people.

Eventually he learns of the potential fate his Lord’s parents were about to face. His fury was not as loud or obvious as Sebek’s though he thought, how could anyone think to do that to an expecting couple, even though they are the enemy, that poor egg, who he knew would grow up into a lonely existence, with no parents, only a potentially distance grandmother and fleeting mentor, Silver could only mourn the loss of all the happy times his lord could’ve had had these interlopers stayed their hand. And then there was his father, in this dream they managed to save the Princess in time and rescue her spouse but that wasn’t enough for the General they soon realise. No he wanted to destroy the humans who dared attempt to kill Princess Mallenoa whilst she protects only her precious egg.

Killing the Dawn Knight wasn’t enough. Lilia had to make sure there was no one left to lead another attack.

What came next was a flurry of Bloodshed horror, gore, screams of the dying and the furious, and the blade of a general who’d cut down anyone who got in his way. Then it came as a devastating shock to Silver when those very same people began to mistake him for another, for the one called the “Dawn Knight” oh how they thought he was there to grant them salvation only for those hopes to to be sorely crushed by the onslaught of fae following behind him, the other humans were not aware of the death of their hero. By now Silver and the rest stood inside a ravaged nursery. A beautiful cradle lay shattered to bits among torn curtains.

And in the general’s hand hung a bundle of blankets with its wailing occupant inside.

He hadn't dwelt on it much, for how could he when everything had been so utterly horrifying and fast. But now as he glimpses a wisp of a silver lock within the bundle, events of the past age become more adamantly clear he could only put two and two together, and the truth made his knees collapse painfully as a nauseating illness overtook him. In the distance Sebek was paralysed in fear at the sight of Lilia dangling the blankets in a death like grip, glaring at the screaming child as if it were a disgusting insect he would so love to crush.

Its just a dream. Its just a dream. Its just a dream, Silver kept telling himself, almost like a desperate prayer. That this wasn’t really what his father truly desired, a life where he still had his loved ones, a life where Silver never existed, possibly smited by the fae before him, the one who Silver has devoted his whole being to.

Did he really love me? He thinks as he and Sebek watch in horror as the general moves towards the window, almost in slow motion with the blood of Silver’s kin dripping from every angle. It was only by the interference of Baul and Sebek that Lilia stopped with just throwing the bundle out like it was nothing more than a rubbish bag, Silver didn’t hear what was said next. He didn’t need to.

Silver’s eyes met the general’s and as soon as the recognition in his eyes gleamed, Silver was out the door, tripping over bodies and pools of fresh blood, ignoring Sebek’s cries for him. He didn’t know where he was going, he just needed to get out of there, away from what was now reality, a nightmare that he’ll never wake up from.

In the distance there was a faint drip, drip, drip, and he blacked out.

‘Silver.’

A hand was stroking through his pale strands, something slimy and wet entangled in them and cooling his scalp. Fear grips his heart, with a startled yelp he smacks the hand away and throws himself in whatever direction his panicked mind fancied, all of a sudden he landed hard on a rough surface and he soon realised that he had suddenly woken up in the near comforting presence of his room. ‘Silver’ a voice murmurs hesitantly. Sliver choked back a sob.

No, he thought miserably, please not him. The once comforting gesture of Malleus’s hand rubbing his back soothingly only filled his already shattered heart with a deadly anguish, did Malleus know any of this? ‘It must have been horrible to witness’ the prince whispers ‘I must apologise Silver, I would have conjured something else had I known any of this would happen.’ Silver says nothing, he was too afraid to turn his head, to turn and face the creature that was once his prince and beloved guardian. But a clawed finger grabbed his chin and gently tilted his head so he was staring into the cold green gaze of Malleus’s overblot ‘Silver’ Malleus repeats ‘did you forget how to greet your prince?’ There was no bite in his tone, only a knowing sadness ‘d-did he-’ Silver gasps ‘he really tri-tried to-’ he couldn’t bear the thought of finishing that sentence, everything hurts, it hurts! He crumpled to the floor in broken wails similar to the infant he had just seen, the anguish was crippling. Silver knew he shouldn’t be bawling his eyes out and choking on trapped words in front of the “enemy” but what else was he to do? He was already in Malleus’s clutches, both figuratively and literally as the overblotted prince had taken to wordlessly manoeuvring Silver into his lap and holding him close like he had done when the boy was younger ‘I don’t know’ Malleus answers at last ‘I had never really questioned why Lilia would take in and care for the child of our enemy but now I wonder…’ Silver’s breath hitched as he felt the prince’s grip tighten, was this it? Was this where Malleus takes vengeance for his parents? Silver wouldn’t blame him if he so wished for it. But then the fae reaches down to his belt and relinquishes Silver’s magic pen from it’s holster ‘fear not Silver, for how could I ever blame a child for the sins of their parents’ he coos dipping the pen to tilt up his chin. Silver is suddenly hit with a wave of utter exhaustion ‘wh-what they did was unforgivable’ he whispered hoarsely ‘how could I ever just continue as your knight after learning of the carnage they have wrought.’ How could I hope to save you from this overblot now if my family had set the path for it. The magestone was cool to the touch against his skin, he was so exhausted he curled into its cold embrace in hopes that it would lull him back into sleep. But what will that do? A voice whispers in his ear, you’ll merely end up back to Father’s dream, to a place where you are not wanted, to the reality that you can’t bear to face.

I don’t care, he thinks back, I’m already in pain, but if I don’t help Fa-Lilia and the others wake up, and save Malleus, then what's the point?

If it brings them any solace then I will disappear from their very lives if I have too. For who will mourn the loss of a boy who was nothing but a reminder of past tragedies. ‘Oh what on earth are you thinking about dear Silver?’ Malleus says suddenly, brushing away Silver’s bangs from his face ‘don’t ever think you are like them. Don’t ever think you are like the Dawn Knight.’ Silver shivers when blot drips onto his face ‘for you are not the knight of Dawn Silver, you are the knight of dreams. My knight of dreams.’ Malleus peers down at him, a strange, gentle smile on his lips ‘do not think you are free from what your lineage has done, you have devoted your loyalty to me, yes? Your servitude shall act as atonement,’

‘Y-yes my lord, but-’

‘As you have said before, what they did was unforgivable Silver, I’ll still never blame you but for such transgressions, you’ll never be done atoning for their crimes. You’ll always be mine.’

Malleus’s words stabbed Silver in the chest, if he were in his right mind he would have protested to some degree. Though all he felt at the moment was total numbness. He’s right, What better use have I? Surely after this Lilia would be glad to be rid of me.

‘Why Silver, you have gone all pale and lifeless, you have truly been abandoned, haven’t you.’ the prince remarks, watching as the colour begins to fade from the young boy’s eyes. He begins to see the signs of what he was hoping for.

‘You feel it don’t you, Silver? The pain of abandonment and betrayal.’

‘No, you're wrong!’

‘Denial will only hurt you further, let it out child.’

Silver wanted to scream. Images of that wailing infant, the general’s cold look of disgust, watching as he was all too ready to toss the bundle out like rubbish. ‘It was only a dream, created by you! Father does love me!’ Malleus lifted an eyebrow ‘does he love you?’ he says as if already knowing the answer. The words die in Silver’s throat, he thinks back to all the times he’s said ‘I love you’ to Lilia, but never had them reciprocated.

Does he love you?

Something wet dripped from his eyes, Silver held his hand out, only to stare in shock as little drops of ink pooled between his fingers ‘how in the-’ Malleus didn’t reply, merely lifting Silver’s magestone up where he could see.

Blot. lots and lots of blot. So much blot that there was hardly a speck of colour left in the stone as it seemed to overflow, trickling down the baton ‘do you see now? It is inevitable,’ the prince explains, wrapping his arms around Silver once more, ‘just give in, child, how else are you to serve me?’

‘I-I-I can’t! I won’t!’ Silver wails, fear taking hold as he thrashes in Malleus’s grip. He can’t overblot. Not now! NOT NOW! ‘What do you have to lose Silver? Your father? You just claimed that he didn’t want you, perhaps he never did.’ the prince pinches him by the cheeks, making sure that he was staring into his eyes ‘but now there is someone who does Silver, all you need is to let go. Give in to the darkness’ Silver felt his eyes growing heavier by the second, no… he thinks, please, no more, just let this all end. ‘It will child, just let go.’

‘Embrace the darkness.’

Somewhere in a wonderful dream, an old general wakes up.

@serenescribe

@admiraltdevanto

#twst #silver twst #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #knight's writing #please tell me if anything doesn't make sense #seriously this is the first time I've done something like this and any tips are great #my first ever fic and it just had to be the angstiest shit I've ever written

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 9 months

Text

“New Years”

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,540

Summary: Leon falls asleep on the couch during a New Year’s party with their friends, so Luis takes it upon himself to carry him outside and cuddle him on the couch while watching the rain.

And all the while, Luis reminisces internally on the life he lived, the person he’s become, and his love for Leon.

A/N: I’ve left everything I wanted to say to all my readers in the notes of the fic on AO3, so if you could go and read it all, that would mean the whole entire world to me :) <<<33

Fic under Cut!!

Luis wondered a lot what death would look like.

He kind of had to, really- it always felt like an inevitable. Unavoidable. He always imagined himself dying young; drowning in a pool of his own mistakes, choking on the blood he caused with his own hands. Maybe he’d inhale too much smoke, maybe he’d toy with the line between curiosity and danger a little too harshly-

Either way, Luis never planned very far ahead. He could never imagine himself settling down or finding somebody to love forever and ever. He accepted that long ago; that as long as he was alive, death was close to follow suit.

He just hoped that death would be peaceful. Like falling asleep and waking up in a crowded room full of your loved ones.

So adjusting to the opposite- adjusting to a new life full of people who cared about him, a man who’d love him until the end of time, a stable home, a steady job- it didn’t come naturally to Luis. Far from it, in fact.

He had to fight tooth and nail to get the people in Leon’s life to trust him fully. That he was OK with, though; he was used to getting his hands (nonmetaphorically) dirty to survive. But what he wasn’t used to was seeing his efforts actually pay off.

Rebecca worked in the BSAA’s laboratories close by his side completely by choice. Chris offered for him to stay the night at his place when Leon was away. Hell, even Jill loaned him the keys to her car when his broke down;

It was almost domestic in nature. Like Luis had his own circle of support outside of Leon.

No- he did have support outside of Leon now. He had people who cared about him. People who wanted to see the best in him. People who looked past his mistakes. People who loved him.

Luis needed to keep reminding himself of that.

But he wasn’t alone, at least.

He has Leon to help with that seemingly oh-so difficult task every single day of his life.

Even when Leon didn’t realize it- he was reminding Luis that he was loved and cared for with every little action he gave. From soft morning kisses in bed, to cooking him a small breakfast before work, to picking him up in the afternoons to take him on little coffee dates;

Sometimes it felt like the smaller, more menial moments meant far more to Luis than any loud declaration of love ever could.

Which was ironic, cuz loud declarations of love were Luis’ specialty;

He’d taken after his childhood hero Don Quixote in that way. He’d taken after him in many-a ways- but performing flowery speeches and winding poems of love were one of the dozens of talents Luis had picked up from his beloved book. And, hell, they clearly worked- because people adored them.

Even when he wasn’t trying to be painfully romantic, they still worked- and the evening Luis found himself in was no exception. He could spin jokes and tell tall tales to Claire, Rebecca, Chris and Jill like there was no tomorrow- and they hung into his every word with an almost childlike curiosity. Ashley saw through this, though. It was far from an act Luis was putting on- it’s not like he was lying about any of his stories- but she of all people knew how genuine Luis was in the way he expressed his emotions. Ashley of all people knew especially how much being perceived as chivalrous and quixotic meant to him.

It was one of the few things he could control in life. And one of the few genuine things he could give back to people. He liked seeing others smile; it made him feel like he was doing something truly good.

But as much as Luis was a talker; he was equal parts a listener. Moreso, even. The longer the New Years Eve party went on, the quieter Luis found himself becoming, ironically- choosing to lean against the wall in the corner of the kitchen and watch his friends laugh about their own inside jokes and lates mishaps on missions like it was only yesterday they’d just come back from them. Hell, maybe it was only yesterday- Luis lost track of the conversation after letting his eyes dip close one too many times. He’d lost track of time entirely, in fact; which was a very new feeling for him.

He’d always kept track of time. Minutes. Hours. Days. He had to keep track of these arbitrary numbers or else he ran the risk of succumbing to the Plagas or his own madness. It was a tiring cycle; a cycle he didn’t even realize was so exhausting until Leon pulled him out of it.

For the first time in years, Luis let himself loose track of time.

He felt safe. He felt at home.

He’d lost so much throughout his life. Every home he had- His Grandfather, and every home he built for himself- His Dream Team at Umbrella… it’d all come crumbling down around him one way or another eventually. And Luis would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss his Grandfather’s baritone voice or the makeshift Birthday Parties Umbrella would haphazardly throw for their employees.

But Leon brought that all back to him.

He loved Luis like he was apart of him. His other half. His person. And Luis did the same.

Leon built him a home he could feel safe in; a home that wouldn’t be destroyed. Leon caressed him every night and listened to him ramble and read him stories in his terrible attempt at Spanish whenever he asked-

He woke Luis from his nightmares and dried his tears with gentle kisses. He’s put Chris or Rebecca on the phone to tell him a stupid joke just to cheer him up.

Leon gave him everything. And Luis just prayed to God that he could give him the same back, too. Even if it was just in little ways.

Speaking of…

“You’re Husband looks dead to the world, Luis,”

Claire playfully jeered from the other side of the room, her smile hidden behind a glass of wine as Luis was practically snapped back to reality, blinking his big brown eyes like a newborn deer. He almost forgot they’d gotten married- that Luis had proposed to Leon with one of his own rings.

“¿Q-Que-?”

“Leon,”

Jill chirped up and gently jabbed his side with her elbow, nodding her head towards the couch on the opposite end of the small and homely apartment where, past Rebecca and Chris standing beside a doubled-down-with-laughter Ashley, was Leon; his head propped up with the heel of his hand and his eyes already closed as he seemingly instinctively curled up against the throw couch pillows sleepily.

It took pretty much every muscle in Luis’ body not to audibly coo and melt into a puddle right then and there. Claire and Jill were right; Leon was fast asleep in the middle of a New Year’s party. To say that was adorable would be an understatement.

“Gracias, señorita,”

Luis playfully flicked his wrist at Jill, causing her to scrunch her nose up with a smile.

“I’ll go rescue my Prince Charming from his slumber, eh?”

“Don’t let him miss out on the countdown!” Claire raised her glass towards the clock on the wall. 11:45 PM, it read. Luis shook his head and gave her an affectionate wink as he passed,

“Oh, no, I’d never let him miss out on such a monumental moment”

“He’ll bug you about it for weeks if you don’t”

Luis shot the both of them a quick grin,

“I’ll take my chances.”

Luis wasn’t sure how much better he knew Leon compared to his friends, but he knew for certain that his partner would infinitely rather sleep though the New Years Countdown than force himself to stay awake for it- he hardly got any sleep, after all. Missions kept him on his feet like a waking zombie.

Luis gently sat down next to Leon on the couch, carefully positioning himself so his weight didn’t dip the cushions enough to wake his Sleeping Beauty up.

He couldn’t help but just… stare at Leon for a few moments.

Seeing his partner so genuinely at peace was such a rarity for the both of them. Even early in the mornings when the two still had time to lie in bed, Leon would still insist on waking up first and getting himself dressed for no particular occasion.

Pure rest was hard to come by for the both of them- so Luis didn’t dare move a muscle to try and wake his lover. Despite the fact that the music was blaring and the people walking in circles around them were cackling louder than the showtunes on the radio.

“ Oh my gosh,” Ashley practically gasped at the sight; he voice lowered to a whisper despite it not being necessary. Luis flashed her a smile.

“ Is he asleep??”

“Yeah,”

Luis was practically giggling like a teenage girl, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of Leon’s face- his eyelashes fluttering against his freckles cheeks.

“ I might take him outside. Y’know, where it’s a little quieter”

Ashley made a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and an ‘ aaaaaawwweee!! ’, her hands clasped over her toothy grin.

“ That is so cute, oh my gosh!! He won’t wake up if you carry him, will he?? Wait, no- do you need help carrying him out?”

Luis huffed a laugh at Ashley’s genuine worry- giving her a quick peck on the cheek to ease her woes.

“ Your Príncipe will be just fine, Mariposa- And if he does wake up, I’ll just kiss him to sleep again”

Ashley gently shoved his arm, “ I don’t think that’s how the story goes… I think it’s the opposite way, Luis”

“Nah. You’re mad. Mad as a crazed man”

This caused Ashley to double down into laughter- clutching her stomach as Luis couldn’t help but giggle along at her amusement. He took the opportunity to slip his arms under Leon’s knees and back while Ashley was distracted, lifting his partner up with a slight grunt bridal-style.

Luis still struggled with his back from time to time. Most of the time, actually- and while tonight seemed to be one of his ‘better days’, those were, unfortunately, very few and far between.

Most of the time it just… ached. A guttural, bone-deep kind of ache that he could never assign a name for even on the best of days. Sometimes it was easy for him to stand on shaky legs and make his way to the other end of their shared apartment- but on other days, Luis genuinely couldn’t get out of bed. The pain gripped him so harshly that even his own medications wouldn’t provide him any relief.

There was a time where Luis refused those medications, too. Penance, he had said; a worthy punishment for his crimes. He knew now that it was just plain and simple self-harm, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

And oh, how he tried.

But, as always… Leon pulled him out of those endlessly deep waters tooth-and-nail. He spent many-a sleepless nights at Luis’ bedside just cooing to him and softly trying to convince him to just take his medications. And eventually, his struggles paid off. Luis didn’t think he’d have as much confidence and self-worth as he did now without that gentle push from Leon. But never once did his partner complain, no; he loved him back like it was as easy as breathing.

Hell, even on nights where Luis tossed and turned- back wet and eyebrows knit together as he dreamt of the knife to his back, the Plagas wriggling around in his chest, the machine that tore his skin apart to remove it- Leon was always there, always by his side, to hold his hand and be there for him when he woke.

So carrying his lover Bridal-Style away from the crowded party and through the fly-mask screen door outside onto the balcony was the least he could do.

The screeeeeeeeeeck of the plasticky door handle was enough to get Leon stirring- because, somehow, picking him up and moving him halfway across the room wasn’t enough already- and Luis noticed near-immediately that his boyfriends eyes had started fluttering. So, as much as he wanted to dust the cushions off, Luis swiftly took a seat on one of the outdoor couches that sat tucked up against the corner of the balcony- it smelt old and it was far from soft. Weather-worn from spending years outside. Bugs buzzed around the blueish overhead light, occasionally flying close to Luis’ hair.

But he didn’t mind. As long as Leon didn’t wake up.

“ Luis…?”

Ah, damnit.

“ Amoooorrr,”

Luis cooed, placing an arm around Leon’s side as he coaxed his head back onto his lap, running his free hand through that dusty-blonde hair he’d gotten familiar with gently grasping onto.

“You should be asleep, no?”

“ Rrrwe outside…?”

Leon’s words were slurred and probably almost entirely intelligible if it weren’t for the fact that Luis knew him well enough to know what he was trying to say. He nodded,

“Sí. You were falling asleep on the couch inside. Figured being out here might be a little nicer for you”

Leon didn’t respond at first. He just rubbed his eyes and yawned; and Luis felt his heart squeeze at the sight. Leon instinctively curled against Luis’ lap even further, and his lover took that as a sign to gently drape the thin-fabric blanket over his body and card his fingers through his hair lovingly.

“ It’s nice,”

Leon finally mumbled.

“ ‘S quiet. But, like, I can still hear everyone inside.. just… muffled.”

That much was true. Through the fly-screen door, the distant sound of music and laughter and drinks being clinked together bounced off of the ceramic-tile floors and echoed along the balcony. It was nice. Comforting. Comforting to know that the people who loved them both were just a door away.

Luis couldn’t remember the last time he experienced something quite like this. Maybe when he was a child, after late-night Church ceremonies, when his Grandfather would pick him up and drape his tired body over his shoulders while waving goodbye to their neighbors- the distant sounds of bells and singing and laughter growing more and more distant the closer to their little cabin they got. Laughter would be replaced with the soft swooshes of water lapping against the shore, yet those bells could still be heard if he listened out hard enough. Even as he fell asleep Luis could swear he could hear the scratches of his Grandfather’s pen against paper from the other room.

It was funny how some things just… never changed.

‘Funny.’ More like terrifying.

Guilt and anxiety were very, very powerful feelings, Luis had learnt. He’d spent a very large majority of his life totally convinced that he was a bad person; that he’d hurt everybody and everyone around him and that the cycle of death and destruction that seemed to follow in his wake everywhere he went would never end. He’d forced himself to accept that, a long, long time ago- that there was no opportunity of forgiveness for him. That he was always doomed to make the same mistakes over and over and hurt everyone who’d ever loved him and never be worthy of change. Never be worthy of love. But that didn’t stop the deep, nagging voice in the back of his throat that longed for hope. That crazy, almost quixotic desperation for a better life- a life he would fight tooth-and-nail for. That he’d get his knuckles bloody and bruised over. That he’s loose teeth and morals for.

And learning that his cycles could be broken, and that he was deserving of love was… hard. It was hard to accept change. It was hard to sit with and come to terms with all of the people he had hurt and still accept love from others- from Leon. But once again…

Leon loved him so easily, it felt like breathing. And Luis would be a damned dishonest liar if he didn’t admit that loving Leon back felt just as easy as spinning his lighter between his fingers.

It was just hard to understand why Leon loved him. It was hard to carry around reminders of the things he had done and still live a good life in spite of them all- it was hard to accept good things in life, and even harder to pick up and carry the good things that had happened in the past, too.

But he wasn’t alone anymore. He didn’t have to be alone anymore- he knew Leon faced many of the same trials and tribulations as he did. But just like his nicknamesake Sancho Panza, Luis would never leave his side as his Don Quixote, and vice versa. No matter what adventures their lives took them on, they’d always have each other.

They were completely, and utterly devoted to each other. In every way, in every universe.

“The rain is nice…”

Luis jumped slightly; not expecting Leon’s voice to break him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that there was any rain at all- but once he noticed, he couldn’t tear his eyes off of it. The thundering against the plastic shutters and the slow, methodical drips of water dipping past the cover was enough to make Luis himself feel sleepy. But he had a Prince Charming to keep an eye on.

“I thought you fell asleep, ¿mi vida?”

“M’ tryin’ not to…”

Luis couldn’t help but chuckle; Leon’s sleepy and relaxed voice made his chest feel soft and pliable in all the best ways possible. He continued running his fingers through Leon’s hair, subconsciously pulling out his lighter from his pocket and twirling it in small circles between his fingers.

“You can fall asleep if you want to,” Luis assured, “I can wake you up when the countdown starts, if that’s what you’re worried about..”

“Don’ care about the countdown…”

Leon let out a big, long sigh and snuggled his head further into Luis’ lap, curling the blanket around himself further.

“I jus’ wan’ be with you..”

“But I’m right here?”

“Yeah, but like… I don’t wanna, like, fall asleep, an’ just leave you all by y’self on the couch here”

Luis had to physically restrain himself from sobbing and kissing Leon right then and there.

“I’ll be fine, amor,”

He instead chose to lean down and gently place a kiss on top of Leon’s messy, mop-like blonde hair, his eyelashes fluttering shut for just a moment.

“I’d rather you get some rest. You clearly need it”

“Y’ sure you don’t mind?”

“ Sin duda.”

“But what about-“

“ Leon, Sancho, love of my life,”

Luis grinned boyishly and ruffled his lovers hair,

“Get some rest, por favor. For me?”

Luis heard Leon let out a big, long, and expectedly tired sigh.

“…Ok. Thank you, dove”

“No need to thank me,”

Luis leaned down once more and kissed the side of his head once again,

“ I’ll be right here when you wake up. Te lo prometo.”

And just like that, Leon fell back asleep quicker than Luis could finish the twirl of his lighter. He clearly needed the rest.

His gentle snores, soft rising of his shoulders and the pitter-patter of rain was enough to make Luis feel totally at ease- and the distant, muffled and warm sounds of laughter from inside of the house had just about sent Luis into his own slumber himself.

Yes, Luis wondered a lot what death would look like. But he was no longer scared of it. He hoped it was like falling asleep on the couch during a house party as a child and being carried to your room by your parents to be tucked into bed.

He knew he lived a good life. He knew he had people who loved him, and that was more than enough for him.

If Luis died tomorrow, he wouldn’t mind all that much. He’d be happy with where he was, and who he loved.

He’d be happy that he chose love. He’d be happy that he chose Leon.

And he’d be happy that Leon chose him back, too.

“The countdowns starting!!”

A voice from inside- Ashley, if he had to guess- yelled out through the walls. Luis instinctively snuggled Leon in closer, his eyes fixated on the rain.

Leon didn’t wake up. But he didn’t need to.

“3!!!”

“2!!”

“1!”

“Happy New Years!!!!!”

Luis leaned down to kiss Leon on the forehead once more. He was still asleep.

“ Te amo, Leon..”

He whispered into his ear. Barely audible above the rain and the cheering from inside.

‘ I love you ’ felt like too weak of a sentence to describe just how Luis felt about Leon. It didn’t encapsulate everything that man meant to him.

But it didn’t have to. It would be enough.

Leon loved him back. He knew that. And that was enough.

They’d always be enough.

“… And Happy New Year.”

23 notes · View notes

hphmmatthewluther · 2 months

Text

Back By Midnight: Operation OBSERVATORY - Part 1/4

(A/N: And we're back! I know I've been on hiatus for....a while...but uni and stress is finally all behind me and I can spend this summer writing as much as possible! And so we're back with Back By Midnight! This chapter features @camillejeaneshphm 's wonderful oc Camille!)

Taglist of peeps who might be interested (lemme know if you want to be added or removed!): @akaisenhatake @camillejeaneshphm @catohphm @fangirl-screaming @rosachaotic @ag907 @nikyiscreepy @oseathepebble

Matthew Luther has been brought into the mysterious Midnight Foundation, but before he can become a fully-fledged agent he must prove himself in their training program. Determined to help solve the mysteries discovered previously, he must make new friends and overcome the obstacles set out before him if he wants to live up to his title of “Agent Moon”...

***

Dawn broke over the city of London, and Matthew was awake for it. He was sitting on a balcony overlooking an empty street, dressed in a loose-ish dark red shirt and dark blue denim jeans (Galileo had told him that it would be best to dress smart-casual for the first day). He was eating breakfast as he sat there, every few seconds turning to look at the suitcase just behind him. It was everything he’d apparently need for the next four months.

Finishing breakfast, he left the balcony and carried the bowl and the suitcase downstairs to the kitchen. Sitting there reading the paper was a man in his early fifties with short brown hair and a small beard along his chin. He turned to Matthew and smiled. Matthew tried to smile back, and not look at the headline which read “CENTRAL LONDON FIRE AND BREAK-IN: INVESTIGATIONS ONGOING”. Funny. He’d been the victim of one and the cause of the other.

“You all ready, then?” Peter Luther asked, putting the newspaper down. “You know, I’m really proud of you for doing this. Putting yourself out there, and getting some great experience, too.”

Matthew nodded, smiling in the same way he’d smiled at that Reflection employee two weeks ago. “Yeah, it’s great that they offer short courses like these at colleges. It’s not completely related to my degree, obviously, but there’s a lot more crossover than you’d expect.”

“Well, you’d be the expert in that.” Peter shrugged. It was a pretty good cover story, all things considered, but even someone like him, who’d left school at 16, could tell that going from biology to astronomy was something of a leap. “But I trust you, Matt, I want you to know that. Make sure you enjoy yourself up there, okay?”

“Course I will, yeah.” Matthew paused as he saw a car pull up outside. “Ah, there’s my friend I told you about. I should probably head off, don’t want to keep them waiting…”

Peter gave Matthew a brief hug and smiled at him. Matt said another quiet “bye” to his Dad and opened the door, taking a brief look at the pictures on the wall before leaving. Some had four people in them, but most had three. Blinking for a moment, he turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. He went to get in the back of the car, before hearing the voice of the driver.

“In the front, Agent Moon, if that’s alright.” came the voice of Agent Terra, who was sitting in the driver’s seat. He looked in to see Agent Gaia sitting at the back, a laptop on her legs and a pile of folders in the middle seat that had toppled onto the third seat due to the movement of the car. “We’re meant to be working right now, but…we wanted to have a chat before you started training.”

Terra pressed a button and the boot door opened, allowing Matt to put his suitcase and rucksack in. Closing it back down, he walked over and got into the passenger seat, and had barely put his seatbelt on when the car,a decently expensive one from what Matthew could tell, started moving.

Gaia cleared her throat as they passed through the London streets. “See, Agent Galileo told us you were off today, and that she’d be sending Agent Eclipse to pick you up. And Terra wasn’t sure-”

“Hey, don’t pin all this on me, ok?” Terra said, rolling his eyes. “We both agreed that it’d be better if we were the ones to do it. Just to make sure…uhm…”

“That Atticus wouldn’t scare me off?” Matthew guessed. The two looked at each other before Terra refocused on the road.

“Something like that.” Agent Gaia said in a hushed voice, looking down at her laptop screen. “It’s weird knowing his name now, but honestly, it fits him. Galileo did tell us not to tell any other agents, though. Eclipse likes to keep his secrets, after all.”

Matthew thought about the years he’d known Atticus. They’d played together as kids whenever they were allowed over to see his mother’s side of the family. That visit where he’d told Matthew to go for the MI6 job was the last time he’d seen Atticus in years. “Yeah, I guess he does. I feel bad for having yelled it out, um, back at E- um, Agent Galileo’s office.”

“Don’t worry about it, you had no way of knowing.” Terra reassured him, taking another turning as the car snaked through the London suburbs. “If I’d seen one of my cousins working as a spy, I’d probably have the same reaction. Though probably best to switch to Eclipse while you’re training.”

Matthew nodded, looking out of the window as the buildings around them gradually became further spaced apart and shorter as they entered the Greater London area. The patchwork of suburbs that surrounded the city made for a nice view as the car sped through, the traffic minimal seeing as they had passed the morning rush hour. He noticed that Terra wasn’t following a satnav or a phone, and instead appeared to know the route from memory. Terra briefly looked back at Matthew and smiled, with Matthew smiling back, before turning his full attention to the road once more.

“You all healed up, by the way? Some of those bruises looked pretty nasty.” Terra asked, scratching his head as he took the car onto an A-Road. The expensive-ish houses around them gave way to the green and pleasant fields of the English countryside, minus the housing development site or two.

Matthew turned back around, having been counting how many fields of sheep he saw. “Oh yeah, uh, I’m more or less perfect. The stuff Agent Luna gave me cleared them up in no time.”

“Yeah, Luna’s the best.” Gaia smiled from the back seat, her quiet typing having not stopped since the journey began. “Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never really needed the Medical Team’s help, being a handler and all.”

Terra chuckled. “Nope, me neither.”

Gaia suddenly cleared her throat. “Well, actually-”

“Oh, for god’s sake-”

“I have a rather distinct memory of you burning your finger on the toaster in the break room-”

“It was a bad burn!” Terra hissed, rolling his eyes as the car came to a stop at a red light.. “It needed medical attention!”

“Yes, and Agent Luna was there to provide; her invaluable guidance of “stop screaming and run your hand under the tap” really saved the day, didn’t it?” Gaia snorted, clearly remembering the incident in vivid detail in her head. “At least she had the decency to say you were very brave and it wasn’t your fault the toaster was still warm.”

“You are totally misrepresenting things!-”

Matthew watched all of this with a bemused expression. “Um…light’s green, um…” he muttered.

“If you hadn’t denied it, I wouldn’t have had to explain!”

“I denied it because I knew you would explain!”

Matthew cleared his throat, albeit quietly. “Um, the light is-”

There was a loud honk from behind, and Terra hastily moved the car forward. Silence followed for a few seconds, before Matthew couldn’t help but laugh. Eventually, the twins followed.

“Sorry, Moon, didn’t mean to…” Terra paused, covering his mouth to hold in more laughter. “This is why we tend to stay back at HQ. At least there we can argue all we want without annoying anyone.”

Matthew simply smiled. “It’s not annoying to me, really. As long as you keep your eye on the road, you can argue all you like.”

Gaia sifted through the notes on the seat beside her. “Well, that’s very nice of you to say. And once you’re through training here, you’ll get to listen to us argue a lot more.”

“I look forward to it.” Matthew said, watching as the countryside scenery continued to roll on by. Eventually, he spoke up again. “So…I’m guessing you can’t say much about the training, right?”

Terra shrugged. “Well, they change it every time, since people can retake it and everything, but the basic principles are always the same. You know, physical ability, problem solving, teamwork, ability to deal with the stresses of the job, all that stuff.”

Matthew had assumed as much, but hearing it from someone else made it all feel a lot more real somehow. “I see…wonder if I’ll have to retake it…”

Terra and Gaia looked at each other briefly. “Are you joking?” Gaia chuckled, leaning forward to look at Matthew. “You’ve already got a successful mission under your belt, what do you have to worry about?”

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, his smile fading. “A lot of that was down to you two.”

Terra sighed. “Look, we appreciate it, really. But you can’t sit there and say that some of that wasn’t because of your own skills, right?”

Matthew shrugged. “I…I guess? I dunno, sorry, um…” he stammered, wincing at himself. He tried not to think about what Bill would say if all of this was for nothing, or what Terra and Gaia would think of the person who took Bill’s title, or even what Eclipse would think. “I just don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Well…” Terra said, a small smile appearing on his face, “There’s only one way to find out.”

The car drove through a roundabout, off the A-Road, and past a hill with some trees on it before a vast compound came into view. There were half a dozen hills scattered across the area, each with its own domed building with a large telescope sticking out of it. Matthew watched as small shuttered hangars, large antennae, and smallish buildings that reminded him of university housing went by, until Terra stopped the car by the front entrance, a sign over the doors reading “Haverhill Observatory - Operated by The Midnight Foundation”.

“Alright, this is you.” Terra said, leaning back in his seat. “Gaia, his things?”

Gaia leant forward again and passed a document of some kind with a card paperclipped alongside it. Matthew took it and noted Agent Galileo’s signature on it, as well as a blue stamp with the Midnight Foundation’s logo on it. He got out of the car and held up the paper. Sure enough, the stamp matched the logo next to the double doors. He turned back around to grab his bags from the boot, before turning back to the twins.

“Thanks for this, I really appreciate it.” He looked down at the card quickly, and was surprised to see that it had the image from his MI6 file.

“No worries, Moon. We’ll see you on the other side, yeah?” Gaia said, waving to him with a smile.

Terra gave a wave and a nod too. “Good luck, mate. They won’t know what hit ‘em.” Both agents rolled up their windows, and the car rolled away. Matthew stood there for a second, took a breath, and turned towards the double doors. Entering, he saw that the architecture was quite similar to that of the London Headquarters, though much smaller and without the large carvings and sculptures, instead favouring detailed paintings of the solar system as well as several stars, presumably ones discovered here.

Not wanting to be late, he stepped towards the desk. He would have said something (hopefully something coherent), but the receptionist interrupted before he could.

“Card and certificate, please.” He said, in a tone that suggested that he’d be spending most of today saying those four words. Matthew obliged, and watched as he stamped the certificate once more before putting it in a pile of certificates nearby. Matthew guessed that maybe 7 or 8 people had arrived here before him. That made him feel some amount of relief: he probably wasn’t late. Once the receptionist had scanned the card, he passed it back to Matthew.

“Oh, thank you-” he said quietly. The receptionist looked up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to be thanked, before continuing to type away on a computer.

“...You’re signed in…Agent. Would you like to be known as Matthew Luther for your time in training or choose another name?”

It was now Matthew’s turn to be surprised. He knew they’d have to take measures to make sure people didn’t know about just how he’d been recruited, but to take on a new name? He thought about it for a moment, about what he wanted his name to be associated with, and-

“Matthew Luther is fine, thank you.” He said, adjusting the collar of his shirt a little. The receptionist typed this into the computer. Another button pressed, and there was a click from the door to the left.

“Thank you, Mr Luther. If you’ll continue into the cloak room you can drop your luggage there. It will be brought to your room. Then, continue on until you reach the meeting room.”

Matthew nodded, and started on his way before pausing and turning back around. “Sorry, um, I don’t suppose there’s a map or something, is there?”

The receptionist’s face formed a smile, a sort of this is my favourite part of the job smile. “You should be able to find it. If not, a member of staff will come to collect you.”

Matthew clicked his tongue. “I see. Thanks again.” he said, turning back to the door, his brain registering the feeling that the training might have already begun.

The cloak room, at least, seemed fairly normal. He slotted his suitcase in the nearby rack, which seemed to operate like an airport baggage claim in reverse, with the baggage disappearing from view as the rack spun around. It now occurred to him that he had very little trust in this place, and found himself wondering what was and wasn’t a test. Needless to say, he decided to keep a hold of his rucksack just in case. Slinging it on his back, he opened the other door and left the cloakroom. He found himself walking through a thin, brown corridor with several framed signs on the wall. One read “DO NOT TRACK MUD INTO THE OBSERVATORY”, the next said “PLEASE DO NOT LITTER OR LEAVE BELONGINGS BEHIND”, and the final one read “BE CAREFUL - EQUIPMENT EASILY DISTURBED”.

Matthew could admit that he felt a little patronised by all this, but knew he had to balance this with the fact that somewhere in those signs was the guide to not failing at the first hurdle. Cautiously, very cautiously, he opened the door into the next room, though stood in the doorway without going right in. This room was wider than the last one, and a lot less brown too. The floor consisted of several metal squares, which looked similar to the material that escalators were made from. To his left and right, the walls were covered in pipes and venting, as white as the wall they covered. Finally, Matt looked up at the ceiling, which oddly enough reminded him of the ceiling of a classroom.

Surely not was Matthew’s first thought. He had been taught during his time at MI6 to disregard any and all cliches from spy movies, even the ones as subtle as using codes and ciphers. These days, all messaging was done in encrypted programs. But considering the Midnight Foundation already had a propensity for the use of gadgets, he realised he couldn’t be too careful.

He took his rucksack off of his back, and pulled out one of the pens he’d packed. He wondered vaguely if the Foundation made pens that exploded as he tossed the pen into the room. The pen bounced off the square it hit perfectly, then the next one just the same, but it was when the pen landed in between two of the slits of the metal that Matthew realised what the problem was. Slowly, the square the pen had landed on started to tilt.

Matthew leant down to look at the square closest to him, or rather through it. He pulled out his phone and the light passed through, revealing a large pool of mud. This was a military survival course crammed into an observatory. He had to marvel at the ingenuity of it all, a smile forming on his face as he lent on the doorframe. He looked over to the pen that he’d dropped. Judging by the signs, he probably shouldn’t leave it there, and so very slowly he put his bag back on his back and tiptoed towards the square where it had ended up.

Fortunately, he’d thrown the pen sideways more than he had forward, and so in only three or four squares he’d almost gotten to it. Already starting to slip, he reached for the pipes, and was surprised to find they were sturdy enough to hold his weight. Something occurred to him at that moment. He pulled himself further to the edge of the room, grabbing another pipe to do so, and hoisted his feet up to rest on the pipes too. They didn’t budge. Loosening a finger, he tapped on the pipes, and as he’d suspected, there was the thunk thunk of a decidedly un-hollow “pipe”.

A full smile on his face, he started manoeuvring across the wall of pipes, picking up his pen as he went along. From this angle, he could make out several muddy footprints across the other half of the room, presumably from people who tried to brute force it. For Matthew, it seemed the rules of hiking applied to this test: Leave no trace. It seemed incredibly fitting for spies too.

Across the room he went, tapping the pipes before putting his weight on them just to make sure the Foundation hadn’t put any decoys in to mess with anyone who’d found the solution. He came to the far wall, and looked over to the door. There were a few squares between him and the door, which by far had the most mud on them. It seemed the challenge of the room wasn’t over just yet. Something else had caught his notice as well. The footholds that seemed designed into the pipes had been going upward, so much so that Matthew’s brown hair was brushing against the ceiling. Unable to help himself, he stretched upward a little and felt the square in the ceiling move upward. He’d always wanted to do that whilst at school.

He shook his head as he focused his attention on the door, head still brushing against the ceiling. Did they want him to jump for it? He considered it and got ready to go for it, trying to get as high up the pipes as possible, before realising that there was no longer a ceiling overhead. He looked up, and a pair of hands was holding the square. There was a gasp, and the hands dropped it. Matthew didn’t have time to stop it hitting him square in the face, but at least was able to reach out to grab it before it fell onto the floor. He coughed and sputtered from the dust, before looking up at where the hands had come from. There was a light.

He was only able to stammer the word “H-Hey!” as he quickly clambered upward, having to breathe in a bit to get his long legs through. He placed down the ceiling part and breathed a sigh of relief as he hit solid ground. He really should have guessed that the ceiling at a state-of-the-art observatory shouldn’t have done that. The area above the room was dusty and small, the light Matthew had seen emanating from a crawl space in the wall.

Matthew’s attention, however, was on who the pair of hands had belonged to. Here on the ceiling with him was a woman around his age, perhaps a year or two older. She was fat and had brown skin, with dark curly hair and bright green eyes that reminded Matthew of his own, though they were more of an olive shade compared to his. She also, somehow, seemed even more nervous than him.

“Um,” he began, still getting his feet in through the hole in the ceiling, “hello. Sorry, um-”

Before he could say anything else, the woman made a noise that Matthew could only describe as a “squeak”. “Oh! I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to let that hit you, I was just trying to slot it back in! They…took marks off from me for it last, um…” she trailed off, and before Matthew could say anything else she had fled through the crawlspace, her red trainers dropping away with the rest of her into the light. Matthew turned back to look at the ceiling square, rubbing his forehead where it had struck him. He slotted it back in place, the light from the room below disappearing. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of the door below opening, a single footstep, and a muddy splash. Matthew chuckled silently as he moved towards the crawlspace.

To his surprise, the crawlspace didn’t lead to the room on the other side of the door, but instead veered left, ending at an exit 30 metres or so away. Matthew watched as the woman from earlier appeared outside, squatting down to put the grate back over it. Gritting his teeth, Matthew continued onward, trying his best to move quickly, though this was difficult as a result of his height. He kept going, making sure to avoid a few bits of mud here and there before reaching the grate himself. He reached out and pushed it open, and hoisted himself out. He got up, caught his breath, stretched, and put the grate back in its place.

At this point he was half-expecting a bottle with a label reading Drink Me or something of the sort, but instead, the room was totally empty save for a single door, and a sign next to it reading MEETING ROOM ONE. Not wanting to take any chances, Matthew once again opened the door and remained in the doorframe. This time, however, he needn’t have worried; inside was a fairly standard lecture room, complete with blue leather seats. Matthew saw 4 other people in the room already, the woman from the ceiling among them, as well as a man in his late forties at the front of the room.

“Ah, welcome. Thank you for arriving so promptly.” He said, adjusting the glasses on his face as well as his neatly combed hair. “If you could take a seat, we shall wait for the others before we begin.”

Matthew sat down near the back of the room, trying not to be too close to anyone. He leant back, the realisation that he had made it through a military survival course unscathed. He’d followed the signs the very best he could, but he couldn’t help but look over to the woman who’d been up in the ceiling. He promised himself to thank her at the next chance he got, having realised that if not for her, his feet would likely be covered in mud and he’d probably not even have found the room. He still wasn’t convinced that he had what it took for all this.

Over the next half an hour, about a dozen or so others came into the room, with varying degrees of mud on their clothes. Once that happened, the man at the front pressed a button on the laptop he was standing in front of. Five minutes later, and the door opened once more. A man and a woman wearing security uniforms gestured into the room, and around ten more people filed in, none making eye contact, every single one with mud on them. Matthew figured that the door must not have led anywhere. With everyone assembled, the man in front cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” He said, nodding to the two security guards who turned and left the room. “Well, on behalf of the Midnight Foundation, I’d like to welcome you all to Haverhill Observatory, and of course, to your Basic Training. Over the next four months we will build up and test the skills needed to be one of our agents.”

“Now, a lot of you come from various governmental departments, military espionage groups, private military companies and intelligence organisations. An agent of ours scouted you for your talents, as well as an interest in astronomy, and you were asked to attend this four-month training course.”

Matthew took a moment to examine the room. There was a group near the front who he recognised as fellow agents of MI6. They didn’t seem to pay him much attention. He’d never exactly minded that, but Matthew was starting to wonder if that had been a mistake on his part.

The man continued. “My name is Agent Hubble, and I will be overseeing this first part of your training. Much of this first month or so will involve you getting used to the very basic duties an Agent has to follow, featuring a mix of spywork and astronomy. You’ll notice that for an agency like this one, we’re rather open amongst ourselves about the fact that we are, indeed, spies. We are secret agents. This is true above all other things, at all times. What that means for each of you may differ slightly, but it should nevertheless bring you to similar conclusions about what to prioritise when on missions.”

“Now, to begin. I’d like to ask you all to find someone to work with. We have surmised over several years of carrying this training out that cooperation is one of the skills least developed in our recruits, and so to correct this we have decided to create opportunities to use this skill from the very beginning of your time here.”

Matthew felt like his stomach was about to turn in on itself. He’d done so well up until this point, even if he’d needed a bit of help, and now it was all bound to collapse. He knew how this would go. He looked over at the group of recruits from MI6, and sure enough they were either pairing up with their friends from other groups or with each other. He felt an urge to just leave the room, but then he turned to see the woman from earlier. He recognised the exact same things he was feeling at once, from the stomach ache to the eyes looking around the room trying to decide what to do. He stood up, adjusting his rucksack, and crossed the room.

“Um, hello-” he began, in very much the same way he had when she’d dropped the ceiling on his head. “S-Sorry, I, um…I wanted to, um…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, really, don’t let me take up your time-” she insisted, her french accent still as strong as before.

“Wait, um, that wasn’t…I actually wanted to thank you.”

The woman raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, I would have had to do the walk of shame otherwise, I imagine, so…yeah.” Matthew shrugged.

She blinked, unsure how exactly to respond. “Oh…well, it’s no problem, really. You should…probably find a partner, though…”

“Yeah, um…” he sighed, looking out over the lecture hall. “...I don’t exactly know anyone here. Would it, um…would it be ok if I worked with you? It’s totally ok if not, um…” he said, trailing off as he winced at himself. The others seemed to make it so easy, but then again a lot of them seemed to know each other.

Matthew would have dwelled more on his failure to network if not for hearing: “Really? You’d…want to work with me? I…I should probably tell you now, this isn’t my first time attempting to pass, I’ve…had to retry it several times now.” she admitted, looking away for a moment.

“I’m ok with that.” Matthew replied bluntly. He couldn’t explain it, but for some reason when he talked to her it didn’t feel like he was struggling to find ways to respond. That he could trust her to be patient with him.

“Oh…well, as long as you’re sure.” She said, gesturing for him to sit down. “I should probably introduce myself. My name’s Camille..”

Matthew sat down, allowing himself to smile as the stress faded from his body. “Nice to meet you, Camille. My name’s Matthew.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mathieu.” Camille said, smiling back in very much the same way. “If you enjoyed getting here, you should see what we’ve got to do to get our room keys.”

#hphm #back by midnight #hphm spy au #matthew luther #camille jeanes #agent gaia #agent terra #agent moon #atticus doherty #agent eclipse

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rarespawnwrites · 2 years

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DP x DC Fanfic - Overkilled

AO3 link The problem with random selection is the same as with gambling: sooner or later, you’ll end up with a losing result.

On this night, when the dice landed, Danny Fenton’s phone vibrated. He was on his way home from a dinner out with his friends, walking down a sidewalk lit by streetlamps. When he pulled the phone out of his pocket, the streetlamp just behind him flickered. He ignored it as he checked the text message preview on his lock screen.

We’ve been trying to reach you about your life’s extended warr

“Oh, ha ha.” Danny rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone to delete the text. When he opened it, however, the body of the message was completely different.

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

You have been selected as one of the GRAND PRIZE WINNERS of our “Transmigration: Public Beta” Bonus Package! To accept, all you need to do is click the link below.

Note: There are only a few of these prizes available. Hurry to claim yours before they run out!

jfeojaglszf.kysmsh/suslnk

Danny had barely glanced at the text before his thumb was moving to delete it. Then his eye caught a phrase in it and he paused to actually read the strange message. "Beta?" he murmured. As the word exited his mouth, he exhaled a cold mist and something happened in the world around him. Startled, he looked up to see his parents’ Ghost Assault Vehicle just as it swerved up on the sidewalk toward him. He had no chance to wonder how he’d missed hearing or seeing it before it impacted his fully-corporeal, half-human form.

In the sliver of time between the initial impact and when he’d gone under the treads, his grip spasmed over his phone. His thumb slid over the link on the open text message and pressed down before the phone was sent flying out of his grip.

It was installing software even before it hit the ground. Seconds after, it vibrated once more, unnoticed by anyone.

Confirmation Message:

You have successfully claimed the “Transmigration: Public Beta” Bonus Package! We hope you have an enjoyable experience, and please report any bugs to our helpful support staff!

The screen flickered, then went dark. A progress bar appeared. When it had filled, the screen went dark once more before flashing as a bright Welcome screen appeared.

~~~

Danny opened his eyes with a sharp exhale of frost, his hands frantically patting himself down from head to torso.

Miraculously, he found no injuries. The overwhelming pain he remembered had vanished, leaving only its memory. “I’m alive!?” he said in disbelief. “Uh, wait—”

“No, you’re not!” several voices called simultaneously from around him. Yeah, he hadn’t been alive to start with. Then he startled. Who’d even said that?

Danny’s focus shifted from his self-evaluation to his surroundings. He’d appeared in a room that looked a lot like a DMV. Danny was seated in a folding chair in the middle of a row of other chairs. In front of and behind him were rows upon rows of even more cheap-looking, uncomfortable plastic folding chairs.

Most of the chairs were filled with seated people, and sporadically, more people would appear in or vanish from them. In the seat directly in front of him, a girl in purple and black popped into existence, shaking her head confusedly. Her outfit kind of reminded him of Clockwork's, from what he could see of it.

“I’m alive?”

“No, you’re not,” came another chorus.

“Oh maaaan,” she moaned. “I did not want to die today.”

“Yeah, join the club,” snarked someone nearby.

Uh. Were they all DEAD dead? Was that real? Did he just get mowed down like Undergrowth beneath a lawnmower? He—he remembered seeing the vague outline of his parents through the windshield of the GAV.

If he’d looked… what would their expressions have looked like? Was that an accident, or—

DING!

“Now taking RB76745.” The voice sounded like it came from a speaker system. Danny looked up to see a counter beyond the sea of seats, segmented into several sections in large circle. Behind each walled section was a terminal manned by bored-looking ghosts of a variety of species.

Above the counter, mounted on the roof of the building he’d appeared in, was a series of display monitors matched to each section. On the monitors he saw a list of numbers preceded by two letters, and the letter combination differed between every counter. Danny couldn’t see the RB counter; it must be on a side of the ring he couldn’t see from this angle.

Someone’s head intruded into his field of view. A man with gelled-back blonde hair had invaded his personal space, and Danny jerked backward in his seat. The guy was looking down at something in Danny’s hand.

“EM62131, huh?” he remarked. “You’ve got a wait ahead of you.”

Once the man had backed off to his own seat again, Danny took a look himself. In his hand was a slip of paper; a ticket with EM62131 printed on it. Curious, he glanced back up at the monitors and found the section with EM prefixes. The top number on the list was 200 below his.

“Hey, so… where are we?” Danny asked the guy. Danny wasn’t sure if he’d even have any information, but it was worth trying, at least. “What’s the wait for?”

“They’ve been doing overhead announcements every once in a while,” his neighbor replied. “We’re dead. You probably remember that bit. Apparently, this is some place called the Transmigration Placement Center.” He nodded toward the counter. “We’re all just waiting to see where they send us.”

Danny had never heard of this. This must be a part of the zone he’d never explored before. What was transmigration, anyway? Public transportation of some kind? But you didn’t get a choice about where to go?

That didn’t sound like something he was interested in.

He’d just head out and see if he could get his bearings outside the center.

Danny tried to stand up. Something held him in place. Danny tried harder. The pressure increased; to the point where he could no longer move his limbs.

Seeing him strain, the guy next to him winced. “Ah. Yeah, none of us have been able to leave our seats, except for when they call our numbers,” he said with sympathy. “If you stop trying to escape, it should ease off.”

Danny did, then thought for a moment. If he shifted to his human form, he should be able to phase right through the building. Whatever they had keeping him in the chair probably didn’t extend below it. He focused on returning back to life.

Nothing happened. No ring of light; no transformation. Confused, Danny looked down at himself once more and did a double-take.

He wasn’t in his Phantom form. He wasn’t wearing his hazmat suit, just the street clothes he’d been wearing that night. When he pulled a lock of his hair down to eye-level, it was black, not white.

He must really have died. Again.

He wondered why the colors hadn’t inverted this time. Come to think of it, everyone sitting down in the waiting area looked pretty mundane, other than some of the outfits. Not a single person had skin tones he wouldn’t expect from a living person; no green or blue anywhere in sight. They were very… human.

The people behind the counter were more exotic, like what he’d come to expect from the zone.

Anyway, Phantom form or not, Danny still was a ghost. Maybe even a full one now? He lifted up his hand and shifted it invisible. It was just as easy as it always was in ghost form. This must be his new normal, unless he had two ghost forms or something. But he could check that later. For now, he tried to make himself intangible.

He started to slide through the chair easily enough, but then the pressure returned, worse than before. It was almost crushing. He quickly picked himself back up and stopped using his powers.

“Holy shit, kid, what was that?” His neighbor looked impressed, and he’d drawn a few stares from other people as well.

“Uh. Well, we’re dead. And dead people are ghosts. Ghosts can be invisible and go through stuff, right?” Did he still need to hide why he knew this? He probably shouldn’t keep babbling. Danny stopped talking while he was ahead.

His neighbor’s eyebrows lifted high. “Can we all do that?” He lifted his own arm, but when he visibly tried to focus, his entire form started flickering wildly, in and out of visibility.

The guy directly behind him irritably grunted. “Cut it out, Flickers.”

His neighbor obliged with good humor.

He hadn’t managed to get any one area to stay invisible for more than a second, and he hadn’t gone entirely invisible even once. Still, he seemed pleased with his first try. “Thanks!” he enthused. “Hey, let me pay you back. My ticket’s only two people from the front. Why don’t we swap?” He held out his ticket to Danny with a broad smile.

Danny supposed getting to the front sooner would get him answers sooner. He reached for the ticket.

“Have you checked the back of your ticket yet?”

Danny paused. The girl in front of him, the one who’d appeared just after he had, was turned around in her seat. The white lenses of her dark mask looked at Danny from beneath a purple hood. Danny’s neighbor looked annoyed at the interruption.

“No?” Danny responded, taken aback. “Why, what’s there?” Danny flipped his ticket around.

Listed on the back side was a key explaining the meaning of the letters at the front of each person’s ticket number. Apparently, they were abbreviations for various words and phrases.

“They’re tropes.” The girl explained. “Whatever’s going on with this, uh, afterlife, the labeling system they use for it uses transmigration tropes. Which makes sense, if it’s the Transmigration Something Center.”

“Tropes, like themes? What’s transmigration?”

“Sure, like themes, close enough. Transmigration is,” she paused, seeming to struggle for an explanation, “you know, like ‘isekai’ or ‘portal fantasy’.”

Danny looked at her blankly.

She slumped a bit, then straightened, holding up her ticket. “Okay, so mine starts with SH, right? The key says that’s short for Summoned Hero or Heroine. It’s common in stories where someone powerful and influential wants a person capable of becoming strong enough to destroy some great evil.” She paused. “Or great enemy, anyway. Not like I’m an expert.” She frowned at her ticket for a moment, then shook her head and refocused.

“What’s yours?”

He showed her his ticket.

“Okay, EM. Looks like that one is… En Media Res.”

“Oh, I know that one,” Danny realized. One of Lancer’s after school sessions he’d been guilted into paying attention to had gone over it. “That’s when a book starts in the middle of something exciting happening, right?”

“Or a movie or whatever, yeah,” she confirmed. “If that’s what’s going to happen to you when you get shipped off to wherever, that… actually sounds pretty rough.” Her fingers drummed against the top of her chair for a moment as she considered him. Then she shifted her gaze to his neighbor.

“Hey, didn’t you check his ticket earlier?” Her voice was skeptical. “You would have known that, right?”

The guy next to Danny scratched the back of his neck with his empty hand.

“Okay,” he said. “You caught me. I was concerned for you, kid. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over.”

“Hey!” Okay, that was true. But to be fair, Vortex would also knock this guy over.

“I’m just saying! Anyway, I don’t feel right about leaving you to something like that, so here.” He pushed his ticket at Danny, reaching for the one in Danny’s hand.

Danny noticed, with dawning suspicion, that the guy’s thumb was covering the letters of his ticket. Danny couldn’t quite keep the edge out of his voice when he asked, “What exactly were your letters, Flickers?”

The guy clicked his tongue before dropping his ticket and diving for Danny’s. He leaned over as far as he could without quite leaving his seat. Danny hurriedly moved his hand out of the way. Flickers pulled Danny back toward him with one arm around his neck and grabbed for his ticket with an arm longer than Danny’s own.

DING!

“Now taking PZ52728.”

Just before grasping fingers could close around the slip of paper, the man vanished. Danny whipped his gaze upward to check for the PZ monitor. It was just at the edge of the visible sections. His former neighbor was at the counter, straining against what looked like nothing. He struggled the entire time the employee behind the counter spoke to him, right up until he was swallowed by a swirling mist rising up from his feet. The same mist had swallowed everyone who’d gone up to the counter so far.

“Attention Transmigration Placement Center candidates,” a voice spoke over a PA system. “Please keep hold of the ticket you’ve been provided, as supplies are limited and no replacements are available. This is your notification that transmigrating without a ticket will not improve your placement. It will, however, prevent you from binding with a system on arrival and accessing transmigrator privileges. Thank you for your patience; an agent will assist you soon. Happy travels!”

“Oh boy,” the girl in front of him said. She looked up from the key on her ticket. There was a pause, for a moment, like she was going to say something, but in the end, she turned back around in her seat and slumped into it, head lolling back to look up idly.

Danny frowned and looked at his key.

PZ. Patient Zero.

He wondered what that meant. It felt like he’d heard it before.

Danny was used to being attacked. It happened with depressing regularity. But still.

“Thanks, Purple,” he said. “You really helped me out there.”

The girl bunched the fabric of her cape in one hand and lifted it above the chair. She waved it in the air at him, not moving otherwise.

“It’s eggplant, not purple.”

“Huh,” he considered the outfit. “Color me surprised.”

The girl snorted, dropping the edge of her cape to once again drape down the side of her chair.

“Thanks, Eggplant,” he said. She shot a languid two-fingered salute toward the plain white ceiling.

He settled back to wait.

From somewhere behind him, a breathless voice asked, “I’m alive?”

Danny’s voice joined the chorus of replies.

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc crossover #overkilled #danny fenton #a story spawned in #dc x dp #dc x dp fic

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libraryofgage · 1 year

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I know it's not the WIP Wednesday yet, but it is my birthday, so I'm gonna share the complete first chapter of Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins for your reading pleasure lmao:

"Now, Steve, you know we support you. Your father and I didn't bat an eye when you came out, and we look forward to meeting whichever nice young boy or girl you bring home. But, dear, violence is never the answer."

The words go in one ear and right out the other as Steve watches buildings rush by outside the window. He’d slip on the headphones around his neck, but Steve knows he at least owes his parents the courtesy of naked ears after they bailed him out. Really, he just wants to take a shower and change into clean clothes after spending a night in jail surrounded by equally sweaty and beat up parade-goers. Don’t get him wrong; the people were great, but the smell was atrocious. He lets his head fall against the window, eyes shutting as he breathes through a bruised rib, split lip, and swollen eye.

"Steve, are you listening to your mother?"

"Yeah, violence bad," he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard in the otherwise silent car. At this point, he’d even prefer the stadium country that usually plays when his dad drives.

He wishes he were back in the jail cell, swapping stories with the others who got arrested for fighting homophobic protestors, who started it, by the way. He knows his parents are disappointed in him for fighting (and, even worse, getting caught and potentially causing An Incident for them), but he felt genuinely happy sitting on the concerningly sticky floor in that cell. Even if he could go back to yesterday, he wouldn't change a damn thing after seeing three poor kids surrounded by people shouting the most vile things.

They had looked terrified, tears crowding in their eyes as they clutched at each other, and Steve had seen red. It was a fucking pride parade, a place where kids should feel comfortable being themselves and seeing themselves in the smiling, laughing faces of strangers whose mere existence proves they’re not alone and they’ll survive. But they were being harassed by people with nothing better to do than let hate shrivel their hearts.

Steve, thankfully, hadn’t been the only one who’d seen red. He’d locked eyes with someone who had top surgery scars and a sash across their chest that read “Queer” in sparkling, rainbow letters. Next to them was a shorter woman with close-cropped hair and a flannel shirt (how she wasn’t dying in the heat, Steve will never know) with a white t-shirt underneath that had “Resting Butch Face" emblazoned across the front. The three of them had shared a nod and marched over to the kids.

He later learned that the person wearing the sash was named Daze (“They/them pronouns, unless it’s comedically appropriate to use something else,” they’d said in the jail cell, winking playfully at Steve). The butch went by Mar; she’d excitedly told Steve in the jail cell how her girlfriend would bust her out only to laugh her ass off when said girlfriend was shoved in by two cops not a second later.

What had followed the nod was Mar and Steve standing in front of the kids, creating an unmoving shield while Daze quickly gathered them close. They smiled at the three, quietly complimenting one’s rainbow hair ribbon while Steve tried to be the voice of reason (he shouldn’t have bothered, but he’s still got a little optimism inside).

The first punch was thrown by the ringleader of the protestors after Mar not-so-subtly implied that maybe he’d rather be partying with them and getting his tongue down some cute twink’s throat instead of holding signs and shouting. She’d taken the punch like a champ, and Steve’s grin mirrored hers when the wonderful, incredible term “self-defense” suddenly became applicable.

Daze had gotten the kids out of there, keeping them calm even as more people joined in the fight, turning the little skirmish into an all out brawl. It had lasted five glorious minutes before cops finally broke it up, forcing protestors and pride-goers into cars together in zip ties. They had realized that was a bad idea when a drag queen headbutted a protestor for what he called her.

After a night in jail, bonding with his cellmates and writing down numbers with some femme’s spare lipstick on the back of a flier from an AT&T booth, his parents had arrived to bail him out. Steve had taken one look at them, at their business clothes and designer watches and worried, beyond confused expressions, and almost said he’d rather just stay behind bars for now.

Instead, he convinced his parents to post bail for a few of his new friends, waved off their gratitude (they’d been through battle together, after all), and followed his parents out to the car after a few hugs and promises to make a group chat so they could hang out later.

“You’re just lucky no charges were filed,” his father says, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

He sighs, slumping down in his seat. A few seconds pass before Steve admits, “I’d do it again.” It’s the truth; he wouldn’t fucking hesitate to throw himself into the fray again. He doesn’t even know those kids’ names, but he knows they deserve more than being afraid of who they are and the monsters that masquerade in human skin around them.

His parents glance at each other, a thousand words spoken in the brief moment of eye contact. “Steve, are you…okay?” his mother asks, her words hesitant. “I mean, you can tell us anything, dear, and we’ll do anything to make you feel better.”

Steve bites his tongue, refusing to ask how they’d manage that when they’re barely fucking home in the first place. They have a whole multi-million dollar company to run, so he gets it. They have to travel a lot, and they used to bring him along until just dropping him in Indianapolis sophomore year of high school (right after coming out to them, which he understood but was still hurt by) to have a “more grounded high school experience." Somehow worst of all, they try to make up for it with extravagant gifts and awkward conversations about whether he’s still gay or if he’s decided to be straight for the day.

They’ve yet to fully understand the concept of bisexuality, but this is far better than being kicked out of his home.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Steve says. Because he is. He’s just…tired.

He’s tired of feeling alone in Indianapolis despite being surrounded by people. He had tried making friends, but everyone is so fucking awkward in 10th grade anyway, and the best Steve could do was embrace the “new rich kid” persona people created for him. He’d soon gained the nickname King Steve, which had only worked to make him feel like he’d somehow done something wrong in living up to their expectations. The closest he’s gotten to feeling like himself, to feeling accepted and embraced, was in that fucking jail cell.

Even worse, Steve is tired of this ache that tugs at the base of his spine and the pit of his heart like he’d find something that’s missing if only he’d just follow the pull.

He doesn’t know how to explain any of that, though, so Steve just sighs again and says, “Maybe…maybe I could do with some down time. Like, a gap year before college or something. I think I just need some time to figure myself out a little more and decide what I want to do with my life before jumping right back into school. Does…does that make sense?”

“Yeah, Steve, it makes a lot of sense,” his father says, flashing him a tiny smile through the rearview mirror. “So, where do you want to go? Hawaii? Miami? Venice is nice this time of year.”

Steve can’t help a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, nothing like that. I think small town vibes are more what I’m going for here.”

His father just hums quietly, sharing another one of those looks with Steve’s mom. He misses this one, but he’d probably be suspicious of them if he hadn’t. He would have known immediately that they were about to do something absolutely ridiculous but well-meaning but so clearly telling of their ignorance when it comes to how people who aren’t wealthy approach problems.

But he doesn’t see, so he doesn’t know.

And when he looks back on this moment a few months later, after the absolute ride of his fucking life, Steve will think it’s a good thing he didn’t notice. If he had, he’d have said something, and then he’d have missed out on all the fun.

#Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins #Stranger Things #Steve Harrington #Steddie fic #my writing #the doc for this is over 40 pages now and like 21k but we're barely halfway through #it's like baby's first slowburn cuz Steddie met at 13k or so LOL

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hazardworld · 1 year

Text

Monster town S2, P2!

A note: Parts 1, 2, and 3 happen simultaneously. Parts 4 and 5 (possibly 6) happen simultaneously.

Worldbuilding: 1–2–3

Season 1: 1–2–3–4–5–6–7–8

Season 2: 1–2

This is what happens when two intellectuals get together to solve problems. If the story sounds weird, sorry, never really been smart before.

(You ever heard of She-Ra?)

————

Nancy wrapped a bag of ice in a dish towel, before walking back into the main area. The bodies of the basketball players were still up against the walls, hopefully only asleep. There were about 8 of them, with an average of two per wall.

Steve had fallen fast asleep on the couch, to the point where he had started snoring. Both Nancy and Dustin knew Steve snoring loudly was highly unusual—obviously it meant whatever magic he’d used earlier was massively exhaustive. Therefore, they both made it a goal to try and be as quiet as possible so they wouldn’t wake him.

In theory, that’d mean moving rooms in order to provide him more silence while they talked and strategized.

The main issue with that was what if any of the basketball players woke up? It would leave Steve completely defenseless. Not to mention Dustin, either, who’d completely refused to leave his side once everyone left. Nancy assumed it was some sort of werewolf pack thing, since it was very clear by the way he had positioned Steve’s arm over his torso: he needed sensory comfort.

She handed the ice pack over to the kid, before sitting herself in front of him criss-crossed.

That was another thing, too. When Dustin was pushed down, he was pushed down on his bad ankle. By Nancy’s suggestion (requirement) he was sitting and icing it for 20-30 minutes.

“I don’t need this,” Dustin raised an eyebrow, trying to give the ice pack back. Nancy shook her head and shoved it back to him.

“I don’t care,”

“I have super healing!” Nancy rolled her eyes.

“And I still want you healing the tried-and-true human way. Steve would agree with me if he was awake,” she raised an eyebrow, and Dustin sighed.

He couldn’t fight her on that one, and she knew it.

“What do you think happened with Steve?” Dustin asked, “I have my ideas but I want to know yours,”

Nancy shook her head. She wasn’t on any research teams, only the main theorizing one.

“I understand it’s probably related to being a siren. You saw how he re-shifted when the wind picked up, right?”

Dustin nodded. “Yup. I was reading earlier; Mélusine descendants have wind powers. I wonder if he’s powerful enough that he just can’t control it.”

"That would make sense, especially since his line is direct. Could Eddie teach him anything to help midigate any future outbursts?”

Dustin shrugged. “No clue. Plus, Steve’s response indicated this has all happened before. He wasn’t even shocked!”

Nancy nodded wildly. She’d noticed that too, how nonchalant Steve’s response to the whole ordeal was. If that had happened before though, who had that happened to? Had anyone gotten hurt in the process?

“He wasn’t. If he hadn’t explained why he stopped using sirenspeak, I would’ve thought maybe that stopped him from using magic,”

Dustin frowned, looking as if he was processing through an idea.

“What if…he did? What if he had more magic, but whatever he did changed him, and from then on he only ventured so far as to sirenspeak people?”

Nancy’s eyes widened.

“Then when the demogorgon happened, he bottled up the last parts of him left, and this was the first time he’d let anything go,”

Dustin’s eyes widened in tandem, and they both panned their gaze to Steve, still sound asleep.

There was a brief pause.

“How many books did you collectively check from the library again?” Nancy asked, attempting to see if there was anything she could scrap to find a historical narrative there. Maybe there was something in one of the books that said why Steve was so powerful, or alluded to how or when Steve had his first outburst.

“You’re not gonna find what you need, not many books actually go in depth with siren magic, much less siren anatomy,” Dustin shook his head, “That being said, Steve’s dad has a good collection of books in his office. Maybe one of those could help?”

Nancy nodded and started getting up.

“Be right back,” she said, but Dustin stopped her before she walked away.

“Wait, one thing before you go, did you hear that song?”

Nancy frowned, looking at Dustin.

“What song?”

“Okay, that answers my question. It’s the song that played in the air while Steve was doing his whole,” he made large wind movements with his hands, and Nancy understood.

“Nope. Remember, if there’s anyone in the group who could hear as well as you, it’s a Sinclair,”

“One sec—you stay with Steve,” Dustin got up, bolting (with his limp) to Steve’s basement. Nancy tried to protest, but he pretended not to hear her.

Stubborn dick.

10 minutes later, Dustin came out holding an electric keyboard over his shoulder. He set it up near the couch, turning it on. It seemed like he was trying to play the melody he’d heard, but he kept screwing up whatever note he was playing.

“Bb…Gb—no, Ab…E—no, F—no, Eb…”

Nancy walked away, since that was something Dustin could manage on his own. She walked towards Steve’s dad’s office—which Steve had never allowed her into before—opening the door to the most sad, beige room she’d ever seen.

The most important thing about it was the large shelves covering the right wall, all completely filed with books on books.

The first book that caught Nancy’s eye was something in the runic script from Steve’s book. She had no clue what the title was or what any of it said, but something in her gut told her it was something she needed.

The second book that caught her eye had no title or cover, but when Nancy looked inside seemed to be a diary of sorts in English. She put both books on the desk as she looked for a third book—the same gut feeling said she had only one more book to look for.

The book in question was large and red, coated in copper runes, and completely bound by a bright, tight red ribbon. As she analyzed it further, it almost looked like—

“NANCY WHEELER,”

————

I’d like to know: any suspicions on who the last voice is? It’s not Dustin, but still someone very important to the plot.

And yes, Dustin is a little choir boy. Because he is a little choir boy and he’s Dustin, that means he definitely is a music theory nerd and knows at least enough piano to get by. It’s quite literally the math of music.

The correct sequence he’s trying to play is Bb-Ab-Eb-Gb-Rest-Bb-Ab-Eb-Db. For my fellow music people, go and play it! It’s completely unrelated to the plot but it is a cutesy little Easter egg.

Finally, again, anyone heard of She-Ra?

Tag list: @estrellami-1 @cookies-and-doom @beckkthewreck @dbquills @impeachy @sassysleeplord @ironydude @bowl-o-queerios @221b-fandom

#nancy wheeler #werewolf dustin henderson #siren steve harrington #Steve gets a nap #nervous laughter #wrote this while working tech for phantom of the opera #slay all day #smart people

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eris-snow · 1 year

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭

Tags: Deku's birthday series 2023, izuku x fem!reader, angst

The boy who’d always give you those wonderful, heart soothing laughter or weary cautions whenever you climbed up a tree.

I’m actually pretty excited! This will be my first time spending my birthday with someone other than Kacchan! I’m so glad that it’s with you too.

-Izuku

You stare at the note on your door, taking note of everything. The way you pluck the green post-it note off and hide it in your pocket. The way your lips naturally curve upwards when you read his words of painful, blissful obliviousness of his tone to you.

You cherish it, remember it, hoard the memories you share with him because if he can’t remember them, you’ll have to do it for the both of you.

“It’s not your first time, though…” You sigh, tracing the paper with trembling fingers.

With all these firsts for him, it’ll be your last before his memory is wiped again.

“You’re lucky I love you, Zuku.”

You fully expect something to go wrong today in class when Aizawa asks you to stay back for a talk. Izuku shoots you a worried look, to which you reply with your own confused one with a shrug. He then points at the door, signalling that he was going to wait outside, and you nod your head, smiling at your silent conversation.

Little quirks like this were things you’d reintroduced, and it made it even more sweeter when Izuku gives you a blindingly bright smile in return.

Ochaco looks between the both of you and frowns, everything communicated completely flying over her head.

Curiously, you make your way to Aizawa’s sleeping bag with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“You wanted to see me, Aizawa-sensei?”

He slides his papers into his file, not glancing up once. “How are you holding up?”

The question catches you off guard and causes you to sputter out a, “Sorry, what?” which gets Aizawa rolling his eyes.

“How are you holding up?” He repeats, not a drop of condescension in his voice.

It makes you ease a little, and feel a little touched. Aizawa had always been hard to read, but it was made abundantly apparent that the students that didn’t get expelled in the first 2 months of his class were safely guided to his “I care about these idiots club”.

And the fact that he knew about the Quirk Accident gave him all the more reason to keep an eye on you during this time of the year.

“Not great,” You admit, wrapping your arms around yourself. “But I’ll make it through. I always do.”

“A car can make its way through a hurricane, but it’ll look all banged up with stains and dents. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

“Yeah, well,” You smile sadly, eyes meeting his. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Aizawa doesn’t flinch. Instead, he stares back and replies. “Bakugou has informed me of whatever you’ve learnt from the visit to Tartarus, but I suspect he withheld a little information from me. I assume it was personal because he would tell us if it was important.”

The hardened look in his eyes softened. “Have you been going for your scheduled therapy sessions to at least time someone about it?’

“I haven’t been going at all,” You confess. “I didn’t want to spend the better half of this month talking about this with her,” The ‘her’ was referring to your therapist, who was kind and patient and always willing to hear you out.

When you see Aizawa’s gaze start to harden, you quickly add. “I’ll need a whole lot more sessions after Izuku’s birthday. I don’t want to lose a second because of my problems—”

“L/n, not everything revolves around Midoriya. Your problems are way more important than him.”

“Izuku is my problem!” You counter. “But I get what you’re saying. And uh, thanks. For, you know,” You pause thoughtfully. “Checking up on me.”

“A lot of people care about you, L/n. Including Katsuki and me. Don’t try to do this all alone.” Aizawa says, a rare smile emerging. But just as fast as it came, it left.

Finally, you bow your head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’ve definitely gotten faster,” You pout, guzzling water like your life depended on it.

Currently, you both were chilling on a bench and enjoying the wind. One of your first bonding activities last year was going for runs around the U.A. facilities. It didn’t require talking, nor did it require interaction. But you were always there trying to make him laugh, no matter what occasion.

He always did, on one of those runs. “We should do this more often. It’s the first time in a long while since we got to do this.” Izuku comments, tipping the lid of the bottle to his mouth too. “Honestly, I don’t know why we stopped.”

Your last run with him, on the country. He didn’t have to know that, though.

Izuku didn’t have to know a lot of things.

On one particularly hard day, a day when both your brains had been fried and both your bodies were on the verge of going boneless, you had stopped by a nearby bench to take a break. Curiously, you still gave him a bright smile after the run.

Wind blows the hair in your ponytail around wildly as you grin at him cheekily.

“Watch this,” You told him, patting a nearby tree. It’s steady and strong, but your next move horrifies him when you start climbing like a monkey, settling atop a tree branch like an animal that belonged there.

“Get down from there!’ Izuku had insisted, the gentle gale picking up into a warm, summer breeze. “Y-You shouldn’t do that! This is school property—!”

“I’m not breaking anything,” You grin cocksurely, eyes looking deep into his like it was a challenge. “There’s no rule in the school handbook saying that you couldn’t climb on trees. Besides, it’s cooler up here.”

As if to emphasise your point, you lean your head upward and relish the pleasant breeze.

You’d looked so calm and assured, confident in your own ability with a mentality as strong as a fortress.

How could he not like you?

It wasn’t in a romantic way, at least not at that time and not yet now.

But it was something about your innocent outlook and your eyes closed as you enjoy the wind that made him want to climb up there with you too.

“Let’s go for more runs together after my birthday,” Izuku smiles, looking at you with expectant eyes. “It’ll be the first time in a long while.”

You mirror the smile the best you can, not wanting to lie. “Whatever you say, Zuku.”

I have a present for you. It’ll be your first present that you receive from me, and the last one I give to you.

#mha #mha fanfiction #deku x reader #izuku x y/n #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bnha midoriya #midoriya x y/n #Deku's birthday series 2023

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britcision · 1 year

Text

Anyway. This is why I finally put up the Heralds masterpost.

Because this whole idea was conceived and written at various 3ams, and it shows

Cole is just a sweet and creepy little man who likes to share his hobbies with his friends. Hobbies like watching you sleep

Sleepers

The first time, Lavellan was already standing over Solas’ sleeping form when Cole wandered into the elf’s bedroom.

Cole wasn’t specifically looking for either elf (although he’d been expecting to find Solas in one form or another), but it didn’t deter him. Not much did, even a direct instruction.

Lluciano glanced over at him for a moment, an acknowledgment that still sat warm and happy in Cole’s chest like sunlight. Then the elf’s bright green eyes returned to Solas’ sleeping form.

Solas liked sleeping. It let him wander into the Fade, travel secret roads and find old mysteries. Cole had always wondered if there was any way to see that in the body left behind.

Moving up beside Lavellan, the two regarded the sleeping elf together.

Maybe that was what Lluciano was doing here too. Lluciano didn’t like Solas as much as Cole did, but for once Cole almost understood that.

Solas didn’t like elves. Didn’t like the Dalish, who clutched at traditions he thought were all wrong, and didn’t like the city elves who’d become too close to human. And he wasn’t shy about showing it.

Solas did like Lluciano though; Luci challenged him, made him think about why he’d given up on all the Dalish. And Lluciano liked the spirits, which was pretty much Solas’ favourite thing about any person.

They’d gotten on much better once Solas stopped trying to speak down to him, but Lluciano hadn’t forgotten. And while he hadn’t been angry, or overly offended, or started a fight over it, there was something in him that was always cold to Solas.

That remembered having to prove against resistance that he was his own person, and should be treated like one.

Cole wondered what that would feel like too. Being so sure in your personhood, being able to put your foot down and demand to be treated in the way you wanted.

Of course, Lluciano wasn’t much good at the latter part yet either, but being around Cadash was a learning experience for both of them. Corin Cadash could put their foot down hard enough to shake Skyhold.

Cole had wandered the bedrooms plenty of times before. He didn’t sleep, and when that was what everyone else was doing, he didn’t have much else to occupy him.

He’d drift around, find the places where people were still up, some of them hot and wanting, others shaking and scared. Some reading, little snatches of stolen time by candle light.

Some just sleeping, lying there completely unaware of anything else in the world. Even less aware of his presence than everyone else, although sometimes they would react to him.

Some peoples’ faces would twitch if he watched them. Some people turned away. Buried themselves in covers, like even if he could hide from their waking selves, he couldn’t sneak past that little sleeping part.

That was interesting too, and Cole very much liked to watch the sleeping part. To see what disturbed them, wonder if it was himself or only their own dreams.

He could hear dreams, sometimes. Mostly the bad ones, the ones that came with shaking, shivering, screaming sounds strangled to silence.

Not Solas’ though. And Cole wasn’t sure if that was because Solas dreamed his way into the Fade, or just the sheer volume of the other hurts Solas always carried inside.

Solas was sleeping deeply tonight. Some nights, his face would twitch too, even in his Fade walking. Some nights he’d almost respond to Cole’s presence.

Cole knew he was much harder to notice than anyone else, than any of the real people who were flesh and not spirits pretending.

Harder than anyone except Lluciano Lavellan. Because the Fade magic in his hand and the sickness in his head had gotten all tangled together, and sometimes even Cole couldn’t see Lluciano.

Sometimes Lluciano didn’t even know he’d disappeared. He would just be invisible, or teleported away by the sudden spasms of a seizure.

So it made sense, really, that Solas hadn’t noticed him. Cole certainly hadn’t, and he didn’t know how long Lavellan had been there before he’d arrived. They could have almost been walking together.

Cole didn’t ask. That wasn’t nice; talking where other people were trying to sleep. He’d been told off for that a lot, now that he was travelling with other people.

He didn’t need to sleep, and could quite happily sit up for most of the night talking to Solas, Lavellan, Cadash, or Varric. Even the Iron Bull talked to him on watches, which was nice even if he was scared.

It made the scared smaller, and Cole was happy with that.

Until someone else would yell at them from the tents and tell them to shut up.

It wasn’t nice to talk when other people were sleeping, or to make noise, so Lavellan and Cole stood in comfortable, companionable silence side by side, both watching Solas sleep.

Neither of them wanted to disturb him. Solas probably needed to sleep more; that seemed inevitable. Most of Skyhold spent a lot of time complaining that they hadn’t slept enough, or longing for their beds.

You might think they would therefore appreciate having Cole’s presence there to watch them sleep, and ward away any loud noises or talking that would disturb them. Most of them didn’t though, so usually Cole made sure they couldn’t notice him.

Tonight, Lavellan was fully visible though, standing at Solas’ bedside as real as could be, so Cole copied him. Lavellan might not have known he was visible, but he usually wanted to be except in battle.

If he’d wanted to be unseen, Cole seeing him would have told him he’d failed. He’d had time to be less seen and hide, and he hadn’t.

So that meant it was probably okay. Solas didn’t like Cole to hide himself anyway; not from him. Solas always said that Cole was a good and gentle spirit, and anything he offered Solas would be grateful for.

It wasn’t what Cole knew was true about himself, but Solas was very sure, and it was nice to believe. Solas would notice if he were becoming a monster, although a deep down part of Cole knew that Solas would never stop Cole from hurting anyone else.

Solas didn’t think other people were worth as much as spirits. Cole couldn’t argue with him; Solas just wouldn’t listen, so there was no point.

Lavellan would. And if he wouldn’t kill Cole himself, he could get Cadash, and Cadash would kill anyone and anything they needed to. Especially if it would hurt Lavellan.

Cole didn’t know if he would hurt Lluciano, but he wasn’t going to assume he wouldn’t. He didn’t know how he’d think if he became a monster again.

But Cadash would stop him, even if they did call him self destructive and dramatic every time he asked, so it was alright. Nothing in the world could hurt Lluciano if Corin was around.

They had a very big shield with a special spring loaded part to make it even bigger just to be sure.

Lluciano wasn’t hurting tonight either. He did sometimes, when his body woke up without him in it and wandered the keep. Cole tried to follow him when that happened, just like when the seizures left him empty.

Tonight though, he was definitely all inside his body. Cole could feel the gentle hum beside him, knew his thoughts were buzzing around, but none of it was hurting.

Cole being there too was helping, which was nice. Just his presence being able to help without talking, or doing anything, or even touching was still a little new.

People knowing him, knowing he was there, and liking that he was there was warm too, soft and sweet like honey left in the sun. Not just the presence of another, the presence of Cole.

He was valued.

Lluciano wanted to touch Solas’ face.

The thought slipped in so softly, so gently that Cole might almost have mistaken it for one of his own, because… well, he did sometimes.

People didn’t like being touched when they were awake, not most of the time. And Cole always wanted to make people comfortable, so he listened solemnly to Josephine’s lectures and always let people touch him first, or tell him how they liked touching.

They didn’t mind when they were asleep though, and all the little skin hungers could be soothed so long as he was gentle enough not to wake them.

Faces especially fascinated Cole. They held onto expressions they weren’t making anymore, all the different lines and wrinkles from smiles and frowns.

He liked to trace them with his fingers, all the marks of past joys and sorrows. To feel them while they were flat and empty. And sometimes to feel the frowns deepen under his touch, lines becoming ridges.

People didn’t like him touching their faces most of all while they were awake, but most of them also needed the closeness of contact. They didn’t touch each other enough either, so touching them while they were asleep worked out best for everyone.

That way they could have the touch and feel better, and not be upset with him.

It was nice to know Lluciano felt the urge to touch too. He glanced over at Cole from the corner of his eye, and that small happy thing in Cole’s chest grew brighter as he realised.

Lavellan knew that Cole knew what he wanted to do. Talking without words, sharing just the feeling and knowing that Cole understood.

If only Cole could send a feeling back. To let Lavellan feel the way he felt, and know that Cole knew about the touching feeling too.

Solas definitely needed to be touched more.

It wasn’t the biggest ache that lingered, hungered under his skin, but it was worse than almost anyone else Cole had ever met.

He didn’t let himself touch anyone, and didn’t let them touch him either if he could help it. He didn’t want to get attached. Cole could understand that; when you got attached to people and they left, that hurt was the worst of all.

There was nothing that could fix it, or help. Just time to make the ache less.

But bodies had needs whether their owners liked them or not, and skin hungered to be touched no matter how much you wanted it not to.

He usually wound up touching Solas when he watched him sleep. Traced the long points of his ears. The harsh lines of his face.

The smooth, shiny skin on top of his head. Like the shell of a boiled egg, Sera said, but Cole had touched lots of eggs and they weren’t as soft. As smooth and with the same gentle give of flesh.

Solas liked Lavellan. He probably would like for Lluciano to touch his face, while he was asleep. Then he wouldn’t have to ask while he was awake.

He would have liked for Adaar to touch his face a lot more, and with her own face, but she wasn’t here. She couldn’t see well enough to watch people in the dark. Solas would have to ask her.

Lluciano was here now though.

Looking back at Lavellan for a moment, Cole did his best to convey his thoughts in his own face.

It didn’t have a lot of lines yet, because he hadn’t been living in it for very long. Varric told him his face was sad, all on its own, and Cole wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

Lluciano looked at him, then back down at Solas. Back to Cole.

He really wanted to touch Solas’ face.

Cole tried a nod. Because yes, that was for agreeing. Lluciano should touch Solas’ face.

Lluciano grinned, teeth bright and white in the dark, and Cole felt himself smiling back. That was still strange too, the urge to smile when one of the heralds smiled at him.

When Varric smiled at him. Smiles were what happened when the warmth in his chest came up into his face, when he was happy and people were happy with him.

Lluciano was very happy with him, and with him being here. He nodded back, looked down at Cole’s hands.

Oh.

They could touch Solas’ face together. That would probably be even better than them touching his face separately, although they might get in each others’ way.

But then they could be touching each other too, and Cole could show Lavellan the way he liked to stroke along all the lines and wrinkles, and Lavellan would like it too.

Cole knew he would. Lluciano always liked learning about how people worked. And he liked faces, especially pretty ones like Dorian’s and Cullen’s.

They would have to get closer. Kneel down beside the bed together. Very close, shoulder to shoulder, or chest to chest, air warmed between them and sharing the sleeping time.

It was nice, not being alone.

A sudden, unshakeable feeling of wrongness snapped Solas abruptly from a deep sleep. Eyes jerking open, it took a moment for them to refocus on the real world, instead of the paths he’d been walking.

He was in his room, at the base of tower. Tucked away from his study. Dark, only the light from a brazier in the hall flickering.

He’d closed the door when he came to bed.

Someone had opened it.

Someone was still there.

Eyes darting about the room, Solas was about to sigh in resignation when he realised that there were two shadowy figures standing over his bed, not just the one.

Eyes narrowing, he pushed himself up on one shoulder and frowned up at the pair. Cole’s long, lanky limbs, as expected. And…

Lavellan.

Lluciano Lavellan was standing with Cole, both of them watching him sleep.

Because of course they were. Why wouldn’t that be another thing for the two of them to bond over. They already liked sneaking around.

Letting out the sigh, suddenly with infinitely more weight and feeling infinitely more tired, Solas flopped back onto his bed, eyes resolutely closed.

“This is not going to be my problem,” he declared firmly, and even his senses, strained in the dark and otherwise silent room at the base of the tower, barely picked up the sounds of the two moving away.

He would have asked Josephine about a lock for his door, if he didn’t already know Lavellan enjoyed lock picking.

Maybe a bucket trap instead.

“The bucket will only fall if I want it to. I don’t want it to disturb you.”

Solas’ eyes snapped open again at Cole’s simple, slightly confused sentence, and Lluciano’s cackling laughter.

He lay in the dark for a long time, but he didn’t sleep again that night.

You know it’s a good fic when someone has to keep putting it down because they’re laughing to hard to read it… or maybe that’s the 3am talking, right @ekwolfwood?

I warned you I would be insufferable about Cole

Behold! The master post!

#dragon age inquisition #dai #dai fanfic: sleepers pt 1 #cole dragon age #dragon age cole #he’s like a little raccoon #watching you sleep and touching your face with little criminal fingers #and now he has a friend!#dragon age inquisition fanfic #rip solas #solas dragon age #teach him not to discourage the creepy boys

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