#if no one knows i will look it up and report back

[theonottsbxtch]

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi love! Could you do Lewis with a teen daughter that always does his braids or his hair and is also kind of known around the paddock for her style/her own hair?

Braids

The sun glinted off the sleek, shining cars in the paddock as cameras flashed and fans cheered. It was a busy Friday at the track, the buzz of another race weekend filling the air. The usual suspects had already arrived—drivers, engineers, media—each adding to the electric energy. But nothing could prepare anyone for the wave of excitement that swept through the paddock when Lewis strolled in, exuding confidence and charm.

His hair, freshly braided, was styled with a precision and flair that had everyone doing a double-take. The intricate patterns woven across his scalp, sleek and symmetrical, highlighted his already striking features. His usual cool demeanor was accented by a sharp designer outfit—an oversized cream jacket paired with tailored trousers, accessorized with diamond studs that caught the sunlight.

"Whoa," Oscar said, nudging Lando in the ribs as they stood by the McLaren garage. "Look at Lewis. Fresh braids. Man's killing it."

Lando squinted, pushing his curly hair back under his cap. "Yeah, that's clean. Wonder who did them?"

The mystery didn't linger for long. As Lewis made his way through the paddock, reporters swarmed, eager to capture the new look. One particularly bold journalist caught his attention. "Lewis! Those braids are incredible. Where'd you get them done?"

A wide smile spread across his face, pride gleaming in his eyes. "My daughter did them," he said, his voice warm. "Yn's been braiding my hair since she was fifteen. She's eighteen now—practically a pro."

The crowd hummed with admiration. Of course, it had to be Yn. She was already a sensation in her own right. Known for her cutting-edge fashion and signature hairstyles, Yn had a unique flair that blended timeless elegance with modern boldness. More than once, she had turned the paddock into her personal runway, never afraid to experiment or push boundaries. It was no wonder her father's braids were flawless.

By the time Lewis reached the Ferrari garage, the internet was ablaze. Social media flooded with close-ups of his new hairstyle, captions unanimously praising Yn's talent.

Braids by Yn. The Hamilton genes are undefeated.

Forget the cars, can we talk about Lewis' hair? His daughter has hands blessed by the gods.

Lewis scrolled through the comments during a quiet moment, chuckling softly to himself. Pride swelled in his chest. He knew how talented his daughter was, but seeing the world recognize it too? That was something else.

The next day, just when the paddock thought it had seen everything, Yn arrived.

She walked in with her grandparents on either side, exuding effortless confidence. Her outfit hugged her figure perfectly, balanced by chunky gold jewellery and boots that clacked softly against the concrete. But it was her hair that stole the show.

Yn's braids, an intricate cascade of rich brown strands, shimmered in the sunlight. Small and delicate curles were woven throughout, catching the light with every movement. The patterns were even more complex than the ones she'd done for her father, a true testament to her skill.

As soon as Lewis spotted her, a grin broke across his face. He crossed the garage in a few strides, wrapping his daughter in a warm embrace. "You did these yourself?" he asked, pulling back slightly to examine the braids.

"Of course," Yn beamed, tilting her head to give him a better view. "You know I had to come correct."

He chuckled, reaching out to carefully take a braid between his fingers. "These are beautiful, baby. You outdid yourself."

"Wait until you see what I want to try next," Yn said, pulling out her phone. She swiped through her photo gallery, showing him a series of inspiration images. "This one's a geometric pattern—super sharp lines—and this..." She paused on a picture of short, shoulder-length twists. "I think you'd look sick with these."

Lewis listened attentively, nodding along as she spoke. He always loved how passionate she was about her craft. "I trust you," he said. "Whatever you want to try next, I'm game."

Just then, Charles wandered over, his eyes widening when he saw Yn. "Whoa, okay," he said, giving an approving nod. "The braids are next-level. You're making the rest of us look bad."

Yn laughed, bumping her shoulder playfully against her father's. "Can't help it if we're the most stylish ones here."

"Facts," Lewis added, his arm draping comfortably around her shoulders. "It's in the blood."

Their easy banter and undeniable charisma made them the most photogenic duo in the paddock. Cameras followed their every move, capturing moments of laughter, admiration, and love. By the time the day was over, the hashtag #HamiltonRoyalty was trending worldwide.

Later that afternoon, while Lewis prepared for qualifying, Yn sat in the Ferrari hospitality suite with her grandparents, chatting softly. Every so often, she'd glance at the TV screens broadcasting her father's on-track performance, a quiet pride blooming in her chest.

When he emerged after a blistering lap that put him on the front row, Yn was the first person he sought out. "Told you I'd deliver," he teased, pulling her into another hug.

"Of course you did," Yn replied, her voice soft with affection. "You're the GOAT."

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the paddock settled into a golden glow, the image of the stylish Hamiltons—father and daughter, side by side—lingered in everyone's minds. The world could talk about race strategies and lap times all day long, but nothing was as iconic as the bond they shared. And if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that Yn was just getting started.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[enigmaris]

Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 26

At Jason's office at his Gang's Headquarters.

Danny: Nice office.

Jason: Thank you. Now before my governors arrive remember, the Red Hood that they work with is not the Red Hood that works with the Bats. The Red Hood that works with the bats is a wannabe and only wears a simple domino mask, while I am the original Red Hood who wears a helmet that covers my whole head.

Danny (trying not to laugh): And the two Red Hoods have major beef with each other.

Jason (smiling): Yes it's a little dumb, but I can't go around as both a vigilante and a crime lord, I need to keep both of those identities separate.

Danny: But why the same name? You already have two entirely different suits for both Red Hood identities.

Jason: I thought it'd be funny.

Danny: I guess.

Jason: And you're not Phantom, you're my new righthand man, Phantasm, a extraterrestrial child who I adopted.

Danny: I am born of the stars themselves, I have not flesh but am made of stardust, look into my eyes for they hold the universe itself.

Jason (proud dad): Making your skin look like the night sky was a nice touch to hide your identity both as Danny and Phantom, but did you really have to make your face devoid of features except two green voids for eyes? It's a little creepy.

Danny smiled, revealing razor sharp teeth in front of a green void. Jason leaned back, a little scared of his son's flair for the dramatic.

Jason: Case and point... the suit is nice though, I like the sci-fi look.

Danny: Thanks dad.

There's a nock at the door.

Jason (sat up): You may enter.

The doors opened and four goons walked in.

The Goons (happy): Good morning boss!

The four goons walked towards Jason's desk and stood in front of it. Only then did they notice the strange alien child. They looked at Danny, then at Jason, then back at Danny, then finally back at Jason.

Jason: Good morning everyone, I would like you to meet my new righthand man, Phantasm, he is an alien child that I have adopted.

Goon #1: You're a dad?

Jason: Yes.

Goon #2: We have a nephew!

Goon #3: I'm an aunt!

Danny: What...?

Jason (embarrassed): We're all family here, if you wear my bandana you're my family, speaking of here you go.

Jason handed Danny a red bandana with the silhouette of Jason's hood embroidered in the middle with white silk.

Danny: It looks like you.

Jason: That's the idea, that way people know that if you mess with this person, you're messing with the Red Hood's family.

Danny (wrapping the bandana around his neck): It's cute.

Goon #4: It was your dad's idea.

Goon #3: We love it, we may be criminals, but we do crime with style.

Goon #2: By the way welcome to the family, little boss.

Goon #1: "Little boss," that's so cute, can we call you that?

Danny: Sure thing!

Jason (clearing his throat): As sweet as this is, we're here to talk about past month's reports. Sarah, do you mind stating us off?

Sarah "Goon #3": Sure thing boss, the Northern Sector has done well this past month, we were finally able to stop the drug ring that popped up there two months ago, we deposited the ringleaders at Commissioner Gordon's station.

Jason: Good, those bastards should have never showed up there in the first place, we're going to have more diligent in the future.

Sarah: My apologies, the north is my sector, I should have never let that happen.

Jason: It's alright Sarah, we all make mistakes, I wouldn't have made you one of my governors if I wasn't confident in your skills.

Sarah: Thank you.

Jason: Robert, what of the Eastern Sector?

Robert "Goon #1": All is well, the orphanage just opened its new wing, now we can accommodate another hundred kids. The new home ed. classrooms have also finished construction, but we're still looking for teachers properly qualified to teach.

Jason: Let's get working on that, those kids need to learn basic life skills, but remember to do thorough background checks, those kids have been through a lot, they don't need a maniac teaching them how to cook or how to use a circular saw.

Robert: You got it boss.

Jason: Amelia, what of the south?

Amelia "Goon #2": The Southern Sector is doing well, our food bank is still going strong thanks to Wayne Enterprises' weekly food donations. There is one thing however, this week the WE agent overseeing the delivery approached our head of operations for the food bank and said that Mr. Wayne would like to make a direct donation of 100 million dollars so we can expand our current location, as well as open a few more around the city. Elizabeth said she would have to talk to her superiors before accepting such a large monetary donation, the agent is expecting a response by the next delivery in five days.

Jason: How n̵͓̟̏͌i̴͎̎̔͜c̸͍̺͆̔è̷̢ of Mr. Wayne, I should pay him a visit to thank him in person. Amelia you can tell Elizabeth that she can accept Mr. Wayne's g̴̞̲̈́e̷̺͌n̶̞̝̉͒ḛ̷̹̍̀r̵̤͙̅o̶͎͆u̷͎̎s̴̪̒͌ donation. I'll also entrust you with setting up a committee to appropriate those funds, simply show me the names for approval.

Amelia: I'll start drawing up a list.

Jason: Henry, what of the west?

Henry "Goon #4": Uneventful, the arts academy is almost ready to open, the whole placed is furnished, we have staff lined up, final details should only take us a few more weeks, at most a month.

Danny: Arts Academy?

Henry: Hood's Academy for the Arts, a school to teach kids more artistic subjects, painting, pottery, acting, dancing, music, photography, cinematography, poetry, and the boss' favorite writing.

Jason: A well rounded education should allow kids to express their creativity, the Academy will hold classes during the weekends, as well as a summer semester for those who would be interested. We will be able to enroll as many as 5,000 students.

Henry: We made sure to hire a large staff, there will be plenty of teachers to ensure each classroom is a reasonable size, as well as many deans, councilors, library staff, and other members of administration, everything and anything that will make the students' time at the academy as easy and assessable as possible.

Jason: Thank you Henry.

Henry: Sure thing boss!

Jason (standing up): Well if that is all, then we're done here.

Sarah: Boss, wait!

Jason: Yes?

Sarah looked at Amelia.

Amelia: We're throwing a party, to celebrate all the progress we've made this month.

Robert: We know parties aren't your thing, but everyone would be happy to see you attend.

Henry: It'll make everyone's day.

Jason looked unsure about accepting the invitation, he looked over at Danny who was giving him a "please dad, let's go" face.

Jason (sighed): I suppose I can make an appearance.

Sarah, Robert, Amelia, and Henry: Yes!

Robert: You won't regret this boss!

Sarah: I'll run ahead and tell everyone!

Henry: Tonight it's going to be lit!

Amelia: We'll party till dawn!

Sarah, Robert, Amelia, and Henry ran ahead, Jason and Danny followed behind.

Jason: Kid, we will not be able to leave that party till well past dawn, my gang are party animals.

Danny: That's fine, besides you still need to introduce me to the gang at large.

Jason: I suppose that's true.

Danny: Come on dad, relax, you guys did a lot of good this month, you deserve to celebrate.

Jason: Ok, one night, but tomorrow it's back to work.

Danny: You got it!

(Master Post)

[meinii]

"hoodie thief"

summary: Sylus' hoodies have been disappearing lately... the thief was closer than he thought •⩊•

content: fluffy fluff, Luke and Kieran cameo

                      ୨୧·。。·♡·∴·♡·。。·୨୧

Sylus was no fool

at first, he didn’t think much of it—one or two hoodies missing wasn’t a big deal. he probably left them somewhere, maybe in his office or tossed over one of the chairs in Onychinus. but as the days passed, his wardrobe slowly dwindled. hoodies, sweatshirts, even his thicker, oversized ones—all mysteriously gone

and there was only one person who had the audacity to steal from him

you.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. he had seen you wearing his hoodies a few times, the fabric swallowing your frame, the sleeves dangling past your hands. and each time, you acted as if it was no big deal. like it wasn’t a crime against the very fabric of his empire.

the moment you walked into his office that evening, wrapped in yet another one of his hoodies, he just stared

you blinked "what?"

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, a slow smirk tugging at his lips "you’re awfully comfortable stealing from me, aren’t you?"

you feigned innocence, glancing down at the hoodie draped over you "oh… this? I—uh—found it"

"found it?" he repeated, amused

"yeah. just lying around"

"in your house?"

"…maybe"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. he could force you to return them—could pin you down and strip it right off your body if he really wanted to—but he let it slide, for now

because, truthfully, he liked seeing you in his hoodies.

that might’ve been the end of it—except Luke and Kieran, the ever-loyal informants, decided to stick their noses in where it did not belong

"boss, we have a report on your missing items"

Sylus looked up from his paperwork, giving Luke and Kieran a deadpan stare "You actually investigated?"

Luke grinned "of course. you seemed so troubled about it, after all"

Sylus rolled his eyes "go on, then"

Kieran pulled out a small tablet, tapping the screen "after some thorough research—which included some discreet surveillance—we have identified the culprit" he turned the screen toward Sylus

it was you, sneaking out of his penthouse with an armful of his hoodies, stuffing them into a bag like a professional thief

Sylus let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief "she really had the audacity to smuggle them out?"

Luke smirked "oh, she’s been planning this. we even found a whole stash at her place"

Sylus raised an eyebrow "a stash?"

"mm-hm. neatly folded, stacked in her closet. she’s treating them like trophies, boss"

Sylus chuckled, tilting his head back in amusement. the fact that you collected them, carefully keeping them all together—it was both ridiculous and insanely endearing

"and here’s the best part," Kieran continued, clearly enjoying himself "we confronted her about it. wanna know what she said?"

Sylus smirked "let’s hear it"

Luke cleared his throat dramatically "'tell Sylus I have no idea what he’s talking about. those are legally mine now. he can’t do anything about it.'"

Sylus burst out laughing, dragging a hand down his face "legally hers?"

"she made a contract in her head, boss. if she wears it enough times, it’s hers now."

Sylus shook his head, amused beyond belief "She really is impossible"

Luke grinned "so? what’s the plan? gonna storm her place and reclaim your lost belongings?"

Sylus smirked "no, no… let her have them"

Kieran raised an eyebrow "really?"

"oh, yeah" Sylus leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief "I want to see how long she thinks she can get away with this"

that night, you were comfortably curled up on your couch, wearing yet another hoodie of Sylus'. t smelled like him—faint hints of cedarwood, spice, and something unmistakably him. it was oversized, the sleeves pooling over your hands, the warmth of the fabric making you feel safe

you had no regrets. none at all.

until your phone buzzed

Sylus: I know everything

you stared at the message, heart stopping for a second

you hesitated before replying

You: everything about what? Sylus: you’re a terrible liar.

you swallowed, typing as nonchalantly as possible

You: I think you’re mistaken. I am simply a humble citizen living her best life. Sylus: living your best life with my entire wardrobe?

okay. he knew. he definitely knew.

you considered your options

1) play dumb 2) flee the country 3) beg for forgiveness

before you could type a response, there was a knock on your door

your stomach dropped

slowly, cautiously, you opened the door—only to find Sylus leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement

"you," he drawled "are the worst thief I’ve ever seen."

you cleared your throat, shifting slightly "what brings you here, oh great ruler of Onychinus?"

he smirked "oh, just checking in on my beloved hoodie thief."

You knew Luke and Kieran had snitched. those little traitors.

Sylus stepped forward, towering over you, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of the hoodie you were wearing

"you didn’t even bother returning one," he mused, tilting his head "you just kept all of them"

you pouted "well… they’re cozy"

his eyes flickered with amusement "and that means they belong to you?"

"yes," you said shamelessly "finders keepers"

Sylus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head "unbelievable"

"you’re not mad, though," you pointed out, a slow grin spreading across your lips "you like seeing me in them."

he exhaled, a smirk playing on his lips "you’re lucky I do"

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly. his voice lowered, warm and teasing

"if you wanted to keep something of mine so badly… all you had to do was ask"

your face grew warm at the implication "I—"

"shh" he leaned down, his lips barely an inch from yours "enjoy your little collection while it lasts. I might just take one back… personally"

your heart definitely skipped a beat

Sylus grinned at your expression, clearly enjoying himself

"sweet dreams, hoodie thief"

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away—leaving you flustered, warm, and absolutely unwilling to give back a single hoodie

[sunsburns]

wait no because trying to compete w joaquin to look the best in sams eyes? that 100% would happen.

always showing up to work early if sam needed you there, always doing things "better" than the other to be picked to go out on missions, but in reality both of you were always gonna go, sam just likes to rile you both up!!!

you and joaquin arguing is sams entertainment, but he would always call you out on how y'all should just kiss or smthn, just so you would both get out of his hair, y'all are kiss asses 🙂‍↕️

THE biggest ass kissers the world has ever fucking seen!!!

it starts with small things.

beating joaquín torres to the debriefing room first, standing at attention just a little straighter when sam walks in. being the first to volunteer for a recon mission, making sure your reports are turned in before joaquín’s—little victories, small triumphs that keep the score tilting just slightly in your favour.

and joaquín? oh, he knows what you’re doing. he feels the competition just as strongly, meeting you beat for beat, smirk for smirk. if you show up early, he shows up earlier. if you get in a well-placed quip that makes sam chuckle, joaquín makes sure to drop a comment that gets him a full laugh, a shoulder clap.

sam catches on quickly, because of course he does. he thrives off of it, if anything, watching you and joaquín try to one-up each other over the most mundane things with the kind of patience only an older brother figure can have. half the time, he doesn’t even need to pit you against each other; you do that all on your own.

but here’s the thing—you and joaquín don’t actually hate each other. if anything, there’s an underlying respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of how damn good the other is at what they do. on the field, you’re an unstoppable duo, reading each other without a word, moving in sync in a way that only comes from deep familiarity. you know each other’s strengths, weaknesses, the little things that make the other tick—and you know exactly how to push each other’s buttons, whether it’s to provoke or distract.

and sam? oh, he knows it too.

it was why he has the two of you as his second hand. he sees how well you work together, how efficient things become when you’re not locked in some petty competition. hell, sometimes he even thinks you two are kinda cute together—just too damn stubborn to admit it.

but sometimes, sam stirs the pot just for fun. like when he lets it slip that he needs a file retrieved from the archives, and suddenly, you and joaquín are racing through the hallways, elbowing each other out of the way, nearly colliding into bucky in the process. or when he casually mentions needing someone to drive him to a meeting, and next thing he knows, both of you are already in the car, fighting over who gets to drive.

“y’all are exhausting,” sam sighs one day, watching as you and joaquín argue over who got the better shot during training with isaiah. he leans back in his chair, eyes flicking between you. “why don’t you just kiss already and get out of my face?”

that shuts both of you up real quick. joaquín’s face flushes, his lips parting like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. you, on the other hand, scoff, rolling your eyes before looking anywhere but at him.

sam just grins, kicking his feet up onto the table. “uh-huh. that’s what i thought.”

bucky, passing by with his coffee, gives sam a long look. “aren’t you being too hard on those kids?”

“nah,” sam replies easily, smirking. “they love it.”

[xeansicemane]

"So, Rose, run me through the dossier again?" I asked the AI assistant, re-checking my coat's onboard systems.

"Not sure what we're looking at here, seems like some ex-cop got into a supersoldier serum and yadda yadda yadda" the computer added the sounds of flipping pages for effect "and early reports say he's fully broken with reality, just doing violence to whoever he thinks he needs to, been tearing through the beach - Irons Brigade is another thirty minutes out, but Tidewater is already on scene"

"Is it going well?"

"No local feeds yet"

"Huh" I muttered to myself, shrugging my coat on, the reactive components all reading nominal. I took a deep breath, untensing my shoulders as I felt the autonomous trailer rumbling along the road, thank goodness for light traffic.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Rose you're reading my brainwave patterns you tell me" I answered not unkindly, this was an old routine between us as well as half the users of the system.

"You know you don't have to keep kayfabe if you don't want to - just a concerned citizen laying the law down can be the play"

I grimaced performatively at the mention of law. "Oh come /on/. I love the game - nah, he's on my turf and he didn't pay his dues. Let folks see how much I do for them, that's enough."

"You really love the PR work, don't you?" The flat robotic voice took on an edge of amusement

I stood, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed the handles that would facilitate my dramatic entry. "Like Presentation and Decoration says - ain't no reason to do this if we're not doing it with style."

The truck was driving down a city street, close to where the carnage was happening - the onboard AI had found a location that would allow the truck to block all obvious lines of sight on its' passenger side. The effect? Truck drives by, I suddenly appear as it passes. The mechanism? Frankly it was a waste of an inertial buffer field emitter but I thought it looked too cool not to do.

I cracked my neck, cursed the heavens that everyone else cleared for combat work was out of town for MAGfest, and turned, the truck turning off into a side road to reveal three burning cars and a heavily damaged pharmacy.

"Fuckers really got a hard-on for corner pharmacies don't they" I mumbled, the headset I was wearing keeping me connected to Rose and allowing an internal livestream - not a lot of the org was watching but it really wasn't for everyone.

"Truth, Justice, the American Way, and overpriced soda is how the saying goes down there, I think?"

I took off at a sustainable jog, scanning the wreckage and following the trail of broken paving concrete.

"Hrrrm" Rose said, something of concern in her voice "Looks like he had or has a weapon - parking meter is my guess."

"And he was just roid-rage pounding it into the ground, lovely." I said, keeping my breath even as I kept the jog up.

"Hey! Fuck you!!!" A concerned citizen said as they sprinted in the other direction. Okay I was close.

I heard something crash, something break, and gunfire.

I picked up the pace, transitioning into a skating motion, keeping a thin layer of solid oxygen between me and the ground - easier to find than water and the leidenfrost effect keeps you up wonderfully.

"Hey! Kick that guys' ass!" Another citizen yelled, camera out. I smiled, winked and pushed on to the beach, slowing into a run again.

The scene did not instill confidence. There was a man with his back turned to me, shoulders, hips and long muscles all bulging in the worst way I could imagine, veins glowing red. I surmised this was my target.

"So what happened to not littering?" I asked, high school theater stint yet again coming to my aid - one really must project when issuing a challenge.

He snapped around and stared at me like he was about to eat me. Several bullet holes were visible, none were slowing him down as he whipped up the parking meter to point at me.

"You. I knew you'd come, freak" He was seething, spitting even with those words. My headset had finished compiling data - his body suggested his metabolism was running too hot for purely biological processes - joy of joys he was paracausal, great.

I snorted loudly, mics were good these days but presentation needed work. "Whatever. You're on Korps turf. My turf in particular. Mayhem, damage and destruction is my gig around here. Scram and find some where else to lay a claim".

"Fuck off-" he screamed as he tore the leg off a lifeguard station and threw it at me, I caught another syllable as he was starting a slur but the noise of the structure coming apart covered it.

One of the fun things about being able to fuck with temperature is I could fuck with air pressure, enough air pressure and I could fuck with wind. Enough wind and I could redirect a thrown chunk of wood.

I was already approaching him, skating was a no-go on sand but I could manage a sprint when needed. My target was behind him and to the right, the crumpled form of Tidewater. He was a good kid, in his 20s, mixed up with the wrong crowd but a good heart.

A few carefully timed freezing blasts locked the berserker's joints for just long enough for me to scoop up Tidewater and keep the sprint, dropping a few dozen square meter patch of slick water ice without looking back.

"Hey, kid, you doing okay?"

He didn't answer, I slowed, controlled my breathing, and layed my hand against his back, turning just enough for my visor to get a scan of his neck. Nothing. Couldn't feel a heartbeat and sensors were showing zero electrical activity. I dropped to a knee and laid him on the ground.

"Okay okay okay fuck okay, just gotta cool him off for the medics to get to and"

"Jötunn" Just one word, my name spoken soft and human, from Rose.

I'd carefully not been looking at the chest - caved in. Caught the parking meter dead center of his sternum. His entire cardiopulmonary system had to be pulp.

"Okay. Shit. Rose shut that down. Access permissions 298 stroke midnight stroke ocean" I said, getting back to my feet, shivering stopping halfway through. I didn't like doing this, blackboxing a single emotion wasn't possible but the neuro folks had worked out how to temporarily induce a depersonalized state - I still felt grief over the the loss of this on again off again rival, but it was a million miles away. I could focus. I could ugly cry back at base. My coat caught something, a rock thrown hard enough to break ribs if the carbon substrait hadn't solidified in response to the force.

I turned, he was ten yards away in a dead sprint.

Cryokinesis is often considered pyrokinesis's under-performing cousin. I couldn't reduce a tank to a puddle of slag or melt through a pair of handcuffs at will. The techs back at base would rib me by asking me to cool their drinks.

But I want you to ask yourself, what happens if you rapidly condense the air? Cool it off enough it becomes a liquid. 11 liters of air suddenly becoming one-thousandth the volume.

Now imagine I can do that to 100,000 liters of air.

I can't melt a tank, but if I have the mind to I can reduce the internal atmosphere to a functional vacuum.

The sound was almost exactly like an explosion going off half a meter behind him. It was, just going the other way. The implosion ripped him off his feet while the ice around my ankles dug into the ground kept me in place.

He was still trying to get back on his feet when the first refrigerator sized brick of ice hit him. The second knocked him back down, the third dissuaded further attempts, and the fourth was for show. I stepped closer, focusing on pulling energy out of the ice block on top of him, shaping it into a single mass. I could feel his heat right until I couldn't. Liquid oxygen and nitrogen was running down the sides of the mass, the water condensation forming a cloud suitable to hide me.

"That was for Tidewater, ass. Rose, blockers off. We need a wake back at base." I felt the pain hit me, my chest tightening. I turned and stalked off, towards the extraction point. I heard sirens and I didn't care, the news showed a grief-stricken baddie and I didn't care.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[love-byers]

i've been obsessed with the s4 epilogue for the last few days and i need to talk about this

the camerawork is CRAZY. the amount of tricks they use here is just not necessary for them simply looking through the car window. and remember this is the EPILOGUE. in stranger things the epilogues are packed full with foreshadowing, especially in s4. there is no dialogue, only the voiceover of the new reporter.

these are the first two shots we see, back to back. mike and el are fully visible together on screen, while will is fully by himself. the camera isn't moving much at first

then there are some shots of the destruction in hawkins and families packing up to leave.

then there's this shot of will, possible referencing the phineas gage analogy used in s2. mike and el's heads are barely visible in the back.

then there's another shot of families packing to leave hawkins.

then, there's this:

it's interesting how el is at first hidden behind mike and slowly revealed.

then there's a shot of the high school.

then:

this is the first shot of willelmike from inside the van, not outside the window looking in. el is not visible at all, only will and mike. and the focus is shifting from will to mike.

(i will also note that the music noticeably swells here. seriously go watch it gets very loud and even more emotional when the focus shifts from will to mike)

the next time we see the characters is this:

mike is not visible at all, only will and el.

then:

we see mike and el again, but not at the same time. they are distinctly separated and obscured. we only see one at a time.

this is the last we see in the van. mike, again, is obscured. we still can't see mike and el as a unit like they were being shown as in the beginning. i can't stress enough how important it is that they were originally being shown together. this is also the first time we are seeing through el's pov, looking through her side of the van instead of mike's.

only after the shot that shifts from will to mike, we can no longer see mike and el on screen at the same time. only after the shot of mike and will. and it's only after the shot where mike and el are distinctly separated that we see el independent, looking through her own window instead of mike's while mike is the one obscured in the background, and we get a close up on her face.

we progressively see more of mike and will on screen together.

while every time we see mike and el, we see less of them.

this is storytelling through camerawork, quite obviously. don't forget that this is what we see immediately in the epilogue. mere moments before this, we saw el reviving max, where we hear many quotes such as:

"Not Hopper, not Mike, you."

"See? What'd I tell you? There's more to life than stupid boys!"

"Against the rules?" "We make our own rules."

maybe TWO MINUTES before these shots in the van.

and i'm not trying to get testy cause i know people get sensitive about this, but they chose to show us the love triangle looking on at the destruction and devastation in hawkins. the same love triangle who are inexplicably tied to the monologue, aka a massive act of forced conformity.

"It's forced conforming. That's what's killing the kids."

will mike and el were all struggling with this. el was deeply insecure and felt like a monster, and relationship with mike did nothing but fuel it. she pretended to be someone she wasn't in front of him and EXTENSIVELY lied to him. mike feels like a useless nerd loser who is also likely dealing with internalized homophobia, and his relationship with did nothing but fuel it. he felt like he had to pretend to be someone else in lenora, because his true self isn't enough. the only person to soothe these insecurities of mike's is will byers, who is also deeply in love with mike. will byers, who because of mike pushing him away in an attempt to be 'normal', thinks mike will never ever feel the same and thinks mike loves el. the one person who brings out mike's true self and naturally makes mike feel like his true self is enough, is also the one who pushed mike into saying i love you to el in the end. that's why they failed, and that's why they're the ones with an extended compilation looking on at the destruction. we needed to see them observe the damage that they inadvertently caused.

let me be clear, i'm not blaming them or calling them bad people or stupid or anything. it's all about the narrative and storytelling and themes of the show.

this gets even more interesting when you consider that mike will and el are the leads of season s5. this is how they're portraying the leads of s4 in the final foreshadowing portion of s4.

[seasidefallenangel]

she's got those evil eyes

bllk boys and their mean girlfriends ft isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, reo mikage, alexis ness, bachira meguru

notes: reader is a BITCH! (not to the boys), actual horrible shit being said by reader but our boys are too in love to notice or care, suicide mentions, i'm not condoning what reader does the point is that they're feral

༄ isagi:

✣ you’re his precious angel who can do no wrong, so of course he’s defending you tooth and nail. when you’re at his games flipping off the opposite team he thinks you’re too adorable for words. during practice, kaiser is ragging on him as usual and you’re there before isagi can blink, telling kaiser that no wonder his dad hit him with a shitty personality like that. insanely harsh, but you’re so cute to have his back!

⁀➷ “you need to stop getting yourself hurt like this, princess,” isagi murmurs as he gently applies an antiseptic to your knuckles. he wasn’t expecting you to punch rin in the face after some off-handed comment during practice (mostly stemming from rin’s own insecurities, but you’re not tolerating any disrespect towards your man.) isagi had stepped in right as rin was about to retaliate and you had gotten kicked off the field anyway, leading to the impromptu patch-up in the locker room. 

with a final piece of medical tape, he kisses your bruised hand and smiles softly at you, cupping your cheek in his palm. “thank you for being my knight in shining armor, baby,” he says gently, all the love in the world filling his voice. maybe you’re not the most ethical about it, but your desire to protect him more than makes up for it in his eyes.

༄ sae:

✣ always assumes you’re correct in every single situation. he looks to be nonchalant about your dating life, but he is easily your number one shooter. you’re on twitter telling his fans to kill themselves when they talk about how attractive he is or how he should break up with you and he’s in the kitchen smirking at his phone watching you go to war. never once in his life has he ever gave a shit about what people think about him, but the second something about you is viewed in a negative light? all bets are off. he’ll get just as toxic as you are.

⁀➷ the reporters are crowding him the second he’s getting off the plane. he already knows exactly what it’s about yet it still pisses him off. in his opinion, people are at fault for provoking you in the first place. in an irritating attempt to get his attention, one of the interviewers calls out, “sae! what do you have to say about your girlfriend tweeting ‘if i was your mom i would’ve killed myself too’ to one of your fans?!” 

yeah, he saw that one, and he thought it was funny. someone had been trying to rile you up by saying how re ai would be better off without sae on the team. unfortunately for them, they had “rip mom🩵🕊️” in their bio, giving you the perfect ammo to shoot back with. he clears his throat and simply says, “she’s right,” before walking off, leaving the paparazzi stunned.

༄ reo:

✣ you are so awful for the mikage image and reo loves every second of it. having such a stagnant and pre-planned upbringing versus your unhinged nature was just what he needed. barely a week can go by without you trending online for something heinous you said or did. in turn, you have quite a large following for simply how funny your antics and toxicity towards others is. reo must have the most heavily tinted rose colored glasses ever, because he always talks about how sweet and kind you are. the fans are still searching for the person he’s trying to describe, because it sure as hell isn’t you.

⁀➷ you’re lounging in bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when reo approaches you. like clockwork, you shift into his arms as he climbs into bed and relaxes next to you. his fingers are running through your hair when he finally asks in the most soft and gentle voice, “my love, why are you being called out on twitter again?” of course, you’re always sure to voice how it isn’t really your fault and that people should stop pissing you off if they don’t want you to come for their necks. 

quite honestly, he’s not really listening ; not because he’s not interested, but because you’re just irresistible when you defend yourself. regardless of whether or not you’re actually at fault (you are), he still sees you as his precious and adorable lover. he simply nods and leaves feather light kisses up and down the side of your neck, mumbling something like, “how dare they?” or “you’re so smart, angel,” every so often. if you ever were to get in any real trouble, the mikage fortune would be there to bail you out - so he sees no real reason to stop your tirades. 

༄ alexis:

✣ “me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut up and i do.” ness is honestly thankful for how much of a raging bitch you can be. not only does he never see anything wrong with it, but actively encourages it as well. you’re cussing out the mcdonald’s worker for putting pickles on his burger while he’s behind you with a dopey smile on his face, clinging to you like a lifeline. the only time he had to tug you away is when you were half a second away from clawing kaiser’s eyes out and had his neck bruising beneath your fingers for insinuating ness was more of a dog than a person. the german is still terrified whenever you accompany your boyfriend to practice.

⁀➷ in all the plans alexis had for his future, standing in front of the two people that crushed his childhood fantasies in facts and testing wasn’t one of them. he had left on a bitter note when he joined bastard münchen yet hadn’t found the courage to voice his true feelings on the matter. luckily for him, you had no shortage of guts to lay into his parents without fear.

for the first time in their lives, they’re stunned silent at your vicious words and mockery of their profession, upbringing, parenting, even going so far as to point out his mother’s physical imperfections and saying the only worthwhile thing she did was give birth a child that wasn’t nearly as ugly as she is. they can’t even get a word in before you grab alexis’ hand and drag him out, kicking a dent in his father’s car for good measure. even though your display was nothing short of pure evil, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to god than when you cradle him in your hold, whispering words of love and praise into his ear. being a crybaby was something he was told he should be ashamed of, but the sensation left behind when you wipe his grateful tears is worth it to him.

༄ bachira:

✣ might honestly be the biggest enabler on this entire list along with alexis. he absolutely lives for chaos plus he’s too sickeningly in love with you to ever question a move you might make. he can hear you arguing with ego on the phone about bachira being overworked and while normally nothing phases blue lock’s director, the death threats you sent to his office were incredibly convincing and contained information that should’ve been impossible to obtain. he’d probably hire you if he wasn’t positive you’d pipe bomb the entire structure if anyone even gave a dirty look to your boyfriend. 

⁀➷  “whatcha doiiiinnnn?” bachira asks while plopping on top of the couch - in the exact spot while you were resting, mind you. you let out a light ‘oof!’ as his weight crushes you for a moment before leveling out. the second his head falls to rest on your stomach, you're carding one hand through his hair while the other angrily taps on your phone. he doesn’t really think to ask as he’s on the verge of falling asleep, but the sound he has set for your tweets dings from his phone (because of course he has notifications for you on.)

he lazily unlocks his phone and clicks onto the app only to bust out into laughter. whatever useless no-name had decided to say bachira’s playstyle only hinders his teammates was met with your quote retweet stating to ‘go take a long walk off a short bridge.’ in his overly happy splendor, he blows raspberries onto the soft skin of your tummy while you squeal and try to push him off. stubborn as he is he just refuses to let up until you're curled up in laughter. behind his silliness, he’s eternally grateful to have someone so devoted to him after years of isolation from his peers. he can’t help but think he’d do anything to keep you in his grasp - regardless of the consequences that might follow.

[heliosunny]

hiiiiii,

can you do yandere!Student council representative!Jingyuan troublemaker!reader?

pealsepleasepleasepleaseeeeeee🥺

Yandere!Rep!Jing Yuan x Troublemaker!Reader

"Why is it that whenever trouble arises, it always seems to involve you?"

The sharp voice of the disciplinary officer echoed through the student council room. You stood in the center, arms crossed, your uniform slightly disheveled—evidence of whatever chaos you’d been caught up in this time. Behind you, two of your closest friends looked anywhere but at the fuming officer, their guilt written all over their faces.

And yet, despite the lecture, despite the serious nature of the situation, one person remained utterly unbothered.

Jing Yuan, the esteemed Student Council Representative, sat comfortably in his seat, chin resting on one hand, golden eyes half-lidded in amusement.

The officer continued their tirade, but you barely heard them anymore—not with the way Jing Yuan was watching you, like a lion indulging in the sight of its favorite prey.

Finally, unable to ignore him any longer, you turned your head slightly and met his gaze. That smile of his widened just a fraction.

Oh, he was enjoying this far too much.

The punishment was predictable. Community service under the watchful eye of none other than Jing Yuan himself.

You huffed, gripping the broom in your hands as you stood in the empty hallways of the academy. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the polished floors, and the only sound was the distant chatter of students enjoying their freedom.

Jing Yuan watched you with the same infuriatingly amused expression he always wore. "You’re surprisingly obedient today," he mused, tilting his head. "I expected more complaining."

You shot him a glare, sweeping the broom across the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Oh, trust me, I have plenty to say. But since someone made sure I ended up with extra hours, I might as well get this over with."

Jing Yuan chuckled, the deep sound annoyingly pleasant. "Don’t be so upset. I even cleared my schedule to personally supervise you. That’s quite the honor, don’t you think?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, an honor. I should be grateful to have the mighty student council president breathing down my neck while I sweep floors."

"Oh, I wouldn’t call it breathing down your neck… not yet, at least."

You froze for half a second, grip tightening on the broom. Jing Yuan watched you struggle for a response, then leaned in ever so slightly, just enough to invade your space. "I wonder," he mused, "if you'd get in trouble again just to spend more time with me."

"Absolutely not."

-----

You knocked on the student council room’s door before pushing it open without waiting for a response. "I'm done" you announced, stepping inside. "The halls are spotless. You could eat off the floor if you wanted."

Jing Yuan didn't even glance up. He was seated at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his usually lazy demeanor replaced with rare focus. His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned the documents.

You lingered by the door for a moment, then, against your better judgment, took a step closer. "What are you even working on?"

"Schedules, budgets, disciplinary reports," he murmured distractedly. "Ah, and proposals for upcoming events. The usual burden of student council leadership."

You peeked over his shoulder and caught sight of one particular form—something about club funding allocations. A mistake immediately jumped out at you. Without thinking, you leaned down, snatched a pen off his desk, and scribbled in the correction.

"Oh?"

You met his gaze and shrugged. "I simply cause problem, not stupid."

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then he smiled. "Indeed, you aren’t," he said, clearly pleased. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with renewed interest. "You know… you should consider putting that brain of yours to better use. If you get a high score—perhaps even top of the grade—I could pull some strings and get your punishment lessened. Maybe even have you join the student council."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Hard pass."

Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You didn’t even think about it."

"I don’t need to" you said flatly. "Sitting around, drowning in paperwork, dealing with annoying teachers? No thanks."

He chuckled, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Shame. You'd make an interesting addition to our ranks."

"Exactly. Interesting. Which means you'd have even more excuses to keep me under your watch, and I’m not about to hand you that kind of victory."

Jing Yuan laughed at that, "Fine, I won’t push—for now."

You rolled your eyes, already regretting helping him. "Yeah, yeah. See you later, Rep."

As you turned to leave, you could still feel his gaze lingering on you.

----

The keychain was small, soft, and well-worn—clearly something Jing Yuan had for a long time. It landed on the polished floor without a sound, barely noticeable, but you caught it out of the corner of your eye as you swept.

"Oi, Jing Yuan!" you called out, picking up the white lion keychain and waving it in the air. "You dropped this!"

But he kept walking, completely ignoring you, his usual lazy stride unbothered. You frowned, watching him disappear around the corner. "Seriously? Does he have selective hearing or something?"

With a sigh, you stuffed the keychain into your pocket. It wasn’t like he was hard to find—you'd just give it back when you saw him in the student council office later.

Except, when you went in the afternoon, he wasn’t there. His usual seat was empty, the paperwork on his desk untouched. The other council members barely seemed to notice his absence, too busy arguing over event planning.

"Weird" you muttered under your breath. Jing Yuan, as much as he loved slacking off, never actually skipped his duties completely.

You only found out why when you overheard two students whispering in the hall.

"Did you hear? Jing Yuan’s out sick."

"Yeah, I heard he collapsed at home yesterday. Probably from all that work he procrastinated on."

That was all you needed to hear.

The next thing you knew, you were at the nearest bakery, tapping your fingers against the counter as you waited for them to box up a small cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—just something light and not too sweet. You didn’t even know if he liked cake, but whatever. It was better than showing up empty-handed.

By the time you arrived at his house, the sky was beginning to darken, the evening air cool against your skin. You stood in front of the door, cake box in one hand, Jing Yuan’s keychain in the other.

With a sigh, you knocked. "He better appreciate this."

There was a long silence after you knocked, enough that you wondered if he was even awake. Maybe you should’ve come earlier. Maybe he was asleep, or worse—what if no one was home?

You were just about to turn around when the door creaked open.

Jing Yuan stood there, leaning against the doorframe, dressed in loose loungewear instead of his usual uniform. His hair was slightly messy, his golden eyes hazy with fatigue.

"Ah" he blinked at you, clearly surprised. "Troublemaker?"

You scowled, holding up the cake box. "I have a name, you know. And it's Y/N L/N"

He only chuckled, voice slightly hoarse. "I must be dreaming if you’re actually here visiting me instead of causing chaos."

You rolled your eyes and shoved the keychain into his hand. "You dropped this yesterday. I was gonna return it at school, but since you’re dying or whatever, I figured I’d drop it off."

Jing Yuan looked down at the keychain, his fingers brushing over the worn fabric. "So you noticed"

"Of course I did" you huffed. "You always act like you’re paying attention to everything, but you’re actually kind of careless."

Instead of being offended, he just smiled "And you always act like you don’t care, but here you are. With cake, no less."

Heat pricked at your ears, and you quickly thrust the cake box at him. "Take it before I change my mind."

"Well, since you went through all this trouble, why don’t you come in?"

You hesitated. You’d already done what you came for. But something about the way he was looking at you—calm, expectant, like he already knew you’d say yes—made you click your tongue in annoyance.

"Fine" you muttered, stepping inside. "Just for a bit."

"Of course."

Jing Yuan’s house was exactly what you expected—spacious, neat, and just a little too perfect, as if even in his personal space, he was still playing the role of the ever-composed student council representative.

The only thing out of place was the blanket draped over the couch and the scattered tea cups on the coffee table. A telltale sign he’d been holed up here all day.

"You can sit" he said, setting the cake box on the table and opening it. "Or are you worried that being in my house will ruin your reputation?"

You rolled your eyes but dropped onto the couch anyway, arms crossed. "I should be worried. Who knows what kind of weird rumors would start if someone found out I was here?"

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully, slicing into the cake "Hmm… perhaps I should start one myself. ‘The notorious troublemaker personally came to nurse the student council representative back to health.’ That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"

"Try it and see what happens."

He only chuckled, placing a slice of cake in front of you before picking up his own fork. "So? What made you come all this way? Guilt? Concern?"

"Annoyance" you muttered, stabbing your fork into the cake. "Someone always acts so smug and untouchable, but then the moment he gets sick, he just disappears? How irresponsible."

"So you were worried about me."

"Don’t read too much into it. I just didn’t want to deal with an overworked student council president collapsing in the middle of the hallway next week."

He laughed, "I see, I see. You’re really bad at hiding when you care about someone, you know?"

You nearly choked on your cake. "Excuse me? Care?"

"Mm. But that’s alright. I don’t mind being the only one who notices."

You shoved another bite of cake into your mouth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jing Yuan only smiled, content to watch you squirm.

The rumors spread faster than you expected.

By the time you arrived at school the next morning, hushed whispers followed you through the halls. Some students gave you knowing looks, others smirked, and a few girls in particular shot you daggers with their eyes.

"Did you hear? They went to his house yesterday." "Brought him cake, too." "So that’s why Jing Yuan doesn’t punish them properly, huh?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Unbelievable."

Still, you ignored it and went about your day. It wasn’t like you cared what people thought. If they wanted to waste their time gossiping, that was their problem, not yours.

By the time you were cleaning the student council room’s windows—an extra task Jing Yuan oh-so-kindly assigned you—the whispers had faded into background noise. You barely noticed when the door opened and a girl walked in.

But you did notice when something cold splashed against your back, soaking through your uniform in an instant.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you flinched, the shock of icy water running down your spine making you shiver. You turned sharply, already scowling, only to find a girl—one of the ones who’d been glaring at you all morning—standing there with an empty bottle in her hand. Her expression was a mix of satisfaction and barely concealed jealousy.

"You think you’re special, don’t you?" she sneered. "Just because Jing Yuan lets you do whatever you want?"

You exhaled slowly, controlling your irritation. "Seriously?" You glanced down at your soaked uniform, then back at her. "Real mature."

She huffed, arms crossed, clearly expecting you to yell, fight back, or maybe even run out embarrassed.

But you weren’t that kind of person.

Instead, you turned to the table where Jing Yuan’s tea sat, still warm in its delicate cup. Without hesitation, you picked it up.

And in one swift motion, you poured it over her head.

The girl shrieked as the liquid soaked into her hair and dripped down her face. It wasn’t scalding hot, but it was warm enough to be uncomfortable, and the sheer audacity of your retaliation left the entire room in stunned silence.

"You—you freak!" she sputtered, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. "You’ll pay for this!"

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out, still dripping tea.

You set the empty cup back on the table with a satisfied smirk. "Fair’s fair."

Before anyone could say anything, Jing Yuan—who had been watching the whole scene from his desk, absolutely delighted—cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I should excuse you early. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold from your tragic accident."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, already heading for the door.

The next morning, the girl arrived at school early, long before the hallways filled with students. She moved quietly, sneaking into the classroom where your belongings were kept. Her eyes landed on your locker, and a smirk curled on her lips.

"Let’s see how untouchable you really are."

She fiddled with the lock, slipping a thin piece of metal into the mechanism. It wasn’t perfect, but she had been planning this—maybe to hide your things, maybe to ruin them. Either way, she never got the chance.

"Now, what do we have here?"

The girl froze. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she slowly turned her head.

Jing Yuan stood by the doorway, looking completely at ease—like he hadn’t just caught her red-handed.

"I—I was just—"

"No need for excuses" he said smoothly, stepping forward. "I do appreciate the effort, though. It takes a certain level of confidence to openly mess with someone’s locker the day after getting publicly humiliated."

Her face burned with embarrassment. "I wasn’t—"

Jing Yuan sighed, tilting his head. "But, you know… revenge is such a fickle thing." His smile sharpened. "It never really goes the way you want it to."

Before she could react, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once, then turned it towards her.

A video played. A video of her trying to break into your locker.

"Oops" Jing Yuan drawled. "Seems like security cameras exist. Who would've thought?" He tucked his phone away, expression far too pleased for someone who just caught a crime in progress.

"Are you gonna report me?" she spat.

"Hmm," Jing Yuan hummed, as if considering it. "Tempting. But no, I have a better idea. I think you should apologize."

"What?"

"To Y/N. Properly" he said, "And maybe—just maybe—I won’t have to ‘accidentally’ send this video to the disciplinary committee."

Her face twisted in frustration, but she had no choice. With one last glare, she stormed past him, defeated.

Jing Yuan chuckled, watching her leave.

He glanced back at your locker, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the cold metal. A little revenge on your terms, he mused.

He would have let you handle it yourself—he loved watching you fight your own battles. But every once in a while, he liked to remind people exactly who they were messing with.

----

You stood at Jing Yuan’s doorstep again, this time with a deep sigh and a stack of paperwork balanced in your arms.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

The only reason you were even here was because he requested it—something about needing assistance since he was still "recovering." You wanted to refuse, really, but if there was a chance this would lift your punishment sooner, you'd deal with it.

With another sigh, you knocked on the door. It only took a moment before it swung open, revealing a woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile.

"Oh! You must be Y/N!" she beamed. "Jing Yuan told me you'd be coming by."

"Uh… yeah. I’m just here to drop off his paperwork."

"How responsible of you! Please, come in," she said, stepping aside. "You must be tired from carrying all that."

You hesitated but stepped inside. The warmth of the house was comforting, the scent of home-cooked food lingering in the air.

As you walked in, you noticed another presence—a man seated in the living room, flipping through a book. He barely spared you a glance.

You gave a polite nod. "Good evening, sir."

He acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head but said nothing.

His mother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

"Ah, it’s so nice to finally meet you properly!" she said cheerfully as she led you towards the stairs. "Jing Yuan talks about you, you know."

That made you stop mid-step. "…He what?"

"Oh, just little things," she giggled. "It’s rare for him to show interest in someone outside of council work, so I was curious!"

You had no idea what to do with that information. Before you could respond, she gestured up the stairs.

"He’s in his room. Feel free to scold him for being lazy while you’re at it."

"Trust me, I was planning to."

With that, you climbed the stairs, still reeling from the conversation.

Jing Yuan, talking about you? What was that supposed to mean?

You took a steadying breath as you reached the top of the stairs. Doesn’t matter. Just drop off the paperwork, scold him for being lazy, and get out.

He was lounging on his bed, hair slightly tousled, dressed in a loose sweater and sweatpants.

"Ah, my favorite troublemaker has arrived" he drawled. "And here I thought I’d have to suffer in solitude."

You scowled, stepping in and dropping the heavy stack of paperwork onto his desk with a thud. "You wouldn’t be suffering if you actually did your work at school instead of dumping it on me."

He laughed, stretching his arms above his head like a lazy cat. "That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?"

"Excuse me?"

He sat up, leaning his chin on his palm, watching you with amusement. "I did say I’d help lessen your punishment. Consider this an opportunity to earn my favor."

"Unbelievable."

He gestured lazily toward the chair by his desk. "Sit. You might as well stay for a bit. My mother already adores you, and my father—well, he’s not the type to dislike anyone without reason."

"I don’t want to stay."

"But you haven’t left yet."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve dumped the papers and walked out, but you didn’t.

You clicked your tongue. "Fine." You plopped into the chair, arms still crossed.

As the minutes passed, you found yourself settling in despite yourself. His room was surprisingly cozy.

----

Again, whispers, accusations. The same kind of trouble you usually got into, but this time, it wasn’t you.

A mess of scattered files in the teacher’s lounge. Graffiti on the back wall of the school. The fire alarm going off twice in one day.

And somehow, every single time, your name was the first one on everyone’s lips.

"It has to be them, right? Who else causes this much chaos?" "Guess they finally snapped." "Jing Yuan’s been too soft on them. Maybe this time they’ll actually get expelled."

At first, you rolled your eyes at the rumors. It wasn’t the first time people assumed the worst of you, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But then the principal got involved.

And suddenly, you were standing outside the office, arms crossed as you stared down the teachers demanding an explanation.

"How many times do I have to say it?" you snapped. "It wasn’t me."

The principal sighed, rubbing his temples. "The evidence says otherwise. You have a history, Y/N. Even if you didn’t directly cause these incidents, you must have influenced someone who did."

Just as you opened your mouth to argue, a calm voice interrupted.

"I can vouch for them."

You turned your head.

Jing Yuan stood there, expression smooth and unreadable, golden eyes carrying that familiar laziness—except now, it felt deliberate.

"As student council president, I would’ve noticed if Y/N was behind these incidents" he continued, "I don’t believe they were involved."

The principal hesitated. "Jing Yuan—"

"If anything, I personally will take responsibility for watching over them" Jing Yuan added, smiling slightly. "To make sure this… pattern doesn’t continue."

The principal sighed. "Fine. But if anything else happens, I won’t be as lenient."

----

At first, it was just a feeling.

A gnawing doubt at the back of your mind when Jing Yuan vouched for you so easily, so perfectly. It should have been a relief, but instead, it unsettled you.

The timing. The rumors. The way everything fell apart just enough to put you in trouble—but not enough to actually ruin you.

You started watching more closely.

And slowly, the pieces came together.

A student mentioning they saw someone suspiciously near the fire alarm, but their memory was foggy. A janitor complaining about files being scattered but swearing the door was locked. A teacher muttering about how it was strange that the cameras near the graffiti just happened to malfunction.

And then there was Jing Yuan.

Always nearby.

The realization hit you like ice water down your spine.

He did this.

Not just for amusement. Not just because he could.

He did it to keep you by his side.

And that led to now—standing in an empty classroom, heart pounding as Jing Yuan leaned lazily against the teacher’s desk.

"You’ve been awfully busy lately" he mused, arms crossed. "Looking into things that don’t concern you."

"Don’t give me that. I know what you did."

"And what exactly do you think I did?"

"You set me up." The words felt heavy on your tongue. "The rumors, the ‘pranks,’ all of it. You wanted me to be isolated. You wanted—"

"You."

"I told you before, didn’t I?" He stood up, took small steps toward you "I noticed you. And I wasn’t going to let anyone else have the chance."

You took a step back. "This is insane."

"Is it? Or is it just the only way to make sure you stay where you belong?"

Your back hit the wall.

"You have two choices" he said. "Either you decide to stay with me—"willingly"—or…"

"I’ll have to dirty my hands."

"Not that it would matter" he continued, "No one would believe you anyway. Who would they trust—the troublemaker, or the beloved student council rep?"

You knew the answer.

"You’re in your rebellious stage" he mused, tilting his head like he was merely observing you, not actively cornering you. "That’s fine. I expected as much."

"Expected?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, stepping back slightly—just enough to give you space to breathe but not enough to release you from his grasp. "Of course. You’re stubborn, after all. You wouldn’t just listen to me so easily."

"And what? You think I’ll just give in?"

"No, not yet. But I will give you a choice."

"You have two options. Option one," he held up a single finger, "you get first place in the entire grade. Not just top ten. Not just top five. Number one." His lips curled slightly. "Prove yourself to be better than every single student in this school, and I’ll—hmm, let’s say—I’ll consider leaving you alone."

Your brows furrowed. "What kind of—"

"Or." He cut you off, raising a second finger. "You don’t. And I’ll make sure we’re stuck together forever."

"That’s not a choice."

Jing Yuan smiled, "Of course it is. You could try for number one. It’s difficult, but not impossible. You’re smart, after all. I know that better than anyone. Or, you could stay just as you are. My troublesome, reckless, irreplaceable Y/N."

He tilted his head. "Either way, I win."

He was serious. No, more than that—he was certain.

"You’re insane."

"I’ve been called worse. So? What will you do?"

The days blurred together into an exhausting cycle—punishment duty in the morning, classes in the afternoon, and late nights spent drowning in textbooks.

You never thought you’d willingly care about school rankings, but Jing Yuan left you no choice. If you wanted him out of your life, you had to claim the number one spot.

And that was easier said than done.

You weren’t stupid—far from it. But competing against students who had spent years aiming for the top was another level of difficulty. Some subjects weren’t a problem, but others…

You stared at your notes, rubbing your temples. Your punishment work had already drained most of your energy—cleaning, running errands for teachers, fixing up the mess he set you up for. And now you were stuck on a ridiculously complicated problem that refused to make sense.

Your pencil hovered over the page.

Then, against your better judgment, you pulled out your phone.

[You]: I need help with something.

It didn’t even take a minute before the response came.

[Jing Yuan]: Oh? Has my dear troublemaker finally come to their senses?

[You]: Shut up. Do you want to help or not?

[Jing Yuan]: Of course. Anything for you.

A few minutes later, you found yourself seated across from him in the library, your book spread open between you. Jing Yuan looked entirely too pleased with the situation.

"You know" he mused, "you could always just let me help you in other ways."

You shot him a glare. "No. I’m doing this myself."

He chuckled, twirling his pen between his fingers. "How stubborn." Then, with an easy smile, he reached over, tapping the textbook. "Alright, alright. Let’s start here."

Despite his infuriating personality, Jing Yuan was a good teacher. His explanations were smooth, his patience unwavering, and—most annoyingly—he somehow made things click faster than when you studied alone.

But you also knew he was using this as an opportunity to chip away at you.

"You know" he said at one point, watching you scribble down notes, "you’re pushing yourself too hard."

You didn’t look up. "I have to."

"Do you? If you’re struggling this much, wouldn’t it be easier to—"

"Not happening."

Jing Yuan sighed dramatically. "I’m only saying you don’t have to go through all this suffering alone. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who can take care of everything for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You taking care of things is the reason I’m in this mess."

He laughed. "Fair point."

But as the session went on, you felt yourself slipping—just slightly.

Because he made it so easy to rely on him.

And that was dangerous.

When the results were finally posted, you could hardly breathe.

You pushed through the murmuring crowd, scanning the rankings with a pounding heart.

"Second."

Your name sat mockingly in the number two spot.

You clenched your fists. You were so close. After all the sleepless nights, the studying, the exhaustion—

It wasn’t enough.

And you knew exactly what that meant.

A familiar voice hummed behind you.

"Oh dear," Jing Yuan said, peering over your shoulder. "So close."

You turned to glare at him. He was smiling—of course he was. That calm, patient smile that always meant he knew something you didn’t.

"You planned this" you accused.

Jing Yuan tilted his head, amused. "Now, now. I did encourage you to aim higher. It’s not my fault you fell just short of the mark."

Your nails dug into your palms. "You rigged this."

"Did I? Or did you simply underestimate the challenge?"

Your chest burned with frustration. But before you could retort, Jing Yuan leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a soft murmur.

"Regardless," he whispered, "a deal is a deal, isn’t it?"

Jing Yuan straightened, his expression entirely too pleased. "Looks like you’re stuck with me after all."

You had tried. Really tried.

And yet—he won.

Jing Yuan extended a hand, as if waiting for you to take it.

"So," he murmured, "what will you do now?"

If you were stuck with Jing Yuan, then fine.

But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

Your first act of revenge was harmless—switching the sugar in his tea with salt. You watched as he took a sip during lunch, his expression barely changing, except for the slightest quirk of his brow.

Then, he smiled.

"Salty, hm?" he mused, setting his cup down. "How bold of you."

You scowled. He barely reacted.

So you stepped it up.

Loosening the screws on his chair just enough that when he leaned back, it nearly collapsed under him. Nearly. Because, of course, he caught himself, laughing under his breath as he glanced at you.

"Trying to kill me already?" he teased. "How cruel."

You didn’t stop.

You left fake love letters in his locker. Spread a rumor that he had a secret admirer. Stole his favorite pen right before an important meeting.

And yet—no matter what you did, Jing Yuan took it all in stride, as if he expected it. As if he enjoyed it.

Your frustration peaked one afternoon when you "accidentally" swapped his neatly written notes with a stack of completely useless doodles.

He flicked through them with mild amusement, then looked up at you.

"Do you think this will make me let you go?"

"Because if anything, it just makes me want to keep you closer."

This wasn’t working. No matter what you did, he remained unshaken.

If anything—

He was enjoying it.

It was time to change tactics.

If pranks and small annoyances didn’t faze him, then maybe something else would. Something that would actually get under his skin.

So, when your friend—someone completely uninvolved in the chaos of your life—offered to hang out after school, you took it a step further.

"Let’s fake date."

Your friend blinked. "What?"

"Just in public," you said quickly. "Just enough to make someone mad."

They raised a brow. "Someone?"

You didn’t answer.

And that’s how you found yourself walking down the street, laughing a little too loudly, leaning in just enough to make it look intimate. Your friend played along, nudging your shoulder, whispering things that weren’t remotely romantic but would look like it from an outsider’s perspective.

And, of course—

Jing Yuan was watching.

You felt it before you even saw him. When you finally glanced over, he was there.

His golden eyes were locked onto you.

And in that moment, you realized—

You had seriously messed up.

Your friend was still talking, still playing along, but you couldn’t focus. Your pulse quickened as Jing Yuan started walking toward you.

Step by step.

He stopped just a few feet away, gaze flicking lazily between you and your so-called "date."

"I wasn’t aware you had such… interesting tastes, Y/N."

Your friend tensed beside you.

"We’re just—"

Jing Yuan raised a hand, stopping you.

"You’re testing me," he murmured, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. "How cute."

Jing Yuan took another step forward, forcing you to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

"But tell me, Y/N…" His smile widened. "How far are you willing to go?"

You knew it was reckless. Dangerous, even. But if Jing Yuan wanted to play mind games, then fine—you’d play, too. So, without breaking eye contact, without hesitating for even a second—

You turned to your friend and pressed a kiss to their cheek.

It was brief, barely anything, but it was enough.

You felt your friend tense under your touch, caught between confusion and amusement, but you didn’t look at them. You didn’t need to.

Because all your focus was on him.

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes shifted.

For the first time, you saw the cracks in his carefully controlled mask.

And that’s when you knew—

You had won this round.

Or so you thought.

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, stepping even closer, until there was barely any space left between you. Your friend stiffened beside you, clearly sensing something off, but neither of you dared to move.

"You really shouldn’t have done that....But don’t worry… I’ll make sure you never feel the need to do it again."

And with that, he stepped back, flashing you one last unreadable smile before turning on his heel and walking away.

Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering, as you realized—

You may have just made things worse.

You stopped going to school.

At first, it wasn’t intentional. You had skipped one day to clear your head, to shake off the lingering weight of his presence.

But then one day turned into two. Then three. Then a full week.

And you realized���

You didn’t have to go back.

Expulsion? Detention? Consequences? You didn’t care anymore. If staying away meant being free from him, then so be it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe.

Until the knocking on your front door shattered that illusion.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

And yet, when you finally swung the door open, Jing Yuan was standing there.

"You’ve been absent, I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"What do you want?"

Jing Yuan sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I came to deliver a message."

"What message?"

"Your friend."

Your breath caught.

"They got into a little accident yesterday," he mused. "Nothing too serious, of course. Just a little… fall."

Your fingers clenched around the doorframe. "You’re lying."

"Am I?" His gaze was unwavering. "You would know if you had been there."

Jing Yuan leaned in further, "Do you really think disappearing will make me forget about you?"

"I don’t mind waiting" he murmured. "But if you keep running…"

"…I might have to start pulling more people into this."

"You wouldn’t—"

Jing Yuan chuckled, straightening up. "Wouldn’t I?"

"I’ll see you at school tomorrow."

Just as you were about to slam the door shut, a hand shot out, stopping it effortlessly.

Your breath hitched as Jing Yuan stepped forward, closing the distance in one smooth motion. Before you could react, before you could even breathe, he leaned in—

And pressed a kiss to your cheek.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

"Consider that my payback"

"You—"

"No need to look so flustered. You started this, didn’t you? See you tomorrow... And don’t be late."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there.

The next morning, you found yourself walking through the school gates because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you knew. You had lost this game long ago. And when you reached the student council room, pushing the door open, Jing Yuan was already there, waiting—smiling like he knew you’d come. Like he had never once doubted it. As if every struggle, every rebellion, every desperate attempt to escape had only led you right back to him.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if you had walked in on your own—or if he had guided you here all along.

[nanenna]

Playing with the timeline a little, and costumes, and everything really. So... you know... #canon divergence

---

Robin, the Robin of Batman and Robin fame, was lounging on a pile of pillows and blankets that Danny’s pretty sure were mostly stolen from other rooms in the keep, he recognizes the fur blanket as something Frostbite had gifted him specifically. No, not important. “Why is Robin here?” Danny looked over at the skeletons that were gathered around, one holding a plate with food on it.

Where did they get normal human food? Was that one of his sacrifices? Danny wanted to eat that!

No wait, not important. The skeletons were all staring at him with wide sockets, he could practically hear their bones rattling.

Robin stood up from his plush nest. “Are you… the ghost king’s secretary?” he asked skeptically.

Danny’s lips thinned, probably best to just stick with the truth for now. “No.” He turned back to the skeletons, “Okay, no one’s in trouble, you guys did the best you could. But new rule, from now on any live sacrifices need to be reported to me immediately.”

The skeletons all nodded and then gathered around Danny so he could reach up and pat them all on the head, they rattled their bones in happiness. Danny grabbed the plate of food, a steak with a loaded baked potato and roasted veggies for sides of all things, and carried it over to his desk. “Oh nice, someone really wants to get on my good side.” He set the plate on the desk’s corner and started sorting through the notes to find the request attached to it.

Robin hesitantly followed Danny to his desk. “Are you the ghost king?”

Danny heaved a sigh, “Unfortunately. I tried to get out of it, but it was me or Plasmius and the last thing anyone needs is to give him any power at all.” Danny frowned at the note that went with the steak dinner. “Ugh, gross, no.” He pulled out his stationary and quickly wrote “No.” on a sticky note and sent it on its way.

“Who… nevermind, not what I’m here for.”

“Right,” Danny agreed, he really didn’t want to explain the intricacies (or lack thereof) of Realms politics to Robin. “Where’s the note that came from whoever sacrificed you?” Danny hadn’t found it yet in the pile on his desk, which was weird.

“Oh uh… that was me.”

Danny looked up at Robin, who was staring Danny dead in the eyes. “What?”

“I sacrificed myself.”

Danny could not possibly have heard that right, that made no sense! “What????”

“Well I wasn’t going to go sacrifice some innocent person just to get your attention,” Robin snapped before softening his voice and adding on, “your majesty.”

It seemed Danny had heard right. But still: what?! “Who would… why! Do you have any idea?! Did you even know who I am?!”

“Pariah Dark, tyrant-”

Danny shoved a gloved hand into Robin’s face, “No, ew. I am not Pariah Dark, and you’re very lucky he’s not the king anymore. Ancients!” He left his hand in Robin’s face as he took a moment to try to gather his thoughts into something a bit more coherent. “Okay, let’s just… start from the beginning I guess. Why did you sacrifice yourself to the ghost king?”

Robin shoved Danny’s hand out of his face, “Batman was killed by Darkseid-”

“What?! No way!” Danny grabbed Robin’s hand and started dragging him out of the room. “That whole thing was a few months ago now, right? Not long after I had to go through that stupid coronation and was still getting used to things.”

“I don’t know when you were coronated.”

“Not important, the important thing is I’m pretty sure the whole world would know if Batman died. Or least everyone would be gossiping about him going missing.”

“Oh, so news of the battle hasn’t gotten out of Gotham.”

“What battle?”

“Not important,” Robin said dismissively with a wave of his free hand.

And well, they had arrived at the archives, so Danny shifted his focus to navigating the many tall shelves laid out in some kind of book labyrinth with a sorting system that only made sense to the lunatic that designed it. Or maybe it made sense in their native language, it certainly wasn’t alphabetical in English. He took Robin down a corridor that was actually a dead end, a huge book on a pedestal enshrined in its own little section. “Alright, this is the ledger of the dead.” Danny let go of Robin’s hand and started flipping through it.

“Oh,” was all Robin said, staring down at it in… some kind of emotion. It was hard to tell with most of his upper face hidden by a mask.

“Batman… Batman… Batman… yup, not here. See? Batman’s not dead.”

“First of all, he’d probably be under his real name. Second of all, I already knew that. If you’d let me finish explaining…”

Danny sighed, “Alright, explain then.”

“Everyone else believes Batman’s dead, but I know he isn’t. I found evidence he’s lost in time and I need help getting him out before something awful happens.”

“Sorry, not my domain.”

“What?”

“Not my domain, I’m the ghost king, not the time king.” Danny crossed his arms and raised a brow at Robin.

“But the book said you have access to every era and every dimension.”

“More accurately the Realms as a whole does, but I’m not in charge of the Realms, I’m in charge of the ghosts. It’s all political stuff, making laws, collecting taxes, stopping the various groups from going to war against each other, that sort of thing.”

“Taxes?”

“Only two guarantees, death and taxes. Or however that saying goes.” Danny wasn’t sure with his blank expression, but Danny’s pretty sure that one broke Robin’s brain a little. Good, payback and all that. “So sorry about going through all this for nothing, but I’m sure there’s some kind of time god or something you can pray to for help.”

“When Batman stops bouncing around time and gets back to now the bomb Darkseid stuck in his is going to go off and destroy the whole world.”

Danny froze, staring at Robin with wide eyes. “Shit.”

Robin nodded solemnly, “Shit.”

“Okay, alright, I can fix this.” Danny ran a hand through his hair and tried not to start giggling hysterically. “Good news, I know who to go to for help.” Danny grabbed Robin’s hand and started dragging him again, Robin seemingly happy to go along.

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[cuteandhughesy]

Congratulations on 1k followers!! It’s so deserved!

Id like to request prompts 32 + 41 with Quinn Hughes. Maybe with insecure reader ~~<3

prompt no.32: “did I stutter?” + prompt no.41: “you’re it for me.”

dating a professional athlete wasn’t for the faint of heart—that much you’ve learned in the past 7 months of being in that very position.

other wags has warned you about the fans and reporters. how boundaries will always be crossed, and even through your man is the one in the spotlight, it feel like you too are under a microscope. jealous girls will pick you apart, commenting on your weight and appearance and what colour lipstick you wear until you’re doubting yourself.

nosy reports will comment on how you treat your man. are you cooking for him? making sure his laundry is done? cheering loud enough to look supportive but not loud enough to be heard. they’ll reprimand you if you speak out or speak up for what you believe in if it doesn’t align with your views.

they’ll call you a gold digger if you don’t work, but if you do have a career, you’re selfish for not devoting all your time to your man.

look right.

act right.

perfect yourself.

at first you didn’t think much about it. for the first few months of dating vancouver canucks captian quinn hughes, it was private. soft launches that had fans knowing, but not enough proof to label what the two of you were to another. but as you got more comfortable, so did the hockey world.

girls would leave awful comments on your pictures and send you cruel messages—you’re not skinny enough, or pretty enough for quinn. you dress like a slut or sometimes you dress like a prude. you look like a bitch. you’re only dating quinn for the paycheque—even worse, you’re only dating quinn as a stepping stone for his brothers.

you tried to ignore all the negativity—from awful fans and sports blogs that have nothing better to do than comment on you—and focus on the positive comments. but even that proved to be difficult.

it started to take a toll on you, and quinn noticed. at first he waited. he didn’t want to push you into talking about something that made you uncomfortable. quinn wanted you to come to him and/or let you work it out on your own. it’s not that he didn’t care, but he knew you were strong and determined, and he knew you didn’t care about strangers opinions.

until you did start to care.

it’s almost midnight as you stand at quinn’s bathroom vanity, slowly massaging moisturizer into your skin as quinn steps out of the shower behind you. smoothly he wraps a fluffy towel around his hips, water trickling down his chest as he makes his way over to you.

you smile at him through the mirror, but it doesn’t meant you eyes. quinn’s lips tug down, pressing his warm chest against your sleep shirt covered back as he brings you into his arms.

you sigh as he starts kissing your neck. there’s no hurriedness to them, or an underlying desire, but instead the kisses or soft—intimate—and reassuring.

you gnaw on your lip, head falling back against his shoulder. “feels nice,” you whisper into the steamy bathroom. quinn doesn’t answer you, his hand slipping up your thigh and under your t-shirt, fingers skimming higher and higher up your body—feeling you. your lower half becomes more and more exposed, and your eyes narrow in on your bare skin like second nature.

thighs with imperfections that you haven’t shaved in a week.

when was the last time that bitch got a wax? poor quinn is with a beast.

your lower belly, protecting your uterus but bulging out in a way that creates a bump.

is she pregnant? she looks pregnant

your hands, hanging limp at your sides.

he’ll never put a ring on a girl who looks like that.

your breathe catches, body tensing in quinn’s hold. he pauses, raising his head from your neck and catching your eyes in the mirror. expect you’re not looking at him, but yourself.

“hey,” he starts softly, spinning you around in his hold, giving you no choice but to look at him. “what’s wrong honey?”

your lip trembles, “nothing.”

his palms slide up to your face, holding your cheeks in his gentle hands. quinn tilts your head back, just enough so that you can’t hide away by looking at the floor. his thumbs stroke your cheeks smoothly, a frown on his face. he doesn’t believe you for a second.

“it’s not nothing,” quinn says, “is it something online?”

shock registers across your face. you never told quinn about what’s happening on social media and nasty comments, mostly because you were too embarrassed to admit that it was bothering you. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

quinn’s intense gaze doesn’t falter, and neither does the soothing movement along your face. you sniffle, “it’s just…” you trail off, “am I pretty enough?” you ask after a beat, voice timid and seeking as you blink up at quinn.

“are you pretty enough?” he repeats, brows pulling tightly together in confusion. “of course you’re pretty enough. you’re more than just enough?”

“but like-“

“did I stutter?”

you blink. despite his reassurance, you can’t help the wave of insecurity that’s rushes through you. when hundreds of people all comment on your appearance, negative and condescending, over and over again, you can’t help but start to believe it.

and quinn knows what it’s like being put on a pedestal only to meet others high expectations. then getting slashed down, degraded and belittled like some toy. it’s awful, but that’s just about his game. he can’t even imagine something commenting on your appearance, knowing you can’t change it.

“they say i’m not good enough for you,” you tell him after a beat, picking at your own hands absentmindedly like a nervous tick. even hearing yourself say those things makes you shiver.

quinn shakes his head, pressing a soft long kiss to your forehead. “don’t ever believe that for a second,” he says, lips brushing your skin, “you’re it for me, okay?” 

and somehow that’s enough.

—

(unedited)

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

•~{ Heyyy, So I just watched the one Weeping Angel episode of Doctor Who and my brain will not shut the hell up so there’s my attempt to shut it up }~•

•Stone Angel•

Young Justice is in a forest.

They have just finished a mission report and were on their way to get some food so they were not in their hero gear and it was supposed to be normal but hero’s lives can never be normal can they.

As they were walking down the street they heard yelling and then a portal opens up under him and drags them in and the everything goes black for the group.

In who knows how long the group wakes up In a dark forest and start trying to come up with a plan but with the sun almost down it would be better if they find shelter as they don’t know what kind of animals live in this forest.

So they start walking and talking about what they should do and how to get in touch with their mentors and that’s when they hear it, it was just the simple sound of a branch snapping nothing new in a forest like this but as they looked to where the branch snapped that’s when they saw it.

A large figure at least 10-11 feet tall but they were unable to see it clearly as it was covered in shadows but the YJL didn’t have time to ask questions because as soon as the figure noticed that they saw them it started to run at them in a inhuman way and they started to run for their life.

Thankfully as they were young hero’s they could run faster then a normal person would but with the figure hat on their tail it was only a matter of time to see who started to slow down first and than they saw it.

A castle it looks very old but at least they would be anyway from the thing so they started to run even fast and they were almost there! that’s when Kon saw them, it was a person they were laying by a large pond and with how the figure reacted to them well it wouldn’t be good, So Kon dashes over to the person and grabs them and books it back to the now open gates with his team yelling for him to run and that’s when Tim pulls him in and they shut the gate with all of them inside..

What that thing was….

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W took Danny.

Wait let’s go back a bit, Danny with Jazz and told his parents everything from the accident to being Phantom and they were horrified that they were shooting at their son and they immediately start to make all of their weapons ignore Danny and throw out all of their connections with the G.I.W.

But Danny still has to deal with ghost that come from the portal and his parents can’t help with and that’s when the G.I.W grab him after giving him a shot of sedatives to knock him TF out for a while.

After about 5 months the Fentons find where the G.I.W have been keeping Danny and when they find him he is on the verge of fully dying but luckily Danny’s core turns Danny into stone for his own sake but right now the Fentons grab Danny and book it out of there (and kill a few agents but Danny doesn’t need to know) and they call Clockwork to ask him what they should do and if he can help Danny.

And Clockwork says that with the G.I.W still around it’s not safe for Danny to be on this world and Clockwork can take him somewhere safe but Danny will never be able to come back so with some sad goodbyes Danny and Clockwork head into the portal and the Fentons destroy the portal behind them.

But with Clockwork being the Ancient Of Time he wouldn’t be able to care for Danny in the way he needs so Clockwork can’t take care of him so he looks around to see someone that owes him a favor or two and that he also knows will not betray him and he was have no luck until he remembered one of his most powerful allies that who’s him a favor.

The Ancient Of The Wilds.

They would probably be open to taking care of Danny so Clockwork try’s it and brings Danny to them and it goes well and They taking Danny from him and brings him to a old castle that is in their lair.

And that how we get here.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The reason that Danny’s core turned him into stone was a core is like a persons instincts to protect themselves but for ghost it’s more powerful

•Danny likes to stay by the pond because when he is stone he is kinda in this almost asleep mode and he likes to hear the birds and water

•All of Danny clothes, and jewelry are from a room inside of the castle

•The Deer Bone Headed Being and Danny are chill as hell with each other

•Danny likes to make The Deer Bone Headed Being aquatic flowers when his spot is shaded by the large trees

•Danny’s favorite time is when it gets colder as the sun goes down so much faster and he and The Being can hang out more

•With Danny being Stone most of the time it takes a while for his legs to start working again so the being just carries him around most of the time

•Danny’s legs is fine it’s just that the muscles still think that they are stone most of the time 

•It looks creepy as hell when Danny turns back from Stone and it also makes it look like a curse 👀

•The Deer Bone Headed Being is just trying to get Danny back to his spot by or in the pond before the sun rises and They are turned to stone / Forced back in the woods

•This is a horror/Paranormal story to YJL and they have to protect this clearly cursed person and Danny just confused about who these kids are and why are they so protective of him??

•Danny is well over 120 years old by the time the YJL find him

•Danny just calls the Deer Bone Headed Being “Runes” as it was the first thing they said that Danny could understand

•The kids do not know that as soon as Danny touches light he starts to turn to stone

•Danny knows that Runes hates it when other people are in the castle/forest so he says that but YJL wildly misunderstands it lol

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

[Anything that Danny is wearing also turns into stone until the sun goes down]

[and here is what I’m thinking Runes looks like]

•~{And that’s it! Hope this shuts up the brain lol anyway until next time you gremlins!}~•

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning. 

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold. 

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals. 

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again. 

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching. 

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good. 

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving. 

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good. 

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself. 

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed. 

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate. 

Which led me to another question for Grace. 

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight. 

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up. 

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.” 

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players. 

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence. 

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines. 

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.” 

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes. 

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.” 

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect. 

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

 He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway. 

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth. 

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing. 

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” 

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?” 

I wish I knew.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[sophiesalacia]

when i was in high school i was a bit of a mess. undiagnosed adhd and autism and everything really, extremely depressed for reasons i wouldn't understand for another decade or so because i didn't know that i could just be a girl, the whole nine yards. and all of that was reflected in my performance. late and missing assignments, starting projects at 4 am the day they were due, doing homework at lunch and during class and never at home, all propped up so carefully by excellent test scores so that it was invisible to the naked eye. my report cards were exemplary, i got 5s on AP exams, surely there wasnt anything wrong with me right?

i also neglected to turn in my yearbook quote, putting it off until the very last minute because i was so indecisive. i wanted that perfect quote - something that would age well and that i could look back on without cringing, something sharp and cutting enough that my classmates would see how little all of this meant to me, simultaneously something deep and profound enough that they could see there was more to me than met the eye. understandably i was having a difficult time picking one quote to meet all these criteria.

i was very into kurt vonnegut at the time, and as i read through slaughterhouse 5, the phrase "so it goes" started to resonate in my brain (it's rather inevitable, being used over 100 times in the novel). so when the teacher in charge of yearbook club finally hunted me down and exasperatedly demanded a quote from me, i scribbled the phrase and the author's name on a sticky note and handed it to her. my perfect quote.

imagine my shock and horror when the eagerly anticipated yearbooks were distributed and i flipped to my page (the seniors got a full page each for their portrait and quote) only to see... nothing. no quote. just my goofy smile and bad hair looking back at me, and an empty space where a quote should be. presumably the teacher had misplaced the sticky note, or forgotten to give it to the yearbook club, or someone in the club had a vendetta, or it was just plain too late by the time they got it. whatever the reason, my quote was left out. i was humiliated, certain that i was the butt of some cosmic joke, too despondent to see the ironic twist of humor to the situation.

looking back now, im not happy that it turned out that way, or sad, or anything else really. it's as if it happened to somebody else, and somewhere along the way he died so that she could start to live.

i don't know if the quote or the lack thereof is a more poignant summation of his existence on this planet. he was unmoored in time, drifting through events as little more than a passive observer, barely present in his own life, until it was over.

i never even bought one of those yearbooks. i didn't see the point then and i don't see the point now. all of that happened to someone else, someone who's dead and gone. he died with purpose so that she could live with meaning. so it goes.

hey yeah sorry i cant hang out any more because i became unst- yeah unstuck in time. yeah itll be an all day thing. so it goes

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers

tw: alcohol, intoxication

It’s always sweltering in this damn restaurant. 

Countless patrons pack themselves tightly into booths and tables throughout the building. Their hands palm at sparkling tabletops as their wine glasses stay full and their food comes out hot, steam wafting behind plates like the smoke plume of a train. You’re unsure how they can smile through the heat that radiates off of their bodies as they stuff their mouths full and chuckle with friends. Suffocating, you wipe the sweat from your brow. It clings to every inch of your body, soaking you as if you’re a drowned cat. 

Despite your discomfort, you perform your job to the best of your ability. Weaving between tables, you lead guests to their seats before racing back to the kitchen to package to-go orders, and you’ve only gotten yelled at once tonight by the waitstaff for incorrectly seating a family of five. 

(And the fight that ensued from Bianca—or, Bee—defending you was only mildly uncomfortable. You still feel the gaze of every patron staring at you as if you’re some poor creature to be doted on.)

Really, tonight is no different from any other night that you work. Things are always semi-chaotic at a restaurant as successful as Sapori—a controlled chaos, as Bruce would remind you—but your pay as hostess is manageable. And they usually turn a blind eye when your hours start to brush close to the fifty mark within a week. You’re glad Bruce pays you under the table for that time. It’s not entirely legal—making money without reporting it to the government—but it helps you when you desperately need it.  

A blind eye—it’s always better this way when you don’t have someone trying to look out for you. 

Except, someone is always looking out for you, which is why you shouldn’t be surprised to find Aelin strutting through the entrance with an obnoxious foam pirate hat on her head. It’s poorly made, and the Jolly Roger design is beginning to peel. Your first instinct is to grab one of the menus and hide your face, but she’s much too perceptive for you to slip away without consequence. You manage to hide away most of your grimace with a smile as she approaches your counter. 

“Ahoy, matey!” she exclaims, though she uses only half of the enthusiasm you know she can muster. 

“I don’t think Jack Sparrow ever said that throughout any of the movies,” you deadpan. 

“Captain Jack Sparrow, mind,” Aelin corrects as she points to her hat. Made for a child, it sits too small on her head and knocked slightly to the side. 

“Right, of course.” 

“I thought you would’ve remembered that better after you oh so ceremoniously dubbed me Sparrow yourself, after him,” she eggs.

“Row,” you correct, “and it was well deserved.” Playfully, Aelin sticks her tongue out at you while she fiddles with the foam hat on her head. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to pick you up,” she responds as if you should already know the answer. 

Just as you open your mouth to question her further, the answer smacks you. Halloween. No wonder why she’s wearing that stupid hat. It all comes back to you—the car ride, your promise to attend the party at Terminus with her; everything. You had agreed to it, and then promptly forgotten about it, which is why you’re nearing hour eleven of your eight hour shift. Had you remembered about your previous promises, you would have gone home a long time ago to recharge before spending the remainder of your exhausting night in a packed nightclub during a holiday. 

“You’re off soon, aren’t you?” Aelin asks as your silence starts to stretch. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you answer as your eyes flicker to the clock on your left. Five to ten. “Just… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.” 

In reality, no amount of preparation can ever truly ready you for any sort of intense social outing, and you dread arriving at the club the entire ride there. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of her car, you find the palms of your hand slick with sweat. No matter how many times you try to wipe it off on your pants, it only seems to be immediately replaced with more perspiration. You’ve been to Terminus a few other times before this, all by request of Aelin, and still it’s not enough to become comfortably familiar. Everything is always too loud, too much, too close. 

But this is Aelin—you’d do anything for her. 

So when you find yourself in the private parking lot outside of the building, you try your best not to complain. It stands several stories tall, a hulking baronial beast that looks like an old storage building turned partyhouse. Foggy windows allow you to catch a glimpse of the sanguine lights flashing within, and you swear you see the panes shake with the beat of the music that bleeds through the stone.

A deep throb begins to gnaw at the soles of your feet and you feel a tension headache bloom by your temples as Aelin leads you to the VIP entrance. The outside area is well maintained with clean stone and well illuminated lights. There are several signs that state overall rules and regulations drilled into walls on either side of the entrance. Still, it’s not enough to hide the half-smoked butts of cigarettes and spilled liquor. In an attempt to quell your nerves, you suck in a deep breath of the cool night air as you remind yourself it can’t get much worse than this. 

Except it does—because it always does. 

You almost don’t recognize the large figure that stands outside of the entrance, but once those dark eyes land on you and you feel that pang rip through your stomach, you know it can’t be anyone other than Simon Riley. His gaze meanders back and forth between you and Aelin. Soft, inquisitive even. He lingers on you for a beat too long as if questioning your appearance like he can’t comprehend why you’re here in a place like this. As if he knows you don’t belong here. 

“Evenin’ ladies,” he casually greets. 

Even if you hadn’t recognized him visually—which would have been an odd feat, considering the sheer size of him—his voice would have been more than enough to jog your memory. You can still feel the way his breath tickled your ear the other night while playing pool. His timbre holds a delicious baritone that you swear can haunt your dreams. 

“Stuck on guard duty tonight, Riley?” Aelin teases. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Simon humors. 

“Shame. Well, Chip and I—” she continues as she tosses an arm around your shoulder to bring you close, “—are going to get wasted.” 

A slight smirk pulls at Simon’s lips. “That so?” he asks playfully. He says it as if he’s tempted to challenge her, but he steps to the side after a beat while gesturing to the open door behind him. “Cheers.” 

There isn’t any time to mutter a thanks before Aelin’s pressing onward, dragging you along with her. 

Walking into Terminus is what you imagine walking into hell feels like. Aptly named, thick air threatens to singe your hair, and you feel your diaphragm screaming as it attempts to suck a breath into your lungs. Countless patrons dance beneath florid lights, and it seems as if Aelin isn’t the only festive one tonight. Many of them wear masks, cheap costumes, or unabashed lingerie. The cheering from the dance floor forces your eardrums to pulse as if you’re listening to the screams of the damned. You swallow as you paw at your left ear—it aches already. 

Aelin yells something at you that isn’t strong enough to cut through the chatting of the crowd. Grimacing, you shake your head. Pointing her finger upwards, you’re vaguely able to read her lips. 

Up top. More room. 

Though the VIP section is usually reserved for smaller groups of people, the second floor is just as suffocating as the bottom. There is slight reprieve to be found in the fresher air and more restricted population, but not much. Aelin makes a beeline to the first bartop she sees, leaving you no choice but to follow along behind her. The bartender glistens beneath purple-toned lights that dance off her body glitter in a hypnotizing way like she’s a fairy lost in some concrete prison. Mirrors line the ceiling above her, so when you look up you’re really looking back down at yourself. Wide eyes, clammy skin, and an aura of exhaustion reflects back at you perfectly.

Once your drinks are filled, Aelin leads you to a private table in the far corner of the floor. It skirts close to the railing of an overhanging balcony that overlooks the dance floor below. Somehow it’s quieter. The speakers are positioned to blast their music toward the bottom floor rather than right in your face, giving you room to breathe through the discordance of the club. Swallowing, you toy with the rim of your cup, running the pad of your finger along the edge while trying to fight off the fatigue that yanks at your legs. 

“Well?” Aelin speaks up expectantly. She poses the word as if she had given you a question to answer, but it’s the first thing that’s been said between the two of you since you took your seats. “How have you been? How have you really been? We weren’t really able to talk the other night with all the other distractions, but I’ve been missing you.” 

“Oh. Well, you know…” you start only for the words to die in your throat. 

It’s never easy answering a question like this—not without lying. How are you supposed to twist your life into something interesting when you’re anything but? All you’ve done for the last few months—no, years—is work. Work, pick up extra shifts, and sleep with whatever free time you manage to scrounge up. Every pence you earn goes towards bills. You’re nothing but a cog in a machine. 

No, the only things worth telling Aelin are the things you can’t speak. You’re not sure your tongue would know how to form the words, but it’s not like this is anything new. You’ve gotten used to dodging the invasive questions. You’ve gotten good at lying. Sometimes you can almost convince yourself that you’re just a very imaginative storyteller rather than the rotten deceiver you truly are.  

Almost. 

“Fine. I’ve been fine. Just… working, mostly,” you excuse. 

“Oh, come on,” Aelin groans. She takes a quick sip of her drink—rum, as she had made sure to point out earlier—before overdramatically leaning back in her chair. Her hat slides to the side of her head, and she fixes it with a huff. “You always say that. It really is just work with you, huh? No redecorating the apartment again or getting excited over new cutlery? No getting out to talk to people?” 

Scoffing, your fingers tap against the table. “I think we both know that getting out is more your thing than mine. As is the excitement over cutlery,” you tease. 

“It could be your thing too if you didn’t ditch me half the time I invite you somewhere,” Aelin counters. As if tasting her own venom, she sighs as she leans forward, face softening like wet porcelain. “I meant what I said the other night. You are worrying me. More than just a little.” 

In order to give yourself some time to think, you raise your cup to your lips. Face contorting into a grimace, your vodka cranberry seems to be nine parts vodka and one part juice, and the brash alcohol tastes worse than cough medicine on your tongue. 

“What’s there to worry about?” you ask while trying to hide your cough. 

Raising an eyebrow, Aelin tosses a few strands of her hair back over her shoulder. “What isn’t there to worry about? I mean, you’re working yourself half to death, I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore—hell, I don’t even think you’ve ever managed to score a boyfriend!”

“I think I’m doing just fine without a partner,” you interject. 

“My point is,” she continues, “I just… I’m… terrified you’re still trying to punish yourself.” 

It’s difficult to believe that a place so full of life can fall so silent. Everything fades to black, leaving you with just a sharp ringing bell and an underwater fuzziness. Normal, the doctors had said. Typical for someone who went through what you did. Absolutely plaguing. There’s nothing you can say in response. Her words stun you because—unlike usual—she sees right through you. Like you’re nothing but the cellophane wrapping on funeral flowers. 

Putting you out of your misery, she continues talking so that you don’t have to. 

“Look, I… I know we’re not really family. It’s not my place to say stuff like this, but it’s… fuck.” Aelin cuts herself off with a slight shake of her head as a nervous chuckle expels past her lips. “I know I never got the chance to know you before… everything. But I look at the way you were back when you lived with John and I, and I look at you now and… it’s, I dunno. And I know that you’ve always been a little quiet, and you like your alone time but this just feels different, you know? Like you’re… pulling away from everyone. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for surviving.” 

It must be the alcohol. Surely. Aelin never talks about the accident, and neither do you. A silent rule settled between the two of you one day where you just stopped talking about it. You’d utter nothing about it when the anniversary came around, or when the events plague your sleep. You tell yourself that you’re quiet about it for her sake but really—you don’t talk about it because you’re certain the contrition will choke you on its way out of your throat. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Aelin continues softly. “For surviving it.” 

You swallow.

“I know.” 

She raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, forcing you to quickly give her a smile before she can chastise you for your sloppy deception. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever not feel guilty about it, Row,” you continue, a bit more truthfully. “It’s something that just… stays with you. I know it’s not my fault, and I’m not trying to self-sabotage or anything but it’s- like- just, some days are harder than others.” 

A bittersweet smile crosses her face as she nods. “Yeah I… I get that. Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? You’ll always have me and John. No matter what.” 

An awkward silence falls after you mutter a rigid thanks, yet everything continues to pulse around you. The music that vibrates the very molecules in the air, the patrons who jump and dance below you like a heaving pile of flesh; it all continues. 

The only thing that changes is the stale scent in the air. 

“Wow, what a way to ruin the fun,” Aelin chuckles. She shakes her head as if she’s physically removing the bad thoughts from her brain as she shakes her cup. “No more sappy talk for the night, I promise. I’m just about empty. Wanna come with me for a refill?” 

Just like Aelin had promised earlier that night, she spends the rest of the evening getting wasted, and it doesn’t take her long to get there. In a matter of hours her speech begins to blend into the mess of noise around you with fits of giggles and heavy slurring. Each step she takes is unsteady. She can hardly hold herself upright as she drags you to a pool table for what she swears will be a quick game. Her inebriation becomes so concerning that you forget all about your discomfort of being trapped in this club. You’re more focused on making sure Aelin doesn’t fall over. 

You consider it a blessing in disguise that you now have something else to focus on other than the prying eyes around you. Aelin seems completely immune to any outside forces as she sloppily leans over the pool table with her stick in hand. Each time she attempts to line up a shot, her hands seem to sway away from the cue as if its weight is suddenly too heavy to carry. This game has gone on for what you swear has been for the last hour; half in part due to you missing your shots, and half in part due to Aelin not being able to stay quiet long enough to focus on hitting anything properly. 

“Stop kicking the table,” she groans. 

“I’m not kicking anything,” you assure. 

“Why’s it vibrating?”

“That would be the music.” 

“The music?” she repeats. 

“Yeah. You know… the bass?” 

Nodding like she’s understood what you’ve said, Aelin makes her shot only to royally flub it, sending the cue ball ricocheting across the far side, nearly pocketing one of your balls instead of hers. You chuckle as she straightens herself up. Surprisingly pleased with herself, she adjusts the crooked pirate hat on her head as she grins at you. 

“Too bad Riley isn’t here to give us some pointers,” she teases. 

There’s something familiar in the tone of her voice that sends a jolt shooting throughout your spine. That familiar, yet confusing heat courses through your veins as you think back to dinner at Aelin’s house. Suddenly, you’re back in that garage. You feel everything; the felt of the pool table against the palm of your hand, Simon’s fingers brushing against yours, his voice rattling your ruined eardrum for all it’s worth…

“He seems busy with work,” you excuse. 

“Yeah?” she taunts. Her grin slowly melts into something hazier at your comment. It’s not quite malicious, yet there’s something oddly devious about it. Like she knows something you don’t. “Shame. You two seemed awfully comfy the other night.” 

You open your mouth to respond just for it to snap back shut. Of course she brings that up. Aelin can be worse than a mother teasing her school aged children about silly crushes, and you’re mortified that she’s doing this in her drunken stupor. Really, there was nothing special at all about what happened that night. Except for maybe the fact that it was the first time in quite some time that a man touched you and it didn’t make your skin crawl. 

“You’re reading too much into it,” you excuse while waving your hand. “He was just being helpful.” 

“You know, you should just date him,” Aelin says as if you had never spoken in the first place. 

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and blink. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” she slurs. “He’s a good guy, really. Quiet, too. Sure you gathered that from the other night. Bit of a smart arse sometimes, but I think you two get on well. He’s like… roughened. Girls like that, yeah? That’s sexy.”

“Row, I don’t think-” 

“And you need someone to look out for you at home, too. Those apartments? Those ones you got for dirt fucking cheap? They’re falling apart at the seams. I wanna kidnap you sometimes and just, like, bring you home. You’re gonna get robbed one of these days.” 

“Really, it’s-” 

“Besides… he seems to be having a much better time following me around now that you’re here,” she huffs. “He never seems this interested when it’s just me.” 

You freeze. There’s nothing but shards of ice in your veins. Your mouth grows sere as you attempt to shake the frost off your shoulders—you’re in too much disbelief to attempt to look around the area for him. Simon—following you? How could you have missed such a thing when he towers over nearly every head in the building? 

“What?” Aelin teases, nodding her head to the area behind you. “You mean you haven’t noticed your little shadow?” 

It’s only then that you brave a glance over your shoulder. Your throat grows tight at the sight of him. He sits at a small gossip table in a chair that’s dwarfed by his size; you’re surprised the wood hasn’t given way beneath him. Long legs stretch out to the side so they’re not awkwardly bent, and he slouches against the back of the chair as if to make himself appear smaller. Luckily, his attention seems to be absorbed by his phone. The screen casts a dull glow on his face, vaguely illuminating the rosy scars that faintly line the bridge of his nose and the corner of his lip. 

You don’t think you could’ve handled it if you had looked back at him just to see him already staring. 

“John likes to send him as a guard dog whenever I come here. Things got a little crazy one time and now he’s gone all scorched earth thinking I’m gonna get assaulted or something,” Aelin explains flippantly. It seems as if she’s given up on your game of pool as her hands playfully bat the balls around like she’s a cat with a roll of yarn. “I promise he’s not being a weirdo. Not on purpose, anyway.” 

Things only start to get worse. Her teasing, her insisting that you try to talk to Simon, her drinking—they only increase. Aelin’s words and insinuations make your mind spin more than the small sips of alcohol you’ve allowed in your system. You stare at her with her glazed eyes and frizzy blonde hair, and your stomach twists like you’ve been stuck with a knife. 

Your only saving grace is John Price. He crawls out of some room a little past one in the morning in an attempt to wrangle his wife in. It’s impossible to talk any sense into her, it seems. Hands on her hips, John tries to prevent her from swaying too much as she giggles. You awkwardly watch from the sidelines as she pulls at his shirt in an attempt to kiss him—you’re jealous at her ability to ignore the crowd around her. Always confident, she acts as if she owns the place. 

In a way—you suppose—she does. 

“Wanna get some fresh air?” 

You don’t realize Simon’s even approached you until his fingertips rest on the pool table in front of you. Blinking, you follow the line of his arm. The wideness of his hand sits like a riverbed for the veins that dance beneath the thin skin. It ends abruptly at the long sleeved shirt he somehow manages to wear despite the stuffy air in the club, and still you continue up along his thick shoulders until you meet his dark eyes. 

Pulling at your left ear, you grimace when the pressure changes. “Huh?” you ask while you twist your right ear toward him to hear better. 

“Some fresh air? Wanna head outside on the terrace?” he asks before chuckling. “Thought we could give the lovebirds over here some alone time.” 

Blinking, you quickly glance back at John and Aelin before answering. They’re still standing there in each other’s arms, swaying and talking to one another. Aelin’s smile is bright as she looks up at him, and John can’t help but grin at her crooked pirate hat. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Outside sounds nice.” 

Simon brings you to the back of the VIP section where a door littered with heavy sharpie graffiti leads you to a terrace. The noise level instantly changes the moment the door shuts behind you. Plenty of patrons mingle about in the cool, fresh air, but their chatter is nothing but a whisper compared to the rush of the music trapped inside. Cold autumn air chills your feverish skin as he guides you beneath a canopy of lights. 

At the end of the terrace lies a thick, metal railing. The cold iron bites through your palm as you grip it and look down at the alleyway below. Just on the other side of the railing, where the ledge juts out against the building, there are pots of flowers. They’re small, waifish little things, but their attar cuts through the dull night air all the same. 

“You smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

He’s on your left again. Sighing, you watch him carefully take out a pack of cigarettes where he beats the bottom of the carton against the palm of his hand. Shaking your head, you turn around so that your back is against the railing, putting Simon on your right side. 

“No,” you say bluntly. 

“Good,” he hums. “Don’t start.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to light the thing and start puffing away. The scent of it cuts through the air, smothering the redolence of the flowers behind you, but you don’t mind. Each time he exhales, he makes sure to turn his head away, blowing the smoke well out of your way. 

“So, Mrs. Price is a pirate. What’re you dressed as?” he asks. 

Chuckling, you stare down at your work uniform. It’s nothing special. Just a plain black dress shirt with the pants to match. There’s a small stain of ranch that haunts the hem of your shirt, but you try not to bring any attention to it as you cross your arms. 

“Oh, uh, a Sapori hostess,” you answer humorously. “Didn’t really have time to change before getting dragged out here.” 

“Sapori,” Simon hums. “Heard that place is pretty fancy.” 

“It’s up there, yeah,” you concur. 

“They pay well?” 

“Thirteen fifty.” 

“Not great.”

You shrug. “It’s enough.” 

A sharp breath cuts through the air as Simon inhales another long drag from his cigarette. The embers at the end dance to life in a bright orange before going cold when he exhales. You feel your head go light as a feather as you watch the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air. 

“What about you?” you ask. “I know you work for John, but like… you know…”

“Security mostly. Makin’ sure people don’t get too rowdy. And whatever odd job he assigns,” he answers. “Usually end up workin’ nights. Same as you, I reckon.” 

“Yeah, though I’m usually off around midnight most nights,” you chuckle, then sigh. “I’d be in bed by now if it wasn’t for Row.” 

“Row?” Simon repeats. 

“Oh, uhm, Aelin.” 

“What’d she do to earn a nickname like that?” 

Your teeth dig into your lip as you smile. “I could tell you, but I think I’d have to kill you afterwards.” 

“Ah, one of those stories,” Simon chuckles. There’s a short pause in the conversation as he finishes off the rest of his cigarette before tossing it to the cement at his feet. He stomps out the embers with the sole of his work boots. “Alright, what about your name then, Chip?” 

A sharp, awkward scoff escapes your lips as you stare at your feet. Reliving the story of your nickname is something you haven’t had to do in a long while, and it feels wrong saying it. Like you need to keep every little thing about yourself hidden, lest someone see how truly pathetic you are. 

“You promise not to make fun of me?” you question. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says facetiously as he leans his elbows on the railing. 

“A while back, Aelin’s grandma invited us over for tea. The cup she gave me was broken on the rim. Like, a perfect slice just missing from it. I was too… I dunno. Nervous, I guess? I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another cup, so I drank out of the broken one the entire time. When Aelin realized, she just laughed at me. Said it was like that little teacup. You know, from Beauty and the Beast? Chip? She’s called me that ever since.” 

A quiet chuckle rattles through Simon’s chest as he turns to face you. It’s deep. Canorous. Without the cigarette between his fingers to distract him, he’s able to give you his undivided attention. His gaze ignites your intestines. Burns your offals until they feel too warm within your skin. You swallow as he blinks at you. 

“Cute,” he murmurs. 

“Riley!” 

Both you and Simon turn at the calling of his name, and it doesn’t take long for either of you to find the source. John marches across the terrace with Aelin stumbling behind him. She’s somehow managed to lose her hat since you last saw her, though she doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it as she throws her arms around you the moment you’re within her reach. 

“You vanished,” she slurs, spiced rum heavy on her breath. 

“I was only gone for a few minutes,” you chuckle. 

“Too long.” 

“Riley,” John repeats again, quieter this time. “Would you take the girls home for me? Don’t want them trying to head home when she’s this… well… Just take her car, since I’m sure you took your bike here, yeah?” 

He hands off a set of keys to Simon, who shakes them around a bit like he enjoys the sound of the jingle. “I’ll take good care of ‘em.” 

Getting Aelin into the car is a difficult task. Swaying worse than a drunken sailor, she nearly sends you tumbling into the back seat after her as she plops her entire body weight while tugging on your arm. Eventually you both are able to settle just in time to watch Simon struggle to get into the driver’s seat. The poor man proves himself to be significantly taller than Aelin, and he somehow manages to bash the side of his head on the roof of the car with a grunt. After some quiet cursing from him—and plenty of merciless giggles from Aelin—he moves the seat back far enough so that he’s not completely scrunched over. 

The moment he ensures both you and Aelin are buckled in the back seat, he takes off through London. 

“This is what you get for being so tall,” she teases. “I mean, really. There’s no reason for anyone to be this tall. What did your mum feed you as a kid?” 

“You know, your husband is only a bit shorter than me,” Simon retorts. His eyes find yours in the review mirror for a split moment before his attention is back on the road. 

“Yeah, but John puts his inches somewhere a bit more important than height,” Aelin teases, low enough for only you to hear. 

Aelin manages to sober up some by the time Simon pulls into the driveway, but only slightly. Rum still taints her breath as she gives you a tight hug and thanks you for coming with her tonight, and she’s unsteady on her feet as she climbs out of the car. Simon keeps his hands up like he’s watching a toddler who can collapse at any moment. Once she’s set, she turns around to look at you where she points a finger in warning. 

“Stay,” she orders as if speaking to a dog. 

Confused, you glance awkwardly at Simon. “Uh… aye aye, captain.” 

After your confirmation, Aelin slams the door shut behind her before allowing Simon to lead her inside the house. It takes her three failed attempts to get the keys into the lock, each punctuated by an array of colorful words. The entryway is shrouded in a thick numbra that disperses when she flicks the lights on, and she confidently struts toward the living room. 

“Simon,” she says, motioning for him to follow her inside. 

Dumbfounded, he listens. Aelin makes it all the way to the living room where she slowly lowers herself onto the sofa with a huff. “Yeah?” 

“I want you to keep an eye on Chip for me,” she hums. 

Simon stiffly crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course.” 

“No,” Aelin whines, “I don’t just mean tonight. Like, after tonight. Keep tabs on her, or something. You’re good at that stuff, aren’t you?” 

Confused, Simon quickly glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find you standing in the entryway. “Is she in trouble?” he asks. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Leaning her head back, Aelin rubs at her eyes as if she can remove the drunken haze that clogs her vision. “It’s difficult to tell with her. She’s really good at keeping things hidden, but I just know something’s wrong. I’d just feel a lot better if you helped keep an eye on her. Especially in that fucking apartment. Simon, I swear, I’m surprised that place hasn’t collapsed yet.” 

“So, you just want me to be her friend?” Simon confirms. 

“Well obviously don’t be a fucking creep about it, but yes. I suppose,” Aelin nods. “And don’t tell her about this, either. And obviously not about… anything else. You know. The business and everything. I know John is strict about that but you really can’t share that with Chip. She just… needs someone in her corner.” 

Nodding, Simon mulls over her request. There are certain things that are expected out of organized syndicates—protection is one of them. When you own the streets, there’s a duty required of that mafia to serve the people who live within the community. He’s lost track of how many heads he’s knocked together in the pursuit of making sure people know the rules. Watching over you would be no different. After all, there’s really only one thing Simon Riley is good at:

Fighting.

“Consider it done.” 

The drive to your apartment is quiet. There’s nothing but the sputtering hum of the engine and the cracks in the road to fill the silence between you and Simon. Every now and then you mutter directions for him to take, but otherwise you’re thankful that he doesn’t spark up any real conversation. With it nearing two in the morning, you doubt you’ll be able to say anything coherent anyway. Instead, he turns up the radio and lets whatever station Aelin last had it on fill the dead air between you two. 

The next thing you know, the car is parked in front of your apartment complex, and Simon is opening the door for you with his hand outstretched. Blinking the weary fatigue from your eyes, you take his hand and allow him to help you out of your seat. He’s so incredibly gentle despite the fact you’re certain he could crush your fingers with a simple squeeze. He shuts the door behind you as you pat your pockets down for your keys. 

“Thank you so much for the ride, Simon,” you say once you have them in hand. 

“No problem,” he replies with a nod. Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheeks as you wait for him to leave, except he doesn’t. It’s not until he glances at the ancient building behind you that you realize he intends to walk you to your door. “Which floor do you live on?” 

Each step that stretches between you and the third floor is grueling in a cruel way. If the lift was fixed, you would have taken it but it’s been out of order for the last two months, no thanks to your less than helpful landlord. Your feet are screaming by the time you make it to your door, and you feel the earth begin to tilt. Your keys slide into the lock with ease, and it takes nothing more thana simple turn of the knob for the door to swing open and reveal your studio apartment. 

It’s nothing special. Peeling wallpaper adorns the walls like crunchy autumn leaves, and its yellow tint is brought out by the lone lamp that sits on the nightstand next to your bed. Messy sheets adorn your mattress where it sits shoved into the corner of the room closest to a lone window, and there’s a single door slightly ajar on the far side of the room revealing a claustrophobic bathroom. The entire apartment is small enough to be a coffin, but the rent is cheap enough to not leave you bankrupt every month. 

Ready to dismiss Simon for the night so you can get some well deserved sleep, you turn to face him only to see his attention has been consumed by your door. Everything in this building is near ancient, but your front door and window are probably the worst. Chipped paint and rusting brass plague the hinges, but he seems more intrigued in the plating on the frame. 

“Find something interesting?” you ask stiffly. 

“More concernin’ than anythin’ else,” he mutters. Thick fingers brush against the old metal plating where he scrapes at the screws holding it in place. “How long ago were these replaced?” 

You shrug. “I have no idea.” 

“I’ll get you new hardware,” he hums, straightening himself up. “Someone could sneeze on the damn thing and it would fall over.” 

A million excuses flood your mind on why he doesn’t need to do that, and you’re certain they would’ve left your mouth if you weren’t so exhausted. Instead of trying to deny his offer, you yawn as your heavy eyes glance towards your bed. 

“Get some rest, yeah?” Simon prompts as he places his hand on the doorknob. 

You turn to face him with a quiet smile, and for a moment you find yourself at a loss for words. The ivory light of the hallway casts a dark shadow on his face, but it’s not enough to smother the soft concern in his eyes. 

“I will. Goodnight, Simon,” you say as a gruff vocal fry seeps into your words. 

Despite his size—tall enough to nearly brush his head against the doorframe and almost just as wide—you don’t feel any fear as you witness him. There’s nothing insidious about him, especially not with the small smile that manages to tug at his lips as he shuts the door. 

“Sweet dreams, love.”

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