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batchilla · 3 days ago

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False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around.

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear.

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede.

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily.

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle.

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it.

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush.

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful.

Was this a good idea? No.

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more.

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him.

If it was simple lust he could deal with it. But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again.

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?”

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table.

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place.

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning.

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere.

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game.

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.”

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing.

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence?

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him.

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others.

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her.

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven.

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her.

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova.

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara.

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra.

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him.

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence.

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her.

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger.

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick x reader #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #you know I KNOW right #dc x reader #dc x you #detective reader

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rothpie · 17 hours ago

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❝FIDELITY❞ |part1

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: blood, mentioning pregnancy

English isn’t my first language, so I apologize if I make some mistakes. 💗

You're lying on your back, the faint light streaming through Rafe’s blinds casting long shadows across the room. The space feels familiar, as always, but now, there’s something different, something unsettling—wrinkled sheets, the sharp, expensive scent of his cologne lingering in the air, his jacket casually draped over the chair by the window… There’s an intense silence, broken only by the low hum of the ceiling fan. It’s hard to ignore the unease gnawing at your mind, that strange sense that something’s just… off.

You shift slightly, watching his silhouette move in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains; he barely spoke since he got home last night, pulling you into bed, his thoughts miles away.

“Where are you going?” he murmur, breaking the silence. He’s already looking at you, eyes half-open, following your movements with a lazy grin and the faint imprint of the pillow still visible on his cheek.

“Told you I have things to do today, babe,” you say with a smile, and he frowns, stretching as he turns onto his back to look around.

“Come back to bed,” he says, reaching out to touch the spot where you’d just been lying. The usual cold demeanor he wears has softened; now, he’s almost sulking, like a kid pouting. “What, feeling chilly?” you tease with a smirk, picking up your jeans from the floor. Rafe sits up, watching you, visibly unimpressed by your joke.

“I’d rather see you taking those off.” His eyes trace over you, his tongue sweeping over his lips like he’s ready to devour you for breakfast. “Too bad,” you reply with a playful edge, alluding to how he’d come straight home last night and just crashed. He doesn’t break his gaze as he slumps back down, watching you intently from the bed.

“Babe, you’re serious right now? Come on, get back here.” You roll your eyes and keep dressing while he lets out a frustrated sigh, realizing he’s not going to win this time.

Without saying anything more, he resigns himself to watching, clearly enjoying the show you’re unknowingly giving him. “You should wear those jeans more often—they do wonders for your ass.” His comment makes you laugh, and his grin grows wider, obviously pleased.

Once you’re fully dressed, you grab your bag from across the room and approach the bed. Leaning over, he meets you halfway, his mouth pressing onto yours as if that’s exactly where he belongs. A perfect, effortless fit.

“Stay,” he says as you pull back a bit, looking down into his eyes. His smile holds that look—he could make anyone do anything, but he’s using it on you because he already knows he can.

“I can’t.” The words leave your lips just before he kisses you again, pulling you back down onto him. You can’t help but giggle as he quickly moves, wrapping you into his arms. When his eyes and his words don’t work, he’ll use his mouth. Still grinning, he keeps his lips pressed to yours.

After your laughter dies down, his hands slide through your hair, and he kisses you deeply, savoring the moment until he’s satisfied. He releases you with a few final pecks, hands still resting by your face, studying you closely. “I wonder what’s so important you’d leave me,” he muses.

You place your hand on his cheek, giving him one last soft kiss. He doesn’t resist—he matches your calm, unhurried pace. When you pull back, you feel that little hint of tension at his question, but you fight the urge to look away.

“My mom.” You say it, biting down on the first lie you can think of, hoping it’s convincing. “She wants me at home for breakfast. No idea why, but apparently, it’s important.” Rafe has that faint smile again. He tuned out after the first sentence, just watching you, captivated. Sometimes he barely listens to what you say, preferring just to watch you. He knows you’ll do whatever you want anyway, so why waste time?

He leans in, planting a quick kiss on your lips. “Call me later,” he says, settling back down into the bed with that look still in his eyes. You nod and head to the door. As you leave, you hear him say, “Love you.”

You turn back to him. “Love you more!” You pull the door shut, and his laugh filters through. It makes you smile, but as you descend the stairs, that smile fades until it’s completely gone when you leave Tannyhill.

There’s an ache inside you that doesn’t go away. Every day, it presses tighter against your chest. You wish you could just chalk it up to being sick, but you need proof, something undeniable. When the familiar nausea hits again, you clutch your stomach, breathing deeply. Your eyes well up with panic, knowing you’re already too far gone to hold it in.

The smells are stronger than usual. You already hate hospitals, that medicinal scent, but today it’s overwhelming, suffocating even. You wipe your nose and try not to cry.

You scan the aisles.

Looking for a familiar face, a potential danger.

Hoping to find a way out, some kind of excuse. You pretend to browse a shelf, but you’re really just eyeing the store for anyone who might recognize you.

Finally convinced it’s safe, your trembling hand reaches for the pregnancy test on the shelf. You grab it and wrap your hand around it quickly. Embarrassment and dread roll over you.

Not remembering that night, that’s what gnaws at you. You and Rafe, sometimes you’d skip protection, just for the thrill of it. But you always had some backup. You can’t recall the details. Was it a drunk night? Did it happen in Topper’s bathroom, on the yacht? You can’t remember. Did you use anything? Did you take a pill? It’s all blank.

You place the pregnancy test on the counter and exhale, but the smell of disinfectant overwhelms you, making you pinch your nose. The cashier, a brown-haired guy, rings up your purchase, but just as he’s about to hand over the receipt, a voice from the back calls him. “Be right back,” he says with a polite smile, disappearing into the storeroom.

Then you sense someone beside you, and as you turn, your eyes lock onto him. Your hand instinctively pulls the test closer. Out of all people—of course, it’s him—JJ Maybank.

For once, he’s not covered in bruises; he’s downright bloody. His eyebrow and lip are split, blood streaking down his face, dried patches marking where he’d wiped his nose. And he’s got that stupid grin on his face as usual.

“You good?” JJ asks. His voice is casual, without a hint of concern. He doesn’t really care if you’re okay—he’s just curious.

Idiot.

“You,” the word slips out. You’re trying to hold yourself together, wiping away the tears and forcing yourself to sound casual. He looks at you like he hasn’t been punched in the face. Not just his face—his shirt’s got blood on it too. “A better question is, are you good?”

JJ laughs, pointing at himself as if the question is absurd. “Me? You should see the other guy.” His smug voice grates at you, and you roll your eyes. JJ laughs again, clearly amused by your reaction. You turn away, but he speaks up.

“Think you might have Covid?”

Your eyes dart back to him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or just delirious from the punches. Maybe he’s taken one too many hits to the head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you snap. He’s an idiot, so you have to talk to him like one. You’re just one step away from snapping entirely, feeling the irritation practically radiate off you.

“The thing in your hand,” he starts, clearly unbothered by your tone, grinning away. But you’re tense, the tightness settling in your chest like a butterfly stuck there.

“Oh, thought it was a Covid test. Unless… it’s a pregnancy test.” His eyes drop to the test you’re trying to hide, glinting with mischief, then lifting to yours. He lifts his shirt, wiping the blood from his face with the hem, which somehow annoys you even more.

You look away, feeling your heart pound with anxiety. It’s dumb to think he won’t notice, but you’re too tense to think straight. You’ve always made the wrong choices, you know that.

“You’re babbling nonsense,” you retort, still unable to meet his gaze, hoping to shake him off. But JJ doesn’t look away; his gaze stays on your hands, that stupid smirk still plastered across his face.

“My bad, sorry,” he said, waiting like someone who had just walked in from the outside. Even though he claimed he was apologizing, his words were laced with sarcasm, and you could tell he was still grinning.

You’d handed him ammunition. To him. And of course, if you were actually pregnant, the first to know wouldn’t be Rafe. It’d be him. That idiot. JJ Maybank.

You lunged forward and snatched the receipt from behind the register with trembling hands, too anxious to wait for the brown-haired cashier to come back and worried you’d betray your unease if you stayed any longer.

When you turned to leave, another wave of anxiety hit. There was a very real chance that he’d spread this around, tell his stupid friends, the Pogues… JJ was the last person you’d trust with something like this, but he was also the last person you’d want to have blab about it, with that big, unstoppable mouth of his. You turned around and walked back over.

He was already watching you, his eyes following your every move. Without hesitating, you spoke. “If I hear even a single word about this from anyone, I swear to god—”

But JJ only grinned wider, clearly entertained. “Whoa, whoa,” he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me, princess.” He leaned against the counter, wiping the dried blood from his cheek, still watching you with that infuriating smirk. “I promise not to tell the world you ‘might be Covid positive.’”

His mocking tone left you speechless, made you tense. He knew exactly what was in your hand—even if you told him to drop it, he wouldn’t. Of course not. You shot him one last look, spun on your heels, and made a break for the door.

As you left, you could still feel his eyes on you, that annoying smirk echoing in your mind. The idea that he might actually say something made your chest tighten. He wouldn’t need to yell it from the rooftops; even if one of those idiot friends of his overheard, you’d be done. For someone who usually faded into the background, JJ Maybank had a knack for making himself unforgettable.

He knew your biggest secret.

You prayed. At barely twenty years old, you prayed it wouldn’t be true. Begged yourself to just be fooling yourself. You even swore to never have sex again if that would help.

What would you do?

How would you tell Rafe, your family, that you had a baby growing inside you?

You fucked.

You fucked, and the double lines on that test proved it. Only you and God knew how deep into this mess you’d landed.

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 days ago

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Happily ever after

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, November 2024 edition

Prompt: guard, 532 words

Rated: T

Tags: POV Chrissy Cunningham; Fantasy AU; Magic AU; Domestic fluff; Married Steddie, Chrissy has a crush on Robin

Notes: More from this universe

The light behind the stained glass windows of the tavern beckons Chrissy closer as she locks up her flower shop - colorful patterns mingling with the painted blossoms on the walls.

“It's for Steve,” Robin told her, back when they first met. “He needs lots of color and noise.”

She never explained, and Chrissy never asked, but she's seen how Steve smiles when she brings the leftover flowers by.

Voices and the scent of food engulf her as she opens the door. The inside is as vibrant as the outside, every wall sporting colorful paintings and tapestries. Robin is nowhere to be seen, but Eddie is lounging by the fireplace, regaling the neighborhood kids with a story. Chrissy sets her flowers down and pulls out a chair to listen.

“What happened then?” Lucas is just asking.

Eddie tilts his head.

“After the thief rescued the guard from the sky vault,” Dustin says impatiently. “Did they get revenge?”

“Nah,” Eddie laughs. “They ran away like the thief promised. They settled in a country far away, where nobody knew about magic, and started a new life. The thief found a house for them and their loved ones, and they filled it with life and color and laughter. And they lived happily ever- what, Michael?”

Mike scowls. “That's a lame ending. What about the thief's magic? He should get it back and find the guard's family and- ouch!”

Max smiles sweetly and lowers her hand. “I think it's a very romantic ending.”

Beside her, El nods. “What about the thief's other promise? That he'd never stop kissing him.”

“He didn't,” Eddie declares proudly. “The thief loved nothing more than kissing his beloved. Sometimes, he'd kiss him for hours on end, in all the places he could reach, until he'd beg-”

“I don't think they need to hear that,” says someone behind Chrissy.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie exclaims, flying out of his chair to sweep Steve into an embrace. “Finally. My heart's been longing for you all night.”

“I was just in the kitchen, you big drama queen,” Steve grouses, but doesn't fight when Eddie pulls him in for a long, noisy smack on the lips. “Sorry, Chrissy. Robin will be here any minute.”

Chrissy waves him off. “Don't worry. Your husband is an excellent entertainer.”

“I see that,” Steve says, turning to the kids. “Shouldn't you be home? It's way after dark.”

They start to protest, but Eddie cuts them off.

“Nuh-uh, you little pests, off you go. Story's over, and I have a beautiful man to kiss.”

They shriek in disgust, and Eddie cackles as he ushers them out the door, hand never letting go of Steve’s.

“Ugh, they're such saps,” Robin mutters, walking out of the kitchen with a bowl of hot stew. Their fingers brush as she shoves it towards Chrissy.

She shrugs, watching how Eddie whispers something into Steve’s ear, making him blush. “I think they're cute. You can see that they've been through a lot together.”

Robin smiles. “You're right about that.”

One day, Chrissy thinks, she's going to ask about that particular story. For now, the old house is full of noise and color, and that's all she needs to know.

Tag list:

@sourw0lfs @bananahoneycomb @firefly-party @whoneedscanon @steddie-island

@sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @extra-transitional @penny00dreadful @medusapelagia

@mugloversonly @0happyeverafter0 @stevesbipanic @acingthecounts @sweetheartprincess28

@starryeyedjanai @sailing-through-hawkins @original-cypher @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddiemicrofic #hype's microfics #phantom thief AU

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burningcheese-merchant · 3 days ago

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"Our Little Dance" - BurningCheese Short #7

THE SEQUEL TO "Mine Forever More" IS HERE! After I went through the story in episode 6 a couple more times to help visualize things and NOT just to watch Burning Spice openly obsess over Golden Cheese over and over again I swear, I was finally struck with inspiration. Thought about some concepts during work, fleshed them out more when I came home, finally reached a coherent game plan, and here we are. I really hope you all enjoy it!

WARNING PART 2: Again, this is one-sided BurningCheese/GoldenSpice. This is Yandere Spice, not Flirty Asshole Spice. This Spice doesn't deserve Golden Cheese, he deserves a restraining order, or a spot on a registry, or to outright face the fucking wall. He is worse in this part than the last. Go read something else if you're not comfortable with that (and/or if you're a minor).

He knew she wouldn't disappoint him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Burning Spice never cared for dancing. Those few times he allowed himself to be dragged over to that happy, energetic crowd, in those long-gone days of his heroic youth, he always found himself regretting it. Slow, hunched steps so as not to accidentally stomp on the child's feet, as he was so much bigger and stronger than they were. Awkward mimicry of the group circling him, cheering each other on as they carried out traditional performances (he didn't join them on that, of course, the dance itself was tedious enough). Averted - rolled, if he was annoyed enough - eyes and polite disinterest for the red-faced girl who tripped over herself just asking for his hand (she seemed too starstruck to notice he danced with her out of obligation and nothing else).

He remembers people trying to change his mind on the matter. Dancing was not so different from fighting, they said. They had the same flow, the same energy, if one did them right.

What a bold-faced, silly little lie. Dancing only got worse each time he engaged in it. It was annoying. It was all fake. It was boring. Like everything else turned out to be.

He hated those people. He hated festivals. He hated the pitiful civilizations that conjured them. He hated peace and merriment. He hated history. He hated change. He hated life. He hated dancing.

...Or he did, once. He used to. He sees the error of his ways now.

It turns out that what he'd needed all along was the right dance partner.

And she was exactly that, and so much more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their first dance was too short. Their shared passion burned bright, but fizzled out quickly. She'd missed an important step. Stumbled. Fallen.

It was alright. He was angry in the moment, and he told her so. He punished her for her mistake, for her weakness - just as she deserved. They had both waited far too long for this for her to go on and screw it up.

But it was alright. Really. She was still here; she was still breathing; he could still her heart beating in her chest. So long as these were true, then it would be alright. She would collect herself. She would rise, strong and proud, shaking off all of the dirt and blood. She would return to him. To his embrace. They would dance again, better than before. He would give himself to her in his entirety, as he'd planned to. And she would do the same.

His usual lack of patience got the better of him, if only for a moment, as he tucked her into her prison cell. But how could he be blamed? She was simply too beautiful. She looked too perfect there, nestled into his arms, her head still resting against his chest. He'd told her that the kiss was payment for him allowing her lackey to live - and that was true, it really was. He'd wanted that man dead the very second he came into Burning Spice's line of sight. He was too close to her, in either sense of the word, and Burning Spice simply would not have it. It simply wouldn't do. This error shall be corrected soon enough - with extreme, ever-mounting prejudice, the longer the man spent anywhere near Burning Spice's beloved.

But really, more than that, he just wanted to taste her. He simply couldn't bear not doing so anymore. The faint shimmer of her golden hair in the pale light shining down from the ceiling, those rogue strands still framing her face so prettily despite being otherwise ruined, the feeling of her skin against his, that sweet mouth set in such a dazzling frown, that glint of furious determination in her eyes - it was all too much. It was her own fault, really. She made it too hard to say no.

Fuck, she tasted good. So, so good. Sweet, but tangy, and oh so rich. All mixed together into one flavor that he could only describe as her. As Golden Cheese. And fuck, he was already hooked. Addicted to the feeling of her soft lips on his own. Addicted to the feeling of his tongue caressing hers. Addicted to the feeling of her breath mixing with his. He needed more. He'd die without it. He'd die without her.

She would give him more, he knew. She had to. They had so much lost time to make up for already. A bit of time recovering in peace and quiet (ugh), and she'll be alright again. She'll come back to him. And he'll give her many, many more long-awaited kisses.

Their dance wasn't over yet.

She won't disappoint him. She can't.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Yes... Yes, this was what he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. She knew him far too well. Better than anyone ever had.

She escaped. With her lackey, unfortunately - but oh well, they can deal with that later. What mattered now was her taking this next step. Taking the lead in their special dance. So bold, so forward. He loved it. He loved her.

She led him through the halls of his temple; had him weave between the columns, hurry past faded murals depicting his former greatness. He chased her every which way, drank in her lingering scent with relish. Perhaps he should have let her take the lead sooner; this was SO much fun. He was having far too much fun following in her steps. Only she would have the cleverness and creativity to also make their dance a game. To add in all of those aspects of a thrilling hunt that he so adored into their little performance. Yes, he loved this. He adored it.

Honestly, where has she been all his life?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When their dance hit that fever pitch once again, he half expected his heart to burst from his chest out of sheer euphoria. Dragging one another through the temple a second time, all of those worthless walls and pillars and decorations getting caught in their beautiful maelstrom. Such delightful devastation, brought about by her. By his love for her. By them and their union. By this perfect little dance of theirs.

In his manic glee, he let his mask fall, if only slightly. Now wasn't the right time, he would pour his dark, aching heart out to her only when he knew that right time had come - but oh God, she knew exactly what to say to him and how, and how to bring out both the best and worst in him all at once. He would taunt her, mock her, and she would meet his sneering with her own sarcastic indignation. This bickering, this bantering - so, so much fun. SHE was so much fun.

She teased him, too, much to his heightened joy. "The world? I do not care for the world! Nor do I wish to protect it! Or to be called a hero!" A bold yet terrible liar, she was, after she ruined their first dance for the sake of that child. She was truly beautiful, inside and out; at her core shone the bright and pure soul of a hero. And yet, she denied it. It was funny. It was cute. She was so cute.

"I am the Radiant Deity of the Golden City! I fight only to protect my treasures. And I will NOT let the likes of you harm what is mine!" Oh, she truly was so adorable. Prized possessions were just what he loved to destroy most. And he HATED how much these things meant to her: her land, her palace, her gold and jewels, her subjects. He hated them so much, that he let his mask slip: he confessed that, when their dance was over, he planned to go and destroy it all. Everything she ever held dear, wiped off the face of the earth. She didn't need any of it, anyway. He realized long ago that nothing truly matters - nothing except for them, of course - and she would come to realize it, too. He would make sure of it.

Nothing mattered to him except for her. Nothing shall matter to her except for him. They shall keep on dancing forever, even as the world crumbled to dust around them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He began losing his patience near the end. Still more her fault than his. She got to him too much. Too badly.

Some of the weight behind his axe vanished, for he began to favor his own hands instead of it. The axe carved her open, drew her blood, had her dancing so erratically, so desperate to evade its brutal swing - and he enjoyed that. But he enjoyed touching her even more. When he got close enough - and he did everything in his power to get close enough, even for just a second - he would catch her off guard by striking her with his fists instead. He just... he NEEDED to touch her. The itch only got more unbearable as they danced on. Just one split second of his hands on her body, that's all. Even in the form of bloodied knuckles leaving deep bruises on her stomach, or knocking the wind out of her lungs. That's all he wanted. Was that so wrong?

If she noticed this, she made no sign of it. With the way she acted, it was fair to assume she no longer noticed much of anything. She was weakening again; though their dance continued on, though that fire still consumed them, it seemed now that she was being overwhelmed. She was starting to stumble again. She missed a step or two. Had him pick up the slack. It was unfortunate, but still fun, still amusing - he was too far gone to really be upset that this was happening again, to be honest. The spices in the air, the smell of her blood, the sound of her cries and labored breathing... too much. All too much. He was losing his damn mind, and it was exquisite.

But... oh, Golden Cheese, his little bird, with her tenacity and her endless surprises. Even as he took charge of their dance again, she found another way to get to him. To crawl beneath his skin and eat him alive from the inside out.

Her tongue - that sweet, soft, delicious, clever, beautiful tongue - became a poisonous barb, as sharp and painful as the tip of the golden spear that tried (and often succeeded, to her credit) to impale him everywhere she could reach. She attacked not only his body now, but his character, his spirit. She called him a failure. Declared that he had never been a hero nor a god, and never deserved to have been called either. She accused him of self-serving cowardice, of wanting desperately to hide his own shortcomings underneath all of that rubble and all of those mutilated corpses. All with that smug, little upturn of the corners of her lips, and a tiny but bright glint in her eye.

Yes... she knew him too well. She knew how to reach into his heart and twist it. She blinded him with love, then rage, then love again. Invigorating fury. Delectable pain.

And he would inflict this same pain on her tenfold, as punishment for her insults, and encouragement for her to say them to him all over again. For Burning Spice loved and worshipped Golden Cheese, poisonous barbs and all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She fell again. Their little dance came to an end. There she was now, on her knees, her head bowed, soaked in blood. THEIR blood, mixed together. For a brief moment, she had turned him into an artist; in turn, he used her as his canvas.

Just what would it take for her to stop being so damn beautiful, he wondered?

"You said I failed? Hahaha..."

Come, now. He couldn't help himself. Their dance had been so much fun; now he was just riding out the rest of his high. And he wanted her with him, doing the same.

"My... greed... never..."

Still fighting, even now. Even with so many shattered, aching bones. Even with her spear all but snapped in half, rendered practically useless. Her voice sounded tired, broken like the rest of her. But she still feigned strength and poise the best she could. A proud warrior to the very end. Lovely. He would never have accepted anything less.

His mouth contorted into a smile of bitter amusement. "Warlords, heroes, villains and kings... I've seen all of them in my time." She had seen fit to give him a scathing lecture before. Why can't he do the same to her here and now? "They all tried to avert their doom, and like one another, they all perished."

No response. Rude... but understandable. It was fine, regardless. Her silence was answer enough.

"You, on the other hand..." He knelt before her, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. Her skin felt hot and sticky, those tufts of fluffy hair brushing against him damp with blood and sweat. "Forgotten by history itself, and yet you still persist."

He cupped her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to look him in the eye. Gone was that bitterness, no longer was he amused. Now his smile was a manic grin that all but split his face wide open, outshined only by the fire in his eyes. His mask had fallen off completely.

"I fucking love it," he told her.

And then he kissed her again, because he had to. Because he couldn't handle not doing so anymore. Their kiss - his kiss - was starved, desperate, sharp teeth and a hot tongue licking and biting at her lips, that same tongue forcing its way into her mouth and eagerly dominating her own. He finally let his hands roam, more than he'd been able to before, and he lost himself in her touch, in the soft, flawless skin of her arms and legs and stomach - every place she, through her chosen attire, had so graciously left exposed to him. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, pressing it into her back - right where her wings used to be. She winced; he hugged her tighter. She grunted in pain, he moaned in delirious pleasure, all but drowning her out. He couldn't take it. Just- just couldn't take it anymore. She was just so perfect. So delicious. She danced so beautifully. She drove him mad. He loved it. He fucking loved it.

Their dance was over, but it was fine. It was alright. It had been fantastic, better than he'd hoped. Another devastating loss to her name, worse than the last - but that was how their dance was supposed to go, anyway. It was alright. She's fine, she'll be fine. He won't allow her not to be, because she needed to get back up and dance with him again, and again, and again, and again and again and again and again and again-

"Master!"

His eyes shot open, and he froze mid-lick, still feeling the erratic pulsing of her jugular vein against his tongue (he had briefly abandoned her lips in favor of her neck, showering it with searing, ravenous affection). Slowly, regretfully, he pulled away, releasing Golden Cheese from his grasp and rising to his feet. Back came that old bitterness - pure and true this time, pulling his lips back into a furious snarl and replacing the burning desire in his eyes with boiling hatred.

Nutmeg Tiger bounded into the room and knelt (collapsed, really) at his feet, exhaustion written all over her features but offering him a dutiful smile nevertheless. "Heh... I'm glad to see you... pleased... Great One."

Pleased? She thought he was pleased? He had been relishing his ultimate victory, in this little dance he had with his little bird, finally holding her in his arms again and touching and tasting her... and this- this miserable wretch barges in and interrupts them, and she thought he was PLEASED?

"You! Where have you been?" he spat at her. "You seem even more pathetic than usual."

So pathetic was she, apparently, that she failed to notice his clear outrage at her presence and actually responded. "I merely... took care of that... lackey of hers."

Another fatal mistake. HE had wanted to be the one to "take care of that lackey of hers". He'd wanted to strangle him with his own entrails and gloat that Golden Cheese was HIS AND HIS ALONE as he watched the light in that worm's eyes dim. But no. Nutmeg Tiger robs him of joy and satisfaction yet again.

She kept talking. This weak, mindless, PATHETIC creature kept talking at him. Something or another about the lackey revealing information about Golden Cheese's subjects, and how she'd convinced some Spices to desert. For Golden Cheese's sake - and perhaps to sprinkle a bit of salt into her wounds - he feigned surprise and interest, and laughed in her face when Nutmeg Tiger was finished. He knew all of this already. He knew his little bird inside and out, thanks to the Soul Jams. But playing pretend for a little while wouldn't hurt, would it?

"How does it feel?" he asked her, after he'd indulged in his fair share of cruel mockery. "How does it feel to lose everything?"

Nothing but the sight and sound of her clutching at the ground, trembling fingers raking through the dirt.

"But I must give credit where it's due," he laughed. Perhaps a bit of honest encouragement would rouse her. "After all, it's thanks to you that I realized I had to get my Soul Jam back."

She'd done far more for him - to him - than just that, of course. More than mere words could express. But that was what their dance had been for, wasn't it? That's what all of their dances will be for.

He reached down and grabbed her chin again. "Look me in the eye, Golden Cheese," he said. "I wish to see your face when I kill you."

He won't kill her. He can't. Her death would only result in his own, out of grief and boredom. He will pretend to kill her, then steal her away when neither this brainwashed fool nor anyone else was watching. He'll take her to his palace, to his bedroom. He'll clean her up, help her recover faster so they could dance again sooner. And while he waited, he would open up to her. Pour the whole rest of his heart out to her. Make her whine and beg to have his hands and mouth explore those parts of her that she still hid from him.

"I shall crush your greed, your treasures, your dough." He squeezed her face hard, digging his nails into her cheeks. "And, in the end, I shall take back my Soul Jam."

He knelt down before her one more time, low enough so his face was level with hers. "Don't worry. I always keep my promises..."

He thought he felt her head shift in his grasp... He thought he felt her eyes flicker towards him, if only for a moment, before falling to the ground once more. He promised to bring them back and never let them leave him again.

"All you ever held dear will be swallowed by the Tide of Change."

Everything. Her friends. Her subjects. Whatever still remained of her kingdom. The world itself. All of it. There shall be nothing left except for him, and all of those lonely, adoring, battle-crazed promises he's been silently making to her all the way until that very moment.

Above all else, he promised to keep dancing with her forever.

All he could do - all he's done, all this time - was hope she heard him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She... Golden Cheese, she...

...Oh. Oh, Golden Cheese. His gorgeous, powerful, radiant Golden Cheese...

She surprised him again. As she teetered at the edge of this great precipice, she regained her strength and clarity and saved herself. She broke free from his grasp. She rose to her feet and stood tall. Her voice rose with each word she spoke; words born from pain and sorrow, but overcome with righteous determination. And the Soul Jam - her Soul Jam - recognized this show of unwavering courage and returned to her without hesitation.

And she... then she...

She... changed. She changed form. Gone were those numerous deep wounds that carved and bled into each other. Gone was the blood, the sweat, the tears. A warm, shimmering light enveloped her, stripped her of all of her woes - and her old, tattered clothes - fuck, he'd been staring closely enough to realize that the light had temporarily stripped her bare and damn it, why wouldn't it let him see?! - and released her back into the world, born entirely anew. Dressed in the finest gold, the brightest blue, the- the red? There was red on her now? She donned his color? Just for his sake?

Oh, Golden Cheese, his beloved Golden Cheese... His delectable prey, his precious golden thief, his pretty little bird-

No. Not just a bird now. A phoenix. His stunning, courageous, radiant phoenix.

Yes, his beloved phoenix took him by surprise again and hurried him back to the dance floor... and he watched, not daring to blink even once, as she rose into the sky, eclipsing the sun itself with her mighty wings.

"Burning Spice," she called to him, "It seems the Tide of Change has turned in my favor."

Ohhhhhhhhh fuck, this perfect woman. Always knowing what to say to him and how. Never without her confidence, her pride, her shine. Her radiance.

"Hear my words. You chose to let go of everything you ever had. You do not deserve even the smallest smidgen of my treasures."

Oh, he was hearing her words, alright. He was etching them into the walls of his skull, pouring them onto his brain, forcing them to sink in as deep as possible. Letting the sound of her angelic voice nest in his ears and infect his mind, forcing all of his remaining thoughts out and taking their place like a greedy parasite.

But she was lying and teasing him again, pretty thing. He hasn't let go of everything. He was still clinging to his darling phoenix, desperate to keep her close. She was the only treasure of hers that he ever wanted. And the only thing that will make him let go is death itself.

Yet more glittering golden lights appeared all around her, alongside thickening clouds of earth and spice. From this divine storm came a cluster of spears, each one sharper and deadlier than the last.

The grin on his face ached terribly now, with how great and long-lasting it was.

"How can someone who has forsaken everything prevail over someone who has lost everything?"

Ah, but that wasn't true, either. She has him! She still has him and his love, their love. She still had their little dance; all of those little steps and bends and twirls, their boundless passion and energy, the electrifying touch of their skin and mingling of their breaths. And as he told her once before, he would gladly forsake everything for her. His temple, his possessions, his fellow Spices, EVERYTHING FOR HER AND ONLY HER!

"Remember this moment and taste the bitterness of regret..."

Regret? What regret? He wasn't capable of that anymore and he never would be again - not as long as she was there, taking the Sun's place as the source of light and warmth in his world.

"For you are about to face defeat from everything you have ever discarded!!!"

She dove straight towards him, volley after volley of spears raining down alongside her. His very own meteor shower, with the most captivating shooting star right at the center.

He leapt towards her, the strength of his leap leaving behind a crater where he once stood, wild, demonic cackling spilling from his mouth with abandon. Eyes locked onto one another's: brilliant, wrathful, glittering gold and smoldering, ecstatic, lovestruck red. Spear aimed right at his heart. Axe ready to swipe at her waist and cleave her in two.

She was offering him her hand, asking for his own in turn. She wanted to dance with him again. She missed being in his arms, and the two of them gliding across the floor together in perfect synchronicity. Their unrivaled harmony, the envy of all who witnessed it.

He shall take her hand. How could he not? He loved dancing with her far too much to do otherwise. He loves dancing now, and it's all her fault. She made it too hard to say no.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She did not disappoint him, and neither did the crushing weight of his entire temple bearing down on his back. How touching of her to leave him with such a gift, honestly.

Their last dance ended with a bang. With her staying true to her word and striking him down with all that he had discarded. And now there he lay, in the ruins of that place he and many others once cherished as a home and sanctuary.

He could hear a voice, somewhere at the edge of all the rubble. Nutmeg Tiger. If only he'd had the good sense to slaughter her like a pig like he ought to have ages ago. Now, as he shrugs the debris off of himself and regains his footing, he consoles himself with the idea that in the future, he can execute her right in front of his darling phoenix as a way to return her loving gesture. Yes, that sounds like a plan...

His muscles and bones screamed at him with every little movement he made, but he did not listen. Instead he shambled forward, out of reach of the temple ruins, that mewling, pathetic creature that called herself Nutmeg Tiger still buzzing around him like the insignificant little fly she was.

Clutching at the stab wound in his side (the one that was bleeding the most heavily, anyway), Burning Spice threw his eyes to the early morning sky. Their dance had lasted all the way until dawn... Beautiful.

A smile crept across his face, that eventually grew into a grin, that eventually fell open as deep, joyous laughter erupted from the pit of his stomach and out of his bloody mouth. Nutmeg Tiger started laughing too, but he didn't care about that. This moment was meant for him to savor all alone.

His dance with Golden Cheese had been everything he'd dreamed of and more... And he knew that their next dance would be just like it, for she never, ever disappointed him and never, ever will.

And there shall be many more dances. They shall take each other's hand and sway to their unique rhythm over and over again, until pain and exhaustion consumed them both, only to rise and take each other by the hand and dance another day.

Perhaps those fools from eons ago were right: dancing really is like fighting, if done right. And he and Golden Cheese did it exactly right.

Dancing was Burning Spice's favorite thing now, just as Golden Cheese was his favorite person.

He wanted to dance with her forever. Forever and ever and ever...

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

this was hard to write lol. I really, truly wasn't expecting people to want a sequel to MFM, so I had no plan ready (which is not like me as a writer at all, I am very much an "architect"/obsessive planner with my stories). I waited for episode 6 to drop for inspiration, and when I got it, I hit another roadblock in the form of me having TOO many ideas I wanted to work with. I thought of focusing on their moment right before GC awakens, but then I wanted to also do something with his confession to her (where he admits that he will gladly destroy his entire life to get to her), but then I also wanted to acknowledge his enjoyment of their game of hide-and-seek in the temple, but then but then but then lol. I eventually zeroed in on that scene where he called what they were doing a "dance", and realized that that was what captured my attention the most. The idea that he views their fight as a dance. So that's how I chose to frame his POV and the story as a whole. Like he thinks they're "dancing" together through the whole thing.

idk if I'm happy with the end result overall. I really wanted to do you all justice since you wanted a part 2 so bad. I can always go back and retool things/try to do a "version 2" with those other, smaller concepts as well. Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this. Thank you for caring enough to want to see more from me, sorry for the wait haha

And remember, Burning Spice canonically called her his "little bird" and "lovely" and that he was enjoying "their little dance", and he canonically admitted that he would destroy everything and everyone for her, and no one can ever take that away from us now :)

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #nutmeg tiger cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #burning spice crk #golden cheese crk #merchant shorts

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gallaghersgal · 3 days ago

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THE SPINS, lip gallagher.

c3 of BORDERLINE. lip x bsf!reader (nickname, MK)

character intros; adri & caro

TAGS & WARNINGS → MATURE 18+. mostly angst & hurt/comfort, some fluff. labor & birth mentions (karen), drinking & smoking (🚬+🍃), angry lip, tw for emetophobia; small scene w/ throwing up.

CHAPTER SUMMARY → karen jackson going into labor and stealing your best friend away on new years eve has to be the worst possible outcome of the day. right?

A/N → hi everyone!! thank u sm for keeping up with this little story of mine, i love it dearly!! enjoy the chapter, bc i know something u don't..... mwahahaha 😈

WC → 2.2k

You wait outside the corner store, Chicago winter wind chilling your fingers as you smoke the last cig from the pack of Marlboros Lip left in your car last week. He’s late. Not that Lip is often punctual, but he’s never twenty minutes late for a bagel sandwich and a hard cider. It’s New Year’s Eve. The two of you always pregame for the holiday when you wake up–often late in the day–and you always do it together. Torn between your fake ID for alcohol and your phone to call Lip, you stuff the plastic into your wallet, freeing your hand to dial his number.

New phone. You’d dropped your old one on Christmas. Into Lake fucking Michigan, of all places. You were trying to get a cool picture with your sister. Regardless of how it happened, all your contacts disappeared with your old phone. It’s a good thing you have his number memorized.

The line rings. It rings over, and over, and over again. Lip’s voicemail message plays. You redial.

“Hey! MK, look I can’t—” he cuts himself off, and you hear muffled rushing behind him like he’s somewhere fluttering with activity.

“Where are you?” you ask. The other end is quiet. Not silent, though. There are muffled voices and a beeping that has your mind swimming. “Lip Gallagher, where the hell are you?” you ask again.

The receiver crackles like he’s shifting it around, followed by a plastic sound. “Listen, uh,” he starts, sounding frustrated. “Kar’s water broke, she’s goin’ into labor. So, I won’t be at Adri’s party t’night.”

You don’t answer at first, too stunned. You’ve been telling yourself there’s no way this is real. No fucking way you were going to watch your best friend throw away his life for a girl he knocked up at seventeen. A girl who treats him like shit.

A girl who isn’t you.

“Kind of a big fuckin’ deal, y’know,” he mutters.

You hear the dejection in his voice and decide you won’t be the one to ruin his important day. “Go enjoy it, Lip,” you tell him, “I can’t wait to meet your son sometime.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he responds. “Yeah, thanks. I uh- gotta go, text’ya later,” he says quickly, then the line goes silent.

After hanging up the phone you stare across the street in silence. Eventually your feet guide you back to your car, and muscle memory drives you to Adri’s house. You blare music through your speakers, loud enough to drown out any thought. You’re not ready to process it, not until you get a second opinion, maybe a third. One shaking hand on the steering wheel, you dial your sister’s number.

Roughly an hour later you’re sprawled on Adri’s bed, halfway through a pint of your favorite ice cream. “What the fuck,” you complain for the millionth time, because apparently a second and third opinion on the situation didn’t soothe the uneasy feeling deep in your gut.

“Hey uh, MK?” Adri asks, holding your phone out to you. “You have a text from Mandy.”

Caroline pauses the game she’s playing on Adri’s TV to whip her head around. “Mandy Milkovich?” she asks in disbelief.

You roll your eyes, “yeah it’s Mandy fuckin’ Milkovich, how many Mandys do we know huh?” Adri crowds behind you as you tap the notification, reading the words in silence.

Mandy: micks said ian told him the babys asian Mandy: so, not lips kid Mandy: this is a shitshow

Adri mutters ‘oh shit’ and Caro clambers up into the bed, taking your phone to read for herself. You barely notice her, it’s like the world is silent as your mind spins. “I-I have to go, I have to–” you stumble over your words, but Adri grabs your arm. “I have to make sure he’s okay.”

Adri stares you down, keeping you in her grip. You try to pull away but shes strong. “He isn’t your responsibility, you don’t have to fix him.”

Caro giggles, and you glare, pushing her off the corner of Adri’s bed. You snatch your phone back from the mattress, but Adri takes it from your hand immediately. “No, you’re not letting a Gallagher boy ruin our new year’s eve.”

Lip doesn’t remember how he ended up at Adri’s. He downed two shots in the kitchen with a girl in a sparkly skirt, her hand kept landing on his chest but he didn’t respond to her advances. He’s not sure how he got outside either, he just knows his fingers are ice cold in spite of the whiskey coursing through his veins. He’s not sure when you came outside either, stumbling a little down your own stairs as you rush to him with a coat. All he knows is that he wants a smoke.

“It’s freezing! What the fuck are you doing out here?” You hurry to his side and wrap his bare arms in the coat. His fingers shake, and you attempt to take both of his hands in your own.

“Havin’ a smoke,” he explains, jerking his hands away in favor of the pack of Marlboros in his pocket. “Y’got a light?”

You’re worried, seeing the way his fingers fumble with the pack. He’s so far gone. Feeling a wave of protectiveness and pity wash over you, you nod. You remove one glove to flick your lighter, lighting the cigarette that hangs from his lips. He takes a deep drag, blowing the smoke out before passing it to you. Pursed lips make room for the filtered end, and warm smoke fills your lungs. Fuck, you can taste the whiskey on it. You’re doubtful he’ll even remember where he is in the morning.

You smoke down half of the cig while Lip stands next to you, shaky hands shoved in his pockets and neck craned toward the sky. It’s not like he can see anything, not with the lights of the city. You’re not sure why he’s doing it at all. You nudge him gently, passing back the cigarette.

He takes the thing between his fingers, gesturing towards the sky. Worried hands hover near his sides but he keeps his balance. “No fuckin’ stars,” he grumbles, “who’d want to grow up like that, huh?”

“We grew up like that,” you remind him cynically. Your stomach twists, not “Lip, look at me. What happened?”

Teary blue eyes meet your gaze. One shaking hand brings the cig to his lips, inhaling a slow drag. He blows the smoke away from your face, then drops it on the ground.

“‘S almost midnight,” Lip slurs, hooking an arm around your waist and pointing to the large bay window looking in on your living room. The TV shows the times square ball starting it’s descent. Sixty seconds. “I-I was gonna kiss m’son… at midnight. Fuck—“ he stumbles, tugging you with him.

You plant your feet down, hands gripping his sides to keep him steady. “How much did you drink?”

“As much as I fucking wanted,” he snaps. Forty-five. “Thought I was havin’ a baby with a girl I love, a-an’ she let some other fuckin’ guy knock her up.” He looks at you with teary eyes, and you realize you’ve never seen him this upset.

A worse friend would’ve said I told you so.

“Hey, hey,” you urge, one hand grasping his chin. He still clings to you, arm locked on your middle to keep himself up. “Lip, in a year she won’t even cross your mind. It’ll b-“

You’re silenced when he shouts at you. “Don’t! Don’t start with the ‘it’ll pass’ bullshit.” Thirty. His arm circles you closer, getting in your face to prove a point. Maybe he’s trying to scare you, defending his heart how he’s been taught. “It all comes an’ fuckin’ goes, I get it!” Twenty.

“I’m not going anywhere Lip. Okay?” Your hands move to grip his shoulders, keeping his attention on you. Ten. You repeat yourself, softer this time. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me, and you’ve got a future. Forget her.”

Five. Four. Three. Two.

Lip looks at you with hazy blue eyes. Before you know what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

One.

His arm curls around your back, fingers clutching the fabric of your dress. He tastes like whiskey and smoke, his features etched with regret when he pulls back for air. “Don’t you ever leave me,” he pleads against your lips, voice a low growl.

Maybe it’s the seltzers you’ve downed tonight, maybe it’s the desperate sound of his voice, but you find yourself kissing Lip Gallagher again. It’s a messy affair, his teeth knocking against your own. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it before, of course you have. You spend nearly every day with him, your friendship always teetering on the edge of something more but never quite tipping.

Happy fucking New Year.

You should’ve seen it coming. His knees buckling, body bending over as he falls onto the concrete. “Fuck! What the fuck!?” His eyes are barely open, looking up at you for a quick second before he’s spewing god knows how many drinks into the bushes. “Okay, okay. Alright, sleeves up buddy,” you tell him, forcing down the churn in your own stomach to kneel beside him.

His brow shines with sweat, and between gags he manages, “‘m s-so fuckin’ hot,” in a hoarse grumble. You remove the same jacket you’d placed so carefully on his shoulders minutes before. While his body cools down, the nausea subsides enough for Lip to stand with your aid.

“Come on, inside. Now,” you urge. He has the presence of mind not to protest. Not now, not after everything he’s just put you through. His body remains pliant as you lead him into the now empty kitchen. You bend him over the sink, one hand holds his curls to keep him steady over the basin as you pull out the spray nozzle.

“What’re y’-” he grumbles, but you shush him.

“Gotta rinse y’mouth out,” you murmur. Lip seems barely coherent as he nods. With one finger you test the water temperature, making sure it’s cool enough to maybe wake him up a little. Water spills from the corners of his mouth as you spray it at him, annoyed noises bubbling up from his throat.

Adri appears at your side, her brow furrowed slightly at the situation. “Fuck, MK, he’s like. Not okay,” she says, teeth worrying her lower lip.

You shut the water off, helping him stand back up. A simple shake of your head lets Adri know not to push it, and she understands. One of her arms wraps around Lip’s middle, steadying him further. “You’re gonna go upstairs and get some rest,” you tell him.

In his drunken state Lip can barely walk, let alone haul himself up the stairs. When you finally get him to the game room you notice the wet, grass stained knees of his grey sweatpants. The long sleeve tee he’s wearing can’t be comfortable either, the front practically soaked with alcohol. “Need to get you out of these clothes.”

“Don’ got anything,” he responds.

“Fuck,” you curse, leaving Adri to support him so you can dig through your overnight bag. You find your old, loose tee and black sweats, then turn back to Lip. “Okay, well, you’re wearing mine then.”

Adri makes sure he’s standing fine on his own two feet before moving to give you two some privacy. Before leaving she comes to your side, pulling you in for a quick hug. “Gonna go kick everyone out, it’s nearly one. But I’ll be up. Come talk,” she whispers. She steps back to look at you clearly, concern evident on her face.

“I’m okay AJ,” you whisper back. The tears in your eyes betray you, but she doesn’t say anything.

As you step to his side Lip doesn’t move but he mumbles, “I c’n do it m’self,” when you begin to remove his shirt. You huff in response, rolling your eyes and continuing the motion.

“Yeah, right.” Your knuckles brush his toned stomach, you must be imagining the way he shivers under your touch. It’s like dressing a toddler, but you manage to pull the tee over his head, the fabric clinging to his chest and arms. You keep your gaze towards his face, attempting to be respectful as you untie his sweats. As if you’ve never seen him naked before. But of course that was years ago, when you were kids. Regardless, grey fabric falls to the floor and you use an arm around his waist to keep him steady as he steps into your sweatpants.

Lip drops his head to your shoulder as you tie the strings for him. Your heart nearly stops. “Tired?” you murmur, hand coming to rub his back instinctively. You can feel his fingers curl into your sides to hold you close. Again, you think how you’ve never seen him like this. Vulnerable, his heart aching. If karma was real, Karen Jackson would have ceased to exist already, from all the shit she’s done to him. But the powers that be are cruel, you know that by now.

What you don’t know is that your best friend will wake up in the morning with a headache, and no recollection of the night before…

THX 4 READING → this chapter is dedicated to my lovely @carmybrainworms. beta'd by @tinyphantomsalad

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher fanfiction #lip gallagher x y/n #❀ mkverse #❀ series: borderline #❀ written by maggie [fics]

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psychomusic · 2 days ago

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presenting to you: vegoia laran!

vegoia is the daughter of suri and tar'x laran, so, she's half-mirialan and half-zabrak. she lived on the mountains of mirial with her family until she began her jedi training at around 10 years, then she became a jedi seer.

more of her childhood under the cut! the rest of her story will be on other posts, I'll link them at the end when I'll post them

thank you @furious-blueberry0 for letting me use your padawan braid idea and jedi seer headcanon!! i really really love these ideas <3

since her birth, she seemed special at the eyes of her people, due to an old local myth: the founding witch.

(the myth is: a powerful witch, haunted by complex visions of the future, was exiled to the desert planet of mirial. after years spent traveling she had one clear vision on top of a mount, in which she saw the potential beauty of the valley, full of different lifeforms flourishing. with her magical powers, she turned that possible future into a reality, and everything changed: the 4 peoples who lived there started turning into trees and animals, what once was sterile rock became fertile ground, and craters were filled with water. but despite her good work, the incomprehensible visions kept returning. tired of the universe's infinite lessons, she decided to crystalize all of her visions and knowledge into the sacred crystal, and prophetized, before dying, that one day someone attuned to it would come to claim the crystal and understand the lessons she couldn't understand)

because of her albinism (that made her white like the crystal) and of her horns (the crystal has an horned shape), people thought she was the prophetized one. when she began to talk - rather late, and asked people to resolve the riddles that "a bearded man told her in her dreams" - what was just a rumor solidified into a belief.

her mother and grandfather, both in the high priesthood, taught her everything they could. they taught her to study, to reflect, and they explained to her their religion and folklore. also, her mother often tried to help her in her quest of finding answers. from her, vegoia learned how to study, and the right mindset to be able, later, to explore the jedi's philosophy and beliefs.

but it was her father that, despite his absence, taught her how to compromise with her visions, how to be patient, how to handle the state of ignorance, and how to enjoy it anyway. he was somehow better at understanding her, and making her understand things, than everyone else in the town. maybe, it was because he not only had met different force users, but also had experience with a force sensitive kid (his little brother, whom vegoia shared a lot of similar traits). despite her mother being a healer & priestess, and believing in the value in helping people, it was her father who really grounded that belief in her. in particular, he did it in a moment that. also shaped her experience of the force. a simple moment, though: she had asked him to kill a scary bug that was laying flat on its back, but he refused and instead asked her to help it. he believed that helping is what gives life sense - even more than the bonds we make, because it can't be undone. when vegoia picked up the bug and helped it get back on its feet, she could feel the bug's relief, and maybe even gratitude, through the force. this was the imprint of her experience of the force: connection (even more than her visions, that just "happened" to her, and couldn't actively call upon her).

BUT I DIGRESSED way too much on her childhood. the most important event in her childhood was the day she was taken by the jedi, even if she didn't know what truly happened that day.

the SIS had been tracking her father's movements for a while and had found out about his trips to mirial. worried that the empire was planning something, they sent a squad of operatives to investigate. since his father had often worked for the dark council, the SIS requested a jedi to come with them. when they arrived, suri went to talk to them. they threatened her into talking and she told them of their secret family. the SIS decided to take them prisoners, capture him when he got back, and make him talk using his family as leverage. the jedi disagreed with such methods but the operation was under the SIS's jurisdiction. suri then tried to convince them to leave the town and her daughter, and to instead blackmail him with her. the SIS refused, fearing that the sith might kill him before he could even know about the blackmailing. the jedi, feeling vegoia's strong presence in the force decided to make a deal: vegoia would've come with him to the temple to become a jedi. she'd still have a life, while suri would stay under their custody for the SIS trap. this would also show the agent the difference between the republic and the empire, and hopefully that would help him talk. she accepted at one condition: that they took her away before her father came back, so that she wouldn't have to live through it. vegoia didn't know of her father's real job, like everyone else in the town (everyone thought he had traded his services to the hutts to have the sacred horned crystal back).

they agreed, but, while suri was busy packing thing for vegoia, the SIS decided to put another condition. vegoia musn't be told anything about that day until her father had been taken into republic's custody, as a precaution. the jedi agreed, thinking it wouldn't be long before her father would come home and be arrested. little did he know this momentary omission would grow into a years-old lie.

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diangelodork · 2 days ago

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DBDA nightly analysis #15! (holy shit i can’t believe i’ve been doing this for over two weeks omg)

tonight’s topic is a bit outside of the content within dbda and is more about dbda within the sphere of media we have in the world.

something i realized not long ago and that i spoke about with my amazing psych professor (shout out my prof she’s fucking amazing but i’m not saying her name bc im scared of the internet) is the excessive emphasis that we as a society place on romantic relationships.

i would be willing to argue that love is the main theme of every single piece of media out there. this includes romantic love, yes, but also familial love and platonic love and self-love and a love of your craft and of your hobbies and a love of a concept like power. society is based around love. love is the most powerful motivator in existence.

think of the most popular media you can and i promise you that you can see where love comes into play.

it is also an objective reality that there is a disproportionate amount of media out there that is exclusively about romantic love. romantic love is important for lots of people (not everyone, mind you) and i love a good romance story, but it’s rather unfortunate that all other types of love get pushed to the side so often in favor of highlighting romantic love.

this incredible show, however, isn’t that. there is certainly lots of romance within this show and lots of triangles and circles and pentagons and other shapes in this show, but the main emphasis is friendship and that’s a breath of fresh air in the romance driven world we live in.

charles and edwin are, above all else, best friends. they are each other’s other half and they have been for decades. edwin confesses to charles nearly immediately after he discovers his romantic feelings because of how much he adores charles as a person. he is the most important person to him and he cannot bear hiding something from his other half. he confesses because he loves him as a person. as a friend. as charles. he can’t handle hiding any aspect of himself from his best friend. even when he tells niko that he told the boy he likes that he likes him, he says that he doesn’t like him back, but that they are “better friends because of it.” he cares more about charles knowing him than he needs him in that way. though it would be nice if the love of his life liked him back in the same way, him remaining his best friend is more than enough for edwin. him still loving him is enough for edwin.

charles’ love for edwin as a friend is also exactly what causes him to not immediately rule out a sense of romantic attraction to him. he could've very easily said "i love you, but not in that way," but he doesn't because he owes it to the person he loves more than anything to mull over this. even still, he does profess his love to him right there, only, it’s not romantic. he tells him that nothing would ever destroy their bond and that he's the only person he would ever risk following to literal hell. he tells him that he’s everything and that nothing could change that. he’s his best friend and that means something. it means more than simple romantic/physical attraction does. charles’ dedication and love for edwin is much more important than monty or tck’s attraction to him and him meeting a confession with “i can’t say im in love with you back, but you are the most important person to me,” is so much more impactful than if they had just begun dating right then.

when edwin discovers that monty betrayed them the entire time, his initial reaction is the most hurt "were you just pretending to be my friend?" i have ever heard in my life. he, most out of all the characters, values friendship over everything else.

we also see this when he's being tortured by esther. he's whimpering and shouting, but it's measly compared to the guttural scream he lets out when niko is struck. he cares more about her than he cares about his own pain and suffering.

niko hasn't had friends, as she says in E4 when talking to the shopkeeper. she does now and she's willing to face possible death for them at every turn, a thing that she has professed her fear of. she tells the sprites that she's scared of death, as her father has passed rather recently and she nearly did the episode before this one. literally the episode after she fully gets introduced, she decides to go and face her greatest fear to try and save them. she literally dies jumping in front of crystal and taking the blow for her despite the fact that that’s her greatest fear imaginable.

crystal never really had friends either as she was a selfish and shitty person before she lost her memories. she had people she called her friends, but it was never a healthy relationship as we see through her memories. with charles and edwin and niko, she forms a quick bond and is incredibly loyal to them. she tries to follow edwin, who she doesn't even think likes her very much, to hell and faces her abusive ex to do so.

jenny would do anything for those kids, following crystal to face aforementioned abusive (literal demon) ex and standing up for them wherever else she can despite not knowing a single thing about the supernatural.

niko is probably the first friend tragic mick has. the first person who listens to him and he provides not only intel on how to take esther down, but only genuine and concerned warning for facing such a dangerous witch as esther, as well as a charm that saves niko's life in the long run.

as @spaceraph pointed out, even the night nurse who is someone that clearly does not have many intimate social connections of her own is impacted by (non-romantic) love. she is genuinely touched by kashi’s friendship and it changes her perspective on what she ends up doing with the boys in E7. shes also incredibly emotionally affected when seeing the exchange between charles and edwin in his flashback to his death. she begins crying despite having been rather cold and calculated in all other scenes she is present in. love affects even her.

this show is filled with love and dedication to others, and it's so beautiful to see much more of an emphasis on platonic and interpersonal love vs. strictly caring about the romantic aspect of things. it's rather beautiful and wildly important. it’s held to the highest regard and that is so important to see.

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rinininamiluv · 1 day ago

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I can’t stop thinking about how Ian was frank’s least favorite child meanwhile he was Monica’s favorite child and honestly that’s one of the only qualities about her that I like. Now don’t get me wrong I will never condone parents having favorites among their children but having a favorite child is the least fucked up thing Monica could have and have done to those kids.

And I can’t stop thinking about one little detail in Episode 9 of season 1 that proves this. The scene where Monica and Roberta told them that they want to take Liam with them and get custody for him and Fiona started going on about how unfair and down right wrong that was after Monica abandoned them and after how much blood sweat and tears Fiona put into raising each one of them and now she suddenly wants to come back and take one of them away from them and they one they care for and love the most at that? And then she started calling out the kids names and stating how well they’re doing in school all thanks to her (Fiona) and not Monica.

But the detail I noticed is that as she called each one of their names and their success in school we saw no reaction from Monica until Fiona got to Ian and mentioned that he was promoted into ROTC and tested out of English. You can see that Ian being able to live his dream affected her and how proud she was to hear she literally gasped and her mouth was trembling from the new set of tears and emotions she was feeling. And everytime I see that scene and I notice this it hits me so hard.

Maybe it’s because I love Ian so much and he along with Mickey are my favorite characters makes everything about Ian a big deal for me. And I’ve never really seen anyone mention this little detail before and I feel like it should be and it’s an important piece of evidence of why I think Ian is Monica’s favorite. And it just justifies Ian’s soft spot for his mother and why he found it the hardest to let go of her and move on from her death the hardest (except for frank ofc or idk maybe more than frank) and why he cared for her so much. And ofc we can’t run from the fact that the two of them understand each other more than the others in the family did. They both are part of the lgbtq+ community and they both struggle with the same mental illness (although I still think it was wrong of Monica to make Ian believe he should break up with Mickey because Mickey wouldn’t understand him).

And I really have no one to talk about this to because none of my friends have watched this show so none of them would understand what I’m rambling about right now and this is the best place to ramble about this on.

Also one of my favorite scenes has to be when Monica got Ian out of jail after that mfer Sammy called the cops on him and they went to get something to eat and Ian noticed Monica staring at him and he asks her “what?” And she replies with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on her “you’re a so beautiful. You’re and beautiful, beautiful man. I did great making you.” And I couldn’t agree with her more.

But that’s me rambling about what’s been on my mind for hours now :)

#shameless #ian gallagher #monica gallagher #gallavich #frank gallagher #fiona gallagher #ian gallagher is amazing #Monica favorites ian

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girl-named-matty · 3 days ago

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My last paper - Matty Ambrose

synopsis ✧ Matty is closing in on her final year of Hogwarts. For her last assignment in Professor Weasley's class, she's been asked to write a paper about herself. It can be anything as long as it has something to do with her. So without spilling all the secrets of her diary, she jots down some of the most important things in her life.

word count ✧ 2.5k

a/n ✧ This is my entry for the HL edition of my November writing prompts. Week one "Backstory". Hope you all enjoy!

"Well, this is my last paper I’ll ever write for school.

Three years have gone by all too fast. I’m in my last week of school at Hogwarts. For our last assignment, Professor Weasley asked us to write a paper on ourselves. About things we know, we remember, etc.… So really, just about anything as long as it was about us.

She said it was a good way to reflect on our past before we step into adulthood and the real world. And it’s just for us; we don’t have to show anybody if we don’t want to. I’ll probably have to stop a few times during this paper to go cry my eyes out, but who knows?

Hello, I am Matthew Loraine Ambrose. Yep, my name is Matthew, and I really like the name, to be honest. Although I’ve gone by “Matty” my whole entire life, if you call me Matthew, I’ll probably be terrified of you for a few moments since the only time someone uses my real name is my parents when they’re upset at me—which doesn’t happen often. But just be warned.

I was named after my paternal grandfather. My grandfather Matthew. I never met him, as he died before I was born. But after his death, my Da always swore he’d name his first child after his father.

Well, I’m the first and only child in my family, so I was the one that ended up with the name. I’d get teased for it whenever someone found out it was my real name, but honestly, I don’t care much. I think it’s a good way to honor the family member I never got to meet.

I was born in Dublin, Ireland, on April 26th, 1875. I grew up right beside my mother's side of the family—we lived right next to each other as neighbors. So I grew up surrounded by my aunts, uncles, cousins, and my mother's parents. It was the best start to my childhood that I could ever ask for. Near the people I loved the most who I knew loved me.

I often remember visiting my Nana and Granda’s house, sitting around their big stone fireplace with my cousins. I spent every Christmas there.

As for my grandmother, my parents and I tried to visit her as much as we could. She lived a bit away from Dublin, in Carlingford, Ireland. It was only her living in that little old house. I could tell she was lonely since my grandfather passed, but she always had the biggest smile on her face. Eventually, she did actually end up leaving Carlingford to come live with my mum’s side of the family.

My Mum and Da grew up together, so naturally, the families knew each other. Grandfather and Grandmother only left Dublin after my Da was grown and married. So it was no surprise that after she was left alone, she moved back. Both sides of my family are close, so they see each other as family blood related or not. I miss them a lot ever since leaving Ireland.

As for my friends, growing up, I had a really good friend named Declan. His family lived near mine, and he was always obsessed with my Granda’s boat—which is how we met. He wanted to grow up and become a sailor. Almost eighteen years later, I was told he finally did become one, and he’s somewhere out there on the ocean.

Declan and I did almost everything together. He was a bit of a delinquent, to be honest, but he was fun, and my parents thought he was a good kid, just a little misguided. Apparently he liked me at the time, and looking back, I probably liked him too. But we were just too young to understand what that was. I’m sure he’ll meet some wonderful person out there who’s capable of handling his personality, if you understand what I mean, of course.

He had brown hair that was always messy. I don’t think I remember a single time it looked neat. He had freckles all over his face. And for some reason, his appearance said a lot about him.

(At this point in my paper, I had stopped to show it to my best friend Hope. She told me I had a “type” in men, and I think that was just her way of calling Sebastian a delinquent. Should I be offended?)

Anyway, I still consider him to be my first best friend. We had a lot of good times together. I do hope he’s doing well out there.

My Da is a carpenter, and he likes to “invent” (as he calls it) all these little trinkets and things. He’s quite the intelligent man, really, and they are honestly quite useful. But his main job is carpentry. When I was seven, my Da and his business partner, Mr. Athy, wanted to expand their business opportunities. That ended up in them deciding that London would be the best place for them to go.

The business move was sponsored by Mr. Athy’s aunt, Alice Hammond, who lived in London. To be honest, she’s the scariest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. The business was dependent on her for the first two years but eventually broke out of that, and it's very successful now. Mrs. Hammond still seems entitled to our lives though—I don’t think that’s something we’ll ever escape.

Moving to London was quite hard. I spoke English, so that was no problem. But I still had a thick accent and hadn’t yet adapted to the area around me. Not to mention—being from Ireland—I wasn’t exactly sure how people would treat us.

We moved in next to a family of the name McGowan, and they came over to meet us that same day. They had a daughter my age, Hope (who I mentioned earlier). When we first met, she could hardly understand what I was saying because of my accent, yet she took the time to listen to me anyway. From that day on, we were best friends.

Ironically, I ended up finding out my best friend was a witch only because we bumped into each other on the first day of school when I finally attended Hogwarts. I had always found it quite weird how she went off to a school miles away for several months every year, but I never questioned it. Then I found myself at the same school years later. It was surprising, to say the least. Especially because I had no knowledge of the wizarding world until I was fifteen years old.

While in London, I also made friends with two girls named Eugenia and Nora. They are two of my close friends from home. All of these people in my life have helped me shape into the person I am today.

When I was fifteen, a man of the name Eleazar Fig showed up at my doorstep. I was terrified, to say the least. I had found the acceptance letter mere moments before he knocked on the door to my house—I freaked out mentally. I didn’t know how my parents would react. He was already inside by the time I had gathered my senses.

But my parents didn’t freak out; in fact, they were extremely supportive of me. It was surprising, that’s for sure, but truly they wanted me to do what made me happy.

I stayed in London for one more month while Professor Fig mentored me and taught me the basics of the Wizarding World and the magic therein. I love reading, but I don’t think I’ve ever read so many books in one month before then—it was a lot.

Then it came time for me to actually go to Hogwarts. Usually, students go on this train called “The Hogwarts Express,” however, Fig and I—and a friend of his, George Osric—traveled by flying carriage. Now that was an experience for sure. Long story short, I could definitely see Thestrals by the time we made it to the school.

The first day brought a lot of change in my life—most of it I wasn’t expecting, or at least thinking that it’d make that big of an impact on my life. I met many wonderful people, but just to name a few—

I met a boy named Sebastian Sallow, and the first thing I ever did was beat him in a duel. He’s now my boyfriend of almost two years, and we’re planning on getting married whenever the opportunity shows itself. I met a boy named Garreth in my common room. He was a bit silly to me at first, but now he’s dating my best friend. I’m hoping the safe side of his creative genius will rub off on their kids.

I met my dormmates, Nellie and Natty. Those two girls have helped me through more than they think. I could always go to them if I needed. And as I mentioned earlier, I bumped into my best friend that day as well.

Soon after, I met Esme, who has taught me a lot in the three years I’ve known her. Ominis, who has had the hardest life out of us all and yet still cares so much about others. He was a bit intimidating at first—after all, the first time I met him, he was yelling at me, but he was sweet after I got to know him for a bit. And if I remember correctly—Esme was yelling too. But she was yelling at Sebastian for stealing her diary. I suppose those two really are a match made in heaven.

Other friends I met are Leander, Amit, Zerena, Poppy, Cressida, Adelaide, and even a girl named Imelda, who I honestly clashed with for a while, but we’re surprisingly good friends now. She started respecting me only after I became Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, and honestly, I’m not even mad for it taking that long. It’s just cool that I’ve earned that.

It’d take all the paper in Hogwarts for me to write down every friend I’ve made and their impact on my life, so I’ll try to keep this brief. But truly, I think coming here has been the best decision ever. My mentor and professor, Eleazar Fig, unfortunately passed away before the end of my starting year here. That hit me harder than anything, but his death encouraged me to keep going even after he was no longer here. He wished for me to do so to make sure that Hogwarts was protected, so I did just that.

Many of the other professors here have taught me many wonderful things and important life lessons. I truly believe each and every one of them cherishes their jobs and their students (well, maybe besides Professor Black, but that’s a different discussion), and that’s what makes the school how it is.

In summary, the past three years were crazy. I went from some random girl in London who didn’t know what she wanted in her life to the “Hero of Hogwarts,” who knew exactly what she wanted to do and pursue.

I fought and defeated Ranrok, Rookwood, and Harlow all in one year—not to mention the countless other things I was doing for other people. My sixth year at Hogwarts consisted of me doing mass research of Isidora Morganach after meeting her last descendant, which was crazy even of itself, and then I was betrayed by that descendant later that same year. What a time to be alive.

This year has arguably been the craziest year of my life. I used to think not much could compete with my fifth year, but I guess the universe decided to take that as a challenge. Because of Apollo opening the repository and trying to kill me—it left me with no choice but to take the magic myself to ensure that it was kept in good hands. I’d do whatever needed to be done in order to keep it safe.

I unfortunately got the blunt end of it—nightmares, sickness, insomnia, exhaustion, and so much more. And at points in time, I didn’t even have control over my own body, which led to “me” doing some horrible things.

I faced off with a psychopathic escapee from Azkaban whose only mission in life was to kill me—basically, her interesting "lover" second in command who pretended to be my professor, two of Ominis’ older brothers—one who blackmailed me into helping him put the other into prison and the other who was working with Leona (the psychopathic Azkaban escapee) who was also trying to kill me.

So, pretty much everybody had it out for me this year. Yet miraculously, I’m alive.

But regardless of how many things happened this year, good was still present. My relationship with Sebastian has never been stronger. I truly want to spend the rest of my life with this man. He spends every day of his life getting better, making up for his past, and setting up for a good future. My friendship with many others is very strong too, especially those who were by my side all year.

Anne—Sebastian’s sister, who has been cursed for many years now—was finally cured. She’s still recovering, as the cure was only a reversal of the curse, but she’s doing much better. She’s happy now, a smile on her face almost all the time. I never realized just how much she and Sebastian looked alike until recently.

Oh, I—and the both of them—met their aunt. Yes, the one everybody thought was dead. Even through all the crazy things that happened to me this year, I still think that’s the craziest.

I feel like I’m dragging on here, but this paper hardly captures just everything that’s happened in my life—mainly in the past three years. Luckily, I have diaries for that.

But in conclusion, no matter how hard it’s been, coming to Hogwarts has been the best decision I’ve ever made. I’ve learned so much, met lifelong friends, met my future husband, and already have my future career set up for me. It’s bittersweet to say goodbye, especially since I only got to spend three years here instead of the usual seven, but nonetheless, I’m lucky that I made it.

I’m a better person than I was then. I’ve saved lives, helped others, and now that’s my mission in life. To continue to help others with the gift I have. Professor Fig once told me that this magic just doesn’t come to anybody who wants it and that it's given to those who will do good with it. He pretty much gave me an assignment for life right then and there, and I took it up.

Even if life is hard and sometimes it feels like I want to give up, I know that it was all worth it to keep trying.

And regardless of all the things I’ve gone through, at least my kids will think I’m cool. :)"

#hogwarts legacy #hl #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy mc #mc #Matty Ambrose #Hogwarts Legacy fanfiction #HLNovember

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