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darthstitch · 2 years ago

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Professor Mysterious and Professor Wet Cat

This is my take on that Dreamling post making the rounds about Hob and Dream being uni professors and that Hob is surprisingly NOT the prof who overshares and Dream is the one who inadvertently does.

Buckle up, kids, let's have some fun with this. Also, gentle reminder: NOBODY TELL NEIL. SHHHH!

This time around, Hob's using his proper name, Robert Gadling, because it's been a while since he's trotted that one out and he kinda likes the seeming rightness that the once upon a time near-illiterate medieval peasant that he'd been was now teaching at a rather prestigious university. However, he's not prone to sharing much about his personal life to his students. He's still warm and friendly, but he's cautious about letting Certain Things slip.

Hilariously, the things that do slip end up making him everyone's favorite university cryptid. Sometimes Hob slips into Middle English when he's stressed or emotional. Sometimes he might use odd old-fashioned sounding oaths like "God's wounds," "Holy Jesu," and "Mother Mary's teats" (this last one sends everyone into spasms of laughter).

The literature department ADORES him because they can always drag Professor Gadling off to read Chaucer in its original form or even medieval French, his pronunciation perfect and dead on. Shakespeare is the only thing he'll flat out refuse to read because in any universe this Fuzzy Blue Alien's gonna write, his hatred of the Bard is the stuff of legend.

The students universally agree that Professor G is basically British Indiana Jones, because he's also known to have lethal expertise in medieval weapons. There's been more than a few fantasies inspired during the booked-solid outdoor demonstrations where he works in tandem with the other medieval history professors to show everyone how medieval weapons worked. Apparently, his favorite weapons are the longbow, the bastard sword and daggers.

Obviously, this all leads to Professor Gadling being the campus crush and his relationship status is a matter of hot speculation even if he's made it perfectly clear he was not about to violate his ethical standards or position as a teacher. It still doesn't stop the fevered fantasies of more than a few grad students, though. But that's all they're gonna get.

And then, there's the new literature teacher, Professor T. Murphy.

To everyone's disappointment, Professor Murphy is only going to be at the university for a limited series of lectures. Word of mouth spread fast, and his classes were now booked solid and he was going to be asked to return, once his apparently very busy schedule is cleared.

7. Of course, he's an instant campus crush, with the "Goth angel" looks, the Edward Cullen jokes are definitely flying and there's more than a few students melting after they heard him speak. "That Voice" is always referred to in capital letters and it's well deserved.

8. "Campus crush" turns to "Official Precious Blorbo" once the students all discover that behind the whole regal and imperious Goth Prince vibe that he gave off, was an adorkable darling wet cat who was just completely gone on "my beloved." If he's discussing a love sonnet or poem, there's definitely going to be a reference to "my beloved" or "my dearest" or "my love." It's never sickeningly cloying and the sweet tiny little smile that takes over his normally serious face is like sunshine. The kilig feels are real.

9. He's also forever worrying that he's not enough for "my dearest" as he's rather painfully aware "of my lack in human graces" - which everyone translates to "OMG HELP I HAVE THE SOCIAL SKILLS OF A SCRUNKLY WET CAT." He frets that he's somehow failing his beloved, who is infinitely sweet and thoughtful and caring and that Professor Murphy is the selfish one, really, who doesn't deserve the man.

10. The students, of course, immediately ADOPT him. Tesco ice cream runs are done, YouTube videos on cooking and invites to kitchens are extended so Professor Murphy could practice making something that is "not a catastrophic culinary disaster unfit for human consumption." There was a session on the language of flowers, which everyone had enjoyed. For a while, flowers with significant meanings were presented to sweethearts and lovers all over the uni. There's an unforgettable after-class meeting in which the craft-inclined students teach Professor Murphy how to knit and crochet and he was really rather proud of the scarf he had created.

11. Professor Murphy's raven had been rather entertained playing with the yarn scraps. The students learn that the raven's name is Matthew.

12. And then, dashing, mysterious Professor Gadling finally peeks into Professor Murphy's class.

"The things I do for you, myne owne hertis rote. Bloody Shaxberd."

"But you do read him so very well, my love." And there it was, that tiny, soft, sweet smile, now aimed in Professor Gadling's direction.

Professor Gadling sighs and puts a hand over his chest. There's a very familiar scarf draped over his neck. "God's wounds, dove, warn your poor, long-suffering husband before you do these things."

"What 'things,' dearest?"

Professor Gadling waves his arms helplessly. The scarf slips a little, offering a tantalizing view of a purplish mark on his throat. "That thing!" He looks appealingly at the students, who are now all stifling their delighted giggles. "Look at him! My heart can only take so much!"

And that was how everyone found out that Professors Gadling and Murphy were actually happily married.

Incidentally, the Shakespeare reading, in which both professors took part, was a true kilig apocalypse. Instant campus legend.

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #professor dream #professor gadling #i crack what i want #history and literature class cryptids #pffthahahaha #shhh nobody tell neil

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mighty-ant · 9 months ago

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enough is enough

shoutout to @soy-s4uce for commissioning me!

ao3

It started with a little tickle in Launchpad’s throat.

He didn’t think anything of it. A cold swept through the kids just last week, a little thing that cooped them up in the mansion. Beakley kept them well supplied with tissues so they (Dewey) didn’t use their sleeves to wipe their noses and Donald commandeered the kitchen to make enough of Grandma Duck’s “famous chicken soup” to feed an army.

Without any adventures for a week, Mr. McDee begrudgingly attended to the growing demands of his company—after the kids begged, cajoled, and threatened him into not going anywhere exciting without them while Donald and Della glared daggers at him over their heads.

Mr. McDee had his typical Richest Duck in the World-type business meetings, plus he was still interviewing candidates for a new board of directors since his last one didn’t work out so great.

The meetings lasted hours, and took Mr. McDee not just out of the city but all over the state and across the country. These bigwigs were scattered everywhere, and he not only wanted to meet with them, but everyone who worked with them. Better safe than sorry and all that.

All of which meant that for a whole week, Launchpad was really only around the family as Mr. McDee’s driver, just like old times.

Oh, he was flying Mr. McDee too, but only because Della hadn’t wanted to do it. Since it was a business trip, Launchpad was expected to do a lot of sitting around and waiting to drive Mr. McDee to the next appointment, to which Della had immediately declared, “Bor-ing!” before running off to set up Legends of Legendquest for her and Huey to play.

But Launchpad didn’t mind, as much as he would’ve liked to join Drake on his current case: tracking down a runaway theater troupe turned theatrical bank robbers. At least he was being useful here. And besides, he planned to spend his free time while away rewatching some of the Darkwing Duck episodes he’d saved on his phone and trying to decipher the memes Gosalyn was always sending him.

Drake tended to worry about Launchpad when he went anywhere with Mr. McDee and the family, convinced they invited craziness just by breathing, and he wasn’t exactly wrong. So Launchpad planned to text Drake, too, to let him know he was okay. Maybe Launchpad would even call him when breaks in his patrol allowed, so that he could close his eyes and listen to the lilt of Drake’s voice and pretend they were side by side, so close their arms were pressed together. He wasn’t quite brave enough to hold Drake’s hand in real life, but Launchpad would bet anything that they were warm and lined with calluses.

Launchpad had almost been looking forward to the business trip. Time apart from Drake and Gosalyn just meant reunions were always that much sweeter, making him feel fit to bursting with a kind of joy he’d never known before, like he’d swallowed the sun.

Gosalyn usually threw herself at him the second he stepped through the door, from the higher up the better, and would hang off his back while he swept Drake into a bearhug that was eagerly returned. There was nothing quite like the feeling of Drake’s arms wrapped snug around his middle, or how his head fit perfectly under Launchpad’s chin.

But after Della bolted, Mr. McDee pat Launchpad on the arm with a fond, absentminded sort of smile. “Ach, that girl. Well, you’ll be enough for a quick flight, eh, McQuack?”

It was a rude wakeup call; a punch to the gut that left him breathless, impossible to brace against because he never saw it coming. But maybe he should’ve. That was just the story of his life, wasn’t it? Good Enough McQuack.

In the moment, Launchpad had smiled blithely. What else could he do?

“You got it, boss!”

Though as he packed an overnight bag, as he gassed up the plane, as they took-off and through all the long lonely hours of flight, he burned inside. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling: shame and embarrassment and a deep, deep sadness going down like a bad burrito, emotional heartburn without a cure.

He was eighteen when he left home, Loopy having taken his spot in the Flying McQuacks.

Launchpad remembered squinting against the glare of the sun, watching her pull off loops and dives he never could without crashing first, when his dad clapped an arm around his shoulders.

“You were A-OK, son, but now we’ve got a real pilot on our hands!”

He’d traveled a little over ten years before settling in Duckburg, bouncing between undersea palaces and werewolf communes and even a ninja clan or two before eventually wearing out his welcome and being encouraged to move on. He thought he’d found a home with the Ducks, but even though they cared about him, it was clear that he was just a placeholder for someone better.

He was thirty-five when Della came home and took back the plane that was rightfully hers. Thirty-five when he met Drake, and it felt like a dream come true. But all dreams had to end, right?

He’d never said anything to Launchpad about moving on, not yet, but maybe it was only a matter of time. Even he didn’t have to be a genius to know that it had to bother Drake, Launchpad’s…Launchpadness. It was a rotating list of screw-ups: clumsy, slow, bad driver, bad pilot, take your pick. He was a pretty poor excuse for a sidekick, not that Drake had much of a choice in the matter.

But maybe he did now, with Gosalyn’s presence in their lives his life becoming more permanent. She already had a mask and a hood to wear when she joined them on patrol (lovingly stitched together by Drake), and she was trying out the codename Quiverwing, which was as good a superhero title as Launchpad had ever heard.

Drake deserved everything, more than Launchpad could give. And Launchpad wasn’t a jealous man, not really, but sometimes when the Justice Ducks got together and he saw Drake—Darkwing—standing beside great heroes like Penumbra or Gizmoduck, each of them confident, larger than life, he saw how much Drake belonged next to them, and how much Launchpad…didn’t.

He wasn’t a superhero. He didn’t even have a costume, and he wouldn’t be able to think one up if he tried. As a kid, he tied a towel around his neck for a cape (after getting in trouble for tearing up his bed sheets) and pretended his Nana’s old church hat was a cowl. But Launchpad wasn’t a kid anymore, and he knew better than to think he would ever be good enough for Darkwing.

It was a lot of things that added up to one big problem, and the problem was him. Everything he wasn’t, everything he lacked. Even when Drake smiled at him, next to him on the couch or beside him on patrol, something caught in his chest and he couldn’t stop looking for the slightest wrinkle in his forehead, the barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes, any sign of the disappointment he had to feel. Disappointment that Launchpad couldn’t do anything about.

Unless he stepped back, removed himself from the equation, and let Drake and Gos flourish into a happy family without him. Just like he had with the Ducks. Just like he had with his own family.

They’d call him when they needed him, and Launchpad would always come running.

These thoughts didn’t go away by the time Launchpad finally made his way back to St. Canard. He barely slept that long week, sitting alone in the various plane hangars or alone in various parking lots while Mr. McDee’s went to meeting after meeting.

Drake had checked in on him, because he was amazing like that, and they hadn’t seen each other in a while (sixteen days, but who was counting?). Though Launchpad bulldozed through any questions about his well-being to ask about joining Drake on patrol once he was back.

“Oh, uh, sure! Yeah, I was going to scope out the harbor next, see if I could find another one of Tuskernini’s stashes. Are you sure, though? You don’t wanna get some rest after flying all day?”

The answer would always be yes, even when his exhaustion weighed down his limbs and he shivered with fever. Launchpad couldn’t risk it; any call might be the last one.

Launchpad couldn’t risk it. There was a ticking clock in his head that he couldn’t see, but he knew the timer was winding down. Everything felt precious and finite now that he was aware of it, reminding him that no good thing could last forever, especially for someone who was never good enough to begin with.

“Pfft, who needs sleep? I can fly a plane with my eyes closed and both hands tied behind my back.”

“I believe you, but please don’t. Gos and I want you back in one piece.”

—

When Launchpad pried his eyes open, the world around him was dark and hazy at the edges. His entire body pulsed with a bone-deep ache and his mind was foggy, thoughts harder to latch onto than loose balloon strings. But he’d been buried in an avalanche once, so he couldn’t be doing that bad, right? Comparatively?

Although, this time he didn’t know where he was and he was too bleary-eyed to recognize anything around him.

Had he crashed? Launchpad vaguely recalled being in the air, the grip of a familiar yoke in his hands, but that could’ve been any time in the last twenty years.

Wherever he was now, he was warm, and whatever he was laying on was soft. A bed?

Then, above him, a light. And casting a shadow over him was a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere.

Though Launchpad’s vision was still poor, he’d have to be blind not to admire the way the light shone pink through Drake’s feathers, always inviting Launchpad to touch. He obviously knew better but the temptation was always there.

He smiled up at Drake instinctively—there’d never be a time that he wasn’t thrilled by the sight of him—before ever noticing his expression. But then, notice he did.

Drake’s hat was missing, leaving his hair in disarray, his maskless face revealed eyes dark and narrowed with worry. The corner of his beak, where his answering smile would normally be, was pinched in a frown.

Launchpad knew what this expression meant: danger.

Someone was in trouble. Who? Not Drake, he didn’t look hurt other than the usual bruise here and there, and a tear in the shoulder of the suit. Definitely not Launchpad. Gosalyn? Where was Gosalyn?

Launchpad didn’t realize he’d started sitting up until Drake was pushing him back down with a hand on his shoulder, gentle but unyielding as steel. He was so much stronger than he looked, and Launchpad already thought he was the strongest man he’d ever known.

“No one’s in trouble,” Drake soothed, and Launchpad slumped immediately in relief. Had he been talking outloud? Or did Drake just know him that well?

“Well, except you.”

If Launchpad had the wherewithal, he would’ve blanched at the sudden chill in the room. There was an edge to Drake’s voice he normally reserved for supervillains and people who didn’t tip. He’d never heard it directed at himself.

Drake came closer, like he knew Launchpad’s eyesight wasn’t working too good right now. His eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. He looked so tired.

“Wha-what happened?” Launchpad stammered in a rush. How long had he been asleep?

He knew, instinctively, that he was the one to put that expression on Drake’s face. Even barely conscious, shame and embarrassment burned through Launchpad, a deep, deep sadness going down like a bad burrito. He was always making things worse for the people he cared about.

“You don’t remember?” Drake snapped, more desperate than angry. “You almost got yourself killed, Launchpad!”

His tired eyes were wild, and he looked like he wanted to get up and pace, throw his hands around like he did when he was frustrated, but he just gripped a fistful of Launchpad’s blankets tighter. Blankets. Bed. Launchpad was lying in Drake’s bed in the Tower.

Launchpad almost got himself killed walking out his front door sometimes, that was no big deal. But even achy and groggy, waking up in Drake’s bed had a blush flooded up Launchpad’s neck and pooled in his cheeks. He cleared his throat to distract (himself) from it.

Launchpad struggled to sit up again. This time Drake let him.

“I’m fine!” he insisted, voice hoarse and sleep rough. It felt as if he’d gargled with rocks. “I once fought off armed goons after getting bitten by a big pile of poisonous snakes! Or, wait, is it venomous? What is it when they bite you?”

“Venomous,” Drake confirmed weakly, hands hovering uselessly in front of him. “You really don’t remember what happened, do you?”

“I, uh…” Launchpad looked down, noticing for the first time that he was wearing pajamas. But not his. And definitely not Drake’s. “We…went on patrol?”

Drake closed his eyes, like he was in pain. That was definitely the wrong answer.

“We went on patrol,” he confirmed, and Launchpad almost perked up. But Drake clearly wasn’t finished. “We went on patrol to the docks, where we thought Tuskernini might be stashing some of the money from his recent string of bank robberies. And on this patrol, you conveniently forgot to mention that you had a 102 degree fever!”

Now Launchpad was the one holding onto the blankets, his palms sweating. “S-sure. But-but we caught Tuskernini!” he recalled.

Drake threw his hands in the air. “Yeah, at first! But he got away when you passed out and fell in the bay!”

“W-wait, what? No I didn’t.” Forget sweating, Launchpad had never been colder in his life. He didn’t remember falling in the water, but he wondered if he’d felt like he did now: sinking into pinprick darkness so frigid and so deep it stole the breath from his lungs.

“You almost drowned,” Drake pressed, eyes overly shiny (just from reflecting the bright desk lamp, Launchpad was sure). He let out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “I had to let Tuskernini go when I jumped in after you. Then I radioed SHUSH for an evac and one of their doctors said you could rest here. That was about…how many hours ago now, W.A.N.D.A?”

“6.28 hours, Darkwing.”

Drake was still in costume. Had he…waited for Launchpad to wake up? That felt like wishful thinking.

Launchpad wasn’t the guy people worried about. Sure he got knocked around on adventures sometimes, but he always got back up, bruised and battered or otherwise. It’s what everyone expected of him. To be just good enough, until someone better came along.

Drake sat down heavily on the side of the bed. His fire had been snuffed out, and he looked tired and lost again as he stared down at his hands.

Launchpad watched him in profile, the ache of helpless love in his chest more painful than any tumble into icy waters.

“I just don’t get it,” Drake sighed. “Why would you take a risk like that? And why wouldn’t you tell me you were feeling that bad? Just…what were you thinking?”

If Launchpad’s ribs weren’t throbbing like they’d been used as a marimba, he might’ve laughed.

Drake had to know. Didn’t he? That for him, Launchpad would get beat down again by every supervillain in Calisota? Give up flying, borrow a time machine and save Jim for him, all without Drake ever needing to ask.

“DW, l…I did it for you,” Launchpad said helplessly.

Drake stiffened, like he sometimes did when he got hurt doing something dumb and didn’t want Launchpad to know. But when he lifted his head, there was a small, anguished crease between his eyebrows Launchpad hadn’t seen since Drake fell to his knees before the fire and ruin that was Jim’s last stand.

“For me?” he repeated slowly, as if wishing he’d heard wrong.

Launchpad nodded a little nervously. “Y-yeah. It was my idea for you to be Darkwing, y’know? I should be able to watch your back and I didn’t wanna let you down.” Not the full truth, but good enough. Drake didn’t need to know about the countdown in his head, or how his latest stunt might’ve cut down on the time they had left together.

Drake still looked ill at ease. He wrapped one hand around the clasp of his cape, glancing down at his costume with a furrowed brow. “I don’t want you feeling obligated to come to St. Canard,” he said stiffly and extremely un-Drakelike. “You-you don’t owe me anything, LP. I made the choice, not you.”

He and Drake had learned to speak paragraphs in only a glance, and Launchpad instantly recognized Drake’s poorly hidden (to him) anxiety for what it was. It was a fear Drake had expressed at the start, too. That Launchpad’s hero worship of Jim might extend to Drake, impair his judgment and make him blind to his flaws.

But Launchpad loved Drake for his flaws (and all the good stuff too, of course), because unlike Jim, Drake knew he had them and worked to be better.

Launchpad’s own anxieties fell away under the strength of his certainty, his faith in his best friend. “I know. I promise, I know. I’m here for Drake, not Darkwing.” His voice still rasped, sore from his illness and impromptu dip in the bay, but his conviction was undamaged.

And for a moment, Drake smiled, tired but relieved, and it lifted the strain from his features like taking off a veil.

It didn’t last long, and Launchpad’s heart dropped when Drake looked away, his silence pensive. He took a breath, hands trembling in his lap.

When Drake pinned Launchpad with his stare, he was sure his heart stopped entirely.

“I don’t want you to push yourself like that. Not for me, or anyone else. I knew it was a bad idea to let you go back and forth from here to Duckburg, but I didn’t think it would almost get you killed!”

Launchpad flinched. There it was then.

Six months wasn’t a bad run, right?

He dropped his gaze as he fiddled with his pajama sleeve, feeling awkward and out of place in Drake’s bed, Drake’s tower. He managed a wavering smile, clenching his jaw against the pesky burn of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry, DW. I know I messed up. Just a matter of time, right? I know I’m not good enough to keep around long term, but it was fun while it lasted.”

Dead silence greeted him, like the kind before a bomb went off. He wasn’t even sure he could hear Drake’s breathing, but then Launchpad’s own heartbeat pounding in his ears was kinda distracting.

When he glanced up, Drake was already staring at him, but he didn’t look relieved or guilty or anything like what Launchpad imagined he’d look like when Launchpad let him off the hook. He mostly looked…stunned. Like in the split second after you got hit over the head with a comically large mallet (there’d been a startling number of Quackerjack copycats since the Fearsome Four invaded their reality).

“LP,” he managed, as confusion flooded his expression. “What are you talking about?”

Uncertainty replaced Launchpad’s earlier feeling of resignation, and he looked everywhere but at Drake. This really wasn’t how he thought things would go. “I, uh…same thing you’re talking about?”

A warm hand wrapped about Launchpad’s knuckles and his eyes shot up to Drake at once. “I was going to ask if you’d be willing to move to St. Canard,” Drake said quietly. “W-with me. No more driving back and forth.”

“Oh. That’s…I was…” Launchpad stumbled over himself like an idiot, unable to tear his eyes away from Drake’s. A sickening sort of hope was building in the back of his throat but he didn’t dare voice it. Wishful thinking, he told himself. Wishful thinking.

But Drake’s voice was low, and so soft in its sincerity. “Launchpad. What have I done to make you think you’re not enough?” His grip around Launchpad’s hand tightened, as if someone was trying to snatch him away.

Launchpad quailed. “Nothing! It wasn’t—it wasn’t you—”

That just seemed to upset Drake even more. Unstoppable as an incoming train, he barreled over Launchpad and left him speechless in his wake. “And what if I want to keep you around forever, huh? What if I’m always going to need you?”

And Launchpad just…stopped. Because he couldn’t even begin to imagine what that looked like.

He knew what to look for when people wanted him gone, whether they were subtle about it or just told him to his face to get lost. He’d receive every sort of brush-off under the sun and accepted them all with a smile. But being asked to stay? That he had no frame of reference for.

“Why would you want that?” he asked without thinking.

At some point, Drake had stood back up in his agitation. But he never let go of Launchpad’s hand, and though Launchpad hadn’t intended it that way, he used it to guide Drake back onto the bed beside him.

Drake sank onto the edge with a huff, searching Launchpad’s face imploringly.

“Because I love you,” he said, so, so easily. Like it was a well known fact that Launchpad had simply forgotten.

This time, it was Launchpad’s grip that went tight, possibly to the point of pain, but he couldn’t even think straight enough to apologize. Or let go.

He used to date a lot more after leaving home, looking for someone to share his life with. He’d wanted a family of his own eventually, one he could devote himself to completely, and have that love returned, for once. But while he and his old partners had plenty of fun together, none of them were the right fit. It had hurt him to leave them, and vice versa, but he’d been able to do it, and move on. But Drake?

I dunno, this whole thing sounds like it could get…

Dangerous?

He’d known ever since he watched Drake look up, the spark of realization in his eyes catching and turning into a blaze of determination as he put Darkwing’s hat back where it belonged—he’d known that there would be no coming back from Drake. No moving on. Drake was it for him.

Launchpad had found the one person he’d been looking for almost his entire life, and he hadn’t even been searching at the time.

And Drake was in front of him now, getting twitchy, because Launchpad had been quiet for too long.

He exhaled in a rush, almost feeling lightheaded by the end of it. “Drake, I…I love you too. Of course I love you. How couldn’t I?” Setting the long-trapped words free, quiet and sincere, straight from his heart to Drake’s face…it had him feeling about ready to float away.

Drake barked that short, sharp laugh of his, one of Launchpad’s favorite sounds. “Do you want the list alphabetically or numerically?” he joked, smiling a true brilliant, relieved smile that Launchpad wanted to kiss off his face. Like a shock to the system, he wondered if Drake would let him.

He muffled a cough against his arm.

Maybe when he wasn’t contagious anymore.

But that seemed to be enough to remind Drake of what got them here in the first place, and he sobered a bit.

“I’m serious about you moving to St. Canard. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, LP. Burning the candle at both ends like this…what if something happens to you and I’m not there? You shouldn’t have to deal with killer robots or venomous snakes or-or supervillains all on your own! When we’re together we can watch each other's backs, and I think we make a pretty good team.” Drake grinned wryly, but his smile soon slipped a bit, voice turning hesitant. “I don’t want to make you chose between us and your family—”

“You’re my family,” Launchpad interrupted without thinking. He immediately flushed with mortification. But a glance at Drake revealed that he was blushing just as hotly, his face pretty and pink, and failing spectacularly to hide a pleased little smile. Launchpad decided to be brave and smiled back. “You and Gos,” he said, more firmly.

It was his turn to hesitate now.

“But… Darkwing Duck doesn’t need a sidekick. He never did.”

Drake leaned forward. And kept leaning forward.

Launchpad froze up when Drake pressed his temple against Launchpad’s own clammy forehead. Drake’s free hand settled on Launchpad’s chest, over his heart, and it thumped madly under his palm.

Launchpad had just started to settle into this new embrace, one hand coming up to press tentatively against Drake’s lower back, when Drake spoke again into the short, warm distance between them.

“Darkwing Duck isn’t real. Or, wasn’t. Not until you came along. And yeah, maybe I don’t need a sidekick. But I do want a partner.”

“And you want…me?” Launchpad hated how small his voice sounded but everything in him was still screaming that this was all too good to be true. That he was still asleep with Drake watching over him, but no more.

Drake’s hand on his chest tightened, gripping a fistful of fabric. “Of course, you,” he said, gentle but unwavering. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Launchpad shrugged, flustered but unable to help himself. “You don’t want someone, I dunno…better?”

“What’s ‘better’ than the man I love?”

“I…I didn’t…when…wow. That was a really good line,” Launchpad breathed, and he laughed for the first time that night. But it felt like his first breath of fresh air in years.

“You think so? I practiced a little, y’know, cuz I wanted to get it right, but I hoped for a more romantic setting. Some candlelight maybe, a nice sunset behind us.” Drake pushed Launchpad back onto the bed, following him down to kiss his forehead. “Now get some rest, partner, so we can work on that first date.”

#ant writes #drakepad #ducktales 2017 #poor lp is still in the angsty pining phase while drake's ready to pick out curtains #ducktales #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn's staying at honker's dont worry

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lgcmanager · 3 months ago

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in a world where the realms of the mundane and the divine intertwine, lies GYESEUNG —a vast, mystical land where the echoes of ancient legends resonate through every corner. here, the skies shimmer with ethereal light, and the very essence of the earth pulses with the vitality of ancient energies. the air is thick with the aroma of blooming spirit herbs and the distant hum of arcane forces.

in GYESEUNG, cultivation is the ultimate pursuit. practitioners seek to harness the primordial Qi, the life force that permeates all existence, to transcend their mortal limits and ascend to divine heights. cultivators follow various paths, from the noble Sword Masters and mystical Alchemists to the enigmatic Shadow Assassins and formidable Beast Tamers.

the heavens above are ruled by celestial deities and immortal beings, each presiding over various aspects of existence. these gods and goddesses are venerated and their favor sought, for their blessings can alter the course of a cultivator’s destiny.

ancient ruins and forgotten temples dot the landscape, holding secrets of bygone eras. Legendary artifacts and mystical scrolls await those brave enough to uncover them, promising immense power and enlightenment to those who prove worthy.

GYESUNG is a world in constant flux, where the balance of power, the rise and fall of empires, and the shifting allegiances among the great sects and factions are ever-changing. heroes rise, destinies intertwine, and the eternal dance between light and darkness continues, shaping the world in an endless cycle of creation and destruction.

in the current era five great sects dominate the martial world: the FIERY FIST SECT, home of those with fire affinity and renown for its fist, finger, and kicks based martial arts; the IMMORTAL BLADE PALACE, home of those with metal affinity and renown for its sword arts, especially the jian and dao; the UNBREAKABLE PEAK SCHOOL, home of those with earth affinity and renown for its spear and staff arts; the ENCHANTED WAVES SANCTUM, home of those with water affinity and renown for its music and arts based martial arts; and, last but not least, the SHADOW WOODS SECT home of those with wood affinity and renown for its exotic weapons arts, such as bows, fans, and flying daggers.

as you step into this realm of boundless wonder and peril, remember that every choice you make echoes through the annals of history. your journey in GYESEUNG awaits, filled with challenges and triumphs, where legends are born and myths come to life. What will be YOUR LEGACY ?

#lgc:5thanniversary #lgc:gyeseung

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sparklecryptid · 7 months ago

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Wings AU where everyone has a pair of wings. Unfortunately they are useless for anything more than gliding down or aiding in jumps, because physics.

Not that it stops people from repeating all those legends about how everyone in Solheim could fly like a bird and pointing to fading murals in ruins, despite all the historians agreeing that's it's just an artistic license.

(It's not)

(The secret to flight is magic and with less than dozen people worldwide having it, it's not surprising that the knowledge was lost)

(Enter one Ardyn Izunia, born barely handful of years after the Fall, whose mother made sure to give him a thorough education in all kinds of magic)

(Ace still doesn't like being thrown off of cliffs. Even if flying is awesome)

Ace eyes his uncle warily. It has been three years since Ardyn had begun to teach Ace how to properly control his magic but the relationship between the two of them remains on rocky ground. Ace is unable to forget what he had seen in his first life and Ardyn reluctant to let any affection form for someone descended from Somnus.

"Why are we here?" Ace eyes the gorge behind Ardyn suspiciously. "I hope you're not planning on throwing me off there. This part of the gorge is too high for me to survive the fall."

"Don't you and your friends go cliff diving all the time?" Ardyn's voice is too cheerful. "Just think of it like that."

"No," Ace says, "I don't think I will."

"Shame," Ardyn says, "This would be much easier if you did."

Ace takes a step back the same Ardyn takes a step forward.

They eye one another.

Ace bolts.

Ardyn throws a dagger at him and finishes the warp before Ace can get too far. With Ace in his clutches Ardyn then warps them directly over the gorge.

Ace takes a moment to realize that they aren't plummeting to their death before Ardyn smiles.

"Fuck you," Ace manages to hiss out before he's unceremoniously dropped.

(It takes seconds for Ace to figure out how to reinforce his wings with magic. It takes another instant for him to harness the energy of the petty bitch he is and swoop upward to crash into his uncle.

"That was unnecessary," Ardyn says as he stares into the gorge his hat got knocked into.

"I could set you on fire again," Ace threatens, "Don't test me."

"But dear," Ardyn's smile is sly and slightly unnerving, "It's so much fun.")

#royal bastard au #sometimes your uncle is an asshole but you are also an asshole so it balances out #and the two of you remain assholes to each other because you would rather be an asshole than admit you have feELINGS

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needfantasticstories · 1 year ago

Text

3 excerpts from a WIP dedicated to @la-sera and her gorgeous Downfall Duo Art

(The whole thing is long, so I wanted to share the parts you'd probably like best.)

1 - Chain vs Ghirahim and Yiga Clan

2 - Legend goes crazy looking for Rulie

3 - Delayed reunion with Rulie

Blood and Blade (4820 words) by SkipBreaker Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sky/Sun (Linked Universe), Flora/Wild (Linked Universe), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe) Characters: Sky (Linked Universe), Wild (Linked Universe), Hyrule (Linked Universe), Time (Linked Universe), Link (Legend of Zelda), Wind (Linked Universe), Warriors (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe), Yiga Clan (Legend of Zelda), Ghirahim (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Sky (Linked Universe)-centric, Hyrule (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Sky (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, BAMF Legend (Linked Universe), Ghirahim Being Ghirahim (Legend of Zelda), Hyrule (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Hyrule (Linked Universe) Has a Blood Curse, Good Older Sibling Warriors (Linked Universe), Mentioned Cia (Legend of Zelda) Series: Part 2 of WildSkyRule Summary: Ghirahim continues his quest to revive his master. Others have the same goal.

In Wild's Hyrule

“Traveler! Legend!” Four shouted in warning.

“Oh look, I’ve found a little bird,” Ghirahim laughed.

Legend? Sky turned to see Legend on the ground, knocked on his back by two pillars of earth the Yiga blademasters had shot up from the ground. They lifted their blades to strike him, but Legend was already swinging his leg to sweep their feet. He seemed to be holding his own. So who…

Another shout from the road nearby, far more desperate, drew his eye.

"Traveler!" Sky yelled. His heart beat too fast, the sound pounding in his ears.

Hyrule struggled desperately, pinned against the demon’s chest. The young traveler’s shield magic barely kept the barrage of black diamond blades at bay, but he was quickly wearing out from the effort.

“Let him go!” Sky screamed as Ghirahim slowly stepped backwards, “Rulie! Thunder!”

One of Ghirahim’s arms released Hyrule as he reached for something at his side, giving Hyrule just enough room to slip an arm out and raise it high to cast Thunder.

But the demon yanked his hand back and looped thin, crimson ropes over his wrists with rapid precision, like a spider weaving silk on a fly.

“No!” Legend yelled when he toppled both Blademasters and saw his successor, his little brother, trapped.

Hyrule gasped and writhed as the red rope touched him, and tightened. Sparks of his Thunder spell fizzled and died as it throbbed with dark purple light.

Hyrule grew pale and his eyelids drooped, half-closed, as magic drained from him. The rope cinched his wrists tighter together as the daggers turned outward, circling defensively around the demon and his prey.

“Get off him!” Legend roared, but red flashes appeared in a circle around the Vet. When he tried to run past, two Yiga soldiers intercepted his path before he could gain enough speed with even a single step, and they shoved him back into the Blademasters. They wrestled him, grappling over tempered blade

“No!” Hyrule yelled, his eyes flashed open in terror for Legend before drooping again as the red ropes pulsed.

“What do you want with them?” Twilight demanded, searching the demon’s barrier for weak points and finding none. Goddesses, I miss Midna! She would strangle this clown and we’d be halfway to the stable by now.

“Oh, they don’t know about your ability, little fairy?” Ghirahim crooned in Hyrule’s ear.

Hyrule closed his eyes tight, trying to hide his terror. He shook his head, then yelled as fast as he could, “He wants my bl–mmmph!” His words cut off as Ghirahim clapped a spindly hand over his mouth and chin.

“You really never told them! Ha ha ha! How fortunate! I suppose that will be a mystery for the heroes to puzzle over on their own.”

“His blood revives Gannon!” Legend finished for him, and found two more huge Blademasters between him and the other Links.

There was no time to process.

Wild shot three arrows at the tall demon’s head. With a flippant wave of his fingers, the hovering knives transformed into a shimmering barrier and blocked them.

Wild switched arrows. If ever there was ever a time to use his last ancient arrow, untouched since his fight with Gannon, it was now.

“We need to get over there!” Wild yelled, knocking the arrow and swapping for Revali’s bow. Yet each time they tried to push closer, the Yiga rushed for Wild and the others stopped to defend him.

Wild found an opening at last, and aimed for Ghirahim’s head, exhaled, and released the ancient arrow.

A Yiga footsoldier appeared in the ancient arrow’s path. The soldier disappeared while the rest charged. Growling, Wild pulled out electric arrows instead. At least he had 200 of those.

Throughout this, Legend wrestled his attackers, resisting them as much as they pressed him back, his power bracelets a force equal to their size. He kept them so off-balance that each slice and stab missed, and his boots dragged them quickly at whiplash speeds, steadily moving closer to Hyrule, but the assassins clung to him desperately, grappling for his arms. Wild and Twilight tried to pick off attackers, but Legend lurched unpredictably.

As he stopped to breathe, three fresh Yiga Blademasters appeared beside Legend and the four surviving attackers.

Twilight, Wind and Four reached them at the same moment.

“Subdue him already, fools,” The demon groused to the Yiga soldiers.

The Links redoubled their efforts to reach the pair.

Sky looked back to Hyrule, who had slumped in the demon's arms.

“Coward!” Sky yelled, breaking from Wild, Warrior, and Time.

“So much magic in this one, Skychild!” Ghirahim sang from another direction. He disappeared from the back of their group to the crossroad far ahead. He hefted the now unconscious teen in his arms.

“No!” Sky roared, just as lightning finally flashed above and struck the sword, but in the same instant Ghirahim and Hyrule had vanished in a cloud of obsidian diamonds. His skyward strike flew through empty air.

Always too late, Sky thought. He felt sick. Couldn’t breathe.

“Rulie!” Legend yelled, but the distraction cost him. The Yiga swarmed him like ants. One Blademaster struck the sword from his hand and another two pinned both his arms back. A fourth blocked Wild and Twilight’s shots with a shield.

“Ledge!” Wind warned too late, and Sky watched, frozen, as two Blademasters held the panting veteran still, brown ropes in the hands of a third, before they too disappeared.

Where is Crimson? Sky thought numbly, standing alone where Hyrule and Legend had been. He had to fly…no, to run…to find them... but where did they go? 2. Legend's Escape

When the Yiga took Legend, they had not accounted for two facts: Legend’s arsenal of weapons, and his willingness to single-handedly burn down the entire hideout wile still inside it.

“Where did you take him!?” Legend demanded, blasting his fire rod at the Yiga soldiers dancing away from his blasts, narrowly escaping a fiery end.

“You’re the only one we got, you idiot!” A footsoldier shouted as she fired an arrow at Legend. She missed him entirely in her panic at the creeping flames, “you’re going to die with us if you keep lighting everything on fire!”

Alone within the enemy’s stronghold, he found no reason to hold back.

Legend grinned, and sent another blast into their supply of bananas. The soldiers scrambled to dodge and tried in vain to put out the flames before their whole stock burned. Legend sent back a few more blasts as he ran to the next room.

No Hyrule here, only more idiots, he realized as he entered a sparse training room. He chased the few soldiers out and continued his hunt from room to room, Pegasus boots moving him past the guards who shouted at him, the more persistent ones getting a blast of fire to the face before he continued his search. They popped in and out around him, but he hardly gave them a chance to materialize before blasting them

3. Reunion

(several days later, on a second sweep of the Yiga base with backup)

Wild, Twilight, and Legend appeared at the shrine by the Yiga base in the dead of night.

The place was a wreck. Not a single Yiga appeared to stop them.

“What the hell did you do, Ledge?” Twilight marveled.

Wild surveyed the damage, some wall chunks blasted halfway to the bottomless pit where Master Khoga accidentally died while trying to kill him.

“Hey, I don’t remember doing all this, okay? Could have been someone else,”

They both raised an eyebrow at him.

“Dinraal herself wouldn’t unleash this much destruction,” Wild smiled.

“The Gerudo don’t like them either, little vai,” he scoffed, and looked around the piles of scorched boulders for an opening.

“Hey, Twi’,” Wild pointed at the wall to their left. The once smooth canyon wall now showed a hidden hallway passage between blasted walls.

“I’m pretty sure that was me,” Legend confessed, “That’s just what we need, actually. It’s familiar. It leads to the prison cells,” He marched that way. “I hope they didn't reset their traps. I’d hate to have to blast them all over again,”

Wild followed.

A rumble of thunder made them all slow and look to the sky.

A bright moon shone over a cloudless night.

“You heard that too, right?” Wild asked.

“Like…Thunder?” Twilight answered.

They raced inside.

(shortly after)

“Hyrule!”

He froze at Legend’s familiar yell.

There, through the doorway, ran Legend, Twilight and Wild.

He could hardly believe his eyes, but his thoughts had already turned to what he��d been running from.

“It’s Gannon!” Hyrule yelled as he raced to meet them, “We have to go!”

Legend grabbed the projectile that was Hyrule in his arms and nearly crashed into Wild as the debris ahead exploded. Twilight threw a blue Sheikah bomb at the broken hall which Wild set off as they ran.

Around the corner, Wild yelled, “Pull in close!”

They huddled together as blue tendrils encircled and took them out of reach of the red lights popping into view all around. The Yiga didn’t even finish materializing before the Links were gone.

They reappeared in the cold, waving grass of Hyrule field.

“Hyrule, what the hell!” Legend’s voice trembled slightly as he gripped Hyrule’s arms and took in the state of his successor: the red thread around his throat like a line of blood, the strange white clothes, the chains, and the bruises all over him, but nothing lethal. He sighed in relief.

“Just in case,” Twilight released a fairy.

She zipped out and rushed around Hyrule with rapid squeaks, healing the few scrapes and bruises he’d earned climbing in the rubble.

She chittered at the red cord on his neck before flying off.

Before the fairy danced off into the night, Legend had pulled Hyrule into a ferocious hug.

“I can’t believe we found you, Rulie,” he began with a growl that ended in a sob.

Hyrule sat stunned for a moment, his tired mind catching up to the rush of events. He could feel his friend, smell his magic and sweat, the cool night air, the feel of the sturdy red tunic under his hands. He clutched him fiercely back. This wasn’t a dream. Hyrule grabbed fistfulls of the familiar tunic, and his chest swelled.

“I’m sorry,” Hyrule sobbed into his friend’s neck, “I tried, but they brought him back! I couldn’t stop them. I'm so sorry!”

Legend pulled back and grabbed his face and looked at him fiercely. Hyrule’s heart tightened, ready for his wrath.

“It’s not your fault people are trying to destroy the world, Rulie,” his red, watering eyes made Hyrule’s heart ache, “We should have found you sooner. I’m sorry,”

Twilight and Wild placed a hand on Hyrule’s shoulder as well. He let Legend lean his forehead on his own, and they sat like that until both of them caught their breath as they sat in the cool grass.

#hyrule linked universe #linked universe #legend of zelda #linked universe wild #link #legend linked universe #updated

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mugenloopdalove · 7 months ago

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The Devil you Know (and Desperately Wish You Didn't)

Word count: 1405

Summary: The Corner Curios shop was known just as much for its high quality goods and supreme customer service as it was for its rumors. And one rumor-the tales told of a seeing a devil lurking in the shop at night-is far too true, much to the owner's frustratiom.

Notes: This is set in my au where Reya, the woman that Theil used to work for before she turned them away after they confessed their love, is tadpoled, while Theil becomes a more powerful sorcerer and eventually opens a shop in Baldur's Gate. Raphael really wants this bitch's soul bc of their power, so he lurks in their shop and bothers them regularly lol

There was never truly a “quiet” moment in the Corner Curios shop. Brimming with raw unfiltered magic, the legends that the shop itself was alive were more believable every night. Even into the latest hours, when the city was silent and still, it seemed like the shop was still as lively as it was during the day, if not moreso. Rumors had spread all across Baldur’s Gate of seeing a book fly across to another shelf, or a broom moving on its own. Those more skilled in magic claimed you could see how the weave enveloped every inch of the shop. And with the strange, unspeakably powerful sorcerer behind the shop, any one of these rumors could be true.

Even dealings with devils.

There were days where the shop lights stayed on into the strangest hours, but the doors remained magically locked...

“...And it seems that the words creeping in the city’s deepest shadows, the daggers that shoot through the tongues of the snakes and urchins of the alleyways... is that our little legend has made some dealings with the devil on nights just like tonight, when their innocent establishment is shrouded in the secrets of midnight. I’m sure any devil worthy of their soul is rather dashing, wouldn’t you, Theil?”

Leaning against the doorframe of the storage closet, staring down the loiterer with an irritated grin, was the fabled shopkeep seemingly on everyone’s tongue. The tiefling’s face and general mannerisms were as well known as their outstanding customer service and endless selection, but few saw the true face behind Corner Curios.

“Well then, Raphael, my most loyal loiterer,” they replied with a sneer. “Surely you know one.” They stepped towards the table set in the corner of the shop and sat across from the devil, the tension between the two all but visible in their surroundings. The two held a firm gaze, the unspoken challenge handed out. The game had begun.

The silence is broken with the tiniest thunk as a rather large book was sent hurtling right at the back of Raphael’s head, making Theil break out into a fit of childish laughter that seemed to shake the entire store.

“I see your sense of humor is as refined as ever, dear old shopkeep,” Raphael said dryly, picking up the book to examine it. “Ah, The Beginner’s Guide to the Arts. Don’t you think this is a rather childish simplification of things for someone as studied as The Sorcerer Who Would Become A Bard?” There was a heaviness to the title, one that led the tiefling to flick a small flame in his face as he laughed mockingly.

“That was a working title after a month of no sleep.” Theil hissed, cringing over the dumb joke they made after too much wine and not enough rest. “And it’s still better than any of your little ‘contracts,’ dear devil on my shoulder.” They got up to reach for a bottle of wine left on the counter with two golden glasses, as if prepared for the occasion. Too prepared.

The devil’s in the details.

“The daring shopkeep tried all to make the devil they knew all too well into but a distant memory, a speck on their otherwise undoubtedly flawless reputation free of any crime or harm, but their methods, as sad and as simple as the person behind them, are-”

“So are you going to drink the wine? Because if you’re going to keep going like this I might need both glasses.” Theil’s face remained stone cold, in no way humoring the theatrics that had already far outstayed their welcome.

“Do you truly think you can trick me into-”

“Do you think I’d waste vintage wine gifted to me by the friend of my enemy on trying to kill a fly that found his way through the window?” Theil bit back, huffing and taking a purposefully dramatic sip from their glass.

“Ah yes, that wizard you’ve cozied up to. Quite the choice.” Raphael paused before taking a drink of the wine, then stopped to look at it. “Right, it would be beneath you to sully this with poison. Your tastes are finer than that.” He leaned over the table a bit, grinning at Theil with a spark in his eye. “Still... quite the sordid tragedy you’re setting up for a love lost, isn’t it? I knew you weren’t beneath petty underhandedness, but you’ve set up a whole show for me to enjoy, haven’t you dear?”

“It would have been nice to know sooner that you knew the players, Raphael,” Theil looked out at the shop absentmindedly, reflecting on the “heroes” that had found themself tied up with the greatest villain they had known. Everyone wrapped around Reya as if she weren’t the most miserable, selfish, cretin of a person anyone could know. Theil knew full well she was using them all just as she had used Theil in the past. But they were going to get their revenge, one way or another.

As they gazed away, the bothersome devil laughed, as if amused by their frustration. “Now now, I’m not just another pawn you can set, my meddlesome friend. You know as well as I do that even information comes with a price.” A grin spread across Raphael’s face, his more devilish features starting to show as he leaned in even closer to the unamused sorcerer. “So what do you say? Be a good pawn and-”

Theil erupted into a fit of laughter, one so strong that the shop shook hard enough to knock a few books on the other end of the room. They laughed for only a second before their expression returned to the scowl that was ready to chase the devil himself out with a broom. “Your sales pitch is still as appealing as hag water, devil,” they cut back, rising from their seat and sauntering toward the man in front of them. As they moved, the books on the ground magically found their way back in perfect order on the shelf. “I don’t need your help to set the stage, and I’m still making pretty good use of my soul.” They leaned in close to him, smirking as their faces were just about touching, focusing a bit of energy just to remind him of just how much their soul was worth. Of just how much raw magic they held that made it worth so much. The game couldn’t end now, afterall. The winner wouldn’t be crowned today, or tomorrow, or ever. That was the fun of it.

Raphael, for once, was silent, until Theil pulled away with a victorious smirk. “Checkmate, old friend.” Theil said, secure in their victory for this round. “NIce try though, you almost won there. Maybe next time?” They hummed as they walked away, looking through some scrolls to seem busy. “Now, I’ll have to see you off. The show is about to start, and I doubt you can afford the front row seats.”

“I’m almost hurt. If you start having visitors, you won’t need me to warm your lonely nights anymore.” Raphael tried to wrap an arm around Theil, but found himself instantly shoved back by a gust of wind.

“That’s enough, don't you think? Or does the great devil Raphael not have other appointments?” Theil taunted, their temper finally reaching its limit. They tried to hide from it, but in a way they knew it was true- The Devil they knew all too well was the closest thing they had to genuine company, and likely the closest they would ever have.

“I do have far better things to do than humor your childish games any longer. Good luck with the show though, break a leg out there.” The friendly, familiar tone made Theil ready to attack again, but something stopped them. They almost felt empty, and a strange pain was building in their chest, making them almost feel sick.

“You’re wasting time now, devil,’ they said, voice ice cold. “Just get a move on before someone sees you,”

“Very well, I’ll leave you to your miserable farce.” Raphael took a step with a superior grin. “And, Theil darling? Checkmate.”

Before the tiefling could fight back, Raphael was gone, and Corner Curios was silent again.

The shop was still.

The stage was set.

Theil took a breath, letting the negative feelings melt away, and smirk at the knock on their door.

“Let the show begin.”

#gerard's diary #my writing #self ship writing #self insert writing #self insert #self ship

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skepticalkoi-catastrophe · 6 months ago

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑷ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Mershark!𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒊 𝒙 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 oneshot!

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒘𝒊𝒎....𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Drowning, Under the Influence Surfing

Word count: 699

Lights from the houses sitting curved around the cul-de-sac were dim from your distance. Balloons tied to mailboxes were set free in the sky above or in hands of neighboring small children, their parents taking a vist standing around and chatting, sitting in lawn chairs, lined up to get food from tables lining the street holding casserole dishes and crock pots.

The annual community block party lasted all afternoon, but you knew the clock was ticking down for something more eventful. Coolers brimmed with sodas, water bottles, and beers. You quickly made off with drink pouches meant for the kids towards your meeting spot. Flurries of air ghosted your exposed skin, your board under your armpit. Tumbled rocks along the shoreline as the boardwalk was lined with food and drink vendors. A white lifeguard tower with its flag flying, familiar flip-flops abandoned in the sand.

"Any longer, and you would've missed all the s'mores." Mina smiled up at you. Sero, Denki, and Bakugou toasting their second bag of marshmallows. There's a soft crash of the logs, crackles, and pops from the fire gnawed at them, consuming it like a disease until only a sickly pile of ash remaining. They rub together as Bakugou rearranged them.

Widely expansive oceans lapped the shore, lights from the boardwalk scattering across its surface.

"I'm here now, ain't I?" Driftwood as their seating as you opted to sit on the extra towel you had brought along. Their crooked row of surfboards stuck into the wet sand strewn with seashells and seaweed.

"I brought what I could." You hand each of them a dripping drink pouches cracking open a jarred Strawberry Peach Moonshine for yourself before grabbing a knobby stick in your hands as you roast your marshmallow in the flames.

"No fair, you always bring booze for yourself." Denki sighs in exaggeration.

Placing your palm over your heart, you lay back between Mina's legs. You open a black plastic bag, more mason jars of different flavors inside. "You doubtin' me Blondie? The kids' pouches were for later."

He pouted then frantically blows at his burning marshmallow at the end of his stick as Sero nudged his side.

Windansea Beach, La Jolla, where briny air and water met your board under your feet. Purity of ultramarine and stars mimicking glow flies share the openness with the moon.

Your feet sink deeper into the moist sand as salt nips at my skin, it's cool refreshing feel brings clarity to your heart, cleansing your soul almost. Night surfing has always been your go-to safe space long since before you met your teammates. God knows how many times you've crawled from your beachfront cottage window to seek Poseidon's comfort.

The Petrichor smell calls you forth. Depite your drink on your breath. You insisted you should paddle out. Pushing yourself into a standing position, the all too familiar soaring sensation washes over you.

Sero is not far behind. Steadying your position, the wave was strong enough to propel you forward. Gliding effortlessly, a shadow within the wave startles you as it follows. An occasional rough wave would spike, but nothing high enough. If asked, your choice of paddling aimlessly wasn't the brightest idea.

What sounds like Mina yelling your name as a huge wave rolls in. It's seafoam ripples curl over themselves as they swell faster.

A figment you swore you'd only heard in legends made you hit the water. Teeth like daggers swore to kill directly, took your board.

You're dunked under. Lungs quickly fill with water. You attempt grabbing for your board, but the murky depths condescend around you.

What little you could make out were two figures lashing out at one another. The smaller one putting up a good fight. You scream only for bubbles to escape. Your last-ditch effort. But you got what you wanted. Silence.

Letting what's left of your cognitive thoughts flourish, you see it. Blurry cyan and milky white moonlight stab the waters surface. It stares at you with desire, its pupils that of a cat.

Hovering above you was red. Red something. Something you couldn't make out. Red faded to black once your eyes shut.

Divider created by @cafekitsune

Please like, reblog, and comment! I hope you enjoy!

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lilith-kruger · 2 years ago

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THE QUEEN RHAENA TARGARYEN:Many strange and contradictory anecdotes are told of that night, and over the years it is difficult to distinguish legend from reality. Did the three brides in black share a bed, as some say? It seems unlikely. Did his highness visit them all that night and consummate the three links? Could be. Did princess rhaena attempt to assassinate the king with a dagger?What was she hiding under her pillows, as she later claimed? Did elinor costayne scratch the king on his back to the point of leaving his skin torn and bloody as they copulated? Did jeyne westerling drink the fertility brew that queen tyanna is said to have brought her, or did she throw it in her face? Is it true that tyanna prepared and brought her that potion? The first chronicle did not It appears well into the reign of jaehaerys, when the last two women had been dead for twenty years

PRINCESS RHAENA TARGARYEN:During the first quarter of the year 135 A.D. two crucial events occurred which brought great joy to the seven kingdoms of the west. Upon waking up on the third day of the third moon of the year, the inhabitants of disembarkation del rey witnessed a phenomenon not seen since the dark days of the dance: a dragon flying over the city. Lady rhaena, who had turned nineteen, was riding aurora for First time. On that inaugural flight, he went around the city before returning to pozo dragon, but as the days went by, he gained courage and moved further away. However, only once did rhaena land with aurora inside the Red fortress, for not even prince viserys' great efforts could persuade his brother, the king, to go and see his sister fly; Queen daenaera, on the other hand, was so captivated that she heard her say that she also wanted a dragon. Soon after, aurora took rhaena through the Black water bay to rocadragon, where, he said, "the dragons and their riders are best received."

SEPTA RHAENA TARGARYEN:Of baelor's other sisters, rhaena was almost as pious as her brother, and eventually became septa.

#queen rhaena targaryen #rhaena of pentos #septa rhaena #my art digital art #ABCEDARIOTARGAYEN #house targaryen #pre asoiaf #asoiaf fanart #asoiaf #fire and blood #the world of ice and fire #R🐲#valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire

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nemainofthewater · 6 months ago

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Best character surnamed: Tie

Come and vote for the best characters with the same surname!*

What does best mean? It's up to you! Whether you love them, are intrigued by their characters, love to hate them, or they're your '2 second blorbos whose personality you made up wholesale', these are all reasons for you to vote for your favs!

*note, the surnames are not exactly the same in all the cases, as often there will be a different character. I am, however, grouping them all together otherwise things got more complicated.

Propaganda is very welcome! If I’ve forgotten anyone, let me know in the notes.

This is part of a larger series of ‘best character with X surname’ polls’. The overview with ongoing polls, winners, and future polls can be found here

#poll #the legend of flying daggers #choice husband #dmbj #ever night

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umbralstars · 1 year ago

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FE OC Week day 1: Introductions! Today I would very much love to introduce Emyr, my first 3H oc who I made 2 years ago! He's the (illegitimate, kinda) grand prince of Itha; aka Rufus' heir. He's a few years older than Dima and, long story very short: he ran away during the aftermath of the Tragedy for a number of reasons and joined up with Jeralt's Mercs (with his little sister) under the alias "Robyn."

He gets found out in the aftermath of Conand Tower when he protected Dimitri with his mask literally coming off (a mask that I still haven't designed as of yet). He goes back home, almost gets executed by Cornelia as an "accomplice" to Rufus' murder, and becomes the Grand Duke to help hold what's left of Faerghus together.

He later becomes a Griffin Knight and thus has a griffin named Sirin who's been with him since childhood. Emyr has a great respect and fondness for his uncle Lambert, his childhood best friend Glenn, and complicated feelings towards Rufus. Much of his story revolves around how he interacts with the various influences in his life and who he wants to ultimately be as a lord and a person. His mother's family is from the Ruska region and have long connections to Sreng. @fe-oc-week

Extra stuff below :)

Chivalry (Personal Skill): Adjacent allies and unit deal 3 extra damage and take 2 less damage during combat.

Weapon Skills (at time of recruit)

Swords: D

Lance: D+ (strength)

Axe: E (weakness)

Bows: C (strength)

Brawling: E (weakness)

Reason: E+ (strength)

Faith: D+ (strength)

Authority: C (strength)

Heavy Armor: E

Riding: E+

Flying: D (budding talent)

A lot of his skills start elevated because 1) he's already been to Garreg Mach before and is a mercenary currently and 2) he's meant to be a unit who's immediately usable and on-par with the units you've already been teaching. All of his skill ranks come from friends or family who helped to teach him or previous experiences he's had.

Just a note on the brawling: he's not bad at it, he just avoids it cause he doesn't know if he can always keep his strength in-check. Same reason he avoids Axes, though he also finds those unwieldy.

Gifts

Likes:

Whetstone

Legends of Chivalry

Riding Boots

Board Game

Dislikes:

Gemstone Beads

Coffee Beans

Floral Adornment

Lost Items:

Carving Tools: A small satchel of uniquely sturdy carving tools. It likely belongs to someone who loves woodworking.

Sheathed Dagger: A wing-shaped dagger with a lion head on the pommel. Made of very sturdy material and the hilt is in-laid with the Crest of Fraldarius on one side and the Crest of Blaiddyd on the other.

God Statuette: A wooden icon representing a leonine deity of some kind. It probably belongs to a devout believer of a different faith.

#fe3h #fe3h oc #fe oc week #emyr artemi blaiddyd #character intro #blaiddyd bastards #my beloved bird #i always welcome questions about him forever and always

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quartzlightz · 10 months ago

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Be more careful

(Linked universe fic)

“Goddess damn it, Warriors! This is mine and even if it is yours you already have plenty of these!” Legend yelled at him.

“It doesn’t matter if I have more, it’s still mine. I don’t even know where you got the idea it’s yours!” He argued back.

The others watched this go down, not even trying to stop the fight. It’s not like it’s ever hurt anyone and they somehow get along after anyway.

This time they were fighting over weaponry. Legend had his things out like his swords, staffs, etc. Anything that could be used as self-defense in a way. And it just so happened that a dagger Legend pulled out was a dagger Warriors used to have that mysteriously went missing. Some of them weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or not because the fellow captain had never mentioned anything about a missing dagger in the past during their travels.

So, in a civilly and maturely way to settle this.

They decided to play tug-a-war with the dagger. Warriors was trying to pull it out of Legend’s hands while Legend was trying to get Warriors's grabby hands off of it.

“How long do you think this will last?” Wind whispered to Four who was watching intently with a slight smirk. It was obvious the Minish hero was amused.

“Hm, the real question is, how will it end?” Four answered back with his own question.

Wind made an ‘ooh’ sound as he tapped his chin and tried to think of ways this could end.

Wild, who was near the fight but paying attention to his food preparations, let out a small airy giggle seeing how focused the two smaller ones were on this fight. (Even though Four has made it clear he’s not a kid, and they believe him, it’s still a reflex to call him little or small.) He looked back at his cutting board and continued chopping away at his garlic.

All was well until he heard Warriors say ‘Shit!’ In a grunted but panicked tone. Legend let out a little yelp as Wild turned to them with a confused smile. He saw the dagger the two were fighting over fly out of Legend’s hands and towards him at a quick speed. Quickly, he moved in the direction his body was already facing, towards the fire, to dodge the dagger flying at him.

Read rest on Ao3

I've been having like mass writers block atm so writing is taking a lot longer than it should be, but I am almost done with A Lon Lon of Love and will be working on making incorrect LU quotes into fics along with New heroes as soon as I can <3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #lu legend #lu wild #lu time #lu warriors #lu wind #lu twilight #lu sky #lu four #lu hyrule #ao3 #ao3fic

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liv-andletdie · 4 months ago

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Zelink Week 2024 - Fading

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandoms: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Relationship: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) @zelinkcommunity

Summary: To become an immortal dragon is to loose oneself. Zelda struggles with holding on as the years go by. Ao3 Link [x]

---

For a moment there is nothing. A moment of stillness as the inevitable draws near, where fear takes root. The stone lodged in your throat burns you from the inside out. You take a breath and in this moment, you remember the ones you love. The reasons you are here.

And in the blink of an eye, you forget.

The transformation isn’t as painful as you mortal self had once feared. Warmth and light take over as you begin to twist and change. Soon enough you will forget this too. Memories of what it felt like to first take flight, how natural it felt, how new, will fade like footprints in the sand.

Gentle Beast, why are you crying?

Your tears stain the earth below. Did they do that before? You can almost remember the feeling of it. Water running down too small cheeks. Someone brushed them away. Who is that? Do you remember who she was?

Was her hair golden? Or platinum? Or crimson? Was her skin painted? Or bare? When she spoke, was she kind? You can almost remember her being kind, can’t you?

She isn’t here to wipe your tears now, Great Dragon. And still they fall, crashing to the ground hard enough to leave craters - painting the land around them in shades of white. Those glyphs

Dagger, Slate, King

Why do you know these shapes? Why are they familiar to you?

Why can’t you remember?

Ancient Creature, how long have you been flying? You launched from the humble earth and never set foot on it again. The wind has been flowing through your mane for as long as you have existed in this state. But just how long was that? You know, Wise Beast, that you have not always held this shape. You know that there was a time before this endless flight. You know you were something else altogether.

You once knew what that something was.

Dagger, Slate, King

The past stares up at you from so far below, so far away and long ago. Calling. Begging. Can you hear me?

The King

Who is he? You are frightened of him, for him, of losing him. The grief you once held close to your heart is nothing now. Faded from days, months, centuries of flight. But the man… the men… the names are still somewhere in you. Tucked up and under your chin like a garrote wire or a nesting bird.

Were you ever small enough to hold a bird that close?

The thought surprises you. Surely you have always been this size? Always ancient and bestial. Six legs, sharp teeth, weeping eyes. Ah, Being of Light, you have surely always been you.

In one form or another.

If only you could remember

The land below you has grown and shifted so much since you first started on this journey. And you have watched, unchanged, all the while.

Buildings and mountains come and go - so familiar and yet so alien. Longing fills your chest for some forgotten life. A life that is not your. Cannot be yours anymore.

Little ones sat all in a row, planted like the vegetables in your garden. A silent laugh, a soft smile, rough yet gentle hands. Flashes of the being you once were. Freezing springs, endless prayer, those tears wiped from your cheeks.

You do not remember, Mournful Creature, but you know that you long to. And you long to long for it - for the emotions trapped in your gullet. You cannot bring yourself to claim it - each rise and fall of the moon makes the fading worse. You were once frightened of the fading. Frightened to lose who you were.

You cannot remember to be frightened now.

Dagger, Slate, King

These glyphs used to mean something to you.

Why can’t you remember?

It’s as you’re passing over the scars you’ve inflicted that you feel him. Footsteps across your brow, barely there, barely stable. You can feel the air as it passes through your mane, your talons carve trails in the clouds around you, and He clings on. He braces himself along your snout, garlands of blue and white petals adorn you like a crown. There is a part of you that

would have once cried out at the sight - but she has long since gone. Slipping from your careful grasp like the sands in the hour glass.

Yes, Lost Creature, in another lifetime those flowers would have meant something to you.

“There you are,” he says. His voice is quiet and careful. Rough around the edges from under use. He speaks to you like one would speak to a lover… was that what you were to each other? “I’m sorry I took so long.”

It hurts. It hurts to hear him. His words beg for a response that you cannot give. Your mouth is too large now, tongue unwieldy, you cannot wrap your lips around the sounds that you wish to make. Comforting words become twisted into low grumbles and high shrieks. It is pointless to try. To talk to the man resting against your horns, weaving flowers into your golden hair.

But you still try. You still want to try.

A long lost part of yourself demands to speak, to call his name, to whisper adorations against skin and teeth and bruised knuckles. And while your memories evade you like shadows in the night, a part of your soul still remembers. It still cries out.

I’m here, I’m still here. I know who we are.

He is leaning against you now, the warm line of his body right between your eyes. You can almost see him at the edge of your vision. He’s got his hair tied up, the well worn fabric holding it back is bleached white. Images, snippets, try and break free to ambush you. Blue fabric wrapped around a wrist, sword worn hands scooping blond strands back. The steam of a cooking pot billowing into the air, cheeks flushed red.

“Karin’s missing you,” he sighs “Aster too. Symin’s doing a great job with them but… it’s your school.” His hands run over your fur. There is a heartbreak in his voice - halting and painful. “You should be there.”

Tears well up in your eyes once more. For this man. For these children. All sat in a row. Flowers in your garden.

Forgetful Beast, please say that you remember. Remember being more that you are now, remember being less. Remember crayons on paper, dirt under fingernails, the sound of chalk against a black board. The life that you left behind. The love.

Why did you do this? You knew once. The people, your reasons. You cannot let this fade claim any more of you!

“I’m going to fix this.” The man, so determined, so steady. Who is he? You know him! A part of you needs him. A part of you loves him. Do you love him still? Can you love him? Has time stripped you of that mortal need? Has your new shape made you so different?

“I promise, I will find a way to fix this.” There is a torment here. This part of your past, a man you have waited millenia for, is so close to you. And yet you cannot grasp it.

What is his name?

What is your name? Have you ever had one?

He stands upright on your brow and you hear him heave a heavy sigh. He is shaking, as if he is holding back sobs. Blue and white petals flit in and out of your vision. You know these flowers.

Silence… Silent, something silent.

“I’m sorry. I took too long.” His words are quiet, swallowed up by the wind as it blows through him. “I will find a way to get you back. I promise. Please forgive me, Zelda.”

Zelda.

Zelda

Dagger

Slate

King

The school house

Your Garden

Oh.

Poor Creature.

I am so sorry.

You feel a scream build in the back of your throat. Hundred and thousands of years spent in silent, patient flight. Hundreds and thousands of words you cannot say. Hundreds and thousands of apologies turn to snarls against your teeth. It hurts. The transformation hurt more than you expected it too. The weight of your losses begin to crush you, guilt at broken promises lay like stones against your shoulders. It is too painful to go on like this. The fading is mercy.

In the blink of an eye, you will forget, my sweet.

You use this last moment to remember, to speak. Of course you have still been robbed of your voice but you have to try. His name, lodged in your throat, burns you from the inside out. And as he launches himself from your snout, you let out a mournful cry.

It means “Link.”

It means “I miss you.”

It means “I remember. Find me”

Fin

#zelink week 2024 #zelink week #zelink #loz totk #zelink fanfic #totk fanfic #botw totk

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persephone11110 · 1 year ago

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Enemies To Lovers Trope

Jake Seresin X Reader

Warnings: low self esteem, hiding sickness,fainting, lack of self care, nausea, protective jake seresin, typical dead characters, curse words, suicidal ideation?, grief ,angstw/ happy ending

Summary: You would’ve gotten away with it if hadn’t been for a meddling Bagman “I hope I’m reading your charts wrong Chione” You were shocked— Hangman usual sarcastic filled accent was replaced with concern.

callsign:Chione(greek goddess of snow)

set during Tpg.m—preferably that one scene. also Hangman isnt the first one to get the first active aviator to get a confirmed air to kill.

“Your not sick Y/N a venomous laced voice in the back of your head reminded you. Your head pounded again as you tried pushing the dangerous thought away.

You dismissed the pounding feeling in your head. The way everytime you swallowed you felt as if pin and needles were being swallowed as well.

You cursed Lieutenant L/N for getting you sick, you’d also cursed your immune system for not being stronger. He just had to spread his sicky germs through the dagger squad. This wasn’t happening to you-not when your still being trained for the mission. You need to be picked as team leader— being sick would put you out of commission, then Captain Mitchell wouldn’t pick you.

Your weak and vulnerable—unable to lead a team. Something you couldn’t see your father doing- he himself could fly with one eye closed.

Your not sick Y/N— can’t be. Your not allowed to be. You tried zeroing in on what Maverick had in his hand…..a textbook.

“You all know this book, you’ve memorized it…. and so have your enemies”. The room erupted in low chuckles as the textbook went flying into the trashcan.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to crack a smile without feeling nauseated. You rolled your shoulders back—adjusting yourself again; attempting to “fix” yourself back into being the stoic soldier you are.

“Gear up Lieutenants” Maverick told them.

“You comin darling?” Hangman asked her, his toothpick sticking out his mouth as he flashed his signature dickhead grin. “Wouldn’t want you be left behind”

Your chair moved back fast.“It’s Chione to you Bagman” you bit back at him. Your body shook dangerously, sweat blurred your vision. “Don’t come for me” you told him coldy.

He seemed pleased with himself, pleased with the fact that he got under your skin. “Race ya Chione”. he seemed undefeated by your coldness as if a threat didn’t just come out your mouth.

“Jackass” you muttered under your breathe, “fucking hate him”

Fuck. Fuck .Fuck.

“Damn it Hangman where he is?” you couldn’t make out what was infront of your face. Was Maverick there, or is that your eyes playing mind games?.

“Were dead” Hangman’s voice rung out behind you. Muscle memory helped you land— your feet stumbled as you made it towards the tarmac. “Holding up the end of the deal Chione?” he teased.

Too late—like he said were dead. The chances of you becoming team leader were none now.

Son of bitch left me to hang to death.

Both of you slient—neither of you felt the need to talk to eachother. Both of you were pissed off at eachother.

“What happened Chione, I thought the Ice queen never lost?” He eyed you—watching anger etch its way onto your face.

Hondo was a couple feet behind you guys counting.

You shouldn’t be here—here on the ground doing push ups, instead you should up in the air-having a dogfight.

“Up 100”

You could feel the blood rushing from your ears, Hangman’s voice seemed quieter. Your stomach rumbled in protest— Did you to eat forget this morning?.

“Down 150”

“I don’t know Jake” you accidentally said his first name and allowed emotion to slip into your voice.

“Seemed to be getting old Y/n?”, he pointed out how slow you were going— how weak you seemed. Not old but sick as a dog. He’s right you practically a legend in this generation, your considered the a younger and female Iceman.

“Yup Bagman”

“Up 200”

“I would’ve stopped Y/n, If you had” No he wouldn’t have.

Tit for tat.

“This is my fault Jake Hangman?” You felt furious, how dare he blame you. “Are you serious right now?”.

“Down—250, your done aviators” Hondo’s voice could be heard in the background still.

He smirked like a shark— dangerous and uncaring of what happened next.

“It’s seems to be” he stood, “Ya coming Chione?”.

You were sitting on the ground trying to catch your breathe. You felt your lean to the side-dizzy.

“Chione?” Hangman said loudly.

“I’m fine” you persisted eager to prove yourself to the loudmouth texan you took a step forward— but you stumbled.

“Hey” he grabbed your arm gently, steadying you.

“Hang—” You felt your world spin around you, as everything around you went black.

Luckily Hangman caught you.

—

“She’s had that stubborn streak since she was a little girl”. Your mom loves telling stories about you to others.“Something her and Tom have in common”.

“Ma” you whispered, your throat felt too dry. You couldn’t tell if it was the immediate sadness that struck your throat or was it your “small cold”.

“Y/n, sweetie your awake?” She asked you.

You nodded your head slowly. You blinked your eyes slowly“Where am I ?”.

“Med bay sweetie, seems like you caught the flu”. your mom said— running her hand down your face soothingly.

“How ya feeling sweetie?”

“Tired, kinda better”, you honestly told her— there was no use of lying to Sarah Kazansky. The woman was one of the few people to break through your father’s Ice-cold facade. Also one of the few who knew your tells when you lied. The other person was your dad.

“I should go get the doctor” a familiar southern drawl softly interrupted.“Sorry Ms. Kazansky”.

“None sense Jake, call me Sarah and besides I need to stretch my feet— I’ll go get the doctor”., something told you-your mother wasn’t being entirely honest.

“Alright ma’am”

“I’ll be back Y/n”

She didn’t come back till afterwards

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jake asks you.“Did you want die?”.

“I didn’t ask you for you save me”, you bitterly reminded him. “I didn’t ask for you stay here either, you could have gone back wherever”, unfortunately your stoic facade is starting to crash and you could hear emotion seeping into your voice.

“Am I supposed to leave you—on the fucking ground Y/n, am I supposed let you suffer in pain!?” Jake shouted. He runs his fingers through his hair shakily.

Look at me!" He asks with an angered laced tone, and for some strange reason you find yourself listening to him.“If you hadn’t fainted, would you kept going?”

He pacing back and forth.

“I…I don’t know” you tell him.

“What, what do you mean you dont know?” concern finds its way onto Jake’s face.“Y/n you could’ve died out there on that tarmac”

I didn’t mean for it get this far. Losing dad was biggest thing that’s ever happened to me.

“I-I’m sorry” your voice wobbled. he grabs your hand softly. “Look at me Y/n—please”.

“I’m so sorry you lost your father” his baby blues eyes pierced with sadness.“But that doesn’t mean the navy needs to lose you too”.

I can’t lose you either.

The bed dipped as Jake sat down.

“I may have never personally talked to Admiral Kazansky myself, but I know he wouldn’t enjoy seeing his daughter in the hosptial, I also know he dislikes the idea of his daughter thinking so low of herself”.

“I-I just want to be like him you know, since I got accepted into the academy everyone always compared me to the legendary Iceman”, you felt tears drop down your face.“I just want to be enough— for him”. your voice broke again.

“Darling, can I call you darling this time?” he playfully taunts this time— there’s no malicious intent behind his words.

“Yeah” you chuckled. “Call me by name again”

“Y/n”

“No my other name” you eyed him.

“Darling, your not supposed to be him, your supposed to be yourself— i’m pretty sure the Admiral didn’t have any intent of his daughter being the exact replica of him”.

“Maybe your right” you shrugged your shoulders innocently.

Jake pointed look said otherwise.

“Okay fine your right”. you sighed into his chest, “Thank you Jake”.

He leans over a drops a kiss onto the crown of your head. “ Your welcome Y/n”.

You start to blush like a fool- your face turning into the same shade of a tomato.

“Your kind Bagman” you mimicked his accent.

“Don’t tell anyone my secret Ice queen” he interlocks his fingers with yours.

“I’ll be damned If I let you ruin my reputation”

“Don’t you worry Slick” you patted his chest while laughing. “If you don’t tell anyone I have emotions, I wouldn’t tell anyone your kind”

Dumbass— Your dumbass gave you his pinky.

“I won’t let you down Admiral”

“I won’t let you down Y/n”.

#top gun maverick #top gun #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

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