#time to go read the like 13 new fics since i last fronted

[fossys]

my want to find other introjects from my source is combatted by the fact there are like. 2 characters in my source and one of them barely counts

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 13

This is it guys, the chapter of this fic. I have had an absolute blast writing and even more so reading all the comments and tags.

This last chapter is dedicated to all those who wanted the moms to bring Steve into their fold. This was also chance for Steve to rip on the haters without fear of his parents ire.

Thank you so much for all the love and support for this little story.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

****

Claudia was waiting at the Byers’ front door when Eddie pulled up in his van and Steve hopped out.

“Eddie!” she cried happily. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Hey, Mrs. H,” Eddie said with a wave. “I’m just dropping Stevie off. We’re hanging out later.”

“That was sweet of you, dear,” Claudia cooed.

Steve in the meantime was pulling things out of the backseat of the van. Eddie looked over at him.

“You need help, darlin’?” he asked over his shoulder.

Steve shook his head. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” In lower voice he muttered, “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

Eddie gave Steve’s forearm a squeeze and then waved at Claudia. He backed out of the driveway and was soon gone from sight.

“We’ve got all sorts of surprises for you today, Steve,” she said gleefully clapping her hands together.”

Steve grinned at her. “Mrs. Peterson here yet?”

Claudia shook her head. “She’s always at least fifteen minutes late. Something we were banking on actually.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

But Claudia just ushered him inside. He set his stuff down and then handed her a tray.

“I made blondies,” he said, “I hope you ladies like them.”

She peeled back the foil and gasped. “Steve they look amazing!”

Joyce came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. “What looks amazing?” she asked peering over Claudia’s shoulder. She, too, gasped when she saw them. “Steve, you didn’t!”

Steve grinned. “Your sons always eat the ones I send home with them before they even get home, so I figured you’d appreciate these.”

She kissed his cheek. “You are a dear.”

Claudia laid them out on table next to all the other treats.

On the coffee table were a bunch of things under a large sheet with clowns on it.

“The three of us,” Karen began, “wanted to do something extra special for you after hearing what fun our children had at the Fair because you made sure they did. So we each contributed something toward your love of sewing.”

She lifted the sheet. Underneath was a beautiful sewing kit in navy blue, a light green Singer sewing machine that looked older than he was, and a stack of old patterns.

Steve’s lip wobbled as he raised his hand to his mouth in shock.

“You didn’t have to do this, ladies,” he whispered.

“The sewing kit is from me,” Karen continued. “It’s a beginner’s kit, but it has fabric scissors, a seam ripper, bobbins for your thread and different kinds of needles.”

Steve sat down and pulled it onto his lap. He opened it and as he lifted the lid, the top tray pulled back revealing the tray beneath. “Thank you.”

“The sewing machine,” Claudia said proudly, “is the first one I ever owned. When I got married I got a new one and I’ve been using that ever since. But this ol’ girl has a lot of love and life left in her, and I want you to have her.”

Steve looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll break it? Or that my parents will find it and destroy it?”

Claudia knelt in front of him. “It’s gonna be kept at my house until you get a place of your own. You’re there all the time to see Dusty anyway, no one is going to notice that you’re there to sew now, too.”

“Plus,” Joyce said with a grin. “It’s a Singer. They’re a little hard to break. They’re one of the best machines and it will probably outlast your children. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

Steve nodded, his lip quivering. Claudia kissed his forehead and stood back up.

“The patterns are from me,” Joyce said. “Whenever I would have a little extra money I would pick up a pattern or two at the drug store and bring it home. I picked a handful that I thought you’d like since you’re primarily making costumes. And if those work for you, next week I’ll bring another handful you might like.”

Tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Thank you. All of you. This is best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh honey,” Joyce said softly and suddenly Steve was being hugged on all sides by the moms.

They stayed like that until there was a knock on the door.

“That must be Olive,” Claudia said with a sigh. “I bet she brought those brownies that are totally store bought even though she insists it her grandmother’s recipe.”

Steve snickered. “My mom used to do that. I don’t think she fooled anyone either.”

Joyce grinned over her shoulder as she went to go answer the door. “Olive, dear! We were just getting started.”

“Oh?” the bright voice on the other side of the door cooed. “You’re usually in the full swing of things by now.”

Steve bristled. That meant she knew she was late and was doing it intentionally. He hated people like that. Acting like the rest of them were peasants meant to be waiting on her.

“Steve was just showing us the costumes he made for the kids for the Fair over the weekend,” Karen said sweetly as Steve hurried to get the things he brought to show off out.

Olive stepped into the house with a sneer. “I think it’s so sweet you’re indulging the boy, but I doubt he can hold a candle to Claudia’s years of experience.”

Wow, Steve thought. Not only did she insult him, but she insinuated Claudia was old. What was with this old bag?

Claudia smirked. “It’s true that I’ve been doing it for longer, but Steve has a real talent for it. Come see.”

Olive walked into the front room and Steve was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. She had perfectly curled hair with not a single strand out of place. Her clothes were fitted and showed off her figure. Her makeup was flawless.

In short, Steve hated her on sight.

Joyce handed her the shirt he had made for underneath his tunic. It was flawless but understated.

Olive took the shirt and scoffed. “You couldn’t have done this, Harrington, you shouldn’t lie to your betters.”

Steve was already seeing red. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then.”

Joyce clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s get started. Steve, you can eat as much as you want, but just make sure to keep it away from other people’s projects.”

Steve smiled at her sweetly. “Of course!”

He knew that what she was really saying was that Olive Peterson might try something.

He sat in the armchair away from her and she glared at him.

“Is it all right if I work on my project first before you teach me how to use the sewing machine?” he asked just as she was taking a drink of punch.

Olive was forced to turn away and cough into her hand to avoid spraying everyone with the lemonade that Claudia had made.

Karen’s smile was feral. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, right, Claudia?”

“Of course not, Steve,” she replied warmly. “Just let me know when you want to learn and I’ll come over and help you.”

Steve nodded. He pulled out the materials that Eddie suggested he bring and got to work.

Eddie really liked that Steve’s bags had a lining because it protected the dice better, so Steve had brought along some materials he could use for that as well.

About halfway through his first bag, Joyce called out.

“Steve? What’s that pattern you’re putting on the bag?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s my signature! I embroider it on everything I do to make sure people can’t pass it off as their own.” He handed the bag over to her.

“Oh!” she cried in excitement. “This is the design you put on Will and El’s costumes when you did their alterations, right?”

Steve nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you made the clothes, but I thought it was a cute way to tie the two together like they were twins.”

“It was perfect,” Joyce said. “El still hasn’t stopped talking about how pretty your design made the dress.”

Steve blushed as he took the pouch back from her.

“I was talking to someone at the Renaissance Fair,” he said shyly, “and she wanted me make them clothes and things that she would sell for me. She even told me to make business cards in case someone wanted to commission me directly.”

“Oh Steve!” Karen cried. “That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and tilted her head. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. That pattern is beautiful. I would love a handkerchief with that on it.”

Steve straightened up. “Yeah?”

Karen nodded.

“What color would you like?” he asked excitedly.

Karen tried to protest but he wouldn’t let her. In fact he managed to convince all but Olive to let him make them one for them.

It did, unfortunately take him to the end of the two hours, but he was excited to come next week.

“I’ll even host it at my place!” he said with a grin.

Olive sputtered. “Well I won’t be there if it’s at this young man’s house. That’s so inappropriate.”

The three other ladies looked at each other and then shrugged.

“Your loss,” Karen said dryly.

Olive stormed out of the house vowing that as long as Steve was part of the group she would never come back.

“Well that is a relief,” Joyce said, “I’m not the kind to speak ill of anyone, but we really got quite the upgrade!”

Karen clapped her hands. “Indeed. I can’t wait for next week. I’ve got a new project I’m starting and I found the best recipe for a chocolate mousse that I’ve been dying to try out.”

“Same time next week, ladies?” Steve asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Claudia agreed.

Then there came a loud honk.

Steve looked out the window and smiled. “Looks like my ride is here.”

He gather up his stuff, including the patterns and sewing kit and walked out to Eddie’s van.

He slid into the front seat.

“You have fun today, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Steve said looking fondly at the house. “This has been the best weekend ever.”

Eddie grinned. “Well, it’s about to get even better, just wait to you see what I have planned for us today.”

Steve smiled as Eddie regaled him with his plans and nodded along.

Life was really looking up. He had a platonic soulmate, good friends, an amazing boyfriend, a hobby he enjoyed and could make real money from, and now a group of people to share that hobby with each week.

And to think it all started with a flier about the Renaissance Fair coming back to Hawkins.

“I can’t wait,” he breathed once Eddie was done.

Eddie smiled that sweet smile at always turned Steve’s insides to mush.

Yeah, Steve could honestly say that he was happy.

****

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[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

------

womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

------

Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom. 

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt. 

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket. 

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right? 

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal. 

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler. 

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears. 

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment. 

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it. 

Besides, his mind should be on other things. 

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal. 

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern. 

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers. 

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.) 

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above. 

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly. 

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.” 

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down. 

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby. 

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road. 

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times. 

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?” 

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.” 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something. 

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass. 

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living. 

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case. 

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)  

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too. 

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere. 

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs. 

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him. 

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise. 

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady. 

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back. 

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake. 

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam. 

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)  

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night. 

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours. 

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos. 

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive. 

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on. 

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night. 

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet. 

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night. 

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets. 

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both. 

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake. 

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat. 

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth. 

Oh, oh no. 

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck. 

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals. 

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.  

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black. 

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him. 

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter. 

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean. 

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment. 

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand. 

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt. 

���'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove. 

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease. 

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.   

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game. 

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up. 

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun. 

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!” 

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian. 

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear. 

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!” 

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm. 

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!” 

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf. 

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified. 

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively. 

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease. 

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around. 

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved. 

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away. 

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge. 

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.” 

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.” 

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how. 

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward. 

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him. 

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar. 

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip. 

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!” 

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was. 

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet. 

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?  

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance. 

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic. 

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button. 

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.] 

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.” 

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them. 

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.  

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again. 

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents? 

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’ 

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now. 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]  

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?” 

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly. 

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man. 

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain. 

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.” 

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.] 

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning. 

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days. 

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days. 

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed. 

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos. 

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him. 

“​​Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh! 

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?] 

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.” 

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh. 

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp. 

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him. 

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.] 

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again. 

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.” 

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard. 

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.” 

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that. 

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you? 

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’ 

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form. 

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm. 

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip. 

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first. 

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.] 

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up. 

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky. 

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried. 

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.  

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort. 

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool. 

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt. 

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. 

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side. 

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house. 

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction. 

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof. 

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door. 

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk. 

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it. 

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination. 

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.” 

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back. 

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask. 

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs. 

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword. 

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt. 

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless. 

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help. 

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin. 

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams. 

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.] 

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him. 

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english. 

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins. 

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more. 

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian. 

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk. 

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos. 

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another. 

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan. 

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone. 

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

[punkslovepoints]

✨2023 Steddie Fic Recommendations

template from Steddie Support Podcast on twitter

Cutting Close by @anniebass

Steve Harrington is in pain.

No, not, like, psychological one, rather an unshooable bullshit of a headache, all thanks to the Russians squatting underneath a mall, torturing him a smidge.

So, when his two best friends get all chummy with a known weirdo of a drug dealer, Steve first rolls his eyes, then rolls with it, jumping on an occasion to purchase his all-natural head trauma medicine. Except, you have got to be at least cordial with your dealer, to keep the relationship, and when the guy remembers you as a shithead, well. You gotta try harder.

is your light on? by @toburnup

"Tell me a secret," Steve says and Eddie shakes his head.

"Why would I do that?

"I'll tell you one."

Eddie looks intrigued, smirks in his direction. "A secret for a secret? Okay." He looks up. "You go first."

(Steve always noticed Eddie. He's been there on the peripheral, easy enough to ignore. Until he's standing right in front of him, unavoidable. And then they collide over, and over, and over.)

Heed the Ominous Warning of The Talking Heads by audacity_of_bluejays

Steve Harrington thinks he has it all together until he doesn't. A revelation about his feelings for his roommate Eddie followed by an altercation with his asshole father complicates matters more than he expects.

(A 13 going on 30 AU)

i come back to the place you are by @glitterfang

Steve should've known that Eddie was lying when he looked right into Steve's eyes and promised not to try any heroic bullshit. He should've known based on their conversation in the upside down that Eddie felt he had something to prove. And he definitely shouldn't have left Eddie to face the horrors of the Upside Down alone. And now? Now Eddie's in a seemingly unending coma and Steve is wracked with guilt. So, he pours himself into trying to fix his mistake. He helps Uncle Wayne move into a new house, he spends hours in the hospital reading to Eddie, and he even keeps the Corroded Coffin boys company. He's getting to know Eddie really well while Eddie's out cold.

(Steve is surrounded by every single person who loves Eddie Munson. How could he not fall a little bit in love with him?)

Reboot by @plutosrose

In 2012, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson film a scene in the teen drama Normal Stuff that launches a popular ship on ao3.

By early 2013, they aren't speaking anymore.

In 2024, Robin calls Steve with an offer to reprise his role as Andy Hartley in a reboot of their old show, with one important update--his character gets together with Eddie's.

no reason by @theopteryx

There's a pause. "I'm going to be fine?" Eddie asks, voice also going high and thin.

"You're—sure?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating. Great. Are you—could you do me a favor, then, and maybe just—leave me here anyway?"

"What?" Steve says. "No. Why?"

"No reason," Eddie says, voice tight.

(Eddie kisses Steve in what he thinks are his last moments on earth. Then he doesn't die.)

carve your name into my chest by @hexiewrites

Eddie Munson just wanted to play hockey. That's almost all he's ever wanted, since he was old enough to realize it was an option for him. And now he's at the top of his game, one of the best players in the NHL.

Everything would have been perfect... if it wasn't for the small matter of the thing he's got going with his long time rival, goalie Steve Harrington.

Flashbacks by @eddywoww

"Why is it a secret?" Eddie asked slowly.

Steve felt himself shrugging. He knew why it had to be a secret. His parents would hate Eddie and his long hair, his dirt smudged cheeks. The way he shouted and ran and giggled. They wouldn't like who Steve was around Eddie. Steve knew that, so it had to be a secret.

"It just is." Steve said, looking out to see Elizabeth glaring at him. Frantically waving him over. Time to go home.

leaving like a father, running like water by scoops_ahoy

Steve is still riding the high of what he and Eddie never got to have five years after he died.

Crossed Wires by @entanglednow

Lesson of the day, no matter how busy you are, it's rarely a good idea to let your subconscious take the wheel.

Doll House by @grandmastattoo

Eddie comes of age knowing that sometimes a person doesn’t have to be one of the dead to haunt the living. A ghost can be a memory. A ghost can be a question.

It’s his own ghosts that he holds onto when he first finds himself in Steve Harrington’s house, after.

After the Upside-Down. After Vecna. After Eddie.

Soda Burn by @3minsover

When the upmarket cocktail bar Steve's working at goes out of business, he finds himself in desperate need of a job.

off-script by @pukner

Post season 3, Steve manages to figure out that he's bisexual, despite his best efforts to repress it, comes out to Robin and Jonathan Byers of all people, and figures himself out. Also, there's a cute guy who might be actually insane running the kids' dnd club and he's got his eye on him. And his bandana.

Too bad Eddie Munson hasn't had a similar revelation. He's still under the impression that he's a straight man obsessing over Steve Harrington for normal, extremely heterosexual reasons.

Tuesday’s Gone with the Wind by @thisapplepielife

Corroded Coffin's leased plane went down on June 13th, 1995 in the woods of Louisiana.

Ten people on board died. Eddie Munson survived. Before he survived, he really lived.

senior year, 1985 by tofana

Eddie wakes up naked with King Steve sleeping soundly next to him, and no recollection of how he got there.

Night Drives by @mojowitchcraft

“Are you okay Harrington?” Eddie asks gently, “Need me to get anyone?”

“No one to get,” replies Steve, so soft Eddie barely catches it. “You think I want anyone seeing me like this?"

(Night Drives is an ongoing series, starting with "No One Rides for Free" where Eddie Munson stumbles across Steve Harrington crying next to a bush at Tina's party and makes it his mission to cheer him up. Continuing on as their relationship develops over the course of fall/winter 1984 and beyond.)

i dont want to see you at my party (but i’d love it if you showed up) by nicobloodlust

When Eddie invites him to their first gig back after everything, he thinks, this is it!

Eddie is going to tell him how he feels or Steve will tell Eddie and then! They’ll be together.

He’s having a great time, that’s until he notices Eddie is flirting with someone on his right, a girl closer to the stage, and he starts to worry.

Then both of mine from this year:

The most that I could give to you is nothing at all

They make out in his basement sometimes.

Steve tells himself it's just something they do to blow off steam, to decrease the monotony of post-apocalyptic living. Nothing more.

A few months later, Eddie leaves for the opportunity of a lifetime. Steve ignores his calls, makes sure they get a clean break, that they both get over it. Trouble is neither of them do.

"The A is for Ally"

When he is seventeen Steve Harrington sees Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson pushed up against the side of the late night convenience store with his hands down another guy’s pants.

Unable to stop thinking about it afterwards, it takes him ten years to work out what that means.

(After his friends come out one by one, Steve settles comfortably into his new role as an ally. He moves to the city, joins groups, attends protests, even signs up to a gender studies class. Then in 1991 Eddie comes crashing back into his life.)

[unluckycryptid]

So two new updates regarding the Rise of Red!Miraculous Ladybug AU fic

-

If you haven't seen it yet, I posted Ch 5 of The Wonderous Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noire! Check it out below.

Summary:

“My Lady… please,” Chat Noire begged. The heroine in front of her stopped walking but stayed facing forward, her face obscured from Chat Noire’s line of sight. But from where she stood, she could see as Ladybug shook her head, her partner’s hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Chat Noire, I- I can’t,” said Ladybug, her voice cracking ever so slightly that Chat Noire would have missed it if it weren’t for her hearing. Before Chat Noire could push any further, Ladybug grabbed her yoyo and swung off, her message clear: don’t follow me.

I also wrote a companion piece to the chapter and posted it separately as a two-shot! Check it:

Summary:

Companion piece to Ch 5 of The Miraculous Adventures of Ladybug and Chat Noire explaining what happened to Red in her encounter with Chat Blanc, and how it all came to be. Ch 1 - The Encounter (Version 2.0) Ch 2 - The Incident

~

Check out my Chapter Notes for all three chapters below!

Warning: Spoilers

Author's Note Before I put up the Deleted Scenes:

So, I originally posted everything on pretty late on Oct 31st in order to get it all in for Whumptober. I woke up the next morning and read it before I went to work and then decided that I hated it in a way that the original ending was cornering me and would have had me deviate from my overall plan for the main story. I decided, alright, I'm just going to delete the whole two-shot and spend some time fixing it to better align with to the main story's future and motivations.

For those of you wondering, what could I possibly have written to cause me to delete the first version? -> I had Red kill off Chat Blanc of the alternate timeline.

It was great for Whumptober, but would require dozen more chapters of main timeline!Red overcoming that trauma which... I only have 12-13 chapters planned for this story and we're already on Ch 5. Plus, I wanna do a reveal and post-reveal stuff within those 12-13 chapters so... yeah I'm already running out of time with that.

But overall, the whole writing process was pretty rough, ngl. In context, I wrote three chapters in the time it would take me to write one chapter, and each of the three chapters were fairly lengthy for me. And I had to make sure all 3 chapters had to intertwine together.

I always knew I was going to have the Aftermath chapter in the main story. As for the Encounter and Incident chapters, it was originally going to be all one chapter, but it got wayyyy too long for my taste so I ended up splitting it into two separate chapters and then posting it as a two-shot.

I also had to make sure that each of the chapters' motivations flowed into each other. It was kind of difficult since I wrote Aftermath first, so I had to backtrack and figure out what scenario would those memories come into play during the Encounter chapter. Incident also had a bunch of problems considering how the first draft of it that I wrote, while good, didn't follow the motivation for either Aftermath or Encounter, so I had to keep rewriting it until it all worked.

And like I said, I wrote the last scenes of Encounter the day I posted it and then I posted it... bruh never doing that again. I definitely should have sat on it a little longer but rewriting it with a bit more time makes me more confident in it as a chapter now.

I'll post the deleted scenes across the three chapters below. Most of them are going to come from The Chat Blanc Incident. I'll post the Version 1.0 on a separate post since this will get too long.

Read The Encounter Version 1.0 Here

-

Deleted Scene 1 - The Encounter - First Meeting

“Chat Noire, what happened here? What happened to you?” Red asked. 

The girl in white ignored her question in favor of stepping into Red’s personal space, intrigue in her gaze. Before Red could step back and ask about the sudden proximity, the other girl reached out and cupped a hand around Red’s cheek. Red watched as the white clawed hand softly grazed her cheek, the other girl pulling her hand back as soon as it made contact, a look of wonder and disbelief dawning on the girl’s face. 

“So you’re not just one of my ghosts haunting me,” the girl in white chuckled in what sounded like relief. 

Red only looked at her behavior in bewilderment before the girl stopped and switched her tone to an interrogatory one, “You’re not supposed to be here. How are you here?”

Red hesitated. Despite the fact that her partner was someone she would trust with her life, just one look in the other girl’s eyes told Red that she shouldn’t say anything about Bunnyx and his portals in time. 

“It doesn’t matter how I’m here. I just need to know what happened, Chat Noire, both to you and to Auradon,” said Red, “I want to help.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at the red and black superhero. “You’re not My Lady, are you,” she stated, “Or else you would remember what happened.” The bitterness in the girl’s tone sent chills down Red’s spine. 

“Chat Noire…”

“Please, it’s Chat Blanc now,” the girl in white—Chat Blanc—corrected.

-

Deleted Scene 2 - The Incident - First Betrayal

“Red, how could you?” the heartbroken voice of Chloe asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as a pair of Card soldiers held her down on her knees. 

“No, Chloe don’t listen to her. Please believe me, I didn’t know anything,” Red begged, dropping down to her own knees in front of the blue haired princess. She reached out to cradle her girlfriend’s face, but the girl flinched as far away as she could given her restrictions from Red’s touch.

“Oh, come now, daughter, you needn’t keep acting. Your plan worked as you said it would. Though it was a bit convoluted if you asked me,” said Queen Reina Hearts of Wonderland as she inspected her nails with disinterest from her throne on the stage. 

All around them, the aftermath of chaos remained. Family Day had come around and Red’s mom had made an unexpected appearance. Although Red had been taken aback by her mother’s unannounced presence, she was even less prepared for the moment her mother had interrupted the Principal’s Family Day Speech by tossing a deck of magical cards in their air, infecting the unfortunate few that were touched by them, some being the Card soldiers they had previously faced, thus revealing her identity as the Card Queen. 

Before Red or Chloe could even think about transforming into their alter egos, the Card soldiers had grabbed Chloe’s mother and held her hostage, forcing the two heroes to surrender. Once it was clear that neither Red nor Chloe would fight back, the Card soldiers surrounded the blue haired princess along with the rest of the civilians not infected by the cards of the Card Queen. However, they left Red un-surrounded as the Queen of Wonderland marched up to the stage, declaring loudly at how proud she was of her daughter. 

“What plan?” Chloe demanded in a low growl, betrayal laced her in gaze. 

Before Red could answer, Reina spoke for her, “The one to acquire your miraculous, of course.” She said as if it were an obvious fact. 

“No! Chloe-”

“And imagine to my surprise when she suggested that we could also get vengeance on dear Cindy over here at the same time,” continued the Queen of Wonderland as though Red had never spoken. 

“Reina, you let my daughter go right now. Your quarrel is with me,” Chloe’s mom—Queen Cindy—urged from her spot, also in the same position as Chloe though she had been taken off to the side of the stage. 

Reina glared in her direction and waved a hand. At the motion, the General Jack of Diamonds, who had been holding Cindy down, struck her in the face. In response, Chloe screamed and thrashed uselessly under the grip of the Card soldiers holding her down. Red attempted to run to Chloe’s mom’s aid, but was stopped by the Jabberwocky landing in front of her.

The Queen of Wonderland rolled her eyes and continued addressing Chloe, “She revealed her identity to me as soon as she got her miraculous, telling me that she had a plan to make me proud. A plan that would allow Wonderland to take control over all of Auradon.”

“That’s not true!” Red yelled desperately. She was abruptly cut off by the feeling of something covering her mouth and pinning her arms down to her sides, but when she attempted to turn to see her assailant, her eyes met empty air. Nonetheless, the force persisted and she could feel breathing behind her. Red’s eyes widened. It was the Cheshire Cat. She realized in horror that to everyone else, it looked like she was just idly standing by, watching the whole thing.

“I will admit, it took me by surprise that she was admitting to being the pesky, newly debuted ladybug hero that had foiled my plan as the Card Queen, but after I revealed such the fact, she asked me to keep playing the role for her plan to work,” the Queen of Hearts gloated falsely, “I agreed, of course. I trust my daughter completely. She had finally told me it was time to make our move once she revealed that she finally had your complete trust, going as far as to pursuing a relationship with you to do so.”

Red tried her best to fight the grip of the Cheshire Cat on her but it was no use. Her mother decided at that moment to descend from the stage and stand directly in front of a helpless Chloe who had no other choice but to look at her.

The Queen sneered as she crouched in front of the blue haired princess, “Did you really believe that my daughter could ever love someone like you? The daughter of the commoner queen? The spare heir? The mere sidekick of your little duo?” 

The Queen reached out and grabbed Chloe’s chin, satisfied at the tears streaming down the girl’s cheek. 

“You and your filthy mother will get what you deserve, thinking you had a chance to stand with the rest of us,” she sneered before her expression changed to a one of consideration, “Though perhaps not all is lost with you. Perhaps you can be deserving of my daughter’s love after all.”

“What do you want from me?” Chloe spat. 

Reina grinned wickedly, “Call upon your transformation and let me make you one of my Card soldiers,” before Chloe could voice a rejection, the Queen turned her head towards the direction of her mom’s captivity, ���or else.”

She released her hold on Chloe’s face and stepped back, waiting for the girl’s next move. Naturally, Chloe’s eyes wandered to Red’s looking for any sort of guidance. Red tried her best to shake her head no but the Cheshire Cat puppeted her head to make it look like she nodded in approval instead.

Without any more options, Chloe gave in.

“Plagg, transform me.”

The transformation washed over the blue haired girl in front of the whole school to see. Chat Noire soon found that the hold of the Card soldiers had been released and that she was free to stand up. She did so slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on the Queen of Wonderland who only smirked as she took out a card from her deck.

Red could only watch in horror as her mother approached her girlfriend and placed the magical card on the silver bell that hung around the girl’s neck. The bell blackened and the black cat heroine was swallowed up by the card’s magic. A second later, the magic dissipated and Red’s stomach dropped.

Kneeling on the ground to her mother was her girlfriend dressed in all white.

“Rise, Chat Blanc,” her mother commanded and the girl stood up immediately. Red’s blood ran cold. There was no trace of her partner—her girlfriend—in there. Her mother continued, “I have given you the power of infinite destruction, and with it you will lay waste to this despicable world… starting with her.”

Reina pointed a finger in the direction of Chloe’s mom. 

No. She couldn’t let her do this. She couldn’t let Chloe kill her own mom. Red struggled against the Cheshire Card Card with all she had, managing to free the hand covering her mouth, but that was enough.

“Tikki! Transform me.”

As soon as she felt the transformation wash over her, she used her superstrength to break free from the Card’s clutches and fight her way over to Chloe’s mom. She dodged, weaved, and kicked the Cards holding down Chloe’s mom to her best ability, but even with her super abilities, she was quickly overwhelmed by the number of Card soldiers her own mother had on hand. 

Slowly, Chat Blanc made her way in front of her mother, regarding the woman as though she were a mere speck of dust. Chat Blanc raised her hand and wordlessly called upon a cataclysm, the power manifesting in a white color just like its holder.

“Please, Chloe don’t do this!” Red cried out from under the dozens of Card soldiers holding her down, “Please, you can fight this!”

“Hush now, daughter, she can’t fight this.”

-

Deleted Scene 3 - The Incident - Chat Blanc's fury

The girl’s cold gaze turned on her now, “You know, Red. You were right. My death would be worthless. But everyone else’s…”

“Don’t do this, Chloe,” Red begged as she started backing away in fear, “I-I’ll stop you.”

Chat Blanc walked toward her with her hand raised above her head. She summoned another cataclysm and to Red’s horror, it kept growing and growing. ‘Infinite destruction’, her mother had said. There was no fighting this, even as Ladybug. 

Chat Blanc seemed to know this, too. 

“I’d like to see you try, Princess.” 

And then the world went white.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt. 37

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV, slight incesty vibes, partying, drunk reader, alcohol consumption

Words:

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 38

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

Thalina sat in front of you the wooden figures of Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar. Toys you had grown to love as much as you did Thalina. The fear that had taken deep root in you once Rhaegar left Dragonstone was replaced by a sense of wonder and joy. Thalina knew you needed a friend, at least one, on the foreign island.

The light on your nightstand flickered comfortably, setting shadowy characters behind her as Thalina sat down next to you on the edge of your bed. She smiles at you, long honey brown hair that was normally elegantly braided, hung off of her shoulders. “Tonight I have a gift for you to accompany your story.”

Giddy about your potential surprise, you sit up against your pillow. Waiting expectantly while Thalina opens a drawstring bag. Onto your bedspread, she dumps out its contents and you smile when you see more dragon miniatures like the first gift she had ever given you. Together, along with the three you already had, there were fourteen of them.

“Now, my little one, do you know the names of these eleven other dragons?”

There were a few you could easily name and point to. You insisted that your nannies read you books upon books of dragon history, but there was only so much you could remember at such a young age. It had been quite a while since you had last refreshed on this subject matter.

“Famous Targaryen dragons, of course.” Thalina nods and toys with one that was an off-white color but had a golden chest. “And where did they get such names?”

“From Valyria?”

She chuckled. “Yes of course. But even Valyrians can not take credit for them. You see, these fourteen dragons are named after the Gods of Valyria. The very gods that created the men of valyria created dragons first. And this handsome fellow,” Holding up the one with the golden chest, Thalina names him “This is Arrax. He is considered the father of ancient Valyrian people. No, the gods weren’t dragons, but they did share some physical attributes. The gods have a body like men but also have wings, horns and tails, much like the creatures they created: dragons.”

You loved these late night rendevouz with Thalina. The grouchy septa that was in charge of looking after you didn't much like it when Thalina spoke of the other gods in Essos. You would often hear your septa call them heathens. So Thalina was forced to tell you stories when she knew that old grouch wasn't around to eavesdrop. Her stories always gave you the most exciting dreams. Dreams where dragons still existed and you were lucky enough to ride them.

"It must have been fun to ride dragons." You had mused outloud. "Imagine being able to touch the clouds and go wherever you wanted! I could see Rhaegar at any time if I had a dragon. King's Landing isn't that far."

Thalina chuckled and kissed your brow as she tucked you back in; setting your new collection of dragons on your nightstand. All fourteen lined up perfectly. "Maybe one day when you're older things will change."

Your attendants had rushed you back to your apartments as you held the small hatchling in your arms. Her warmth calmed your rapidly beating heart and tampered the trembling of your muscles. By the gods. . . you had done it. Everything leading up to that moment meant nothing. Training, defeating a darkin, conjuring your own flames for Lightbringer; none could compare to the tiny life you pressed against your chest. Rhiannon’s cloak draped over your shoulders, the burnt orange material covered the little dragon although every once in a while it would flap open to show her beautiful, pearlescent scales along with your bare skin. Ash and smoke prevantly clung to you as your entourage passed through the corridors, your Fiery Hands making the way as if they expected a sudden enemy to pop out from around the corner. You couldn’t blame them or think they were too paranoid. What had happened out there was a miracle, a complete game changer to the history you were forging.

Too shocked to completely comprehend what was happening, you hadn’t even realized that Weles had opened your bedroom door.

Jaime’s protective hand falls onto your shoulder and he guides you inside. A muffled conversation between a red priest and Weles vaguely floated through your ear but you couldn’t discern what they were saying. All you could hear was the small chirps coming from your arms.

Your older brother sits you down and Rhiannon moves around him. “Nuha kosh, are you alright?”

“She’s in shock.”

“Obviously. She just hatched a dragon egg! The first one in centuries.”

Those who were deemed unimportant were shooed out of your room by Melisandre; Sirvart being her muscle to enforce her order. Alizah’s sweet, dream-like voice beckons

Inanna, who had been quietly watching, forward as the small girl was already holding a change of clothes for you.

“(y/n), I’m going to remove the cloak from you now.” Rhiannon gently informs you and you stiffly nod. Tyrion, Jaime and Inniros turn away to offer you at least some sense of privacy. There were still so many voices talking outside of your chambers, you wondered what chaos you had caused.

Inanna’s small shriek seemed to snap you out enough to focus on her as she literally jumped back. On your lap, the dragonling stretches her delicate looking wings. Curiously, the dragon cooed at her, tilting her head at the new person in front of her but not moving from you.

Melisandre quickly swoops in and motions for Inanna to leave. The girl shakingly bows before scurrying out of your room. Alizah follows after her quietly and you hope its to comfort the poor girl.

Presented with a new gown, you shoot a cautious glance over at the boys who had their backs turned to you before standing up and shifting the little dragon onto your bed. She- at least you felt like it was a female- didn’t like being separated from you even if it was just for a moment. The dragonling shrieks and hops around on the bed.

“Already the hatchling is bonded to you.” Melisandre’s red eyes sparkle exquisitely, watching the dragon’s movements with awe. Along with Rhiannon, the two red priestesses help you into a much more comfortable dress that flowed freely and didn’t restrict your movements. They also used a wet washcloth to run along your arms and legs to clean you off.

Nodding once the sunburst dress makes you decent, Rhiannon tells the boys they can turn back around. At that point, Siofra makes an appearance with a pair of shears and hands them to Rhiannon; all while eying the dragon on your bed.

Her bright ember eyes stare inquisitively at Siofra and the others who flitted about your room. Bravely, Tyrion approaches your bed and makes eye contact with the dragonling. His expression was filled with light and wonderment. “What are you going to name it?”

Jaime’s brows furrow and he walks next to Tyrion. “How can you even tell if it's a boy or a girl?”

You admit “I don’t know why, but I feel like this dragon is a female. Just something about her expressions.”

That makes Jaime chuckle a bit and he hesitantly holds out his hand in front of the little dragon. Startled by his actions, she moves back and snaps her toothpick sized teeth at him. Tyrion’s turn to laugh at Jaime’s rejection, your older brother scowls and holds his hand close to his chest. For being so small, the dragon was already showing the fire inside of her.

“I haven’t really had time to think of a name.”

This made Tyrion excited and he could barely contain himself when he asked “Can I choose her name? I’ve always wanted to name a dragon.”

You smile, finally feeling like yourself again and the shock dying down. “Make sure to decide on a good name fitting for her.”

Learning from Jaime’s mistake, instead of putting his hand over the hatchling’s head, Tyrion holds out his hand in front of her so that she may sniff it first. A natural connection was made between Tyrion and the hatchling when she allowed your little brother to gently pet her snout. “Her scales are so warm. Almost hot.”

“All dragons emit a natural heat from their bodies. Hotter than human skin, it could even scald.” Inniros comments out of the blue, Melisandre turn to face him. That was right, both were originally from Asshai so they must already know of dragonlore; secrets and knowledge that no one else knows about. With his single blue eye, Inniros glances at the Red Woman in an almost hostile way that you didn’t understand. Not for the first time either. The darkin, not getting along with the Fiery Hand for obvious reasons, didn’t seem to get along well with the temple’s priests and priestesses. They moved as far away from him as possible and Melisandre appeared to be the only one to tolerate Inniros’ presence.

When there’s a knock at your door, Sirvart leaves her station to crack it open. A brief conversation was carried out before she closed the door once again. “High Priest Benerro wishes to see you before the feast commences. For obvious reasons. And he would like you to bring. . .” Sirvart needn’t finish her sentence. Everyone looked over to Tyrion and the hatchling who was now climbing onto his shoulders. Her snout tussled around his wild hair as she inspected him.

“He’ll have to wait. (y/n) is in dire need of a trim.” Rhiannon holds up the shears that Siofra had handed her.

That’s right. Your hair must look a mess after the flames ate away your long tresses. You lift your hand to feel the choppy, dry ends. The longest piece you found barely reached your jawline. Never had your hair been so short. Vaguely you remember when Thalina was forced to cut off her own luxurious hair because of Viserys. Honestly, you thought she looked even cuter with short hair as it framed her round face better. Her hair curled into ringlets and there was nothing you enjoyed more than decorating her hair with various wildflowers that you found on the hills of Dragonstone.

Once Rhiannon cleaned up your hair, you were escorted to the temple’s chapel hall where the High Priest was attended by several others of his guild. Their whispering voices immediately stopped dead when your presence was made. The dragonling was on your shoulder once more; once she saw you moving away from her, she had quickly clambered off of Tyrion’s shoulder and leapt onto your back.

While your hair was being trimmed, the rest of your entourage had decided to dress themselves up for the upcoming feast that was to be held at sunset. Those of the Fiery Hand, including Jaime, wore exquisite robes and sashes. Siofra had dressed Tyrion in a nice shimmering beige tunic and over it was a burgundy short sleeve doublet that greatly reminded you of the Lannister colors. Both of your brothers looked charming in their outfits. Even Tyrion’s wild hair had been brushed and braided in the warrior style of the Fiery Hand.

The men present in the chapel all at once fell to their knees in front of you making you blush from embarrassment. You weren’t used to such adulation and you doubted it was something you would ever get accustomed to.

Even the High Priest bowed his head low, too old to actually get down on the hard ground. “Nuha kosh.”

Walking down the aisle that the other priests had made, you go up the small steps that led to the main altar. Benerro’s eyes fall upon the small dragon on your shoulder. She flapped her wings slightly to steady herself as you took each step carefully.

“Arlie ēza issare vēttan tubī (History has been made today).” He announces in that alarmingly strong voice that betrayed the feebleness of his mortal body. “Īlva kosh, Azōr Ahaī sigligon, ēza maghatan arlī se ēlī zaldrīzes pār pōja morghon(Our champion, Azor Ahai Reborn, has resurrected the first dragon since their extinction).”

The priests held up their hands to the vaulted ceiling, raising their praises in loud chants of jubilation. It startled your hatchling and she moved closer to the side of your neck and face.

In the Common Tongue, Benerro personally addresses you. “While this is certainly cause for celebration, unfortunately it also means we must address the safety of both you and the temple.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“The news of what has happened today has already spread. Many witnessed your miracle firsthand and have been quick to tell others. Some priests have voiced their concerns. There is fear among them that this news will bring upon assaults on our temple in order to acquire your dragon. While our Fiery Hand is strong, against another larger army, they could not possibly defend the temple properly. Which is why your journey to Asshai must proceed tomorrow morning.”

At first you gawked at him before clearing your throat. “Tomorrow?”

He nods solemnly. “You will be safer in Asshai until the dragon grows enough to defend itself. It would be best for you to depart as soon as possible, but tonight you can still enjoy yourself at the feast.”

You look behind you to Tyrion, wishing you had had more time to spend with him before your departure. Paining you to leave him so soon. This was necessary though. Pursing your lips in a firm line, you nod. “Of course.”

“It is best that your traveling group remains small, to attract less attention. Melisandre, Weles, and a priest have already been chosen to accompany you as well as the darkin.”

“Alizah will not be coming?” For some reason the assumption you held was that Alizah, being the most gifted priestess, would also be there.

>From the group behind you, Alizah steps forward. “While I would love to join you, unfortunately duty calls me to somewhere else. I will actually be leaving right away. Time is of the essence. I have faith in Lady Melisandre and Priest Rayzer that they will take good care of you. I will keep you in my prayers though.”

You hadn’t met a Rayzer before, at least you don’t remember. A lot of people have been introduced to you during your time at the temple. Some were merely visiting, others had quickly left to go on one of their missionary work.

“Your Grace,” Rhiannon slowly makes her way next to you, looking up imploringly at the High Priest “Please allow me to follow nuha kosh to Asshai. I may not be as useful as Lady Melisandre or even Lady Alizah, but there is nothing more I would greatly desire than traveling with (y/n).”

“Yes, please, Your Grace.” Humbly you bow your head and the High Priest hastily urges you to raise your face.

“If this is what you desire.”

“It is.” It would be hard enough leaving your brothers, but leaving Rhiannon behind would prove to be a lonely journey for you.

With the High Priest’s blessing, Rhiannon was permitted to go with you to Asshai. A great weight had been lifted off of your chest. While you would definitely miss Tyrion and Jaime, you would still have Rhiannon with you.

The day wore on, hasty plans being made for your departure, and the sun slowly dipping down below the horizon. Already the yard which was normally used for training was being decorated with braziers and great pits of fire that gave off plenty of natural light. Nobility from the Black Wall had ventured out and were already filling out the yard, replacing the sparring Fiery Hands with long gowns and exquisite robes. Even local merchants were in attendance, sporting their fineries.

You watched them from your balcony. Tyrion sitting at the table you normally ate breakfast at; your dragon playfully hopped around on the table, her nails clacking against the tile top. Jaime stood next to you, his arms folded in front of him. Just the three Lannister siblings. The others were preoccupied with their own tasks, reassuring security was set in place.

Sensing your rising nerves, Jaime says “You should be used to all this attention by now.”

A small laugh leaves you and you shake your head. “No. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I’ve spent all of my life being unnoticed. Even when I was married to Rhaegar, I was overlooked. I didn’t mind it, honestly. There were no expectations that I could ruin.”

“I don’t think you can ruin any now. You have done the impossible, (y/n).” He turns to you and the orange-pink glow radiating off of the sunset made Jaime appear to beam with warmth. The green of his eyes was so bright that they seemed to glow. A scar below his eye, courtesy of Inniros, was the only thing that blemished his otherwise handsome face.“Once father hears of this he’ll feel so ashamed of the years he disregarded you.”

You shrug, not particularly caring of what Tywin thought of you anymore. All of the things you had accomplished, you had done without the help of the Lord of Casterly Rock. What you were more so excited about was Rhaegar. If the news was spreading fast, then you hoped that Rhaegar would hear it too and know you were still alive.

“I’ve decided on a name!” Tyrion abruptly claims.

“Well, lets hear it.” Jaime grins and leaves your side to wander over to Tyrion. If Jaime looked beautiful in the light of sunset, then your little dragon certainly outshined him. Her scales, glittering with soft colors like that of an opal, were enhanced as she flapped her wings experimentally.

You left the balcony rail and joined your brothers.

Tyrion pretends to clear his throat. “I am proud to present to you Latilth.”

Jaime rolled the name around in his mouth before nodding. “A pretty name for an equally dazzling creature.”

“I like it. Latilth.” As if already knowing her name, Latilth cocks her head and waddles over to you. You smile and stroke the top of her head. Her small little horns were mere buds on her head. Everything about Latilth was so delicate. For now. One day this little hatchling would grow into the most deadly of predators that the world has ever seen. She would lead your army and help you defeat your enemies. On her back you would fly all the way back to Westeros. Some day you hoped for Rhaegar to see the both of you and how much you had grown. You still considered yourself to be meek, that was something that would take more time to remedy, but you weren’t that same little girl dying on her bed. The way Rhaegar left you.

Quietly, Tyrion asks you “How long will you be in Asshai?” He didn’t meet your gaze and you knew that he didn’t like you leaving him so soon.

You hug him from behind and hide your sad face in his hair. Tyrion smelled of sweet jasmine and citrus. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how long it will be to get there. But I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.”

“Remind me why you have to leave again.”

You chuckle. “There are secrets in Asshai that will help me. Plus as Azor Ahai reborn it is my duty to gather the darkin over to our cause.”Plus there was something that had been bugging you about the relationship between the Temple and the darkin. An off-hand comment that both Melisandre and Inniros had made. From what you had experienced with Inniros, he generally wasn’t a very friendly person. Around the priests and priestesses though (especially around the Fiery Hand) he seemed especially hostile.

Tyrion’s small hand grasps at your arm. “Here I thought we would have more time together.”

“Once I get back I promise we will. For now, you’ll just have to be satisfied with Jaime.”

“Rude.”

Both you and Tyrion giggle and you release him. “I know there is no one else who could take greater care of our little brother than you.”

“Of course. I’ll see what he learned from Ser Barristan. Hone his skill.” He promised and winked over at Tyrion.

There was a slight worry that the men of the Fiery Hand would be too rough. But you couldn’t coddle Tyrion because of his defect. You knew he hated that more than anything. Tyrion wanted to be just like Jaime no matter what.

You trusted Jaime to not let serious harm fall upon the youngest sibling. How much time would pass during your stay in Asshai? Upon your return you didn’t doubt that Tyrion would grow into a young man in your absence.

Calming your nerves about the future, you gaze back out to the yard. Watching the small figures below scurrying around like ants.

Latilth, wishing to be closer to her mistress, hobbled on the tile surface and made her way up your back. Tiny claws dragging along delicate fabric and eventually the skin of your back. Latilth’s claws could not yet compare to the ones that had originally torn into your skin.

Finally situated on your shoulder, Latilth rubs her forehead against your jawline. You grin and nuzzle against her. “Happy name day, Latilth.” You considered this celebration more for her. She would be the star of the show.

“I hope this party won’t be like the stuffy ones father always took us to.” By his voice, he’s already anticipating a boring occasion. Jaime had never been one for ceremony. Dressing up in formal wear and feigning his best behavior, Jaime loathed such gatherings. A cousin of yours in Lannisport had thrown a lavish gala and your parents had dragged all three of you along. Of course it was Cersei who flourished in that environment. She was dazzling, enchanting those around her while you stuck close to your mother’s skirts. Jaime could have been charming his relatives like his twin, but that held no interest to him. Instead he had incited rowdiness among male cousins closer to his age. Tywin, for everyone knew that Jaime was his favorite, merely gave him a quiet scolding on how to act. After all, Tywin still had hopes that Jaime would someday become the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“We’ll see if Volantis knows how to have fun.” you smile and bump your shoulder against his arm playfully. He replies with a grin.

For the first time in quite a while your life was content. At your side were both of your beloved brothers that you had so longed for during your lonely childhood. And on your shoulder was your sparkling future.

Jaime stares at (y/n)’s peace filled smile, her eyes no longer anxious but relaxed. It did indeed feel like Jaime could afford to breathe and rest. At least for the moment. He will have to watch his sister leave come tomorrow morning. Being parted from left a foul feeling in his chest. For nearly two years they had been traveling together, learning to trust one another enough to clash blades. Having suffered through a lot, Jaime was apprehensive about not going with her to Asshai. (y/n) could physically take care of herself, that was certain, yet that knowledge itself did not make the separation any easier for Jaime.Who knew what will befall her in the strange country known as Asshai. All he had ever heard of that place were horror stories.

Now he would take the opportunity to engrain her face into his memory. (y/n)’s short hair really suited her despite her short bangs revealing the scar above her eyebrow. Sparring under the swollen sun had gifted her with a dust of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Faint but still visible to Jaime’s admiring eyes. She shimmered before him, much like Latilth, the dragonling that had just been brought into the world but several hours ago. Already aware of herself, Latilth turned her head at every new sight and sound with no fear. Rather it was curiosity of the world, a world she could one day possibly rule.

So this is what Thalina had envisioned for (y/n). Jaime kicked himself for thinking the maid a raving lunatic. Had he truly understood, maybe he could have saved her in time too.

“You must do this. She is more important to the world than you can truly understand.” Thalina’s eyes had been so angry, that’s what Jaime had thought at the time. Even as tears reddened them and welled up. Now Jaime was older and wiser. Thalina had never been angry. It was fear that made her words tremble. She had clutched onto him so desperately, knowing that she would not be around for much longer. From living in the temple, Jaime was aware that Thalina had been able to see into the future by reading flames. Something that (y/n) seemed capable of at a rudimentary level. Jaime wondered how much of (y/n)’s future Thalina had seen.

Taking him a few moments to register that (y/n) was now looking at him, her thick brows crossed with concern. “Are you okay?” Her gentle tone automatically brought a light smile to Jaime’s lips. He loved her for many reasons but above all it was the fact that her tender heart still remained with her. After heartbreak and devastation, blood and tears, (y/n) held onto her kindness. This world would not tear her down. She was strong in her own way.

Just to wipe that look off her face, Jaime softly pinches the tip of her nose with his index and middle finger. The face and noise that came from her made both brothers laugh. She sputtered and slapped his hand away. “Yes I’m okay. What about you? It’s been a hell of a day.”

While rubbing her abused nose, (y/n) grins. Latilth seemingly cooes like a dove at (y/n)’s smile. What a strange creature. “Honestly I would enjoy a nap, but I suppose I’ll sleep plenty tonight.”

“They really don’t let you rest here.” Sighs Tyrion. “These people run you ragged. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a god’s chosen hero.”

(y/n)’s whole demeanor loses edge. “Even so, being here. . . I have some kind of purpose. The most fulfilling events of my life have happened here.”

Guilt and shame arise in Jaime whenever he is reminded of (y/n)’s childhood. For good reason too as Jaime should have been the one to protect his little sister, even if that meant going against Cersei. His childhood errors would always haunt him, even looking at how happy (y/n) was now. They could have been so much closer had he been a proper brother in the beginning. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so wrapped up in Cersei’s web. His cruel, lovely Cersei; Jaime’s heart still called out for her like a wandering soul. She was his other half after all. All the terrible things she had done to (y/n) though couldn’t be overlooked. Jaime would not stand idly by like he once did.

Jaime puts a hand on (y/n)’s vacant shoulder. Her beaming face when she looks up at him was enough to melt any negative wonderings that swirled in his head. “If you can get through today, I’m pretty sure you can survive anything. Asshai better watch out for you.”

Tyrion lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder and back to his sister’s room. “Are you sure you trust Inniros?”

Not wasting a second, (y/n) confidently nods. “I do. Our meeting may not have been ideal, but I”ve spoken with him. The darkin aren’t a blood thirsty breed, not like the stories we heard. Inniros, above all things, is still just a mortal like us.”

The way she spoke of the darkin sparked a green flame like wildfire in Jaime. Her voice had turned soft when discussing Inniros. (y/n) held such sympathy for the man that would have so readily killed her. Jaime was not as trusting. In the blink of an eye, Inniros easily slaughtered Feichen and several other servants of R’hllor. Nightmares of being held captive by his own shadow still tormented Jaime in the night. He had been utterly helpless, an entirely new concept to Jaime. Helpless and forced to watch men he had trained with, men he had grown comfortable around, taken down like they were nothing. The scars that both he and his sister bore were courtesy of the darkin, but (y/n) seemed eager to forget that.

Underneath his skepticism belied his jealousy. A jealousy he had continuously tried to squash down. “Lets hope you’re right.” He wanted her to be right. The alternative was something Jaime didn’t want to entertain like the thought of Inniros turning the darkin against her when she got there.

Only thing for Jaime to do was simply place his faith and trust in his sister. After all this time, (y/n) was constantly surprising him.

Rich red wine flowed heavily in your veins. It was the only thing to tamper down your natural shyness. Indeed this party was better than any you had attended in Westeros. Even outshining your wedding banquet which had overall been an awkward occasion.

Torches and braziers were lit and a large campfire had been erected in the center of the training field. Pleasing you to see many of the occupants in the temple letting loose and enjoying themselves. Weles looked absolutely stunning in his formal attire, so unlike his sparring robes that he normally dawned. The captain was completely at ease, enjoying the atmosphere and even more so admiring that his own warriors were having fun as well. You noticed this as Weles watched Yophiel and Sirvart covertly flirting with one another. This supposed secret interaction made Weles smile to himself and take a sip of his wine. Light from the torches made the yellow tattoos on his face stand out against his dark skin. You enjoyed watching your friends be carefree and wild.

Friends.

You had never really had friends before. Thalina and Tyrion were the only friends you could conjure up from your memory. Even then Tyrion was too little to even be speaking full sentences.

Now you observed Rhiannon dancing with Iyan in a ridiculous manner, but they didn’t care. Dritan walks up to them middance and Rhiannon leaves Iyan, the other Fiery Hand coaxing her off to the side in a private conversation. Iyan goes back to his dancing as is soon joined by the beautiful Ilta. You could even hear some of the red priests who stood off to the side cackling with laughter and slapping one another on the back. In the very center was Inanna teaching Tyrion a traditional dance.

Eyes catching those you didn’t recognize and who Nuahlin had whispered to you in the beginning as those who lived behind the Black Wall. Beyond the Black Wall is what many referred to as “Old Volantis”. No outlander, freeman, or foreigner is allowed inside the Black Wall. These were nobles above all else. In turn they watched you with lingering gazes. Nuahlin told you that while they don’t believe in R’hllor, they were nevertheless curious about the young girl whom the High Priest celebrated as Azor Ahai reborn and her newborn dragon.

Latilth, enjoying the pieces of cooked meat that you fed to her here and there, kept to either your shoulder or the comfort of your arms. While she was small, many did not dare come up to you. Intimidating for the very fact that one day the little dragon would become something to fear.

“Naejot se ābri hen bantis! (To the ladies of the evening!)”

“Vidarr!” You chirp and clink glasses with him.

His lavender eyes are filled with good tidings and he siddles next to you. A temple handmaid quietly walks over to Vidarr, offering another decanter of wine which he gladly poured into his empty chalice. “They haven’t had a party like this in decades. So I’ve been hearing at least from the old men.”

Interested in the new face before her, Latilth leans off of your shoulder slightly to sniff at Vidarr.

He chuckles and holds out his hand in front of her nose so that she may inspect him. “She is beautiful for such a dangerous creature. May she grow to be as big as the temple!” Latilth eyed his fingers before giving one sniff then retracting her body back to you. It was clear that she saw you as security.

“I hope so. Once she’s big enough then we can return to Westeros. Who knows how long that will take though.” You hoped that in that time, Rhaegar would prove triumphant in the war against Aerys. In your heart whispered something else “Wait for me, Rhaegar”. Was the whisper of your heart doomed to shrivel up and die? He was technically free to remarry as everyone believed you to be dead. If he wanted, he could take Lyanna as his bride; she was the woman he had wanted all along. Now that he was allies with the north, this would look to be a great opportunity for both sides. The north could claim that their Lady Lyanna was a queen to the Dragon Prince.

“There are many secret magics in Asshai.” Vidarr commented. “Perhaps you’ll find something that will make her grow fast. Although I know the temple will miss you desperately when the time comes for you to return to Westeros. Many of us will go with you, of course, but those who don’t have a high station will be forced to stay here.”

“Some of the Fiery Hand will have to stay here to protect the temple.” You wonder who would be chosen to stay. Of course Weles couldn’t, he was the captain and most skilled out of any of his men and women.

The Myrenese smile at you. “Matters to worry about come tomorrow. For now, enjoy these last moments. Have you spoken to any from the Black Wall?”

You tell him that while you haven’t actively gone up to one, they seemed to want to examine you and Latilth from a distance.

Those from the Black Wall believed in the religion of Old Valyria. Vaguely you recall Thalina telling you these tales with the dragon statuettes that she gifted to you.

A dragon after so many years is exciting for anyone, but you guessed they were especially holding high hopes for Latilth. Dragons held an intricate position in their religion.

“Are you able to dance with the Lady Latilth on your shoulder?” Vidarr sets aside his cup and holds out a hand to you.

Laughing at calling Latilth a ‘lady’ and warn him “Even with Latilth, I’ve never been much of a dancer. I have two left feet.”

“I can attest to that.” Jaime buds in, his thick arms crossed in front of his chest. “I believe (y/n) owes me a dance first.”

Vidarr holds his hands up innocently with a smile on him. “Of course, Ser. I will wait my turn patiently.”

The gold bracers on his forearms shimmered when he held out his hand. “Lilagon lēda nyke, ñuha kosh.(Dance with me, my champion)” His Valyrian shocked you and you neary didn’t register what he said. It was flawless, unlike his usual struggle with the pronunciation.

You stare at him with wide, enchanted eyes. “Who taught you that?”

“The best teacher there is: our own brother Tyrion.”

No time to hear any of your protests, Jaime guides you to the center ring of the dancing figures. Latilth excitedly flaps her wings, startling those around you at her abrupt movement. With his fingers entwined with yours, he unexpectedly twirls you around and you try your best to keep your steps as fluid as possible. The dragon on your shoulders clung to you but beat her wings as if dancing along with you and your brother. Live music that was being played by local musicians, picked up speed with their notes. In reply you and Jaime acted accordingly. He was so light on his feet, you panicked when you tripped over your own feet. Jaime had a tight hold on you and prevented you from falling. Elegantly he moves along with your desperate steps.

Pulling you closer to him, Jaime whispers in your ear “Relax, (y/n). Just pretend we’re sparring. You’ve always said it’s like a violent dance.”

Pretend we’re sparring. . . Okay, I can do that.

You take a deep breath before Jaime releases you in a spin. Right in front of him, the sparring began. Pivoting around him, your arms acted as swords. When they clashed, Jaime was actually touching your skin in a manner that sent shivers up your arms. His smile was brilliant as he matched your footsteps, going along with the fast paced music.

At this you were much better. Regular dancing had always scared you but this was freeing. You felt wild and untamed in this faux fight. Jaime. . . Jaime was the perfect partner for you. If you had danced with him at your wedding, you wondered if it would have been as easy as this. Probably not, not with those oppressive eyes on you. The eyes of your father, sister, and those who didn’t care an ounce about you.

Now you used your training that Weles had drilled into to keep light on your toes to keep up with Jaime. More surprising was the way Latilth moved her body along to prevent the movements from making her fall off of you.

Then as the music came to an end, you wound up staring right up into Jaime’s eyes in the final position. Both of your were flushed and grinning wildly as your audience clapped and cheered at your performance. A spark, perhaps it was the wine, energized your chest as you smile at Jaime. The two of you had been through so much but he had proven that he was there to stay by your side. So much love thrummed in you for Jaime. You gave his hands a squeeze since he still held onto them tightly. How would you survive Asshai without your knight?

Your body, out of its own accord, wrapped arms around Jaime and embraced him tightly. With your ear pressed against his chest, you heard the strong beating of his heart. Maybe it was an inappropriate time to show this display of affection but you didn’t care.

Slowly Jaime returns the embrace and places his cheek on the crown of your head. How long had it been since you received any kind of physical attention from a man? You couldn’t even remember the last time you laid in Rhaegar’s bare arms. It had to have been when you were heavily pregnant before. . . before the poison took everything away from you.

Not until Jaime had returned your desperate embrace did you realize how much you had missed such contact.

You close your eyes and try to capture the moment. Something you could replay on lonely nights in Asshai.

Jaime laughed at you as he helped you back up to your room. You had never consumed so much wine in your entire life and you feared you had overdone it. Unsteady on your feet, you relied heavily on your older brother to safely get you to your bed. At your stumbling, Latilth had fled from your shoulders and onto Jaime’s.

Through some garbling, you managed to get out “Serry Latilth. . .”

“Lets hope you don’t wake up hungover.” Jaime chuckled more so to himself as you were hovering in and out of consciousness. You had so much fun after dancing with Jaime. Vidarr danced with you in the same way and even lumbering Yophiel wanted a turn. Drinking helps you to get out of your shell more and interact with others. A priest whom you had never spoken to before had the interesting hobby of stone carving while another showed off his “fire breathing” skills.

“Waz dat?”

“That’s what happens when you drink too much. You get sick the following morning.” Jaime shakes his head, still holding his smile at your slurred speech.

“Oh nooooo.” Groaning, at least you were somewhat coherent as to realize that you could possibly be sick when you board the ship to Asshai. That was the last thing you needed. The relationship between you and the sea had never been a kind one. Crashing of the waves and the jostling of the vessel always made you sick to your stomach.

Reaching the door to your chambers, Jaime jostles both you and Latilth so he could open the door. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get lots of water into you. Hopefully there’s something they have to combat nausea.”

Very carefully he made his way to your bed and gently laid you down. Latilth hopped off of him and nuzzled against your side. Her presence sobered you up a little so that you could watch Jaime go to your wardrobe and pull out a comfortable night shift.

He holds it up for you to see. “Do you think you can dress yourself?”

Even lifting yourself up to your elbows was hard work and in the end you let yourself fall back onto the mattress.

“I guess not. I can go call upon Siofra-”

“No. Dun bover her.” You waved at him. “I’ll just. . . sleep in my clothes.”

Jaime shrugs and tosses your shift off to the side. From the decanter on your table, he pours water and lifts your head enough so you could easily drink. The water tasted sweet against your tongue. Drinking until you had your fill, your brother puts aside the decanter and lays right next to you.

“Jemmie?”

You hear him laugh quietly. “Yes?”

You roll onto your side that faced him. Never during your journey had you been so close to him. Even when sharing the same room and bed there was always a distance. Now though you could easily see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed quietly. What you really wanted to ask him was whether or not he thought Rhaegar would marry Lyanna in the end. You were reminded of how he naturally had a dislike for Rhaegar after what had happened. That seemed so long ago but he still held a hatred for him. Even on your way to Volon Therys the two of you had gotten into a spat about Rhaegar.

He doesn't want to hear about Rhaegar, (y/n).

The last days of your normal life at King’s Landing felt like a far off dream. You had thought that maybe against all odds that Rhaegar was finally falling in love with you. His kisses, caresses and eyes when he gazed upon you all screamed love. There was your uncertainty though. Was he pretending? Did he still desire Lyanna Stark? The thought that killed you the most is if Rhaegar had been pretending the entire time. No, you didn’t want to believe that. That wasn’t Rhaegar. Rhaegar’s love couldn’t be faked.

Jaime will think he was pretending all along. That Rhaegar could never love you because he already loved Lyanna.

In your inebriated stupor, all words left you and you burst into tears.

Her tears dried up after some time of letting (y/n) cry herself out. Jaime held her close to him, feeling his exposed chest grow wet from her eyes. Quivers raking her body eventually subsided as her breathing returned to almost normal. At first he wanted to laugh when he first saw her crying, chalking it up to the immense amount of alcohol that she had consumed. But there was a genuine sadness in the way (y/n) sobbed.

Before that night, Jaime had never touched her in such a way. Close and intimate like the way she had embraced him earlier. Due to his afflictions he tried his best to keep himself at arm’s length from his sister, a sister he greatly desired. Things couldn’t be the same way it had been with Cersei. (y/n) wasn’t Cersei. She was pure and untainted by malice and sin. He wanted her to stay that way. And if (y/n) were to ever find out about his secret? She certainly would never look at him the same way. When she had confronted Jaime about his incestuous relationship with his twin, the expression on his face made him want to shrivel up and die on the spot. The dirt of such immoral acts suddenly weighing him down. All those times he had been with Cersei, Jaime had never cared if it was a sin or not. To hell with everyone who thought what he was doing was wrong. Until he saw the disgust on her face. When tempers did die down and (y/n) willing to discuss it, she seemed to understand that no one could help who they fell in love with. Her past with Cersei though added a tone of hurt in her words. Cersei had caused great trauma to her, physically and mentally. While Jaime never got the feeling that (y/n) hated Cersei, (y/n) definitely did not like her.

To her, Cersei was the most revolting creature there could ever be.

Jaime learned a great deal about self-control around (y/n). He couldn’t afford for her to find out about the dreams he had of her at night. How he longed to kiss her and know her as a lover as well. It would never and could never be.

Her silence prompted Jaime to peek down at her face. The tears were no longer and she appeared to be fast asleep. He sighs in relief and moves his arm out from under her. The gem colored dragon peered over (y/n)’s shoulder and at Jaime. Two small balls of fire.

“Take care of each other.” His whisper is picked up by Latilth. There was an almost human intelligence to her that startled him. She looked like she was listening to each word he said and understanding them.

Without making much movement, Jaime gets off of the bed and walks around it until he stood on the other side. Staring down at his sleeping sister, his body refused to move. When the sun rose back into its proper place in the sky, she would be gone. How odd her absence will be. This would be much different from when she left Casterly Rock for Dragonstone. He would miss her terribly.

If you’re really there, Lord of Light, hear my plea and do not take it lightly. Protect her. She is your champion. If YOU prove to be worthy, then I will dedicate myself to the cause of the Fiery Hand and get one of those damn tattoos. I will live out the end of my days in service to you and (y/n). Just bring her back to me safely.

Leaning over her, Jaime made sure that she was deep in sleep before kissing the corner of her mouth; the only thing he would allow himself. R'hllor better bring back his sun, for without (y/n) there could be no sunshine for Jaime.

When he walked out into the darkened corridor, he felt something off; a very familiar sensation shot up his spin. In mere seconds a dagger was in Jaime’s hands as he glared into the shadows. “Alright, come out you darkin bastard.”

There was no way Jaime would ever get used to witnessing the darkin’s power at work. This creature was the perfect predator. No matter what (y/n)’s views on him, Inniros was nothing more than a monster to Jaime and many of the other Fiery Hands. His union with darkness itself, well, it was simply sinister in nature.

A ghost white face meets Jaime followed by a shock of red hair that was sheared close to his scalp. One lone blue eye greeted him and it was enough to make Jaime’s stomach ill. “You have escorted (y/n) safely to her bed, I presume?”

Indignation flared in Jaime, desiring nothing else but to bury his weapon deep into that remaining eye of his. “Were you spying on us?”

“You sound like you have something to hide.” replied Inniros, aggravating Jaime’s last nerves.

“You’re lucky my sister needs you to get through Asshai.”

“Both your sisters required my skill.” He nods. “But only one do I truly adhere to. My only target to ever survive. I haven’t had such a fight in quite a long time. (y/n) though, she bested me. My master will be curious to see her.”

He didn’t trust him yet Inniros was the one to go with (y/n), not Jaime. His fears crept back up on him about (y/n)’s safety. No way was he letting her go now, not without him.

Inniros sighed at the deadly glare that Jaime was stabbing into him. “Put away your daggers. I didn’t need to spy to understand your affections for her.”

“Then why are you here?!” Snapped Jaime. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe that he could take on Inniros one-on-one. Indeed Jaime possessed an infamous swordhand that won him a spot on the Kingsguard at the youngest age any had seen, but meant nothing against a darkin. The lighting of the sconces mounted on the hallway walls gave Inniros the complete upperhand as more shadows were flickering about.

Putting it bluntly, Inniros said “I’m sorry I killed your comrades. I’m sure they would have had more of a chance against a normal man.”

Not sure whether to laugh or to rip him apart, Jaime pressed his back against the hard stone wall and slammed his head hard. How easily he apologized with not an ounce of emotion! Then again, could darkin even have emotions? (y/n) had said he was a mortal just like them, but how could one still be human and wield such a villainous power and not be poisoned by it. . . Certainly there had to be a price that your soul paid.

“Your sister instructed me to kill anyone who was in my way. And she ideally wanted you returned to her alive.”

“Don’t talk about her.”

Waiting and allowing for Jaime to calm down, Inniros remained silent until he felt Jaime’s heart beat slow to a moderately normal rhythm. From a pocket within his black cloak, the darkin pulled out a leather pouch; tossing it at Jaime’s feet. Reaching his arm down to retrieve, Jaime’s eyes were trained on Inniros who didn’t seem to ever blink. In the sconce’s light he saw gold coins from varying countries in both Westeros and Essos. Jaime picked up a golden dragon coin, pursing his lips when he imagined who it came from.

Cersei. . . even I didn’t think you so hateful. Not the mischievous girl he had grown up with. The very one who would sneak off from her own lessons and switch with Jaime. As small children it was hard to tell them apart if they were not wearing gender distinguishing clothes. Many times unbeknown to the sword master himself, it would be Cersei wearing Jaime’s clothes; both having had the same length of hair.

“Do with it what you will. I don’t want it anymore. All of what Cersei gave me is there as well as my own from years traveling through Essos. You do not trust me and you are right not to. I hold no ill will toward you, Jaime Lannister. The condemnation I feel is for myself.” Clear that Inniros had no more words left to exchange, he begins his way past (y/n)’s door. He didn’t even pause as he passed by a gaping Jaime. No sound came from his footsteps but Jaime knew when he had turned the corner. The atmosphere that normally enveloped the general area when Inniros was around had disappeared.

Jaime weighed the pouch in his hand.

Thinking of Cersei.

Thinking of (y/n).

Taglist:

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[whatacaitastrophe]

Everything Has Changed - Chapter 13

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Morally Grey" - April Jai ft. Nation Haven

Chapter Warnings: PiV sex, Oral sex, Hand jobs, blood drinking, threesome F/M/M, masturbation, voyeurism, edgeplay, teasing, female ejaculation

Spotify Playlist: Here

Author Notes: thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting on this fic (and the first one)! if you are interested in supporting me in other ways, I have a Ko-Fi link <3

i also have a discord server! it was created to coincide with my twitch channel but you do NOT need to follow/subscribe/watch my twitch streams to come hang out with us <3 we talk a lot about bg3 and share memes and fics.

Chapter 13: Your Body I'll Worship

The door to the bedroom swung open magically with a small wave of Gale’s hand, and a wave of pride washed through Fallon. Gale had been working so hard to completely re-learn magic in this new way, and it didn’t surprise her that the simple spells were coming back to him as easily as breathing. Though Fallon only got the briefest moment to think about Gale’s progress before she became distracted by the sight laid out before her. 

There were even more black dahlia petals scattered throughout the room, candles on every surface that could safely hold a candle, and there was soft music coming from a phonograph in the far corner. Then there was the bed. The big, beautiful, four-poster bed that would most certainly hold all three of them comfortably, even to sleep. “Did you buy the bed just for this?” Fallon teased Gale. 

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Gale chuckled. “Despite her size, Tara somehow manages to take up a very large spot on the bed when we sleep, so I purchased this particular piece of furniture well before I ever suspected I’d be sharing it with two other people.”

Fallon turned her attention to Astarion. “So what does this next phase of atonement entail, exactly?” She asked, a coy smile blooming on her face. 

Astarion and Gale stopped moving once they reached the foot of the bed, and Astarion let go of her hand in favor of resting his hands on her hips and pulling Fallon closer to him, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around Astarion’s neck. “The first thing it involves, darling, is the removal of this absolutely delicious dress. Since I ruined the last one in my desperation to have you, I thought I’d let someone with slightly more patience do the honors.”

Astarion brushed Falllon’s hair from her shoulder and he leaned down to kiss the exposed skin, slowly working his way to her neck carefully so as not to bite her. Another pair of hands found her back and began to undo the fastenings, and it almost startled her, until she remembered it was Gale. “Though it really is a shame that Astarion ruined your Winter Solstice dress, I have to say, I’m quite fond of this one,” Gale made quick work of the fastenings on the back of her dress. Cool air hit Fallon’s back as it became more exposed as Gale unfastened each clasp; until finally, the only thing keeping the dress on Fallon’s body were the off the shoulder sleeves, and even they were losing a battle with gravity under the weight of the fabric. 

Astarion removed his mouth from her neck and took a step back so he could look at her, reaching behind his neck to grab her hands and place them at her sides. “Turn around, darling. I think the sorcerer deserves a front row seat to what he’s been missing, don’t you?” Astarion kissed her slowly before taking hold of her hips once more and helping Fallon turn around to face Gale. Fallon did not break eye contact with Gale as she felt Astarion’s deft fingers sliding up from her hips to the bodice of her dress. With a firm tug, the black fabric floated to the floor, and for the first time in over two years, Fallon was naked in front of Gale. 

“You cheeky thing, no undergarments at all?” Astarion teased as he wrapped his arms around Fallon from behind, his fingers tracing idle circles on her sides and he kissed her neck again. “Seems we’re not the only ones who planned ahead just in case .” 

“The dress didn’t exactly allow for them.” Fallon defended herself, though a mischievous look shone in her eyes. It’s not like she couldn’t have picked another dress, after all. For once, Gale seemed to be too stunned to speak. Gale flexed his hands at his sides, like he wanted to reach out and touch Fallon, but he kept stopping himself. Fallon extended a hand to Gale, inviting him to come closer. To touch her. “I promise to let you know if you do something I’m not comfortable with.” 

Gale forced himself to look away from Fallon’s body to study her face. He hesitated for less than two seconds before taking Fallon’s hand in his and closing the space between them. Gale’s hands settled on Fallon’s hips and he looked past Fallon and over her shoulder, presumably to look at Astarion. Whatever look or silent communication the vampire offered the sorcerer, it was enough to embolden Gale to take another step towards Fallon. 

“May I kiss you, Fallon?” Gale asked softly, and her stomach did a backflip at the anticipation as she nodded. Gale reached up and tucked his index finger under her chin, using it to tilt her head upwards as he leaned in. When their mouths connected, a jolt of electricity shot through Fallon’s body as emotions she’d buried deep within her catapulted themselves to the surface once again as Gale flooded her senses. If kissing Astarion made her feel like she could conquer the world, kissing Gale was the reminder to survive and come home afterwards. Both feelings were equally important, and equally capable of reminding Fallon how loved she was, and to be loved by both Astarion and Gale? It might just be all Fallon has ever needed. 

At the exact moment that Fallon deepened the kiss, parting her lips for Gale to explore her mouth with his tongue and carding her fingers through his chestnut hair, Fallon felt Astarion’s mouth back on her neck again as his cool hands slid over her skin. Where one hand moved up her body to cup her breast, kneading it with fingers and rolling his thumb over her pebbled nipple, the other moved down, the pads of his fingers dancing over her torso and her hip bone before sliding into place between her legs. Fallon moaned softly into Gale’s mouth as she felt Astarion’s fingers dip between her folds just enough to tease, and she felt her vampire smirking in amusement against her neck. Fallon knew she was already drenched with arousal– she had been since the moment she walked into the dining room and saw them standing there, dressed in their finest. “My, my, you have been thinking about this,” Astarion hummed, nipping gently at her shoulder with his teeth. 

The hand that occupied her breast moved away, and Fallon almost made a noise in protest until she realized what Astarion was doing: He’d taken Gale’s hand from under her chin and guided it south to join Astarion’s other hand at the apex of her thighs. “Feel how ready she is for us and we’ve hardly done anything.” Astarion praised, replacing his hand with Gale’s. Gale pulled away from their kiss just far enough to look at Fallon, brushing their noses together as he silently asked for her permission before going further, and Fallon gave him the slightest nod of her head in return before kissing him again.  

Fallon shuddered, moaning at the contact as Gale teased her further than Astarion had, pressing two fingers inside of her experimentally and brushed his thumb over her swollen clit. Gale smiled against Fallon’s lips. “I’ve missed that sound,” He admitted, shallowly thrusting his fingers inside of Fallon before pulling them out and stepping back from her entirely. Gale raised his fingers to his mouth, covered in the evidence of her arousal, and licked them obscenely. “I missed that, too.”  Gale added, and Fallon realized Gale was not making eye contact with her as he did this, but with Astarion. Oh how she wished Astarion was not standing behind her, because she would have loved to see his reaction.

While she might not have seen the look on Astarion’s face as Gale taunted them both, Fallon felt Astarion’s cock begin hardening against her back and when Astarion turned Fallon back to face him, she saw the way his red eyes flared with need before he pressed his lips to hers in a heated kiss. The vampire’s hands roamed over her back and over her ass, giving it a firm squeeze before ending their descent at the back of her thighs so he could hoist Fallon into the air. Fallon instinctively did a little jump and wrapped her legs around Astarion’s middle, though she did not stay there for long. Astarion only carried her far enough to climb onto the bed and drop her in the middle of it. Fallon reached forward and started unbuttoning the buttons on Astarion’s shirt, desperate for skin on skin contact that he currently could not provide. “You have too many clothes on. The both of you.” Fallon complained, and Astarion tutted as he sat back on his knees between her legs. 

“Patience, darling. I love your enthusiasm, tonight is about you. We’re going to take care of you, and if you want to take care of us , then you’ll need to be a good girl and wait.” Astarion instructed firmly, and Fallon whined.

“At least take your damn shirts off, I’m completely naked!” Fallon pouted.

“Your sandals are still on.” Gale pointed out with a smirk, nodding to the gold shoes and the laces that ran up her calves, and Fallon glared at him playfully. “Though I supposed we could oblige– both in removing your sandals and some of our own clothing, if that is what the lady wishes.”

Fallon nodded her head furiously and Gale chuckled as he began unbuttoning his shirt. The offending clothing hung loosely on his body as he joined Astarion and Fallon on bed, taking a seat about halfway up Fallon’s body. The scar from The Netherese orb remained on his chest, and Fallon reached forward to trace it with her fingers. Gale took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips tenderly and held her hand over his heart for a moment, the soft look in his eyes conveying everything he felt. Astarion had removed his shirt as well and instead of tossing it to the side, he passed it to Gale with a devious look on his face. She looked back and forth between Astarion and Gale, trying to figure out what sinful trap she’d just fallen into. 

The soft look on Gale’s face had been replaced with one of desire as he reached for Fallon’s other hand. “Scoot back, and put your arms above your head, sweetheart, since we all know you can’t be trusted to keep your hands to yourself and just enjoy this.” Gale teased, and Fallon’s mouth dropped open as she realized what was happening. Fallon did as she was told, and watched with wide eyes as Gale tied one of the sleeves of Astarion’s shirt to her left wrist, and tied the other sleeve to the nearest post on the bed. Now Fallon understood why he told her to scoot back– it was to close some of the space between where she lay and the edges of the bed. Still, on such a large bed, the fabric of Astarion’s shirt was pulled fairly tight without much give. 

“Is that uncomfortable, darling?” Astarion asked lovingly, and Fallon gave an experimental tug. The fabric was soft and Gale had done a good job of not tying the knot around her wrist too tightly, so she shook her head. Once Gale and Astarion were satisfied that Fallon was not uncomfortable, Gale walked around to the other side of the bed, removing his own shirt, and using it to restrain Fallon’s right side, repeating the motions of tying one sleeve around Fallon’s wrist and tying the other to the bedpost, while Astarion unlaced her sandals and removed them from her feet. Once Fallon was secure, Gale returned to his spot on the bed at Fallon’s torso and he propped himself up on his elbow to lay on his side beside her. 

“No mage hand?” Fallon teased, sticking her tongue out at Gale, and the sorcerer chuckled. It was one of his favorite spells to use in the bedroom, if her memory served her correctly. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart. I would much prefer to use all my concentration on making you forget everything but our names.” Gale had the audacity to wink at her as he teased, and Fallon's eyes blew wide with lust. 

Gale reached forward to brush a stray hair from Fallon’s face, dragging his fingers down to her neck and lightly wrapping his hand around it. The pressure was so light that it was barely there, but just the feeling of Gale’s hand there was enough to make Fallon whimper with pleasure and Gale grinned. “You look so beautiful laid out like this, Fallon,” Astarion praised her as he ran his hands over her thighs, spreading her legs apart further as he leaned shifted his position to settle between them on his stomach, and he kissed her inner thighs slowly, avoiding where Fallon desired him to be most. “I’ve been imagining this moment for days.” His nose ghosted over her clit and Fallon let out a noise of protest as he moved away from the sensitive spot. 

“Use your words, sweetheart, tell us what you want.” Gale instructed, his thumb stroking the column of her neck gently, applying light pressure to his grasp as he did so. 

“For the love of Ao, if one of you doesn’t touch me soon I’m going to go insane.” Fallon demanded, invoking the name of the holy creator in vain desperation.

“That’s more like it.” Astarion cooed. Pleasure shot through Fallon’s body as Astarion’s tongue found her center, lavishing her with languid strokes of his tongue. Fallon arched her back at his touch, tugging on her restraints. She opened her mouth to let out a cry of pleasure, but the sound was muffled by Gale’s mouth on hers again, kissing her fiercely as his hand played with her breasts. Every touch, every kiss, it was all heightened by the fact that there were two people showering her body with attention. Every time her body was finished reacting to something Astarion did between her legs, Gale would roll his thumb over one of her nipples and leave love-bites on her neck and she’d be moaning all over again. Though Fallon had no concept of time in that moment, she was certain that this would be the fastest orgasm she’s ever achieved in her life. “That’s it, darling, let go.” Astarion lifted his head to look at her as he slid two fingers inside of her and kissed her inner thigh, nipping at it softly. When Fallon moaned at the sensation of Astarions teeth scraping her inner thigh, his fingers suddenly slowed significantly inside of her.

“ Astarion ,” Fallon whined impatiently, and Gale looked up from her neck to see what was going on. “ Please .” 

“Sorry, love, I was just thinking.” Astarion apologized with a smirk. 

“Can you think later? ” Fallon huffed. 

Astarion laughed and leaned down to press another kiss to her inner thigh. “Darling, can I bite you?” He kissed her thigh again. “Right here?”

Fallon’s heart rate doubled. “You can do whatever you want as long as you don’t stop .” She demanded, lifting her hips towards Astarion’s face in encouragement. 

To her dismay, Astarion laughed again, but at least he kept his fingers moving inside of her as he looked at Gale. “Gale, darling, I’ve got an idea, but I’ll need your assistance.” Fallon looked up at Gale and saw the look of realization dawning on the sorcerer’s face as whatever idea Astarion had clicked in Gale’s mind, and the sorcerer offered the vampire a wicked grin in response. 

“You’re a bloody menace, Astarion. A beautiful, bloody menace.” Gale praised with a laugh. So far, the only drawback of this arrangement was that it gave Gale and Astarion this opportunity to work together to torture her in this way. Soon, Gale was moving away from Fallon and she made another noise of protest, tugging at her restraints to try and get him to come back. 

Then she realized where Gale was going. He joined Astarion at the foot of the bed. “May I?” He asked Fallon, and she nodded, grateful for Gale’s continued initiative in obtaining her consent after their earlier conversation. She was also grateful for Astarion, who she knew would immediately pivot if Fallon told Gale “no” at any point. Fallon nodded her head, and for a moment, she had two of Astarion’s and two of Gale’s fingers inside of her and Fallon moaned appreciatively at the way they filled her. “Well that’s something we’ll have to explore later.” Astarion mused as he removed his fingers from her sex. Fallon watched with curiosity as Astarion got out of Gale’s way, allowing the sorcerer to take his place between Fallon’s legs. There wasn’t quite enough room for them both to fit comfortably, so how– oh. 

Oh . 

Fallon watched in stunned silence as Astarion repositioned himself so he was straddling Gale’s back, hovering over the sorcerer with his cock visibly stiff in his pants, and Fallon’s imagination immediately drifted to what this scene would look like if Gale and Astarion were also naked. The idea of Astarion leaning over Gale’s body to kiss her while he fucked Gale, while Gale feasted on her cunt, the three of them all moaning together…Fallon only snapped out of her thoughts when Astarion leaned forward and brushed some of Gale’s hair from his face, tying it back into a half up-half down bun with a rubber band Gale handed him. Astarion then leaned forward and kissed Gale’s cheek. “Go on, love,” Astarion encouraged in a low voice against the sorcerer's ear before gently biting Gale’s earlobe. “You were just saying how you’ve missed the way she tastes. Now’s your chance.” Gale looked at Fallon once more, giving her a beat to change her mind. Little did he know that with how close cumming she currently was, there was absolutely no way she was changing her mind. Not as her mind took the opportunity to remind her that one of Gale’s favorite camp pastimes used to be burying his face between her legs while she tried not to moan so loud she woke up the rest of their companions (her attempts were not successful very often). 

When Fallon didn’t protest, Gale moaned slightly as he lowered his mouth to her swollen clit, rolling his tongue over the bud thoroughly for the first time in over two years. Carnal lust took over, and Gale immediately became a feral animal who’d just been offered a proper supper for the first time after only having had scraps from the trash bin: he couldn’t bring himself to savor it after starving for so long. Gale moaned and it vibrated against Fallon’s body, and she wished that she could reach out and grip his head to bring his face as close to her as possible, if only for something to hold on to. Gale certainly didn’t need any encouragement to keep going– for this was not the slow, methodical, draw-out-her-orgasm-so-slow-she-might-burst-into-tears version of Gale that she’d often laid with on a bedroll that was absolutely not big enough for two. This Gale lapped at her clit with his tongue and fucked her with his fingers so thoroughly, curving them inside of her with each thrust inward. 

Fallon’s head fell back on the bed as she cried out in pleasure at the attention being returned to her body. When she opened her eyes, she saw Astarion watching the scene before him carefully, his eyes darkened with carnal lust as he watched the way Gale devoured Fallon’s cunt, and the way she reacted to it. Fallon saw Astarion’s hand twitch at his side, like he was considering stuffing it in his pants to touch himself, but he held back. Likely because he knew there would be something better if he could wait a little longer. Astarion reached for Fallon’s leg, and brought it over Gale’s shoulder, the new angle allowing Gale’s fingers to go deliciously deeper inside of her. Fallon moaned again and her legs quaked as the orgasm Astarion previously robbed her of came careening back down the tracks at breakneck speed.

“Astarion, if you’re waiting for–” Fallon started to tease Astarion for taking his time, but the fact that she could still speak only spurned Gale forward and he doubled down on his efforts, eager to leave her breathless. Despite her warning, Astarion still took his time. He held Fallon’s leg up and brought his lips to the inside of her ankle, leaving a tender kiss. He moved next to her calf, then the inside of her knee, slowly working his way to her thigh. He knew Fallon too well– the second he bit her, she was probably going to cum, and Fallon scowled at him when he looked up at her while his lips grazed her skin.

Astarion found the spot on her inner thigh he was looking for, and he bit down. Within seconds of the sharp pain of Astarion’s fangs breaking her skin, Fallon moaned so loudly it echoed off the walls of the tower. Fallon felt her orgasm coat Gale’s fingers, mouth, beard, and the sheets beneath them as she climaxed, strength of it causing her to writhe with pleasure so strongly that Astarion and Gale had to actively use their free arms to hold her in place. Neither of them pulled away until they were certain her high had come to an end, and as Fallon struggled against her restraints try and prop herself up on her elbows (and failing) she looked at Astarion and Gale with a wild look in her eyes, and she was certain she’d never seen either of them look as pleased with themselves as they did in that moment. 

Astarion swiped the blood slowly trickling down her leg with his finger, licking it clean as he climbed off of Gale so the other man could sit up. “Did you know you could do that?” Astarion asked curiously with a grin, observing the absolute mess Fallon made on the sheets. It was certainly messier than any orgasm Fallon had had before, with either of the men sitting between her spread legs, and she shook her head. “It’s amazing what happens when the two of you work together. Who knew?” She teased, winking at them.

“I don’t think we’ve properly satisfied her, Astarion. She can still form coherent sentences.” Gale looked at Astarion with a devious grin, his face still coated with her slick, as he reached between Fallon’s legs and brushed his thumb across her over-stimulated clit. Fallon whimpered, her body shaking slightly in response and she tugged fruitlessly at her restraints again. 

“So it seems. We should do something about that.” Astarion agreed. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Fallon blurted out and their heads snapped back to her, nudging Astarion with her foot so they who she was referring to. Then she looked at Gale. “I want him to fuck me, and I want you to watch.”

“Would you like that, darling?” Astarion asked as he stared at Fallon, his voice almost giddy with anticipation at the idea.

Fallon nodded her head. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Gale told me he overheard us at the inn in Daggerford.” 

Astarion looked at Gale in surprise. “Did you, now?”

Gale swallowed, nodding his head as he reached down to adjust his cock inside of his pants, clearly straining uncomfortably against the fabric. “Truth be told, I’ve also been thinking about it since I overheard you.” He admitted with a breathy laugh.

“Take off your pants, and come sit by me, Gale. Untie me while you’re at it,” Fallon requested, her tone was a little more desperate than she would have liked, but part of her was still remembering how to breathe after the explosive orgasm she’d just had, so all decorum had gone out the window.

Gale did as he was told, untying her first before fidgeting with the laces on his pants and pushing them down to his ankles, kicking them off as he went. His thick cock sprung free and Fallon’s mouth watered . She’d forgotten how nice Gale’s dick was, and she immediately wanted to throw her own plan away and put his dick in her mouth. That was for another day, though. Astarion removed his own pants and climbed up the bed towards Fallon. As soon as Astarion’s dick was within reach, Fallon wrapped her hand around his shaft and began pumping her hand along it dutifully with a satisfied grin on her face at being able to use her hands again. Astarion’s head dropped down onto her shoulder as he shuddered and moaned, at her touch. His mouth temporarily found her neck before reaching her mouth and kissing her passionately.

“On your knees, darling.” Astarion muttered assertively against Fallon’s lips and she moaned softly, fully understanding what her vampire intended to do. Fallon kissed Astarion once more before releasing his cock from her grasp and rolling over onto her stomach. Fallon made direct eye contact with Gale as she positioned herself on her hands and knees, spreading her legs so Astarion could insert himself between them. Gale’s hand was already loosely wrapped around his stiff cock, stroking it idly as he watched the scene before him unfold with wide eyes. Fallon could feel the mattress shifting beneath her as Astarion settled behind her, and soon she felt two fingers slide inside of her, eliciting a moan from both Fallon and Gale. 

“Astarion, I need you.” Fallon whined, and she heard the vampire laugh lightly from behind her as he fingered her slowly. Deeply. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. She needed Astarion to fill her more than she needed air in her lungs.  

“I was just making sure you’re prepared, my love.” He teased, and Fallon shook her head. 

“I’m always prepared, now please , just fuck me .” Fallon pressed her hips back towards Astarion encouragingly.

Astarion laughed again, but did as he was told and removed his fingers from within her. “She’s a needy little thing, isn’t she? So eager to have a cock deep inside of her.” He mused, addressing Gale, and the sorcerer nodded.

“Yes, I do recall that about her,” Gale agreed, a smug smirk on his face and Fallon pouted. “Give her what she wants, Astarion. She did ask rather nicely.”

Fallon huffed in response and she felt Astarion positioning his cock at her entrance, his head just barely brushing it teasingly. “Show us exactly how you touched yourself when you were eavesdropping, and I’ll show you exactly how I fucked her.”

Gale’s grip on his cock tightened as he began to stroke himself, and all three of them moaned as Astarion finally slid home, pushing himself deep inside of Fallon until he was buried to the hilt. Thankfully, Astarion’s patience had run out, and he didn’t make Fallon wait before beginning to thrust into her with a steady rhythm. Though his broad hands rested on her hips as an anchor, his grip was not so tight that Fallon could not move, and soon she was rocking her hips back and forth, meeting Astarion thrust for thrust so he fucked her even deeper than before. The moans leaving her mouth were endless as Astarion moved inside of her, and though Fallon wanted to close her eyes and just enjoy the pleasure, she forced herself to keep them open so she could watch Gale. 

The sorcerer’s eyelids were heavy as he watched the two of them, and Fallon noticed that he was stroking his thick cock in time with Astarions thrusts as the vampire fucked her. Gale’s body  had relaxed a bit more as well, his free arm resting lightly on his stomach as he leaned back against the many pillows, his legs spread a little further apart. Just far enough apart that if Astarion and Fallon were a foot closer to Gale, she could easily lean forward and wrap her mouth around Gale’s cock and suck him off while Astarion fucked her. It was certainly an idea, one she had every intention of exploring at a later time, but right now? This was exactly what she wanted. 

“Like what you see, sorcerer?” Astarion goaded as he reached forward to wrap his fingers through Fallon’s unbound dark hair and pull her upwards by it to kiss her neck. The delicious new angle had Fallon moaning loudly, and she reached between her legs to caress her aching clit now that her hands were free. Fallon turned her head as far as she could and nudged the side of Astarion’s face with her nose encouraging him to kiss her. Astarion obliged, kissing her fiercely as he began to fuck her harder.

“Gods, you’re beautiful .” Gale moaned as he began pumping his cock faster, and Fallon honestly was not sure if he was referring to her, Astarion, or the both of them together. Either way, Gale’s voice was absolutely wrecked, and when Fallon pulled out of her kiss with Astarion to look at Gale, she could see the pre-cum dribbling down the head of his cock. It was obvious Gale was close, Fallon knew she was close, and if the frantic way his hips were moving was any indication, Astarion was close, too. 

Astarion’s hand covered Fallon’s at the apex of her thighs and he pushed her hand away, his deft fingers taking over atop Fallon’s clit where she’d left off, and her body shook as she reached back behind her to card her fingers through Astarion’s curls. He planted a kiss on her shoulder. “That’s it, darling, show Gale how pretty you are when you cum for me.”

Fallon locked eyes with Gale. The sorcerer was biting down on his lip, hard, and the way he whimpered when Fallon looked at him with desperation could only mean one thing: Gale was trying to wait for Fallon to orgasm first, before allowing himself to climax, and his restraint was greatly waning. “ Please .” He managed to choke out, and that was all it took to send Fallon careening over the edge as she came with both Astarion and Gale’s names on her tongue as her body shuddered. Within seconds of the start of Fallon’s peak, Fallon and Astarion were treated to the sight of Gale cumming in his hand so violently that the long ribbons of semen burst from his cock with enough force to land on Gale’s chest, and a few drops even made their way to Gale’s beard. That was enough for Astarion, and the vampire found his own completion with the shout of an expletive, almost as though the intensity of his orgasm took him by surprise. 

When they were all spent and panting, it was only then that Fallon eased herself off of Astarion’s cock and crawled up the bed towards Gale. Though she had every intention of licking the spunk right off of his body to clean Gale off, the sorcerer was one step ahead of her and with a wave of his hand, the mess disappeared. Fallon smirked as she settled onto the bed beside Gale, resting her head on the pillow next to him. “Neat trick.” She teased. Gale only chuckled in response before leaning forward to press a kiss to the crown of Fallon’s head and turn on his side to wrap an arm around her. 

Astarion followed behind Fallon and took the spot on the other side of her, and a giddy smile spread on her face as the vampire wrapped his arm around her as he kissed her shoulder. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve properly atoned.” Fallon teased them both as she grabbed both of their arms and pulled them closer to her. Gale and Astarion happily obliged, moving inward until there was very little space separating the three of them at all.

“Thank you both for this whole day,” She turned her head towards Astarion and kissed him deeply. “I’m a very lucky woman to be so loved by two wonderful people.” She turned her head to Gale next and kissed him with an equal amount of emotion. 

“Please, we’re the lucky ones.” Astarion scoffed. 

“I have to agree–not many people would offer us the level of grace and forgiveness you’ve provided us with, despite everything. Though I don’t think I can call you a saint, unless you feel like devoting yourself to Sune, because she might be the only deity that would call what just occurred in this bedroom holy –”

“Hey, I’m not the only person in this bed to blame for that!” Fallon laughed, pouting playfully. 

“But if I were ever asked to nominate someone for a holy title, you would be the first person to come to mind. May we never give you a reason to need to extend such grace and forgiveness a second time.” Gale smiled at her sincerely, and Fallon felt a wave of emotion rush through her. 

For the first time in two years, laying between her vampire and her sorcerer, she felt completely whole.

Chapter List

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Labyrinth

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels X F!Reader

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: mentions of loss of a loved one, grief group, mentions of consuming alcohol, use of (Y/N) a lot (sorry it was one of those fics I couldn't not), mentions of a mugging, grief, angst of course, fluff, two Punisher references (I couldn’t control myself)

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Notes: Back when Midnights came out I had this idea to do a small series where I wrote fics based on some of the songs from the album. It didn’t quite pan out but I had been holding on to this one and one other in hopes I would pick it back up. Since that has been several months now I decided to go ahead and let y’all have this sweet story. When I first heard this song this idea came rushing in and I knew I had to write it. I hope it made up for the heartbreak of the last fic. More archived fics are coming. If you haven’t read my announcement and want to you can here.  Also if you haven’t heard the song yet you can here. Big, massive thanks to my partner in crime and editor @clint-aww-no-barton​. Y’all wouldn’t get fics from me if it wasn’t for her. I hope you all enjoy.

ao3 link

It only hurts this much right now

Was what I was thinking the whole time Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

  Your hands trembled, your heart pounded along with your head. That was what you got for drinking yourself to sleep the night before. This was the last place you wanted to be, the last thing you wanted to do. You had been pushed by your family and friends to do it, so to shut them all up and satisfy your people pleasing ways, you agreed. A grief group sounded so pathetic, but there was a small part of you that kept saying it just might help. A room full of people who were going through the same thing, or very similar to you, people who could truly sympathize.

  You stopped at the bottom of the steps and took a deep breath in, you held it for a moment, closing your eyes before you let it out. Your breath came out in a white cloud in front of you and you watched it disappear before you made the step you had been so afraid to take. The warmth of the building hit you and you felt the frigid New York cold melt away. You shrugged your jacket off, placing it with the others. They were all still standing around holding hot coffee and talking.

  “A new face. Something we both hate and love to see coming in. I’m Curtis,” a gentleman walked up to you with a soft smile and caring eyes.

  “(Y/N). It’s nice to meet you Curtis,” you gave him the same fake smile you had been giving everyone for weeks now.

  “The pleasure is mine. Get you some coffee and take a seat we’re about to get started.”

  You gave him a nod and helped yourself to some coffee before sitting down. A man sat across from you, and you watched as he removed a cowboy hat from his head and laid it on his knee. Such an odd thing to see and you found your mind wandering. It did that more often than not. You would find a subject and let you mind run away with it, focusing too much on something meaningless. It was your form of distraction.

  “We have a new member joining us. Everyone welcome Miss. (Y/N).” Curtis gestured at you.

  You gave a shy smile, a wave and a simple “hi” trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. They all welcomed you with gentle voices.

  “Since you’re new here why don’t you go first. Only if you like.”

  Your stomach sank. You were hoping someone else would. You could hear someone else’s sad story before sharing yours. You hadn’t talked about it since it happened, but if you didn’t now would you ever? You took a deep breath in, you held it for a moment closing your eyes before letting it out.

  “I lost the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. His name was Jason. It’s only been, just little under a month. I have no idea how I’ve managed to make it through every single day. Sometimes it doesn’t feel so heavy but some days…some days it feels like I have the entire weight of the world on my back. It hurts so much…” you paused trying to will the tears away. “I didn’t think I could ever feel this much pain. It’s such an impossible feeling.”

  “We all can agree with you. Would you like to share what happened?”

  “It was a mugging. He gave them everything he had on him and they still…they still took his life.”

  You stopped, feeling the anger grow in you like it always did when you thought too much about it.

  “We were suppose to be getting married. We had a month before the wedding. I had…I had to call these people and tell them it was off and send things back. I…” your voice broke. Suddenly a tissue box was being handed to you from the man with the cowboy hat.

  You looked up at him, seeing a blurry version of him as you took it. You couldn’t even speak just nod at him.

  “You don’t have to share anymore (Y/N). Thank you for sharing what you did. It was very brave of you.” Curtis spoke with such gentle words and you nodded. “Jack and yourself have a very similar story. Maybe the two of you can talk outside of the meeting. Who wants to go next?”

You glanced at the man again and he gave you a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Was that what you looked like to others? It broke your heart even further. Everyone’s stories through the meeting made another piece of your heart break away. You listened to everyone and took in the process and their advice. Once it was over you stood and discarded your cup, before telling Curtis goodbye and heading for your jacket.

  You slid on your jacket and glanced across the room, meeting brown eyes. Jack was watching you and you didn’t stop the smile you gave him. When he returned it, it was a real smile and it made warmth erupt through you. It made you wonder if you had been honored to get his first real smile. You almost stepped his way to go talk to him but then Curtis was in front of him. With a small sigh you turn and walked out into the brutal cold air.

                                                                       *****

It only feels this raw right now

Lost in the Labyrinth of my mind

Break up, break free, break through, break down

You would break your back to make me

break a smile 

  The days drug by, some in slow motion others in fast forward. You lost yourself in anything you could. Trying your best to keep the crashing thoughts at bay, but sometimes they got the upper hand. Some days were spent in bed, sleeping and crying, screaming for him to come back to you. He never did. He never would.

  The group was helping, you had to admit that. Everyone was lovely and supportive. Mostly Jack, who had started to speak to you more and more. You couldn’t lie, you looked forward to those talks. The two of you had grown close, always catching each other before and after meetings, to tell each other things about your lives. You finally had something that made you feel more alive again. Then the year anniversary of Jason’s death crept up and took you by surprise.

  You had rolled yourself out of bed, not really realizing the date at first, until you were fixing your usual morning coffee. You looked over at the calendar on the fridge and it was like the date was extra big. Your stomach sunk and you slid down the kitchen cabinets to the floor. The memories of that day came over you, like waves pulling you out to sea with them and drowning you. You sat there crying for, you had no idea how long. When you finally willed yourself to stand and make yourself face the day, you realized what time it was. You were going to be late for the meeting. You contemplated not going in your head for a few moments, until reason won. You had to go. It was the best place to be today.

  You stepped into the warmth of the building just as everyone was taking their seats. You caught Jack’s eyes and concern crossed his features. You knew you looked like a wreck, even with doing what you could to hide it. You slipped into your seat across from him not meeting anyone’s eyes. Curtis started the meeting and you zoned out, your fingers fidgeting with the scarf you had left on.

  “(Y/n). (Y/n)?”

  You jumped at Curtis’ sudden voice and your head went up looking over at him.

  “I’m sorry. Yes?” Your voice gave you completely away.

  “You want to share anything today?”

  It was like they all knew. Everyone had this look on their face like they could already read your mind. You sat there for a moment your eyes going from Curtis to Jack who gave you a simple nod, a push.

  “Today is the year anniversary. I didn’t even realize it was already here until this morning. It…it hit me like a brick, no a whole damn building. I feel like I just back slid so much and…” your voice shattered.

  “No you didn’t back slide. We all have bad days, it’s all part of the process and part of life. Every day won’t be easy and that’s okay. The best thing to do is to just embrace the feelings and let them work their way through. You are doing a perfectly good job.”

  Curtis spoke, and the others around you nodded their heads and spoke their agreements. You gave them all a small smile and wiped at your tears before nodding your head. The meeting moved forward and soon it was done. When you got up, people came to you and hugged you, most didn’t speak at all. And then Jack was in front of you.

  “Hey listen uh, do you want to go with me to this diner right down the road? I know what you’re going through and I…I don’t want you to be alone today.”

  You felt your heart skip a beat and you swore butterflies erupted in your stomach.

  “Jack, I would love that. So much.”

  “Great! You’ll love this place, that is if you ain’t been there before.”

  The man went from slightly nervous to full on swagger in a beat and it made you chuckle. You could tell he was just as nervous as you.

  “I don’t think I ever have, if it’s the same place I’m thinking of.”

  Jack grabbed your jacket and helped you into it, before slipping his own on and the two of you headed out.

  “So I have to ask where are you from?” You asked looking over at him.

  “That obvious huh?”

  “Just a little,” you both laughed and you swore it was the first time you had really laughed in a year.

  “Kentucky. Born and raised. The company I work for was actually started there and then they decided to branch out to the north. I was already climbing the corporate ladder and they decided to put me in charge of the branch up here. I made the move and I won’t lie it was a very dramatic change,” he chuckled.

  “I can imagine but look at you owning a whole branch of a business. That’s a big deal Jack. What company is it?”

  “Statesman.”

  “The liquor? Good stuff. I tend to lean toward well, Jack Daniels,” you laughed as you looked over at him.

  “Well darlin’ funny enough that’s my full name sake.”

  “You’re kidding right?” You stopped, your face heating slightly at the nickname.

  “Not a bit. My parents had a sense of humor.”

  “I’d say,” you both laughed again.

  “This is the first time I’ve laughed since…”

  “Well good. I’m glad I could pull it out of you. It’s a beautiful sound.”

  You blushed again, looking down at your feet and smiling bigger than you should have. A tiny voice in your head kept telling you to slow down, but you just pushed it away.

  “Alright this is it.”

  You looked up seeing the small diner you’d thought he’d been talking about. Sure enough, you had never been here. You had always thought the place was cute with its theme. Jack opened the door for you and you melted at the heat that hit you.

  “Hey Jack you want your usual?!” A cook from the kitchen window yelled.

  “Yeah Frank give me the usual and go ahead and fix her one too.”

  “You got it boss.”

  You chuckled as you slid into a both in the corner on the left.

  “Normally I’m all about a lady making her own choices but you gotta try this. Best burger in New York.” Jack seemed overly excited and you chuckled.

  “I’m perfectly okay with that.”

  “Here go Jack. What can I get you sweetheart?”

  An older lady who was the waitress sat down a coffee in front of Jack along with a water.

  “Uh I’ll have the same as him.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She looked at Jack and you swore she winked, which made Jack blush. When his eyes met yours you raised your eyebrows at him.

  “Deloris is a piece of work,” he shook his head with a chuckle. “Well. Tell me about yourself? Were you born here?”

  “Actually no. I was born in Virginia but we moved here when I was really little so I just consider myself a New Yorker.”

  “Ahhh just a hop, skip and a jump from Kentucky. You have a little bit of southern roots though.”

  “Oh yeah my mom definitely does. Her and my dad are both from Tennessee. They made both moves due to jobs.

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I work in a bookstore. I’m looking to own it pretty soon. Well I pretty much already do. The owners are this cute little couple, and they love to travel, so I figure one of these days they will hand me the keys and tell me it’s mine.”

  “Do you want that?”

  “Yeah I definitely do. I enjoy it a lot. I love to read and, um, write so it’s definitely the best place for me. Plus my apartment is only a block away, so it’s nice to not live far from work.”

“Wait you write?”

  “Uh yeah,” your face heated.

  “Nothing wrong with that. I think it’s cool,” Jack gave you a smile which you returned.

  Before you could speak another word, food was being placed in front of you and the smell made you drool.

  “Go on,” Jack nodded at your plate, excitement like a school boy all over his face.

  You let out a laugh before you picked up the massive burger and took a bite. Your eyes fluttered closed and you let out a moan. You chewed and swallowed.

  “Holy shit that is amazing.”

  “I told you!!”

  You laughed again at Jack’s excitement before both of you fell in to a comfortable silence as you ate. After you finished, you began exchanging facts about your lives and short stories. You had forgotten what it was like to feel content and, dare you say it, happy.

  “You okay?” Jack spoke, bringing you back to the moment.

  “What? Oh yes. I am,” you smiled at him and he returned it.

  “I know I’m charming and all but it’s a little early to be daydreaming there darlin’.”

  He gave you a smirk with a wink and you let out a laugh. It hit you in that moment. You looked at the man across from you. A man who had made you smile. Who had made you laugh. Who had made you forget, and you knew. You were falling in love with him. What a terrifying but thrilling feeling it was.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

Oh, I'm falling in love

I thought the plane was going down

How'd you turn it right around?

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @audreyshepbvrn​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @kaqua​ @novemberrain221​ @weasleywinchester​

[allwaswell16]

hello lovely, hope you’re doing well! I was just wondering if you’d know (bc you nearly always know the answers to these questions) of any new ish tomlinshaw?? i feel like I’m starved of them, and am currently rereading all the old fics i can find! By new I mean like 2019 on, or even if you know of anyone writing tomlinshaw atm!! thank you thank you

Hi! So first of all, yes writers are still writing Tomlinshaw! Definitely not as many as there used to be, but it's still a pairing that gets written! Here are all the ones I've read and enjoyed since 2019! Happy reading!

—Recent Tomlinshaw Fics—

You and Me (Got a Whole Lot of History) by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

Nick loves the crush and fever of being right in the thick of things, but just the thought of Louis looking down and spotting him makes him feel a little queasy.

It hadn’t been a proper thing. It wasn’t a relationship.

here with me by haveufoundwhaturlookingfor / @sup3rbloom

Louis has been secretly dating Nick, and things were going so smoothly, but then Nick finds out that he's pregnant and they have no choice but to tell everyone about their relationship.

Particular by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

Nick is very particular about the upkeep of his hallway's Brazilian hardwood floor. He is very particular about the cleaning of his kitchen's fine Wedgewood china.

He is less particular in his bedroom.

You know I love you, babe by @lululawrence

Nick sighed happily to himself. Yet another wonderful decision by Past Nick was stocking the fridge with the cheesecake. He honestly had no recollection of purchasing it, but it was the best thing he’d eaten all day. There was something so perfectly satisfying about a piece of cheesecake.

He should wax poetic to Louis about it. Tell him how he didn’t miss him at all because the cheesecake was all he would ever need.

Or the one where Nick fucks up and scrambles to make it right. Too bad that just makes things worse.

Food Fight by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

It’s Louis’ famed cooking skills against Nick’s more cultured palate.

Fight.

Little Saint Nick by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

Nick meets a stranger in a bar and is told this Christmas season, he needs to 'learn to be nice'.

Costumes Must Be Sexy, Slutty and/or Stupid by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

It's a bit of a blast from the past to get an invite to Nick Grimshaw's fancy dress housewarming.

Shape of You by @reminiscingintherain

Ed goes onto BBC Breakfast to promote Divide. Nick flirts. Louis isn't impressed.

the next bit was spanners to my plan by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

The first time was an accident. The second time was an accident too.

Or: Louis and Nick end up shagging on the sly, everyone sends far too many emojis and far too few words, and eventually they're going to have to sort themselves out.

Use You As A Focal Point by Jiksa / @jiksax

“What am I, the fucking twink whisperer? You’ve been nothing but horrible to me. Last time I tried to kiss you, you lobbed a Chelsea boot at my head.”

Louis shows up at Nick's front door on the wrong side of midnight, asking for... things. Part 2 of I Found 'verse

if you should try to kiss her by @disgruntledkittenface

It’s kind of their thing now. They make relentless snarky comments to and about each other and exchange meaningful eye contact every time they think no one is looking. At least, that’s what Louis thinks they’re doing, like their own extended lesbian mating ritual. It seems obvious to her that they’re inevitable in some kind of cosmic, grand design type of way; they’re eventually going to end up together and fix up an old house and Nick will build a chicken coop for the backyard (or hire someone to build it, probably) and then they’ll live happily ever after, bickering the whole time.

If only she could be sure that’s what Nick thinks they’re doing.

Harry's annual Christmas party gives Louis her chance to be brave and tell Nick how she feels.

I'mma Give You A Promotion by @lululawrence

Nick: We should move in together

Louis stared at the phone, blinking in confusion. Maybe he really had already fallen asleep. There was no way in hell that Nick would be asking him to move in with him in their actual reality.

Louis swiped open his phone and was still staring at the text when Nick’s face took over his screen.

"What are you on about with moving in together?”

“Well, we can either not see each other at all during the stay at home order, or we can move in together,” Nick explained.

“And you figured we should just move in together?” Louis asked, shocked.

Or the one where Louis and Nick have had a bit of a thing, but it was never meant to be permanent. They hadn't even defined it. Then COVID happened and changed everything.

A Fist Full of Glitter by @reminiscingintherain

Nick G: Fancy going to the BRITs tonight? Got a ticket with your name on.Louis: Is there any universe in which I’d say no to this? I think not.Nick G: I’ll pick you up at 6:30pm. Suit’s being messengered over now.Louis: You spoil me. &lt;3 xx

Or: Louis' a Sugar Baby, Nick's his proper and formal Sugar Daddy. What could possibly happen to make that change?

The Colors Are Different by orphan_account

“I didn't know you'd be here Grim!” Harry says happily. Nick looks equally peeved as he catches sight of Louis right there, wearing the exact same shirt as he is. Louis really should’ve gone over to Ed – he could’ve spared both of them this traumatic experience.

‘Didn’t know you would be here either.’

It’s clear Nick mostly means Louis.

It’s not like there’s some sort of rule about the host of Capital’s morning show and the host of Radio 1’s breakfast show not being at the same events, but – they kind of pretend there is anyways.

or the one where Nick and Louis are opposites in every way, except maybe they aren't after all.

With Your Hand In Mine by @lululawrence

Louis reached out and latched his hand onto Nick’s arm. “What was that?”

“One of the previous inmates that mysteriously died here, I’d imagine,” Nick whispered into Louis’ ear.

Louis shivered, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of Nick being so close or the fact he was growing more and more concerned that he was going to pee his pants during this.

Okay, it was the latter if the shot of anxiety currently running through him was any indication, but he did have goosebumps from Nick’s breath grazing Louis’ neck as well.

Or the one where Louis hates haunted houses, Nick likes them, and Louis likes Nick. Things end better than Louis expects.

Swerve the Handshake by @lululawrence

There's a pandemic afoot and social distancing is being recommended for everyone, but what is to be done to still greet people with respect whilst avoiding the handshake?

Scott and Chris have ideas, and Grimmy becomes attached to a particular suggestion.

Brighter This Time by Jiksa / @jiksax

Louis’s a little lost, a little heartbroken, and maybe a little… something else. Nick’s just a shit bartender.

burning our pretty little hearts by icarusinflight

Nick's twenty-nine, and still not the least bit ready for it, when he finds his soulmate.

Can't Forget You by @writcraft

Nick wakes up in hospital and discovers he's lost several years of memories, including getting together—and breaking up—with Louis Tomlinson, the owner of the local café that Nick's being trying to pull for ages.

As he tries to work out what went wrong, Nick falls in love with Louis all over again.

To Fall Down At Your Door by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

Nick has failed to pay attention in any of the meetings leading up to him filming a documentary in the Scottish Highlands, mostly because he's just been dumped and he's in the middle of some very important wallowing. This does not entirely explain what Louis Tomlinson is doing there filming in the Highlands with him, and it absolutely does not explain why the world's press seems to think that they've just got married without telling anyone.

He's fairly certain none of this is actually his fault, but it doesn't change the fact that everything has suddenly got a little bit weird.

You're a Nightmare, I'm a Disaster by @lululawrence

As Nick scanned the shelves, his eyes caught on a bright blue binding. Snooki, it read, A Shore Thing.

“Oh my God,” Nick mumbled, trying not to laugh as he picked it up. He’d watched bits and pieces of Jersey Shore way back in the day.

Without bothering to look any further around the store, he headed up to the counter where Blue eyes was watching him. Nick cleared his throat nervously and set the book on the counter and the man immediately flashed him a look of disdain.

“Seriously? Out of everything we have available, you chose the book we special ordered for a customer?”

“Well, it can’t be that bad if someone specifically requested it, right?” Nick said, trying to keep a teasing tone.

“Why do you think we still have it if it was a special order?” the man asked with a scoff. “They returned it after reading something like three pages.”

Nick frowned at the book. “Well that doesn’t seem very fair.”

Or the one where Nick is a writer, Louis works in a bookshop, and things don't exactly start off on the right foot, but they might just end on it.

You are the feeling of drugs, pulling the chain of my love by WeAreTheLuckyOnes 

Louis gets bored with all the questions by the next week and tells everyone, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off, in a Facebook post he subsequently deletes the next day. Instead, he chooses to ignore all his friends.

And text Nick.

Kind of Tough to Tell a Scruff (Stand and Deliver) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

There must be one good thing about your new place.

Nick considers for a while. There's a fit bloke lives down my hall, he types finally.

In which Nick moves north and Louis lives next door.

A Reckless Hallelujah by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

You're too short to be a dancer, they'd said. Competition's really tough. You should have applied when you were 11. You can't commute to the Royal Ballet School from Doncaster, they'd said. Why would you even try?

The Million Reasons Why by @reminiscingintherain

When closeted Manchester United striker Louis Tomlinson visits his secret boyfriend Nick Grimshaw on the Radio 1 Drivetime Show to promote his charity work, how long can secrets remain secret?

Taking The Plunge by @writcraft

The one with lots of diving metaphors.

Or: Nick and Louis agree to be boyfriends. Eventually.

Leo season by @disgruntledkittenface 

“Didn’t catch your name earlier?” he asks, tilting his head to go along with his lilting voice.

“Nnrg,” Nick replies smoothly, failing to meet Louis’ hand with his own as he realizes just how garbled his smooth reply actually was. He overcorrects and vaguely slaps Louis’ hand before managing to wring it in his own, much to Louis’ apparent amusement.

Carefree. Confident. Over the top. Nick may be a bit of a disaster, but no one can deny the mood for Leo season suits him.

Like Honey to the Bee by @lululawrence

Nick didn’t even remember knocking, but suddenly the door he also didn’t realise he was leaning on opened and he started falling inside Louis and Harry’s flat.

“Fuck,” Nick blurted as he tried to right himself. He was caught by Louis, which was great because he was exactly who he wanted to see and he didn’t really fancy dropping a massive jar of honey on his doorstep.

“Nicholas?” Louis asked.

Nick couldn’t help it. Hearing Louis call him by his full name made him shiver. He usually hated it, but there was something magical about Louis Tomlinson that made the usual negative association suddenly become an incredibly positive one.

“I brought you honey,” Nick blurted as he handed Louis the jar.

“I can see that,” Louis said, sounding confused. “Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s what friends do, yeah?”

Or the one where Nick has been trying to find a way to get past the banter stage with Louis for ages, and honey might be just what he needs to finally do so.

That's My Thing by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

“Suppose I did it on purpose.” 

And Louis’ eyebrow jumps again, just for a moment.

“Did you now?” His eyes flash, an underlying playfulness belying the anger painted across his, fuck, absolutely sharp as knives cheekbones. “Wanted a bit of trouble, maybe?”

All Nick can do is nod, tightly and rapidly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eager for Louis to demand he put them to work.

Nick comes home to find Louis inexplicably primed for a fight...or perhaps something a bit more interesting.

You Don't Care About Me (One More Night) by @lululawrence

“Nick. You’re into guys. What should I do?”

Nick snorted. “You think just ‘cause I’m gay, I know what you should do?”

Louis blinked at him and Nick admired his eyelashes against his will. “Well. Kind of, yeah.”

“That is not how this works,” Nick said. “Besides, it’s not like you can just go and suck someone’s dick to be sure you like it the way I did. You’re too famous to try it my way.”

Louis’ expression changed to one of awe. “That’s how you figured it out? You sucked some random’s dick?”

Nick shrugged. “Yeah. Basically. I mean, I knew for pretty damn sure before that, mind you, but that did solidify the matter for me.”

“I need to suck a dick,” Louis said, turning to look at the wall of Nick’s room.

“You could suck mine, if it would help,” Nick offered before he could stop himself.

Or the one where Louis pines for Harry and Nick helps ease his way into figuring himself out through a friends with benefits sort of arrangement. Things quickly turn complicated.

pas de deux by @turnyourankle

Nick has been teasing Louis for a long time.

walk, walk fashion baby by @disgruntledkittenface

He couldn’t give a fuck about impressing these people, he’s only there to play the supportive boyfriend. But as he searches high and low for said boyfriend, one thought keeps gnawing at him, the sinking suspicion that Nick had dressed him up not so that Louis would feel more comfortable at the event, but so that Nick would feel more comfortable with Louis at the event.

Maybe this assignment is starting to fuck with his head. 

Louis loves his supportive boyfriend, his passionate and interesting band of friends and coworkers, and his pair of quirky and dedicated dogs. What he doesn’t love is his job as co-editor of the Lifestyle section at a popular site aimed at millennials. But he was getting by until a new assignment landed in his lap: Let Your Boyfriend Dress You For A Week. His best mate Harry assured him it’d be a laugh, a bit of fun, but Louis was sure that Nick would dress him like an utter knob and his mates would take the piss all week.

He didn’t expect to actually learn something about himself.

regular touch by icarusinflight

Shoes for sale Paid £110 Looking for £80 Will sell for £50 and a good story

or Nick makes an impulse shoe purchase, and gets more than she’d bargained for when she puts them up for sale.

London Rain by @writcraft

Anonymous online encounters seem like a good way for Louis to explore his growing interest in men. Having phone sex with Nick Grimshaw was not part of the plan.

[a-force-dyad-in-space]

A Fanfic Update

Hey guys, I thought I should give you an update about what's going on Ongoing-WIPs-wise just in case you've had some worries.

The short of it is that the writing juices haven't flowed well for a while now and I'm trying to get them back but it is a struggle. I've worked a bit on this fic or other but haven't made significant progress in a few months. I absolutely hope that will change soon but I unfortunately can't force it. It doesn't help that I'm going through some stuff IRL right now that I have to take care of (I am unfortunately an adult who has to do adulting and pay bills and shit 🥲). I try not to be too stressed out about it, but the more time passes the more the anxiety sets in. Wish me luck. 💪🏻

Anyway, here's a fic-by-fic overview, split up by fandom.

THE UNTAMED

The Angsty SongXue Fic — I'll be honest, I've written a little bit since I last updated you guys but I still haven't finished the buffer chapter (at this point I'm thinking about posting chapter 51 even though 52 isn't done yet), so nothing really new here. I really want to get back into a writing flow but so far it hasn't really worked. I am still working on it, though, so don't worry, I'm not going to drop it.

The It Follows AU — I'm ashamed to say I didn't even realize I posted that fic almost two years ago and I still haven't written the second half. I'm so sorry it's taking so long! I definitely still want to finish it! I might rewatch the It Follows movie before I do that, though.

The Observer Series — Oh yeah, remember that smutfic series I started a few years ago of which I've only posted part 1 so far? Yeah, I still need to work on that. I did write chapter 1 of part 2 a while ago, so it's not like it's forgotten, I just need to get my ass up and write the rest of part 2 before I can post it. 🙈

The Color Rush AU — Okay, technically I haven't posted that one yet but I did share a snippet along with a gifset a few years ago, so you guys know it exists. I haven't worked on it in a long time, though, and I don't know yet when I will find the spoons to continue writing it but I'm still intrigued by the premise and want to give it a go. Thank you for your patience!

The Somewhat Sweet, Somewhat Angsty XuanXian Fic — Again, haven't posted that one yet but I've been posting about it, so you guys know it exists. Nothing new on this front. I did want to rewrite the whole thing because I wasn't really happy with the way I wrote it thus far, so I'll probably go back to it at some point and do that, I just don't know when yet.

WORD OF HONOR

The Xie'er Deserves the World Fic — Listen, guys, I love this fic so much, I just haven't worked on it in a while. I'll probably re-read what I've written so far and go on from there, I've just been struggling with the latest chapter ever since I started writing it years ago. It's not dropped, though, I will get back to it! Pinky swear!

SAILOR MOON

I've mentioned here and there that I'm working on part 1 of an epic that is based on a doujinshi I started when I was 13 or 14. Unlike my other WIPs, this one really is 100% self-indulgent to the point where I don't even care whether people will read/like it once I post it when it's completely done. I'll just put it out there to make my teenage self happy because this story has been simmering in my head for over 20 years, and so that my IRL friends can read it if they want to. So, this one will be a long way out, but it exists. I'm only really mentioning it because I've mentioned it a couple of times before and because it's the fic that's been on my mind the most lately.

STAR WARS

You didn't think I forgot about TROBS, did you????? I did work on several beginnings of a draft during NaNoWriMo last year and I'm getting more and more of a clear picture of how I want it to go. For those unfamiliar, TROBS (or The Rise of Ben Skywalker, though I already changed the name of the fic again) is my attempt at an Episode IX fix-it fic that essentially replaces TROS. This one has been simmering in my head since early 2020 and I really want to get it out of there and onto the page for catharsis. I've even held off on reading any other TROS fix-its because of it, even though I've heard there are some really amazing ones out there (and I can't wait to read them once I've gotten my own out of my damn head). I really need to finally finish that beast. Wish me luck. 🥲

UNPOSTED WIPs

I still have so many notes for other fics (mostly for The Untamed) that I want to write at some point. Will I be able to get them all on the page? I honestly don't know, but I'll see where they take.

Anyway, that's all!

[tzeetzeethirteen]

Planning #26 - Uhm 3: The End of Uhms

Here we are.

Sorry about the extreme delay. While I understand not many people are following me on tumblr and most people interested in my stories simply follow/subscribed to my stories on FFnet and AO3, I think that a more elaborate post describing what's going on right now should serve as a nice point of reference if you happen to see or check this blog at some point.

I have the usual attempt at explaining myself below the ‘keep reading’ line - but before that I'd like to show some actual plans first.

Priorities have shifted only a little bit for my WIPs. My plan is to resume posting new chapters with this order from higher priority to lowest:

The Butterfly Bane (SVTFOE)

Time Woes with a Pinch of Frogs (Amphibia + AHIT)

Pacifica over Yonder (GF + WOY) - hiatus

The Powerpuff Legacy (PPG OG) - hiatus

While only 'The Butterfly Bane' will likely receive new updates with some semblance of consistency in timing, resuming updates is something I would like to do for all of the stories above, including those on hiatus, and as soon as possible.

I may also churn out a one-shot or two. I have multiple ideas in the oven on that front and I don't want to mention them too much since some may never see the light of day. For now, just keep in mind that the stories I mentioned in previous posts -- the crossover 'Role Models', as well as the next story in the Tales of the Queens of Mewni series, 'By Your Side' -- are still planned to be posted at some point.

Now, about the lack of updates for more than a year from me, you can check below for more info if you care about that.

Long story short, a lot has changed in my life lately in the last 13 months and I lost all traces of writing bunnies or even just willingness to sit down in front of a word processor as a result - indeed, it’s been a year or so since my last update to any of my stories, and a few of my stories or series haven’t gotten updates for much longer than that. The little I managed to write didn’t satisfy me, either, which led me to thrash two one-shots while I was writing them (for new fandoms) and some content for my WIP multi-chapter fics.

Now, I am not saying that this situation has improved: it's still very hard to find the time to sit down and write, and to keep my focus while I do it, due to my current IRL occupation and other problems. However, I will still say (stubbornly if you will) that there's no way I'm leaving my stories unfinished, no matter what. All of them (and I’m counting the SvtFoE one-shot series in it too, despite its nature as a collection of partially self-contained works) will be finished, sooner or later, even if it takes one little step every odd month to do so. And, even in this new situation, I would like to keep writing fanfiction for quite a while.

So, with all that said: for the time being I just hope that I’ll recover most of the writing juice back. With it, I'll try to resume updating my unfinished works and posting new ones over time, and if that proves too hard, then I'll try to keep writing little bit by little, bit by bit, to keep my projects moving forward one small step at a time. It likely will take a while, but I'll try not to stop!

[quelsentiment]

for the fanfic asks: 2-6!

Thank you Fee!!

2- Did you have any writing goals?

I didn't have specific goals in terms of word count or anything, because I don't like to put pressure on myself like that. What I wanted was to take part in a few fests again, mainly @wordplayfics and @1dtrickortreatfest because they're both so fun, and I did! I think I also wanted to explore some more pairings I hadn't written for yet, and I ended up doing quite a lot of that (ot5, zarry, nouis, narry aaaand I just started posting for the mcyt fandom, which definitely wasn’t on my bingo card for this year but sometimes you just gotta embrace whatever obsession your brain throws at you 😌).

I do wish I'd had more energy to write over these past few months, but it’s honestly been a very hectic and emotionally intense year for me, so overall I'm pretty happy with what I did manage to write during that time.

3- How many projects did you work on this year?

With the two fics that I'm planning on posting in December, that makes a total of 13 works. Some of them are drabbles related to other works I'd already posted, though, so it's more like 9 works that are "completely new"

4- Favorite paragraph you wrote this year?

Maybe this one from Of Space and Time, but honestly idk. I’d have to go back and re-read everything, and I’m not doing that lol

Niall slid sideways to make space for Liam on the seat. Not wasting a second, Liam started playing, his eyes flying over Niall’s handwriting and singing in a soft voice. Niall had no idea how, since he wasn’t a professional player, but he soon found himself accompanying Liam with his own chords and harmonies. It was as effortless as if they’d been doing it for years. Their sudden proximity should have felt weird, at the very least, but it didn’t. Their arms were moving to the same rhythm, their hands brushing against each other, and all Niall could feel was a complete sense of calm and belonging. The overwhelming sensation of emptiness that had been plaguing his waking moments for days was gone.

The last note of the song was still echoing in the diner when he whispered:

“Would it make me sound crazy if I told you I’ve been seeing you in my dreams?”

5- Favorite line of dialogue you wrote this year?

Spoiler from my upcoming @louisrarepairfest fic!

“You think I haven’t seen the way you were looking at me earlier, while you were dancing with that guy? You think I can’t hear your heart beat faster whenever I get a little too close?” She punctuates her words by taking the last step that separates her and Niall, and now she’s got the slayer right in front of her again. Right where she wants her. “Hell, you think I don’t notice the blood rushing to your cheeks right now?” she adds in a mere whisper.

6- Favorite sentence you wrote this year?

Ugh these are so hard... Not because I think there’s a lot of brilliant sentences to pick from, there’s just nothing that really comes to my mind since I’m so focused on dialogues most of the time.

Okay, maybe this one from my mcyt wip 😅

The ocean is everyone’s and no one’s all at once, Clay knows, but for a minute, he can almost convince himself that George and him are the only people to have ever seen in.

[softly-potter]

Still Friends | Chapter 4: Worth the Wait

Summary: After a chance encounter at a party, Wanda and Bucky find they have more in common than they realized.

This fic is heavily inspired by 'Friends' by my lovely friend Poppy. She is aware of this fic and I've been given permission for this marvel-version retelling! If you haven't read her dramione fic 'Friends', I HIGHLY suggest it. I fell in love with the story and couldn't help but wonder, what if it was Wanda and Bucky instead of Hermione and Draco? Thus "Still Friends" was born. Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky X Wanda

Word Count: 33,068

Warning: smut, drug use, depression

A/N: Find the rest of the chapters here; Chapter 1: Greetings | Chapter 2: Unloading | Chapter 3: Cherries | Chapter 5: Books | Chapter 6: Grief | Chapter 7: Unlikely | Chapter 8: Happy Birthday, Soldier | Chapter 9: A Christmas Moment | Chapter 10: The Best Holiday | Chapter 11: Permission | Chapter 12: Revitalize | Chapter 13: Backstabber | Chapter 14: Luck of the Dead | Chapter 15: Pain Reliever | Chapter 16: Apologize | Chapter 17: Specially Gifted | Chapter 18: New Day

-

Chapter 4: Worth the Wait

May 6th, 2026

He had been dreading the night for nearly two weeks before its arrival. Bucky had known every time Sam sent out an invite text, that he would do the civil thing and attend. It didn’t mean that he wanted to.

He knew the moment he saw her, he’d want to bury his face in her hair and never let her go.

He arrived before her. Upon entering, Bucky was greeted by a lightly intoxicated Shuri, her once braided hair now loose and large, the curls covering her forehead.

“Where’ve you been, white boy?” She chirped, her smile wide. “The party started like an hour ago.”

“No, you just got here an hour early and instantly attacked my booze.” Sam called from somewhere in the kitchen and Bucky granted them with one of his rare smiles.

“It’s good to see you, I’m glad I could actually make it this year.” Shuri said as they entered the kitchen. Sam had a wash rag draped over his shoulder, intently attacking a block of ice with a pick.

“It's been a long time.” Bucky commented, and Sam laid down the pick.

“A long time?” He inquired, cocking his head. “I haven’t seen this man since my last party, and even then it was barely for an hour. What’s your poison tonight?”

Bucky shrugged, and gestured his chin to the bottle of Hennessy. “I’m a busy guy. And I’ll take that.”

Sam poured him a glass, handing it to him with one ice cube, before the door opened and more people entered. Bucky held the glass close, nodding politely to his coworkers, answering the uninterested ‘how are yous’ before he eventually made his way to his spot on the porch.

She still wasn’t there, and he wondered if she would be coming at all. He hadn’t heard much of her the last year. She seemed to be just as under the radar as him.

And when he saw the blur of orange hair, his face immediately heating up. She exits her car, this time she's dressed in overalls, a cream sweater beneath it, her hair in a pony tail, and she’s carry a plate of fruit.

They make eye contact a few paces before the steps, and she visibly swallows as she climbs them, pausing next time him, in front of the door.

“Happy end game.” She says, a tight smile on her face.

He can only nod in the awkwardness of it all, and she enters the house. The music has already started, the sound of Clints’ cheering and Sams’ laughing echos in Buckys’ ears.

He takes a sip, then another, gazing out at the porch, the water, the old sail boat moving like a lonely captain.

The screen door creaks as she opens it, then slams back into place as she releases it. She stands on the opposite side of the door, mimics his stance as she leans and its quiet between them.

Her shoulders are tight; he can tell when he looks to his right at her. She seems to be lost in thought, and his staring goes unnoticed. She’s the most beautiful when she thinks she’s alone. It looks like her hairs been cut, the tendrils not as long as he remembered. Her eyes, the green emeralds, are bright, unfocused, arms crossed over her stomach. The rays from the porch light bounce off her cheeks and hair, and she's almost shining. Lips parted, he stares at them unabashedly, wishing he could kiss them again, part them, nip them.

He stares at her but it makes him realize he’ll never have her; not in the way he wants. He’ll never be good enough for her, and he’ll never get to prove that fact otherwise. Won’t ever be able to hold her, cherish her. Never love her.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare?”

His cheeks heat instantly, turning his eyes away and clears his throat, trying to find something new to look at.

Everything else is black and white.

“I know my mother did.” She continued, picking at her sweater. He nods, takes a sip. Doesn’t trust himself enough to engage in conversation. “She taught me a lot.”

She pauses, flicking lint off her sweater. Bucky takes another sip.

“You could’ve fucked me last year and you didn’t. Why not?”

He chokes on the liquor. He coughs, his mind whirly of what the fuck he was supposed to say to that.

A small candle of hope lit inside him at the fact that she remembered what had happened at all, much less mentioned it. The night he had stepped away from the brightest thing he’d ever encountered. Her commentary also answered his unasked question; she had wanted to fuck him too.

“You were drunk.” He says, trying to keep his voice even.

“So?” She counters, her tone puzzled. “What's that got to do with anything? You were drinking too I believe.”

He had been, and he’s surprised again at the details she recalls.

“You would’ve blamed the alcohol, said it was a mistake.” He says though gritted teeth. “If I fuck you, I want you to know it, to 100% choose it. To know you wanted to do that, and that it was me who had you sounding like that.”

She hums, her gaze aimed at the sea, and he takes a sip again, hoping it’ll calm the rattle in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have blamed the alcohol,” she comments, her finger tapping her chin. “I wanted it.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Bucky mummers into his glass, aiming to sound impassive, before setting it down on the railing. He proceeds to stare at it just to avoid her eyes. The porch shakes slightly as she walks over to him, stopping so that she’s barely an arms length away.

Her green eyes shine, a determination boiling beneath the surface. Slowly, she takes his hand, gently squeezing before placing it on her hip.

“Don’t you want to find out?” She asks, her voice meek, not sounding nearly as brave as she looks and Bucky is certain his brain short circuits.

She’s very beautiful, especially this close. He wonders if she knows that.

Wanda is kissing him before he can think of a response, her mouth sliding over his in a deliciously slow movement. It’s patient and hopeful, mixed with a little fear, and he’s never been so relieved. His hand moves up from her hip, encasing her ribs and she takes a step closer, their chests brushing. The movements electric, and he encircles her back, making her flush against him as her hand goes to his neck.

He’s dreamt about kissing her again, about her cherry lip balm. About feeling her pressed against him, making her shiver.

It’s like dancing. He used to love dancing during the 40’s, before the war, before he’d been mutilated. He’d enjoyed it, the ease of dancing with a pretty girl in a low lit bar, and now it felt as if their mouths were moving in time with a beat.

Cupping her face, he tilts it, nipping her lip, then licking it softly. She seems to like that, her hands on his jacket lapel, pulling him to her. Her tongue brushes his teeth, twisting, deepening the kiss and he groans against her.

The hand on her ribs moves to the middle of her lower back, holding her, and he’s gentle as he walks forward, her front still pressed to him, until she’s backed against the railing. He breaks the kiss just for a moment, and holds her eyes as he bends slightly, gripping below her knees, pushing her to sit on the railing. She obliges quickly, pulling him between her legs and he steps into her like she’s home.

One hand still below her knee, he pulls it up slightly, and she hums, kissing him as her arms wrap around his neck. He’s hard, straining, and the sounds she’s making causes him to stiffen even more, if that were possible. With his free hand he holds her neck, the pressure light as he peppers her mouth.

He can’t help but shift, and she scoots closer, pressing her clothed core into him and he nearly yelps.

“Wanda…”

She moves her torso, grinding lightly, and bites his bottom lip, holding it there between her teeth and pulls. Bucky groans low, his grip on her neck tightening.

He pulls away just barely, sucking in oxygen, and she moves to his neck, teeth scraping. Her kisses are hot, damp against his skin and he hopes there will be marks tomorrow.

Her hips rock into him, and his hand drops her knee, tangling in her hair. Biting down, he winces slightly, before she licks over the skin gently, pressing a kiss to the spot, then up until she meets his earlobe, taking it in her teeth.

Pulling her head back, she stares at his face. “Please.”

He could combust.

Tightening his grip on her hair, he yanks, and she gasps as his lips press to her jaw, one hand holding the side of her face.

It’s rougher, and obviously that's how she wants it, as she rocks herself against him again. Groaning against her throat, he pulls hard, and sucks at a spot just below her ear.

Her body tenses, fingers frozen and her legs lock around his hips. He grins against her skin.

Pulling back, he grabs her face in one hand, her cheeks squished slightly between his thumb and index finger. “You have a choice to walk away right now.”

She pouts, tries to grab him, but he keeps her still, eyebrows raised in questioning. “I don’t want to walk away.”

Her fingers seem to work again and she’s pulling at his jacket, attempting to push it off his shoulders, but his grip on her face is hard. She glares, then her eyes soften, and she opens her mouth, her tongue pressing flat against the skin of his hand.

His eyes widen, grip loosening, and she takes his hand in hers before sticking his finger in her mouth. Eyes trained on his, she sucks, her cheeks slightly hollowed, and he can feel her tongue flick against his knuckles.

His brain fries, skin alight, and he damn near pants. He doesn’t want to stop, but he needs to hear her say it, needs to make sure she verbally confirms she wants him.

“Use your words, little witch.” He mummers as he watches her assault his hands.

“I want you to fuck me so well I forget how to spell my name.”

The sound of her voice vibrates against his finger, and he pulls it from her mouth, a wet pop! sounding before he leans down.

She’s grinning, knowing exactly how well she’s affecting him, prideful that he’s aching because of her. Gripping her thighs, he picks her up, her legs fasting around his hips, and he begins to walk them off the porch, down to his bike.

She laughs, her hair bouncing as they step, and he loves the sound.

The ride is quick, Wanda attempting to palm him as they drive and he weakly swats her hands, the action far too distracting for him to be able to navigate while feeling that.

She kisses his neck and the back of his jacket when he parks, standing before the engine has even cooled, and he slaps her ass as he gets off the bike. She’s hungry, starving, pulling at his shirt as he closes the door, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, successfully this time, and yanks at the bottom of his shirt. He slides the overalls down her shoulders, pulling her to him on his couch.

The apartment is dark, but she slides into his lap with ease, nipping and licking at him. She’s panting as he lifts his shirt off, nails raking down his chest, and he sucks on her neck. She moans, shifting against him, and Bucky cannot believe his luck. She’s half dressed, wearing only her top and panties, the thin cloth allowing her heat to become more tangible.

She smells like honey, and he wants to devour her.

He isn’t sure when she undid his jeans. He stands, lifting her with him, and she moves his jeans down roughly with her feet, her mouth still searching for his, still hungry.

It’s clumsy and fumbling and he’s blissful, caring about nothing but the redhead in his lap.

He plops back down, and she blows his chest. He grunts, sliding his hands into her hair as Wanda feelings down his front. She pulls back, eyes blown.

“What are you waiting for, solider?” She smiles, a childish grin on her face. He nips at her lip, dropping a hand down and giving her hip a squeeze. “Where's the bedroom?” He goes to answer but she cuts him off. “Fuck it, fuck me right here.”

His brows raise high, and she laughs before kissing him again.

They kiss hurriedly, hearts racing, blood pumping in his ears as he grips the hem of her shirt. Her hands are up and it's over her head in an instant.

His mouth waters. She isn’t wearing a bra.

He nearly buries his face in her chest, licking the skin on the left as his hand palms the right. Her head arch back, eyes shut, and he twists her nipple. She hums, fingers gripping his shoulders and he gives a tentative lick. Her skin is smooth as he takes her into his mouth, hands wrapping around her waist.

“James James James.” She hums, and he’s shocked at his real name. It sounds official in her voice, reverent, and his cock strains against her. She must feel it, because her hips move, grinding into him and he bites gently.

She gasps, gripping his face and pulling him away from the glory that are her tits, kissing him hard.

He gulps her, wishing he could inhale her. Her cheeks and chest are pink, her eyes shining as she removes herself from his lap, pulling at his hands to stand with her. Her fingers are on the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down before he’s fully standing. She grips him and he’s instantly dizzy.

She’s on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his, tongue poking and prodding as her hand strokes him slowly. He’s aching, submissively opening his mouth to her, and she pours herself into him with every kiss.

He stutters, and she pushes him back against the couch softly, releasing her hold on him. His cock slaps against his stomach as he looks at her with lust covered eyes. She smiles, before she bends and her underwear is gone. He drinks in her naked form.

Nipples peaked from exposure, her breasts are creamy, with a faded scar just below her collarbone. Her ribs poke through her skin, hip bones jutting, and she’s smooth all over. She watches him look at her, and cups her sides.

“I know, I know,” she sighs, taking a step forward. “I should eat more.”

He reaches for her, and she melts into his hold, legs on opposite sides of his thighs. Balancing herself, she holds onto his shoulders, and he grips her behind the knees, hands tracing up her thighs, hips, caressing her breasts before settling on her hips again.

“Nah,” he whispers, and she holds his eyes as she takes him in her hand, aligning herself. “You're perfect.”

She pauses, looking down and then back at him.

Fear is drawn so perfectly on her face it could be a famous painting, like The Boreas.

”You — you shouldn't want this, not with me," Wanda says, voice tight, her grip loosing. “I���ll burn you.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. A literal angel, thinking she could stain him. Impossible.

Bucky grabs the hand that's gripping him, and interlaces their fingers, before bringing it to his mouth. He kisses her knuckles. “I’ve wanted you since that first time I saw you on that front porch.” Kisses her hand again, this time shutting his eyes. “Don’t go telling me I don’t want this, cuz I do.”

“What will our friends think?” She whispers, her voice impossibly low.

He kisses her hand again. “Fuck ‘em.”

She cups his face and pulls him to her. ”Stop overthinking," he whispers. She places a chaste kiss on his lips. “Don’t let a few maybes take you away from me.” Her eyes are wet, and he kisses the corner of her mouth. “Not when I’ve been waiting so long.”

She’s staring at him, still bracing herself above him before she bends down, aligns herself and slowly sinks. She’s smooth, warm, her eyes closing as he bites down on his cheek to keep from completely coming undone.

Rocking her hips slowly, Wanda lets out a breathy moan.

He’s officially died and gone to heaven.

Knees settled by his hips, she looks down to where they are joined, before glancing at him and grabs his hand. Lacing their fingers, she rocks again and this time he doesn’t hold back. His groan is deep, parched. Like a man dying of thirst.

He watches her move, hands light on her hips, traveling up her abdomen to cup her breasts, feel her skin. She’s warm, blissfully so, and when she raises up instead of rocking, he misses the contact.

She slides back down easily.

Leaning forward, she kisses him as she rocks, her hands in his hair, pulling, and he nips at her. He tugs her lip and she lets out another sweet song.

“Keep goin’” he praises, squeezing her hips. “s’perfect, you’re doing so well.”

She smiles at his words, he can feel it against his lips, and her hands leave his hair to scratch lightly down his chest.

He needs to go faster, wants to see how well she can take him when he’s the one directing, but he holds himself back. Right now, it’s about her. And she’s doing a damn fine job at it.

Bucky kisses her throat, and she clenches around him. He nearly comes right there, nearly forgetting what it had felt like to be inside a woman. He grips her hips tightly, almost certain she’ll be bruised.

“One sec, one sec,” he practically wheezes and she gives him a quizzical look before realizing what he meant. “You’re too fucking good.”

“Says you.” She laughs lightly, and nips his earlobe. She’s sweating, a light shine on her brow and her cheeks are rosy, hair sticking to the back of her neck.

Bucky grins, placing his hands back on her hips tightly and thrusts up into her. She gasps, her surprise so clear, and her lids flutter.

He does it again and again, his grip bruising, pace quick but timed, and Wanda arches as he moves under her. Her tits bouncing in his face, he reaches for one, licking the side.

“D-don’t stop,” she says, head tipping forward until her cheek is against his temple. Her hair falls into his face and he inhales deeply, reveling in it.

His core muscles are tense, hands rigid on her, lips sore. Happiest he’s ever felt.

The couch makes a bumping sound as it moves on the floor in time with his thrusts. The apartment smells like sex, and he thinks he should probably get a candle. Or better yet, leave the smell and get turned on every time he sits on his couch.

She moves her head back from his temple, smashing their mouths together. They’re a mix of teeth and spit and sweat. The kiss is messy, slightly sloppy, the type of kiss you have with someone special. It makes his insides flip.

Gripping her tightly, he stands, flipping them so that her back is laying on the couch and he hovers above her. His dog tag comes into view, hanging between them. He completely forgot he had it on.

“Why two?” She questioned, nodding at it. He sinks into her, and she moans, gripping his bicep.

“One’s mine,” he grunts, thrusting again. “The others is Steve’s.” He moves again, and she mewls, legs wrapped around his hips.

“O-oh?” The word comes out more of a question, and Bucky grins, sinking in again. Her eyes roll back.

He jackhammers himself into her, the pace maddening, the grip deathly, and she takes it all. His core burns, right arm aching, but he doesn’t quit. Not when she’s looking so lovely like that. She flutters around him, biting the inside of her cheek, and he nearly comes himself when he realizes she’s close. Her mouth opens, and then shuts, her eyes blown. He slows slightly, easing his grip, and she grabs his dog tags, yanking his face close.

“Don’t fucking stop,” she sighs, her breath fanning across from him. Her eyes go wide. “Please don’t.”

He can feel a bit of his old 40’s playboy-self peek out, his ladies-man charm spiking at the fact that she was pleading with him to let her come.

He was, in fact, a gentleman. And a man makes such a lady always comes first.

He kisses her gently, her mouth opening to him, before slamming into her. She all but screams.

The pace is punishing. His head falls next to her jaw, and he kisses the junction between her neck and shoulder as he moves, hips snapping.

She’s humming against him, saying something low and he strains to hear.

More, more, please more.

She flutters, clenching him, and he’s aching, his sides burning. Reaching down, his thumb finds her most delicate area. Her legs jerk, and she locks around his hips, eyes screwed tight.

He wants to tease her, wants to draw it out longer but hadn’t she asked so politely? He presses his thumb against her, and her mouth opens, lips slick with spit.

She looks blissful as she unravels.

“Look at you,” he mummers as her breathing returns. His head drops to her shoulder. He’s grunting into her neck, his own release rapidly approaching. “So good for me.”

“Yes, look at me.” She says, and he leans up from her neck, eyes taking in her face. He comes almost immediately.

Bucky collapses, his arms exhausted from an activity its not used to, and Wanda wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. He slides out of her gently, his cock empty and satisfied. By the look on her face, so is she. He pulls her hand so that she’s sitting up, and they lay against the back of the couch, chests heaving, catching their breath.

“Could've had that last year.” She says when she finally catches her breath. He gives her a raised brow before chuckling.

“Was worth the wait.”

She bites her lip, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, it was.”

He shows her where the bathroom is, gives her a towel to clean off. Ten minutes later she calls his name, pulling him in with her and he fucks her against the tile wall.

[stardust-wanderlust]

Suggestions/Requests for Ao3

I want to be able to leave multiple kudos. Not like all the time, but when you have a WIP you are reading and you get the notification that a new chapter posted and you go read it and it’s as awesome as the last 12 chapters, I want to be able to do a one touch ❤️ or something. Like a chapter level thumbs up along with the story level kudos.

And speaking of Kudos, can we get like a check mark or something to indicate that you have read and kudosed a story somewhere. Like before I read the 50k fic and try and kudos and that stupid red banner pops up:

Cuz - like:

I would like to be able to sort or filter my “Marked for Later” page. Like, it took me 5 years to learn about the nifty thing but now I have 20 pages of stories I have marked for later in at least 10 fandoms and I need to be able to sort. Like I know I have a 500k word HP fic that has been saved since 2016 that I haven’t got around to yet, but I would have to dig through 17 pages to find it. And I will 100% get distracted by one of the 72 fics in front it. Like let me sort by fandom at least. Filter out the 27 WangXian fics and 13 KinnPorsche fics to get to the 5 Drarry fics.

Can I have a bookshelf? Like I know there are bookmarks, but I just want an easy way to say “Hey! I finished this one. And it was good! And I might want to read it again. But I don’t need it in my feeds.” Something simple like the Mark for Later button. Just a quick button that says “Completed” or “Bookshelf” and it goes to this nice little out of the way place where you can go and peruse old favorites. Once I discovered the joy of the subscribe button this is basically what I use the bookmark option for, but I always feel a little pressure about the bookmark button because it makes me feel like I have to add tags and commentary about the story I just saved. And it bothers me that it’s called a “bookmark”, bookmarks are for things you haven’t finished. Not completed works.

*Anyway, I say all of this with the full knowledge and intent to continue to use the site like it is my own personal candy story. 🤷🏻‍♀️💖🥰

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Aftermath | Chapter 3 | Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson x Female OC | E.M x Karmen Jones

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 Chapter 15.

Chapter Summary: Karmen and Wayne meet for the first time since Wayne sent her home to think about her future with Eddie. | This specific chapter only, is best read with the end scene of Discrepancy in mind.

Story Summary: This story takes place after the canonical events of Season 4. Eddie wakes up in the Upside Down after 'dying' in Dustin's arms. He wakes up again in the hospital and is reunited with his loved ones that he hasn't seen since before Chrissy's death. This story covers Eddie's time in the hospital and overall physical recovery after the Upside Down.

This fic is part of the She Feels Like Home series. It sits between Boxing Day and Drop Out but can be read as a standalone. 

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Talk, Injuries, Conflict Resolution, Miscommunications Explained, Protective!Uncle Wayne is a gem and we love him, Season 4 Spoilers

Words: 2581

A/N: It's been said that Karmen was a massive bitch for how she handled things in Discrepancy. Hopefully this chapter helps to explain a little better what was going on in her head at the end, when she walked away.

~

Karmen had made it through the doors of the hospital this time. After a day or two spent in deep contemplation, she knew for certain where she needed to be.

She had already known the last time if she was honest. When she had walked away after speaking with Wayne. But out of respect for him and his request, she had left. Wanting to make it seem as though she had at least taken a day to think about it. Taken what he’d asked her seriously.

“Please, for the love-a’ God if you have any inclination that Eddie isn’t what you want outta life, don’t go in there. I can’t nurse that boy back to health only to watch him fall apart afterward because you decided you wanted to move on.” Wayne’s voice, thick with emotion, had echoed in her head the entire time she’d been back at home.

A misunderstanding between herself and Eddie from months earlier, that had been mentioned off handedly to Wayne at some point. It was the catalyst for what he had asked of her. She wasn’t sure how to tell him that she’d already made up her mind long ago.

That her and Eddie had sorted it out amongst themselves and she didn’t need any more time to think.

Not after a week straight of crying on her friend’s couch while Eddie was missing. She was weak from not eating. Her voice was hoarse from screaming. She didn’t have it in her to plead her case or argue with the man that she knew had been going through it just as badly as she had.

She didn’t begrudge Wayne for what he had said. He just wanted what was best for his nephew, his son, in this trying time. She just hoped that this time she would be able to speak beyond a few jumbled words and Wayne would be willing to listen as she poured out her heart.

He was a good man and he was fair. She doubted that he would really stop her from going in to see Eddie even if he didn’t like what she had to say. But the last thing she wanted right now was to upset anyone and make the situation more stressful than it had to be.

Karmen walked quietly and quickly towards where she had been directed. The front desk staff had been reluctant to let her through after she had somehow squeezed her way through the wall of reporters waiting outside. The news that Eddie had been found had somehow spread and hospital staff were less than pleased by the relentless badgering of the media, trying to trick them into being pointed in the direction of his room.

She wasn’t sure what she had said that softened the brass nurse she had been speaking to. But after vaguely explaining herself and almost bursting into tears, she was sent down the hall and to the left. Elevator. Third floor, room 16.

It was as she approached room 16, heart pounding in her chest that a familiar sight caught her eye. A denim coat with a brown fur collar. Faded blue jeans and khaki work boots that scraped across the ground as the man in front of her stopped in the doorway and stretched tired arms above his head.

Karmen faltered as he looked towards her. Stopping in front of the door to the room next to him and watching as wise eyes fell on her figure. 

Moment of truth she supposed.

Wayne stared at her for a second. Face breaking into a warm smile as he walked towards her with his arms outstretched. He enveloped her in a tight hug before she could protest.

“Thank God.” He breathed, the relief palpable as his chin rested on top of her head and she hugged him back with her arms around his waist. “He’s been asking for you.” He explained, pulling away but keeping his hands on her arms as he stared down at her with shining eyes. “Was worried you weren’t coming.” 

Karmen shook her head, looking up at him with her own watery eyes. 

“Of course I was.” She whispered, broken. “I just…” She paused. “Needed a minute to think, like you said.” She explained as best she could.

Wayne nodded in understanding. It had broken his heart to send her away and lying to Eddie about it had been even harder. The younger man was becoming increasingly frantic with each neutral response to his question. 

“Wayne, you have to understand, I didn’t want to walk away. It was never about not wanting Eddie. It was about whether or not we wanted the same things… in life.” Karmen said with a shrug, her voice shaky.

“I know that Darling.” The older man assured her. His heavy palms squeezing against her biceps as he smiled down at her.

Wayne could see clear as day how much she adored his boy. The way she looked at him warmed his cynical old heart. Eddie was a sweetheart but with his loud personality and alternative style of dress, deep down he had been worried that no woman would ever get close enough to him to see it.

Karmen had been a surprise but a very welcome one. Wayne considered her a blessing. It was probably a tad too far to say that she had been the answer to his prayers. But, well. He had prayed many a night that Eddie would find someone to love him the way he deserved. To show him the sort of kindness and care that he’d not had before from his peers.

“Eddie’s such a beautiful person. I could see it right away. But, I also saw a kid with big dreams of going on tour as a rockstar. Never staying in one place more than two days and that just isn’t what I want for my life.” She explained. “At the very least he wanted to go to College after he graduated.” She chuckled bitterly. “I wasn’t sure if he would want to be…” She trailed off. Deciding she didn’t want to say it. The pain that sparked in her heart at the thought of Eddie seeing other people, threatened prickly tears falling from her eyes.

Wayne hummed softly. He knew what she meant. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say other than he knew Eddie realized how lucky he was. But he hoped he didn’t make the dumb mistake of thinking there was better out there. Giving her up to experience strange or for the sake of hard to achieve and unrealistic dreams.

“That boy would drop all those dreams in an instant if it meant getting to be with you.” He said, speaking softly as he stared at the ground. A smile quirked his lips as he heard her scoff.

“That’s what I was worried about Wayne. I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t… I don’t know, shop around.” She laughed. “Or God Forbid he doesn’t pursue dreams he’s had since he was a kid. For me.” She said flatly, gesturing at her chest. “I don’t want to be the reason he never gets to Headline for Metallica.” She huffed, frowning as Wayne chortled in response.

“I know it’s not exactly what either of you envisioned but there’s no real reason you can’t both have what you want.” He said. “Being a rockstar ain’t exactly something you can do in one place but even the most metal rockstar needs a family to come home to.” He chuckled as he raised his head to look at her once more. His calloused palms giving her arms one last reassuring squeeze before he let go of her and crossed them over his chest.

“I guess.” Karmen agreed. Crossing her own arms. “Anyway that’s about where I got to before I came back.” She smiled weakly. “Besides, Eddie keeps saying he’s changed his mind and just wants a simple life. House and kid. So I guess, we go with that for now and if he changes his mind he can… He can leave.” She shrugged, her smile faltering.

“Now that ain’t fair on you.” Wayne objected quickly, shaking his head and pointing a finger at her chest. “I want Eddie to be happy. I love that boy. But you can’t put your entire future in his hands like that. You gotta have a plan for yourself.”

“He knows how much a family means to me, Wayne. I trust him not to stuff me around.” She replied quickly, leaving no room for another rebuttal. She knew deep down she was still taking a risk. With Eddie being so young and liable to change his mind. 

But he was worth it to her.

Wayne seemed to understand, nodding at her words and studying her thoughtfully for a few seconds. It felt like an eternity as Karmen waited for him to speak so she could push on and change the subject to Eddie’s condition.

Wayne smiled to himself at the sentiment, making Karmen cock a brow.

The older man unfolded his arms, wrapping a hand around her forearm. He pulled her gently the few steps to the doorway of Eddie’s room. Turning them both and looking in towards Eddie’s bed. They could only see the very end of it from where they were standing. Lots of wires and tubes criss crossing over the thin blanket that covered his feet.

“You know he’d ask you to marry him tomorrow if he thought you’d say yes.” Wayne smiled, turning back to her and watching as she flushed bright red under his gaze.

“Of course I’d say yes.” Karmen admitted softly. Scratching at her neck awkwardly. “But I don’t think he’s actually ready to get married just yet and I don’t want to be proposed to just because he’s scared of a break up.” She sighed, following Wayne’s line of sight. Unable to keep the bitterness at bay as her mind slipped to her previous boyfriend and the lengths he went to, to try and keep her. 

“Don’t worry Love, he’s not as silly as he looks.” Wayne snorted, ignoring the change of tone despite his curiosity and placing a comforting hand on her back. “Speaking of him not being stupid, you should probably get in there. He’ll kill me if he finds out I kept you out here chatting instead of sending you straight in.” He said with a nod towards Eddie’s bed. The kid was asleep but that could change any minute. He needed to get down to business. “But ah, before you do go in there…. I should tell you what’s been happening.”

Karmen nodded, eager to learn why exactly Eddie was in the hospital in the first place. All Wayne had said last time they spoke was that he was barely alive. Well out of it and unable to speak. She wasn’t sure if anything had changed.

“So, he was brought in by some friends. He’s had surgery. More than once, as I can gather. He has these… Horrible wounds all down his chest. A few smaller ones around other places but it’s mainly all there on the torso. The nurses are calling ‘em burns. But I… Well anyway, he needed skin grafts and a blood transfusion. He’s got a catheter for his bladder and a couple of drains near the worst of the wounds. He can’t move too well but he still tries because he’s Eddie.” He said with an edge of frustration. “Like, he wakes up and adrenaline helps him along before he remembers how much pain he’s in. So, try to keep him lying down.” He sighed, looking back over at Karmen as he finished his speel and clocking the horror on her face..

“Jesus Christ…” She hissed. “How… How did all that even happen?”

“They’re saying a car accident but…” Wayne trailed off suddenly, frowning to himself as Karmen tilted her head in question.

“You don’t believe that?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step closer.

Wayne shook his head as he placed his hands on his hips. 

“No.” He answered simply, keeping his voice low.

Karmen raised her brows at the admission, thinking for a second before asking:

“Well, what is Eddie saying happened?”

“That’s the thing.” Wayne sighed. “He’s not saying anything at all.” 

“He won’t answer you?” She asked in surprise. It wasn’t like Eddie to be quiet about anything when it came to Uncle Wayne. He was terrible at keeping secrets. Even worse at just outright lying. She could never be sure how he’d come so far as a drug dealer after seeing his poker face.

“No, he’s not speaking at all.” Wayne clarified, sounding forlorn. Karmen opened her mouth in a silent sigh. Remembering now that Wayne had mentioned Eddie was too injured to speak. “Are you familiar with the concept of being non-verbal?” He asked her, bringing a hand to his forehead and rubbing at his worry lines as Karmen nodded.

“Vaguely.” She answered. She had minimal experience with non-verbal children from working in a childcare center when she was younger. But to her knowledge that was linked to developmental disabilities. So she wasn’t sure if that was exactly what Wayne was asking about. 

“Good. Well, it’s been a long time since it’s happened to him but Eddie used to go nonverbal quite often when he was a child. Stressful situations and whatnot.” He explained half-heartedly with a shake of his head. “Doctors always said it was normal for a kid that grew up the way he did. He can still gesture and make sounds, sometimes he can write a little but he hates that because it takes ‘too much brain power’.” He said, curling his fingers to make quotes over the last couple of words.

Karmen nodded along, smiling sadly. That was definitely something Eddie would say.

“He can talk if he truly has to. He can force it out, I’ve seen it.” The older man sighed. “But it ain’t pretty.” He added as an afterthought.

“Right.” She whispered in response, to show she was keeping up.

“He’s woken up proper a few times since he’s been here and I’m fairly certain he only remembers the last time or two.” The tired Munson continued. “He’s in a lot of pain, understandably. But he’s also fragile and scared. I think once he can talk again he’ll have an interesting story to tell.” 

“Definitely.” Karmen agreed solemnly. Her heart breaking at the notion that Eddie was too traumatized to talk. Whatever he’d gone through in the time he was missing must have been horrific. So many people were out to hunt him. Wanted him dead. For all they knew he had been caught and tortured.

“Go on.” Wayne said softly, breaking Karmen from her depressing thoughts. “I’m gonna’ go and get a coffee. Give you a few minutes of privacy.”

“Thanks.” Karmen replied quietly, smiling as Wayne took a few tentative steps backwards before turning on his heel. She watched him go. Procrastinating until the older man turned a corner and was out of sight. No longer there to hold her back from walking into the room.

Turning back towards the door, she took a deep, calming breath before entering. Pushing past the partial curtain that was obscuring the top half of Eddie’s body with a trembling hand. Gasping in shock, despite bracing herself, as her eyes fell on Eddie’s sleeping form.

~

Dw they will actually get to talk to one another in the next chapter. Who would have thought it would take 4 chapters for my babies to actually get to interact in this Eddie x OC story. 😂

Part 4!! Feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in the rest of this story as I post it.

Read the rest of the series here :)

This series is so personal to me, so it means the world to me when someone let’s me know they enjoy a work from this series. If you guys liked this please pleaseee consider letting me know via comment, reblog, message, anon ask etc.  

Tag List: @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @3ddi3-daydreamer @micheledawn1975 @munson-blurbs @wheels-of-despair @browneyes528

[amplifyme]

Shift (aka The Lost Fanfic)

The X-Files. MSR. Teen and up. WC: 4261. Post-Fight the Future. Read on AO3.

Notes:

This was written sometime in the summer of 1998 after Fight the Future was released and before Season 6 began. It was archived exclusively on my website and was the only piece I didn't have backed up on my computer. When the site went down a few years later, it disappeared into the ether. I've been looking for it off and on ever since. Truth be told, I couldn't even remember what I'd written. But thanks to the resourceful and forward-thinking Lilydalexf over on Tumblr, I received an email with a text file of the fic, which she'd saved way back in the day. I've cleaned it up a bit and have included the original author's notes and disclaimer.

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

Classification: VAH... all right, all right, it's MSR, too.

Rating: PG-13 for content

Spoilers: Fight the Future

Author's notes: Yeah, okay, so it's not smut. I'm sorry (say it like Eddie Van Blundht). The muse looked down her nose at me and implied that I'd forgotten how to write anything clean. This'll show her.

I'm so sorry, Mel. Can you ever forgive me? ;->

Disclaimer: Aw, jeez, do I have to? You all know the drill; just repeat it to yourselves and that'll be good enough for me.

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

"Let me see if I'm understanding you, Mulder." Scully silently offered to swap her container of shrimp fried rice for his Mongolian beef. "You're saying that our work on the X-Files should be considered the norm, as opposed to the typical white-collar worker with the house in the suburbs and the two point five kids?'

"And the Range Rover," Mulder added as they traded off. He took a bite of the rice and talked around it, his typical enthusiasm overriding any need for manners. "What I'm saying is that we're hardwired to seek out new experiences, blaze new trails. The human intellect demands new and different challenges, and if we ignore that basic need we run the risk of becoming complacent; the perfect target for any organization with enough power to literally take over our lives."

He set the container on the coffee table and tore open a packet of hot mustard with his teeth, liberally dousing an egg roll with the runny yellow substance before inhaling half of it in one bite. Scully watched with bemusement. A grazing Mulder was a sight to behold.

"So, if everyone was hunting down fat sucking vampires instead of sitting behind a desk or flipping burgers, the world would be a better place?" She waited as he furiously waved a hand in front of his open mouth and grabbed his beer, draining the last couple inches from the bottle. Pushing forty and he still hadn't figured out how much hot mustard was enough.

"That's kind of simplistic," he declared when he could talk again, "but yeah. Just think about it, Scully. What if the majority of the population could see just a fraction of the things we have? Think of how much more open-minded people would be to extreme possibilities. The idea of a race of aliens bent on colonizing the planet with not so benign intentions would be much more easily accepted."

Mulder held his hand out for the beef, giving her some time to consider what he'd said. Night had fallen and his living room was bathed in shadows. Light spilled from the kitchen doorway. Aside from the cool blue cast by the muted and ignored TV and the soft glow from the newly stocked fish tank, it was the only illumination in the apartment.

"But, Mulder, you're assuming that the majority of the world's population would even want to know the things we know. Contrary to what you might think, most people are perfectly happy living a life of order and routine. I dare say most of them would go out of their way to avoid the changes that kind of knowledge would inevitably bring."

"Ignorance is bliss?"

"That's kind of simplistic," she remarked, catching his faint smile as she echoed his earlier jab, "but yes. Most people just want to be left alone to live their lives as they see fit. Change isn't always a good thing, Mulder."

"But it's inevitable," he argued. "Chaos is the norm. I can't believe I'm the only one who realizes that." He chewed and swallowed another bite, staring off into space. And then he looked in her direction, aiming the full force of his gaze squarely at her. His eyes were suddenly darker and more soulful. More aware. In a split second his entire focus had changed, and now everything in him was intent on nothing but her. It was a look she'd seen in his hallway just a few weeks ago, and one not easily forgotten.

"What about you, Scully? Is ignorance bliss?"

It was a question fraught with many different meanings - and they both knew it. That he felt comfortable enough to ask anyway was a sign of how much things had changed. It wasn't just one event out of all the events of the last month: it was the sum total of them that had led to this new and still tentative honesty; the constant awareness that they were standing on the brink of something brand new and yet older than time.

It was an electrifying feeling that had her thoughts careening wildly. She was smart enough to realize that what was blossoming between them was a strange and beautiful thing, but it was also a double-edged sword, and she wasn't entirely certain she was emotionally prepared to deal with the risks it entailed.

She held his eye, determined not to flinch, and chose to answer the easier version of his question. "No, of course not. It would be foolish of me to try to pretend that none of these things have happened." She glanced away and then back at him. The fact that his attention had shifted to the food and off of her allowed her to elaborate more than she might've otherwise.

"I guess I'm uneasy with the inherent changes that certain kinds of knowledge bring. I've always been a creature of habit, Mulder. I like routine. I like knowing what to expect. And despite the rather bizarre lifestyle I seem to have established, I've been able to adapt fairly well. It's just that sometimes it gets a little overwhelming."

"There's nothing wrong with routine, Scully. You're taking me too literally." Apparently, her deflection had worked. At least for the time being. He went on in his slightly professorial monotone. "The daily grind is a natural outgrowth of living in a civilized society. All I'm saying is that it tends to make us lazy and stupid. And that leaves us vulnerable to anyone or anything who cares to take advantage of the situation."

Mulder scrubbed his newly cropped hair and slouched back against the couch, one hand unconsciously and contentedly rubbing his stomach. "I probably don't have to tell you this," he continued, "but I thrive on change. I like chaos. It keeps me sharp. The best thing about not knowing what might happen next is that you're prepared for anything."

She pushed away from the food and settled back next to him, their shoulders barely brushing. "But, Mulder, we all need some kind of stability, a constant we can depend on. Otherwise, we'd spend our lives wandering aimlessly from one experience to another, without any kind of cohesiveness. I hear what you're saying, but there's nothing that prevents us from living an ordered life except our own inability to make sense of the very chaos you seem to cherish."

He rewarded her with a low chuckle. "Is this a kinder, gentler way of telling me I'm crazy?"

She shot him a dismissive look. "No. I'm just baffled by your attitude. Don't you ever find yourself wishing for a simpler life; one where you knew what to expect from day to day?"

"You make it sound like I don't have that already."

She gaped at him and then recovered. "Okay, now you've completely lost me. You wanna explain to me how you can possibly describe your life as simple?"

"Well, using the criteria you've established, it is simple. I have the stability you spoke of. I have that constant."

She snorted softly. "And that would be… what? That your stability is the fact that you have none? That your only constant is change?"

He turned his head and pinned her with a look, his words echoing the gentle rebuke she saw in the mossy green of his eyes. "You haven't been paying attention, Scully."

Still sprawled on the couch, his face bland, the only clue to Mulder's anxiety was the almost imperceptible bouncing of one leg. "I realize that the aftermath might be a little foggy to you, but I find it hard to believe you don't remember what was said just outside that door." He tilted his head toward the front of his apartment. He made no attempt to elaborate. His words lay solid and heavy between them, offered up like a gift she couldn't refuse, even if she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to accept it just then.

She'd been anticipating this. She'd thought about it enough that she'd even come to think of it as The Moment of Truth because of its potential to shift a large portion of her life in an unknown direction. Formulating possible responses to Mulder's probable remarks about what had happened and what'd been said had been uppermost in her mind lately. When he’d jokingly accused her of daydreaming just the day before, she hadn't been able to argue the point. He'd been right: she'd been far too distracted the last few weeks. Maybe it was best just to get things out in the open - for her continued sanity, if nothing else.

But before she could say anything he beat her to it, apparently misconstruing her long silence as refusal to take his bait. "Well," he rasped, sitting up and pulling a hand down his face, "this is an awkward moment. Look, Scully, forget I said anything."

"No," she quickly assured him, laying her hand on his back. "No, it's okay. I was just… I'm just not sure what to say, Mulder."  

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. "Well, I think I made my feelings pretty clear."

She certainly wouldn't argue with that. While she couldn't claim to remember much after she'd been stung in the hallway outside his apartment, the memory of Mulder's strangled words and the thrill of realization as he'd moved in to kiss her were etched into her brain. And now it was obvious that he was expecting her to come clean about her feelings. Yet another version of their well-established “I showed you mine, now you show me yours” game. Only this time it wasn't theories they were trading.

If Scully'd had a list, she could've checked off the symptoms of reticence she was experiencing, one by one. First came the dry mouth, followed closely by the leaden feeling in her stomach. Then the reeling in her head as she began to contemplate all she could say wrong despite her best efforts to put the correct spin on things. If discussing emotions were as simple as analyzing facts and figures, debating hypothetical situations, she'd be in the clear. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

She'd never been very big on flowery declarations; the words had always stuck in her throat every time she'd attempted it. She was a woman of action, and if forced to 'fess up, would much rather show than tell. And so that's what she did: sitting up and perching on the edge of the couch next to him, she gently turned his face toward hers and leaned in to kiss him. She was aware as her lips brushed his that he had gone completely still. She didn't linger, choosing instead to make it a chaste but tender kiss, pulling away after just a few seconds. Her hand stayed at his jaw a little longer though, as her fingers memorized the slight abrasiveness of his evening stubble. His eyes, when she raised hers to meet them, were both amused and a little shocked.

"There," she whispered. "I hate leaving things unfinished."

Mulder's eyebrows crept up and he gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. "That's it?" he asked. "You mean we're done?"

Now it was her turn to be taken aback. "What were you expecting?"

As his hands lifted to cup her cheeks he murmured, "C'mere and I'll show you."

Chaste was clearly not what Mulder had in mind. Not that she was complaining. She was too busy admiring the way his bottom lip was expertly nudging hers apart, opening her mouth to admit just the tip of his tongue. He briefly touched it to hers before sweeping it across her upper lip and withdrawing, pulling back just enough to be able to look her in the eye. Permission was asked and granted in the few moments it took her to curl a hand around the nape of his neck and bring his mouth back to hers.

Scully decided that his idea of what constituted finishing business was much more comprehensive than hers. She also decided that kissing him was something she really enjoyed doing and vaguely wondered what had taken them so long.

Good little investigator that he was, Mulder was busy making a thorough exploration of her mouth. It occurred to her, in some distant, foggy place in the back of her mind, that the shift she'd predicted was indeed inevitable. Funny thing was that the reality of it didn't scare her nearly as much as she'd thought it would. She allowed herself to completely relax into their kiss, with Mulder sensing her acquiescence and slowly easing her down onto the couch, his arms cradling her. They ended up with Scully lying against one of the throw pillows, his upper body draped across hers, their legs tangled.

It took her a few seconds to force her eyes open after Mulder finally broke for air. She found him looking down at her, his expression a wickedly potent mixture of affection and good old-fashioned lust. One corner of his mouth drew up just the tiniest bit.

"That was more what I had in mind," he informed her. And then he dipped his head and began to plant small, wet kisses down the line of her jaw. His hand slid up her back and gathered a fistful of hair, gently but determinedly drawing her head back and exposing the tender skin of her neck to his mouth. The soft cotton of his dress shirt rubbed against her stiffening nipples through the silk of her blouse and bra, setting off sparks of heat traveling swiftly through her body.

Hoo-boy.

It'd been a very long time since she'd felt the weight of a man's body on hers, the delicious friction it created. Forever since her hands had roamed over corded muscle and curve of spine. Too long since she'd felt the heat pooling deep within her and someone there to share it, add to it, eventually douse it. What made the cottony thickness of her arousal even more enjoyable was that it was the real thing this time - not some fantasy Mulder who came to her only in the relative safety of her dreams. And there was only a little part of her that wondered if perhaps they should slow down and think about this some more.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Mulder muttered against her neck, "You're gonna have to tell me when to stop, Scully, 'cause if you leave it up to me, I won't."

God bless his considerate, gentlemanly little heart.

Damn it.

"Then maybe," she managed to utter even while threading her fingers through his hair and urging his mouth to points south, "we should stop and think about this."

Deft fingers began working the buttons on her blouse. "Okay. Just say the word and I'll stop."

Oh, she didn't want to do this. She didn't want to stop him. She had a sudden urge to strangle the life out of the sensible little voice in her head. If such a thing were possible, that is.

"Mulder."

"Hmm?"

"Stop."

He groaned in noisy protest but did as she asked. Resting his chin between her breasts, he peered up at her. Hair askew, eyes warm but a little wary, he was the most gorgeous man she'd ever had the pleasure of lying beneath. He was content to wait quietly while she pronounced sentence on him, trusting her to do what was best for both of them. That particular trust was a heavy burden he'd placed on her long ago, and one she'd struggled to throw off more than once. But here and now, she was beginning to realize that it was also a precious gift. And it gave her far more power over him than she even dared contemplate.

"Is this what you had in mind in the hallway?" Her voice was intentionally rich with humor. It was important that he know she wasn't upset by his attempted seduction. Getting their wires crossed about this was the last thing they needed.

She watched as his eyes lost their wariness. The hint of a boyish grin crossed his face before disappearing behind his trademark deadpan expression. "Actually," he quipped, "I was kind of hoping to make it to second base." And with that, he deliberately began to refasten the buttons he'd managed to undo. His knuckles unintentionally brushed fire along her breasts.

"Don't give up, Slugger," she told him as he finished, her voice gone slow and husky. "You haven't struck out yet."

The look on his face was priceless. She couldn't help but grin at him. His answering smile was enough to light up the room. He sat up and pulled her along with him, waiting until she was settled before he twisted around and sat down on the coffee table across from her, his long legs caging hers. Mulder reached out and caught one of her hands in his. He took in a breath and let it out slowly. "The truth is, Scully, I accomplished everything I set out to do that night. The rest of it… just icing on the cake." There was a beat of silence. "Well, except for the bee sting. That kind of put a damper on things."

"Mulder…"

"No, let me finish. I'm sorry it took me so long, but I want you to know I meant every word I said."

"I know." She squeezed his hand and ducked her head, not wanting him to see the sudden tears that threatened to spill over.

"Do you? Because that's all that really matters to me. I don't ever want you to think that I don't value you, or that you're not the most important thing in my -"

She cut him off with her fingers pressed against his mouth. If he kept it up, she'd lose her struggle to hold off her tears. She didn't want to turn into a blubbering idiot, not now. Not when smiling had felt so good.

"I know," she repeated.

His eyes flicked over her face, reading it like a map only he could decipher. Long seconds passed before he nodded slowly, satisfied by what he'd seen.

"Good," he said. "That's good."

She took a few moments to study his familiar features, softened by emotions he rarely let show. She took in the relaxed line of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the hair that stood up in tiny spikes on the top of his head. And the seductive fullness of his mouth, still moist from their kisses. She could drown there, she realized, and not give two hoots about anything else. It was a dangerous and compelling prospect.

She reached up and smoothed her hand over his unruly hair. "I guess this begs the question of what we do now."

He looked aside for a minute and then back at her, shrugging. "We keep on keepin' on. We see where this thing takes us. We fight the good fight. We start scheduling regular make-out sessions."

"Just thought you'd sneak that last one in there, huh?"

"Nothing gets past you, Scully."

She was trying to focus on the issue at hand. He wasn't going to make it easy. She knew this Mulder well. And she could tell he wanted to play, revert to his habit of joking about the most serious of subjects. All the nervous energy he'd suppressed just minutes ago had broken free. Both legs had taken up a gentle bouncing, his hands moving like moths around a flame: glancing off her knees, her hands, her arms, before flying away, only to return again.

Sometimes it was a pain in the ass always being the grown-up.

She grabbed one of his hands and held it tightly in both of hers. He went still almost at once, his keen sense of her innate composure helping to ground him. She vaguely wondered what would become of him if something happened to her. She could picture him floating off into space like an errant helium balloon, with no one to pull him back. She was his safety line; a fragile string that was nonetheless durable enough to keep them both anchored to the ground - even if Mulder was always looking up into the sky, wondering what he might be missing.

"This is going to have an impact on everything," she told him as she caught his eye. "It's going to change everything."

He pursed his lips and jerked an eyebrow. "Maybe. But it's impossible that you'll ever be more important to me than you are right now, so that won't change."

"What if it does, Mulder?"

"That's not gonna happen." She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off, grasping her shoulders and gazing at her with single-minded intensity. "I won't let it. I'm one relentless sonofabitch, Scully. It's gonna take a nuclear explosion to pry me away from you now. And I won't risk the only thing that matters to me unless I'm absolutely certain it's the right thing. How could it, how could we, be anything short of incredible?"

Five years with Mulder had programmed her to automatically begin formulating an argument to counteract his latest bizarre theory, and this time was no different. While her brain shifted into overdrive, spitting out a dozen reasons why they couldn't afford to be so blasé about the whole situation, her heart was busy tugging her in a different direction. One that whispered to her that he might have a point. Not every decision had to be based in logic - she'd slowly begun to realize that. Sometimes you just had to go with your gut.

"And besides," Mulder suddenly blurted into the silence, "who else would put up with my sorry ass?"

Strange how the simplest phrase could be the deciding factor in such a life-altering decision. He wasn't being facetious, despite the joking tone of his voice. He honestly believed that she was the only one who'd ever understand him, who'd willingly accept him for all that he was. Who'd see that what he did made a difference. And though there were times when she'd wondered if someone more open to extreme possibilities might be better for him, she knew in her heart that no one could ever feel about him the way she did. And no one could ever challenge, respect, trust, and complete her the way Mulder did.

“You made me a whole person.”

Isn't that what it came down to in the end? Wasn't that all that really mattered? Suddenly, nothing was more important to her than that he know what was in her heart.

"I want you to know something," she told him. "And I want you to listen to me very carefully." Mulder gazed at her with cautious chameleon eyes. "I want you to know that no matter what happens now, one thing will never change. What you do makes a difference. I know it doesn't seem like it most of the time, but it does. You have to believe that. And I want you to know how proud I am to be a part of that. You're an honorable man, Mulder, and you lead an honorable life. And I want you to know I'd be proud to be a part of that, too. In whatever form it takes."

She watched his face carefully as she spoke, cataloguing every emotion that passed over it. There were many things to see there, as he nervously chewed his lip and took in her words. But what she was left with was a mixture of tenderness and pride that nearly made her dizzy.

Mulder opened his mouth a few times before he finally got anything to come out. "Can I…" His brow furrowed and he cleared his throat and tried again. "Can I just hold you, Scully? For a minute?"

She reached for him, and they both stood, knowing that the limited contact they'd have otherwise wouldn't satisfy either of them. She went easily into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin, her arms wrapped around his waist. He held her loosely for a moment before tightening his arms and drawing her even closer. They stood toe to toe, touching everywhere it was possible to touch, the contact sweet and heavy with the promise of things to come.

Mulder dipped his head until it rested against hers. His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath and then released it with a ragged sigh. "God, you feel so good. So good."

She tightened her arms around him, wanting nothing more than to be enveloped by him, held in his warm and welcoming embrace for as long as he'd let her. Judging by his remark, that could end up being a good long while.

And that was okay. It was better than okay.

"You know what, Scully?" he murmured against her hair.

"What’s that, Mulder?"

"Someday soon we're gonna have really phenomenal sex."

Maybe even sooner than he thought.

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

The End

Nope, no sequel planned. Live with it.