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e-m-p-error · 6 months

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Hello, Goodbye, It Was Nice To Know You

Ostello's death fic. Put under a cut for length.

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, M/M, AU - Canon Divergent, Intersex Valentino, Briefly Mentioned Smut, Murder, Death, Angels & Demons, Blood, Cheating Mention, Weapon, Blade, OC: Ostello, Overlord OC

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“Hey, Baby!” Ostello's voice was as rich and filled with love as it always was as he closed the front door to their penthouse behind him. Just like he did every day, he strolled in the door precisely fifteen minutes after seven. Just like he did every day, he made a beeline for his wife, finding Valentino in one of his usual haunts in the house. Pulling him into the same giddy kiss he'd been given every day for the last eight years, Ostello twirled the taller Sinner as per usual.

“Mmm, good evening,” Valentino's worn-out reply was tight, clipped in a way that showed his agitation. He was tired. Tired of routine, tired of feeling stagnant, tired of Ostello and the monotony of their marriage.

If only he had found out about his husband's biggest, best-kept secret. It just might have saved his life.

“How was your day, Beautiful?” The badger asked as he dipped his lover in his arms for another kiss. It was with all of the barely-there restraint Valentino scraped off of the bottom of his skull that he didn't let his eyes roll out of his head.

“You know how it is,” The same shit on a different day.

He was so... Tired.

“Can I make it any better?”

No.

“What did you have in mind, Hot Shot?”

“I think we could both use a little TLC.” Ostello's promise stood stories above the actual act he was initiating, and Valentino knew this routine well. Ostello would kiss him to his back on the bed and they would rock and grunt for a few minutes. It would be tender in a way that turned his stomach, gentle in ways he didn't want. Everything about it would make him pray for someone else to show up, for a different partner to liven up his life. He would wait for tomorrow with bated breath, for his devoted but lackluster husband to leave so he could invite someone to bed that knew what they were doing.

As expected, he spent the next half hour on his back, only managing an orgasm by sheer power of will. The badger worked himself up until he finally came deep inside his lover, whose hand on his own cock was the only thing helping him maintain his erection. A few more pumps and he was spent, but not so much sated. His libido was an ancient and terrible curse, and one man with one position had never and would never mean more than a drop in a bathtub of his unbridled lust.

Valentino got up when Ostello lay panting beside him, filled with his warm fuzzies and seemingly having no idea of his wife's utter and complete boredom. Valentino wrapped himself in his silky red robe trimmed in feathers, slid his feet into his fuzzy, three-inch heeled house slippers, and went to the bathroom. As he did every night, he took in the dissatisfied expression he fed himself in the mirror with disdain.

Sinners could only be killed by a holy weapon, but Ostello and his damned routine were worse than a second death.

Truthfully, Valentino didn't hate the man. He was afforded a glamorous existence, he was married to a successful musician, and he had countless love songs written for him that had topped charts one on top of the other. Valentino couldn't have been more famous in Hell if he'd tried!

But he didn't want to live in the shadow of a man that couldn't satisfy him. If he had to eke out a meager existence, then he would do so on his own terms. Living in infamy would be better than slaving himself to this monotony.

As he plucked his false eyelashes from his eyelids, he knew what he was going to do. There was no questioning it, no talking himself down from it, now. Tonight was the night.

Tonight, it was finally time to reap what he'd sown eight years ago by marrying this idiot. It had never been about love for Valentino. His marriage to Ostello had been one of convenience, one that served a grander purpose in his escalation to the top. It was little more than a hesitant step in the right direction. When it came right down to it, he didn't know why he'd put up with this for so damn long. All he could think about these days was what lay ahead of him when Ostello was dead and buried.

The same couldn't be said for Ostello. He had become instantly infatuated with Valentino upon meeting him. Like a man possessed, he sought the moth's attention, his happiness, and finally his hand in marriage. Valentino's acceptance had been the highlight of his entire existence, both alive and dead.

There would never be anything else that would top that moment for him. Nothing except waking up every morning to see his beautiful wife lying in bed with him, lips slightly parted in his sleep. Seeing him light up for his many, many expensive gifts, or watching the light in his eyes when he was given another public serenading.

Most of the Pride ring, Valentino thought, must be as tired of it as he was. Ostello was a man filled with passion, but his passions vented in ways Valentino didn't see himself entertaining for the rest of his afterlife. He couldn't do it anymore. There was nothing left for Ostello.

Tonight was the night.

Tonight, he'd be free.

His whole world would begin to come together in one fell swoop of the holy spearhead he'd smuggled out of his husband's weapons dealing hoard. Usually, Ostello kept the angelic weaponry under lock and key, but if anyone could gain access to these things, it was Valentino. He could do no wrong in the eyes of his thoroughly bewitched husband, and he would continue to do no wrong until he had ascended the stairway to Godhood.

Ostello was always a sleepy thing once they were finished. He had a habit of taking a short nap after he came, which usually gave Valentino time to shower. While the thought of doing it while the badger slept peacefully in their marital bed was one that glanced off of his brain, he decided against it quickly. He wanted to see the betrayed look, the sheer terror in Ostello's eyes as the one he loved plunged a blade deep into his chest. All he wanted, now, was a good chance to catch the badger off-guard.

It wouldn't be hard when he woke up, lazy and slow in the evening light from the pentagram shining through the window. He wouldn't be surprised to find Ostello admiring it from where he lay. The man could wax poetic about anything at all at the drop of a hat, and Valentino didn't doubt that he'd find something to say about it that he'd said a million times before. Ostello was a creature of habit.

Aside from his vices, Valentino hated settling into a habit. He wanted excitement, panache, passion, and a desperate yearning for new things, experiences, people, and places. This marriage had been doomed from the start, and every boring, bedroom lovemaking session was another nail in the badger's coffin.

Valentino left the bathroom after he had cleaned himself up, strutting in his robe and heels to where he'd stashed his weapon. He'd been planning this for some weeks now, and the time had finally come. Tonight was the culmination of his boredom with his routine, and tomorrow would come the spoils of his war with monotony.

When Ostello woke, dazed and still reeling from the sensation of getting to be with his wife, Valentino lay out on the bed beside him. The lingerie he wore was white and insanely detailed with embroidery and stitching that made him look like royalty. There was a tuille half-skirt around his hips, and down his thighs stretched a pair of black fishnets.

“You look beautiful, Pidge.” The badger purred, his smile tender and his gaze soft, “Any special occasion?”

“Yeah, actually.” Valentino nodded, slowly sliding up onto Ostello's hips and leaning down to kiss him. His upper left hand slipped beneath the pillow and he grabbed the weapon, wrapping his fingers tightly around what he would call the hilt. The staff was missing, leaving behind only the metal that held it together, but that was fine. He could handle holding it as long as he didn't cut himself.

“What's the—” Ostello didn't get to finish his sentence. Another kiss distracted him, and then he was met with the intense burn of something plunged between his ribs on the right side. It jerked in deeper and he gagged on dark, bubbling blood that pooled in his mouth. It dripped down the side of his face, and he gazed up at Valentino with shock and horror in his eyes.

“...didn't h-hafta... End li'this.” He barely managed to cough out the words before a blinding white light filled the room. Valentino hadn't been prepared, squeezing his eyes shut against its influence, hoping not to be too entranced. Bright lights always called to him in ways he couldn't explain, being a moth.

After a moment, he felt Ostello's muscled body drop away from him, and he sat in a pile of ash that had been his now ex-husband just seconds prior.

So, this was what freedom tasted like. He breathed deep, the heavy scent of burned flesh and fur still in the air. Acrid and disgusting as it was, it marked a new chapter in his life.

With Ostello dead and gone, Valentino was finally free to do as he pleased, to do whoever he pleased. This newfound lease on his afterlife was going to be just the thing that he needed to lift himself not only out of the dumps but into high society. The death of an Overlord heralded a new one rising in his place. All would come to fear and respect his name in due time.

After all, there wasn't a more important Sinner in Hell than Valentino. Nobody else compared to his stunning beauty, his deceitful ways, his wicked mind, and his starvation for more. Always, always more. Too much would never be enough. His hunger for everything would never be quenched, like his sexual appetite. In all things, he was a greedy, cruel thing who thought little of the lives, wants, and needs of others.

Now, all he had to do was continue his plan. Arkadious would be his next victim, he'd already decided. After him, Mournique would fall, and then Gerouda, before he hit his magnum opus. Vox, and then Alastor, would fall to his hand just as the rest would, and his hostile takeover of Pentagram City would be complete until he required the next big thing to keep himself entertained.

For now, though, he would rest. Moving on autopilot as he contemplated his new existence, he changed the sheets on the bed himself for once. Humming one of Ostello's songs written just for him, he smoothed out the fresh silken sheets and smiled. Free. He was finally, unequivocally, and happily free. Never again would he fall victim to something so dangerously boring as a routine. He was wild, he was spontaneous, and he was, above all else, free.

#MY WRITING ➽➽➽#HEADCANONS ➽➽➽#I Love You Oh So Madly But I Don’t Stand A Ghost Of A Chance With You (σѕтєℓℓσ)#And If You Get In My Face Then You’ll Get A Taste Even God Would Run Son (ναℓєитιиσ)#You’ll Fall Down A Hole That’s The One Place In This World That We Both Know (Valentino 💔 Ostello)

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razieltwelve · 1 year

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An Unconventional Christmas

“I refuse to believe that Santa is a necromancer.”

Timmy looked down – way down – at Katie and gave her a smile so sympathetic she had to fight the urge to kick her master in the shins. She was wearing a pair of fluffy bunny slippers – black, of course, to maximise her intimidation factor – so all she would accomplish was hurting her toes.

“Katie, if you think about it, it makes perfect sense.”

“How does it make any sense at all?” Katie reached out with one hand to keep Spot from diving onto the slices of pineapple on her plate. The dragon had been eyeing them for a while now, and his stomach had finally gotten the better of his manners. “Spot, these are mine.”

But there’s no more pineapple left. Despite being a fiery harbinger of doom, Spot managed to make a sound so adorable that she had no choice but to hand over her pineapple. It was amazing how cute he could be when he wasn’t eating bandits or setting pirates on fire. Naturally, he ruined the picture of adorableness by devouring the pineapple with all the grace of a rabid badger. He then turned his attention to Gerald who had been picking at a peach.

Catching the dragon’s eye, Old Man offered him some of his vegetables. Spot responded with a comical expression of horror that drew a chuckle from both Amanda and Daerin. Avraniel, meanwhile, was adding some gravy to her roast beef, but not before slipping a portion to Chomp who trotted off to enjoy his treat by the fireplace. Not far away, Sam had decided to skip dinner in favour of going straight to dessert, which was a Christmas pudding.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Her master struck a thoughtful pose and took a long sip of his water. She prepared herself for an argument that would be equal parts insane and utterly convincing. He was an expert on toeing that line, as many a merchant could attest to after meeting defeat when attempting to haggle against him. “Let us begin by considering what we know about Santa. First of all, Santa is supposed to be a jolly fat man who dresses quite outlandishly in red and white.”

“That hardly makes him a necromancer.”

“On the contrary, only a necromancer could dress so garishly and pull it off.”

Katie opened her mouth to reply and then remembered what some of the other necromancers had been wearing at the most recent convention. Garish did not even begin to cover it. “Maybe,” she conceded.

“Santa also rides a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer.”

But reindeers don’t fly. Spot pointed out.

“Santa’s reindeers do,” her master replied. “And since I’ve never heard of any other magical flying reindeer, there must be something special about them.”

“And how does that prove he’s a necromancer?” Katie asked.

“Let me ask you this, Katie: if you wanted to, could you make flying reindeer?”

“Well… I guess.” Katie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I mean… reindeers can’t fly on their own, but if you added some pegasus wings, they could fly. Actually, wyvern wings might be better, as long as size isn’t an issue.”

Her master raised one eyebrow.

“Wait!” Katie cried. “The stories don’t say anything about his reindeer having wings.”

“You’re right, but we both know that stories don’t always get the facts straight. After all, look at Spot. If you believe all the stories, dragons are nothing more than merciless engines of doom and horror.”

Katie watched as Spot slithered over to Avraniel to beg for some of her beef. “I guess…” Spot was not doing a very good impersonation of a merciless engine of doom and horror. “What about Santa’s sleigh, then, how would that fly?”

“Maybe he knows a good dwarf,” Daerin said. “My people built a flying city. I’m sure we could throw together a flying sleigh if the pay was right. Heck, with zombie reindeer-pegasi, the sleigh would only have to float. The zombies would provide the propulsion.”

“…” Katie’s eye twitched. She wanted to say that her master’s argument was insane, that there was no way Santa could be a necromancer. Yet, once again, he was showing why he was a Grand Necromancer. He could use his formidable intelligence to discern the most carefully hidden schemes of his enemies… or to argue for utterly ridiculous ideas in ways that seemed ironclad. “How about Santa’s sack full of presents? It would have to be way bigger on the inside than the outside to fit all of the gifts.”

Her master merely smiled and nodded at Gerald.

The bureaucrat blinked. “Huh? What about me?”

“Instead of a magical sack, all Santa would need is someone like Gerald. I’m sure his magic could fit all of the gifts,” her master said.

Katie fought the urge to scream. Her master’s voice was perfectly calm, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes that let her know that he knew exactly what he was doing. “Then how would Santa know if children have been good or bad?”

“Zombie critters. Lots of them. Think about how many people I can keep track of with zombie squirrels and zombie pigeons.”

Katie took a deep breath and then spoke with absolute certainty. “Santa is not a necromancer.”

Her master’s lips twitched. “You’re right. No normal necromancer could be Santa. He’d have to be a Grand Necromancer, one whose ability to command multiple zombies with incredible precision was far above the norm. He would also need to have some like Gerald around, as well as a dwarf with connections to a certain flying city.” He paused. “You see, Katie, the truth is… I’m Santa.”

“…” Katie stared. “You are not Santa.”

“Oh really? Then where did I go wrong with my argument? After all, haven’t you noticed that I disappear for a while every Christmas Eve just before your present appears?”

“You are not Santa!” Katie insisted. “You… you…” The logical part of her mind was trying and failing to come up with a good counter argument. The less logical part was screaming about how her master was only doing this because he thought it was hilarious.

“You’re right.” Her master nodded. “I’m not Santa.”

“I knew it!” she cried.

“Or am I?”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Merry Christmas, everyone. May your Christmas stocking be full to overflowing, and may good tidings and good cheer be all you know.

The characters in this snippet are from The Unconventional Heroes Series.

P. S. Timmy is totally not Santa. The thing Katie missed is that he has no way of travelling fast enough to reach every child in the world. He deliberately left that point for last knowing that his other points would likely distract her enough for her to not notice, allowing him to skip it. Give her a few minutes. She’ll notice the flaw and then leap onto her chair and jab her finger at him. At which point, he’ll argue that Santa is actually a secret cabal of Grand Necromancers working together.

P. P. S. It is possible that Santa is actually a certain cosmic guinea pig. He actually does have the power to pull it off and is precisely the sort of person to do it because he thinks it’s funny.

#original fiction #the unconventional heroes series #christmas

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ecto-stone · 3 years

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You forgot ur Emergency Vampire Slayer kit uncle Vlad

#hachi art #I want badger slipper man #and glow in the dark fruitloop slipper too #Vlad Masters #danny fenton

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savannah-5555 · 2 years

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“Falling Fast”

written for @call-me-the-cassie for the holidays! Jily fluff for the prompt, “Person A waiting at person B's bedside for them to wake up after an injury/accident/illness”. I’m such a dork and forgot my FFnet password, but will post there later!

~5k words, rated T for kissing

Happy holidays! xx

The energy of the Gryffindor common room was abuzz with a jittering excitement with anticipation for tomorrow’s semi-final match against Hufflepuff for a chance to play for the Quidditch cup. Lily and Mary had sprawled out in front of a roaring fire-place to create a large banner. Mary, the artist, was meticulously outlining the head of a large lion that was going to bare its teeth while roaring.

“It’s too cute,” Dorcas told them from the couch, “It needs to be more ferocious.”

“You could help you know,” Mary said crossly, waving her want to undo her last few brush strokes, beginning again.

“I’m supervising,” Dorcas lounged back on the couch, interlacing her fingers behind her head, “You’re the artist, I’m a creative director.”

Lily rolled her eyes as she began to fill in the big bold script, GO GRYFFINDOR! She rolled up the sleeves of her maroon jumper, sitting back on her knees to observe her script. “This is about where my artistic abilities stop.”

“What about this?” Mary’s head turned back to Dorcas who gave an approving nod before saying, “What are your thoughts about having a badger in between its teeth…?”

“Absolutely not,” Mary laughed, “McGonagall would kill us.”

“Yeah, but she would laugh first,” Lily giggled, scrunching her nose, “Do you think Marlene is still at practice? They’ve been down there a while.”

“Say what you mean,” Mary nudged Lily who had to reach out a hand to prevent herself from toppling over, “We know you haven’t been checking the portrait-way every five minutes because you want to know where Marlene is.”

Lily flushed deeply scarlet, “It’s getting late!”

“Probably because a certain quidditch captain that you happen to be snogging is probably running them into the ground with last minute strategy drills,” Dorcas wiggled her eyebrows in Lily’s direction. Lily took the opportunity to resume her work on the banner, adding swirling banners to outline their banner.

“I’ll have you know, he happens to be a fantastic snogger,” Lily did not look up at her friends who were making kissing noises behind her back.

“I’d hope so with the amount of time you two have been sneaking around,” Dorcas chided.

“We have not been sneaking-”

“Dee, if you’re going to be running your mouth, you have to help,” Mary directed Dorcas to the paint brushes, “You can start filling this guy in.”

Dorcas slunk off the couch, heaping the burnt yellow paint onto her brush as she started filling in a textured pattern into his mane. The fire crackled cheerily next to the trio as they filled in their lion.

“Hey Evans!” Sirius Black strolled down the staircase from the boys dormitory, pocketing a small mirror into his pajama pants pocket. Sirius’ black hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, some straggling strands framing his face. A red shirt was draped over one of his shoulders. He sauntered over to them, “Nice work ladies,” he nodded appreciatively towards their banner.

“Can I help you Black?” Lily lifted her eyes to acknowledge Sirius for a brief moment before returning to her work.

“Just wanted to let you know your mans is done driving our team into the ground and will be up in a few,” Sirius extended a slippered foot to tap her shoulder for full attention.

“If he’s anyone’s man, he’s yours,” Lily gave Sirius her most saccharine smile before pushing his foot away.”

Sirius deftly re-gained his footing, “If you say so… nice jumper by the way. Is it new?”

Lily looked down to the cream color knit she was wearing, three-times her size and did not bother to dignify Sirius' comment with an answer. Clearly proud of himself for flustering Lily, Sirius opened his mouth to continue to prod at her.

“Same rules for you, Black,” Mary cut him off, “If you’re gonna run your mouth you have to help.”

“I’m done, I’m done,” Sirius held his hands up, backing away until the back of his knees contacted the couch and he lounged back.

“So matching jerseys tomorrow?” Dorcas asked her friends, “Me and Mare have Marlene’s extras and you’re wearing Potter’s, yeah?” she directed to Lily.

Lily was so taken aback that she failed to miss the side-grin Dorcas threw to Sirius.

“Oh, erm, well, no I thought I was going to wear Marlene’s with you two? For solidarity?” Wearing a boy’s jersey seemed awfully couple-y and though Lily had assumed she and James were exclusive, they had yet to clearly define their relationship. They were definitely dating, she mused internally. Technically their first date to Hogsmeades since they moved past “only friends” was a group hang-out, but then her girlfriends had decided to go dress shopping while they were enroute to Honeydukes. Shortly afterwards, Remus told them he reported he had developed a stomach ache and Sirius offered to walk with him back to the castle. Peter had detention and had not been able to join them.

This had left her and James to spend their afternoon alone together. As they walked out of Honeydukes to head to a late lunch at the Three Broomsticks, James had said, “Evans, you dropped this.” Lily turned to him, hand extended when he interlaced his fingers with hers. “Real smooth,” she laughed but did not let go. By the end of their date she had kissed him. And by the end of the evening, he had kissed her several more times.

“Nah they only get three each,” Sirius told her, “But you know… that would leave James with two extras. So lucky for you….” his eyebrows wiggled as he pulled the garment off his shoulder and threw it at Lily so it covered her face, “Ta-daaaaa!” He proceeded to fully recline into the couch, arms interlaced behind his head.

Lily pulled the offending article of clothing off her face to fully look at it, right as the Gryffindor quidditch team trudged through the portrait hole.

“Alright team, hit the showers and get to bed,” James instructed as he ushered them through into the common room.

“Alright DAD,” Marlene rolled her eyes, “We’re going we’re going.” She strode in the direction of her friends in front of the fire, “Whatcha got there, Lil?”

“--oh erm, it’s nothing–,” Lily quickly lowered the scarlet jersey with thick gold stitching reading “POTTER” across the chest.

“Don’t worry, Prongs” Sirius called out, his eyes shut, a playful smirk on his face, “I did it so you don’t have to get your knickers in a twist all night debating the issue.”

“What’re you going off–” James walked over, stopping behind Sirius, his eyes moving towards Lily and then to the object in her hands.

“Sorry I didn’t–”

“--Oh you don’t have to wear–”

“He just threw it–”

“--it’s fine–”

“--I don’t have to wear–”

Lily focused her attention to James’ left ear, unable to fully look him in the face. He had not asked her to wear his jersey, and clearly he had not asked Sirius to give it to her. Maybe this was too much too soon for them. Her heart sank in her chest at the thought that he might not want her to wear it.

“Perfect!” Mary’s voice interjected over their embarrassed stammers, “Now we all have jerseys for tomorrow. Thanks for lending it, James.” She said it with a finality that James knew better than to backtrack.

“Thanks for lending it, Sirius,” Sirius corrected her, “No one credits me with anything around here.”

“Thank you very much, Sirius,” James’ tone was clipped though his smile stayed easy-going. Sirius yelped as James clapped him on the shoulder a little too hard.

“Don’t you have to shower and go to bed now?” Sirius asked him, “Would be a bit hypocritical for you to stay up and hang out after ordering the rest of the team around, yeah?”

James ignored Sirius, “G’night everyone. Banner looks awesome by the way.” He waved at everyone and threw Lily a wink before heading for the boys’ dormitory.

Lily scurried up from her knees to follow-him, heart hammering against her chest with embarrassment from her friends’ antics.

“James-wait up!” She caught him on the fourth step up.

“Hey,” James’ face lit up when he turned to see her come after him.

“What? No goodnight kiss? Afraid I might jinx you?” she teased him, gently pushing one of his shoulders.

“Nah, if anything you’re my good luck charm,” James took a step down to bring their faces closer together. His hand found her waist as he pulled her towards him and pressed his lips against hers. His lips warm and inviting against hers and she felt herself smile into him.

“Sorry about Sirius,” James pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, “He can be a prat when he wants to be.”

“I don’t have to–”

“--I wanted to ask you–”

They both stopped mid-sentence again. Lily bit her lip and looked down to the jersey in her hands.

“Can I wear this tomorrow?” Lily tried again, looking up to meet James’ eyes.

“I would love it if you wore my jersey, Evans,” James kissed her again.

“Great,” her butterflies subsided substantially.

“Great,” he repeated, kissing her hairline, his hand squeezing her hip, “I hate to do this, but I do have to head up, you know. ‘Lead by example’ and whatnot.”

“Of course,” Lily reached her arms to encircle his neck and hug him close, “G’night, James.”

“Night, Lil.” Lily watched as his form disappeared around the spiral staircase. Thank Merline for quidditch pants, she thought as she rejoined her friends.

***********

“March definitely went out like a lion,” Lily yelled over the roar of wind combined with the whoops of the Gryffindor student section. Her hair was whipping across her face, as she jumped up and down supporting the top right corner of their sign. She felt exceptionally thankful that she and Remus had perfected their warming charms back in January. Lily, Mary, and Dorcas would have never been able to ditch their robes and display Marlene and James’ quidditch jerseys without it. Fan behavior, Sirius had joked when they all headed out to the pitch together. That’s the whole point, Black, Mary had pointed out.

“Should be good for us then, eh!” Sirius shouted back to her from his corner of the banner, tapping his wand to their homemade tapestry eliciting a ROARRRR from Mary’s lion. Dorcas jumped, clutching her chest “Oy! Give a girl a warning will you?”

“Interesting strategy for Gryffindor, it appears their seeker is having a trailing chaser this match,” Blake Jordan’s unbothered tenor boomed across the pitch, “Haven’t seen this before, but I’m sure the Gryffindor captain has a method to the madness.”

“You know Lee, it does make a lot of sense to me actually,” Eddie Bones, chimed in on the loudspeaker, “You see, Gryffindor’s offense and Hufflepuff’s defense are very evenly matched. Hufflepuff’s strategy is to distract the young Gryffindor seeker, only his first year on the roster after being pulled up from the developing squad to the main line-up.”

“What do they mean?” Lily called out to her friend group, watching as James flew up to relieve Marlene from her post, two broomstick’s lengths lagging behind Jack Robbins, the Gryffindor seeker. James appeared to yell some words of encouragement to Jack who’s flight pattern became more determined as his shoulders squared and picked up his speed.

“Those bastard badgers have been pelting bludgers at Robbins all game,” Dorcas turned her head towards Lily, cupping her hands so that her voice would carry, “James is sacrificing a chaser to make sure that he doesn’t get hit.”

“So he can focus on finding the snitch without worrying so much about where the bludgers are coming from,” Sirius added. “Robbins took a pretty big hit last year on the practice squad and hasn’t been able to fully shake it off.”

“How did he make it on the team then?” Lily’s brow furrowed as her eyes tracked James and Jack across the quidditch pitch.

“Prongs says he has the best broomstick control out of anyone in the school.”

As if on cue, Lily made out a brief shouted command from James and Jack pulled his broomstick up to a vertical 90 degree angle narrowly avoiding collision with a bludger. The Gryffindor student section let out a collective exhale of relief.

“Marlene thinks if Robbins can get his confidence up, he’d rival Evan Rosier,” Dorcas made a face mentioning the seventh year Slytherin seeker, “Evan may be a prick, but he is objectively the best seeker out of all four houses.”

“10 points to Gryffindor!” Eddie called out to the crowd, “Gryffindor now leads 60-50.”

“Both teams are evenly matched, it will likely come down to who can find the snitch.”

Doesn’t it always? Lily thought to herself. Who made up this scoring system anyway? It truly did not make any sense to her, no matter how many times Marlene or James tried to explain it.

“More like it will come down to whether or not Hufflepuff is able to knock Jackie Boy off his broom,” Bones said, sounding almost excited, “No professor, obviously I don’t want that. I am an unbiased consummate professional.”

“Bones you pompous bastard!” Sirius cursed the announcer, his voice lost in the wind.

The chasers on both sides were beginning to pick up. While down one player, the Gryffindor chasers battled ferociously with Hufflepuff’s three. Both teams vied for the lead, neither advancing more than a score or two ahead of the other.

“ROBBINS HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH!” Blake yelled, “Robbins has spotted the snitch and Wiseman is caught with his pants down at the opposite side of the pitch.”

Jack easily had half a pitch or more advance on the Hufflepuff seeker as he raced towards the small flitting ball, arm extended. James maintained half a broomstick length between himself and Jack, closely monitoring the snitch’s patterns and Jack’s own. He was anticipating both of their movements, in an effort to prevent himself from impeding the seeker’s path.

Out of nowhere, a bludger cut off James’ path, only just missing the tail end of Jack’s broom. Lily could practically hear James’ curse as he was forced to drop back three broom lengths from Jack.

“Come on boys! You’ll have to aim better than that!” Eddie yelled, “I mean- sorry professor it was instinctual- Hufflepuff’s beater’s are the last line of defense if they want to advance to the quidditch final.”

Jack turned into a pencil dive following the snitch as it made a beeline for the ground. Two-hundred feet. One-hundred. Fifty. If anything, Jack was only accelerating in his downward trajectory.

“WATCH OUT!”

“NOOO!”

“JACK!!”

In vain, the Gryffindor student section attempted to warn their seeker from the impending collision of a second bludger screaming towards Jack from an angle that was most definitely a blind spot for the fourth year.

As if in a sickening slow motion, the bludger hurtled towards Jack, completely unaware, hand outstretched his fingers barely grazing the snitch.

There was a sickening crunch as the bludger made contact-- with the Gryffindor captain. James had launched himself off of his broom, fully laid out, his abdomen absorbing the brunt of bludger’s impact. The momentum knocked him into the back of Jack’s broom sending the seeker’s broom into a tailspin, only moments after Jack had secured the snitch in his hand- confirmed by Madam Hooch’s whistle signifying a Gryffindor victory.

Lily screamed, horrified as James’ body flew ten feet in through the air, before thudding to the ground. “Evans!” Sirius was suddenly in front of her, hands firmly gripping her shoulders together, “He’s going to be fine, Evans!”

No, he was most certainly not going to be fine. He was most certainly going to have several broken ribs, and Merlin, after that fall maybe even a broken neck. Lily couldn’t focus, she could see Sirius' face in front of hers, his mouth moving, she could hear him yelling something but was unable to comprehend a thing he was saying.

“Lily, it’s ok Lily!” Mary joined Sirius, trying to reassure their friend. Time was moving in slow motion. She felt her friends shaking her by the shoulders, trying to snap her out of shock.

“He’s- he’s-,” Lily stammered, James’ fall on replay in her mind.

“He’s going to be fine,” Sirius spoke slowly.

“How can you say that?” Lily demanded, she shoved herself out of Sirius grasp and made her way to the front of the stands. Madam Pomfery had already moved James’ body onto a magicked stretcher that was zooming towards the hospital wing.

“Evans, it’s quidditch, this sort of thing happens.” Sirius clapped her on the back, “But it is touching how much you are concerned for ole Prongsie.”

“Of course I’m concerned, you prat!” Lily rounded on him, “Why did he do that?”

“The guy is a competitive animal coupled with a hero complex,” Sirius told her, “And he made the right call for his team! We won!” Sirius gestured his hands towards the pitch, where the rest of their house was storming the field, as if to add, “And we should be down there celebrating!

“I know you’re probably thinking of muggle sport injuries,” Remus joined them behind Sirius, “But James will probably join the Gryffindor party in an hour, two at the most. This type of thing is the least of Poppy’s worries.”

“Why isn’t anyone else more worried?” Lily demanded. The winds had picked up and she found herself shouting to be heard. Her red hair whipped across her face frantically, her hands scrambling to push it out of her eyes. Lily felt as if her heart was trying to escape her ribcage and felt the thundering vibrations of her heartbeat in her ears. The sound made her nauseous, it was like a sick re-imaging of James colliding with the ground over and over and over. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

She was losing the visual of James’ stretcher as it smoothly glided up the rolling hills towards the castle. Her mind was relaying between the horrific memory of James’ injury and catastrophizing what might happen to him next.

“Of course we’re worried!” Sirius exasperatedly balled in hands, an attempt on maintaining his composure. “But you are freaking out and if I show any real panic, you will freak out more and if you die of a panic attack, Prongs is gonna kill me.”

It would not be until later that evening when the full gravity of Sirius' statement hit Lily. Lily’s eyes were fixed on the stretcher as it passed through the castle’s archway and James was fully out of sight.

“Lil, do you want to go check on him?” Mary had joined them at the rails of the stands, “I’ll go with you.”

“Please Evans, go check on your boyfriend and then get ready for the world’s biggest I told you so at our after party.” Sirius winked on her, unsuccessfully dodging the swat Lily amed at his shoulder.

***********

Go check on your boyfriend. Sirius’ words replayed over and over in Lily’s head as she followed Mary towards the hospital wing. The biting chill of the wind was not missed as they entered the castle. Her boyfriend. She supposed that it was fair to say that James was her boyfriend. They had been exclusively dating for over a month now, but neither of them had used the “b” or “g” word yet.

“For Mr. Potter?” Madam Pomfery asked as the two girls dressed in Gryffindor pride entered the hospital wing. When they nodded, she pointed towards a bed in the corner, with the curtain drawn, “It looks worse than the extent of the injuries.” Madam Pomfery led them towards James’ bed, “He suffered several broken ribs, a broken shoulder, sprained neck injury and some moderate internal bleeding. I assure you he and Mr. Black have sustained worse injuries doing who knows what. All the same he is currently mending and I expect him to re-awaken in the next,” she looked down at her watch, “Eight minutes.”

Madam Pomfery slid the curtain open, “For Merlin’s sake.”

Lily’s eyes did a quick sweep of James’ shirtless torso on the bed. She watched in amazement as some yellowed bruises slowly faded away, a sign that the healing tonics he had taken were in full effect.

“Somehow the boy always manages to take his shirt off,” Madam Pomfery shook her head, leaving Lily and Mary at the bedside. Given the severity of his injuries, less than thirty minutes ago, James looked like he could have been taking a Saturday afternoon cat-nap.

“Why don’t I give you two some alone time,” Mary gently squeezed Lily’s hand, backing away from James’ hospital station.

“Oh no you don’t have to -” Lily started.

“Everything’s gonna be fine Lil. And I’m not really keen to watch your reunion snog, no offense,” she winked. Lily laughed weakly, hugging her friend, “Thanks for coming here with me.”

“See you back in the common room?” Mary began to pull the curtain closed as she left.

“Yes for sure,” Lily told her.

Cautiously, as though trying not to disturb him, she gently pulled out the stool to have a seat next to him. She eyed James' quidditch jersey on the floor from where he must’ve pulled it off while he was going under the sedating tonics. Copying Madam Pomfery, she rolled her eyes before folding and setting it atop the bedside table next to his glasses. It occurred to her that she had never actually seen James sleeping before and she blushed at the thought of them spending the night together, I wouldn’t mind falling asleep next to this.

Settling onto the stool next to his bedside, Lily reached for one his hands, holding it in hers. Her eyes traced his face, letting them travel down his body. Stop oggling an injured man, she reprimanded herself, even if he is bloody gorgeous. With her free hand, she leaned forward to sweep his bangs across his forehead. James had always enjoyed it when she played with his hair. She continued her rhythmic motions, running her fingers through his windswept curls completely unaware as James’ breathing deepened and he began to stir, eyes slowly opening.

A smile bloomed on his face when he realized who was greeting him. Lily smiled back, retrieving his glasses from the bedside table and gently setting them on his face. He captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, before groaning and sitting up on the bedside to face her, his knees knocking against hers.

“Nice jersey,” Lily blushed under James’ gaze, as he surveyed her before him in his jersey, “You look good wearing my name.”

“Hi,” Lily breathed, placing both her hands on his knees she leaned forward to press a kiss to his mouth.

“Hi,” James repeated, Lily felt his smile beneath her lips.

“You really know how to drive a girl wild, Potter,” she told him.

“It was a fairly glorious wipeout,” James grinned up at her, leaning back on his hands, arms extended. The bed springs faintly groaned with his weight shift. “Not entirely pleasant, but I do what I can for my team.”

“Gloriously horrible,” Lily corrected, “I thought- I was worried that you were going to be terribly injured.”

“Look at me, good as new,” James laughed, flexing his pectoral muscles at her.

“Merlin, you’re annoying,” Only slightly amused at his arrogance, Lily pushed at his shoulder, tipping him slightly off balance. James gasped, doubling over, clutching where she had touched him. Her eyes widened in horror as she gasped, hands clasped over her nose and mouth, “James! I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I forgot- you’re healing.”

James peaked one eye open to look at her, “Only kidding Lils,” he grinned, righting himself again, “But I gotcha pretty good huh?”

“Potter!” She whisper-hissed at him, mindly that Madam Pomfery was probably within ear shot if their voices were raised, “You’re such a- a-a-”

Lily was taken aback as James lunged forward, tugging her into arms so she was sitting across his lap. She struggled not to laugh as he engulfed her into a bear hug, his right arm reaching around her trunk to hold her head holding it in place as he pressed loud, smacking kisses to her cheek.

“I’m such a what?” he goaded her, “You might as well stop attempting to escape,” he squeezed her tighter against him and it was only her pride that prevented her from snuggling into him, “It’s not like I’m ever letting you go,” he chuckled as she huffed in mild annoyance.

“I was so worried about you! And Sirius suggested that I come check on my boyfriend, and you have the audacity to-”

James swiftly inhaled, “What did you just say?”

“I said, I’m sorry that I was so worried about-”

“No, after that… your boyfriend?”

“Yes, his name is James Potter, about 6’3, great snogger, annoying git when he wants to be. Have you heard of him?” Lily smirked as turned her head ninety degrees so that she was facing him. James was holding his face in a carefully constructed neutral position, any hint of duress hidden except for the shift in his cheek muscle as his jaw tensed.

“I’ve never called myself your boyfriend. And I haven’t said that to Sirius either. Just so you know.” James’ tone was even and measured. And Lily believed him when he said he never mentioned it to Sirius before. Of course he hadn’t, they had never even broached the subject. Oh. Oh. OH. Still encased in his arms and unable to retreat, Lily swung her neck 180 degrees to face as far away from James Potter as she possibly could. She swore internally as she felt the embarrassed flush creep up her neck. She had made a gross miscalculation.

No. She hadn’t. But… maybe… she was in the hospital wing, wearing his jersey that he gave her…no. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He had not offered it to her, Mary and Sirius practically backed him into a corner without giving him the option to say no. He was only being polite. Wearing his jersey would be a total girlfriend move. Whatever she thought they were… apparently they were not that.

“Oh,” Lily started thickly, “I just thought… you know…I thought you were.” She made a move to off his lap, to put some distance between them, but James was having none of that.

He groaned, “Merlin, Evans, I just don’t want to be moving too fast for you. We’ve only been dating for a few weeks-”

“A month and a half.”

“Ok, a month and a half,” James corrected himself, “And I- I really like you even though we’re not even fully official- wait- come back, Evans, come back.”

Lily had continued to try and make a break for her. She kept her face turned away to, trying to hide her shocked and wounded expression.

“What did I say now?” James pulled her back fully into him, her back to his front, his arms encircling her waist, “Sometimes I feel like I’m always putting my foot in my mouth around you.”

“It’s nothing- I-I- ,it’s nothing-”

“Tell me,” James pressed his lips to her cheek, he was warm and her skin was set ablaze where he made contact.

“It’s silly,” Lily worked to keep her voice light, stomach in knots. She forced her face into a more neutral expression, still unable to fully look back at him.

“I’m sure it’s not,” James' lips continued down her neck, “Gods I’m so into you,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Lily swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes tightly shut trying to will herself to tell him the truth,“I just thought that...I thought that we- I mean, I thought that- that I was already your girlfriend.”

She heard his swift inhale as James’ arms stiffened around her, and his mouth left her neck. “What?” his voice suddenly low, serious.

Her traitorous body betrayed her emotion, as the flush crept up her neck. Lily kept her face turned away, opening her eyes, and feeling extremely lucky that there was no other student in the hospital wing. Of course he was hesitant when she had asked him if she could wear his jersey last night. It was very much couple behaviour, and they clearly were not a-

“Lily,” she felt James hand gently press on her cheek, attempting to turn her face towards his, “Come on, please look at me.”

“No,” She could get through this. She would get through this. Not Lily “I’d rather date the giant squid than you” Evans actually feeling crushed that James Potter was rejecting-

“C’mon Lil,” he pleaded. She should face this quickly. Get this over with, a quick and painless severance. Gods, why had she so pressed him to wear his stupid jersey. This was poetic justice. After the fifth year incident, she was going to be turned down while donning his last name across her shoulder. Alright, here goes nothing, RIP me, she thought, turning to look at James and his stupid handsome face, and his stupid beautiful eyes, and stupid kissable lips, and stupid hot body.

“You thought I was your boyfriend?” James asked her incredulously, his hazel eyes flicking quickly across her face.

“Yeah,” Lily answered dumbly, eyes fixed on the wall just to the right of his head, unable to look him fully in the face, “I haven’t done this before, I thought-” James clasped a hand over mouth effectively cutting her off.

“You, Lily Evans, want to be the girlfriend of me, James Potter?” he re-stated slowly, as if he could not believe the words coming from his mouth and moving his face directly in front of her so she had to meet his gaze.

Who gets rejected donning someone else’s last name, honestly? The irony was remarkable.

Just kill me now, Lily thought, she reached up to pull his hand away, “Yes Pott-”

And then his mouth was on hers, a hand pressed firmly to the back of her head holding her close to him. She moved her lips with his, forgetting why she had been so cross just a moment before, angling her body to face him. Her hands grasped his shoulders, holding James to her, his other hand snaking around her waist.

James pulled away first, his smile giddy, “You’re my girlfriend,” he pressed another kiss to her cheek, working his way to her jawline. “And I’m your boyfriend.” His kisses moved towards her chin before returning to her lips once again, “and you’re my girlfriend.” James repeated for emphasis.

“But what about-”

James groaned again, pulling Lily fully into his arms in a crushing hug and she inhaled deeply into his chest, a heady combination of pheromones, amber, and wood.

“Evans, I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since you suggested we study for Ancient Runes together… hang on...did you do that because we are the only two of our friends who take that class? Was that your way of coming on to me?

“I was worried about being too obvious,” she smiled into his chest, “guess not, huh?”

“Definitely not,” James snorted, “And here I was trying not to shite my pants at the thought of– Did you know that I had been debating on asking you to wear my jersey for literal days, maybe weeks–”

“Why didn’t you?” Lily pulled back, her face bemused.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want to or not,” he grinned sheepishly.

Lily threw her head back, laughter tinkling, “My god we’re idiots, aren’t we?”

“Definitely,” James agreed, chuckling as well.

************

Shortly afterwards, when they emerged to join the victory party, they were greeted with the loudest, “I TOLD YOU SO.”

#jily fluff #jily supremacy #james x lily #james potter #lily evans #idiots in love

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 3 years

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Imagine Summoning a Demon Prince 2

PART 1 | PART 3 [NSFW]

Male monster x Female reader {MODERN AU}

Hell Hath No Fury Part 2

Your feet had been aching by the end of the night, bound in glass slippers that felt like a thousand knives every time you walked; the tight corset had restricted your movements.

You couldn’t wait to take it off, but you knew what it would entail.

The demon prince was as comely as the rest of the court he resided in, the ravishments of Hell was far from what you had expected, but it was a rather pleasing surprise. But the court of Hell and it's over-the-top ceremony was somewhat too grand and pomp for you. The demonic aristocrats were overly full of superiority and bored you exceedingly. But… a deal was a deal?

No matter what you had wanted, you had to agree to the prince’s offer, and as much as it pained you to be married so early, the prospect of being married into royalty seemed to be rather fitting.

The black and red emblem dress was shredded by the time you got into your shared apartment with the prince. He was late – not that you eagerly waited for him – you were in fact nervous for what the night would entail, and having to share his quarters were even more intimidating.

The door opened slowly and entered the prince and your husband, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how wonderful he looked. His black wings were pinned straight against his broad back, the muscles in his arms were taut and stiff even in the jacket he wore, black smoke billowing around him as he stormed into the room.

You straightened yourself on your side of the large bed, nervously knotting your hands together for the right words, “Is everything alright?”

He seemed startled by your appearance in his room: as if always not expecting someone there, but alas, the two of you were wedded for eternity, meaning that the thoughts and feelings would have to be shared not kept private.

“Everything is fine, my dear—well, it depends on that,” he huffed. “My father’s council badger me for alliances, the paperwork for controlling over the weak mortals above and their needs. More and more demons are being summoned.”

You couldn’t help but shudder, having felt some relief and pride that you picked the best of the best of demons. “If there is anything I can help with—I know my place in your council would be ill-advised—heck, I don’t even know if I would understand anything-“

You gasped into the solid warm touch of another’s hand cradling the side of your face in there much larger hand, and in that blink of a human second, your demon husband had managed to whip his way to kneel in front of you, his many eyes were soft when they stared into yours.

“You are doing already so much for me, and as my wife, you needn’t be so worried about me.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch, “Hence this is our honeymoon, you shouldn’t be working yet.”

“I’m a busy man,” he chuckled, leaning closer to you. “My father will want my attendance in court.” Great, a honeymoon without the husband. You chewed your bottom lip in heavy thought, but the prince had brought you back to reality quickly. “Though… our honeymoons can always resume when we’re alone? Our evenings shall not be disturbed.”

“Prince Vorrelith—”

“Vorrelith when we’re alone, you remember that, dear.” He whispered in his deep honey voice that made you feel all ways that you didn’t know were possible. You wanted to remain innocent for as long as possible with him, but the thoughts of being claimed by such a towering man were overwhelming your mind.

The only problem was of it being the first time being together like that.

“Vorrelith, my love, I want to please you in every way, but… tonight, I—”

“We shan’t consummate our marriage if that what qualms you, my little wife.” He hummed, pulling you close to him until you had practically straddled his thick waist. “Just say the word, I’m patient, and even if it means waiting for a Millenia, I will never lay a hand on you where you don’t wish to be touched.”

Your cheeks warmed at his confession, smiling fondly to him. “You are too sweet, though, I do ask I may ask I can do one thing.”

His forehead rested against your gently, avoiding his large horns as best as he could, “Anything for you, my dear.”

You silently leant up to reach his lips, where they touched with such warmth it made your heart leap within your chest. Slowly, deeply, you drew the kiss from him as he held you close to his chest before you pulled away, inches from his face.

“I only ask for more of those ‘til the end of time itself.”

He chuckled at that, rolling over to lie on your bed with you curled into his arm, cuddling you lovingly. “I cannot say no to the notion.”

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#demon prince #Demon Boyfriend #demon male #reader x demon monster #exophilia #monster exophilia #demon exophilia #demon oc #demon prince oc #my writing #monster writing #monster imagines #part 2 #demon imagines #female human reader #female reader x male monster

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sanchoyo · 3 years

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danny phantom episode 4-7 Thoughts: (under a readmore because, these got kinda long!)

-the outfit danny had to buy for dash's party. CLASSIC 2000S i cannot stop laughing. And also showing up to the party and everyone is dressed like the trio is hilarious. and further proof that everyone looks good dressed goth.

-dash has a closet full of cute lil bear plushies?? LOVE that. adorable. also his response to danny trashing his room fighting a ghost was SO valid if somone BROKE MY BED IN HALF ID BE PISSED TOO.

-technus being like 'oh smart, u should be a tutor!' then later being like 'forget tutor, be a teacher!' :) supportive king <3 I also really like his upgraded suit/design. AND SPOCK CAMEO??? HELLO??

-the music in this show is super. its so funky. I looked it up and the guy who does it, guy moon (awesome name) also did music for other cartoons like fairly odd parents, barnyard, chalkzone, billy & mandy, AND some actual movies like FIGHT CLUB??? the whiplash I got from reading that)

-sam being rich explains a lot about her, actually.

-I know the moral of the episode was supposed to be 'dont ditch your friends for popular people/spend a lot of money on clothes that arent You to Fit In'. but tbh. it wouldve been easy for danny to have been like 'well, okay, ill come but only if my friends can!' but I get. that hes 14. so. not a lot to say there.

-BOX GHOST IS BACK!!!!! also, danny sitting up and wearing the dress/wig/makeup. umm thats how I dress everyday LMFAO. unironically me. (hate the jokes that boil down to 'haha funney man in dress' tho. but this is a look)

-jazz being protective of her brother once again being like NOOO YOU GUYS BETTER NOT STAKE OUT HIS (actually haunted) LOCKER!! shes aware of how people perceive him and she wants to help :( which is also probably why she told dash to invite him to that party even tho she had no interest in going!! she wants to help him out :(

-gotta say im with tucker on the whole 'should danny use his powers to get back at bullies' debate. 100% yes. let him teach kids to fight back. making dash throw his food at paulina out of the blue? no. but when hes actually about to pick on someone? yeah! for self defense? YEAH! if dash and his friends just threw food at him, I think rather than. idk doing sneaky shit with frogs he couldve just threw it back and not pulled punches if they tried to fight. I kNOOWWW its a kids show so they are like 'if u fight back ur just as bad!! violence bad!!' but. theyre HIS POWERS. WHO CARES.

-like my only gripe is that dash really isnt LEARNING ANYTHING WHEN DANNY GETS BACK AT HIM IN THE MOST PETTY INDIRECT WAYS. whatever they had to add a bully psa episode I guess. I hate it and I hate the way cartoons usually handle it because these methods simply Do Not Work. 'aND YouRE USinG YOur poWErs FOR EVill???!' this is Not Evil. even when poindexter takes dannys body, theyre only being 'nice' bc hes stealing soda for them!! bitches deserve what they get (nothing too brutal bc theyre high schoolers but damn, if they pick on danny he doesnt need to be the 'bigger person' he needs to start biting people)

-SAM TRYING TO SMUGGLE FROGS OUT OF THE BIO LAB?? girl in middle school when we had to dissect frogs we could opt out, also, they came to us already dead and preserved...

-sidney's lingo and the fact hes in black and white is sending me. also, danny is a ghost celebrity apparently for being a halfa?? ok. thats interesting to know

-the DENTIST BEING EXCITED ABOUT THE COTTON CANDY FLOOD IS THE FUNNIEST THING SO FAR.

-I LOOOVE the trope of 'wishes gone wrong'. not crazy about the stereotypical genie, or the use of the dreamcatcher looking design. (also, I KNOW theyre scientists but the way theyre handling a cold...are the fentons ANTIVAX)

-the genie. she. whitewished paulina. JKASDFHKJ. (the ghost literally just being hello kitty???? im dying) 'why do i feel that im special and wonderful? because I AM! <3' paulina ilu self worth queen. felt bad for her also getting possessed by (2) boys later who were arguing INSIDE HER. WTF.

-imagine being the guy trapped in his now flying car. he thought danny and tucker were HALUCINATIONS. imagine being trapped in a flying car with two, what you think are imaginary arguing 14 year olds convinced ur gonna die. i WOULD say this dude is gonna need so much therapy, but he seemed totally fine and excited when they landed (I would be happy too if a chicken was on my head. chickens rule) stoner rights

-sam's bat slippers??? iconic. SO cute.

-I think desiree's backstory is so :( do all ghosts have messed up sad backstories?? poindexter's was sad too...cannot imagine box ghost has any kind of fucked up backstory. but what if. his mom got pushed off cliffs by boxes...........a la cruella... anyway her 'no man may lay a hand on me' iconic. ilu

-I know danny has no concept of how much bras cost but my god dont attack tucker with some girls bra. those are so expensive.

-its really. well its not a GOOD THING he went into the portal and got fucked up, but its good danny was the one to do it rather than sam or tucker. because even tho he was being influenced by desiree and kept getting more malicious and it prob wasnt 100% him...he sucked as a ghost like most the people he 'pranked' were innocent ppl just Chillin and he didnt want to help anyone at all. I think danny is the most responsible out of them but also, hes 14 and shouldnt HAVE to feel obligated to fight every ghost. hes a good kid and wants to, but I also feel like he feels like...responsible for the portal turning on?? because his parents did give it up,, but it was an accident and not his fault (if anything, why was the on switch on the inside. why was it that easy. why was there no safety measures. that seems like smth OSHA needs to hear about). like thats my son. hes a good boy. and hes never done anything wrong in his life, ever. if anyone hurts him im killing everyone in this room and then myself. etc.

-danny's curfew is 10PM????? DUDE. when I was 14...shit I couldn't be out that late, I had to be back at like, 8 at the latest, and my parents had to know exactly where and who I was going with, AND i had to call/text them regularly...is this a case of my parents being overbearing, or the fentons sucking??? the only time i could EVER be out that late was if I was at an overnight sleepover or smth...

-the vultures have lil fezes. why do they have fezes...theyre so fuckin funny 'ask him for directions' 'I KNOW WHERE IM GOING' these ghost vultures are my new grandpas. pick them up, put them in the adopt box.

-'I wonder why those guys were trying to waste dad!' THEYRE GHOSTS. YOUR DAD HUNTS GHOSTS. why is that not a conclusion you'd immediately jump to??

-*jazz voice, clearly disgusted* WISCONSIN???

-mrs fenton with the lab coat and leg warmers and PERM. YESSS STYLISH.

-was going to say 'ew billionaire' @vlad but. super valid he used his powers to assumedly steal and cheat to get that money, thats how all billionaires do it! but ew hes a SIMP. and spending your billions on FOOTBALL STUFF?? you are Not Valid overall. I DO respect the fact you have a castle instead of a mansion. in wisconsin. if youre going to be stupidly rich might as well go all out, torches on the wall and all. I DO like his ghost form's little kitty ears. catman. and his cape! every design can benefit from a cape. and how different his forms look, like danny looks the EXACT SAME IN BOTH FORMS ASIDE FROM COLOR CHANGES. vlad's is like,, I could believe they were different people!! also I love the drama. but dude you are fighting a 14 year old. lame. also he was like, telling danny he wanted his mom and him and like, wanted him to renounce his dad?? WHAT ABOUT JAZZ?? bitch. those r MY kids and they are both important and special. I do agree they need better parents but thats not u sir <3

-I thought vlad's 'little badger' nickname for danny came from the football mascot of the packers, but google says they have NO MASCOT?? so now I'm like?? is it because his hair is sometimes black and sometimes white?? I hate to give him props but thats a PERFECT NICKNAME. theyre also tiny and vicious!

-why did I get so excited that Skulker is back!! its been like. 2-3 eps LMAO. AND THE DAIRY KING. ICONIC I LOVE HIM. hes the nicest guy ever :) more nice ghosts please. danny cannot be fighting alone everytime with no ghost buds like every ghost being hostile sucks :(

-mr. fenton knew vlad was controlling him, but a few episodes ago he had no clue danny was doing the same thing...is it something about how malicious the ghost is?? he just seemed to think his memory had gaps the first time, this time he was INSTANTLY LIKE 'GHOST'. then again in this ep when danny did it again he was just slightly confused but not immediately freaking out like he did with vlad possessing him!!

-'my parents will accept ME NO MATTER WHAT' so. so why haven't you come out to them yet, danny?? if you really think that?? if theres no harm, and you're sure??? if vlad is a real problem, wouldnt that make dealing with him easier, to expose him???? SO WHY HAVENT YOU COME OUT YET?? COULD IT BE,, MAYBE YOU HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT WHETHER YOUR PARENTS ACTUALLY WILL ACCEPT YOU??? 🤔 ... 🏳‍🌈 I get why people say He Is Trans. I totally totally get u danny.

-sorta unrelated, but it just occurred to me in one of these eps they go to casper HIGH not casper middle school??? theyre 14?? dont highschools usually do ages 15-18? (I didnt go to hs so I might be wrong, if I am ignore this...) freshmen are usually 14-15, could just be a case of them not turning 15 yet but they will sometime in the school year (I say they because tucker said he was 14 too)? I know the show has 3 seasons, so by the end of it will they be older? thatd be neat but usually cartoon characters stay the same age...I love shows where you can see the characters age and grow up, though...three seasons seems like a long time to spend on like, 1 year...

#sanchoyorambles #danny phantom #me on the first post:#its not a liveblog!#me this time: it kinda is. but not in the same format as my tmm one #i like doing one post for a handful of eps bc it saves time #and crowds my blog less #and also i just like talking abt what im watching lol #dp thoughts

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qhazomb · 3 years

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a very silly crossover au that’s been living in my head rent-free for the past two days. hlvrai and wizard of oz, but in which gordon has seen the wizard of oz movie and is just “oh, what the hell” when he and his/benrey’s cat sony end up in the land of oz. (this takes place post-canon, and at a point where gordon and benrey have long since reconciled and are now officially dating. and have a perfect immortal cat that tommy made for them. named Sony PlayStation.)

now you’d think he’d be able to just instantly go home/wake up/whatever, having seen the movie and thus knowing the way home is to click the ruby slippers’ heels together. unfortunately for gordon, it’s not magic shoes this time! instead, he ends up receiving a pair of magical ruby earrings, and he has no fucking clue what would be the equiv of heel clicks for these things. so he still has to go on the trek to the emerald city. lucky him. also, like in the movie? all the important characters he meets in oz look like his friends and family (and, uh, forzen). tommy’s the good witch of the north, forzen’s the one who got squashed by his house (and who previously had the earrings), benrey’s the witch of the west (tho decidedly less “wicked” than the movie version- he just keeps following gordon through the whole quest and incessantly, if politely, asking to have the earrings. also when benrey’s introduced as the witch of the west, gordon’s like “Wait, shouldn’t you be like, a wizard instead of a witch?” “i don’t have a beard though.” “You don’t ha- what does that have to do with anything??” “gotta have an epic beard to be a wizard, duh. it’s the uhhh law. wizard law.” “Wizard law is very serious, Mr. Freeman!” “...Right. I’m sure it is.”) bubby’s the scarecrow, because i find the irony of the “perfect scientist with vast knowledge injected into his brain and also pyrokinesis powers” being the “brainless” highly flammable scarecrow funny. coomer’s the tinman, if only because of the whole cyborg thing. i actually at first had coomer and bubby’s roles reversed, with scarecrow!coomer’s reasoning being coomer’s glitchy brain in-canon, but like i said before, i like the irony of pyro bubby being the scarecrow more. :P darnold is the cowardly lion, because of course he is. when they first reach the woods lion!darnold lurks in, and darnold pounces out to try and spook them, gordon just deadpans “Hey Darnold.” to which a very confused lion!darnold who has never seen this man in his life just goes “...Uh. Hi? ...Hhhooowww did you...?” “Oh he’s been doing this all fucking day. He somehow already knew all our names, too.” “-which is sus as hell-” “-Shut the hell up, Benrey.” “maybe if you give me those earrings? please. thank you.” “For the last fucking time, NO.” “mean...” mr. coolatta is conman oz, who still hates benrey’s guts even tho benrey isn’t nearly as antagonistic as the movie’s witch was (it’s because benrey’s the only one who sees through his tricks... and keeps getting on his case about calling himself a wizard despite having no facial hair to speak of. VERY illegal. fake wizard). when they get to the emerald city and get an audience with “oz”, gordon wastes no time in just strolling up to the curtain and yanking that shit open. gordon wants to go HOME, to see his non oz-i-fied friends and family. this ‘wicked witch’ version of benrey constantly badgering him about his earrings is starting to make him think too much of his own benrey’s passport thing and he’d really like to not think anymore about that exceptionally shitty start to their relationship, thank you very much. (“yoooo there’s another me that’s dating you? niiiice. give me a high-five for me when you see me.” and then witch!benrey stops flirting with gordon cause he doesn’t wanna steal his own boyfriend from himself. he certainly wouldn’t want an alternate version of himself to steal HIS cute boyfriend, if he had one! that’d be like, so uncool, man.) i haven’t thought about what happens after that, or what all shenans would happen in place of wicked witch’s attacks (since witch!benrey is content to just follow gordon around and beg at him for the ruby earrings), but yeah. also of course benrey has skeleton minions still instead of flying monkeys. also also i first thought of having sunkist be in toto’s place, but i can’t see why gordon would have sunkist with him without tommy. so Sony PlayStation the cat is gordon’s “toto” instead. which i think still works, cause toto was a small black dog, and sony is a small black cat, so. (if they still first try to leave oz via hot air balloon, the reason gordon ends up missing the ride is because some emerald city citizen’s dog scares sony out of gordon’s arms and the balloon basket, and like hell gordon’s leaving without his and his boyfriend’s perfect cat (on the off-chance that this isn’t all just a dream like in the movie. which he still really hopes isn’t the case)). sunkist is still in this, though. instead of traveling via magic bubble, good witch tommy rides his giant magical flying dog to get around.

#hlvrai #hlvrai au

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 4 years

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What We Did, pt. 27

Summary: After finding out you were pregnant, Bucky agrees to help you leave the hero life. The two of you go to Seattle, and hamper down for six months until you start dreaming of a certain someone. Convinced the dreams are a sign, you and Bucky go back to New York. Will everyone be happy to see the pair of you? What questions will they have? And will the lie Bucky and you made up finally resurface?

A/N: 3 MORE PARTS LEFT.

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Acceptance

The mattress was high-end, the best of the best that cost more than a month’s pay at the hardware store. Tony and Pepper had it sent when Bucky and you were moving and it had proven to be more comfortable than a bed of clouds – but not tonight. Your back was aching and there was nothing left to do but get up. Bucky was snoring next to you, so you slowly got up without disturbing him – he had been working hard at the shop and even harder trying to keep your mind off everything. It had been about three days since Clint came by and you had decided it was best to cut off all communication. So, you had turned your phone off and figured if it were important, your friends could get in touch with Bucky.

You got up and slowly got off the bed, not just because you did not want to wake Bucky. You were nine months pregnant, less than six days away from your due date and you surely were showing it – and feeling it. Your feet slid into the house slippers near the bed and quietly left the room. Downstairs, you walked into the kitchen and served yourself a glass of water before settling on the couch where you turned on the television.

Reruns of I Love Lucy were on and it made you think of Clint; it made you think of the times before the two of you slept together that night in Germany. You had gotten along with all your teammates but something about Clint had been familial. He was, when it came down to it, a regular guy. You were just like him; the Avengers could do without the pair of you but there the two of you were. Sitting at the table with the others, fighting alongside them, and it was fair to say, the two of you spent more time recovering from injuries together than the others. The friendship grew organically and most often, you sought him out. The two of you would joke around, go to games in the city and when you found out about his family – you liked to badger him with questions about Laura and the kids as reruns of I Love Lucy played in the background. He was, aside from Nat, your best friend.

“Can’t sleep?”

You looked over to your right, Bucky stood at the end of the couch. He looked tired but he smiled as he walked around to the couch, flopping down next to you. He pulled you into his side and rested his arm around your shoulder, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I – I feel bad, Bucky.”

His fingers squeezed your shoulders and he sighed. “I know, it’s a tough situation.”

You wanted him to say you had done the right thing, but you had saw his face the day you signed the paternity request papers the lawyers had brought over. He was not in favor of it and wanted to talk to Clint face to face – solve everything without lawyers but he also wanted you to feel some peace, so he went along with the plan. He loved you that much and you were more than grateful to have him as your husband.

“I just need time,” you whispered, eyes focused on the black and white screen. Lucy was shoving eggs into her shirt and you sighed, looking up at Bucky. “After the baby is here, I’ll fix everything.”

Bucky, his eyes soft, touched your hair gently. “I know, sweetheart.”

“Then maybe we can finally enjoy a honeymoon,” you said, lighting up the mood. He perked up then, looking wide awake as he recited different places to visit. Having a hunch, he had already looked up these places, you asked him what his favorite was, and he shrugged.

“I was thinking we can rent a cabin up north, just relax with the baby – get away from all this craziness.”

Just the thought alone was enough to get you giddy, ready to start a life as a real family. Sitting up, you touched the side of Bucky’s face – he deserved happiness and you were going to be sure to give it to him.

“It sounds perfect.”

….

It was two in the afternoon the next day, you were in the kitchen rummaging for something salty to munch on. Bucky had just driven you home from your final checkup – the baby was official due in three days and everything was looking great. You were feeling relaxed and you suspected it had to do with shutting off your cellphone. It had been a nice couple of days, Bucky finished his last shift at the hardware store and was on his paternity leave. It was nice to have him home all day, the two of you mostly lounged around, taking in the quiet before the baby’s arrival. He was doing yard work in the front, there was an avocado tree he was planting he got from work.

Finding a can of peanuts, you grabbed a water bottle and took it outside to the front. You heard him talking to someone and assumed it was Ben. Your husband had taken to grilling the man on fatherhood every chance he had got but when you approached closer, you saw it was not your neighbor – it was a tall blond man.

“Steve?”

Bucky turned and moved out of the way, to reveal his best friend standing there with a gift in hand and a large smile on his face. You were not angry at all, in fact, you were elated to see the man – the last few days without drama had done wonders for your mental health, so you greeted him with a warm hug and kiss to the cheek.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve pulled away and reached a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ve come to congratulate my friends on their marriage.”

Your face fell, afraid Steve was angry but he just grinned. “Bucky told me, I’m happy for the two of you. I know if I could have, I would have been there. I understand why you did it the way you did, I’m here to celebrate with my friends on a new chapter of their lives.”

“You’re going to be an uncle soon,” Bucky teased, and Steve laughed.

“I’m old enough to be a great-great uncle.”

The two men laughed, and you beckoned them to follow you inside, where the three of you sat around the kitchen island. Steve had planned on sticking around until the baby was born and when you offered to put it up, he declined.

“We got a hotel, didn’t want to get in the way.”

You made a confused face and glanced over to Bucky, who looked equally perplexed. “Sam’s here too?”

Steve shook his head; apprehension colored his face as he said no. You asked who then and he said something in a low whisper but cleared his voice and spoke up. “Nat – she’s here.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang and your heart raced, looking over to Steve. “You guys have synchronized watches?”

Bucky’s laugh at the joke cleared the tension from Steve’s shoulder, he relaxed and glanced at you. His eyes found yours and he smiled weakly, as if he were pleading with you. “She wants to see you.”

You.

The room felt a bit warm as you slowly got up from the stool, reaching for Bucky’s hand to give it a reassured squeeze. His head tilted back to get a good look at you, and you nodded knowingly, leaning down to kiss him before leaving the kitchen to get the door. Your heat was racing with each step; the last time you had seen you, you practically banished her from this part of the country. You had told her not to come back until she was willingly to accept your life decisions. It hurt to lose her, and you had not realized how much you missed her until you opened the front door.

Natasha was as beautiful as ever; her hair was pulled back in a French braid and she was wearing dark jeans with a leather jacket. She stood there; lips pursed in a way that made her look like a child being scold for something. Her eyes gazed down to your stomach and she let go of the seriousness on her face.

“You look amazing,” she smiled, her cheeks rose and all the angry between the two of you seemed to vanish. Your eyes watered up as you thanked her, asking her to come in. She stepped into the house and when you closed the door, she stood inches from you. Her eyes were glossy as she looked around the small foyer, her lips pursed again but this time it looked like she was holding back tears.

“You told me to not come back until I could accept what happen…”

“I did,” you whispered, holding in your breath.

Natasha bit down on her lip and inhaled deeply; it was obvious she was having a hard time getting the words out. She took a few seconds to compose herself and then her eyes met yours, and she spoke through broken sobs. “I accept.”

.....

....

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@butifulsoul125 @joebob24 @wowkenobi @vogueworthy-barnes @projectxhappiness @sarahp879 @mrshiddlesbatchstan @racheltheclumsy @insanitypledge @ayatimascd @mizzzpink @stangirl4eva @my-meant-to-find-blog @a–1–1–3 @coltcas @anon122010ns @loverontheweekend

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@takemetoneverland91 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @sarah-mos @rubynationwins @padfootorionblack @kaywolves @wonderlace19 @courtneychicken@rayleyanns @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @thewinterwitch @avengersgirllorianna@tatortot2701@brewsthespirit-blog @seabasschino @ex-bookjunky @travelwithwords@supernaturaldean67@thehuntchback @shoytai @besamiculo-puto @ign-is @zuni21798 @multipleuniversesinwriting @lauxeyson

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#what we did #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #clint barton x reader #marvel #james bucky barnes #marvel au

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floralseokjin · 4 years

Text

PBN drabble | Yoongi hangs out with Jimin and Jungkook (somewhere in between #2 and #4)

wordcount; 1.7k

“You’re shit at this,” Yoongi scoffed, watching Jungkook’s character get shot up on the screen for the third time.

The screen went black and then there it was, ‘game over’ just rubbing salt into the wound. Jungkook yelled throwing himself back into the chair before shooting Yoongi a glare. “Why don’t you have a turn then, big man?”

Yoongi ignored the sniggers from Jimin who was sat next to him and grinned. Usually that shit would’ve riled him up, but his mood had been perkier than usual lately. Hanging out with tweedledee and tweedledum was something he’d actually chosen to do tonight instead of being forced to join in like Saturday nights usually entailed. Even if all three of them were squashed in front of Jimin’s monitor like a trio of sardines. Like he said, he was happier lately, it made him more social. But it also helped that you were busy tonight and he was bored without you… but so what.

“Fine.” Yoongi grabbed the controller from Jungkook’s hand and got to work. It was a lot harder than he thought. Games had never really been his forte. He’d never wasted his time with them, not like Jimin and Jungkook who seemed to live their life around them.

“Why are we so lucky to be graced with your presence anyway?” Jungkook probed.

At that exact moment, Yoongi died. Embarrassingly quicker than Jungkook had. “Motherfucker!” He cursed, flinging the controller to the desk. It was a stupid game anyway.

“_____ must be busy,” he heard Jimin say then.

Yoongi froze, turning to his friend. “How do you know her name?”

“Who’s that?” Jungkook asked, extremely interested.

“Jimin,” Yoongi repeated. “How do you know her name?” He definitely hadn’t told him about you. It was done of his business and why would he care? Yoongi had no interest in who Jimin was fucking, but mainly, and most importantly, it was supposed to be a secret. It wasn’t like you guys had decided it, but it made sense, and besides, Yoongi had his reasons. Jimin didn’t know about his unrequited feelings, but his other friends did. Seokjin, Hoseok. It wouldn’t end well if they found out. He knew it.

“Relax,” Jimin chuckled. “I’ve heard you moan it enough times over the past couple of weeks. You’re fucking gross.”

Yoongi felt his face burn and he lowered his head to hide it. He hated feeling embarrassed. It was humiliating.

“Woah, hold up,’ Jungkook whined. “Guys, c’mon don’t leave me out. What are you on about?”

“Nothing, Yoongi’s just getting lucky almost every night that’s all.” Jimin teased, punching Yoongi’s shoulder.

Yoongi eased. This didn’t matter. Jimin was just messing around with him. No need to take it so seriously. “At least someone is,” he shot back. Actually, Yoongi wouldn’t really call it ‘getting lucky.’ Deep down he knew he was making a mistake. It wouldn’t be long before things went terribly wrong.

“Fuck, I can’t hang out for like two weeks because of finals and I miss it all.” Jungkook continued to pout like some big kid. “Who is she? What did you call her again?”

“_____.” Jimin said with a slight moan, mimicking him, Yoongi guessed.

Jungkook repeated your name. Yoongi kind of hated the way he pronounced it. It sounded wrong coming from his mouth. From Yoongi’s it was another story. “Do I know her?”

“Probably not.” He was getting uncomfortable again. All this attention wasn’t appreciated.

“So what, you have a girlfriend now?” Jungkook paused to scoff. “She’s brave.”

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Jimin laughed. That stung a little bit. Yoongi was thick skinned but he was weak when it came to you. Especially after all the times he’d spent inside you…

“It’s gotta be just sex. I haven’t even seen so much as a pair of shoes from her. My guess is she’s embarrassed to be fucking him. Doesn’t want to he seen”

Yoongi listened in mild amusement. For all he knew Jimin could be right. Maybe you were embarrassed to be fucking him. He’d never now.

“I hear her enough though. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Jimin punched his shoulder again, like a proud father. Actually, Yoongi would agree with that. His greed when it came to you was insatiable. He was different when he was with you, inside of you…

“Nice. Fuck buddies,” Jungkook grinned.

“We’re not fuck buddies.” Yoongi corrected. “We’re…” He stopped. There was no way to describe it. What was he to you? Your rebound. What were you to him? He didn’t even want to think about that.

“Thinking about it, I really think I know that name.” Jungkook ignored him anyway, still badgering on about your name.

Jimin laughed. “Yeah, it’s a name, Kook, everyone’s heard thousands in their lifetime.”

Jungkook shot him a look. “No, I mean, I know that name from around here. As in, I think I know her.” He turned to Yoongi. “Is she my age?”

Yoongi’s mouth was getting dry. Why couldn’t they just stop fucking talking about you? “No. She’s around Jimin’s age.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Jungkook shouted in excitement. Yoongi almost jumped. “I do know her! I mixed it up. It’s her brother who’s my age, Donghyuk!”

Yoongi was getting hot, uncomfortable. To add to it, he didn’t actually have a clue if Jungkook was right or not. He didn’t know if you had a brother, let alone what his name was. You didn’t talk about your lives that much…

“We went to school together.” Jungkook continued. “I remember her because I–never mind.”

“Do I know her?” Jimin asked. The game was long forgotten now. The screen was still black. The ‘game over’ now mocking Yoongi.

“Maybe,” Jungkook shrugged. “You know Donghyuk, right?” He laughed suddenly. “Yeah, you do. Remember he’s the guy who got with Hannah right in front of you. That was so funny.”

Jimin didn’t think so. He threw his slipper at his friend, who caught it perfectly. “Wait.” He suddenly remembered something. “If this is the same girl, I’m sure she had a boyfriend.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about her.”

“I was good friends with her brother in high school.”

“Whatever. Anyway, so she may have a boyfriend? That explains all the sneaking around. Girl’s got a guilty conscience.”

Yoongi wasn’t listening to their conversation. Even though they had to talk over him, he was too busy spiralling. How the fuck did Jungkook know so much? What were the chances? One in a fucking million. He was that unlucky.

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend.” He heard himself say. He needed to make that clear. You weren’t with Namjoon anymore. It was over.

“Huh. Maybe they broke up then.” Jungkook looked puzzled. “I can’t remember his name. I know him from college. He was so cool and talented.”

Yoongi fought the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, perfect Namjoon as always. Loved by everyone. Still loved by you…

“Jesus, so you had a hard on for both of them.” They were still bickering, Yoongi thought to himself. Did they ever stop?

“Shut up.” Jungkook threw the slipper back. “Hang on, I have him on Facebook, maybe you know him too.”

Yoongi felt sick. He knew he was about five seconds away from getting judged, getting caught, whatever you wanted to call it. Jimin knew who Namjoon was. He didn’t know why their friendship had broken down, but he knew it had. That was enough. He was going to put two and two together and make five.

“Found him!” Jungkook exclaimed, holding out his phone to them. “Namjoon!”

Done. It was fucking done.

“Hold up.” Jimin looked confused, looking toward Yoongi. “Namjoon? As in Kim Namjoon?”

Jungkook replied even though the question was aimed at him. “Yeah. So you know him?”

“Yeah, I know him,” Jimin scoffed. “Yoongi does too. He’s his best friend. Of at least used to be.”

Yoongi saw Jungkook’s eyes widen before he looked at the floor. His face was burning again. But not from embarrassment this time, just anger. Frustration. He felt mad. Mad at the world. Mad at his friends. Mad at Namjoon. Something dawned on him then… Should he feel mad at you? He didn’t know…

“He hasn’t been my best friend for a long, long time.”

“Is that why you’re sleeping with his girlfriend?” Jimin asked.

“She’s not his girlfriend.” He didn’t owe Namjoon shit. He’d left you and broken your heart.

“Whatever. Are you doing this to get back at him?”

“No!” Jimin’s accusation pissed him off. See? He’d come up with five. “Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t. It’s just kind of a dicky thing to do if you’re using her like that.”

Yoongi chuckled at the irony. Who was using who? He didn’t know. “It’s just sex. Casual sex between two single people. Great fucking sex—not that you two idiots would know what that feels like.”

“Pffft. I actually mastered the act of unhooking a girl’s bra with one hand the other week.” Jungkook had the balls to brag.

Yoongi pulled a face. “Do you want a medal?”

The younger guy ignored him. “So, you used to be best friends with Namjoon? What happened?”

Yoongi shrugged. “We argued. There’s not much to tell.”

“And now you’re fucking his girl,” Jimin remarked.

“She’s not his girl. He broke up with her to move away.” Yoongi would not feel guilty for this. Not now, not ever.

“Awh, he moved?” Jungkook popped back into the conversation. “That’s pretty gutting.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and picked up the controller. He’d rather play and lose again than keep this shit up. “Let’s just get back to the game. I don’t want to talk about him. He’s not worth my time.”

From his peripheral vision he could see Jimin looking his way. Judging him no doubt.

#yoongi fic #bts fic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:pbn

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weepylucifer · 4 years

Text

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 6

Thomas comforts. Peter listens. David steals his boyfriend’s car.

Halfway through the night, I was woken by a scream.

It had me sitting up straight in bed, disoriented, heart beating a little too fast, thinking at first that I’d dreamt the noise, whatever it had been... then someone screamed again, somewhere within the Folly.

I had my slippers on and was out the door within two seconds of the second scream.

As I cast a werelight and let it float an inch above my palm, I proceeded, slowly and carefully, down the empty hallway. I was grateful for the warm, steady, non-horror-movie-esque glow that my werelight provided, otherwise this would have been creepy. Of course, the part of my mind that wasn’t just primed on observing wondered who had screamed and why. Someone needed my help somewhere out here and I didn’t know anything further about the situation, but so help me I was going to be there.

Then, beyond one of the many closed doors in this hallway, I heard something. A rustle, a... whimper? I paused.

The door was nothing to me. Just another disused bedroom, like many on this floor. I turned the handle. It wasn’t locked.

The air in the room smelled like Molly had freshly cleaned here, readying it for its new-old inhabitant. In my werelight’s glow, I saw a shape in the bed against the far wall, writhing, flailing, making these little whimpers. I took a step inside.

“No,” said a voice in my back.

I full-body flinched. I’m not proud of this buy I almost shrieked when a hand fell onto my shoulder. I spun around.

“I know how to handle this,” Nightingale said. He was still fully dressed, his suit rumpled like he’d slept in it. His face was milk-pale in the darkness, and he smelled of booze.

“If you’re sure, sir?” I whispered. For a moment, as he passed me by in the doorway, we were very close. I held my breath as he breathed a cloud of alcohol onto my face.

“I am. Go back to bed, Peter.”

But I stayed standing where I was and watched as Nightingale knelt by the bed, plunged a hand into the multiple thick blankets piled onto there and muttered something I couldn’t quite catch. The flailing, writhing, blanketed shape quieted for a moment, and Mellenby’s curly head shot up from his nest. He was panting, gasping, shaking and clutching the blankets to him.

“It’s...” he gasped. “I’m...”

“You’re home,” Nightingale murmured. “It’s over now.”

Mellenby grabbed onto his hand like a lifeline. “I was back at... that place.”

Nightingale nodded, this wasn’t surprising or new to him. “Ettersberg. Yes. I dream of it too.”

Mellenby shuddered. “You do? Even all these years later?”

“Yes,” Nightingale said grimly, “Even all these years later.”

“So this never... never goes away? It never stops?”

“It hasn’t for me, not substantially.” Absentmindedly, it seemed, Nightingale wiped a bead of sweat off Mellenby’s brow with his thumb. “I wish I could tell you something more encouraging.”

“It was so cold,” Mellenby whispered. “I’m just... so cold.”

“Mmh. We’ll get you warm.” Nightingale sat down on the bed and rearranged them so that he could pull David into his arms. This accomplished, he looked back up at me.

“Still here, are you?” he asked me quietly.

Sorry, I mouthed and got away, not wanting to intrude any further.

I got a glass of water in the kitchen and went back up to my bedroom. On the way past Mellenby’s room, I peered once more, just for a second, through the cracked door. I could see the two of them nestled in bed like kids at a sleepover, I could hear their whispered words, too low for me to make out.

----

We didn’t talk about any of that at breakfast. Nightingale sat with his coffee and his crossword as usual, and if he hid a few yawns behind his hand, no one mentioned it. Molly served food. David had availed himself of Nightingale’s phone and was now tinkering with it with the fervor and enthusiasm of the true neophile. Periodically he would ask a question like “What does this button do?” and Nightingale would glance over and say something to the effect of “I don’t know, I never use that one.”

After a few such exchanges, Mellenby put the phone down with a put-upon expression. “Really, Thomas,” he said, “I can’t believe you have this... this wondrous gadget of near-infinite uses at your convenience and never ever figured out how to fully utilize it.”

Nightingale pointedly rustled his newspaper. “I will utilize it when and if it becomes necessary. Otherwise I don’t see a reason to waste time on it.”

Mellenby sighed. “But I have so many questions!”

“Look, why don’t you have Peter show you,” Nightingale suggested and went back to the newspaper, skimming the headlines and muttering something about “god-damned Cameron”.

“Why do you read the Torygraph, anyway?” I asked.

“Crossword’s stellar, unfortunately,” Nightingale said and gave me a get-on-with-it hand gesture. I went out in the hallway to phone Bev first and foremost, and when I had made sure she didn’t need anything from me right this second (she told me to stop fussing but, hey, she was pregnant) it seemed like my morning would be devoted to explaining cellphones to David Mellenby.

I ended up taking him into town and out of Nightingale’s hair. His opposition to us hanging out at all seemed to have subsided a bit, maybe he’d stopped suspecting that we’d conspire to do science behind his back. Or perhaps he just secretly wanted to have a lie-down with his hangover. One of these two.

“I want modern clothing,” Mellenby proclaimed to my surprise. “All of my things look like... well, like they’ve been mouldering in a wardrobe for eighty years, give or take. And I would love to avail myself of an... intelligent phone.”

“A smartphone?” I had to grin. “You’re going to need money for that.” I wondered if he had money, and what had happened to it after his “death”. Had Nightingale taken care of it? Had anyone? Had David had family?

The question became void when Mellenby said, “Thomas gave me, um, this,” and held up the Folly’s credit card. God and Nightingale and possibly but not definitely the commissioner only knew how much was on that. “He told me to just take whatever I need.”

I couldn’t help myself, I let out a wolf-whistle. “The man does love you.”

Mellenby ducked his head, a shy smile spreading involuntarily on his face. “I should hope so.”

I expected he wanted to head on over to Savile Row and get himself a wardrobe of bespoke suits true to the Nightingale way. It turned out what David Mellenby wanted was to dress precisely like everyone else on the street. He seemed drawn to comfy jumpers, cardigans and slacks and seemed to consider dumb novelty t-shirts that said things like “Don’t trust atoms - they make everything up” the height of wit and comedy.

We also got him a phone. He badgered an employee into explaining everything to him, but his friendly and unbridled enthusiasm made it near-impossible to be annoyed by him. I filmed the exchange on my own phone and sent it to Nightingale captioned “Let your bf loose in the electronics store”.

“Bf?” Nightingale texted back. “Ah. ‘Boyfriend’. Indeed. God help us all.”

As morning morphed into noon, I got us coffee just to see how Mellenby people-watched. It amused me in a weird way how he kept making googly eyes at the stores, streets, cars and people around us. He seemed to be taking the whole eighty-years-later thing remarkably well - scratch that, he seemed to be taking to it with a verve that surprised me. Probably because I was used to Nightingale, who tended to keep the modern world at arm’s length (that is, until he didn’t). At times, Mellenby simply looked astonished, or like he was wanting to ask questions but didn’t know how to best go about it. At other times I watched him smile like a kid in a candy store. I wasn’t going to ask, but then Mellenby ordered a giant unicorn-glitter-frappuccino-concoction because he saw it advertised on a billboard and “it piqued his curiosity”. Nightingale, when forced to enter a coffee shop at all, usually ordered a no-nonsense black coffee accompanied by that testy old-person-face of someone with opinions about and personally offended by the Starbucks menu.

I guess I just couldn’t help constantly comparing the two of them.

“Are you... alright with all this?” I asked him, feeling a bit hesitant to lance that boil, but curiosity winning out.

“I’m... yes, alright, I think.” He smiled at me. “This drink is... interesting.”

“Sure,” I said and waited for him to volunteer more information.

“To be honest, sometimes it all feels like a dream,” Mellenby produced. “Like a journey down the rabbit hole. I keep expecting someone to pinch me, and it’ll still be 1945. Of course things are... different, and strange to me. London has changed considerably. But then again, last I saw it, half of it was in ruins. Now there’s all these exciting new buildings, and different cars, and there are so many... well...” He looked at me and started visibly floundering, and I began to suspect what came next. “There are people on the... street who are... that is to say, there’s many...”

I decided to do the charitable thing and release him from his struggle. “Got a bit more colourful since the 40s, huh?”

Mellenby, too, coloured - as pink as his unicorn drink. “I don’t wish to offend. I... Thomas was the one who always got around within the... colonies, I rarely...”

“There’s no more empire,” I threw out, just to see how he’d react. Hugh Oswald had described him as very concerned with the fading British Empire, while Nightingale had claimed him uninterested, and I was wondering which one it was and whether I could still like him as a person after this.

“Oh boy!” Mellenby exclaimed. “That’s a big change.” And that seemed to be it.

“So you’re really just... adjusting alright.” It seemed almost too easy.

Mellenby shrugged. “I suppose so. There was... not much left for me to miss in 1945, that probably helps. And a part of me sees this as a chance, you know? Under normal circumstances I might never have experienced this new, enlightened era as I am now doing. Ah well, it keeps me from thinking about the war.”

I nodded knowingly. Distraction. Well, that sure was one explanation.

“I’m just glad I don’t get overstimulated, like I saw some of the lads do, immediately after our return from... that place. Just the nightmares, and that... unfortunate episode just yesterday. I, um... did apologize for that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Parts of that moment were a bit of a blur, to be honest. He’d tried to attack, I’d snapped to defense, Nightingale had rushed in, then I’d told Mellenby about gay rights. All’s well that ends well. “No one got hurt, so... it’s fine.” After some thought process had gone into that, I added, “You’re going to want to get help for that, though.”

Mellenby made a face. “Help.”

“Therapy’s good now. I do it. They don’t just tell you to get up and show some backbone anymore, it really helps.” I looked at his wrists. He’d put on a silver-grey cardigan to cover the inhibitor cuffs, even with the warm weather out. “These cuffs can’t be a permanent solution.”

“No indeed.” He picked at them beneath his sleeves. “Most of my work relies on me using my magic in the lab. I cannot continue on like this. I get why Thomas sees the need, but I wish there were another way.”

“There is.” For a moment, I felt the impulse to pat his shoulder. I contained it. “Get better.”

Mellenby sighed. “Get better... easier said than done. You know, what with so much time having passed, for Thomas, in relation to me, I would have assumed I’d find him... having gotten better. But apparently... not.”

Oh, no. He wanted to talk about Nightingale.

I wasn’t about to snitch on my boss to his significant other, so I said, “He gets on alright.” Personally, I’d been happy to believe that, but then I’d started having... doubts. Lately.

Mellenby fiddled with the lid of his plastic cup, glowering down upon it like it had done him a personal injustice. “Does it truly just stay like this? Has he not found anything in all these years that helps?”

I shrugged. I don’t think Nightingale has ever gone anywhere near a therapist, and I’d much rather stick my foot in a bear trap than suggest it to him. “As coping goes, I guess he’s the expert. I mean, he did build that memorial wall.”

Mellenby cocked his head at me. “Thomas built a what now?”

----

“It’s a bit of a drive,” I said. “And I’ve only done it once. And the roads may be different than what you’ll remember.” We were exiting the coffee shop, proceeding down the road with the great, purposeful steps of people planning an endeavor. Really, that plan was still stuck in its earliest stage: We want to get somewhere, how do we pull it off?

“I’m sure between the two of us we’ll manage to find Casterbrook,” Mellenby said. “Have you got a car?”

“Yeah, but it’s at Bev’s house.” When Mellenby gave me a blank look, I explained, “Beverley Brook. My girlfriend.”

“Ah.” He nodded. Mentally, he seemed to cross me off a list. (Or was I imagining that?) I gave him three seconds... two... one...

“Like the river?” he asked.

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. My face just does this thing nowadays when Bev is discussed. “Yeah, like the river.”

“The Beverley Brook didn’t have a deity in my day.”

“A lot is different. What I’m getting at is my car’s halfway across town.”

“How long has your girlfriend been around? If you don’t mind me asking. Do you think she might talk to me?”

“I don’t know. Let’s cross the rivers when we get to them. About the car though.” Was this what dealing with me was like? All the questions and digressions? How had Nightingale not imploded under the strain of there being two of us?

“Yes, yes. Well, why don’t we just nip on back to the Folly and take Thomas’s Jaguar?” Mellenby suggested.

“The Jag?” I frowned. “I don’t know. He gets... territorial about it. And he is my boss.”

“Not mine,” Mellenby said.

I thought back on how livid Nightingale had been with David, that deep-seated rage I’d never seen in him before. And below that, other, even deeper shit lurked. “You’re not even a bit scared of him?”

“Hah!” He actually genuinely laughed. “Before he was my Captain, he had already been my boyfriend for a good long while. I’ve seen Thomas with his a--” He cleared his throat. “I’ve seen Thomas in just an array of posit- of situations. I’m not intimidated by him.”

----

He left a text.

Thomas, it ran, took the Jag. Will bring it back, presumably, by dinner. I love you. This, by the way, is David on the cellular phone.

What with the frequency with which Nightingale looked at his phone, or rather the lack thereof, he probably wouldn’t see the text until we were already back. Which explained why he didn’t immediately call both of us demanding to know where on earth we were taking his car. Still, he’d probably flip when he noticed the Jag was gone.

Between the two of us and Google Maps (Mellenby oohed and aahed accordingly) we did manage to find Casterbrook. The building looked about as I remembered it, perhaps a bit more overgrown.

“Oh, it’s desolate!” Mellenby exclaimed, looking at it with a facial expression bordering on horror. To me, it seemed fine - well, not fine, it really was kind of dreary, but it hadn’t been left to decay. Clearly, Nightingale still invested in the school’s upkeep. Then again, to someone who had known the place well-trimmed and teeming with activity, ‘desolate’ was probably accurate.

We walked across the grounds, the way Nightingale had shown me back then that led to the secret side-entrance. Mellenby was apparently reminiscing.

“Over there were the cricket and rugby fields,” he said, pointing. “That... is where I first laid eyes on Thomas.”

“Hallowed ground,” I said with a tired smile.

“I... suppose.” He lowered his head, but wasn’t deterred for long. “He was... well, in retrospect he was fifteen. But to me then, it seemed impossible that anyone should be so graceful. I had no idea why I was feeling so deeply about it. Oh my, the front door seems to be locked. And me without my magic. Do you know a lock-breaking spell?”

“Won’t need one. Nightingale showed me how to get into the night gate.”

“Ah, the night gate.” Mellenby beamed. “I remember when Thomas first asked me to meet there and go to the pub with him and his friends. No one had asked me before, and I was so nervous. I thought probably it was going to be a one-time occasion, a token of gratitude, perhaps, for my tutoring him, and that surely Thomas Nightingale wouldn’t want little old me along with all his big popular friends. It turned out he genuinely just- oh, I am boring you.”

“Eh, not boring me.” I definitely filed ‘big popular friends’ away for further examination. Bit of a jock, my guv’nor, apparently.

“But you don’t actually want to hear these stories, do you?” Mellenby lowered his head, and it was like kicking a puppy. He probably hadn’t ever talked to anyone about this, what with the subject matter being very illegal at the time. Now that he could, though, the stories seemed to just be pouring out of him, like he couldn’t help himself, like he was desperate to share them all as soon as humanly possible. I wondered what it had been like for him, having this relationship that had been so very meaningful to him, and not ever being able to mention it. I wondered how on earth he hadn’t exploded with it.

“No, no, I do,” I said. “It’s just... he is my boss and all.”

I let us inside through the notorious night gate. It had been a while since I’d been shown the spell for the door, and Mellenby remembered it but couldn’t cast, but we managed together. It was as dark in there as I remembered it being, and I cast a werelight to light the way. Mellenby cooed when he saw it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, “your budding signare. I never thought I’d see the day Thomas took an apprentice.”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that. But before I could even think of an answer, Mellenby was off again touching the walls and sighing at the many and varied vestigia within the old building. “It’s all so present and yet so far away,” he said. “They never ever reopened the school?”

“Who would’ve done it? Who’s they? There’s only Nightingale.”

Mellenby started to say something - and snapped his mouth shut. After a few moments in which we just walked silently, he asked, “Then why do we even still own the building?”

‘We’, in this case, I assumed meant the Folly.

Sentiment, would have been my first answer. Nightingale simply hadn’t borne the thought of selling his old school very well, and had felt overwhelmed to be in charge of a decision of such magnitude. He’d told me as much. So he had simply avoided thinking at all about it, keeping the whole thing at arm’s length again - a common tactic, I was beginning to notice, with Nightingale.

“Need somewhere to keep the memorial, I guess,” was what I said.

And then it was before us, the memorial. I let my werelight grow larger, brighter, and sent it up towards the ceiling where it illuminated the near-endless rows of names, just like I’d done the first time I’d been here.

Mellenby’s mouth fell open as he spun around himself and stared up at those hundreds upon hundreds of names, stretching all the way up to the vaulted ceiling, all painstakingly carved into the wood paneling in that familiar, slightly blocky font.

“Who all contributed to this?” Mellenby asked.

I was going to fit the realization that there had been only Nightingale left active in his head somehow. Eventually. Or so I hoped. “Nightingale all by himself,” I answered. “He told me there was no one else, and someone had to do it, or something.”

“Oh, Thomas,” David whispered. “Oh, Thomas.”

I kept quiet.

Mellenby spread his palm, to make a werelight alongside mine, I realized, and then when nothing happened put his hand down.

“There are some good friends over here,” he said, pointing at a particular spot within the rows of names. There was a strain to his voice, and I feared he might cry again. “Horace Greenway, here, we were in the Latin tutoring club together. Roy Fitzgerald, my first apprentice. Didn’t make it out of Ettersberg. There’s Edward Cobb. He considered himself an empiricist, too. We had the most outrageous debates. Ballantine the third all the way over here, one of Thomas’s best friends, I never quite got on with him. There’s Pascal from the chess team, we had that funny nickname for him... and over here we have... oh... me.”

I did a double-take. But of course, Nightingale would have included David on here along with everybody else. Another casualty of Ettersberg, although indirectly.

“He... he put me with my best friends,” Mellenby said, his voice now wavering. “And my apprentices. He knew... knew I’d want to be with them.”

“You had apprentices?” I tried, desperate to derail him from his oncoming crying fit.

“I had five apprentices,” Mellenby said, to my surprise. “I wanted at least double that. But, well, the war. Only one of them made it all the way through, but he dropped off the map practically as soon as the glider hit the ground. Oh, maybe Thomas will know what happened to him.”

I remembered Nightingale’s track record regarding other practitioners running around post-war, and had to stop myself from making a face. “I doubt it.”

“Geoffrey was his name. Geoffrey Wheatcroft. Is that... anything to you?”

I felt a chill.

Geoffrey Wheatcroft had, of course, infamously gone on to found the Little Crocodiles.

If I recalled correctly, Nightingale had reacted with mild confusion when we had happened upon his name at last in our search for the Faceless Man. I shook my head. How he hadn’t gone completely spare was beyond me.

“You better talk to Nightingale about that,” I said.

Mellenby huffed and crossed his arms, like something about that statement upset him, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe it was just my tone of voice. I’d probably sounded a bit foreboding. Well, I couldn’t have helped myself.

And then, with the dark and silent walls surrounding us, with the hundreds of carved names bearing witness, I asked him the only thing I could think to ask, “What was he like during the war?”

Mellenby gave me a long and strange look. He wasn’t always, this I had already learned, an expert in reading the room, but right now I knew he knew that I hadn’t asked about Wheatcroft. Then his eyes drifted off of me, to all the names on the wall, and from thence into a vague middle distance. Perhaps he was wondering what the men commemorated here would want him to say.

“Thomas was reckless,” he said.

I blinked.

That was not what I had expected.

He seemed to catch on to my astonishment, because he exhaled a long gust of a sigh and then deigned to elaborate.

“Thomas was a good CO,” he said, “Thomas lived for his men. His loyalty was to the lads under his command foremost. The brass, the objective, the enemy, the value of his own life, stipulations, orders... morals... Thomas lost sight of a lot when it came to ensuring the safety of as many of the men as possible. He got reckless, and from a certain angle it would look the same as getting ruthless. He would charge into situations...”

Mellenby was getting choked up again. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground, his lids fluttering, he was obviously struggling to contain himself. I could do no more than stand by.

“He was strong, I have to give that to him. He was a keen strategist. Most of the time, he judged his odds accurately. And he did win us some ground, you know. That’s why he was allowed to proceed with little more than a slap on the wrist. In combat, he would periodically forego orders, abandon his position... cross battlefields all by himself at full tilt with his shield up, firing at the Krauts like a maniac, just to get the men out faster. It worked, was the thing. Doesn’t mean I didn’t die a thousand deaths in fear for him whenever he decided to do this.”

“Shit,” I said. There was little else to say. I was trying to imagine the Nightingale I knew doing anything “like a maniac”, to imagine him without his ever-present composure. A bit of that had worn off recently with David’s return but it was still a long shot towards what he was describing.

“And he was valuable, as a Captain, as a practitioner, as a symbol. That’s why command let him alone. He never was disciplined in any meaningful way... never court-martialed... and neither was I, come to think of it. I suppose command found me valuable also, or Thomas was shielding me in some way. Some things were certainly kept off the record, some things I assume command never heard of.”

“Now hold on.” This was beginning to sound less than savory. “Court-martialed?”

“Oh yes.” Mellenby made a bitter little sound. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh, I honestly couldn’t tell. “In the later years of the war, Thomas was flirting with a court-martial near-constantly. Going in, there was an attempt to do things by the book as much as was possible. But being in the field, it wears something down, you know, within you. Things started to fall by the wayside that we would never have thought ourselves capable of abandoning. Just... lord, the bloody fascists. That god-forsaken scum.”

He clenched his fists. The sudden anger was jarring to me - I’d seen him annoyed by now, or unnerved, but never truly furious. Now I first realized, really realized with all my brain that he was a veteran.

‘Veteran’... I’d taken it to mean ‘person who needs care’. And of course it still meant that. But it also very much meant ‘retired soldier’, with all that concept entailed. Here was a man who had made his living in slaughter.

“They made us worse people, and that I cannot forgive. I heard Thomas say once that they had waived their humanity when they elected Hitler. And he was right, he was right! Lord, did I hate the Germans. Do hate them. Then Ettersberg...” He grit his teeth. His voice quieted, dulled again. “Ettersberg vindicated us. Showed us what exactly it was we’d been fighting. But, it also confronted us with our own shortcomings. Showed us that we were complicit. That I... was complicit.”

He was beginning to tremble now, first his hands, then his whole body. “And my research started it all in the first place... my theories... I...”

Yeah, I had to get him out of here, or at least out of his head. I called back my werelight and, very carefully, touched his arm and led him out of the room, back into the light.

“Hey, listen,” I said as we walked, “I’ve changed my mind. Why don’t you tell me the story of how you met Nightingale after all...”

----

We walked back to the car in a somber mood. Of course you could never really feel chipper coming back from such a place. I tried to imagine Nightingale creating the memorial, just him and his carving tools in that vast, dark, empty room by himself. From what he’d told me, it had always seemed like he’d done this first thing after leaving the hospital. It was the kind of mental picture that could drive anyone to depression.

Mellenby, too, was not a happy camper. He looked pale, drawn, he wasn’t trembling anymore, but I could see that not having a total breakdown just now had taken a lot out of him. He dropped heavily into the Jag’s passenger seat, all but collapsing into it.

“Aw, man,” I said. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here.”

“No,” David disagreed. “It was right for me to see this.”

“Still, Nightingale will have our heads for taking off with the Jag.” I was trying for some levity, but on the other hand, the reaction Nightingale might have to our impromptu Jag theft genuinely worried me.

Mellenby shook his head, as if wanting to dislodge the cobwebs of his almost-breakdown. “Let me deal with Thomas,” he said tiredly. “Why do you always call him that, anyway?”

What was he talking about now? “Call him what?”

“Nightingale.”

“It’s his name?”

“No, I know Thomas. He would’ve offered you first-name-basis three days into your apprenticeship.”

He was spot-on in fact. It probably hadn’t been three actual days after I’d started working for him that Nightingale had suggested I call him Thomas, but it was somewhere around that mark. It hadn’t panned out, and he hadn’t offered again since.

“He did offer,” I said, “but I didn’t take him up on it. It felt too weird. I mean, he’s... he’s Nightingale, and he is my boss. We’re not... friends.”

Mellenby laughed tiredly, sweeping a hand across his eyes. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were sleeping with him.”

----

We were back on the road on our way back to London when he picked up the thread of that conversation again.

“It’s probably just because I’ve known him for so long, but it’s strange to think on Thomas commanding that kind of respect. It seems so... unlike him to be so distant.”

I felt it appropriate to ask about the war again.

“That was different,” Mellenby said. “It’s poison for troop morale, having a combat leader who is too distant. It’s been a tightrope walk, certainly, for Thomas, because you can’t be overfamiliar with your men as the CO, but... comport yourself too aloofly in the field and the men may never connect with you. Company cohesion, the men’s emotional and psychological needs, those all fell under Thomas’s purview. He was mother and father to the youngest recruits out there. Besides, we experienced so much alongside each other, it made us stick together like glue.”

I for one couldn’t imagine a Nightingale who was anything but emotionally distant and removed from the world around him. Like he’d spent all his caring in the war, I thought, just used it all up and now there was almost none left. I was certain that he cared for Molly, and reasonably convinced that he, in a way, also cared about me, as far as our professional relationship was concerned, and he tried, he did. I remembered a short while ago, when I’d gotten myself suspended after the whole Chorley fiasco, and Nightingale had given me the nudge that had led to me seeking out therapy. He cared in these short bursts, triggered by external events, like a long-derelict bulb giving out random flickers of light, interspersed by long darknesses.

What a glum mental image that was.

“I sort of assumed he was like this back then,” I told Mellenby. “What with the whole... you know... ‘the Nightingale’...”

Suddenly, Mellenby smacked his hand down onto the headboard in front of him. His face darkened rapidly, and he fixed the road before us with a grim scowl. “The Nightingale? People still call him that?”

Again, not the reaction I had been expecting. “Yeah?” I said. “Pretty much all the demi-monde calls him that. I heard from Hugh Oswald that it started as a war thing, though--”

“You spoke to Hugh about this?” Mellenby asked.

“I went and saw him a while ago.”

“Well, I don’t know what Hugh told you. But the Nightingale is a miserable conceit, and it has brought nothing but pain and trouble unto Thomas. I dearly wish--”

I never found out what Mellenby dearly wished, because in that moment, my phone rang. I gestured at him to pick it up.

“It says on this here display that someone named Guleed is calling.”

Oh. If Guleed was calling me, that either meant karaoke night was being rescheduled again, or something serious was up. “Oh, yeah, um, can you take that? It’s PC Guleed, she’s from murder.”

Mellenby made googly eyes. “Women work in the police now?”

“Look, can you just take the call?”

To his credit, he immediately swiped to accept the call and held the phone up to my face as I drove. We were starting to make quite the little team.

“Hey,” Guleed said when I announced my presence to her. “Where are you at?”

Well, this didn’t sound like it was going to be about karaoke night at all.

“We’re, that is, I’m a little ways out of town. Just driving back.”

“Well, drive back faster, because we’ve got a body and we’re thinking it’s probably one of yours.”

#david mellenby lives AU #oooh. a cliffhanger? me? it's more likely than you think #rivers of london #this one is a bit lighter on the angst #i wrote most of this secretly at work #i am so tired all of the time

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ecto-american · 4 years

Text

White and Nerdy

Holiday Truce Gift for @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy based on their request for Vlad’s slice of life outside of the Fentons.

On FFN and AO3

Summary: Contrary to belief, Vlad does have hobbies other than spinning in a fancy chair with his cat thinking of evil plots. For example, every Tuesday he dedicates the day to hanging out with his best friend as they both indulged in their crippling, long term addictions: World of Warcraft, with a pinch of Dungeons and Dragons.

Rating: K+

Warnings: Some cursing

Other Notes: Everybody is gay or trans, and you can't stop me.

Running a multi billion dollar empire was stressful, to say the very least. And of course, when you own those businesses, it was easy to work as much or as little as you pleased. Not that Vlad ever found himself taking off too much from work. No, no. He loved running his empire, the meetings and decisions. Whenever he took too much time off, the halfa found himself restless. Vlad craved a full schedule, and he needed things to look forward to.

Though of course, he wasn't all work and no play. There was one day of the week Vlad always, with the exception of business trips, took off or would take easy: Tuesdays. Tuesday was raid day.

And on that Tuesday morning, Vlad paid no mind as he could faintly hear the front door being unlocked and closed. His best friend, his actual best friend (NOT that fool Jack), had keys and was permitted to come over whenever he pleased.

Vlad continued his morning routine lazily, carefully shaving and grooming his beard to his preferred style. Brushed and styled his hair in it's normal ponytail, and he dressed himself. Any other day of the week, Vlad would be putting on his Italian brand name custom suits, always freshly pressed and ironed by a maid. But today was raid day, and so he instead was wearing sweatpants and an oversized Packers sweatshirt. He slipped on his football slippers, and he went downstairs to his computer room.

Not his office, which was expensively decorated with only the most fine and formal, shelves lined with important titles. His computer room, which was expensively decorated for a whole other reason. As he opened the door, he smiled at the shelves full of figurines of his favorite characters, accessories adorning the walls. He knew that most would have a stroke, since he never kept anything in the original box, despite having the entire collection of figurines, statues, busts, everything that would make the most dedicated fan drooling. That was simply stupid in Vlad's eyes, it was made to be admired and displayed, not kept in a box. If any were to break, he could simply buy another, no issue.

They lined shelves that were all over the brightly lit room, with cabinets below that held their boxes. While he didn't keep them in boxes, he of course, still kept them. There were also some books, mostly related to the lore but also game guides and manuals.

He admired his collection for a moment before turning his attention to the middle aged man getting comfortable in one of the three computer setups Vlad had, the far left one. All the setups were, of course, only the best and most advanced, with each desktop having three monitors and leather chairs. Each desk was a large U shaped one, set pressed to each other and near the back wall for the outlets.

"Hey, morning!" Edward Lancer greeted him warmly. Both men were morning people, clear by their chosen professions and schedules. Ed was in his own lounge wear, sweatpants with crocs and an old college t-shirt. "I brought McDonald's." He gestured to the bag that was left on Vlad's desk, alongside a cup of coffee clearly from Vlad's own kitchen.

Had it been any person other than Ed, Vlad would have been mortified over McDonald's. But even billionaires couldn't resist their breakfast, and it was only on Tuesday that he was able to privately indulge. Ed never judged.

"Thank you!" Vlad replied brightly. Ed had his own meal in front of him, sitting facing away from the keyboard as he took his time eating. Vlad joined him, sitting at his desk and doing the same, allowing them to talk face to face as they ate.

"Are you ready to fight the dragon later?" Ed questioned as he cut up his pancakes. "Since we're resting, I've been trying to figure out what spells I should prepare for the day to fight it." Vlad snorted, shaking his head.

"Knowing Harriet, she'll likely make the dragon a red herring that goes down with ease and dick us over with the actual boss that'll be invincible to half our party because it's immune the attacks that destroy the damn dragon," Vlad replied before taking a big sip of coffee. Burning hot, but delicious. Ed chuckled in amusement.

"She's always made it fair though," Ed replied. "Her boss battles are never unbeatable."

"Yeah, but she makes every campaign some Water Temple level meets 90s point and click mystery game difficulty and outrageous puzzle solving," Vlad grumbled.

"I like it, it's good critical thinking practice," Ed replied. "I've used some of her puzzles in the games I DM for the students. Really makes them think rather than just attacking everything. I swear, one of my students, Nathan, he just loves rolling to attack every NPC I make."

"Sounds like a ninny," Vlad said as he took a bite of his greasy fast food. The best part about the summer was Ed not having to teach. They could dedicate the whole day to hanging out. Of course, Ed took up a summer job, but he was able to secure Tuesdays off.

"A bit, but a good kid," Ed always spoke fondly of his students. "You should come in sometime for a game, it'd be fun."

"I think I might," Vlad agreed thoughtfully.

Of course, going to Casper High was always hit or miss. Daniel was there, and it was always nice to be able to check in on the little badger. But as mayor and a billionaire that funded several scholarships, it would be nice publicity to go and have some face time with kids. Many of his high school interns had graduated and left for college, and he was in the market for some new ones. Might be able to find some promising new future employees too. Hm, he'd have to see where he could fit a Casper High visit into his schedule when school began. Vlad would worry about that another time.

"How's their gay club?" Vlad questioned. "You guys just formed one, right?"

"It's got a steady group of kids who come in, very good kids. Many have supportive parents now," Ed explained. The teacher had paused, giving a small sigh. "It's a double edge sword for me. On one hand, I'm so grateful that so many of them can be who they are. But...I don't know. I hate that we never got to have that."

Vlad nodded understandingly. He poked at his breakfast, feeling hunger temporarily leave him as those depressive memories came back.

"I'll forever be thankful that Mother wanted to apologize and make amends before she died," Vlad spoke. "But I'm sorry she missed out on so much because of what I had to do to become happy. At least she passed away recognizing me as her son."

The last memories of his mother was depressing. Elderly and sick with cancer, even with all the money Vlad began to throw at her once she reached out to him after nearly twenty years of refusing to speak to him. Whether his sister wore her down, or it was deathbed regrets. It was an emotional two years, being able to see his mom again.

"Mine's in better shape than me, and they're still calling me by my old name," Ed complained. "I don't think it'll ever change. I try to keep a relationship, cause of the kids, but I don't know if it's even worth it anymore."

Silence hung in the air as they separately mourned for what it all cost them. Of course, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it to be happy, to be comfortable and finally as they should be, but it didn't make the cost any less harsh of a price to pay.

"Their generation will be better," Vlad said firmly. Ed nodded in agreement. "Please let me know if any of them need binders or anything of the sorts."

"I will. I've been thinking about starting a clothing drive for them," Ed explained. "I can probably get the school on board with it if we market it as for the lower income students too. Dressing how you want makes a big difference."

"You get the details sorted out, and I will absolutely financially back you," Vlad promised. Ed smiled.

"Thank you. I may start working on that to propose for this school year," Ed mused.

For the bumbling oaf that Jack was, Vlad had to admit that he was a very loving and caring man. A bit too caring, honestly, it was a bit of a flaw. He had immediately accepted Vlad, and later on his own son. It always warmed him to remember that Daniel had two parents that had immediately gotten him everything a young trans man could ever need. No hesitation, no questioning.

Ed took a final bite of his breakfast before humming happily. He wiped his hands as he pushed to toss his empty containers into the trash can.

"Enough being sad, let's raid," he suggested. Vlad hurriedly took his last two bites before nodding in agreement.

123456789

The raid was broken up with greasy Chinese takeout for lunch, brought to them by a staff. Another guilty pleasure Vlad rarely indulged in. Then, of course, it was a return to games before they changed into their normal attire, sitting down to a home cooked dinner by staff. By the time they were finishing up, their other guests had begun to arrive for the evening plans.

Vlad always hosted the game. It just always made the most sense. He had the most room in his house, nor the distractions of family. Not that he disliked Lance nor Ed's children, they were great, but there was nothing that ruined the immersion of dragon slaying quite like teenage dramatics. And he thought that playing with toddlers in the house was frustrating.

The four sat in yet another room in Vlad's mansion that he had dedicated fully to the hobby. A large round table with Harriet Chin sitting furthest from them. A DM folder that separated her papers from there, just low enough that the halfa could see her smirking to herself as she reviewed her plans. Ed sat to her left, with an empty seat in between them. Another empty seat in between him and Vlad, and yet another separated Vlad from Lance Thunder.

Vlad honestly didn't really know the man that well yet. He was one of Harriet's coworkers that she had dragged into the summer game, as Vlad and Ed needed a third person in the party for this campaign. Their normal fourth and fifth friends, Joe and Frank, were spending the summer with their daughter and their newborn granddaughter. He already missed the pair terribly, especially Frank. Frank would often join in on their World of Warcraft adventures. But Lance was gay, and that made him okay enough for Vlad to accept him into their little queer circle with little complaint.

"I wouldn't get her a car unless she had good grades," Vlad gave his two cents into the conversation. Something about Lance's daughter wanting a car. Lance nodded.

"That's what I've been saying, but Alan keeps saying that if Star had her own car, she could begin driving herself to the library and to school to study, but I just don't buy that," Lance agreed. Vlad knew by now who those people were. Alan was Lance's husband, Star was Lance's daughter from his first marriage. Vlad had seen pictures of Star before. She was a spitting image of Lance. "She's more interested in being with her friends."

"And what does Rene think?" Ed questioned about the ex-wife's opinion. Lance shrugged.

"She doesn't think Star needs a car," Lance replied. "Public transportation isn't bad here, she can always borrow one of our cars, and lots of colleges won't let you have cars as a freshman anyway. So it'd be sitting in the driveway in a year or so for a year anyway."

"Star's going to be a junior, right?" Vlad questioned. Lance nodded. Vlad mentally went over his garage of cars. "When she's able to have a car on her college campus, I'll happily give her a good deal on one of my cars if she has good grades. I'll probably be retiring one of my cars by then. Of course, it's not going to be some beat up piece of junk." Lance's eyes widened.

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Lance smiled warmly at him.

"Vlad sold my oldest, Ophelia, a car about five years ago. Car still runs like it's new," Ed spoke up.

"Ophelia just began graduate school, didn't she?" Harriet questioned, finally speaking up. She had been nose deep in her campaign notes. Ed nodded.

"She got in at the University of Chicago, full ride," Ed beamed with pride, and Vlad was very proud too. Ophelia, his precious goddaughter, was like a niece to him. Very smart, quick-witted and the only one who could match Ed's passion for literature. Of course, Vlad provided her with that full ride scholarship, as he did with her younger siblings, and eventually he would do the same for Ed's remaining two when they got to that point. No niece or nephew of his was going to college with student debts. "George is set to graduate soon too, this is his last year. Before med school anyway."

Ahh, little Georgie. Vlad got to spend a lot of time with him. He was one of Vlad's interns at Axion Labs. A strong willed boy, good head on his shoulders. Sometimes a little too honest, but the world needed more people like that. Whenever the billionaire stopped by Axion Labs, he always paid a visit to his favorite intern. It was always those times he spent with Ed's children that Vlad regretted not having his own.

"So how's the cat, Vlad?" Harriet asked, giving a small smirk. She could always seem to sniff out his emotions. Damn journalists. They were a bit too observant. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"How's yours?" he asked back. She chuckled.

"Bandit's the happiest boy alive, I just got him a nice new cat tower," she replied. Vlad nodded.

"I just had a new cat house for Maggie built," Vlad told her. Of course, he was never going to admit to his friends, most of them knowing the ghost huntress, that he named his cat after a long term crush. "It's going to be installed in the next week or so. You should bring Bandit over then. Maggie loves him."

"Oh I might," Harriet hummed happily. "It's been a while since Bandit got to hang out with Maggie."

"Does anybody want a drink before we begin?" Vlad questioned.

"Can I have a glass of rosé wine?" Harriet questioned. The billionaire smirked.

"Of course," he replied. He glanced to Ed and Lance.

"Uh, just gimme a beer, you know what I like," Ed shrugged. Lance thought for a moment.

"I may just have some wine too," Lance spoke.

Vlad nodded, and he stood to go to the intercom on the wall. All of the rooms in his house had it for his staff. He pushed it, and he requested the drinks, alongside what he knew to be choice snacks.

Almost as soon as Vlad had sat down, a male staff member came with a tray. It was full of cheese and crackers, popcorn, chips and fondue. Another staff member came with drinks and glasses.

Vlad picked up a beer like Ed, cracking it open and taking a long drink. Of course, in any other company, he'd indulge in wine. Beer was not something one could normally drink at a formal business function, and so he always took advantage of the times he could freely have some.

They began. A small discussion, and as the billionaire expected, the dragon went down easy. Suspiciously easy. Harriet gave the group before her a mischievous grin just over her DM folder. Vlad didn't like this, or that look in her eye.

"So you guys defeated the dragon," the reporter replied slyly. "But there's no loot to collect on him. The dragon dissolves and melts away. Everybody roll for perception and add your stuff. Then tell me what you got."

Oh, he definitely did not like this a single bit. Vlad eyed her coldly as he picked up his dice. Ed and Lance did the same.

"Visual or hearing, I'm missing an eye so I'd have to roll disadvantage otherwise," Ed reminded her.

"Hearing!" Harriet chirped. He nodded.

"Uh, sixteen then," he replied.

"Ten," Lance said.

"Twenty-two," Vlad spoke.

"You hear nothing," Harriet told Lance, pointing to him. She moved her finger to Ed. "You hear a small noise, two voices. But they're a bit muffle, you can't quite make out the entire conversation. But you do hear some words. The general jist of the conversation you can make out is that these individuals have realized you killed the dragon and are here." Harriet pointed to Vlad. "You! However, you can hear everything. It's a rough voice of a masculine figure telling somebody to prepare for battle, somebody has killed their precious dragon. They're going to detect your thoughts to determine your next movements before making their next move."

"I cast detect magic," Vlad replied. Harriet's eyes sparkled.

"It failed," she announced gleefully. Vlad internally groaned, and he could see Ed looking confused. "So what will you guys do."

Lance scratched his temple as he stared at his character sheet. He was not just new to the group, but to the game itself. The weather man studied his sheet for a moment as he tried to think. He took a long sip of his wine before speaking.

"Well uh, I think my guy is just gonna look for the treasure, cause I didn't hear anything," Lance said slowly. "And I'm still really interested in the promised gold."

"I tell him to not, because we should be careful," Ed spoke up quickly. "Because of what I heard."

"You tell your party what you heard?" Harriet questioned. She had leaned back in her seat, a leg over the arm of the chair as she held her beverage. The lesbian lightly swirled her wine in her glass before taking a long drink.

"Yeah, I tell my party what I heard," Ed clarified.

"And I'll tell them what I heard," Vlad agreed. "Because I need these people alive to keep me alive. They're my meat shields." Harriet snickered.

"So the prince never mentioned anything but a dragon being in here," Ed said slowly. "It must be another adventuring party trying to get the treasure. Prince Yamum said he did send several people to collect the family amulet."

"I say we kill them," Vlad suggested. Ed looked at him in disapproval, and Vlad shrugged. "My character's selfish. He doesn't want to share the loot with this party, and he doesn't want to share the rewards for returning the amulet."

"I agree," Lance said slowly. "My guy doesn't want the competition."

"No, no!" Ed said sternly. "We are NOT killing him, he may have useful information for us or be able to help."

"There's two voices, so that's a five way split between treasure," Lance pointed out. Vlad glanced to see Harriet's reaction. She was grinning like a fool, with that distinctive sparkle in her eye. She was absolutely up to something, and she looked like a true super villain. Evil plots forming her mind. Vlad trusted her with nothing, and yet he admired this chaotic evil lesbian. Harriet was his villain goals.

"Harriet, I swear on your grave," Vlad began his threat, only to stop with a frown at Harriet's devilish giggle.

"The individual detects your negative and violent thoughts," she announced cheerfully. She finished off her glass, shifting to have both legs over the armrest, her back against the opposite one. "And they have deduced that you're a threat that needs to be taken care of. Congratulations, boys. You're encountering the real boss." Vlad scowled.

"I knew you were going to do this, you always pull some weird bait and switch thing!" Vlad complained. Harriet smirked. "Lemme guess. It's a, it's a, god what would be the worst thing to fight right now." Vlad racked his mind for a possible enemy. "A rakshasa? Probably with a shield guardian too."

Harriet's smirk only widened. And Vlad knew he was correct.

"Roll for initiative, bitch."

#my phics #phics #holiday truce 2019 #idiot cheesehead archenemy #vlad masters #mr. lancer #lance thunder #harriet chin

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Happy Fucking Halloween

I meant to post this earlier, but i forgot. Anyway, enjoy some disaster boys on Halloween. Kinda late now, but whatever.

Also these boys have a singular brain cell between them- they trade it off

Also this isn’t edited but it’s fine

Can you spot the vine reference? yeet

Ship: Ralbert

Warning: THEYRE HIGH AGAIN (can you tell i have fun writing them high?)

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN, ASSHOLE,” Race nearly threw his phone in surprise when his boyfriend, Albert, bust into his bedroom wearing a skeleton onesie.

“Babe, it’s only been Halloween for like,” he glanced at the clock, which read 12:02 am, “Two minutes.”

“Exactly,” Albert said, hopping onto Race’s bed, a manic glint in his eye, “We’re wasting time.”

“Wasting time to do what?”

“C’mon, get up,” Albert tugged at his arm, pulling him into a sitting position, “I wanna go ghost hunting.”

“You wanna- wait, what?”

“Ghost hunting. I wanna do it. It’s the spookiest day of the year, I wanna make the most of it.”

“Where exactly do you intend to do this?” Race asked, picking up his sweatshirt off the floor and pulling it over his head.

“There’s a cemetery not far off campus, so I was thinking we’d start there?”

“Okay. Sure, what am I gonna do? Say no?” Race said, throwing his hands up.

Albert grinned, “That’s the spooky spirit. Lemme just get something from my room, then we’ll go,” he launched himself off of Race’s bed and sprinted out of the room. Race chuckled to himself and grabbed his shoes from beside his door before heading out to the living room. He sat down on the floor and slipped on his sneakers. A few more minutes passed, then Albert slid out of his room and across their wood floor in a pair of ghost slippers, nearly falling into Race in the process. He had put the hood of his onesie up and a drawstring bag was secured on his back. What was in the bag, Race didn’t wanna know. But, he assumed he’d find out either way.

“Okay,” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together, “Let’s go.”

The walk to the cemetery was shorter than Race had anticipated and soon enough, they were climbing the polished wooden fence that surrounded it. The cemetery itself had a mix of older and newer looking graves. If Race squinted, he could make out the outline of an old building near the back and he had a feeling that’s where Albert wanted to go. Albert swung his drawstring bag around to his front and pulled out a flashlight. He clicked it on and held it under his chin as he continued to rummage through the bag.

“Fuck,” He murmured, “I coulda sworn I’d packed my- aha!” With a triumphant flourish, he pulled out a small pen-like object.

“Albert,” He groaned, “You brought your dab pen? Seriously? I don’t think we should be getting high in here.”

Albert studied him for a moment, then took a long drag, “So you have the brain cell today. Interesting.”

Race let out an offended squawk, “Excuse me, I always have the brain cell.”

“Debatable,” Albert held the dab pen out for Race, who scowled before taking it from him. He inhaled deeply, holding it in his lungs for a moment to allow the weed to process in his system.

They traded the pen back and forth several more times before Albert stowed it back into his bag. Race began to giggle as the weed took affect. Albert loosely grabbed his arm, pulling him between graves as they made their way to the building in the back.

“Albie,” Race said, sounding out each syllable, “What the fuck is that building. It looks so spooky,” he giggled again.

“I dunno, Race,” Albert slurred as they approached the front door, “But you’re so right it does look fuckin’ spooky, brah!”

Race blinked a few times as his eyes started to dry out. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton and he smacked his lips a few times, “M’mouth is all funny.”

“Itsa kissable mouth,” Albert turned towards him and grabbed his face, kissing him sloppily.

“Albert, no,” Race said, pushing him away, “No kissing. Not here.”

Albert furrowed his brow, then nodded, “Yeah. No kissing, brah,” He paused, then pouted, “I don’t like that I keep saying brah. Makes me feel like a surfer dude.”

“Aha! Sahhh dude,” Race laughed.

“Sahh, dude- AH!”

Both of them jumped as a loud thump came from within the house. It sounded like it was coming from the loft.

“Ah, fuck,” Albert said, pointing the flashlight in the direction that the sound came from, “The ghosts are here.”

“Albieeeeee, I don’t wanna dieee. Can we leave?” Race whined, trying to tug Albert away from the house.

“No,” Albert said, determination in his unfocused eyes, “I wanted to hunt ghosts. We’re hunting ghosts.”

“You owe me,” Race said, glaring at Albert.

“Owe you what?”

“I dunno, something good.”

“I’ll suck your dick later.”

Race lit up, “Okay! Let’s go hunt ghosts!”

Albert shouldered open the door and the two of them tiptoed inside. It was dark and mostly empty. It looked like it had once been some sort of storage building, but had long since been abandoned- no doubt a result of the graveyard being built around it.

“Where to?” Race whispered loudly.

“Uhhhh,” Albert scanned the room until his light landed on a flight of stairs near one corner, “There.”

The stairs creaked violently as they half-walked, half-stumbled up towards the second floor. The next level was also empty, save for a small ladder leading to the loft in one corner and a heap of wood by a window. It looked like the wood had been tampered with. There were planks scattered messily around the initial pile and upon closer inspection, they found skeletons of small mammals strewn across the floor.

“The fuck?” Albert wrinkled his nose.

Race shrugged, his eyelids drooping heavily as he bent down to pick at a mouse skeleton, “I dunno, man,” He laughed and shoved the skeleton in Albert’s face, causing him to go crossed eyed, “Oh my fuckin’ god, she fuckin’ dead.”

Albert reached out and flicked his forehead, “Dumbass.”

“Hey! You said I have the brain cell, you-”

Before he could finish, something dropped out of the loft, hissing at them loudly. Albert and Race screamed, backing into the wall as the creature advanced towards them.

“Albie, ohmygod,” Race half-shouted, half-sobbed,”We’re gonna die! Fuck, we’re gonna die and you didn’t even get to suck my dick!”

Albert was trying to climb onto the pile of wood as he screamed, “What the fuck, Race. What the fuck is that- it looks like Spot!”

The thing kept lumbering towards them, slowly gaining speed, “I don’t know!” Race shouted, “Throw something at it!”

Albert picked up a plank of wood, throwing aimlessly in the direction of the animal. It landed loudly a few feet away from the animal and for a moment, it was distracted. It changed course, waddling instead towards the wood and Albert and Race took the opportunity to scramble off the pile towards the stairs. As they passed the animal, Albert shone his light on it. It was a fucking badger.

They didn’t stop running until they reached the fence. Climbing the fence while sober was one thing, but climbing it while high was a different story completely. It took them several attempts and more than a few scrapes, but eventually they landed unsteadily on the other side, panting heavily.

“The fuck was that?” Race asked, collapsing on the grass and draping an arm across his eyes.

“A fucking, uh, badger,” Albert answered, “The stripey head things.”

“You have a stripey head.”

“Take that back, motherfucker.”

“No.”

They caught their breath for a few more minutes, then began the journey back to campus. When they returned, it was a little passed 1:30 am. They buzzed into their dorm building, only to be met by Jack and Spot leaving.

“Race? Al?” Jack asked, “We were just aboutta go look for y’all. You weren’t in your dorm when we came to get you for Elmer’s Halloween thing, so we figured you’d gone to do something stupid.”

“And it looks like we were right,” Spot raised his eyebrows, taking in the two boys in front of him, “Are you two high?”

Race fixed him with a dazed look, “A fucking badger, Spot. A fucking badger.”

Spot cocked his head, eyes narrowing in confusion, “What?”

Albert snickered, “It looked like you, Spottie.”

“You two are so fucked,” Jack said, shaking his head.

Race chuckled and leaned into Albert’s side, “Happy Halloween, queens. Happy fucking Halloween.”

TAG LIST:

@bencookisagod

@we-dont-sell-papes

@suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-spook

@well-the-kids-do-too

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@thatpoorguysheadisspinning

@newsies-of-nyc

@andthewoildwillknow

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

@sunshine-e-cigarettes

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@musical-shitposts

@thebroadwayaesthetic

#racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #ralbert #newsies #newsies fic

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yellowfeather84 · 7 years

Text

Marrying. Oh, God.

Buoyed temporarily by port wine and cream lace, I had momentarily managed to ignore the significance of the occasion. I gripped the banister as fresh realization hit like a blow in the stomach.

Looking over the throng, though, I noticed one glaring omission. My groom was nowhere in sight. Heartened by the thought that he might have succeeded in escaping out of a window, and be miles away by now, I accepted a parting cup of wine from the innkeeper before following Dougal outside.

Ned and Rupert went to fetch the horses. Murtagh had disappeared somewhere, perhaps to search for traces of Jamie.

Dougal held me by one arm; ostensibly to support me lest I stumble in my satin slippers, in reality to prevent any last-minute breaks for freedom.

It was a “warm” Scottish day, meaning that the mist wasn’t quite heavy enough to qualify as a drizzle, but not far off, either. Suddenly the inn door opened, and the sun came out, in the person of James. If I was a radiant bride, the groom was positively resplendent. My mouth fell open and stayed that way.

A Highlander in full regalia is an impressive sight—any Highlander, no matter how old, ill-favored, or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight-bodied, and by no means ill-favored young Highlander at close range is breath-taking.

The thick red-gold hair had been brushed to a smooth gleam that swept the collar of a fine lawn shirt with tucked front, belled sleeves, and lace-trimmed wrist frills that matched the cascade of the starched jabot at the throat, decorated with a ruby stickpin.

His tartan was a brilliant crimson and black that blazed among the more sedate MacKenzies in their green and white. The flaming wool, fastened by a circular silver brooch, fell from his right shoulder in a graceful drape, caught by a silver-studded sword belt before continuing its sweep past neat calves clothed in woolen hose and stopping just short of the silver-buckled black leather boots. Sword, dirk, and badger-skin sporran completed the ensemble.

Well over six feet tall, broad in proportion, and striking of feature, he was a far cry from the grubby horse-handler I was accustomed to—and he knew it. Making a leg in courtly fashion, he swept me a bow of impeccable grace, murmuring “Your servant, Ma’am,” eyes glinting with mischief.

“Oh,” I said faintly.

I had seldom seen the taciturn Dougal at a loss for words before. Thick brows knotted over a suffused face, he seemed in his way as taken aback by this apparition as I was.

“Are ye mad, man?” he said at last. “What if someone’s to see ye!”

Jamie cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the older man. “Why, uncle,” he said. “Insults? And on my wedding day too. You wouldna have me shame my wife, now, would ye? Besides,” he added, with a malicious gleam, “I hardly think it would be legal, did I not marry in my own name. And you do want it legal, now, don’t you?”

With an apparent effort, Dougal recovered his self-possession. “If ye’re quite finished, Jamie, we’ll get on wi’ it,” he said.

But Jamie was not quite finished, it seemed. Ignoring Dougal’s fuming, he drew a short string of white beads from his sporran. He stepped forward and fastened the necklace around my neck. Looking down, I could see it was a string of small baroque pearls, those irregularly shaped productions of freshwater mussels, interspersed with tiny pierced-work gold roundels. Smaller pearls dangled from the gold beads.

“They’re only Scotch pearls,” he said, apologetically, “but they look bonny on you.” His fingers lingered a moment on my neck.

“Those were your mother’s pearls!” said Dougal, glowering at the necklace.

“Aye,” said Jamie calmly, “and now they’re my wife’s. Shall we go?”

#outlander #book quotes #jamie x claire #happy anniversary

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dont-offend-the-bees · 7 years

Note

Aeging has for brotzly plz ❤

Ahhhh thank you! Let’s see…

-Todd’s hair starts going grey incredibly early (keeping himself and Dirk alive is a stressful job). Dirk’s is ALREADY going grey (Blackwing was a stressful place!). After a few years when they realise they’re both dyeing their hair and have a laugh about it they finally shrug off their vanity and embrace their silver fox years

-by 40, Dirk is having to squint when he reads. It takes five years of Todd nagging before he gets reading glasses (”I’m not an old man, Todd! I expect you want me to get them on a little chain round my neck, too?”). He complains about wearing them, and Todd teases but he’s actually incredibly attracted to glasses!Dirk and it shows

-while Dirk has eye problems, Todd has ear problems- he really should’ve known all those years playing deafening music in cramped venues with no earplugs would come back to bite him in the ass. By 50 he has hearing aids. He gets black ones cuz he can’t see the point in hiding them, and Dirk tells him he looks like a secret agent

-Dirk gets cold incredibly easily nowadays. Most of the time he swamps himself in jumpers and cardigans and ridiculous scarves. Somehow he still looks put-together, in his whimsical way. He doesn’t wear the leather jackets so much anymore- he doesn’t need them to feel safe.

-life slows down, somewhat. It’s like the universe can sense that they’re no spring chickens anymore. The cases they find rarely involve as much running as they used to- a fact that Dirk’s gammy knees and Todd’s bad back are immeasurably grateful for.

-Blackwing did some funny things to Dirk’s head, and he’s still discovering the extent of them. By 60, he’s starting to forget things. By 65, he’s forgetting important things. Now he’s seventy, and every day he gets up to go to work and Todd has to gently explain that they don’t do that anymore. Amanda and Farah’s kids- their goddaughters- took over the agency 3 years ago. And everyday Dirk looks at him and completely forgets to badger him about the agency because Todd’s standing right in front of him and he thought he hated him. When he asks Todd why he’s here, Todd’s heart sinks. But when he tells Dirk that he’s here because he’s his husband, the smile that lights up Dirk’s face is enough to get Todd through everything.

-though they don’t technically have the agency anymore, they never really stop solving mysteries. Every day brings a new domestic mystery (they’re still attempting to crack the case of Dirk’s missing slippers), and sometimes they work for the girls in a consulting capacity. And whenever Dirk goes for a stroll in the neighbourhood he always, always, finds someone’s missing cat. Looking at Dirk makes Todd sad a lot- most of their later years together, all that teasing about glasses and hearing aids, is completely gone from his memory. It’s like looking at the Dirk he first met, trapped in the body of the one he married. But he seems happy, and his love for Todd is the one thing he never forgets (well, that and his love for pizza).

…..oh shit that got angsty.......

anyone else wants send me characters and headcanon requests, be my guest!(but if you want strictly fluff-only you may have to specify xD)

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #dghda #brotzly #todd brotzman #dirk gently #ageing #headcanons #of course this is in a universe where nothing super crazy and life altering happens and no one dies in the next few seasons #i have a feeling this is gonna be thoroughly scrapped by the canon xD #angst #my fanfic

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ink-splotch · 7 years

Note

Okay, so, I'd love to read a little something by you set in a world where Lavender made it out of the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe not okay, but alive?

Once upon a time, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her. She had been the kind of kid who put on dramatic plays for her stuffed animals, for any visitors to the house, and for any neighbor or passersby she could snag from the front yard.

Dating Ron in sixth year had been fun, most of all because everyone had kept sneaking glances at her. She had heard her name in curious whispers and she had grinned and giggled into Parvati’s shoulder.

Everyone was looking now, or pretending not to. She heard the whispers– oh it’s that poor Brown girl. Can you imagine, if it was your daughter, if it was you? Oh and she was so pretty before, too–what a pity–almost makes it worse, doesn’t it?

–

“You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out. “I was there, once, when Lupin turned without the potion. I was so scared. I thought we were going to die.”

“Afraid I’ll sniff you out on a dark night?” Lavender said, face twisting as she sank back into her wicker chair.

“No, I–” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and all the hesitation was making Lavender more and more uncomfortable. Even at eleven, Hermione had bulldozed through things. She didn’t waver. “I was so scared, but I think it was even worse for him. It hurt, but he looked so scared, too, I–”

“I know how it feels,” said Lavender, very quietly, and Hermione snapped her mouth shut. Lavender took a big sip from her tea. It was still steaming– it had not taken long to exhaust small talk, between the two of them.

Hermione cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to– make things better. Do you want this?”

Lavender put her mug back down, shaking out scalded fingers, and said, “Yes.” Then, because her mother had raised her right, she said, “Thank you.”

“That sounds like a weird conversation,” said Parvati, whose door Lavender went and knocked on after she and Hermione had split the bill with the precise-to-the-Knut math of the vaguely acquainted and recently employed.

Lavender kicked through the fall of autumn leaves that had collected in front of the porch swing. “She was trying to be nice, I think.”

“She’s not very good at it,” said Parvati.

Her father wept. He tried not to but he was a crier, always had been.

“You were so brave,” said Lavender’s mother, cupping her cheeks in her warm hands and not even flinching at the scar tissue under her palms. “We are so proud.”

Lavender’s mother was a Muggleborn, daughter of a math teacher and a door-to-door salesman (“now there is a profession that requires some magic,” her grandfather used to tell her).

Her father was a wizard and he was trying hard not to cry, bending down to pet the dogs weaving between all their ankles. Lavender bent down, too, scratching behind Fiddlestick’s floppy ears while Mopsy cleaned her cheek forcefully. “Hey,” she said, and her father looked up, trying to firm his wobbly chin.

“You know I’m proud of you, too,” he said, trying not to tremble on it. “I just…” He reached out to squeeze her knee gently. “You did everything right. You did everything good. I’m so proud of you, chickadee.”

“I know,” she said, and she did. He was a Gryffindor, too.

It took Hermione more than a month to figure out the potion sufficiently well enough that she’d let Lavender try it. She was founding a non-profit for nonhuman rights, too, after all, as well as doing a fair few local speaking gigs, petitioning the Wizenagamot on a half dozen issues, getting an advanced degree, and supposedly, at some point, sleeping.

It took more than a month, so Lavender spent another night locked in her parents’ newly fortified cellar. She didn’t remember much, but she woke up with her throat sore and her nails ragged. The door was gouged from the inside. She wondered if she had been screaming. She wondered if that’s what the howls were. She felt like screaming, maybe, a little.

The door cracked open the moment the moon had dropped down below the horizon, outside. Her mother came in with a tray of her favorite breakfast foods– danishes and boiled eggs, steaming hot cocoa with the barest splash of bitter coffee in it.

Parvati came stomping down the stairs after her. “Graceful,” said Lavender. She winced at the roughness of her voice.

“Look who’s talking,” said Parvati. “Up, c'mon, eat your breakfast. We’re doing midnight manicures. Your dad says he’ll let us doll up his nails, too.”

The next full moon night, Lavender locked herself in the cellar again. “It should be safe,” Hermione had said. “It should. I mean, I’ve done all the tests. I followed all the instructions. It should work.”

Lavender didn’t remember, because she never remembered– she didn’t recall the cellar door unlocking and opening after ten minutes of post-moonrise silence. She didn’t recall Parvati Wingardium Leviosa-ing a comfy chair down the stairs, or her sitting down and pulling out a stack of Witch Weeklys, nor did she remember curling up on Parvati’s fuzzy button slippers and going to sleep.

But she did remember waking up in the morning, her cheek pressed into a soft pillow. She was tattered under a thick blanket, but she was human and looking upward at Parvati’s slack, sleeping face. Her dark plaits tumbled, curling, over the soft pink polka dots of her pajamas.

Lavender pulled herself up to sitting, stole the open Witch Weekly, and waited for Parvati to wake up.

“You’re going to be alright,” Professor Trelawney said and she wasn’t even looking at Lavender’s palm, just holding her hand tight in her cold fingers. “You’re going to be happy. You’re going to be fine. People are going to love you and stand by you and we will be there.”

The tower room was just the same as Lavender remembered it, down to the spicy-sweet tea and Trelawney’s big blinking eyes. Lavender squeezed her hands back. “I love you, too, professor.”

“You know, I think you can call me Sybil. It seems the time for it.”

–

Dean and Seamas’s housewarming for their ugly little first flat was a crowded mess, but the afterparty wasn’t. Lavender and Parvati came by with paint swatches, opinions, and hangover remedies. They ate greasy Chinese food on the floor, because it was about as comfortable as the couch.

They came back the next week, and the next. Parvati conjured a crackling fire in a big fruit bowl Dean’s mother had given him and they all sat around it like they were back at Gryffindor Tower’s hearths, procrastinating on homework.

On nights like that they sometimes talked about Hogwarts, but most of the time they didn’t. Dean had started drawing again and he walked them through his notebooks– his sisters, caricatures of the customers he dealt with in Ollivander’s wand shop, the snarky little comics he’d always scrawled in the edges of his notes. Parvati told them about the Auror trainees’ antics, going ut on their first field missions with their mentors. “All bravado and caffeine,” she said. “Bunch of show-offs.”

“So you fit in well, then?” Dean said.

“Nah, that’s Lav,” Parvati said. Dean and Seamas glanced warily at Lavender, but she just giggled and reached for another potsticker.

Seamas was considering going back to school. “Hermione’s been badgering me about it,” he said. “Says I have a talent for pyrotechnics, and there’s a whole major for fire magics at Brinxley.”

“What about you, Lav?” said Dean. “You still thinking about vet school?”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, that’s the Muggle word. Veterinarian�� a medimagizoologist?”

“The schools aren’t too interested in a werewolf as a student,” Lavender said, shrugging.

“Not that that stops Hermione from showing up on the doorstep with half-penned anti-discrimination lawsuits she wants Lav to star in,” Parvati said.

“When does she sleep?” said Dean.

–

Little children asked about it in the street sometimes. “Mum, why’s her face like that?” “How come she’s walking all funny?”

Sometimes their parents turned to Lavender with eager bright eyes in the grocery store line, expecting her to answer. (“I got hurt, but I’m okay now.”) Sometimes they shushed their kids and gave her little apologetic half-smiles, glancing away from the raised lines of scar tissue. Sometimes they pulled their children closer to them and crossed to the other side of the street.

Harry Potter had a godson. Teddy Lupin was four the first time Lavender met him, just outside Gringotts. Teddy clung to Harry’s pants leg, peeking past his godfather’s hanging robe. “Why’d her face do that?” he said and Harry dropped a hand down into Teddy’s hair, which was bright green.

“She’s just like your dad,” said Harry.

“Puppy,” Teddy whispered, eyes wide with joy, and his skin shifted until scars stood out stark on his smiling chubby cheeks.

Lavender bit her lip and sank down to her knees in the street, holding out a hand. “Why aren’t you handsome, chickadee. What’s your name?”

–

Once, Lavender had wanted everyone to look at her.

She hated stories that told you to be careful what you wished for. Were you not supposed to want things? Was that the answer? She was nearly twenty two and she could make things fly with a few whispered words. She had lived through her seventh year at Hogwarts, had stepped out into that battle with her wand out and her eyes open. She had woken up–hurting, wounds tended, poison in her veins–to Parvati sleeping on Sybil’s shoulder at her bedside.

She had cried when they told her about the lycanthropy. She had cried over her bunny because a fox had gotten to it. Both times it had been with her face buried in Parvati’s shoulder and Parvati’s hands stroking her hair. She wished and she wanted– animals that never left you, bodies that never betrayed you.

Once, Lavender had wished that everyone would look at her, and now they were. Everyone was looking– so Lavender held Parvati’s hand in the grocery store at midnight, because they had both been craving green apples. Everyone was looking– so Lavender curled her hair and pinned it up, wore tank tops and little skirts on any day hot enough that she could get away with it, laughed aloud in public spaces. Everyone was looking– so Lavender knocked on Hermione Granger’s door one evening and asked, “What would it take to get me into magical vet school?”

Hermione had her bushy hair all tied back and a quill behind each ear. “A lot. There’s some statutes we’ve got to fight, and even if we can handle that you’ll still be under intense scrutiny for years.”

“I can work with that,” said Lavender, and Hermione grinned.

–

When Teddy marched down the aisle with the rings, his hair was a shimmering swirl of pink and purple to match the flowers woven into Parvati’s braids and Lavender’s curls.

The honeymoon would be short–a week in magical Paris in the townhouse of a Beauxbaton girl they’d befriended fourth year. Lavender had more medical textbooks packed into her luggage than anything else. Parvati’s bags were lined with half-finished reports that she’d owl to Auror headquarters from a rumpled Parisian morning, getting croissant crumbs in the bedsheets.

But for now the hall was filled with pink and purple blooms, white candles, familiar faces. Hermione stood in a violet bridesmaid’s dress, and Dean and Seamus in matching ties at Parvati and Lavender’s respective backs. Padma was luminescent with joy over Parvati’s shoulder. She had taken Lavender aside that morning for a short quiet walk in the mist and told her, “I know tonight’s what makes it official, but I’ve thought of you as my sister for years.”

When Lavender leaned forward and kissed her wife, her father burst into proud tears in the front row. He was a crier, always had been. Lavender buried her face in Parvati’s shoulder, smiling so hard she thought she might come apart. Her scars creased and puckered in her dimples, and she was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

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