#i read love of the second star on ao3 months ago and haven’t stopped thinking abt it

[rendoesart8]

smaurent and damini❤️❤️❤️ (click for better quality bc tumblr sucks)

#i read love of the second star on ao3 months ago and haven’t stopped thinking abt it #captive prince #laurent of vere #damianos of akielos #princes gambit #smaurent #damini #kings rising #cs pacat #digital art

[fallen-gravity]

the good kind of scared

Luz takes Amity out on their first date as an official couple.

Amity can’t stop thinking about certain circumstances of a certain night.

Notes: 

WARNING: This fic contains major spoilers for Season 2, Episode 8 (Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door) of the Owl House. Read at your own risk.

Here’s my first shot at an owl house fic! I love Luz and Amity so much, they remind me so much of myself and my journey as a young wlw, and I wish them nothing but the best on their relationship journey.

AO3 

Luz regrets telling Eda she wanted to ask Amity out.

It’s not that she’s being mean or judgmental about the whole ordeal, and it’s not even that she’s being overprotective and going full Owlbeast on Amity for getting too close, or threatening to break something of hers if she breaks Luz’s heart.

Oh no. Luz would absolutely prefer Eda threatening to drop Amity off in the middle of the wilderness for hurting her to what she’s actually doing.

Every time Luz even mentions Amity, even if she’s just talking about her day at school, Eda’s on her back with a nudge of her shoulders, a hip check, and a wink. It’s always “How’s your girlfriend doing, Luz?” this and “When are you bringing your girlfriend home, Luz?” that. 

If Luz’s face could burn any hotter she’s sure it would catch on fire.

(She shudders at the thought of how much more embarrassing her mother back home is going to be about it).

Honestly, it’s a miracle she was even able to plan their first date without Eda butting in at all.

“Bring her home by midnight!” Eda singsongs, tossing her staff to Amity as the two of them are heading out the door. “Now go have fun, you crazy kids!” 

Luz scrubs her hands down her face and groans into them. Beside her, Amity giggles nervously. 

“I’ll try,” she murmurs under her breath, and it only makes Luz’s blush even worse.

“I’m so sorry about her” Luz groans once they’re outside and Eda is out of earshot. “I begged her not to be embarrassing about this whole thing, but she just laughed at me and told me that was her job”

Amity laughs, bashfully covering her mouth with a hand. She’s so cute. “It’s fine. You wouldn’t believe how Edric and Emira acted when I told them where I was going. I thought I was going to be stuck at home with all of their squealing for hours before they finally let me go”

Luz can’t help but laugh. “Are you ready to go? I kind of want to get out of here before Hooty catches wind at what’s going on” she gestures with her thumb towards the door behind them. Hooty is, thankfully, too asleep to have heard any of that conversation. 

For the briefest of seconds, Amity’s eyes go wide. “Right,” she says, and offers Eda’s staff back to Luz. Her eyes dart to the ground as her entire face begins to flush pink. “Well, where did you want to take me? You said no asking until I got here”

That’s right. Luz can feel her own blush burning into her cheeks. She’d completely forgotten it was supposed to be a surprise, and that this date was the date to determine all of their future dates going forward.

Luz clears her throat to clear her thoughts, and sits down on the staff to wake up Owlbert. 

“Hop on!” she tells Amity beside her, her voice cracking into oblivion. “You’ll know when we get there”

Amity giggles, but she complies, sitting behind Luz and wrapping her arms around her waist to keep herself steady.

...This is the end of her, Luz thinks, her face turning redder than apple blood. She’s dead. She’s dying. She’s no more.

But before Amity has the time to ask her what’s wrong or pull away, Luz takes off into the sky, perhaps a bit faster than she intended to. It takes a moment for their flight to steady, since she’d accidentally startled Owlbert from taking off too quickly, but once he’s calmed down it’s smooth sailing to their destination.

And even now that everything is all smooth and balanced, Amity still has her arms around Luz’s waist, which means that it has nothing to do with keeping herself steady at all, that Amity just genuinely wanted to sit that close to her and hold her throughout the entire duration of their flight, and hooo, boy, Luz isn’t quite sure her fragile little hopeless romantic heart can handle that information.

Focus, she tells herself. You’ve only got one shot at a first date, and everyone knows the first date is the most important.

She takes a deep breath in and slowly exhales to dispel her spiking nerves. 

“Look, Amity…” She starts, and though Amity does not move her arms from around her waist, Luz can feel Amity’s hair brush against her cheek as she sits up to meet her eyes. “I know that you’ve lived here your entire life, and I’ve only been here for a few months, and there’s probably not much here that I could show you that you haven’t already seen hundreds of times. And I know I keep talking about going home, and everything I like about living there, but...I think it’s only fair that I show you the reason I fell in love with this place, too”  she coughs, her blush returning to her cheeks again. “B-besides you, I mean” 

Amity’s entire face goes pink, and she buries it into Luz’s shoulder. “Luz…” she whimpers, so unlike the cool and collected Amity that walks the halls of Hexside, and somehow it has Luz’s heart flipping in her chest even more.

“I know it’s not much, but….” Luz gestures outward with an arm, and Amity finally finds the strength to pull away from her shoulder. Upon following Luz’s gestured arm with her gaze, a small gasp escapes her.

It’s the same view of the Boiling Isles that Eda had shown her on her first day on the Isles. It’s the entire view of the Titan’s skeleton, yes, and the lit homes of all the residents of Bonesborough, but most importantly it’s the sky. When Luz had been up here with Eda the sun was setting and Luz was sure that it was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen, but tonight’s sky takes the cake (...again, besides Amity). Tonight the sky is clear as can be, twinkling with thousands of shining stars. There’s a distant galaxy streaking across the sky; not quite the Milky Way, but equally as beautiful, and, if Luz looks long enough, a few scattered shooting stars.

“Woah,” Amity gasps behind her, and tightens her grip around Luz’s waist ever so slightly. “It’s all so…” she pauses, her gaze shifting from the night sky to Luz, “...beautiful”

Luz squeaks. “You’re beautiful” she murmurs, burying her face into her hands once again.

Amity laughs at that, but if Luz unburies her face from her hands she’d see the blush permanently branded into her girlfriend’s face at the compliment.

For a few moments after, the two of them fall into a comfortable silence. Amity’s arms remain where they are around Luz’s waist, and Luz does her best to lean backwards into her touch. They don’t move, and don’t focus on anything but the night sky and the quiet, gentle flapping of Owlbert’s tiny wings if they listen hard enough. 

It’s...peaceful. A dramatic shift in pace compared to the past week for sure, but it's a change that Luz is welcoming with open arms.

She’s about to close her eyes and let herself soak everything in when Amity speaks up again, nearly startling her out of her skin.

“Hey, actually…now that we’re alone, can I…ask you a question?”

Luz swallows. It must be crucial relationship business if whatever this is had to wait until they were on their date, as far away from other prying ears as they could possibly get. Trying her hardest not to let her nerves show, Luz carefully shifts on the staff so she’s sitting beside Amity rather than in front of her.

“Y-yeah! What’s up?”

Amity’s face goes pink and she starts nervously playing with her hair, like it’s killing her just to even think about asking whatever this crucial question is. Just as quickly as the blush appeared, though, she’s clearing her throat and patting her hair back into place, steeling herself for whatever Luz’s answer could be.

“Was...was the tunnel of love really Hooty’s idea, or were you just saying that because you were…” her blush appears, twice as red as it had been a moment ago. “...anxious about telling me how you felt?”

Luz is, once again, feeling like her face is on fire. “Ugh, I’m so sorry about all of that” she scrubs a hand down her face. “Hooty had this whole thing going on about insisting he needed to help people, and he must’ve gotten it in his head that he needed to help me with-”

She’s cut off by the sensation of Amity gently taking her free hand in her own, rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hand with her thumb. “Sorry?” she giggles. “Why are you sorry?” 

Luz finally finds the strength to meet Amity’s eyes despite the blush burned into her cheeks. 

Her eyes are shining, which is just about the prettiest, most adorable thing Luz has ever seen, hands down.

“I mean, Hooty kidnapping me was…” she trails off, shuddering, “but...everything else? It was so cute, Luz. It was so much like you to make this grand old gesture for me. I was terrified just kissing you on the cheek the other night, and there you were, being so extravagantly...you” 

...She liked all of that? She didn’t think it was dumb, or embarrassing, or completely and utterly laughable??? She thought it was sweet?

It’s decided, Luz Noceda is officially the luckiest girl in the world. Nobody else in the entire Boiling Isles has better luck than her.

Luz sighs, and returns Amity’s gesture by taking her other hand in her own. “I guess...it’s because everyone back home thinks I’m too schmaltzy. Every time I talk about this new romance book I’d read, or this new fic I finished writing, or the proposal I was working on for this guy I wanted to ask to homecoming, they’d just...laugh at me, like there goes Luz again, doing too much for things that don’t matter that much. I’m so used to being shot down for being too much that I felt...scared” 

Amity snorts. “We waltzed together to defeat Grom, Luz. I don’t think you can get much schmaltzier than that. Besides…” she inches ever closer, planting a kiss on Luz’s cheek. “There’s no such thing as too much of you, Luz. If nobody back home saw that, then they didn’t deserve you”

A smile tugs at Luz’s lips. “More like I don’t deserve you, you big sap” she gives Amity’s cheek a kiss in return, and she beams at the sensation, adorably scrunching up her nose. The beam stays plastered on her face when Luz pulls away, and Amity gently touches the spot on her cheek where Luz had just kissed her. 

“Well, what about right now?” Amity asks, the shine returning to her eyes. “You’re not still feeling scared, are you?” 

The phrasing of her second question suddenly makes Luz very aware of how close they’re sitting to each other. Her heart starts pounding in her chest at the very real possibility that they are close enough to kiss, actually kiss, on the lips, if they so wanted to. 

“Yeah,” she answers honestly, but leans her head in closer to Amity to test the waters. Amity realizes what she’s doing pretty quickly, but shows no hesitation in meeting her halfway.

Luz can’t help the beam spreading across her own face as they pull away from their first kiss. “...but I think it’s the good kind of scared.”

#my writing #lumity #toh #the owl house #knock knock knocking on hooty's door

[thegreenmetblue]

Voyeurism

Starker + Tony being a bad guilty man watching Peter jerking off to him

Still from a Discord chat where the pillow pic was shared as a joke, then I let my brain did the rest

read on ao3

The first time it happens, Tony’s in the lab. The boy excused himself like 10 minutes ago he’s still not there yet. Tony’s wondering what is he doing. That’s when Friday alerts him.

«Boss. I have to inform you that Mr. Parker keeps whimpering your name in his room, it appears he’s in distress.»

Tony freaks out and ask Friday to show him the camera from Peter’s room. He expected the worse, seeing Peter on the floor, bleeding. He, however, didn’t expect to see the boy on his bed, one hand around his hard cock, the other hand pinching his left nipple, moaning Mr Stark. Tony panics and turns it off. He really wasn’t supposed to see this.

After a few minutes, in which Tony almost had a breakdown Peter comes back like nothing happened, like you weren’t touching yourself thinking about me, kid and Tony does his best to act like he’s not aware of what he just witnessed, like he’s not still clearly seeing the look of Peter’s face or his damn cock in his mind.

The second time it happens, Tony’s doing an important meeting. He’s getting alerted again. Fucki-Christ is he doing that again ? Fuck. He doesn’t watch it. He can’t. That is his mentee’s private life. Even if it’s Tony’s name that’s been moaned. He can’t. Plus he’s trying to deal with serious business at the moment. That doesnt stop him from being hard as fuck in the middle of a meeting but Tony will totally deny that fact.

The third time it happens, Tony is alone. In his bed. It’s late. Fuck, I thought the kid was sleeping by now. But Tony can’t take it anymore. It’s constantly haunting him, constantly on his mind. He can’t even look at Peter without thinking about this. He’s just- he’s just gonna check once and then never do it again. He just needs to-

« Fri, baby girl, show me the camera from Peter’s room please. »

Tony’s breath stops, his heart pounds hard in his chest, his skin feels on fire as he watches Peter almost naked, trying to finger himself. Tony swears out loud, his hand shaking. He’s never seen someone so beautiful trying to finger himself. And the « Mr Stark please » coming out of Peter’s mouth don’t help. And before Tony even realize it, his own hand is down on his already hard cock.

This spirals from there. It’s like a drug. Tony can’t stop.

After months of jerking off to Peter jerking off to him, Tony’s guilt is too much. He can’t even sleep anymore. He’s being the most pervert human on the earth and Peter doesn’t deserve that. He can’t look at Peter in the eyes anymore because of the guilt. And Peter’s starting to feel hurt by that, Tony can feel it. And it’s hurting him too. He needs to tell him he knows. He won’t tell about how turned on Tony is every time. He won’t tell Tony can’t look at Peter without wanting to make him scream in pleasure but he needs to tell him to stop doing that here. But how... ? Tony can’t show up and just says «Hey kid I know you’ve been jerking off thinking about me for months now.» So Tony think about a way of doing it for Peter to not cry in shame, he doesn’t want that. That’s how one day, when Peter’s coming back in his room, after a school day, he just finds this weird pillow on his bed.

Of-fucking-course, this doesn’t work at all. Peter just take this as a freaking invitation because after freaking out and crying all evening, the only conclusion his brain is making about Tony talking about his cum is that the man wants him too.

So after asking tons of question to MJ about what he should to, he chooses to wait almost naked in Tony’s bed yeah that boy is too shy to express himself so he shifts as a slut.

When Tony enters his room and his eyes lay on Peter, pretty much naked, spreads in his bed like a gift, he just can’t take it. Fuck the guilt, fuck morality, fuck Peter.

« You’re really asking for it, kid. Fucking Christ. Too bad I never had a strong hold on my self-control.»

He growls, because fuck, he’s already so hard.

« Please don’t. Don’t control yourself, Mr Stark» Peter begs.

****

They start almost-dating after that. I mean, they haven’t really talked about it but guess that’s what having sex and spending all their time together is called. Peter always had feelings for Tony and Tony is discovering his for Peter. So they’re going a bit like that for a while, and both of them are in heaven. Tony never told Peter about the jerking off. Even after having actual sex with him, he’s still so guilty about that time.

But that day comes anyway. Bruce had a lab accident and called for Tony’s help. Both Peter and Tony comes running alerted by Friday they were about to fuck damn it. When everything is under control again, Bruce just thanks them and says

« Im thankful you programmed this name thing. I’d be fried at this moment if it wasn’t for it.»

Peter is like « What thing ? » and before Tony can even stop Bruce, the truth comes out.

« Oh that protocol alerting Tony everytime his name is mentioned in the building.»

There’s a silence. A loud one. Then Peter’s eyes just widened in realization.

« Everytime his name is WHAT ? » He bursts out, then he turns to Tony.

« Everytime your name is what, Tony? »

And despite the shame, because Fuck Tony knew he jerked off to him really ??? he’s angry because Tony could have told him. Before saying anything, Tony asks Bruce to leave and when there’s just us again, Tony starts

« Peter let me explain-»

« No. Just answer me. Did you know I used to jerk off to you ? »

Tony doesn’t answer, he just stars at Peter. But that’s the answer. And Peter was planning to be angry. Because That’s so embarrassing fuck, he however didn’t plan to get hard at that. Tony was about to say sorry when he sees Peter is clearly turned on. His brain freeze.

« I watched you, I watched you jerking off, moaning my name, for months. But Peter, don’t you dare pretend the idea of me watching you didn’t occurs you once. You know this whole building in covered in cameras. You know I control anything. You know I love controlling everything. You’re a smart boy, Pete. I felt guilty this whole time but now Im starting to think that idea crossed your mind before, did it ? »

He tells instead. Peter is speechless. His heart hammering in his chest.

« Answer me. »

Tony asks, his dominant voice activated and Peter can’t help but whimpers.

« Y... yes it did. » he confesses, lowering his eyes in shame, his cheeks burning.

Tony smirks. Because fuck, he was still dead guilty about it but in fact Peter is just a kinky as him.

#starker #tony stark #ironspider #peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #leah writes sometimes

[caswellprmanager]

drawbridge

read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

Summary: Snippets of EJ Caswell's life leading up to the mystery that is Ricky Bowen.

Notes: Hello. I decided to bite the bullet and post something here! This technically is in my Trans!EJ and Genderqueer!Ricky AU but I haven't properly written anything for it yet so consider this one to be the first official fic within that universe. Feel free to send some asks or other headcanons in my inbox about the AU! I'd love to hear what people think (but don't be unnecessarily mean. I will delete that very quickly.)

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in all things transgender or genderqueer. I am writing from my own experience within the spectrum however so it's truthful to what I have been through, but will not represent everyone else's experiences. I also have friends within the spectrum who have given me great advice on how to go about these things but once again, it won't be accurate to everyone's experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, transphobia, and neglectful parents

People always told EJ that he had the picture perfect family.

His mom and dad were successful corporate lawyers, they lived in the wealthiest suburb in all of Salt Lake City, and he was the kind of child other parents would compare their own children to saying, "why can't you be more like EJ?"

But EJ knows that's farthest from the truth.

He doesn't have the picture perfect life or the paragon of White American families that people think they do. His parents are affectionate and supportive only when there are people around to comment on it. Most of the time, they're not even at home, leaving all of the child raising to their maids and other house servants. EJ spends more time at Ashlyn's house than he does at home because at least his aunt and uncle actually treat him like a son.

Because there are days his parents would forget they have a son. Sometimes they'd slip and call him their daughter, which makes EJ want to disappear from this world altogether. He supposes he should be grateful that they even bothered to pay for all the things he asked for — binders, testosterone shots, and regular visits to the doctor to check up on him throughout his transition. And he is grateful. He knows so many kids like him that can't even afford a decent sized binder without going bankrupt. He used to be that kid until he gathered up all his courage to come out to his parents.

But what they told him?

"Well, if you're gonna be our son, you will have to work twice as hard to make us proud now."

Yeah. It's a lot to process when you're 12 years old and scared shitless that you'd be disowned for "disrupting the natural order." But he figures things could be worse. So he sucks it up and vows to become the kind of son that his parents could truly brag about.

When EJ was a kid, he loved mysteries. His parents were the greatest mystery of them all. He's spent so much of his time trying to figure out what makes them happy, or angry, or sad. He's put the clues together and has a cork board of pictures and red string at the forefront of his mind whenever he so much as tries to interact with them. Soon, he sort of figured out what makes his parents smile at him — when EJ is excellent.

So, he became excellent at all kinds of sports, took up piano lessons, studied until his eyeballs burned with the lowlight of his desk lamp — all so that he could maybe get a pat on the back from his dad and a small smile from his mom. Their versions of "good job" or "keep it up." He drank that all in, craved it even, and worked his whole life until now to get even an iota of his parents' affection.

So, when he meets Ricky Bowen, the lanky and extremely clumsy skater who seems to live in the detention room, he was met with a brand new mystery to solve.

"Who's that?" EJ whispers into Nini's ear, who just seems to be irritated by the new person's presence.

"That's Ricky," she says with the barest hint of affection but with a whole lot of irritation. "My ex."

"Huh," He says, intrigued by the way Ricky's movements stutter like a half-finished stop motion film and how their wide doe eyes scan the room like — unironically — a deer in headlights. They looked nervous, confused, and all around terrified and EJ wants to reach out to them and tell them that this was a safe space. That they could be whoever they wanted to be in the theater.

He glances at Nini when Ricky starts singing a song that she seems to recognize. The immediate tensing of her shoulders and the way she subconsciously reaches out for EJ's hand for support tells him that this song... means something. Or meant something. EJ's not quite sure but he squeezes Nini's hand in silent reassurance, bringing himself to half-glare at the guitar playing skater just a few feet before him.

--

He met Nini during theater camp. A firecracker of talent with a voice that could melt the heart of even the coldest man on earth. She was beautiful in the spotlight and even more ethereal beneath the stars. She was kind, gentle, and a mystery that EJ solved quickly enough. She wore her heart on her sleeve despite it being broken because she believes that broken hearts can be mended with time and patience.

Nini was patient with him. She was patient with him when he took her up the little hill next to the campsite just to watch the stars on an old picnic blanket he stole from the camp counselors. She was patient with him when he couldn't keep up with the dance steps. Her hand was warm in his own and the flush of her palm by his neck was a grounding force that kept his head from going in the clouds.

She was especially patient with him when he took her to an empty tent and told her about his life. Nini was kind. Nini was patient. Nini was safe. And if she were to walk away and tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him after what he told her, he would have understood and learned to not associate kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers to what could be barely described as home.

But she held his hand in her tinier ones, a smile on her face that radiated warmth that seeped into the depths of his soul, and told him that she was proud of him.

It was the first time that someone was proud of him... for just being him.

He cried into her arms that night, knowing he's got a lifelong friend within the kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers of one Nini Salazar-Roberts.

--

"She thinks I'm a Chad?" He asks, less incredulously and more with a burning curiosity.

Nini rubs his arm comfortingly but he keeps staring at the cast list like it was going to burst into flames any second. "You're still a Troy understudy! You could still go on as him in one of the shows."

"Shows only run for three nights, Nini." He says with barely concealed frustration. Great. If he can't even get the role he was technically destined to play, how the hell is he going to explain himself to his parents?

You're not the lead? Oh, then we won't watch. If you're not onstage the whole time, why be there?

EJ grits his teeth and slowly brings his gaze to the person who has just taken away one more way for him to prove himself to his parents. Ricky Fucking Bowen, who stands there once again with their enormous brown eyes, gaping like a fish. EJ wants to deck them in the face. But Nini's hold on his arm grounds him back to reality and he lets out a long breath through his nose.

This is gonna be a long next few months.

--

"Look, I'm just trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Don't try," He ends up saying, still wiping at the blood caused by the basketball Ricky hit him with only moments ago. "It's painful to watch you do something you clearly don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to do this?" Ricky asks with furrowed brows and EJ throws the wadded up tissue paper stained with his blood into the trash.

"You hated musicals before you auditioned. You landed the part of Troy without even fucking trying. And now you think you can get through rehearsals without fucking trying? It's tiring to work with someone who couldn't give two shits about this musical in the first place!" He says, every sentence rising in volume as he steps closer and closer to Ricky. "You also need to stay the fuck away from Nini."

Ricky scoffs then. "Why? Cause you're her boyfriend?"

"What? And you are?" He retaliates, which effectively makes Ricky click their mouth shut. EJ smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Nini can choose whoever she wants to talk to." Ricky ends up saying with tense shoulders and a glare that could murder if EJ weren't already a person who doesn't fear death. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Well someone has to!" EJ throws his hands up in frustration, grabbing his jacket and zipping it up angrily. "Because you don't listen to Nini though, do you? Have you ever listened to her? Do you listen to anybody?"

"EJ I—"

"You better listen to me right now Ricky Bowen," he laces every syllable of Ricky's name with venom. "Stop trying to make things right. Stop trying to become a person you're not. If you actually cared about Nini or – god forbid – the musical, you'd stop trying and just get your shit together."

EJ doesn't even bother to look back at Ricky as he exits the bathroom, unaware of the look in Ricky's eyes when he walked away.

--

It isn't until Ricky approaches him one day after rehearsals that EJ was finally starting to unravel the mystery that was Ricky Bowen.

"Hey... EJ?" Ricky asks, looking at anywhere but at him and EJ would have been annoyed if it weren't for the way Ricky was holding themselves in front of him. They were tense, eyes glassy and unfocused whenever EJ caught a glance, and their fingers were gripping their bag straps so tightly that he was afraid Ricky was going to rip it apart if they weren't careful.

"Hey Ricky," He says with a softer voice than he's ever used with Ricky. "Is there something you need?"

Ricky's eyes dart around the still full rehearsal room, at the dangerously close proximity Miss Jenn was, at the stage managers that were just behind EJ who were reviewing the blocking notes, and finally at Nini who was engaged in a conversation with Carlos and Seb. Ricky's eyes lingered on Nini for a bit before they reluctantly settled on EJ's pristine white sneakers. "I would have normally asked Nini for this but – and you can say no by the way I'd completely understand – it's just..."

Ricky looks around again before leaning closer to EJ and shakily whispering, "Do you have any tampons?"

And just like that, the walls that were built around a certain Ricky Bowen were starting to crack. And EJ was allowed to see the smallest snippet of the kind of vulnerability that Ricky was capable of.

And it was the kind of vulnerability that he could relate to completely.

"My emergency stash is in my locker," He says, hastily packing up the rest of his things while Ricky continues to stand there dumbfounded. When EJ turns back to him with his own bag over his shoulder, he could see that there are a few unshed tears shining in Ricky's eyes. EJ softens for a second, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ricky to come to him for something so private.

"Come on. I'll even guard the bathroom for you." Ricky eventually follows him after a few seconds of just staring at his back and they fall in step around the corner. Ricky stays silent, fingers all fidgety and eyes still darting around like they'll be caught any second. EJ, instinctually, wraps a comforting arm around Ricky's shoulders. Ricky doesn't relax immediately but they do lean a little closer, somehow finding the weight of EJ's arm around them safe.

They eventually reach EJ's locker and Ricky smiles a bit because it's directly across from Sharpay's famous pink lockers. "Did you choose this spot specifically for Sharpay's lockers?"

EJ glances behind him and chuckles, rummaging through his stuff. "Oh yeah. If you say Ashley Tisdale three times in a row while touching her locker, you're guaranteed good fortune for at least a week."

Ricky looks at him with a smirk. "Have you tried that before?"

"Every year during finals week. I'm telling you, that shit works."

"Or maybe you're just really smart."

"Maybe," EJ says, finally locating his emergency stash of period essentials. "Or maybe it's just Ashley Tisdale bopping me to the top."

That's when Ricky lets out a laugh — an honest to god booming belly laugh that makes EJ pause just to stare at him. They look... nice like this. Without the worry lines and longing gazes at a girl who won't give them the time of day. They look just like a little kid, carefree and alive despite the world crumbling all around them, and EJ feels a weird surge of pride at being the person who made Ricky laugh like that.

He wants Ricky to laugh like that more. He wants to be the person who makes Ricky laugh like that more.

And so the walls around Ricky crack a little further, and the drawbridge is opened for one weary traveler to come in.

EJ doesn't notice the cracks on his own walls, nor the knowing little princess who watches from the east tower, smiling.

--

"Hey, what are your pronouns?"

Ricky doesn't look up from their practice skateboard, concentrating hard on their balance. "I don't have any. I'm just Ricky." They look up though, giving EJ a warm smile. "But go ahead and use any pronouns with me. I don't mind if it's you."

"So would you mind if I call you your majesty?"

EJ doesn't miss the flush on Ricky's cheeks at that and definitely doesn't miss the way they say "I'd like that very much." with the barest hint of embarrassment.

"Okay," EJ says with his chin propped up in his hands. "Your majesty."

Ricky falls off of their practice skateboard then, soon glaring up at a cackling EJ still with a blushing face.

--

EJ forgot his binder today.

And his body loved reminding him every time he took a step.

Thankfully, there wasn't going to be water polo practice today and he could get away with wearing multiple layers to school. But even with the sports bra, the t-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the letterman jacket doing a good job at making his chest look flat, he still felt his skin crawl looking at the mirror. His jeans hugged him a little too tightly, forcing him to notice the still feminine curve of his hips. His sports bra was a tad smaller than the last time he wore it, so the pinch at his chest doubled in size.

EJ resolved that he was not going to have a good day today.

But today was tech rehearsals and he couldn't ditch that. He was starting to really enjoy rehearsals now that he and Ricky are on good terms. Even the stage managers ask him to hang out with them time to time outside of rehearsals. EJ actually felt like... he really belonged somewhere now. And he wasn't going to let this ruin it for him. Not today.

"Hey EJ," He heard Nini say to him as he got out of his car. "What's with all the layers? It's pretty hot today."

"It's one of those days, Neens." He says with a heavy sigh and Nini just grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Ricky rolls up to them two seconds later, their head suspiciously missing a helmet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to wear a helmet when you're skateboarding, Ricky?" EJ tries to scold the junior despite this weirdly overwhelming fondness growing inside of him every time he even looks at Ricky now.

"Haven't gotten into an accident yet," Ricky shrugs, smiling politely at Nini and changing it into a cocky little smirk the second they look at EJ.

"Yet being the operative word here," EJ rolls his eyes and opens his trunk for Ricky to stash his board in for later. "I won't drive you to the hospital if you end up getting a concussion for not wearing a helmet."

"Yes you will." Ricky says, knocking their shoulders together. "You love me!"

EJ freezes for a bit but before he could even respond, Ricky is already catching up to Big Red and Gina, waving back at EJ and Nini with a wide grin. EJ stares at him for a few seconds, not quite sure how to process the last few moments, until Nini waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to EJ?"

"Huh?"

"Care to share with the class what's going on?" The little smirk on her lips says it all and EJ was not going to fall for that.

"Nope. There's nothing to share."

"Mhm," She says, looping her arm around EJ as soon as he closed his trunk. "Of course there isn't, EJ." Nini pretends not to see EJ staring at Ricky as they walk into school. EJ pretends to not notice that she's pretending to not see EJ pretending to not overtly stare at Ricky.

Besides, EJ has gotten pretty good at pretending.

--

Aaaannndd that's it for now. I hope you guys liked that! I really enjoyed exploring trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky through this au and it means a lot to me. Maybe next time I'll write something in ricky's pov but for now thanks for reading !!

#ej caswell #ricky bowen #nini salazar roberts #rj #hsmtmts #trans!ej #genderqueer!ricky #tw: gender dysphoria #tw: transphobia #tw: neglectful parents #cloud's writing now #hsmtmts fanfiction #they're not really together yet here but #ej is Definitely pining at the end tho #and nini is the best i will not tolerate nini slander in my blog #caswen #ricky x ej #ej x ricky

[waveypedia]

got fears but i face them

~

Lena and Webby finally reconcile.

Ao3

~

Webby and Lena don’t talk until three full days after the FOWL raid.

Oh, they talk, all right. Dewey never misses an opportunity to drag the kids together and gush about the adventure. While they had floated and filtered throughout the family on the long ride home, the ten kids had made an unspoken home base in the bottom corner of the plane, near the emergency hatch that Launchpad had accidentally opened. They chatted brightly, sharing jokes and trading jabs, high on the adrenaline of a long day and a treacherous fight won. But Webby and Lena never interacted directly in their conversations beyond pleasantries. 

They didn’t talk in the way that mattered.

After the comfortingly familiar sight of Duckburg had crested over the horizon and the plane had landed, Webby and Lena left each other without so much as a goodbye. Ty and Indy were hovering impatiently at the Sunchaser’s doors, flooding inside as soon as they possibly could and scooping Violet and Lena in their arms. Webby stood off to the side, her grandmother’s steady hands on her shoulders. She watches two doting fathers hold their daughters close and thinks about family. She thinks about her Granny, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and Uncle Scrooge-Dad, and Uncle Donald and Aunt Della. She thinks about May and June, safe and happy with Uncle Donald and Aunt Daisy.

She thinks about June in her room and a flippantly cut string and Lena’s wrath. June watches Lena too, with Aunt Daisy’s hand on her head, and guilt flashes in her naive eyes. 

It’s almost the push she needs. Energy floods Webby’s tired body, and she tenses to surge forward and crash at Lena’s feet, blubbering with apologies and tears. 

Granny’s hand tightens on her shoulder, a silent warning.

Webby glances up. Granny’s eyes meet hers, as wise and clever as ever. She shakes her head, a tiny signal. As always, Granny can read Webby perfectly. Webby may not be able to read Granny so accurately, but this time the message is clear. Now is not the time.

Webby understands. With her family’s help, she’s getting better at social cues. This is the Sabrewing family’s moment, not hers.

Webby looks away.

Webby looks away, and promises to claim her moment soon.

--

After that, the next few days are both a flurry of activity and uncharacteristically empty for an adventuring family such as the McDucks. As per usual after an adventure, they trudge into the mansion, adrenaline sludging off in droves, and crash in bed for the next twelve hours. Webby wakes to the smell of blueberry pancakes, her favorite in childhood, and stumbles downstairs to where Granny is occupying the empty kitchen, a small, knowing smile on her face. She eats, watches the unfortunately missed Ottoman Empire series finale with her brothers (“I can’t believe we missed the series finale!” “We had to go rescue Webby and Huey, Louie.” “Yeah, but it’s the series finale! Now the show is over and there’ll be no more Ottoman Empire, ever!” “Eh, I’m sure they’ll reboot it in another thirty years.” “Yeah, but I’ll be old by then!”), eats less-than-healthy food that the adults let slide, and sleeps again.

On the second day, Webby and her brothers set up a room for May and June at the mansion while Aunt Della, Uncle Donald, and Aunt Daisy make last-minute arrangements to bring two extra kids on their vacation. May and June apologize, awkwardly and haltingly, at every possible occasion, and it’s all Webby and her brothers can do to lessen their guilt. But there’s one apology that sticks with Webby more than the rest.

June pulls her aside late into the afternoon, while Huey is teaching May the Junior Woodchuck certified method for hanging up curtains. 

“I’m sorry for cutting your string,” June says, nervously playing with her pigtails. “I know it’s really important to you.”

“It’s fine!” Webby’s voice is much brighter than she feels. The memory leaves an acidic sensation in her stomach and a bad taste in her mouth. Tears prick at her eyes at the secondhand sensation of Lena’s destructive fury and June’s panicked cries. But most of all, the helplessness and unsureness Webby felt in the moment. She had to watch her best friend tear into her adopted sister without a second thought, and part of it was justified but not all, and she didn’t know what to do. Her undying loyalty was shot in the face of uncertainty of who to pledge it to.

June frowns at her. She may be a FOWL clone, a test tube baby, barely a few months old, but she’s sharper than she looks. Louie’s lessons must be paying off. “It- it doesn’t have to be. I know I messed up. I messed up a lot.”

“You didn’t know what you were doing,” Webby says. The lie is heavy on her tongue, even if she means well.

June can’t meet her gaze. “Please, Apri- Webby.” Her sister’s head snaps up, her gaze shining and uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t make allowances. I want to earn your forgiveness.”

Webby blinks, stunned speechless, for a few moments. When she finds her voice, she clears her throat hesitantly. “Thanks. I… I appreciate that.”

June licks her lips nervously and nods her head, slow and careful. “Thank you for listening to me. It’s… new to me.”

Webby smiles awkwardly. “Of course, sis.”

As she had intended, June’s eyes light up at the term, and her vivacious smile is back in full smile. She squeals and squeezes Webby in a quick hug before returning to Dewey and Louie, the former who is trying to get the latter to do his laundry. Webby smiles fondly.

Webby knows most siblings don’t really call each other “bro” and “sis”. It’s a fixture of the media. Dewey explained it to her a week after Huey, Dewey, and Louie sat her down and told her in no uncertain terms they wanted her to be their sister. (She cried.) But with May and June, it feels right. They may not be normal siblings by both the media’s and society’s standards, but they’re sisters all the same.

The smile slips off Webby’s face as her thoughts spiral. June was right. The string issue is still bothering her, and she needs to address it.

Lena and Violet haven’t stopped by the mansion since the original failed FOWL raid. It’s not unusual for them to stop by later after an adventure, but usually they stay for the night after the trip.

They didn’t this time. Ty and Indy swept them away.

In bed, on the night of the second day, Webby lies awake long after lights-out. She stares at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars she and Lena stuck up there two years ago, back when Lena was stuck as Magica’s lackey. The fear in her gut curdles into steady determination, and Webby Vanderquack makes a decision.

She picks up her phone, charging next to her, and texts Violet. Can I come over tomorrow?

Despite the late hour, Violet replies immediately. That would be agreeable.

No text bubble pops up to indicate Violet wants to say more, so Webby likes her message and sets her phone on the nightstand next to her. She lies her hands crossed on her belly and breathes deeply, wide awake. But a few minutes later, her phone buzzes again.

Is this purely a social call, or do you wish to speak to Lena?

Webby stares at the screen for a couple minutes, biting her lip. She knows Violet’s seen her read receipt, and usually that would spur Webby into action, but she can’t spew nonsensical responses right now. 

Finally, she settles on a simple Yes.

Violet’s reply is swift. Good.

This time, her typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Lena has been much more reticent since we departed Alexandria. My research has shown me that communication is the most effective path to healthy relationships.

Webby’s beak quirks up in a small, fond smile. Yeah. Me too.

I do not doubt that the pair of you will heal each other. Violet responds. Good night, Webbigail.

Gnight, Vi.

--

At precisely one-thirteen PM on the third day, Webby stands on the doorstep of the Sabrewing household, clutching a small purse and a bag of candy.

She rings the doorbell, and Ty greets her at the door. His face splits into a warm, fond smile at the sight of her, and it warms Webby’s heart. Ty and Indy are by no means the adults she’s closest to in her family, but from the moment Webby met them, they’ve never failed to make her feel welcome and safe and loved. 

“Come in, come in!” Ty gushes, guiding her into their familiar foyer, where Violet is peacefully reading a book. “Lena’s upstairs.”

“I’ll show her, father. Thank you.” Violet rises from her armchair, placing a bookmark in her book and carefully setting it down on the coffee table. She gracefully crosses the room and latches onto Webby’s arm.

“Okay. Have fun, you guys! I’ll make some snacks.” Ty gives Webby a quick hug and kisses Violet on the head, and then waves them away. Violet tugs Webby up the stairs and up to Lena and Violet’s shared room.

They pause outside the shut door. One of the Featherweights’ old albums floats through the walls. 

“This is where I leave you,” Violet intones. “Call me when you are finished.”

Webby smiles. “Thanks, Vi.”

Violet starts to step away, but pauses. “Webbigail?”

“Yes?”

Violet turns to fully face Webby, her expression deathly serious. “You are my best friend. But if you ever hurt Lena, I will hurt you. Tread carefully.”

Webby grins. “Thanks, Vi. Don’t worry.”

Violet sniffs, offended at the mere accusation. “I will not.” 

She leaves, and Webby turns to face the door. She spends a moment visually exploring every nook and cranny of the soft oak, and then takes a deep breath and knocks.

Lena opens the door, hair disheveled. “Dad, I don’t want chocola- Oh. Pink.”

Webby rocks nervously back and forth on her feet. “Hey, Lena.”

Lena blinks at her, her expression unreadable, before stepping aside and gesturing to the inside of the room. “Well, I guess you’d better come in.”

Webby smiles nervously and steps inside.

Lena and Violet’s room is messy and cluttered in a way nothing in the mansion is, because for all the Duck family’s characteristic untidiness, the mansion is simply too big and Granny is too competent of a housekeeper to let any clutter stay. Like Uncle Donald’s houseboat, Lena and Violet’s room, and the entire Sabrewing house, is cluttered because it’s lived in. It feels homey. It feels like family.

The room is filled to the brim with Violet’s various books - both hobbyist and scholarly, and Lena’s hair dye and vinyl albums. In the corner, Lena’s pet raven watches Webby carefully from its cage. They’re all in agreement that he’s not a normal raven, but his latent abnormalcy has yet to show itself.

“So.” Lena crosses the room to stand by her bed and her raven’s cage, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and rocking back on her heels. She won’t meet Webby’s eyes. “What’s up?”

Webby fidgets with the friendship bracelet on her wrist. The strings are frayed and soft from three years of constant wear and similar stimming. “I… I came to apologize.”

Lena’s hand strays to her bracelet as well. “Me too, Pink.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you for blowing up at June,” Webby says. “You told me not to forget you and, in your perspective, I basically did.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Lena sighs. “I let my temper get the better of me. I knew June was basically a little kid, and I still blew up at her. It was because of me that she got the opportunity to run off and steal the Sword of Swanstantine.”

Lena tugs at the hem of her sweater, scowling darkly. “I guess I just almost killed my family. Again. It’s fine; I’m used to it.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Webby launches herself at Lena, barely able to contain herself. She wraps her arms around Lena and buries her head in the soft, worn cloth of Lena’s sweater. “You shouldn’t be! It wasn’t your fault before and it’s even less of your fault now. You’re part of this family.”

Lena’s arms rest lightly around Webby’s shoulders, and her chin touches the top of Webby’s head. “Yeah, I know that by now, Pink. I’ve come a long way, huh? But that doesn’t erase the fact that I messed up.”

“Well, so did I.” Webby replies stubbornly.

Abruptly, Lena pulls apart, her hands set steadily on Webby’s shoulders. She stares straight into Webby’s eyes. “Webby, I know the boys are your brothers, but for the first time in your life, you had a link to your biological family,” Lena states. “I don’t blame you for defending them, and you shouldn’t either!” For the first time, Lena drops her gaze, her beak curling in frustration. “I overreacted. Plain and simple.”

“But it came from a place of love,” Webby insists, her lower beak wobbling. “I- It means so much to me that our relationship means so much to you that June cutting our string set you off like that! Really!”

Lena smirks. “That’s sweet, Pink. It’s true. But I still shouldn’t have used my magic.”

“Maybe it was a little much,” Webby finally admits. Lena scoffs at that, but otherwise stays quiet. “But please don’t blame yourself. Bradford and Black Heron set May and June up to steal me and the Missing Mysteries. They would’ve found a way to cause an issue with or without you.”

Lena squeezes her shoulder. “There, you see? It’s Bradford and Black Heron’s fault, not yours.”

“But they were after me,” Webby insists. “And- and maybe if I’d been a little more forceful with Granny, maybe she would’ve told me about my real heritage.”

Lena snorts. “Please, Pink, Tea Time wasn’t the best spy in the biz for nothing. She didn’t spill her secrets until all other hope was lost and her literal worst nightmare had come true before her eyes.” Webby flinches at that, and Lena’s tone and grip softens. “Point being, it’s not your fault.”

“Well, it’s not yours either,” Webby insists.

“Maybe not,” Lena admits at last. “But I’m still going to apologize to June. Maybe I didn’t cause the Annual Duck-McDuck Family Crisis, but I still hurt June. That wasn’t okay.”

Webby smiles. “Thanks, Lena. I’m so happy you guys are trying to get along.”

Lena grins back. “Eh, we’ve got a lot in common. I’ll bring her and May over to my weekly ‘So your childhood guardian was a villain who used you to try and kill your new family’ hangouts I have with Boyd and they’ll be sold. Hopefully.”

The mental image of Lena, Boyd, May, and June hanging out at one of Lena’s favorite dives and discussing the perils of their childhoods over greasy burgers brings a smile to Webby’s face. “I’m sure they’ll love that. Eventually.”

“They’ll come around,” Lena says, but she doesn’t sound entirely sure.

“They will,” Webby affirms. “They’re… it’s not easy to adjust. Their entire lives were upended. But they’re trying.”

Lena smiles. “That’s all I ask for,” she says simply. “As long as I can help.”

“You will,” Webby promises. “Now, do you agree that you weren’t responsible for the incident?”

“Yeah,” Lena smiles wryly. “But neither were you.”

Webby clutches her elbow. “I still messed up, though. I could’ve handled it better. And I still hurt you.”

Now it’s Lena’s turn to rush forward and squeeze her in a hug. “Well, I guess we both did,” she murmurs, a little too flippantly. “Good thing we both came to apologize, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Webby nods into Lena’s chest. She’s so soft and warm and stable. “So, are we good?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Lena replies. “I need to apologize to June.”

They sit on Lena’s bed, and Webby leans into Lena’s side, toying with her friendship. “I missed you,” she murmurs, avoiding Lena’s eyes.

Lena chuckles, and while it’s in good faith, there’s not much amusement behind it. She ruffles Webby’s hair lightly. “I was only gone for a couple days, Pink.”

“Three,” Webby corrects absentmindedly. “This is the third day.”

Lena grins. “So you kept count, eh?” 

“Of course,” Webby responds matter-of-factly. “It was all I could think about.” She readjusts herself so she’s leaning against Lena more, and tilts her head back to see Lena’s face.

Lena is blinking, baffled, before her beak curves into a small, fond smile. “Huh. Me too.”

Webby’s smile grows and grows. Lena’s come a long, long way since Webby followed that fateful message in a bottle. She’s been much more comfortable with open affection for a long time now, but it still makes Webby’s heart sing.

“We should do something,” Lena hums. “Hang out, with no adventure or magical villain threatening our lives. We haven’t done that in a while.”

Webby laughs softly. “Yeah, it has been a while, hasn’t it? But you should know by now. There are no normal hangouts in this family.”

Lena chuckles, soft and fond. “Yeah, well. I’ll take whatever I can get as long as I can hang out with you.” She wraps her arm tighter around Webby, and snuggles closer. “I know what I signed up for when I joined this family.”

They sit together on Lena’s bed, facing away from each other, in the comfortable silence. 

“You know,” Webby breaks it after a few minutes. Her nervous fidgeting has returned. “You know, sometimes I wish it didn’t happen like this.”

Lena blinks. “Hm?”

“I-” Webby gestures animatedly, frustrated, days and months and years of pent-up emotion spilling out all at once. “I wish I didn’t have to find out about my family this way. I wish Granny could’ve just told me, without the FOWL capture and fights to the death and kidnapping all of our friends. I’m okay now, but… but it was really scary,” she finishes in a small voice, burying her head in her hands. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t know if my family would be okay.”

“Oh, Pink.” Lena gathers Webby into her arms and pulls her onto her lap. “I know how you feel. It must’ve been really scary.”

“It was,” Webby murmurs. “It really was. But I love adventuring, and I already know what would happen if we stopped - heck, Uncle Donald already made that wish! And it didn’t turn out well! I shouldn’t feel this way, and I hate it.”

“You know, those two feelings aren’t mutually exclusive,” Lena says, raising her eyebrows. 

Webby twists in her embrace to meet her gaze. “Huh?”

Lena shrugs. “There isn’t much to it, honestly. Your daily, run-of-the-mill adventures aren’t the same as this scheme Bradford’s been cookin’ up for decades. They don’t usually involve life-changing revelations.”

“Yeah, but…” Webby sags in her embrace. “It’s still an adventure.”

“Honestly, it’s not healthy for you guys to keep having all your major events in life-or-death situations,” Lena snorts wryly. “But I guess that’s our family for you. Doesn’t mean it should stay that way, though.”

“Sometimes it’s out of our control,” Webby murmurs, a half-hearted protest for a battle she already knows she’s lost and didn’t even want to win in the first place. “Like when Lunaris chased Aunt Della down to Earth. She thought he was a friend. Or… or when Magica attacked us.”

“Yeah,” Lena mutters. “But your grandma still shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“She said she won’t anymore,” Webby says.

“And that’s great.” Lena squeezes her tighter. “That means it probably won’t happen again. The past is in the past, Pink. You can’t change it. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of troubles with that fact.”

“You can’t control what other people do,” Lena continues. “Like with Lunaris and… and Magica. All you can control is yourself.”

“I’ll do my best to spill all my secrets before one of Dad’s mortal enemies has to threaten my life for it,” Webby snorts, half-sardonic and half-lighthearted.

Lena punches her gently. “I don’t think you’ll ever have a problem with that, Pink. You’re a pretty open book.”

Webby bites her lip. “That’s not a bad thing, is it? Bradford and my sisters were able to manipulate me pretty easily.”

Lena scoffs. “Yeah, and it ended so well for Bradford, didn’t it?” Webby keeps her gaze away from Lena’s face, and instead watches Lena’s hands clench and unclench into fists.

Lena sighs, taking a deep breath to reorient herself. “What I mean, Pink, is that it’s not a bad thing. Honestly, it’s one of your best qualities. I know I wouldn’t be here today if you weren’t so trusting and earnest.”

Webby smiles, but it’s forced. Evidently, she hasn’t picked up enough of Louie’s tricks yet, because Lena’s unwavering, deepening frown tells Webby she can see right through her.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t train,” Lena offers. “I don’t think you should become more distrusting and cynical, but maybe you can work to recognize when others are trying to manipulate you.”

Lena glances down at her hands, spinning a stray pencil (where did she get that?) around her fingers. “I could help you, if you’d like.”

Webby grins up at her, teary and emotional. “I’d like that.”

Lena drops the pencil and wraps her arms around Webby again. For the millionth time that day, Webby buries her head in the comforting familiarity of Lena’s soft sweater.

“I missed you,” Lena murmurs.

“Me too,” Webby replies. “So much.”

“So very much,” Lena echoes, and tugs Webby closer. 

For the first time in three days, the tension dragging Webby down loosens, and she is free. She is home.

~

i started writing this either the day of or the day after the finale, left it alone for two weeks, and wrote the second half today during a writing sprint (shoutout to silv’s server!). funny how these things work.

i have a lot of feelings on the finale, both good and bad, but i’m always going to be sad that lena and webby’s direct interaction in the entire series was a fight. they didn’t deserve that. 

i love dropping in little headcanons and doing little worldbuilding with places like lena and violet’s room. it sounds like a cozy place. there’s literally no way to prove this unless frank returns from his hiatus and answers an ask ig but if poe isn’t still out there and doesn’t end up drawn to lena i’ll eat my hat. let him be her weird familiar/uncle!! cmon disney!! 

title is from i’ll show you by k/da! i originally used a different lyric (”heart full of fire”) as a placeholder and now i want to use it in something else because it’s so pretty haha

i love webby and lena. while i was writing this i was thinking about how in some of the recent amphibia episodes, one of the characters was hurt by another’s good intentions and wants to forgive them, but needs time. i thought about going that route but honestly? i think they just need to talk this one out. neither of them were really mad. the moment just caught up to them. they’re so close and in tune with each other.

reblogs > likes!

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #webby vanderquack #lena sabrewing #june duck #ducktales june #ducktales fanfiction #the last adventure #wavey writes

[join-the-joywrite]

So before I say goodbye, would you do one last thing for me?

And take, take her to the moon for me

Reggie thinks about crossing over . . . and then he does

read on ao3 here

you can all thank @thedeathdeelers for it because of this post. and also you should all go listen to the song based off bing bong's take her to the moon line

They were going to cross over. Soon. It wasn't going to be some great big show of sparks or jolts of pain. Reggie could tell it was going to be a quiet affair that took them away unexpectedly.

Reggie sat alone most nights, wondering what his unfinished business had been. The Orpheum, though only half a year ago, felt like several years. Stealing Willie's soul back from right under Caleb's nose was just a few weeks ago but it felt like months. On these lonely nights, Reggie mentally relived his afterlife, trying to pinpoint some milestone moment that could've been it. Other nights, he distracted himself playing softly with Alex and Luke, or tweaking songs with Luke, or pathetically failing to learn skating with Willie. Or sometimes he would wander around the house and just do small things here and there.

Once, he did Carlos' forgotten math homework for him. Julie had scolded him about cheating with Carlos, but that had only been for a second before she relayed how grateful Carlos was and how much he wished he could see Reggie and say it himself.

Part of Reggie wanted to voice his thoughts about crossing over. Another part of him hoped that if he didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be real.

And then, one day, Willie vanished. As expected and understandably so, Alex was inconsolable. Reggie made the mistake of offhandedly commenting that it wasn't so bad. Maybe they'd meet up again after they crossed over. It wasn't much longer, now.

Alex was furious first. How could Reggie say that it wasn't so bad? Alex was confused after that. What did Reggie mean with all that? Alex was concerned in the end. Did Reggie really think they were going to cross over?

It was a nice thought, Alex would later tell Reggie. That they could be together when they crossed over and that he would see Willie again. But that wasn't going to happen for a long time. Luke agreed. They were going to take Julie to stardom before they ever considered leaving.

Reggie thought about Julie almost every minute of the day. He figured they would be okay with whatever happened after they crossed over. What would happen to Julie? Would it take her long to figure out what happened? Would their absence turn her away from music again?

That thought alone had bothered Reggie so much that even Carlos noticed. Things were messy around the house. His computer was open on Spotify and the music was blasting into his headphones. No one was beating his messy room for him anymore. Luke decided to talk to Reggie. It all came out in a rush, how he was so afraid that when they crossed over, it would tear Julie apart. After he'd sat with Reggie and listened to everything bottled up, Luke promised to talk to Julie seriously -- and that serious talk happened to be today.

Reggie, who had been laying on the floor while all these thoughts bounced around in his head, sat up suddenly.

The studio was silent.

"Alex?"

Denial set in very quickly. Not now. He wasn't ready yet. He'd known it was coming for at least one month but he was far from prepared.

Alex had to be around somewhere, right? Reggie suddenly realised he was just hoping for a sign of where Alex was moments before he accidentally stepped onto Alex's drumsticks and landed on his back.

The drumsticks rolled across the floor, coming to a slow stop at the wheel of Willie's skateboard.

Sometimes my mom sends me signs, Julie had said once, and sometimes I don't get it until much later but sometimes it's just so clear what she's trying to tell me.

Reggie stared at the drumsticks and the skateboard. Couldn't get much clearer than that.

Suddenly, Reggie was struck with the horrifying thought that Luke had vanished mid-conversation with Julie.

Not thinking before he leapt, Reggie poofed into Julie's room.

"You're not allowed to do that," Julie said casually. "You know that."

"Sorry. Uh, do you know where Luke is?"

Julie shook her head. "He just left a few minutes ago. Said something about wanting to get some lyrics out of his head. Isn't he in the studio?"

Reggie lied very easily and believably. "Oh, I was just downstairs. I haven't checked the studio yet 'cause I thought I heard you talking to someone up here."

Reggie didn't know why he was lying to Julie. He didn't know what was worse. Telling her the truth or wishing he had later.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said with a chipper smile.

"Do you want a hug?"

Okay, so maybe he couldn't always lie well about everything. Reggie's nod was hesitant before it was quick.

Julie hopped off her bed and hung her arms loosely around Reggie. She let out a surprised yelp when Reggie wrapped his arms tightly around Julie.

"Someone's competing with Alex for best hug-giver."

Normally, Reggie would've laughed at that. But Alex was gone. Luke probably was too. Reggie would be gone soon too. He had to leave Julie's room. It would break her if she had to see it happen.

"Thanks, Julie."

Julie smiled brightly when Reggie pulled away. "Anytime. My hugs are free for all."

"You should get some sleep. W-we'll see you in the morning."

Why was he lying to her? He knew he'd be gone before she even fell asleep.

Maybe, if she thought they crossed over in the peace and quiet of the still night, she would feel better. Maybe, if she thought they crossed over while she slept, she would blame them for not waking her, not herself for not noticing.

"Fine. But not because you said to." Julie slid under her duvet and grinned at Reggie. She was mid-yawn before she realised. "I'll see you guys in the morning. Tell Alex and Luke I said good night."

"I will," Reggie said. And if he did happen to meet Alex and Luke, he would without a doubt deliver Julie's message. "I love you. We love you."

"Aww. I love you too, Reg."

Reggie left before he did or said something that would make Julie worry.

He meant to land in the studio. Instead, he found himself in the kitchen, his legs numb and a hollow emptiness in his chest.

"Reggie?"

Reggie looked up to see Carlos, backlit by the open fridge. "You should be in bed."

"You should be invisible."

"Uh . . . that's true."

Carlos kicked the fridge closed as he walked over to Reggie, quietly setting his glass on the island counter. "Are you okay? You look a bit sick. Can ghosts get sick? Is that a thing? Are there ghost doctors? Are they, like, special ghost doctors or just doctors that died?"

"That's too many questions at once, little man."

Carlos frowned. Reggie always answered every single question on the odd occasion that he could see and hear Reggie -- or even if Reggie was just chatting to him with Julie's phone. "Are you okay?" Carlos asked again, this time more serious and somehow even quieter than before.

"I will be." Another lie. He didn't know. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Julie and Carlos didn't worry.

"What's wrong?"

Reggie wished he could hug Carlos like he had hugged Julie just a few minutes ago. "I, uh . . . I gotta go."

"Oh. Where are you going? You're gonna be back, though, right?"

"I don't know." The first truth Reggie had spoken all night. "But I won't come back."

"Wh-- . . . oh." Carlos glanced down at the floor.

"Hey," Reggie said, crouching down. Carlos was looking down at him now. "You're gonna be okay."

"But what about you? Are you gonna be okay?"

Reggie shrugged. "I hope so. Maybe I'll see you again when you're all old and wrinkly."

"Ha ha." Carlos' tone was sarcastic, but his smile was genuine. His eyes widened and a gasp caught in his throat when Reggie wiped away the tears he didn't even notice. Without stopping to question it, Carlos threw his arms around Reggie's shoulders and held tight. "Do you have to go?"

The fragility of Carlos' croaked question set alight a small but agonizing flame in Reggie's chest. "I have to," he murmured, holding Carlos gently. "Alex and Luke are probably waiting for me."

"I don't want you to go."

"I know."

Reggie's entire body, save for the burning yet soothing sparks in his chest, felt numb. He had to glance over Carlos' shoulder to make sure he still had his arms. He moved to pull back so he could leave -- Carlos didn't have to see whatever crossing over looked like -- but Carlos wouldn't let go.

Reggie figured he would've been able to break out of Carlos' hold on a normal day. But today wasn't normal, was it?

"I have to go," Reggie said.

Carlos pretended he didn't hear it. "You're the best brother in the world."

Finally, Carlos let Reggie move back, but Reggie didn't stand or poof out. Instead, he gave Carlos a smile and wiped Carlos' wet cheeks. "Nah. You are. You're gonna look after Julie for us, aren't you?"

Carlos nodded. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he could see through Reggie. He was just tired and needed to go to bed, right?

"Julie belongs with the stars," Reggie said. "Take her to the moon for me, okay?"

"I'll try," Carlos told the empty kitchen. "I promise."

And then he wrapped his arms around himself and sat down on the floor as his small shoulders shook silently.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #reggie peters #mara writes stuff #angst warning #this is very sad y'all #im so sorry #(no im not)

[twilightofthejedi]

fic: this city screams your name

written for the 2021 chayenzo community fanfic challenge by @the-chayenzo-community (again)!!!

dialogue prompt:

"happy birthday"

read on ao3: here

episode 16 spoilers!

It has been a long day.

Vincenzo stands in front of his unit in Geumga Plaza, the faded numbers 606 the only thing written on the dark wooden door. It’s nearly midnight, and he is exhausted. He could go inside and decompress the way he usually does, alone, with comfortable clothes, cheap food, and relaxing music.

Or, he could use the key in his hand, and go to Cha-young’s house.

After they had started dating, on that day a few weeks ago when she had disappeared and made him go mad with worry only to show up later and give him a gift so meaningful that it had cut right to his heart, she had pushed a key into his hand. It was a night when they were sitting on the roof and staring out at the city laid out in front of them. They had been sitting on the edge of the roof, bottles of beer held loosely in their hands, when she had reached to her side to rummage in her bag. He had watched her with mild curiosity, but his mind had been too hazy to do anything other than take another drink from his bottle, and wait for her. Then, she had put the cool metal in his hand, and told him to come over whenever he wanted. He had been taken back, and even more so when she pulled him close and kissed him.

The rest of the night had been slightly blurry after that.

Now, he stares at the key, and thinks of the cozy house on the quiet residential street filled with pictures and memories and the very essence of the woman he loves. He turns around, and smiles to himself. He loves her, doesn’t he? Somehow, through the relentless legal battles and late night subterfuge and the devastating grief of losing his mother, he has fallen in love with Hong Cha-young. The realization fills him with something light, something he cannot remember ever feeling.

He makes it all the way to his car in the parking garage before he realizes that he has smiled the entire way there. Huh. So that was why Mr. Tak had looked at him strangely when he passed him in the hallway.

As he starts the car and pulls out of the garage, he thinks of a conversation that he had had with Cha-young. After unwrapping the record player and eating the salvaged ramyeon (after he had nearly burned it) at the low table in his living room, they had laid back on cushions to stare up at the faintly glowing stars on the ceiling, La Traviata’s first act playing softly from the record player in the background. She had seized his hand, bringing their entwined hands up, and pressed her lips to his knuckles. The simple gesture had ran a jolt through his body, and he had turned to look at her.

In that moment, there had been a thousand things that he had wanted to say, but what he had ended up saying was, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

She had looked sideways at him, and had only raised her eyebrows.

“I have killed. Many times, in fact. I know I told you that I didn’t, that I was only a lawyer, but in Italy, I-”

She had cut him off by raising a hand. “Of course you have killed. Did you think I didn’t know what being second in command in a mob family meant?”

“Then what-”

“Do you think that you’re some fallen angel, and I have no idea? I can assure you that it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve done questionable things, too. Before Choi came to Wusang, I was the best out of all of them, and I didn’t exactly get that title through any righteous means.” Cha-young had shrugged then, an elegant, half-raise of her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. All we can do is move forward. Right now, we can use our considerable talents in subterfuge, manipulation and trickery and who knows what else you have in your arsenal to bring down people like Babel, Shinkwang Bank, and Wusang.”

He had nodded mutely because he had no clue what to say to that. How could he tell her that her seemingly casual words had lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders?

Now, he pulls onto her street, and as usual, it is dark and quiet. He thinks he may prefer the silence of her residential neighborhood to the nosiness and loudness of Geumga Plaza. As he gets down from the carlocking it absently, he realizes that her driveway is empty; she isn’t home yet. This isn’t abnormal; she had announced that she was going to be talking to one of her old contacts for information.

He opens the gate and lets himself in through the front door, tossing his suit jacket onto the low couch underneath the pictures that she hated but could not bring herself to take down. He sets his briefcase down on the kitchen counter, next to her own, and switches on the television to the news, watching absently as he prepares a cup of coffee. Before, she had drank instant coffee almost exclusively and kept nothing else at her house, but too many mornings at her house spent staring blearily into a cheap-smelling mug of instant coffee had driven him to go out and buy her a proper coffee machine with his favorite beans that had the entire house smelling amazing in the morning before they both had to rush out to the firm.

He watches the drops fall into the cup, and wonders absently about the barista that had made his coffee in Rome most mornings. The man had been excellent, so skilled at his art that Vincenzo had returned there day after day to the point that there was always a cup waiting for him by the time that he walked through the door. But then he had left the city he had grown up in, pursued by the family in which he had never quite belonged.

He looks around and realizes that he fits in perfectly in this house. It’s messy, and cluttered, and there are a ridiculous number of blankets on the couch, but it’s no longer just Mr. Hong’s house where he learned to treat hangovers the Korean way. It feels so intimately familiar that he could probably navigate through it in the dark (he probably has). Everything, from the outdated calendar (from three months ago) to the clock that chimes five minutes late, to the wall where there are now two hooks, for both of their car keys, feels like home, a home that has shifted, just a little, to accommodate him, like someone moving over on a worn couch and patting the seat next to them and saying come on in and make yourself at home.

He pads upstairs to her (their) bedroom where he has stashed a few changes of comfortable clothes for nights exactly like this one. He pulls on the soft cotton shirt and pants, and goes back downstairs to where the coffee is ready. While he drinks the coffee, he sends off a quick text to her asking if she has eaten yet. It’s a truly ungodly hour and any sane person would have had dinner ages ago, but once his Cha-young had a goal, she would stop at nothing to achieve it, and she would have probably eschewed eating to accomplish her goal for the night. Sure enough, she responds with of course not jagiya, who do you think i am, and he laughs quietly to himself as he gets up to rummage through her pantry for ingredients. He sees spaghetti in her pantry, tomatoes in her fridge, and a sweet basil plant on the windowsill, and immediately knows what he’s going to make her.

He’s stirring the simmering sauce when she walks through the door.

“Jagiya? Are you cooking?”

“Yes,” he says, turning around to look at her. She’s wearing dark blue today, with dark makeup and jewelry, and she looks like some sort of shadow wraith. He smiles at her, and she raises her eyebrows high, like she is mocking him.

“Are you cooking for me?” He laughs again, and turns back around to keep the sauce stirring. It’s truly strange how much more he seems to laugh around her. He’s set the spaghetti to drain, so all he needs to do once the sauce is done is to add the pasta. She comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his torso, clasping her hands together. She puts her chin on his shoulder, and he leans into her.

They stand in silence for several minutes until he judges the sauce to be done. She wriggles her fingers at it, and he dutifully feeds her a spoon to taste, at which point she suggests, very seriously, for him to add ginger. He laughs, and moves to get the pasta from the sink, but she holds him fast.

“What is it?”

She puts her hand on the side of his face and turns it to the clock that runs late. It reads 12:33.

“It’s your birthday, jagiya. Wow, can’t believe the famous mafia lawyer forgot about his own birthday-”

“How did you know?”

He pulls her around to hold her looking into her eyes, a curious replication of that night they had drank into the night and she had hugged him to test if she had feelings for him. Her eyes dance and she turns her face up to his.

“I had Luca tell me. Turns out he can get by in English, which means you-” she pokes him in the chest- “are not going to have any secrets anymore! I will find them all out.”

“I’m not keeping any secrets from you, Cha-young-ah. Just ask me whatever you want to know. I will answer all eighty of your questions.”

She blinks at him. “Yah, why do you have to get all sentimental on me?”

“You were the one who conspired with Luca to find out my birthday, of all the things.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I am going to faint with hunger. Feed me before I collapse on you.”

“As you say,” he says, leaning in to drop a kiss on her forehead.

Later, as he watches her inhale the food, food that he had made because it reminded him of the only home he had ever known before coming here, he wonders about his life. They still have so much work to do. They have to achieve the impossible against an entire system of corruption and injustice, but with her and the home that they have built for themselves, he thinks… no he knows, that they can do anything.

#vincenzo kdrama #vincenzo x cha young #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #tvn vincenzo #my fic #my writing #i go feral for them

[acnelli]

Bearded Glory

I finally found the time to put my one-shots on Tumblr too. I wrote this one for @hillyminne who organised and still organises these lovely hangouts. Here’s the masterpost with all the fun and lovely things which had been created as a thank you for Hilly <3 I would also like to thank @manny-bgm and @abradystrix for beta-reading and Brit-picking this story. You might detect some things inspired by Hilly’s art and @rijsamurai‘s Auror Ron.

When Ron came back from Auror training, Hermione found herself being quite fond of a certain change in Ron's appearance.

This story is also available on FFN and AO3.

Two bloody years finally over, Ron thought, as he robbed through thick, cold mud, already able to make out the finish line, which should be not even a mile away, according to Ron’s calculations.

Through the splashing and gurgling of their muddy underground, Ron could make out Harry’s heavy breathing and the occasional swear word from somewhere behind him. “Just one more mile, mate.”, Ron shouted, craning his neck towards his friend, almost hitting his head on a tree trunk above him. “One mile and we’re done with this shite.” Harry didn’t bother to answer as he was quite busy to ignore the burn in his lungs.

As Ron reached the end of their last obstacle, he leaped up from the ground, trying to get a footing with all the muddy water in his shoes. Not an easy task, since the ground was slippery and a fountain of water made its way down from his hair and drenched clothes. Careful to not lose his trainers, he ran towards the finish line with wobbly legs and what seemed to be a thousand tiny needles attacking his lungs. With a slight jump, and something between a groan and a cry of relief, he finally made it, immediately breaking down onto the ground.

“Well done, my boys.”, a chipper female voice broke through Ron’s awareness, though it honestly surprised him he heard it in the first place, considering he was wheezing his lungs out.

“Elly…please.”, Harry groaned, who must have collapsed beside him just a few seconds ago. Ron couldn’t tell for sure though, since he still tried not to pass out. “I…Just go away.”, his best mate demanded between heavy breaths. Ron only gave an agreeing grunt. Elly, their mentor and trainer for the last two years of Auror training, just laughed, kneeling between Harry and Ron, smiling down at them.

“You did it.”, she sang completely out of tune, while giving both men what probably should’ve been an encouraging pat on the knee. Although Ron and Harry yelped in pain from this pat on their scraped skin, and were still being unable to move a muscle, Elly stood up, clapped her hands and demanded of them to stand up.

“We just have an hour until you leave for home, and you will certainly not take this Portkey until I have a proper picture with my two accomplishments,” the young witch stated, hands on her hips, but still that annoying smirk in place.

Ron and Harry knew better than to argue with her about that. Truth be told, they didn’t have a problem with this particular picture, since they both wanted to have a reminder of the day that marked the ending of both the most annoying, but also the greatest two years of their lives.

“Alright, alright.”, Ron sighed, trying to muster up the little energy he got left to stand up, reaching his hand out to Harry, who did the same. With the two men standing in an upright position again, Elly gave them both one of her famous bear hugs, while telling her trainees how proud she was of them. Despite the still aching muscles and side stiches from hell, they returned the hug in earnest, while only just realizing that this was the start of a whole new adventure.

“We could’ve never done this without you.”, Ron smiled at Elly. “But you surely could’ve warned us about this last run, as you liked to call it. Honestly, we could’ve died or something.”

“You Gryffindors sure have a tendency to exaggerate, haven’t you?”

“I rather think you Hufflepuffs have a tendency to underplay,” Harry countered, cleaning his glasses.

“Said it before and I’ll say it again, you Hufflepuffs are barmy,” Ron said with a playful voice. “Before you drag us off to brag about us, where are the showers, woman?”

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

After taking a well-deserved shower, Harry and Ron changed into their formal Auror robes. And not their everyday work attire either, but the fancy black robes, which Elly insisted them on wearing. The two friends were both secretly happy to parade these around, since they looked bloody good in them.

Two years of Auror training lay behind them, and Ron was torn between feeling relieved and strangely sad. Those last four months happened to be their final Boot Camp, as Elly liked to call it, which mainly consisted of training for their Auror test. Due to the painful shortage of staff in the Auror Office, their training got shortened to two years, making it much more intense as a result. This last run though wasn’t part of the test, but nothing less than an Auror training tradition, so of course, it had to be done, much to the young men’s dismay.

“I have to admit…I kind of like this.”, Ron mused, running his hand over his beard, as he watched his reflection in one of the mirrors of the changing room.

“Suits you quite well, mate.”, Harry said, as he closed the last silver button on his cloak.

Neither of them had bothered to properly shave this last four months. Their days usually consisted of waking up, training and learning all day, and sleeping as soon their heads hit the pillow. As a result, they both looked quite wild in the end, hair and beard much longer than usual. Of course, Elly wouldn’t have any of this, so she had given Ron and Harry a complete make-over the day before their test, ignoring their protests all together. As it turned out, she happened to be quite talented with beauty charms, so they didn’t exactly hate the way they looked now. Even though Ron usually never let his facial hair grow beyond some three-day stubble, Elly surprised him with only trimming his unruly beard, leaving it just well-groomed.

“Come on, let’s get this picture, and then we can finally leave for good.” Harry suggested. So, they both gathered their wands and made their way towards the rest of their group.

After what seemed to be a thousand blinding flashes, Elly had been satisfied with the result, promising them to send copies of the pictures as soon as possible.

Harry and Ron were ready to take the Portkey home, saying goodbye to everyone and promising to make it on time for the official festivities next weekend.

In all the hustle to get the Portkey on time, Ron completely missed the mischievous glint in Harry’s eyes.

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

Hermione tried not to stare. Actually, she figured that she never tried harder to not look at Ron. Of course, she failed spectacularly.

Harry, you sneaky little monster., Hermione thought, sending one of her death glares his way, which he successfully didn’t notice all evening.

That bloody picture was my undoing, really. And Harry is well aware of that, isn’t he?

Around midday, a couple of hours before Ron and Harry came back from their last day of Auror training, Harry’s owl Athena arrived at her parents’ home, delivering a small envelope. After taking the letter, she fed the exhausted bird some treats, and let her relax in her room for a while. She came all the way from the Isle of Skye after all.

What was so important that Harry couldn’t tell her in person tonight? As she opened the white envelope, there was just a single photograph falling out. She picked it up from the floor, reading the note on the back of it first.

Dear Hermione,

thought you might appreciate this picture Elly took of Ron, minutes before his wandless magic demonstration. Honestly, look at him Hermione…you got some fine ginger snack coming back to you.

See you later,

 Harry

As she turned over the picture, she couldn’t help but agree. Ron clearly hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t cared that Elly took pictures of him, as he looked concentrated and nervous. His eyebrows knit, and eyes slightly narrowed, he held up his right hand, obviously practicing the lightning charm, as lightning bolts evolved from his half-closed fist.

This alone could’ve resulted in Hermione starring at this picture forever, but what really got her obsessing over it, had been Ron’s beard.

Ron with a beard. An actual beard. And by all that’s holy, he looked so incredibly good with it.

Merlin, she already had been more than a little frustrated the last four months, not being able to see him. Of course, this hadn’t been the first time they were separated for so long, but this last training session sure felt torturously like forever. Seeing a bearded Ron, illuminated by lightning, looking highly dangerous, made her want to take Ron right up to Grimmauld Place, skipping the dinner Mrs. Weasley was hosting tonight, and just snog him senseless. Naturally this wasn’t possible, so here she was, trying to get her thoughts under control.

Hermione swore to herself to never talk to Harry again about Ron, drunk or otherwise.

 Just before Harry and Ron were leaving for Auror training, the three of them met up with the old D.A. members. While Ron still had been busy with one of Seamus’ famous drinking games, being the only one of the Trio to still keep up with it, Hermione confided in Harry that she wished for Ron to grow a beard.

“I love his stubble, but I’m sure he would look quite sexy with his beard a little longer.”, she had told Harry.

He looked at her funny for a second, before breaking out in a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”, she asked angrily, since Harry seemed to be unable to stop.

After several minutes of Harry trying to control himself, and Hermione getting more and more annoyed, Harry was able to speak again. “You know, I just had that thought.”, he whispered, clearly still trying not to laugh. “Since you obviously have a thing for bearded men, I wonder how you could control yourself around Hagrid.” Another fit of laughter broke out, but it didn’t stop him from wheezing out “Or Dumbledore.” That was Harry’s undoing then, because after that, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence anymore, and already got himself a nasty side stich from all the laughing.

Needless to say, that Hermione ended this conversation right then and there.

Of course, Harry hadn’t forgotten about Hermione’s little confession, and decided to send her a tease right before she would see Ron again.

Would it be too obvious to pretend a stomach ache at this point?

As Hermione mused about the possibilities to sneak away with Ron, she stole another glance at him, only to discover that brilliant blue eyes stared right back at her. His eyes happened to have this certain glint, which always meant he was up to something. Hermione sincerely hoped it would include leaving early tonight.

After what seemed like forever, Ron finally beat Ginny in a mean game of Wizard’s Chess.

Although still being quite impatient to get home, Hermione put the time to good use in unashamedly ogling Ron, her former intends not to stare long forgotten.

“Finally, some decent competition again. I got bored out of my mind only playing against Harry and Elly the last four months”, Ron said while pulling Hermione onto his lap. He loosely slang an arm around her waist, and Hermione immediately leaned into him, feeling all warm and cosy as she started to trace his brain scars with her fingers. Merlin, she really missed him.

“I’m still better than Elly though”, Harry pointed out, helping Ginny to put the chess set away. “So, I guess Ginny and I call it a night then. Are you sure your bed is large enough for the both of us?”

“I admit that you got yourself some fine definition being away, but you didn’t exactly gain a ton of muscle, Harry. You’ll fit”, Ginny raised an eyebrow at him, which Harry answered with an eyeroll.

“Maybe that had been the polite way to say you got fat over the last couple of months.”, Ron offered Ginny another explanation, earning himself a blow to his shoulder.

“You better stop being cheeky, if you want Grimmauld Place to yourself tonight.”, his sister countered.

“Wait, what?”, Hermione asked Harry. “You’re not staying at Grimmauld Place?”

“Nope. Ginny and I are kipping at the Burrow tonight. The house is all yours, under the condition to have it to ourselves tomorrow.”, Harry clarified.

Hermione couldn’t hold back her grin as she looked up at Ron. These are fantastic news.

“That’s very…considerate of you, thank you.”, Hermione smiled at Ginny and Harry, which made Ron bark out a laugh.

“Yes, thank you Harry.”, the red-head said. “As you did this out of pure nobleness and chivalry, and certainly not because you lost to me tossing a coin.”

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

“So…after you won the house for us, what are your plans?”, Hermione murmured between kisses, her hands busy with Ron’s beard.

Ron gave her his trademark lopsided grin as he hoisted Hermione up in his arms, eliciting a surprised squeal from her.

“Well, what do you think about a long, nice bath for a start?”, Ron asked while carrying her up the flights towards the bathroom. “It had been an awful long time since we had one together.”

“True that. As long as it doesn’t make us too drowsy for some…night-time activities.”

“You know, it’s adorable that proper Ms. Granger still can’t say bad words.”, Ron laughed, kissing her reddening cheek.

“I can say bad words, you just wait.” Hermione tried to put up a glare, but failed due to the smile she just couldn’t put off her face.

“I’ll take you up on it.”, Ron said, sitting her down on the edge of the bathtub. With a flick of his wand he began to fill the tub with hot, soapy water, which gave the room a rich scent of pine needles and something delicious Hermione couldn’t quite place.

A few minutes later, she leaned against Ron’s chest, completely relaxed and ridiculously happy. Hermione enjoyed the vibration of his chest as they talked about Hermione’s last project at work and about Ron’s plans regarding the Auror department. Every now and then, Hermione reached up to stroke his beard, and if Ron noticed her sudden interest with his gin and cheeks, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Alright, enough about work. This is supposed to be romantic.”, Ron laughed, slightly tightening his grip around her middle. “Should’ve lit some candles.”

Hermione giggled as she wiggled out a little of Ron’s embrace to grab her wand, intending to light the chandelier behind them. Just as she freed her wand from the pile of clothes beside the bathtub though, something else fell out.

“Oi, that’s me!” Ron quickly snatched the picture up from the ground and settled back into his prior position in the bathtub. Hermione tried to hide her blush behind her hair, as Ron read Harry’s note on the back of the photo. Something between smugness and embarrassment appeared on his face, and the longer he looked at Hermione, the more it seems to become smugness.

“Do you like my beard, Hermione?”, Ron asked, his voice an octave deeper than usual, as he put his arms around her again, pulling her against his chest.

“I might have told Harry that a beard would look good on you.”, Hermione sighed, and forgot about her embarrassment, when Ron started to kiss the side of her neck. “And he obviously didn’t forget about it.”

Ron caressed her cheek to turn her head towards him. He gave her a long, heated kiss that left Hermione breathless, before retreating again, looking at her with a huge grin on his freckled face. Before Hermione could snog the smug grin away, Ron had to say one more thing.

“Well, feel free to enjoy it. All this Bearded Glory.”

#romione #ronmione #hermione granger #ron weasley #auror ron #harry potter #hp #my fic #my fanfiction #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fanfic #hermione granger fanfiction #hermione granger fanfic #hermione/ron #ron/hermione #ron x hermione #hermione and ron #bearded ron #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction

[gas-station-trackphone]

Fic Recs/Mandatory Reading for Reddie fans

Here is an incomplete list of some of my favorite Reddie fics on ao3, because i cannot get over the sheer talent of this fandom’s wonderful writers! A lot of these are the Greatest Hits that you’ll find on almost every fic list, but that’s why I consider them mandatory reading. like if you haven’t read some of these, what are you doing?

the years go by like days by georgiestauffenberg, rated M

the 27 years in between, but better because richie and eddie stay together. every time i think of this fic, i think of that lady gaga meme where she’s like “brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, etc” and maybe it’s bc this is one of the first reddie fics i ever read, but this one is always gonna be my favorite

broken record by spunknbite, rated E

the mother of all time loop fics. every reddie veteran gets chills at the phrase “the house on Neibolt was still standing”

literally everything by stitchy

like seriously just clear a few days bc you’re not gonna want to stop reading this author once you start. no other author has made me literally fucking cackle in one paragraph and sob in the next like this one, pls do yourself a favor and devour all their works like i did 

the night we met (take me back) by camerasparring, rated E

ch2 fix-it where eddie shows up at richie’s door alive and with no memory. great slow burn with a wonderfully conflicted richie, 10/10

let’s hear it for my baby! series by cloudings, rated E

OOOOOOOHHH boy! a modern teen!reddie grindr AU that’s both steamy AND sweet?? more like a fucking blessing amen hallelujah

a heart that laughter has made sweet by marjaani, rated E

another lovely teen!reddie fic that’s got it all! sweet, stupid boys, humor, a teeny bit of angst, and some 5-alarm fire smut with some top eddie, as a treat

keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theappleppielifestyle, rated T

angst with a happy ending is my favorite, and this one is just fantastic. so sweet, so sad! and stan is featured as eddie’s afterlife buddy and idk about y’all but i cannot get enough of stanley uris in my reddie fics. read this, then read all this author’s reddie fics, they’re all amazing

collateral by loosecannon, sheepknitssweater, rated E

a post-ch2 fic that i guess could be classified as fix-it, BUT with some very interesting twists. they beat the clown, everyone lives, but no one really gets the tropey happy ending. the WIP sequel is also incredible and i live for the updates.

the greater fool  series by mischiefmanager, mostly rated T with some E

this is a series i’ll reread a lot bc it’s so fucking good. follows young reddie into early adulthood, mostly a bunch of cute shit where they figure out themselves and their relationship. also contains the single best teen reddie fic in existence, he came in through the window, but reading the whole series is a must

brokeback derry and everything else by Amuly, rated E

27 years in between, richie and eddie reconnect in their 20s and meet back up in derry twice a year to remember and love each other before going back to their lives and forgetting. so much pain. there’s a lot of sweet stuff in there, but you can see shit’s gonna get complicated from miles away and the anticipation almost gave me stomach ulcers (in a good way). ultimate angst with a happy ending.

let me name the stars for you by playedwright, rated M

speaking of angst with a happy ending...Martian AU!!!!! this one fucked me up in the best way, i literally called my roommate at 2am to vent to her about my emotions after reading it. i go back and reread chapter 8 just to be overwhelmed by it, and it makes me cry every time. plus, there are awesome sequels/companion pieces in the series! read this, i beg you!

walk through fire for you by hyruling, rated T

unwind after all that angst with some cute, drunk, confused eddie being very upset when he finds out richie is engaged. richie only teases him a little before pointing out the matching ring on eddie’s finger. 

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang, rated E

post-ch2 slow burn with tags that really say it all, including but not limited to: eddie moves to california and richie is a mess, Eddie Kaspbrak’s Hot Girl Summer, and cute middle aged man dates

pivotal moments by danfanciesphil, polypocket, rated E

high school reddie has a sort of fwb thing goin on, but emotions get in the way. featuring wonderful bevchie friendship, hella miscommunication, cute double dates, high eddie, and a happy ending

like a bullet in the back by jerry_duty, rated M

adult idiots in love! a personal favorite trope of mine! slow burn with a fair helping of angst but a really great ending. richie stays with eddie in new york while he’s there on business, and it takes these losers SO LONG to figure it out but the way they dance around it is very cute

no sense of living without aim [WIP] by liesmyth, rated E

richie and eddie meet on grindr in the 27 years between and hey, whadda ya know, they fall in love! i really love this fic but i’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. i’ve had it open on my phone browser for like 3 months with no update but i still check it regularly bc i’m pathetic and this fic is just so good i’m DYING to know what happens next so read at ur own risk

a strange sense of familiarity [WIP] by Katranga, rated E

another “they meet and fall in love without remembering” fic, and even though it’s not complete yet, it gets regular updates. oh, also, i’m obsessed with it. they’re long distance fuck buddies who can’t admit they’re in love, and then they get hit with the childhood memories! and everyone lives! what’s not to love!  also PLEASE read kisses take like mint and every other reddie work by this author, they are all fantastic

adult friends by sudowoodo, rated T

AU where adult reddie meet at a first aid seminar for work (immediately fall in love), become friends, become best friends, and finally get to be happy. has some super repressed eddie and intensely pining richie, which is always fun, and genuinely made me laugh out loud. also please check out this author’s other reddie fics, there’s some super sweet kid reddie in there that really warms the heart

the mind's a funny fruit by joldiego, rated T

eddie wakes up barely alive in derry, has 0 memory, calls himself richie, and moves in with some lesbians. an absolute must read that ought to be on every reddie fic rec compilation. i read this a long time ago and just thinking about it makes me want to read it again.

now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate [WIP] by IfItHollers, rated E

it took me entirely too long to find this fic since i joined the fandom, and it’s truly a fucking masterpiece. it’s almost at 200k now and still unfinished, and the slow burn is excruciating, but this is a legendary fic for a reason. eddie spends the first chunk of this fic in the hospital recovering from the massive chest wound, and then he and richie move the recovery to ben’s cabin in the woods. the author’s notes for each chapter are a story in themselves

signs of a new lifetime by swordfishtrombones, rated T

one of the sweetest, most romantic reddie fics i’ve ever read. a fresh take on a classic concept: post-ch2, they’re in love, they haven’t said/done anything about it yet, BUT!!! it’s not angsty! they are all cute and giggly like “you say it first!” “no, you say it first!” and it makes me fucking MELT

broadcasting tower by swordfishtrombones, rated E

back-to-back recs from the same author! bc i love these fics so much! sort of similar to the last one in that they both know what’s up and just haven’t said it, but this one’s got the angst! i didn’t know when i read it that it was the same author as the other fic, and i thought how funny, i found another reddie author that perfectly captures this pair in such a wonderfully romantic way! i also just noticed there’s a follow up to this so now i have to go read that immediately

eurydice; the original comeback kid by Vulcanodon, rated M

for the love of god please read this and the other work in this series. it’s a ch-2 fix-it with some intense action sequences and major pining, and it has haunted me since i first read it

love on the telephone by tempestbreak, rated E

okay this one is really just 30k of pure smut but it’s also so sweet and features a mini sexual awakening for eddie and some insecure richie with an emphasis on how much they love and trust each other. also it doesn’t hurt that the smut is fire, like does anyone else want that twink obliterated, or is it just me?

the boy who loves you by candlejill, rated E

eddie lives, richie confesses, things are chill and then they’re not. richie’s career flourishes, which is always nice to read and is what ultimately catalyzes eddie’s gay awakening and realization of his love for richie. it’s got some sad angsty parts and a very sweet ending, and it up there as one of my favorite reddie fics of all time

richie and eddie break up [WIP] by skeilig, rated M

a refreshing and realistic take on life ch-2 for the losers, because being in love at thirteen doesn’t mean you can fall into a perfect relationship at 40. i’ll admit, i’m hoping this will ultimately be a “richie and eddie get back together” fic, but it’s still a very good read (and often very funny in the second chapter) at the moment in the midst of their break up

september 1989 and everything else by pineapplecrushface, rated T

cute kid reddie figuring it out and making me smile. the follow up to this and the after derry series by this author are also personal favorites

go west by ssstrychnine, rated T

road trip fic! an absolute work of art slow burn with teen reddie in the 90s. it’s so beautifully written i just wish i could go back and read it for the first time again

the edification of eddie kaspbrak by tozier, rated M

character study with some incredible fucking prose, my lord it gorgeous. explores how eddie learns about love as he grows up, and it’s super fucking sad sometimes bc the poor boy doesn’t know how to have the things he wants and i just want to give him a hug, but it’s really a spectacular fic

circular motion by sinchronicity, rated M

soulmate!AU that follows book canon and even though it’s been a long time since i’ve read it and the details are fuzzy, i remember absolutely loving it and thinking it was incredible

tell me you know by RichiesToesHurt, rated E

college losers with some severely pining and jealous richie with a lovely ending 

predicament bondage [WIP] by dgalerab, rated E

i resisted reading this fic for so long, recently broke and binged all of it, and now i’m like frothing at the mouth for updates. richie’s a closeted actor/comedian who meets eddie, a professional Dom, when he needs help researching a role. they become friends, they develop crushes, richie realizes he’s a sub, and it’s just so much fun to read

there’s a lot more fics to rec so i might add on to this in the future, but in the meantime my biggest tip for for reading fanfiction that took me embarrassingly long to figure out: focus on the authors! if you read something you like, check out the rest of the work by that author bc odds are you’ll like that too. i mentioned it in a few specific works above, but check out the authors catalogues for these fics. if i included every work by these authors that i loved, this list would be miles long

feel free to add on any great stuff i missed, there’s sure to be tons of it!

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #fic rec #IT movie #it stephen king #losers club #these are mostly just my ao3 bookmarks #there's more in my ao3 if you want to check me out: lilypond3

[edelwoodsouls]

i still pick up at the sound of your call [fic]

"Is that a dalek on tv?" [or: Martha has some choice questions for the Doctor regarding the new Prime Minister's addess]

Inspired by this post

Word Count: 1,799 | Also on Ao3

"Oi, what the fuck is going on?"

The Doctor blinks. Pulls the phone away from her ear, to check the number again, check she isn't hallucinating. She'd hardly believed it when she saw it, hasn't seen those numbers strung together in years, though they're still burned into her mind.

Another life, another time.

Another friend burned to ashes.

She hesitates, for just a moment. Takes a deep breath. "Hey, Martha," she cringes instantly at the hollow lightness of her tone, only drawing attention to the lifetimes between their last words. "What's up?"

A heavy pause on the other end. The Doctor tries to imagine her old companion, for just a moment. She'd promised herself she would check up on her friends from time to time, make sure they were okay, if she could help them from the shadows in any way - but that promise has fallen between the cracks, lost along the way with everything she ever thought was true.

The last time she saw Martha, she saved her life. Moments before her own - his own, back then - had slipped between her fingers.

She'd looked happy. The Doctor could never have predicted Martha and Mickey of all people, but she was glad for them. She had ruined their lives in so many ways by crashing through them, by falling in love with Rose - this was the least they deserved.

So she imagines Martha like that. Curled up on the sofa, cornrowed hair and sparkling eyes. Legs tangled up with Mickey as they watch tv in the burnt orange glow of a dying London afternoon.

Oh, fuck. The tv.

"Uh, hi," Martha answers finally, wrong-footed and uncertain. "I wanted to speak to the Doctor, could you put him on, please? Sorry, I- uh, I'm Martha. Jones. I used to travel with him. I'm guessing you're the new companion? What happened to Donna?"

An unexpected lump rises in the Doctor's throat. Thousands of years - thousands - have passed since she last bothered to check in on Martha Jones. How many companions have been and gone in that time? How many have crumbled to ash beneath her fingers?

She swallows it down, files it under Compartmentalise, and Never Think of Again.

Sunshine. Enthusiasm. Energy. The tenets she's founded herself on this go around. She plasters a bright smile on her face, as if contorting her muscles will trick her tone into believing she means it.

"Just me, I'm afraid," she grins, skipping around the TARDIS to fiddle with the controls to keep her hands busy. "Had a bit of a change of face since you last saw me."

Furious whispers on the other side of the phone, far enough away from the receiver that even she can't hear them. She imagines Martha and Mickey, confusion and surprise warring with each other.

This reveal never gets old.

"Sooo, how've you been? How's Mickey? It's been, what, nearly ten years since you last saw me?"

"Uh, yeah," Martha returns to the phone, hesitant. She's never had to deal with regeneration, really. "I didn't know you could- I mean, when you said you change, I didn't realise that-"

"I can be anything I like! It's great, innit? I could have two heads or green skin if I felt like it. First time I've been a woman, though. Well, first time I remember, I guess. Still haven't been ginger, though. Maybe one day."

"Different face, same amount of energy," Martha laughs, and the sound lifts a weight from the Doctor's chest she didn't even know was there. "Mickey says hi."

"Yeah- hi!" A more distant voice echoes through the phone, startled at being addressed.

"Hi! It's great to hear from you!" She twirls the phone cord around a finger. If there's one thing she always regrets in her lives, it's the way her previous selves treated their companions. Each one with a different idea of relationships, of how things should be done.

This version of her thinks Mickey would be a great companion, if not for her Rose-tinted blinders.

"So, to what do I owe this call? Hope you kids have been keeping out of trouble, though somehow, I doubt it."

"Right!" Martha yelps. The whole regeneration thing definitely threw her for a loop. "Yeah, Doctor, what the fuck is going on? Is that a dalek we just saw on tv?"

"Ah, yeah... it is, yeah."

"And?"

"And I'm sorting it out?" The Doctor glances over her shoulder, towards the corridor the fam disappeared down a few minutes ago to get ready. They'll be back any second.

It's not that the Doctor doesn't want the fam to know about her old companions. They've met Jack, know she hasn't been on her own all this time, but- still.

Her companions don't have the best survival rate. It's selfish, probably, to keep having them, and yet she somehow never goes without them for long.

(She's lonely, she knows it. She's not a good person on her own. She clings to these fragments of knowledge and calls it reason.)

"But why is there a dalek on tv, Doctor? New security drones, that's what they're saying. Do they not remember the whole Earth-moving, twenty-seven planets, dalek invasion thing?"

"Or the Battle of Canary Wharf?" Mickey adds, words heavy with an underlying anger. Rose was lost to save the world from daleks, after all.

The least she deserves is to have her sacrifice remembered.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," the Doctor admits, flinging herself onto one of the crystalline seats near the console. "It's incredibly weird, actually. As far as I can tell, the entire human race has forgotten that aliens exist at all. No stolen Earth, no Titanic flying over London or Racnoss star at Christmas. No Battle of Canary Wharf."

"That's- I mean, how does that even happen?"

"I have no idea. Something to do with collective consciousness, I'd guess. Some manipulation from another race wanting to remove Earth's knowledge and wariness of aliens. The Arkangel network is still flying strong in your orbit, after all. It wouldn't be so hard to harness the technology. Maybe even your own governments, or some rogue branch of Torchwood. I never did find Torchwood 2 or 4."

"Then how the hell do we still remember?"

"Probably my fault. You're still keyed into the TARDIS's neural network, so she's protecting you from the effects. Sorry about that."

"No, it's- it's good," Martha splutters. "Are you going to try and fix it?"

"Maybe," the Doctor leans back in her chair, pulling the phone cord as far as it will go. "Once all of this is over, I might look into it. Just to check if it's malevolent or not. It's not a bad thing, necessarily. To forget. Some of things they must have seen..."

She shakes her head to clear it. Can't let herself stop and think for too long, or she might never escape the whirlpool's tide.

"Anyway," Martha says - she always was good at noticing her spirals, circumventing them. "How's Donna?"

Nevermind. She speaks the words lightly, but in a tone that says she noticed the Doctor's avoidance earlier and is bracing for bad news.

"She's great!" the Doctor manages a smile, glad to have something, anything to latch onto that isn't her own thoughts. "Happily married, actually. Won the lottery a few years ago, doing very well for herself."

"That's- that's really good to hear."

"She doesn't remember me." She lets the words fall, as much as she wishes she could hold them close and buried and gone. But Donna needs to be kept safe, and Martha reaching out to her would be- not good. "She doesn't remember anything that happened. I- I had to wipe her memory, after the daleks. It was killing her."

The silence stretches longer this time, and for a moment the Doctor is sure she's broken everything.

"Well, I'm glad she's happy," Martha says eventually. "There are worse fates, right?"

So many of your companions have had worse fates, she doesn't say, but the Doctor reads between the lines anyway.

"Yeah," she breathes.

"And how are you doing, Doctor? You're not alone, are you?"

"No! I'm great, actually. Got my fam. Yaz is really cool, you'd love her. Ryan and Graham are great. Jack's back in town right now, helped me out of prison-"

"Helped you out of where?"

"-and we're just sorting out this whole dalek thing! Should be all over pretty soon. Just, stay where you are."

"You know we can't do that, Doctor." If anything, Martha sounds amused. Determined. Ready to pick up her sword once again, defend the Earth from whatever might be coming.

In this second, everything is right with the world, and she misses Martha Jones in a way that hurts both her hearts at once.

"Well, stay safe at least. I'll call you back when this is done, to let you know."

"Thank you, Doctor. Maybe we could, I don't know- grab a drink, or something. Catch up."

"I'd like that," she replies, and they both know she has very little intent on following through.

Yaz appears at the end of the corridor, eyes bright, smile warm. She's chattering to someone, probably Ryan, completely oblivious, no weight on her shoulders.

The Doctor wishes she could keep Yaz like that, happy, delighted, laughing. Wishes that smile was just for her.

But she might have ruined it forever.

She's learnt to trust the TARDIS over the years, learnt that the TARDIS arrives when she thinks the Doctor should be rather than where the Doctor wants to be. She wants to trust that this, too, was for a good reason. The TARDIS has never led her wrong, in the end.

She has to believe.

"Well, I'll let you crazy kids go be heroes. Beat up some daleks for me, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor," Martha says. The Doctor imagines her smiling, linking fingers with Mickey. "Stay safe out there."

"Always," the Doctor grins. As Yaz and Ryan approach, she jumps up, throws the phone back on its hook and grabs hold of the TARDIS's controls.

"Who was that?" Yaz asks, wary, unsure of how to act around her. They need to sit down and talk, hash out the last ten months - and nineteen years - but now isn't the time.

Unfortunately, the time rarely seems to appear.

"Just an old friend checking in," the Doctor shrugs, avoiding her new companions' eyes. "There's daleks on the tv, haven't you heard? Let's fix that."

She throws the TARDIS into flight with a delighted whoop - after all these years, the thrill of flight never quite fades.

She's lost companions before, but as Martha’s call has reminded her, not all of them have met bad ends.

She refuses to let the fam down on that one, too.

#doctor who #dw spoilers #revolution of the daleks #martha jones #thirteenth doctor #mickey smith #yasmin khan #thasmin #fanfiction #own work #morgan writes

[fallen-gravity]

awaken the stars, ‘cause they’re all around you

Stanford Pines never really believed in soulmates.

He can't imagine the idea that there's one person out there for him in the multiverse who would stop at nothing to love him for who he is, despite everything he is and everything he's done. He can't imagine that someone out there is meant for him, someone who will stand by his side until the end of time.

Or maybe he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

Notes: 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @stariousfalls!!!!! I can't believe we've been friends for upwards of five years now?? You've been a huge inspiration of mine from my first day in the gravity falls fandom back in late 2014, and now you're one of my closest friends. I've been spending the last week and a half working on this behind your back, because I wanted to surprise you with a gift I thought you'd love!!

7.5k words of fluff was....not my original plan, but fluff brain wanted to go feral for you, I guess.

Huge, huge shoutout to @ariasofelegance  for helping me keep my mouth shut about this, I absolutely would've internally combusted without your help & support

AO3

Ford never saw the appeal of romantic relationships.

One night when he and Stan were kids, they snuck downstairs in the middle of the night after their parents were asleep to dig through Pa’s “Secret stash” of movies he thought he was good at keeping a secret. They’d thought for sure they’d be coming across bootleg cuts of action movies that were still playing in theaters, or documentaries about how all of the politicians in power were secretly aliens. 

What they actually found was much more…sensual. They were both horrified, to say the least, but each time Ford had to turn away to prevent himself from gagging, he’d hear Stan beside him struggling not to laugh. 

For years, Ford was convinced coming across those tapes before he was old enough to fully comprehend what was happening in them is what had turned him off to relationships altogether. It certainly didn’t help that he was never able to experience romantic relationships firsthand, as every time he tried asking someone out in high school he’d just be laughed at or called a freak.

Though college was another story entirely, his feelings towards romantic relationships never seemed to change. He went out with a girl from his dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons club for a few weeks, a guy from his advanced physics class for almost two months, and even tried going out with Fiddleford for upwards of nine months, but he never felt that deeper connection with any of them, no matter how much he wanted to feel that connection. 

It’d be forty more years before he learned the term aromantic, but when he was still in college he would brush off his parents’ questions about his relationship status by telling them he was too busy working on his thesis, which technically wasn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

Still, the faint sense of yearning never seemed to leave him be. Whenever he found gaps in his schedule, he would spend hours in his university library reading up on the science of relationships and their place in society. Though he no longer remembers most of the papers he read, one scientific study that’s always stuck with him was a dissertation written entirely on the concept of soulmates.

Everyone has a soulmate, the paper claimed. Though it may be decades until you properly meet, your path always leads to the moment that you and your soulmate are finally united. Once finally together, not a single force on earth can tear you apart. Even if you are apart physically, the stars will always align to bring you together. Weirdest of all, the paper mentioned soulmarks, which were described as “the phenomenon that a person’s very soul is marked with a piece that belongs to their soulmate, which may appear as a physical anomaly on a person’s body, such as an oddly-shaped birthmark”. 

Ford had thought for sure that somebody must’ve moved a romance novel into the sociology section of the library as a joke. The only sort of anomaly he had going for him was his polydactyly, and thinking too much about how that could connect him to a single person who was destined to love him gave him a headache. 

Nowadays, though, Ford tries not to give it much thought. He’s perfectly happy right where he is, watching the sunrise from the deck of the Stan O’ War II through the steam visibly rising from his coffee mug. 

He sighs contently. 

“Mornin’” Stan’s voice sounds beside him, gruff with sleep. When Ford turns to look at him, he’s rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he holds a steaming cup of coffee in his other. He’s already donning one of the sweaters Mabel mailed to him, a deep blue with a tropical island and a treasure chest stitched across the chest.

Ford smirks. “You’re up early” 

Stan cocks an eyebrow as he sips from his coffee. “A’course I am. I always get up early when we’re docking to see the kids”

Ford blinks, the teasing smirk on his face melting into a gentle smile. “That’s today?” 

“Haven’t you checked the calendar lately?” Stan tosses a second handmade sweater at Ford. This one’s the same shade of maroon as his journal covers, and pictures an angry cycloptopus squirting ink towards the bottom left corner of the sweater. “The kids are on spring break. They talked to their parents about letting us have ‘em all week” 

Ford is quick to pull the warm sweater over his head. “All week?” 

He can’t help sounding like a broken record, but it’s been months since the last time he saw the kids face to face. Sure, they talk over video at least once a week, but nothing beats seeing their smiling faces and having them nearly tackle him to the ground in a hug in-person. 

“Heh, you miss em too, Sixer?” 

As little as two years ago, Ford would’ve flinched at the nickname. But Bill is gone for good, and Ford knows that Bill is gone for good, and Stan made a promise to do anything in his power to help him reclaim the nickname. He brings his mug close to his face without taking a sip, allowing himself to take in the warmth in his hands and the steam in his face.

“Not as much as you, clearly” Ford smirks, and Stan crosses his arms over his chest.

“You bet I missed them more than you. I’d been taking care of them all summer before you showed up and fell in love with them in half that time”

Ford smirks as he finishes up his coffee and heads into the navigation room to set their course. “By that logic, wouldn’t that mean that I miss them more, since I had less time with them?”

“Hey!” Stan groans as he follows him into the room. “It does not. It means that you don’t know them like I know them, genius. Everyone knows that it’s all about how much time you’ve spent with a person that determines how close you are with them” 

Ford laughs as he enters the coordinates they need to get to the seaport they were meeting the young twins at. From the looks of it, it’d be three hours before they arrived. 

“Mm, and who put that study together? Was it you?” 

Stan doesn’t reply with words, just a noise that sounds halfway between disgruntled and baffled. It makes Ford laugh even harder, and he wipes at his eyes with a wrist. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Stan’s overdramatic pout melt away until he’s laughing too. 

The sight of it makes the smile on Ford’s face widen. It’d been decades since the two of them were able to just be like this. It’d been so long since the last time Ford heard Stan’s genuine laugh that he’d gone and forgotten what it sounded like altogether. When he was still traveling the multiverse, he searched far and wide for a shred of hope, something to keep his anxieties and nightmares from catching up to him.

What a fool he’d been to ignore his childhood memories of home. 

The trip is a quiet but familiar one. Ford can’t talk much when he’s steering because he needs to be on constant lookout, but Stan remains in the room to talk at him and keep him company anyway. The sun is well over the horizon by the time they reach the seaport, and call it instincts, intuition, or something else entirely, because Ford spots the kids sitting on a bench in the near distance the moment he and Stan step foot onto the dock. 

They’re squished closely together, watching a video on Mabel’s phone. Whether they’re aware of it or not, they’re swaying their legs back and forth underneath the bench in perfect unison. On the ground beside them are their backpacks, overstuffed with so many things that both of them are popping open. 

Most importantly, neither of them have noticed that Ford and Stan are approaching them. 

Ford exchanges an amused glance with Stan, and clears his throat to catch their attention. 

The phone nearly stumbles out of their hands in shock when they look up and meet their eyes.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel squeals, standing to sprint past Ford to knock Stan off of his feet. Ford chuckles at the sight, but not quickly enough to hear Dipper’s “Great Uncle Ford!”, and before he knows it he’s hitting the floor too. The young twins are laughing messes, and stumble over each other as they try to stand to their feet and help their Grunkles up. 

Mabel spits out the hair that stuck to her mouth, and pulls a hair tie seemingly out of thin air to tie her hair up into a ponytail. It’s only now that Ford realizes that she and Dipper are also both wearing sweaters, and if Ford had to guess, it looks like Mabel made both of these sweaters as well. Mabel’s is a galaxy print with actual twinkling stars, and Ford makes a mental note to ask her later what she did to make it glow like that. Dipper’s is also space themed, though his pictures the big dipper splotched across a black night sky with a bright orange meteor shooting through the center.

“You have to tell us about everything you’ve encountered”, Dipper beams, once Stan finishes brushing himself off. 

Stan cocks an eyebrow. “Two years’ worth is a lot to get through, kiddo”

“Exactly!” Mabel beams, turning to pick up her backpack and put it on. “Which is exactly why you can tell us on the way to the hotel!” 

“Hotel?” Ford and Stan ask in unison.

“Surprise?” Dipper giggles. “Our parents rented us a hotel room for the week cause they figured you’d appreciate some time away from the boat” 

“It’ll be like our summer in Gravity Falls all over again!” Mabel grins. “But in reverse! You’re in our territory now” 

Stan laughs. “You’re the boss, kiddo”

“You bet I am!” She beams, and hands Dipper his backpack. “Now c’mon! If you tell us all of the horrors you’ve encountered out at sea, we’ll tell you about all the horrors we’ve encountered in high school!”

“I...think I remember those horrors pretty well already, thank you” Ford smiles sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. “But we’d be more than glad to tell you some of our own stories”

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, but Ford honestly wouldn’t mind if they walked all the way to the hotel on foot if it meant an extra half an hour with the kids. They’re just as eccentric as he remembers, attached at the hip but still wildly different people all on their own. Dipper’s still hanging on to every word he’s saying, and Mabel’s still skipping along like she’s in her own world. 

Once they reach the hotel and check in, Dipper collapses face first onto one of the beds the moment he steps into the room, groaning. 

Stan smiles. “Something bothering you, kiddo?” 

He turns on his side to look Stan in the eye, his face smushing into the pillow. “Mabel didn’t let me get any sleep last night. She insisted on getting to the seaport three whole hours early because she insisted that she had this gut feeling that you guys would have the same idea and we’d magically show up at the same time” 

Mabel pouts, and sits on the bed besides him. “Well it’s not my fault you stayed up late reading that dumb book of yours. Plus, would you rather have kept them waiting for three hours?” 

Dipper removes his hat and places it on the table beside him, exposing just enough of his forehead through his hair to reveal his birthmark. It has the same faint glow to it as Mabel’s sweater, and Ford wonders how the two could possibly reflect off of each other. 

“Their boat has beds and a fully stocked kitchen, Mabel. They can afford to wait. All we had were those strawberry pop tarts that you ate five minutes after we got there”

Ford can’t help but smile softly at their banter. He missed them so, so, much more than he could’ve ever imagined. He’s got half a mind to stow them away on the boat at the end of the week and homeschool them both himself so he never has to be apart from them again.

Apart. The word still feels like a knife twisted into his chest. There’s nothing he regrets more than trying to separate the young twins from each other two summers ago because he’d been so caught up in projecting his own fears onto the pair. He’d tried apologizing to Mabel over the whole ordeal, but she stopped him before he could even start to tell him he had nothing to worry about.

He only wishes he could learn to forgive himself as easily as she did.

“...Can we, Grunkle Ford?”

He blushes. Had he just said all of that out loud?

“Can we...what?” 

“Take the boat out! Not right now, since Dips is being a grumpy-grump and insists on wasting precious time with a nap, but we’ve been talking about it all week”

From across the room, Stan snorts. “Let me get this straight,” he takes his jacket off and hangs it up in the closet. At this point Ford swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because Stan’s old burn scar is glowing just as Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s birthmark are. “All the time you spent groaning and complaining about fishing every time I took you in Gravity Falls, and now you’re asking to go fishing?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a joy ride,” Dipper yawns from under the covers. “But if agreeing to go fishing is what gets you to say yes, then sure” 

He’s smirking under the covers, Ford can tell, because he inherited that expression from Stan.

Stan’s about to bite back, but Dipper must not have been exaggerating about how long he and Mabel were waiting for them at the dock, because he’s already out cold. Stan smiles at him, gently ruffling up his hair before he takes a seat on the adjacent bed, kicking his shoes off so he can kick his feet up on the bed and relax. Ford sits beside Stan, and Stan slings his arms behind him to support his head in his hands as he glances over at Ford. 

“They make you wanna retire the whole ‘treasure hunting’ thing and move into the city to be closer to ‘em too?”

Ford chuckles. “I’ve already considered hiding them away on the boat twice today already.” He taps at his chin. “Though I suppose that moving in with them would go over better with their parents then taking them away to live on a boat” 

“Hmm…” Stan taps at his chin as well. “Being stuck in the same stuffy high school for four years, or living on a boat traveling all over the world whenever they feel like it? I dunno about you, Sixer, but I have a pretty good idea on what the kids would prefer”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford?” Mabel’s voice suddenly chimes in, and Ford blushes, wondering how much of that she just heard. 

“What’s on your mind, pumpkin?” Stan asks. 

“Well, uh, Dipper was right about us only eating once really early this morning, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh” She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Cook something for us? For old time’s sake?”

Okay, it’s settled, Ford’s never letting these kids go again. 

“Sure, kiddo. Soon as your brother’s up we’ll head right back up, okay?” 

“Okay!” she beams, and crawls back into her side of the bed, staring at Dipper like she can will him into waking up on command. 

Though Ford would’ve been okay if they’d had to wait hours for him, it’s really only about twenty minutes before Dipper opens his eyes again and nearly shrieks in surprise at Mabel’s face hovering three inches from his own. He smacks his hand into her face to shove her away, and she giggles as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor. 

Beside Ford, Stan smirks. “Better get up before we leave without you and all our food goes to Mabel, kiddo. You’ve got plenty of time to crash in Ford’s bed on the ship, since he never seems to use it anyway”

Dipper yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he kicks the covers off. “I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep”

“I didn’t realize you were even capable of sleep, bro-bro” Mabel punches him in the shoulder as she walks past him to put her shoes on. He glares at her wordlessly, and Ford has to cover up his snicker with a fake cough. 

This time, the bus ride and the walk back to the ship are a quiet one. Ford never really lets himself let his guard down and relax for an extended period of the time, so he cherishes any moment he can get where he finally feels like he doesn’t constantly feel the need to check over his shoulder for signs of danger. Most of the time, if you asked him about his heightened senses, he’d call them a curse. But on days like these, when he can hear the birds chirping and the waves smacking gently against the boats in the seaport, he’d almost go as far as calling it a blessing. 

The kids take a seat at the dining table as soon as they enter the kitchen, and Stan grins at them from over his shoulder as he clicks the stove on. “Whaddya say, Stancakes?” 

Dipper and Mabel grimace in unison. “Ewwww, Grunkle Stan, you promised lunch!” Mabel scrunches her nose, and Stan’s grin only widens. 

“Ah, ah, you said like old times. That means I get to decide what to make, and you have to eat it because I’m your legal guardian”.

“Well I wasn’t even awake when you were talking about old times, so I’d say that cancels out” Dipper crosses his arms over his chest, and Ford can’t help but smile warmly at the three of them as he reaches into the cupboard for his favorite coffee mug. The younger twins clearly had just gotten two copies of the same mug, but crossed both of them out so they’d say #1 GRUNKLES on them instead of #1 UNCLE. Stan has the other one, of course, but he keeps it on his bedside to hold small treasures and keepsakes because it’s, in his own words, “Too special to waste on something as ordinary as coffee”.

Ford sits himself in the seat between the younger twins at their okay, and after some back and forth banter between the four of them, they end up settling for burgers. Truth be told, this is the first time Ford’s eaten a meal in a group larger than two since the last time he and Stan visited the young twins in the winter, and he can’t help but smile into his food at the thought. The closest he’d come even remotely close to eating with others in his research years was his very, very brief time at the truck stop diner, and the experience had soured his view of...well, other people for near decades.

Now, though, he’d burn his own research dozens of times over before he’d even consider eating alone.

Stan’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands pops Ford out of his bubble of serenity. 

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Stan cracks his knuckles, smiling mischievously at Dipper and Mabel. “I think I remember a couple of kiddos finally promising their Grunkle Stan he could take them fishing”

“Promise is a strong word-” Dipper starts as he stands to place his plate in the sink, but Stan’s already placing a fishing hat on his head before he can finish his sentence. 

“Course you did! You wanna take our baby for a joyride, you gotta earn it first”

Dipper turns to Ford, like he’s expecting him to back him up.

Ford chuckles. “I don’t know, Dipper. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me”.

Dipper scoffs, sitting back down at the table. Mabel laughs. 

“Aww, C’mon, Dipper! Aren’t you all about the supernatural? For all we know, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford could be harboring magical glowing bait that only attracts, like, magical talking fish men, or something!” 

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just receive a bottle message from Mermando last week?”

“Exactly!” Mabel flashes a grin. “That must mean that he’s in the area!”

Stan laughs. “You tellin’ me you only agreed to go fishing so you could kiss and make-up with your long-distance fish boyfriend?”

“Grunkle Stan, what kind of person do you take me for?” she gasps. “He’s married! You know I would never want to break apart such a loving couple!”

Ford’s smile only warms. Where else could he partake in such a conversation that doesn’t turn heads and result in judgmental whispers? Where else can he just be like this, surrounded by loved ones who are just as weird, just as out of the ordinary as himself? In his younger years he thought for sure his place would be among the monsters and cryptids everyone in his childhood made him out to be, but even in the weirdness capital of the country he felt more alone than ever. 

“...Don’t think you’re immune, Sixer” Stan’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and before Ford can ask what he means Stan is smacking a homemade fishing cap on his head. “It may ruin your badass image when we’re monster hunting, or whatever, but we’re fishing with the kids.” Stan gestures to them with his thumb. They’re already outside, leaning over the railing to look out at the water in a perfect mirror of each other.  “If they have to embarrass themselves by humoring me for a few hours, so do you” 

Ford waits for Stan to join the kids outside before he takes his hat off to admire the stitch work. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near the fancy embroidery he and Stan have found in various markets across their world travels. But it’s personalized, and Ford knows it comes from a place in Stan’s mind that’s been stuck behind lock and key since he was seventeen.

Ford runs his hands along each individual letter, which reads POINDEXTER, before placing it back on his head to join the others outside. 

Stan has, miraculously, already pulled out his joke book. Stan’s laughing too hard at his own joke for Ford to really make out what the punchline is, but the younger twins’ collective groans is all he needs to know about it. When Mabel notices him stepping out of the doorway, though, her expression shifts entirely. 

“So…” she draws out, stepping towards him. “Is there a trick for attracting merpeople to your boat? I mean, asides from being super cute, obviously” 

Ford chuckles, taking a glance behind her to make sure that Stan is out of earshot. “Stan’ll kill me if I tell you this, but they’re really attracted towards shiny things. If you tied one of his gold necklaces around a fishing pole and dangled it into the water, the boat’ll be surrounded in minutes” 

Mabel offers up her pinkie finger. “I won’t tell him if you won’t”

Ford interlocks his pinkie with hers, smiling. “I think he’ll notice when a whole family of merpeople show up”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin with her free hand, visibly mouthing a plan to herself. “Oh! I know! Come with me,” she beams, and before Ford can even open his mouth to respond she’s already dragging him back into the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor and opens the cupboard below the sink. “Got any empty bottles I can use?”

Ford blinks. “Empty....bottles”

“Yeah!” Mabel pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of her skirt. “If I can send out my response letter the same time we throw Stan’s necklace over, he’ll never be able to tell the difference!”

“Wait, wait” Ford shakes his head. “You really are dating a merperson?”

“Listening skills, Grunkle Ford” she taps at her forehead, folding the letter back into her pocket as she continues to dig through the cupboards. “Used to date. We met at the Gravity Falls Public Pool, where he was stuck, but then I drove him to the lake in a golf cart I stole from the pool grounds because he really missed his family, and then he was my first kiss, and then we were in a long-distance relationship for like, two months, and I kept every single bottle he sent me, but then we had to break up because he was arranged to marry to prevent a big undersea war.” She picks up a bottle, shakes it, and puts it back when it’s too full for her liking. “I know it sounds, like, super complicated, but it’s all okay, because we’re still pen pals!” 

Ford laughs, shaking his head. “No, Mabel, I had to ask because I, uh…” his cheeks warm, and he clears his throat. “Before I...came to term with my orientation, I...dated a merperson too” 

The bottles in the cupboard rattle as Mabel’s head smacks against the doorframe. She’s rubbing the spot where her head hit, but there are stars in her eyes. “Really?” 

Ford’s cheeks burn even hotter. “Yes,” he whispers, and takes a knee so he can get at her eye level. “Technically he was a siren, but yes, we dated for about a month. He promised me he wouldn’t entice anyone else while we were together, but I guess there wasn’t anything...there.” He turns to help her shuffle through the cupboard, and finds a near-empty bottle of olive oil that’s definitely been sitting down there for at least a year. He hands it off to Mabel, smiling. “I’m glad that things worked out with you, though” 

To his surprise, Mabel drops the bottle and throws her arms around him in a hug. “I can’t wait to introduce you! He’s gonna love you”

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, and pulls her close as he winds his arms around her as well. The hug only lasts for a few brief moments, but it feels to Ford in those moments that time itself had stopped. Mabel stands, taking the bottle in one hand and offering to help Ford up in her other. 

Mabel places the bottle in the sink and turns the water on to rinse it out before she turns back towards Ford, stretching her arms up in the air as if she were warming up for an exercise. “Alright, here’s the plan. You tell me where Grunkle Stan keeps all of his jewelry, and I’ll sneak in and take his necklace while you distract him. Got it?”

Ford smiles. “Got it”.

As Mabel splits away for Stan’s bedroom, Ford heads back out to the deck. Dipper’s leaning over the side of the boat pointing at something jumping out of the water, rambling excitedly to Stan beside him. He’s holding his fishing hat in his hand to stop it from blowing into the water, and his hair is bouncing in the breeze. It’s just enough for the edge of his birthmark to poke through his bangs, and even in broad daylight it seems to be emitting a faint glow.

“I found it!” Mabel cheers, bounding up from behind him. She’s wearing the chain around her neck, and for some reason the gold seems much dimmer in contrast to her sweater. She takes it off and hands it to him. “You wanna do the honors while I go and throw this overboard?”

Ford smiles, ruffling her hair. “Sure thing.” He walks over to where Stan and Dipper are chatting and picks up one of the extra fishing rods. Making sure that Stan’s too engrossed with his conversation to notice, Ford starts wrapping the chain along the line, and at the signal from Mabel, he tosses his line as far from the boat as he can manage.

Five minutes pass before Mabel squeals so loud that Ford’s afraid his glasses might shatter. He reaches for the gun he knows he’s got stashed in his pants pocket, but when he turns to run to her aid she’s leaning halfway over the boat wrapping her arms around a young merman in a tight hug.

“...so good to see you again!” She’s beaming. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find us so quickly!”

“Yes, well, you were easy to track down after we figured out the coordinates to the seaport” the young man says in a thick Spanish accent. “It is good to see you too! My family was so excited to meet you”

“Your family?” she gasps. “Did they all come with you?” 

“Of course!” he grins. “We merpeople are very family oriented. Wherever we go, we go together” 

Ford winces at the uncanny familiarity of the statement. Mabel must recognize the statement too, because she responds with “Oh, that reminds me! There’s someone I want you guys to meet! Wait right here,” she says, and comes bouncing back over to Ford. Taking his hand in her own, she starts to drag him back to where she’d just been leaning. “C’mon! He’s the one I was just talking about!”

Three more merpeople emerge from the water when she gently knocks on the side of the boat again. “Grunkle Ford, this is Mermando!” she grins, gesturing to the young merman she’d just been conversing with. “He’s the one I helped reunite with his family after they were separated by tragic circumstances.” She wraps her arms around Ford in a side-hug. “Mermando, this is my Grunkle Ford! He was also separated from his family by tragic circumstances, but I helped with that too!” 

Mermando laughs. “Even when you think it’s the end, family always finds its way, doesn’t it?”

Ford laughs, shaking his hand. “It always seems that way to me”

“Awwww!” Mabel squeals. “I knew you’d get along!” She grins, and turns her attention back towards Mermando. “Before I forget, though, did you see where Grunkle Ford threw that gold necklace? If I don’t get it back my Grunkle Stan’s gonna kill me”

Mermando laughs again. “I was wondering if that belonged to any of you!” He takes off his shell necklace to reveal that he’d put Stan’s necklace on around his neck. He takes that off, too, and offers it to Ford. “I much prefer this one, anyway” he clicks his shell necklace open, revealing it to be a locket with a picture of his family inside.

Ford takes the gold necklace back, and he means to thank him, but a bell ringing from elsewhere in the port interrupts him before he can open his mouth. Mermando turns to Mabel, taking her hands in his own. “We must go. I’m so sorry we have to leave so soon, but we merpeople recognize the sounds of fishing boats very easily. We’ll try to come back later this week” He opens his arms for her once more, and Mabel wraps his arms around him in a quick hug before she watches him and his family swim away. 

“I am so glad that all you were doing was hugging,” Dipper shudders as he and Stan approach Ford and Mabel. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle witnessing you two kissing a second time” 

“Awww,” Mabel punches him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous that I had a boyfriend before you did!” 

Dipper cringes. “If you having a boyfriend before I do means I didn’t have to be the one dating a fish, then I’m glad you were the one who got stuck with him first” He punches her back, and gestures at Stan over his shoulder with his thumb. “But anyways, I came over here because Grunkle Stan says he wants to get out on the open water before everyone else gets the idea, or something”.

Ford pockets Stan’s necklace and makes a mental note to put it away sometime later tonight when Stan is too distracted to notice. “Tell Stan I’m going to untie the rope from the edge of the dock, and when he sees me back on board we’re all set to go.”

Nodding, Dipper bounds off towards the navigation room where Stan must be waiting, and Ford steps off of the boat to take care of everything else. On the way to the bow, he traces a hand along the white painted STAN O’ WAR II, and a feeling of warmth sprouts in his chest. Once back on board, he waves to Stan as he passes besides the navigation room once more, and takes a seat on one of the beach chairs they liked to keep aboard. 

Most days, Ford prefers to be the one at the wheel. But every once in a while he just wants to be. All he wants to do is lean back in one of their beach chairs and let the sun warm his face. It’s a good kind of warm, the same way spending time with the kids and heavy rain hitting his bedroom window and planning new escapades with Stan feel warm. After so, so long of only knowing unbearable burns, it feels indescribable to have a constant back in his life that heals, rather than hurts. 

“Mind if we join you?” Dipper asks, and Ford glances over to see both of the young twins dragging a chair behind them.

Speaking of healing constants.

“Sure,” Ford says, and can’t help the warmth spilling through his tone. They pull their chairs up on either side of him, and curl up to enjoy the warm breeze. Dipper places his hat on his lap to let the wind blow through his hair, and Mabel stretches her arms out behind her head to act as her own pillow. Ford chuckles silently at the pair, and closes his eyes to let himself relax.

All is quiet when Stan finally finds them a spot out on the open water without a single other boat in sight. The water is nearly still, save for the occasional small wave that gently sways the boat. The sun is at its afternoon high, turning the water beautiful shades of teal and aqua. Fishing is tedious, but it’s careful work, and gives Ford something to put all of his focus into. Two whole hours pass before any of them catch a thing, and Stan laughs himself to tears when it’s Dipper who pulls up a single sardine. 

Typically Ford prefers much more immersive activities, but right now there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The sun is starting to set before they realize they aren’t going to have much luck catching anything, and instead decide to take the boat for another ride around the harbor to look for a better place to eventually watch the stars. 

“...Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper approaches him shyly once they’ve anchored the boat.

“Yes?”

He tugs shyly at the edge of his sweater. “I…” he starts. “I know you’ve told me that the multiverse was dangerous, and all, but...was there ever anything you enjoyed about it?” He pauses. “What were the sunsets like?”

Ford chuckles, patting at the seat beside him, and Dipper’s eyes light up as he sits down.

“You’re right,” Ford starts, folding his hands together. “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on even my worst enemies, Dipper. It was practically impossible to get any decent amount of sleep and even harder to find food digestible by human kind. I lost some of my best years to the multiverse when I could’ve gone on to become the most renowned scientist in the world.” Ford turns his gaze away from the sun setting on the horizon to meet Dipper’s eyes, but he’s frowning, eyes cast downwards towards the deck of the ship.

“But,” Ford adds before the poor kid can get too lost in his own head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It definitely had its perks.” He smiles. “The sun in Dimension 18.2 would emit a sound that mimicked a lullaby every night as it set. Dimension 47’23 had three moons that would shift phases before your very eyes. I haven’t told Mabel because I’m afraid she’ll try activating a portal of her own and run away, but in Dimension 25-12, everyone and everything looks like a watercolor painting. There’s danger in the multiverse, but there’s beauty in equal measure”

“Do you ever miss it?” Dipper fiddles with his hands, like he’s trying real hard not to say the wrong thing. “I mean, I know you don’t miss being lost, or having no idea if you’re ever going to see home again, but...is there any dimension...where you could’ve seen yourself staying, if you thought you couldn’t make it back?” 

Ford shifts in his chair so he doesn’t have to twist his neck so much to look directly at his nephew. “Occasionally,” he muses. “I met the most friendly faces in Dimension 52, so my mind does tend to wander there from time to time” he smiles. “But rest assured, there is something in this dimension that makes it my favorite”

“Oh yeah?” Dipper’s eyes light up. “Over every other dimension you’ve passed through? What is it?”

Ford gently nudges Dipper’s shoulder. “You and your sister”

Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks as though he’s struggling not to bury his face into the collar of his sweater and disappear. “Really?” his voice squeaks.

Ford nods. “Everything I had in those other dimensions were fleeting, Dipper. At a moment’s notice everything I grew to love could disappear in the blink of an eye. The very thing happened to me in Dimension 52. When I fell asleep, I woke up in a new dimension I didn’t recognize. Things may have been more advanced, and there may have been dimensions crafted to give you your greatest desires, but in the end nothing ever lasted.” 

Now it’s Ford’s turn to divert Dipper’s eyes, gaze casting towards the floor. “Stan was cut from my life completely in the dimension that claimed to be a perfect world. I had nobody. Even in dimensions that actively worked towards my happiness, I was all alone” Ford shakes his head, and turns his gaze once more out on the horizon. The sun is still touching the horizon, but it’s dipped just low enough that some of the stars are beginning to show in the sky. 

“But...here, at home, everything is consistent. I don’t have to worry about waking up in the morning to find that everyone I love is gone. I can keep everyone in arm’s lengths, even when Stan and I can only communicate with you and your sister over a video call. I’m…” Ford gently squeezes his hands to reassure himself that this is real and now. “...happy. Happier than I’ve been in decades” 

Beside him, Dipper yawns, and when Ford spares a glance over at him he’s smiling at him sleepily.  “We’re really happy you’re here too, Grunkle Ford” he murmurs, and his eyes slip closed. Ford’s cheeks flush pink, and he has to choke back a laugh because that’s one of the first times Dipper’s felt comfortable enough to call him Grunkle. 

Ford stands, so as not to wake Dipper from his nap. A small glance to his right and he catches a glimpse of Stan and Mabel leaning against the side of the boat watching the sunset just outside of earshot of his current conversation with Dipper.

“You finally bore him to sleep with all your nerdy science talk?” Stan asks as he approaches, sparing a glance behind him at Dipper. “Was starting to think that the poor kid would never get a nap in” 

“Yes, well,” Ford smirks. “I’m sure it helped plenty that you bored him to death by taking him fishing first”

Stan gasps in mock offense, and slugs him in the shoulder. “Hey, at least I’m engaging them in something they can actually interact with, unlike your kooky alien stories, or whatever”

Ford can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Bold statement coming from the man who dedicated thirty years of his life rescuing me from said kooky aliens” he says, returning with a punch of his own. Stan opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing to say, and closes his mouth. The sight of it makes Ford laugh even harder, keeling over and slapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder to support himself. It must be contagious, because it’s not long before Stan is laughing too.

Ford removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and cleans off the lenses with the edge of his sweater. Once his eyes adjust after he puts them back on, his throat nearly catches in his throat when he glances back out towards the water. He’s just able to catch a shooting star before it disappears over the horizon, and the boat’s just far out enough on the water that there isn’t an ounce of light pollution obscuring the rest of the stars in the sky.  He takes a few steps back so he can look up and admire more of them at once, and if he looks close enough he can see them twinkling. 

Before he can ask the others if they’re seeing the same thing, a bright flash of light coming from somewhere on the boat cuts into his thoughts. He turns, to make sure that none of the lights in any of the rooms are on, but no, they’d turned those off when they’d started fishing. Scratching at his head, he turns to Stan and Mabel to ask if they have any idea where the light is coming from, but that question catches in its throat as quickly as it formulated.

They’re the ones emitting light.

Or, rather, Mabel’s sweater and Stan’s shoulder, approximately where his burn scar should be. Those are emitting light. 

...Surely it must just be the reflection of the starlight on the water, right? That same bright light must have woken Dipper from his nap, yes? 

He turns heel to ask Dipper the same question, but freezes in his tracks before he can take a single step forward. Dipper’s forehead is glowing too, the same way it has since he and Stan docked the boat this morning. 

It...It can’t be, can it?

Gripping his forehead, Ford takes a number of steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Maybe...maybe he just needs to call it a night. He’s been awake since sunrise, maybe his vision is just blurring because he needs to lie down? 

He waves his hands in front of his face, but no, those don’t look any different. He squints, to make sure his hands aren’t shaking, but no, they’re perfectly still.

He squints at Stan and Mabel, just to try and see if his eyes are watering, and-

He gasps. 

Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s forehead, Stan’s shoulder; they’re not glowing; they’re twinkling like the stars. It was hard to tell in broad daylight, but now that they’re surrounded by a thousand shining stars, the resemblance is unmistakable. 

But...that’s not possible. If he can see them twinkling, but none of them have said anything about it, that could only be if those were…

...soulmarks. 

Ford suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out. 

He slides to the floor.

Is...Is that even possible? Ford thought for sure that study he read years ago was nothing but a joke. Someone...who does everything in their power to bring you two together, no matter the cost? Someone who, even though you may not meet for decades, will feel as though you’ve known each other their entire lives? Someone who will do anything for you, no matter the personal expense?

Someone...someone like Stan, who spent a painstaking thirty years teaching himself quantum physics to rescue someone that anyone else would assume dead? The man who sacrificed his very mind, his very life, so he could be spared physical torture?

Or...someone like Mabel, the first friendly face he saw after emerging from the portal? The one who forgave him so easily after he tried to separate her from her brother? The one who insists on calling him a good person, despite all of those he knows he hurt? 

Or...Dipper? His kindred spirit in all things supernatural? The one who, alongside his sister, sacrificed himself as bait for the most dangerous being in the entire multiverse? Who saw memories of him at his very worst, and apologized to him for snooping?

After everything he’s been through...could things really work out that well in his favor? To not have one soulmate but three, and the guarantee that they’ll never leave, because they’ve already expressed how they love him so? 

There’s a tear streaming down his cheek at the thought, but he’s too distracted by a fourth light suddenly emitting from...himself to really notice.

He spares a cautious glance downward, and notices a pulsing light emerging from his chest in perfect time with his heartbeat. If he looks closely, he notices that the light travels down his arms and ties itself into a translucent bow around his fingers. If he looks closer still, the light looks as though it’s slinking faintly across the deck of the boat and reaching towards the gentle twinkling of Stan and Mabel’s marks.

Ford places a hand to his forehead, throws his head back, and laughs his throat dry, paying no mind to the tears pouring down his face.

#gravity falls #my writing #syd #cool kid squad 2.0 #ILYSM FRIEND

[goonlalagoon]

A smile in your heart (no better place to start) || Second Star to the Left

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33459862

(Spoilers through to end of ep 10 ahead)

It’s been weeks - months - and Bell’s thought about what they could say, when they’re finally on the ground and face to face with Gwen for the first time. Thank you, that’s a strong contender; they know themselves well enough to know they’re more likely to go with how did you do it? Maybe this time they’ll actually be able to say I love you, though Gwen seems adept at picking it up even when they can’t put the words to it. In their head, they planned for it to be - not dramatic, because they’re supposed to be a fugitive and they don’t want to draw attention, but meaningful. The kind of memory that’s something to think back on with misty eyes and fond words.

Capital-R-Romantic, as Gwen termed it so long ago, that first grudging conversation.

What they actually say is,

“Wow, you really do have a great jawline.”

It’s…admittedly not the worst thing they’ve ever said to someone they have a crush on, but that isn’t exactly the metric Bell wanted to measure this by. They’re standing just feet away from each other, drinking each other in. The silence starts to shade awkward before Gwen swallows, shrugs, gives a shaky smile. Bell remembers a letter, one of the first, remembers reading the clouds are all blurry and the twisting mix of regret and guilty relief, because they didn’t want Gwen to be upset but they couldn’t help but cling onto the fact that she was, that someone was upset on their behalf.

“Well, I never got to see your school graduating photos, so I had no expectations of your jawline, Bell, but hey! It’s a pretty good one too, so congratulations!”

Gods, they’ve missed that laugh.

Someone interrupts them then, of course, because the settler ship has just landed and scout Hartley is very much in demand by everyone, not just Bell. There’s a whole crew of people looking to start a new life, and all of them need their scout to tell them what to do, where to go, what to watch out for. They wave a forlorn goodbye, find a place to sit and idly look around, trying to match this new settlement (very new, scout Summers could probably gauge to the day when these buildings were set up by the wear and tear, even after all this time) to every overheard exploit they’d listened in on over the years.

Gwen had moved the settlement into the trees, combined the natural firebreak with dug trenches to add a layer of defence. There’s a clear track that Bell would bet leads straight to water by the quickest route, an escape path to the coast. They think that perhaps the two of them should put their heads together, figure out emergency bundles for evacuation protocols. Food and water, a spare repair kit for any prosthetics…by the time they find Gwen again, hours of running around helping the settlers - the other settlers - move in, Gigo has a whole list stored. Ideas and checks and suggestions that Bell got halfway through recording before realising that maybe Gwen already thought of all of this and they no longer needed to jot everything down to cram into their four hour window of contact.

They live on the same planet, now. There’s no limit on contact, except that the first several months after settlement are absolute chaos for the scout, and from what Bell recalled hadn’t seemed likely to slow down even before the apocalypse threw everything out the metaphorical window.

Maybe with two of them with scout training it’ll be less…just less. Gwen might be able to get if not the mandated six hours of sleep at least enough to average out more at four or five. They weren’t going to comment on it, but it was easy to tell she hadn’t been getting her full rest anyway - probably hadn’t for months, dark circles under her eyes like permanent bruises.

They’re standing awkward feet away from each other again, and Bell knows there’s going to have to be a conversation about that soon, because it hadn’t really occurred to them before that they know a lot of things about Gwen, years and years of stories and rambling conversations, but there’s things you don’t learn without being in person. Personal space, definitions and comfort thereof, the body language and facial expressions to interpret to know what’s welcomed and what isn’t.

“Hey, so, uh…I know there’s a protocol that I’m supposed to follow when my settlers arrive, and all, but there’s something else I want to do instead.” Bell huffs a laugh, steals a shy glance to see Gwen’s answering smirk.

“Another sworn class tradition to fulfil?”

“Nope! We never talked that far ahead except as jokes. We knew the stats, y’know? But - you told me, the first day, that I should watch the sunrise, that that was something I shouldn’t miss, my first morning. And I don’t…we don’t have that, but I’ve had a long time to find my own wonderfully inspiring views of nature here and I wanted - Bell, you haven’t been on a planet for years and you were with me through everything, but you’ve never seen any of it in real life and I want to show you all of it, and I know where to start.”

Bell thinks about muttering about protocol, for the form of it, for the joke that can be dragged out of it, familiar banter, but they decide not to. It’s no longer their job to care about protocol, and anyway the only reason they cared about the protocol was to keep their scouts safe. Gwen is standing right in front of them, leaning gently against Boots with a casually familiar stance - if they pointed it out, Bell knows she wouldn’t even have thought about it. This is just what Gwen does, when she’s standing about with nothing to do with her hands; rests an elbow companionably atop Boots, one foot hooked around a standing leg and balanced on the toe of her boot.

Gwen is standing right there, safe and alive and happy, so protocol can sort itself, thanks.

(Bell realises they have their own hands in their pockets, their own casual stance, and wonders if Gwen is noticing that too, drinking in all of the unconcious habits that it would never occur to either of them to verbalise. All the little tics and quirks that don’t translate over a FTL comms.)

It’s not a long walk, and it’s more silent than Bell would have guessed, but it’s comfortable. Novel, really, to not have to narrate things aloud because they can just look and see what Gwen is doing, can point at a bird with a dorsal fin and pause to watch it flutter around rather than try to describe it.

They can’t stop stealing glances sideways, catching Gwen more often than not doing the same, both of them collapsing into giggles about it each time. It’s just so surreal, to be walking side by side, after all this time. It feels like a dream, like one of the stories Gwen tells Boots at night - once upon a time, there were two explorers, setting out through the trees…

The light dances on the waves, well below their cliff edge destination. At some point Gwen must have rolled a fallen log over to act as a bench, because it’s too well placed to be natural and there’s a fire-pit dug and lined with careful stones. Close enough to be cosy, but far away from the treeline itself to be safe. The light is dancing on the waves and the grass is drifting in the breeze, a periwinkle blue that Bell is used to seeing in photos if they thought of it at all. Something that had seemed so wonderful and new, when scout Hartley made her first observations, but had drifted into commonplace. A detail that wasn’t worth mentioning any more.

“One day, I’m going to make a boat and go explore that.” Gwen waves grandly at the horizon; she’s leaning her head on Bell’s shoulder, and Bell has decided that they will happily never move again. The two of them can just stay there, forever, Gwen’s head on their shoulder and the soft whisper of waves below. “Once my settlers are…settled, and can be left without supervision for more than a few hours at a time.”

“Already missing the solitude? Mourning all that lovely peace and quiet?”

“What solitude? I had a very efficient scout minder in my ear, I’ll have you know! I didn’t have time to get used to the peace and quiet before beep, time for another check in. Hartley, have you followed the itinary, Hartley, did you maintain a reasonable sleep schedule, Hartley, have you eaten a balanced meal at your officially directed time selected for nutritional optimisation…”

“I’m honestly surprised that you went for reminding me of my remote presence first rather than protesting that Boots was with you the whole time. And I would also like to ask, in the spirit of enquiry, have you done any of those things without my input?” Gwen shakes with barely suppressed laughter and doesn’t bother answering; Bell tries not to join in, because Gwen’s head is still on their shoulder and they’re still determined not to dislodge it until they really have to. “And…hey, I also told you to go watch the sunrise, and you found this instead. I - when did you find this? You never mentioned a little ocean watching viewpoint.”

“I - uh, set it up a few months ago. I didn’t know if it had worked, or if it had all gone wrong, or - and I spent so long pacing around here and wondering what you’d think of the view…”

“Aw, and you say I’m a romantic.”

“With a capital R, yes, you so are. I’m your favourite person, you said so, it was very romantic.”

“That was possibly the least romantic declaration of love that has ever been given. I congratulated you on your jawline, Gwen, I write poetry in my spare time and that was the best I could come up with. I should have just stopped talking - writing, I don’t even have the excuse of not being able to edit it out, the first bit was fine but I kept rambling.”

“It was romantic and I loved it and I have saved all of your letters in three separate back ups to make sure I don’t lose any of them.”

Bell laughs, curls an arm around Gwen’s shoulders as easy as breathing, and lets themselves relax for what feels like the first time in months. A flock of birds takes off from the trees, darting past them over the cliff edge, setting out over the waves. The sun glints off their feathers, the raised fin, a riot of colour catching the light as they watch, leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Gwen is beaming out at it all, and Bell can feel their cheeks creasing to match.

It isn’t a sunrise, but this - this is something close enough, a snapshot of a new world, a new horizon that they get to learn, the first day of a new life.

#My writing #second star to the left #sstl #This went very differently to how I planned it but oh well #Bell Summers/Gwen Hartley

[dp-marvel94]

Face to Face- Chapter 30

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First ->Last -> Next

Word Count: 7,787

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note: Hey readers! So here we are, a big milestone, chapter 30. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. And as always, feel free to leave your thoughts, comments, and predictions! And thanks for reading!

As Phantom predicted, family time was not fun, even if Jazz had insisted that he and Fenton choose the movies. After a boring and yet somehow tense lunch, the family had sat around the tv, watching the Dannys’ selection. They’d gone with the Star Trek original series films from the 80s, of course starting with the second one because the first one is garbage.

It normally would have been enjoyable, following along with the successes and failures of the characters, making quips, and laughing at the jokes. But no one seemed that engaged. Dad’s comments were unnaturally subdued; he barely even teared up at the end of Wrath of Khan and hardly chuckled at any of the jokes and gags. Jazz seemed to be watching her parents and brother more than the actual tv. And Mom? Mom had a far away look in her eyes, her brow furrowed like she was deep in thought. She looked like she was doing math in her head, meticulously going over everything that went wrong with the ghost catcher and every possible solution.

As for Fenton and Phantom? In all honesty, both barely saw the screen. Phantom struggled to process what he was watching, his mind too busy with thoughts of his conversation with Jazz and with his other self. They’d said they’d think about talking to Mom and he’d asked Fenton to give him today at least to get his courage up to talk to the woman. But still, his guts squirmed at the thought. He tried not to think about it, about all the possible bad ways that talk could end but….he shivered.

Beside him, Fenton’s neutral expression fell on the sad side. He obviously was feeling the same. He leaned towards the ghost, sitting with his legs curled to the side and his head on the ghost’s shoulder. He offered a mental nudge of sympathy. It, with the physical contact, felt nice. Comforting. Like a soothing balm to his core. Or really….it felt like rubbing a sore muscle or a swollen ankle. Or like how he’d sometimes rub his arm and take deep, calming breaths when he was anxious. That always seemed to make him feel better at least temporarily. 

And that was the case now. The touch and mental nudge drew Phantom’s attention back to the tv for a time….until his thoughts drifted again.

The pattern continued as the family watched the movies. They paused after their second movie to heat up some frozen pizzas before returning to watch the third. Phantom and Fenton’s worries kept recirculating. Neither could find it in them to smile, much less laugh. Even at Chekov asking where the nuclear ‘wessels’ were in The Journey Home, the movie they’d affectionately call ‘The One with the Whales.’

Soon enough, their third movie ended and Mom and Dad elected to call it an early night instead of watching another movie. The woman left the living room after saying a listless good night. Dad soon followed her after his more enthusiastic attempt. As for Jazz, the girl pinned both versions of her brother with questioning glances. 

Then she sighed. “Good night Danny.”

She lingered for a moment; clearly she wanted to press about talking to Mom but she didn’t. In some ways, the worried and disappointed gaze was worse than being nagged. Phantom looked down, unable to meet her eyes while Fenton glanced to the side, purposely away from her. With another sigh, Jazz started up the stairs.

“Come on.” Fenton muttered after a second, tapping the ghost to get his attention. 

Phantom looked up, nodding in acknowledgement. Then the pair went to their room to relax before bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, after Fenton had gone to sleep, Phantom found himself again in the dark living room. He sat on the couch with his knees on his chest. The tv was on, the volume inhumanly low. He could still hear it anyway; true to his suspicion, his hearing was in fact supernaturally keen. 

But he wasn’t actually listening to the program. Instead Phantom was thinking about everything. In an act that might have surprised him just days ago, Fenton hadn’t pressed about talking to Mom, though Phantom knew he’d want to. Or rather...the human knew they should talk to the woman, even if both halves of them were scared and wanted to avoid confrontation. Phantom knew they needed to deal with the issue as well but….

The ghost put his head on his knees. “I’m such a coward.” He muttered.

It was ridiculous; he was scared to talk to his own mother. And this wasn’t like before, when they actually told Mom and Dad about what the ghost catcher really did. This time there was no danger of getting shot, or locked in a cage, or experimented on or….

“Stop that.” Phantom chastised himself, feeling old fears rise. He needed to stop; they were past all that. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s fine. She...she loves me, all of me.” He still wasn’t sure how much he believed his own platitudes.

The ghost stayed like that for a while, mentally groaning in annoyance at himself, at his mom, at his situation in general. Again, he was getting so sick of this, of waiting, of feeling helpless, of being afraid.

The sound of footsteps drew his attention and Phantom tensed. His head whipped up, startled gaze falling on the source of the noise. 

“Danno?” A large figure asked

After a moment, the ghost relaxed. “Oh, Dad. It’s you.”

The man took a step forward. “Yep. What are you doing up, kiddo? I figured you’d be in bed.”

“I am.” The ghost sighed. Confusion momentarily crossed the man’s face before Phantom explained. “The other me. He actually is in bed, asleep.”

Dad nodded. Then he raised a brow. “But what about this you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You haven’t been trying to sleep on the couch, have you? You know you can use the guest room or...we can get you a cot for your room.” He shook his head, muttering. “We haven’t even thought about sleeping arrangements.”

“No need to.” Phantom sighed. “It turns out ghosts can’t sleep.”

The man paused, his gaze fixing on his son. “Really? As in you physically can’t or…?”

The ghost bit his lip. “Like physically can’t. I tried the first few nights after the ghost catcher but….nothing. Can’t fall asleep.”

Dad frowned. “Oh son… that sounds rough.”

“It’s fine.” Phantom shrugged, trying to look casual. “It’s not like I get tired.” He then raised a brow. “What are you doing up?”

The man glanced in the kitchen. “Midnight snack.”

“Oh…Don’t let me keep you then.” The ghost looked away, core clinching. Another thing he couldn’t enjoy.

Dad paused, stepping towards the couch instead of towards the kitchen.

Phantom wrinkled his brow. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting with you, if that’s alright.” The ghost nodded in agreement and the man sat down. The man sighed. “What’s the matter, Danny?”

Phantom blinked. “What?”

“You’ve got that look on your face, like something’s bothering you.” Dad said kindly. “What’s eating at ya?”

The ghost looked away again, his shoulders rising. “Uh just….stuff.”

“Is it the ghost catcher?” The man asked. “You don’t need to worry. I promise I’ll get it fixed up.”

Phantom shook his head. “No that’s...Well...I am… I am upset about that. But...that’s not...that’s not really...” He trailed off, unsure what to say or really...if he should say anything at all.

“Danny?” Dad questioned, nudging the boy to continue.

The ghost swallowed, biting his lip. Everyone damn one seemed to want him to talk about this, Jazz, his other self, now even Dad. But how could he? Maybe….He took a deep breath, pinching his eyes shut. “I’m...I’m angry at Mom.”

There was a pause. “Why?” The man asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Phantom opened his eyes. “It’s the stuff...the stuff she’s said about ghosts.”

“Oh.” Dad’s mouth rounded into an O, realization dawning.

The ghost nodded. “Yeah. She said...well you know. You were there.” Dad blushed, something like guilt flickering in his gaze before Phantom continued. “Jazz said I should talk to Mom about it.”

 That got the man’s attention as he turned more fully to the ghost. “Your sister’s right. You should.”

Phantom huffed. “I figured you’d say that.”

Dad tilted his head. “You don’t sound happy about that. I’m guessing you don’t want to.”

The ghost shook his head.

“Why?”

Phantom paled. His insides churned as nervousness rose. His throat closed up, the words choking him. He couldn’t say it. He didn’t want to say it but…. Something tickled in the back of his mind. A sleepy hum of encouragement. He could...he could do this. Yeah. He could. He took a breath. “I’m scared.”

Dad asked softly. “Why are you scared?”

Phantom shifted anxiously. He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. How could he say it? How could he explain to his dad that he was afraid that Mom was not sorry about what she said? How could...how could he tell one parent that he was scared his other parent didn’t love him? That barely even a week ago he’d been terrified, he’s been sure that his parents would hate him, that they could never love a monster, a ghost like him.

“She won’t...she won’t listen to me.” Phantom managed to squeak out.

“Of course she will.” Dad tried to reassure.

The ghost boy shook his head. “No, She won’t...she won’t even look at me, much less actually listen.”

“Danny boy. That’s not true.” Dad reached forward, placing a hand on the ghost’s shoulder “Whatever it is, if it’s important to you, she’ll listen. Your mom loves you.”

The ghost boy flinched, pulling away at the stinging statement. He wanted to believe that was true, so badly but he feared-

“Are you upset with me, son?” Dad suddenly asked

Phantom’s glaze flickered up, his eyes falling on the adult’s deep frown, the hurt look on his face. “No. Why would you think that?”

“I had a part in all this too. We haven’t really been making this easier for you. Fighting with your mom hasn’t helped and…” The man bit his lip. “I haven’t forgotten that stuff I said before I knew…” He motioned up and down Phantom’s body.

The ghost looked down at himself. Oh yeah. He flinched, the memories of the names he was called flashed in his mind. A gun pointed at his head. ‘You think this is funny, messing with my boy?’

Phantom swallowed. “You didn’t know back then and...you’ve been trying so hard. I know you don’t think that stuff anymore.”

Dad remained still, his cheeks reddened with shame as he considered the statement. “You’re right, I don’t.” He took a breath. “And I’m sure your mom doesn’t either. She’s been trying too.”

The ghost narrowed his eyes slightly, trying not to scoff. “Really?”

The man straightened. “I guess you’re not seeing that.” His brow wrinkled with sadness. “I need to get her to talk to you.”

Phantom’s eyes popped open. “No, don’t.” He waved his hands in alarm. This… this was not what he wanted, for Mom to learn that he had a problem with her from his Dad.

Dad’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Son, you two clearly need to talk.”

The ghost put a hand on his head. “I know that but-”

The adult cut him off. “Danny, listen.” It was said compassionately with just enough authority for ghost Danny’s mouth to snap shut. “Things have gotten better between us, because you’ve talked to me. Like you are right now. You told me what was bothering you…. and you can tell me anything else you need to.” The man raised a brow, giving the boy a probing look.

“Yeah, I can. Yeah.” Phantom swallowed. Well, that opened a can of worms. “I can but-”

“But...you should give your mom the same courtesy. She can’t read your mind, son. She doesn’t know what you’re thinking. So tell her, so she can start fixing things.”

The ghost’s shoulders rose as he looped his arms around his knees. His gaze fixed down, avoiding his father. The words rang in his head anyway, running into similar pleas that Jazz had given him earlier. He...he knew what he had to do. He’d known for hours but now...he had no recourse, no excuse. He was still scared, so damn scared. But….he took a breath, stealing his courage as he looked up. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll talk to her, in the morning.”

“You will?” Dad questioned.

“Yes.” The ghost nodded. “But….don’t tell Mom about what I told you.”

The man gave him a serious look. “Danny.”

“Please.” The boy looked at him pleadingly. “I want to….no...I need to tell her myself….and I will but….” He swallowed. “This is between me and her.” Jazz’s words repeated in his head. “Me and Mom are the only ones who can fix this.”

Dad frowned, a serious contemplative look on his face. Finally he sighed. “Alright. I won’t say anything but…” He pointed. “If she asks me or you don’t go through with it, I will talk to her. Your mother and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Okay.” Phantom conceded, his shoulders falling. 

The man’s face softened. “Don’t be sad, kiddo.” He gave the ghost boy a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

The ghost boy tried to return the gesture with a smile. “I hope so.”

“It will. You’ll see.” Dad yawned. “But now, I need to go back to bed.” He stood up and started turning back towards the master bedroom.

“What about your snack?” Phantom asked.

The man turned around. “Oh right.” A smile grew on his face, his eyes brightening at the thought of food. Then his gaze flickered back to the ghost, who was still frowning with his knees to his chest. Dad’s face fell.

“What?” The ghost raised a brow.

"You know, normally I'd give you a glass of warm milk and some fudge and get ya to bed."

Phantom frowned. "Well there's no point in doing that, 'cause-"

"I know. But…" The man interrupted. He leaned down. "Normally, I'd give you a big ole hug too. I can still do that. If you want."

The boy's expression softened. "Of course I want that." 

Lowering his legs, he turned to the side and reached forward as his father wrapped strong arms around him. The ghost melted into the hug, enjoying the warmth. It felt nice to be so comforted, even as his core still churned with sadness and worry.

"Everything's going to be alright, son."

Phantom said nothing, just holding on tighter. Like he was still a little kid and his dad could shield him from the world. But eventually, the man pulled away before grabbing a quick snack and going back to bed. The ghost stayed on the couch, alone with just his thoughts and the distant song of the portal.

Phantom had a lot to think about, much to consider. He had a decision to make. Or did he? He’d said he would talk to Mom in the morning and he would keep his word even if the thought made his hands shake and his insides squirm. He and Fenton would talk to her together. Or…

His core clinched, mind going over a dozen hypothetical scenarios. What he, Phantom, would say. What Fenton would say. How Mom would react. And every extreme of that reaction- from cold and cruel rejection to insincere, placating apology to weeping, sobbing regret. He turned the matter around in his head. Mom’s reaction to Fenton compared to his ghost half… those were different. And her reaction would be different, depending on which Danny said what. But the root was...Mom seemed to have a problem with, to not trust Phantom. And so…

The ghost bit his lip. He needed to talk to his human self. But even so...Phantom had a sinking feeling. He might just have to proceed alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That morning, Fenton woke up minutes before his alarm to the feeling of cold hands gently shaking him.

“Phantom?” He blinked through blurry eyes.

“Sorry to wake you up so early.” The ghost bit his lip. “But I need to talk to you before school.”

The human blinked again, suddenly feeling more awake. “Okay. Yeah.” He sat up. “Just let me pee first.”

“Of course.” The ghost floated back to give his counterpart space to stand.

Fenton left, did his business, and then returned to his room.  He sat back down on the bed, giving the ghost his attention.

“So last night...I told Dad I’d talk to Mom.” Phantom started.

“You did?” The human raised a brow, surprised. Then he paused. “Wait… yeah. I saw some of that.” He remembered sitting on the couch with his knees to his chest and Dad beside him, the words far away and indistinct but the worry almost palpable.

“Yeah.” Phantom nodded. “You kinda pushed me to actually talk to Dad.”

“I do remember that.” Fenton agreed. Slowly, the words from that late night conversation shifted into focus. “You told him that we’re angry at Mom and scared she won’t listen.”

“I did.” The ghost agreed. “And I promised I’d talk to Mom in the morning.”

“And it’s morning.” The human sighed, rubbing his face. Then he looked up. “But...I have school. Could we wait until after? I’m sure Dad would understand and…” He trailed off, talking in his counterpart’s serious expression. There was something in his eyes, in the twitch of his frown that said it. Or more likely...one half of his mind knew the other half. “You think it should just be you. Only you should talk to her.”

The ghost wrung his hands. “Yeah well….I’m the half she seems to have a problem with and...she’ll act differently if you’re there. She might be...nicer if her nice normal human son is physically there.” He frowned, bitterness ringing out in the words. “But we need her to be honest. We...I need to know what she really thinks of me, just me, just Phantom.”

“And if she is actually sorry, if she’ll really apologize to a ghost.” Fenton continued for him.

“Yeah.” Phantom agreed. “It’s just...I know we’re a team.” He held his hands in front of his placatingly. “And this isn’t me pushing you away but….”

“Danny.” The human said softly, cutting him off. “I get it. This isn’t a rift between us but…” He sighed. “I have the feeling if we were merged...the whole Danny would have this conversation in ghost form. ‘Cause you are right. Mom treats Fenton and Phantom differently.”

“Yeah.” The ghost shifted nervously. “It really sucks, but she does. So...you do see why it should just be me?”

Fenton nodded in confirmation. He understood Phantom’s thinking all too well. And unfortunately, he agreed for the most part. Although...he blew out a breath. “Still….I hate the idea of not being there with you in person.”

“But you’ll just be a mental nudge away.” Phantom reminded him. “So it’s not like you’re actually leaving me alone.”

That was true, the human silently mused. It’s not like he and his ghost half could actually be rid of each other. They were one mind, one soul even if stuck as two bodies. And so, even if physically apart... Fenton half-smiled. “I guess you could say I’ll be there in spirit.”

Phantom’s brow wrinkled for a moment as he frowned at his counterpart who pinned him with a knowing look. The ghost looked down at himself and then back to the human. The corner of his smile twitched up. “Was that a pun?” Fenton’s eyes brightened and he opened his mouth to reply. But the ghost shook his head, continuing before he could. “Of course it was. And yes, I guess I could say that.” Slowly, his lips turned up in a fond smile. “That actually does make me feel a lot better although….” His expression turned thoughtful. “Should I wait until you’re at lunch to talk to Mom? In case, it gets emotional or...I don’t know...I need more of your attention.”

The human frowned, considering the question. “Yeah, that… that might be a good idea.” He didn’t like the possibility of spacing out or having an outburst in class. “I’ll tell Sam and Tucker what’s up, in case I get weird and….we’ve got a free period right after lunch on Mondays so if things go long…”

“We’ll be set.” Phantom finished for him.

Fenton nodded and then stood. He stepped forward, taking the ghost’s hand. “It's gonna go fine. You’ve got this.”

“We’ve got this.” Phantom corrected, looking down.

“You’re the one doing the heavy lifting.” The human squeezed his hand, clinched in Phantom’s. “And like I said before, you’re so brave.”

The ghost blushed. “Fenton.”

“Phantom.” The other boy returned teasingly. “But seriously, I’m proud of you. I’m proud of us.”

“Yeah?” Phantom raised a brow.

“Yeah.” Fenton nodded.

The ghost smiled. “Alright.” He squeezed Fenton’s hand before pulling away. “Now you can stop being so sappy.”

The human raised a brow. “Come on. You have just as much a capacity to be sappy as I do.”

“Oh I never said I didn’t.” This other half teased. “But that's enough for now. I’ve gotta psych myself up to be disgustingly honest and emotional in front of Mom.”

“You’ve got this Danny. You got this. It’s gonna to be great. You’re gonna crush that conversation, knock it right out of the water.” Fenton suddenly started, earnestly with just a hint of teasing. This earned a confused and slightly skeptical look from the ghost. The human stopped. “What? You said you had to psych yourself up.”

Understanding flashed across the ghost’s face. He snorted and then rolled his eyes. “Still a dork.”

“Oh, that’s not even a question. A lot of things can change,” There was a knowing weight, a gravity to the statement. But then the human waved casually. “But that’s not one of them.”

“Yeah. It’s not.” The ghost agreed.

With that, Phantom released his counterpart and the human started getting ready for school. They didn’t talk anymore about the upcoming conversation with Mom but the topic wasn’t far from Fenton’s mind, even as he chatted with Jazz and Phantom over breakfast and the girl drove him to school. Jazz of course asked him about it and he replied with reassurances that Phantom would talk to Mom today. And yes, the human Danny trusted his ghost half to talk to the woman alone, or as alone as one half of a human-ghost hybrid with lingering metaphysical connections between their two halves could be.

And that was the thing. Fenton would have to trust himself, trust Phantom. And what’s more...he had to keep hoping that Mom would be receptive. He’d keep hoping that this would be the first step in mending their strained relationship….and not the nail in his coffin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to what he said, Phantom spent the whole morning psyching himself up for the impending conversation with Mom. He paced around his bedroom, muttering to himself. “I’ve got this. It’s gonna be fine, right? Right, yeah. Of course. We’re fine. It’s fine.” He sucked in a breath. “You can do this, Fenton. You can do this.” For once, he wasn’t talking to his human half nor was there any guilt in the habitual action. He had always had a habit of calling himself by his last name if he needed to berate himself or give himself a pep talk. “We can..I can do this. I can do this. I’m gonna do this. I’m-”

Something tickled in the back of his mind, a small nudge from his other self conveying that it was time. Phantom’s stomach dropped as he glanced at the clock. Was it lunch time already? He paled. “No. I’m...I’m not ready.”

A mental pock of encouragement came. Yes, you are. Fenton said, even without words. 

“Yeah I’m… ” The ghost took another breath. “We decided. I’m doing this. I guess...I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Distantly, he felt Fenton agree. With no more hesitation, the ghost floated out of the room. His stance tensed as he proceeded down the hallway and steps. In moments, he crossed the living room and stopped in front of the door to the lab. He shook his hands, trying to dislodge the nerves. “Alright, Phantom. You’ve got this.”

At once a sense of deja vu hit him. A little over a week ago, floating behind his other self and watching him say those words and more distantly….being the one standing in front of the door and preparing for a potentially disastrous showdown. The ghost shook his head. This was nothing compared to that.

Deliberately, Phantom straightened. He grabbed the door knob. Luckily it turned and he pulled the door open. The ghost swallowed. “Mom? Dad?”

“Down here.” Mom called from her seat at one of the tables.

Phantom floated forward, eyes surveying the entire lab. Mom’s table with the blueprints and other paper strone around her. The station where they’d been working on the ghost catcher, visibly cleaned since yesterday. A benchtop with Mom’s microscope, flasks and test tubes of ectoplasm, a centrifuge and table top incubators. A pile of wires and other scrap in the corner and...his core clenched….a box containing the broken and burnt remains of the ghost catcher.

The ghost boy ripped his eyes away, gaze turning to the open portal with its mesmerizing green light and the soft hum of its song. For just a moment, the sound captured his attention, the melody quickening the pulsing of his core even as it relaxed him.

“What is it?” Mom asked, though she sounded mildly distracted.

Phantom shook his head, startled by the sudden interruption. He floated forward, trying to not look embarrassed or nervous but...the anxiety was back. His eyes flitted around the room again. “Where’s Dad?” He questioned.

Mom didn’t look up from the paper she was writing on. “We needed specialty parts after...what happened yesterday. Your father went to pick them up from our supplier in Elmerton. He should be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” The ghost boy nodded, taking in the statement. Well, that definitely meant he’d get to talk to Mom alone.

Even so, he silently shifted in the air, biting his lip. His gaze flickered from the portal to his mother and back several times. How to start? Where to even start? Should he sit down in the chair beside her? Or that stool, a little farther away? Or maybe ask to go upstairs for this conversation? Or-

“Danny, do you need something?” The woman asked, again interrupting his thoughts.

Phantom turned to look at Mom as she finally looked at him. His frown deepened taking her in. The woman had her hood pulled up, her goggles over her eyes. The red lenses made her look bug-eyed and intimidating. Subconsciously, the ghost floated back. The impulse to turn around and avoid this conversation passed through but he pushed it down. “Ummm...it’s….I…” He swallowed. “I need to..to talk to you.”

The woman frowned, glancing down at her papers. “Can it wait, sweetie? I’m in the middle of something.”

The ghost bit his lip, fighting the urge to say yes, it could wait, and leave. Instead he touched down on the floor. “No...it...it can’t.”

Mom sighed, putting down her pen. She pushed her goggles up onto her forehead. “Alright. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“Uhh….just stuff...things….I’ve been thinking about stuff and wondering...and I talked to Fenton...and Jazz. And we...well….we’re...I’m...uhh...I don’t...It’s not…”

“Danny.” The woman cut him off. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Phantom shifted nervously, foot to foot. Tentatively, he eyed the chair on the other side of the table. After a moment’s hesitation, he sat down. “Okay, just promise you’ll listen and….tell me the truth.”

Mom’s mouth twitched down. “Danny.” She repeated his name, pointedly.

The ghost shook his head. “Please. Promise me you’ll...you’ll be honest with me….and you’ll listen.”

Slowly, the woman’s face softened. “I promise.” She said, like she might just mean it. “Now what is this about sweetie?”

Phantom took a moment, bracing himself. For a fraction of a moment, he considered where to start poking at the issue. Then he decided. The ghost swallowed, looking down. “Why...why don’t you trust me?”

There was breath. “Is this about you being grounded?” Mom said, surprisingly gently. “Because we already talked about this. You broke our trust by sneaking out and-”

“No. It’s not…” Phantom cut her off. “This isn’t about being grounded. It’s…” He looked up. “You trust...you trust Fenton but you don’t trust me.” He emphasized the word. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Mom’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Annoyance flared but the ghost pushed it down; maybe he was actually explaining this badly. “You trust Fenton, the human me. But you don’t...you don’t trust Phantom. This me.” He motioned up and down his body. “Why do you trust Fenton but not me?”

The woman shook her head. “I trust both of you equally.”

Another flicker of annoyance passed through him. “That’s not true. You treat me and Fenton differently.” He shook his head. “I’d...I’d maybe get it, if you didn’t trust either of us. After the lying and hiding stuff from you and Dad. And after sneaking out. I mean...I can admit, we should have told you guys but…” His eyes widened, pleadingly. “I’m trying to be good! And we’ve told you, we’re sorry for lying to you about the accident and for sneaking out. And I’m sorry for scaring you and Dad with my powers and for running off. We’re...I’m trying so damn hard but…” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he really did. But it leaked out anyway. “You still treat me and Fenton differently. And you still don’t trust me!”

“That isn’t true.” Mom repeated, shaking her head in denial. “And I don’t treat you and your human half differently.”

“Really? You don’t?” Phantom challenged. “Then why won’t you touch me?”

“What does that-” The woman started, paling slightly.

But the ghost interrupted. “You hesitate, every time. Like I’m going to hurt you or something. But you don’t with Fenton.”

“That’s not-” 

“Don’t say that it’s not true, ‘cause it is.” Phantom pointed. “And you won’t look at me either.”

Mom’s eyes widened, her face paling more. But she didn’t argue. After a moment, her gaze flickered down.

“And you’re doing it now!” The ghost gripped his hair. “You keep avoiding me like...like it’s painful to look at me. Like it hurts to even be in the same room.”

“That’s not-” The woman repeated.

“Stop saying it’s not true!” Phantom’s volume rose and he felt his eyes flash brighter. “Half the time, you act like I’m a dangerous wild animal.” He shouted, anger flaring with her constant denials. “Like I’m gonna turn into a monster...or just some mindless ghost.” He spread his arms in exacerbation, just a fraction of the words he’d thought coming out. “And the other half….you act like I’m already dead and gone.”

“You are dead.” Mom hissed heatedly, the words impacting Phantom like a punch to the gut. “You’re dead, Danny.” The woman finally looked up, her teeth gritted as she clearly struggled to control her emotions. “And it’s my fault.” She said the last part so quietly; Phantom’s barely heard the words but ignored them.

“You know, I’m not actually dead.” Phantom balled his fists. “I’m still part human. I’m different but you don’t have to act like you’ve lost me.”

“So what, I’m not allowed to grieve now?” Mom glared.

“No.., you’re not!” The ghost growled. “I know things are different now but you can’t keep acting like there’s something wrong with me! Because there’s not!” He glared, pointing at her.  “I heard you, that night after Fenton and I tried to merge, and when you and Dad had that fight. I know what you said.” Again, his anger swelled, the bitter memories replaying in his mind.  “And you can’t keep treating me like this!” He bared his teeth in almost a snarl, the shadow of his pulse pounding in his head. “Like I’m unnatural. Like I’m lesser.” His voice rose into an echoing shout, like two voices speaking as one. “Like I’m not supposed to be a ghost!”

“You’re not supposed to be a ghost!” Mom yelled in anger, her own eyes burning. “None of this was supposed to happen! My son wasn’t supposed to die at fourteen in the portal in our god damn basement! It wasn’t supposed to be my invention! It wasn’t supposed to be my fault!” She snarled. “I’m not supposed to be having this conversation with the ghost of my son! You’re supposed to be alive! Normal! At school, worrying about homework and girls and friends! You’re supposed to be human!”

Just like that, the air evaporated out of Phantom’s lungs as the words crashed into him like an icy wave. His anger dissolved and sorrow welled up to take its place. “I was right.” He whispered as tears started collecting in his eyes. “You’re not sorry.”

The woman’s mouth snapped shut, the wrath snuffed out. “What?”

His hands started shaking. “We...we hoped maybe you could still love Phantom.”

Horror dawned on the adult’s face. She reached forward without hesitation. “Danny sweetie.”

In a blink, he jumped out of the chair and flickered backwards. “But...you’ll never really love a ghost.”

Mom stood, her eyes widening in shock, distress, guilt. “No, I do-”

He backed away, panic rising. “We...we can’t be something we’re not. We can’t be completely human for you.” 

Their head whipped side to side. Escape. They needed to escape now. They needed to fly. Something green flickered in the corner of their eye. Their head turned and eyes widened. The portal…. The call, the song was so loud, so inviting. The ghost wanted to follow and human instincts for once agreed. There, they could escape. 

Their gaze flickered away, again falling on the woman. Time seemed to slow. Mom’s eyes widened, horrified realization dawning. She stepped forward, arms outstretched. But they were faster. In a heartbeat, legs morphed into a ghostly tail and they dived.

“Danny! Stop! I’m sorry. I-”

Neon green light engulfed them, cutting off the sound of the mother’s cries.

#Danny Phantom #Face To Face #Ghost Catcher #split danny #double danny #danny fenton #My fic

[sergeantsporks]

Swapped

Ch 2/5

Ao3

Or read under the cut

Douxie couldn’t stop staring at Zoe. That was her name, the wizard who’d fallen in with Hisirdoux and Archie. She’d only been with them a month, so she hadn’t known the real Hisirdoux—no, he was the real Hisirdoux—for very long.

Douxie told himself that the warm, squishy feelings he got when he looked at her and when she looked at him were just… some kind of connection between himself and his familiar. And, Zoe was fascinating. She’d taught herself magic, just like he had. She’d never had any formal training. But she was very good with lightning, and could conjure her own in a shade of vibrant pink. Very impressive. He could learn a lot about magic from her. Yes. That was it.

“Don’t start drooling,” Archie remarked, hopping up onto the table next to him. Douxie flinched. He was still worried about Archie—Archie had been with Hisirdoux for a long time. If anyone was going to notice any strange behavior, it was him.

“That obvious?”

Archie sat down, giving him an amused look. “She’s a lovely young wizard. Headstrong. Creative. Resourceful. You could certainly do worse.”

Douxie wrinkled his nose. Oh, no, no, no, no. He had a mission. A purpose. He couldn’t get distracted by some silly human courting stuff. “Are you trying to set me up with her?”

“You said it, not me.” Archie rubbed against him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Douxie. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Douxie jumped, a thrill of panic shooting through him. He knew. “What?! What do you mean?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You’ve been melancholy. Gloomy. Downright moody. Look, I know it’s a hard time for you right now.”

Wait. What? “A hard time.”

“Don’t pretend, Douxie. This is right around the anniversary of Kilahead. When you lost Merlin.”

Oh. Oh! Right. He should probably be upset about the loss of his ‘mentor.’ Right. “Yeah,” he said softly, “He… he said he’d come back. He’s supposed to come back. He left his instructions—he’ll come back when there’s a human trollhunter.”

Archie made a complicated sympathetic face. “And… I’m sure there will be one. And he will. But neither of us can say when that will happen. And in the meantime… you need to get your mind off of things. Enjoy life. Take Zoe out on a date.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa! None of Douxie’s training had ever involved any kind of courting scenario! “What?! What would we even—I mean, what would I do?! Where would we go?!”

Archie rolled his eyes. “I imagine somewhere nice. I imagine you’d talk. Probably a little soon for kissing.”

“How would I even ask?!” No, wait! Why was he asking?! He didn’t need to go on a date with Zoe! He didn’t want to go on a date with Zoe!

Right?

“Uh, earth to Hisirdoux Casperan?” Zoe’s voice interrupted them. She waved a hand in front of his face. “You in there, Douxie?”

Douxie shook himself. “Uh—” He made the mistake of looking into Zoe’s blue eyes, and his face heated up. “Zoe! Hey!”

“Hey,” she responded in a slightly-amused tone, “Everything okay?”

“Um. Yes. Fantastic. Wonderful. Everything’s great. You’re great.”

“What?”

“UM,” Douxie cleared his throat. “I was wondering. If maybe. Um. You wanna go somewhere nice?”

Archie snorted, and distanced himself from Douxie. To give them privacy, or to not be in close proximity to what an embarrassment he was, Douxie didn’t know. He nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. “Um. So.”

“You wanna go out together?”

Douxie nodded. “Like, without Archie,” he clarified.

“Wow, I didn’t know he could bear to be parted from you.” Zoe grinned and nudged him. “Where did you have in mind?”

Xxx

“C’mon!”

Zoe swiped at a cobweb as Douxie led her up a rickety staircase in an abandoned church. “This is your idea of nice?”

Douxie led her up to the old belfry (the bell long gone) where he’d spent nights while Hisirdoux Casperan was asleep, watching the city. He sat on the edge, feet dangling over the city below. After a second, Zoe joined him. “What are we doing here?”

He bumped her shoulder with his own. “The lights. You can see all of the city lights, glittering like tiny stars down there.” For once, his words didn’t slip over themselves when he talked to her. “Human ingenuity—they found a way to light up the night, even without magic. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I guess?”

Douxie stared at the lights, remembering the first time he’d ever seen them. It had been blinding. “You ever think about what the world would be like without that? All that light, I mean. I think we just sort of take it for granted, but if the light were to disappear, where would that leave us? Light is so important for everything we do—we’d be lost without it.”

Zoe’s gaze softened as she scooted closer, looking down at the lights. “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

Most people didn’t. But Douxie had lived in the Darklands—he couldn’t ever take the lights for granted, not after he’d lived so long without them. So many had lived their lives without them, down there. Like his parents. Douxie felt a tear trickle down his face, and he scrubbed at it. He missed them. His parents. He didn’t miss the Darklands—he much preferred to be up here, with the lights and the clear air and—and alright, Zoe. But he did miss his family, even if they had given him up. Maybe they’d given him up and let him become a changeling so that he could experience this world, too. Maybe they hadn’t wanted him to live his life out in the Darklands, even if it meant letting him go. Maybe they hadn’t just given in to the pressure of the Gum-Gums. Maybe they’d given him up to help him.

His shoulders started to shake, and Zoe put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Just… a bit homesick, I guess,” Douxie sniffed.

“You miss Camelot,” she guessed, “And Merlin? I get it. I miss my home, too.”

“’s not the place so much, it’s just…”

“The feeling,” Zoe finished, “The people. The memories you made there.”

“Yeah.” She knew exactly how he felt.

Zoe leaned against him, putting her head on his shoulder. “The lights are nice,” she said, her fingers entwining with his, “This is nice. We should do it again. Just us.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Like, without Archie.”

Douxie’s heart gave a little stutter in his chest. “Nice,” he echoed. Next time he’d bring food, or at least something to drink—those stairs could be a hike.

No. Wait. What was he thinking? He couldn’t do that! He was getting distracted, torn away from his mission. He couldn’t waste time thinking about dates!

Well. Who knew when Merlin would wake up? Like Archie had said, it could be years, centuries even.

He had time.

Xxx

Years passed in a series of stolen moments, in new places, all of them home with the people and the memories. Gentle forehead kisses, practice sparring that usually ended up with him twitching on the ground from pink lightning, only for a laughing Zoe to pull him back up. Devouring all of Merlin’s old books while Archie commented that he was glad Douxie had found a love of reading, practicing every spell he could while his familiar’s familiar watched in approval.

Guilt in the stolen moments that this was someone else’s life that he’d stolen, that Archie and Zoe were being so kind to him when he wasn’t the person they thought he was. Then guilt being driven away by another happy moment, until after a while he stopped feeling guilt at all.

Sleepy moments in front of a fire with a warm bundle of purring fur on his lap and a warm hand in his and a warm head on his shoulder.

Awestruck moments in some remote place, looking at lights dancing in the sky or lightning, regular lightning, lighting up the inside of a cloud.

Dying a shock of his bangs bright blue as Zoe did her whole head pink—it was his form, his body, and it was time he claimed it.

Frightened moments running from monsters that he and Zoe had sworn they could handle, Archie, really, they weren’t babies.

Victorious moments standing over those same monsters while proclaiming that they’d never had a doubt, and this had been the plan all along.

So many moments as Douxie.

Hadn’t he been someone else, once?

Someone who hadn’t been this happy, someone who’d struggled to just survive, let alone thrive?

That was so long ago. He couldn’t remember who that person was.

There’d been some… mission?

What had been his name?

And then Zoe or Archie would call “Douxie!” and he’d respond immediately because that was him, that was his name, that was who he was. And doubts and shadows of doubts and some past life edging in would disappear as he ran into the sun because Douxie was who he was. Who he’d always been. Who he’d never stop being.

And then his skin started to turn to stone.

#toa #tales of arcadia #swapped #dalmar #douxie #zoe #archie #my work #my writing #my fanfiction #toa fanfiction #my oc

[haunthouse]

5 for the telephone siblings?

things you didn’t say at all / writing prompts. content warnings: strained sibling relationships, death, the identity issues that come with being an alternate. uh. this one got long and it got sad. also on ao3!

“Seb, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

It’s not a sentence that’s ever preceded anything good, in Sebastian’s experience, and there’s a small, petty part of him that wants to turn his back out of spite, say I will not look, walk out of the locker room and go home. His Steaks, the ones he was with three years ago, pointed at the decree results and said the same thing, moments before he was ripped between realities — and now, when these Steaks say Seb, he knows they aren’t talking to him but to the ghost of the Sebastian he replaced.

It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, makes something swirling-sick spark up in his gut. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like he’s forgetting the world he left behind. There’s no good options, no happy medium, just static droning on and on under darkened skies.

August’s still staring at him, so he fights the urge to run away back with a stick and looks where she’s pointing. The TV mounted on the wall. It’s tuned to the splorts network, tuned to —

Canada. Moist Talkers versus Pies; their game of the day offset from the Steaks’, still going on an hour after the Steaks’ game had come to an end. He thinks August’s pulling a prank until the view switches to a shaky-cam close-up on a murder of crows so thick he can’t see past them, until they part, until out from the swarm steps his sister. She limps to the dugout, leaving the peanut shell in pieces on the field behind her — and despite the shakiness of her steps, she grins a movie-star grin directly into the nearest camera.

Sebastian feels sick.

***

It isn’t that he’s not happy for Jessica.

Sebastian imagines it isn’t fun to be trapped in a shell. Sebastian imagines it’s a little like being trapped in a shadow — not the shadows, like Townsend, but constantly ignored in favor of a sister or a god. Same thing, when it comes down to it.

Maybe that’s an unfair thing to think. Maybe comparing Jess to the god that trapped her there is cruel; maybe comparing himself to her is self-serving at best; maybe it doesn’t matter. The Steaks seemed shocked, when he appeared, that he didn’t fawn over his sister’s every move. Jess seemed shocked, too. Sebastian feels a little bad for whatever former version of himself was here — a version who didn’t seem to want anything more than being the second of two, the lesser Telephone twin.

He’s a little jealous, too. From the stories he’s heard, it seems like this version of himself and his sister were much closer; maybe he genuinely hadn’t minded being in her shadow, maybe he’d celebrated her. Maybe they hadn’t traded jabs every time they were on the field together and meant most of the awful things they said about each other. Maybe they’d actually loved each other; didn’t just say they did.

Sebastian — this Sebastian, the only one who’s here, the one who can’t stop thinking about how he’s not the right version of himself and not the right Telephone and his stats might be better than the old one but clearly that doesn’t actually matter to anyone else — hadn’t spoken to his Jessica in years, when he disappeared. When he was replaced with the other one, he can only assume.

He’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a sister he was friends with. They’d fought too much for that to ever be more than an idle daydream, one he would shake himself out of quickly — there was no use in it, even if it would be nice.

(Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.)

But — but — but. But here’s it’s in reach. Here Jess smiles at him when they pass each other on the field, even if it is always a little grief-tinged. He hasn’t been rude to her, but he also hasn’t been kind. He doesn’t call.

And when she’d been shelled, the Steaks had given him condolences like he was the Sebastian they used to know, even knowing he wasn’t. He’d been — not sad, not really, but something more complicated than that. The bitter joy of being the only Telephone mixed with the regret — his chance to reach out taken, too late, not enough, gone. She’d tried calling him a few times, back in season five, and he’d stopped answering the phone, let it ring once and hit end call, not even giving the illusion that he’d just missed it and would call back later — and maybe that was cruel, maybe that was just leftover animosity towards his Jessica, maybe he should have been kinder.

He’d assumed she wouldn’t be coming out of the shell, or that she would be someone else, when she did. The gods don’t do anything without consequence attached.

He hadn’t expected to feel grief at the thought.

Now that she’s back — and with a two-run homer on her first at-bat; he tries to steer his reaction more towards good job, Jess, away from showoff — all those swirled-together emotions make a model volcano somewhere in his gut, threatening to blow.

Sebastian fights back the urge to run, sits himself on one of the sofas in the stadium’s den and watches the game play out. The Steaks give him distance. He tugs at a loose thread on his jersey until there’s a hole in it; he’ll have to get Conner to help him sew it back together before the next game, but he keeps worrying at it anyways, because the harm is already done and he might as well. Jess hits a two-run homer and takes the Pies from losing to victory, and smiles even as she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Leach Herman, from the other sofa, as the TV drones on about the birds and the shell and the league’s star: “You gonna call her?”

Sebastian’s still blinking at Jess’ face on the TV. Takes a moment to process Herman’s words, and another to process that they’re said to him. “I don’t know,” he says.

The rest of the Steaks leave quickly. Game’s over; the excitement of an unshelling has calmed; the Garages’ game is over for the day, too, so no risk of beaning-related news filtering in. Home game means they can all go home. Sebastian still doesn’t know how to feel at home here, so he spends most of his time in the stadium; plays games on the den’s TVs when the rest of the team has filtered out, or reads the comics Greenlemon leaves scattered across the common areas.

Leach is an alternate twice-over, so she gets it more than most. Sometimes she sticks around. They tell each other about the places they came from.

(Her home sounds like a nightmare, and as such, she’s adjusted far better than he has to this new world. His wasn’t ideal, but he was happy there. He knew where he stood, there.)

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” she says, which means she’s about to tell him what to do. It’s hard to read her expression, but from the tilt of her head, she’s deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “But I saw you when she was shelled. That first moment, realizing what it meant, that she might be gone — I’ve lost a lot of people, Sebastian. You almost lost her, and didn’t realize it would hurt until it was done.”

“Wow,” Sebastian says. “Jesus, Leach. Are you a mind-reader or something?”

“Only sometimes,” she says, which, ominous. “You’re not very subtle, though. Your emotions show on your face.”

“Cool,” Sebastian says, half-sarcastic but too soft for it to come across.

“Think about it,” Leach says, standing up. “Her place on the idolboard has hardly shifted. It’s possible she’ll go back again at the end of this season.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sebastian says, and he means it.

***

The Steaks beat the Garages the next day, and the Pies win their own game in Charleston, and Sebastian hits the call button before he gives himself time to second-guess.

“Seb?”

Jess’ voice sounds the same as he remembers, from both his world and the Jess who’d called him after he’d been swapped. Jess’ voice sounds mostly the same, but it’s hoarse, like she was screaming the whole two months she was trapped. He wonders if anyone outside the shell would’ve heard, if she had been, and feels a pang of awful guilt for the thought.

“Hi, Jess,” he says, and wills his voice to stay steady, and half-succeeds. “I, uh. I saw you were back? And I wanted to say — uh, congratulations, I guess?”

“You called,” she says, slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I called.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s almost diplomatic, like she’s weighing her words before saying them, which — really, he hasn’t given her much reason not to. Another pang of guilt. “But why? It’s been — it’s been a while.”

(Echoes of that first time she’d called him after he’d been swapped, and had acted as if they talked constantly, had said she was worried when he hadn’t called to fill her in on the election results. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something like Why are you calling me, Jess, you haven’t called me in five years. He’d hung up on her, then. He wonders what would have changed if he hadn’t.)

“I don’t know, I was just — I was thinking, while you were in there? I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you. And I might not be the Sebastian you grew up with, but — I was never close to the Jess I grew up with, and I thought, it would’ve been nice, if I’d taken the chance to get close to you, when you offered.” He’s rambling. He’s not giving himself enough air between words; he takes a shaky breath, continues. “And now you’re out, and I just… thought I should say hi.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that he checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up. The background-static of the call still thrums somewhere at the back of his skull, and her name is still written in bold letters on the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, it was — I was in there a while, I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people,” Jess says. “Hi. It’s good to hear your voice, Seb.”

There’s so much warmth to that single sentence that it makes him want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, sinks further into the couch he’s settled himself on. “We’re playing the Pies next week,” he says. “Can we go for lunch before a game, or something?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Seb says.

“You’re playing the Garages tomorrow,” Jess says. She says it like it means something, and he knows it does — because it’s not just the Garages, they played the Garages today and it was fine; it’s their undead pitcher, it’s the body count attached. “I caught myself up on everything that’s happened. Hotdogfingers. The debts.”

“Yeah, it’s been — it hasn’t been fun. She got Marco and Sam the second week, and — they’re alright, they survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”

“Be careful? Please. I can’t l—” and she cuts off, but he gets the gist. Can’t lose him again. Because it was a loss, for her, when he showed up and replaced the other-him. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says. It’s a lie. A joke. She wonders if he knows enough about him to know that.

“I have to go practice,” she says. He can hear a smile in her voice, and he realizes very quickly that he’s never heard that tone from this Jess before. It’d been years, when he swapped, since he’d heard it from his own Jess. “But I’ll see you next week, alright? Day seventy-three. Just call me when you get to Philly.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and it’s the truth. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Seb.”

***

The next day, Jaylen Hotdogfingers aims a fastball directly at Sebastian’s chest, knocks him flat on the ground. He has to take a long moment in the dirt to catch his breath. The umpire looks like they want to incinerate him just for taking that moment, for delaying play at all before he drags himself to the dugout, sits heavily next to Leach.

She does him the courtesy of not asking if he’s alright.

He isn’t. He saw Sam and Marco go through instability and come out unscathed and thought, foolishly, that it would be easy. They hadn’t seemed any different after being hit. They’d looked exactly the same; perhaps a little more wild-eyed, but the game does that to people.

He looks down at his hand and it has smoke coming off of it already. The smoke before the fire. Events in the wrong direction, happening the wrong way.

“Do you see that?” he whispers to Leach. Holds his hand out in front of her.

“Your hand?” She tilts her head in what might be concern. “It’s the same as it was before.”

He yanks it back into his lap as if it’s been scalded by the words. He’s nervous enough without feeling burnt, even metaphorically.

He should call Jess after the game, he thinks. If something happens to him, she deserves to know beforehand. On the other hand — the video of three Steaks being struck by pitches won’t be plastered over every blaseball news website for the next twenty-four hours, and he knows she checks those religiously, has every stat and every schedule memorized. He’s seen her mouthing her opponents’ stats to herself when the Steaks play the Pies; some of them are numbers he’s never heard of in metrics he can’t fathom, even though they must exist applied to him, somewhere. 

She’ll find out. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know already.

He thinks, in the infield, at the plate, on the bench, about the pros and cons of calling and not calling. Pros: he could talk to her again. The weather forecast is predicting another eclipse in the next few days, and he feels feverish under his skin, like the fire’s just waiting to engulf him. She cares in a way his Jess never did, has replaced all the distance that used to characterize the idea of siblings in his mind with something else, and it’s taken him this long to even start to wrap his head around that.

She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’d been best friends with the other Sebastian.

And that leads him to the cons: it seems unbearably cruel to try to be her friend if he’s only going to die. If they won’t even be able to see each other in Philly, go out for lunch like he promised — the lack of closure might kill her, too. He thinks about the swirling storm of regrets he’d had when she’d been shelled, and thinks about the hopelessness of an incineration. No chance of being pecked free by birds.

He just has to survive the next week. Then he’ll call, and they’ll go out to lunch together. He can apologize for assuming she was the same as the Jess in his world, at first; he can apologize for pushing her away; he can apologize for not calling, as long as he survives.

When Jess calls him after the game, he lets it ring and ring. He does not listen to the voicemail she leaves.

***

Two days later, Sebastian Telephone is incinerated.

#leonstamatis #blaseball #blaseball fic #jessica telephone #sebastian telephone #SO THIS ONE GOT LONG #ty for the prompt i hope you were expecting it to be terribly sad

[oof-musicals]

Together, me and you//Chapter one

This is the first chapter of a project I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I'm so excited about it and I just,, I'm really proud of this guys. I’m not the too educated on travelling out of the occasional trips I’ve been on, so thank you so much to Chandler for talking it out with me, you are a lifesaver. Anyway, here it is guys, I hope you enjoy it:) 

Tag list: @tarantulas4davey, @racecrack-higgins

(let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!)

“Racetrack Higgins has always been apart of the busy city of Manhattan, he loved the busy streets and lively aspects that accompanied the state. He had never thought about leaving until now.

Albert DaSilva moved to Manhattan from then the never-sleeping New York. In the 6 years he'd lived here, he had started to build his life in the city he now called home. But from time to time, he can't help but want to experience the quietness of a small town again.

With impulsiveness and desire, the two set out on a trip across the country. 50 states. Two boys set out for an adventure. One trip.

They got this.”

--

Road trip au

Content Warnings: Implied child abuse (Not explicit and it’s like 0.2 seconds), Self-esteem issues. 

Words: 3142

Read on Ao3

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins was a city boy. Living in Manhattan and visiting nearby boroughs often since the day he was born made navigating the subway - though he opts to walk instead - fairly easy. He loved the city. The lively energy of the city and the never-ending busy streets made him feel at home. He'd never thought about leaving before, could you really blame him? He’s been here for twenty-five years. He has a great life. He loved it here. Why would he leave?

       Albert DaSilva, unlike Race, grew up in a city in Illinois. He moved to New York shortly after his two years of community college and never looked back. That’s what he needed. An escape from his family. Well, his father. He hadn’t seen his brothers since his sophomore year of high school. And his father was just… not the best. So moving away was probably one of the best things he could’ve done. He had a great job and he made a family here. He had good friends and a boyfriend he loved very much. Still, as much as he loved New York, he missed the quietness of the Midwest - how could he not? His hometown had friendly faces that were much more common than in the active streets of Manhattan and the way some nights were just simple. When he was growing up, he loved falling asleep to the cicadas outside his window. Falling asleep to cars honking just wasn’t the same. Sometimes, the desire to go back to that was too much to handle. 

      Right now, the desire was too much. 

      He doesn’t know what brought it on, but Albert recognized the feeling of homesickness the moment he woke up. He felt selfish to feel like this, especially when he had a good life with his boyfriend of five years. Race was his rock, the love of his life. To say he missed Illinois felt like he was saying he never wanted to meet Race. And while Race would probably understand that’s not at all how Albert meant it, it troubled Albert deep down. 

       Albert had decided to open up about it to Finch a while ago. It was probably the best decision Albert has made in a long time. Finch was actually pretty good when it came to giving advice. Davey would’ve been too pushy - not that it was totally Davey’s fault that he came on a little strong sometimes, that advice was not something Albert was particularly looking for. He didn’t want to go to Race - Race was amazing and great and Albert didn’t want to bother him with any problems he might have. Finch was the best person he’d had to give him advice lately. And today was no different.'

      It was hard to concentrate on work all day. Sure work was never the best but he had the job of helping design video games. This was a teenage boy’s dream and he had trouble concentrating because he was missing his hometown. It sucked. He hated his hometown for the nineteen years he lived there, and now he couldn’t help but miss it. 

      Finch noticed. He noticed almost immediately. Albert noticed Finch eyeing him multiple times throughout the day and Albert could tell what he was concerned without him even needing to say anything. And, almost predictably, he brought it up when they were finally alone during a lunch break that they thankfully had together, despite them having separate jobs. 

        “Okay, I’m just gonna get to the point,” Finch announced as they sat down to eat lunch. “You’ve been off. What’s going on?” 

         “First of all, you’re blunt.” Albert sighed. “Second of all, what are you, my therapist?” 

         “Albert.”

        “Okay okay, fine.” Albert stirred his water with a straw. “I’m just, missing Illinois and shit, and I kind of want to go back.”

         “Like, move?” Finch’s voice had the slightest hint of sadness to it. 

       “Nonono not move,” Albert replied quickly. Sure, he missed home a lot but he couldn’t leave his new life behind. Not his friends. Not Race. “I don’t want to be in New York for the rest of time either.” 

       “Okay then, what about just visiting?” 

        “No, I can’t just go.” Albert opposed Finch’s suggestion. “I’d love to but, Race and I have a great relationship and I don’t want to mess that up with my own issues. I don’t want whatever I have with him to crumble.” 

      Finch was silent for a moment before he finally spoke his mind. “Albert. You are my best friend and I completely understand where you’re coming from but can I say something, as your friend?” Albert nodded. “You are such fucking idiot. Race loves you. He never shuts up about you! Even when you are around. You’ve been together five years. If he wasn’t completely in love with you, he would’ve left a long time ago. And Al we both know he’d be down for the idea to travel the world with you if he could. I get that you feel that you are one step away from messing things up with Race but seriously, I don’t think he could love you more than he already does. Just, talk to him. And if something horrible happens, which it won’t, I’m only a phone call away.” 

      And that’s why he went to Finch for advice. Albert smiled a bit. Even though he wasn’t the most convinced that his relationship was a landmine, Finch was probably right. Race has done crazier things than just travel to a different state (even when he’s never been to a different state). Really, what’s the worst that could happen?

___________

  The first thing Albert was greeted to when he entered the front door to his apartment he shared with Race was their cat, Fishy, rubbing up against Albert’s legs. It was an interesting name to give a cat, and it was definitely a joke Race had stolen from the stage adaptation of Waitress, but the little guy seemed to love the name. So it stuck.

      “Hi Fishy,” Albert kneeled down to scratch behind the cat’s ears gently. “Where’s your papa?” He asked, getting a purr in response. Albert checked his phone to see a text from Race, saying he had to go out and help Jack with an unspecified project - which kind of worried Albert, but not to the point he should be - and would be back with dinner in a couple of hours. 

      That left Albert to himself. Well, himself and Fishy.  He didn’t do anything special during his time alone. Just put on an episode of The Good Place and played with his cat. 

      Soon enough, Race came home with dinner, The two rarely actually ate out, both opting to eat actual meals together. But tonight, neither of them had the time to get up and cook - so rice and dumplings made a good substitute. 

       “Jack wouldn’t stop calling me to help him with this top-secret project for Davey and he annoyed me enough I gave in.” Race rolled his eyes as he recalled the reason he left. “I swear ever since they got engaged Jack has talked more about Davey.”

       “Well, do you think that’s going to change once they actually tie the knot?” Albert took out two plates from the cabinet and set them on the table.

      “Don’t know, but he’s still gonna annoy the hell out of me. Even if he’s my best friend.” Race fed a tiny bit of rice out for Fishy - which was, fortunately, one of the things they were a hundred percent sure she could eat. Regarding Jack and Davey, they, despite being the second-worst couple to get their shit together, had gotten engaged 2 months ago and become the first couple in their friend group to do so. Jack was Race’s best friend, so of course, he was excited for him and Davey, but he was also annoyed. So so annoyed. 

   The two spent most of the meal enjoying each other's company. Race took up the opportunity to talk about his job as an astrologer, which Albert didn’t really know anything about, but still loved when Race talked about it, and Albert spent the whole time listening to his boyfriend and just adoring the boy in front of him. As the conversation drifted from stars to life back on the ground, however, Albert’s homesickness started to creep up on him again. Race must’ve noticed because he didn’t push Albert to talk and opted out of talking about everyday life. Soon the conversation became a comfortable silence between the two. Just them. No talk about work, no talk about life. Just them.  

     "Do you ever just get tired of the busy life in the city?” Albert said suddenly, looking up from his plate. “Like, do you ever want to get out?”

     “Well, I’ve never thought about actually leaving.” Race admitted. The idea of leaving was intriguing once he thought about it. But Manhattan was home, he couldn’t leave all that as much as he wanted to. That’s the reason Jack didn’t move to Santa Fe out of college and was now getting married to Davey in New York. Family had a strong tie. “Manhattan has always been home for me.” 

     “I’m not saying we should move away from family, I’d never make you do that if you don’t want to,” Albert assured. “I’m just saying, do you ever just - want to get out of the city? Even if it’s just for a day?” 

     “I mean- I guess.” The blond set his fork down before standing up and taking his plate into the kitchen. “I’d love to see what life is like outside of a major city, someday. And you’re bound to miss home at some point, so I’d be open to going with you if you’d ever think about going back.”

      Wow. Well, Albert was worrying over nothing. 

      “You’re the best boyfriend in the world, you know that?” 

       “Yeah, I do.” Race smirked. God damn. Why was this man so amazing? And amazingly sarcastic? “Seriously though, if that’s what you want, I’m down. I’ve never been out of New York and cities close by, so getting the chance to travel with you is something I’d be down for.”

      Albert chuckled. “At this point, we need to take you to every state.”

      “Why don’t we do it now?” Race suggested, setting his plate in the sink.

       Albert snorted. “Yeah, let’s do it,” It took a second for him to realize what Race really meant. “Wait Tony are you serious?”

       "Hell yeah! Let's just - travel the country!" Race turned around to Albert. "We can get a rental car to visit the connective states or whatever shit it's called we can buy plane tickets to go to the last two states and it'll take like what? A month at most? Let's do it, baby." 

        "I meant traveling the country as a joke, T,” 

        “I know, but honestly, Al,” Race walked over to the table, placing a hand on Albert’s cheek. “We’re young and stupid. It’s arguably the best time to do something like this.” 

         Now that he thought about it, Race was the perfect one to travel the country with. As dramatic and annoying Race was even when driving from Manhattan to Brooklyn, Albert would drop anything to be with the blond. And they were young and stupid, just like Race said. If down the road they got married and had kids, having the chance to do this - which with the help of amazing friends, they wouldn’t have to worry about their apartment or Fishy (as much as they would probably want to take her) - would be now. He wanted to do this with Race so bad. But there was still that part nagging at him. Something that stopped him from throwing caution to the wind and doing this with Race.   

               “Can I think about it?” Albert tried not to feel guilty when Race nodded silently. But he just needed a minute. A minute to reassure himself. Just a minute. 

        The rest of the night, Albert kept thinking about what Race said. He was definitely down for the idea, but some part of him was fairly hesitant. Hesitant that sometime on the trip Race may realize that he and Albert would probably not work out long term. Hesitant that 

       When he was comfortably sleeping in Race’s arms, Albert realized he had definitely lucked out with the boy. To have someone who not only understood Albert missed his home but also was down to get up and travel the country with him. In his few serious relationships he’d had, Albert had never come close to someone as lovable as Race. Sure, he still was worried about the possibility that Race would realize he may not want to make this a long-term thing but Finch was right. It’s been five years, and here they still were. 

        And if Albert was being honest, he’d be more than happy to travel the world with Race if he asked. 

             “You know what? Let’s do it.” Albert broke the silence. “Let’s go travel the country.” The redhead turned to Race, who grinned sleepily.

        “I knew you’d say yes.” Race laughed quietly. 

       “Yeah, right.”

_______________________

       They hadn’t finalized the idea of going across the country that night. Of course they hadn’t made the decision in one night. Traveling to all the states in the country took lots of planning - even for the most impulsive couple on the planet. First of all, they needed some form of transportation. Both Albert and Race had driver’s licenses - even if the idea of Race having a legal document allowing him to be on the road was terrifying - sure, but they favored using public transportation or just walking to get around. Luckily, New York has numerous car rentals. Second, this trip was going to be expensive. Really expensive. 

         That’s what they were discussing now. It was nearly one am and probably not the best time to be discussing where a huge amount of their finances will go but nevertheless, here they were. Discussing money over microwaveable pies in the middle of the night. 

        “What about where we sleep?” Race asked, throwing away the box for the pie in the recycling before shoving half the pastry in his mouth “Should we set aside a chunk of money to stay somewhere occasionally?” He asked between chewing.

         Albert drew out a breath before rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know, hotels are expensive and motels are shady. For the sake of our wallets and safety, we can sacrifice a month of comfortable sleeping and we can sleep in our car." 

         “Motels aren't shady." Race rolled his eyes, setting the other half of the pie on a plastic plate.

        "Yes, they are." 

        "You just don't want the extra excitement." 

         "I don't want to get murdered."  

        "Okay, okay valid point," Race finished off the pie. "I'm going to bed." 

          Albert let out a hum of acknowledgment. “I love you, Racer.”

          “I love you too.” Race kissed Albert’s cheek. “Don’t stay up too long though. We may be prone to pulling all-nighters but doing math isn’t the best at one am, and this is coming from a math whiz.”

          “Shut up I hate you.” Albert pushed Race jokingly, a smile forming on his face. 

          “You love me.”

          Yeah. He really did. He really really did.  

___________________________________

        It only took a week or so to get everything in order to hit the road. It's honestly crazy how fast the most spontaneous couple in their friend group put so much thought into a trip. At least it was a crazy thing to Davey, who somehow found himself helping his friends load up a rental van to travel the country. 

         Traveling the country was not for Davey. For his boyfriend - no fiancé. He and Jack were engaged. For his fiancé, the idea would be sold. A trip around the country was probably high on Jack's bucket list. The idiot was almost as impulsive as Race and Albert. But for  Davey, not so much. He loved traveling, sure. But that's something he wanted to do after he got married. Not on a whim in the middle of June.

         But his preferences aside, here he was on a Saturday morning, helping Albert and Race pack up a rental van for their trip to visit 49 states. That and get their apartment key so he could be in charge of watching their house and cat for upwards of a month. 

          “Are they really taking five different blankets?” Jack’s voice interrupted his thoughts, holding a clump of said blankets. “It’s the middle of summer.” 

         “Different climates, Jackie.” Davey kissed his fiance's cheek before taking a box full of very unhealthy snacks to the car. He definitely was friends with some of the most impulsive people ever, it seemed.

          Outside, Race set his duffle bag into the trunk. Well, one of his duffle bags. Davey might’ve rubbed off on him a little and he ended up overpacking a little. Granted, they didn’t know how long this trip was going to take in days, but he was pretty sure 4 duffle bags was a little extreme. Still, it’s not like he really cared. 

          “Seriously," Albert said, "One or two was enough." 

         "I'm sorry I wear more than sleeveless shirts and snapbacks." 

          "How about three?" Albert ignored Race's comment and took out two of his duffle bags, despite the disapproval whine Race let out. "We can always wash clothes." 

           "Whatever." 

           Jack eventually appeared out of the apartment complex with the blankets, nearly tripping around four times, catching himself almost every time. The last time he ran into the rental car. It was kind of funny to Race. Jack glared at the blond's snicker, causing Race to smile innocently. 

           Soon, Davey came out with the rest of the stuff they really needed plus a backpack that the nurturing side of him probably put together. He made a switch of giving Albert the snacks and Race the bag that included chargers, a list of numbers in the event they needed to contact someone without having their cell phones, a book or two, water bottles, and actually healthy snacks. He really was the mom friend. Race gave him a key to the apartment and Albert snuck him a short list of what to do with Fishy that only consisted of 'remember to clean her food & water bowl' and 'she has sharp claws. Race was supposed to take her to get them cut but he didn't so sorry about that'. Race and Albert said goodbye to Fishy and then to Jack and Davey. 

                And then, they were in the car. Ready to go on a trip across the country. 

          “Holy shit. We’re doing this.” Race breathed, buckling his seatbelt.

          “We’re doing this,” Albert repeated. 

          They were actually doing this.

#newsies #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #newsies fanfiction #audrey writes #I'm so proud of this yet so nervous at the same time #Ralbert road trip #tw abuse #javid #javey #david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #finch cortez #long roads au