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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - Part 19 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sex. Continued ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Thank you for your patience, my beautiful lil mamas, Part 19 is finally here! We are back in Reader's headspace, and lordy, oh lordy, it's A LOT...just remember, I DID warn and promise y'all pain before a happy ending. And the end is coming soon. 😭 I know, babies, I know. 💖

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Silence.

For the first time in over a week, you aren’t bombarded with images of the past or worries for the future as your subconscious desperately tries to guide you places you are not ready to go to yet. As you stir awake, you feel somewhat rested, peaceful almost. Your eyes flutter open and even though the room is dim, you still squint and hiss at the light that pierces through your eyes and seems to rocket through your head like a spear. You can’t help but groan a little at the pain behind your eyes.

The room is not familiar, however, which sets you on edge, that peacefulness of good sleep draining from you quickly. Frantically, you try to puzzle out where you are and how you got here but thinking sends a wave of nausea through you that you can’t ignore. You groan again at the feeling and crack your eyes open the slightest bit.

A man, first crouched in the uncomfortable looking chair he’s perched in, sits up ramrod straight at your movements. Despite the dark circles around his eyes, he’s a vision to behold. You know without a doubt he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on, what with his high cheekbones, lusciously pouty lips, and chiseled jaw covered in what looks to be a day’s worth of dark stubble. Raven hair frames his face, thick sideburns curling at his ears and locks haphazard on his forehead. And those eyes, dear lord, those impossibly long, dark lashes rim his eyes. His eyes, which feel as deep and dark blue as the ocean itself, cut through the fog in your head, widening and looking over you with care and concern.

You know those soulful, familiar eyes anywhere.

Elvis.

You blink and the world starts to snap into focus. Through the pain and nausea, you take in your surroundings. The uncomfortable bed you’re in. The IV in your arm. The dreary paint on the walls. The smell of antiseptic.

The hospital. You are in the hospital.

This must be why Elvis looks positively distraught, his large hand now frantically grasping at yours on the bed. You swear he is shaking, steadied only once he touches you and a wave of relief falls over his handsome yet worried features.

“Y/n. Oh thank God, y/n,” he murmurs. “Are you okay? How do you feel? What do you remember?” he barrages you with questions that you aren’t sure you have the answers to yet, especially with the way your head is pounding so distractingly. For some reason, the whole scene suddenly strikes you as silly, what with the most famous man in the world looking at you so damn seriously. You can’t help yourself.

“Who…who are you?” you croak out quietly, your unused voice cracking.

The look on his face is priceless as he rolls through shock, terror, and dismay all at once. His face falls dramatically then and there is no way you can keep up the pretense because the little boy look that comes over him is just too much.

“Gotcha,” you chuckle, cracking a smile that suddenly makes your face feel like it’s on fire and making you regret your smile instantly.

“You little minx,” he growls, a relieved grin spreading over his face before he sees the pain on your face. “You’re hurtin’. Goddammit, I should’ve killed him…” he mutters heatedly under his breath.

It takes more than a moment to process what he is saying and connect that with the burning tightness of the left side of your face. You bring your hand up slowly, gingerly touching the unfamiliar swollen, hot flesh of your cheek. You can’t help but hiss at the painful sensation that runs over you when you do so.

You close your eyes, feeling Elvis’ heavy but comforting hand squeeze yours.

What in the hell happened?

Reaching back in your memory, you attempt to piece together why you are here, why you are in so much pain. Dread fills your heart as flashes of memory come at you:

Jack accosting you in the bathroom.

Losing his mind at seeing the hickies on your breast.

Him dragging you out and humiliating you in front of everyone.

Then…then…

Oh, god.

Jack did this. He hit you.

Your head falls back, and you cover your eyes with your free hand. A wave of shock, then a wave of deep sadness overcomes you. Hot tears spring to your eyes and spill down your cheeks and you don’t attempt to stop them. The salt of them stings the abrasions on your face.

How could he? How could he?

Sobs wrack your body, each one a pulse of pain through your head, shooting red-hot through you. You knew, you knew deep down it was over, but you never expected it to come to this. You never thought Jack had it in him to truly hurt you. But you are lying in a hospital bed, living proof that the man you once loved was truly gone.

And it feels devastating, yet also strangely relieving, in a way you could’ve never imagined.

“Oh, Satnin, baby. Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Elvis whispers at you, clutching your hand, his concern evident but unsure.

The wave of devastation crashes over you, both the physical and psychic pain nearly unbearable as it throbs in your head. You feel utterly raw. Humiliated. Gutted. Guilty. Relieved. Furious.

The sudden image of slapping Jack’s face as he knelt bloody on the floor resonates through you, the sting still evident in your palm.

Elvis had almost killed Jack, blinded by a protective rage, you now remember. You’d stopped him.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t.

It all feels quite unreal yet simultaneously overwhelming, all these flashes of memory hitting you in rapid succession. And you know there are more troubling memories waiting in the wings, ready to knock you off your feet once again. You can sense them lingering at the edges of your mind, somehow closer than they have ever been but still just out of reach.

All at once you don’t feel strong enough to bear them.

Everybody knows, you suddenly realize. Your affair with Elvis was now out there for everyone to see, for everyone to judge. You open your tear-filled eyes to look at the beautiful man before you, the one you love so much it feels as though it might destroy you, because god knows you haven’t forgotten that. You cannot bring yourself to regret being with him, no matter if it led you to be here, broken and battered in a hospital bed in Las Vegas.

But something is not right. Something besides the obvious. And it’s right there, just out of view.

Your head hurts too much to dwell on it, however.

“I’m gonna take care of you baby,” Elvis finally says after what you realize is too many moments of silence. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

The way he says it so softly and with such righteous conviction strikes something within you. The clasp of his hand on yours is almost too tight, the look on his face both filled with remorse and determination. You know what he says is true—he will not leave you to face this alone.

Despite this, the uncomfortable elephant in the room lingers: you would not be here if not for Elvis, and you both know it.

But with the pain in your body and the ache in your heart, that is not a mountain you can begin to climb yet. There are too many unanswered questions that you need to figure out and this is not the time or place. So, you let Elvis hold your hand with that mournful look in his churning eyes and you try to heal.

“Watch your step, watch your step!” Elvis supports you gingerly, his strong arm holding you at the waist, as if just walking will shatter you into a thousand pieces.

“E, I’m okay. I promise I can walk on my own. It’s just one step,” you say, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone. He’s been hovering as much as possible for the past two days you’ve been under observation at the hospital, only leaving when absolutely necessary to do his two shows a night. He sent the hospital staff into a tizzy with demands for your care while still managing to be charming and effusive to all the employees in a way that only he could get away with.

You’re not sure that he’s slept in the past few days, as he seems obsessed with making sure you are alright. Your pleas for him to go back to the hotel and get some rest fell on deaf ears. Hopefully, now that you’ll be in the hotel, he will relax a little.

While your face is healing, it is still covered in a nasty bruise, which you are reminded of every time Elvis looks at you because the wince that passes over his features, while nearly imperceptible to others, is quite evident to you. It serves to remind you how you got here and how he seemingly thinks him controlling everything about your recovery is going to somehow put you back together and make everything how it was before.

But it’s not like it was before.

Not with the looks that the Mafia are giving you. You can sense their pity, their judgement, their fear. Because Elvis having a known affair with you threatens them all. What if it was their wife or girlfriend? What if Elvis turns on them the way he turned on Jack? Jack was their friend, too. It’s written all over their faces. And you can tell they’ve been put on best behavior because more than usual they defer to Elvis, and they are suddenly wildly uncomfortable around you, even though you’ve been part of the group for years.

You can’t help but feel like the king’s consort. The mistress. The usurper.

The only exceptions are Jerry and Sandy, of course. And Charlie, in his usual Charlie way, has been kind and endearing. But the rest are quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t know what’s happened to Jack. You also haven’t seen Red, though you can’t say you’re upset about it. The few times you tried to ask Elvis, he brushed you off, saying you didn’t need to worry about such things while you’re trying to recover.

All of it has you unsettled. You knew there would be consequences, of course you did, but you didn’t expect it to be this strange.

Thankfully, your headaches are becoming less frequent, but when they do come, they are intense and debilitating, and weirdly, each one brings a host of images and fractured memories that you must try to make sense of. The doctor said this should hopefully get better as your brain heals from the concussion. A full recovery, he said, but it might take some time. Elvis takes this to mean you need constant care, and honestly you don’t have the energy to argue with the man about it right now, so you let him escort you into his bedroom suite as though you are frail and fragile.

“There you go, Satnin, all set,” he says, fluffing the mountain of pillows behind you, and then he gently takes off each of your shoes. You lean back with a sigh, suddenly grateful for the comfort of his huge bed in his penthouse suite because that hospital bed was truly terrible.

“Maybe you wanna to get into your pajamas?” he suggests. “I had all your things brought up, but I also went ahead and bought you some things, since I know you hadn’t planned on being here this long, and—” he rambles. The look on his face is almost childlike in his need to please you, to take care of you. It is quite the adjustment after spending a week basking in his masculine sexual dominance. You aren’t complaining at this change in him; in fact, it reminds you of when you first met, of those early years. It’s just giving you a bit of whiplash.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m fine for now,” you interrupt, trying to keep your tone light. Bringing your hand up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as another headache threatens. Overly attuned to you, Elvis grabs one of your feet and starts rubbing, using his strong hands to knead deep into the sole of your foot.

The hurts-so-good feeling has you groaning and your head falling back onto the pillows.

“That feel good, mama?” he drawls quietly.

All you can do is nod and hum in response. You’re certain if this had happened a few days ago, that statement, this action, would be laced with a fierce sexual energy. You imagine that it would last only a minute before he pounced and worked you into a state of pleasurable bliss. That latent desire is still there—you can sense it—but with everything that has happened, it takes a backseat to your pain.

This both saddens you and makes you feel grateful. You covet your sexual relationship with him, as it is the definitive thing you know he wants and needs from you. You know this for sure, and with your ever-present uncertainty about the rest of your relationship, it makes you feel off-kilter to not be able to share that with him. However, his commitment to being by your side despite the lack of sex, has been somewhat reassuring. You desperately hope it’s not just a sense of guilt that keeps him here with you.

You sigh, your eyes falling shut, and relish in the feel of his hands on you in such a comforting way as he treats one foot, then the other, to this intimate treatment. But he is uncharacteristically quiet.

He practically has you in a stupor by the time he finishes with the second foot, managing to stave off your impending headache. Opening your eyes, you catch him looking at you, those deep blues of his taking on a darker hue in the dim lighting. You can see the wheels turning, the way his hand flexes and releases over his tailored pants, how he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What is it, E?” you ask gently, almost afraid it might spook him.

“I-I-I…can I hold you?” he stutters, changing tactics midway to get the sentence out, betraying his nerves.

“Of course, baby,” you respond quietly.

“I-I just don’t want to hurt you,” he says, crawling up the comforter to lie next to you. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you say, as he curls into you, his arm coming over you.

All at once, you are flooded with memory. Your teenage bedroom. Your single bed. Elvis nestling close into your side, his cheeks still salty with tears. The way your heart races at his proximity and the way his touch, though innocent, burns through you like wildfire. His breath warm on your neck, tickling your bare skin.

He shows up on your doorstep such a mess, coming to you, of all people. You don’t quite understand it. (You’re still not sure you understand it—why it’s you, of all people, at that point in his life, that he’d chosen to come to.)

You fall into caring for him so easily, like it is second nature to run your fingers through his hair and massage his back as he cries in your lap, even though you’ve never touched him like this, so intimately, before. When he asks to stay, those bedroom eyes of his begging, your heart leaps in a way you are ashamed of. Your entire body feels on fire, flustering you as you consider the implications, consider just how badly you do want him to stay, and if it’s worth it to see where this might go.

It only gets worse when you find him stripped down to his underwear, waiting for you innocently in your bedroom, a place no man has stayed before. Your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him sitting there, exhausted and emotionally spent. Before you take him into your bed, he’s so good in reassuring you he would never hurt you, that he won’t touch you like that. Of course, he wouldn’t; you know this. But your trepidation isn’t because you are afraid he’ll take advantage of you—it is because part of you wants him to.

The memory makes you blush furiously. Yet another important moment you had buried so deep that remembering it now makes it feel like it just happened.

After the initial tension of him being curled so close into you wanes, you relax and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Oh, how you relish in the softness of his skin against yours, the musky scent and heat of him surrounding you as he holds on to you through the night. You wake up multiple times, thinking you must be dreaming that Elvis is in your bed, but are pleasantly surprised to really find him there, his warm, lean, young body pressing into yours in various ways. The moonlight through the window lets you see just how innocently beautiful and vulnerable he is like this, like some kind of angel not of this world, his long lashes falling over his cheeks. You feel grateful to see him this way, tucking the moment away in your mind. Despite the rollercoaster of hormones coursing through you, you’ve never felt so safe before, not with Ted, not with any man.

Or felt so aroused. That terrified you, you think, as the wave of feeling crashes over you in the present. You want him with an intensity that shocks you to your core. But he is your friend, for god’s sake, and he’d come to you upset and trusted you to help him, and here you are, suddenly lusting after him like every other girl on the planet. Oh, yes, you are so very ashamed of yourself, for the dirty thoughts you’re thinking.

But, oh, how you imagine him waking to kiss you passionately, willing him to touch you everywhere, wanting him to run his long, calloused fingers up under your nightgown and into your panties. Thinking that, in an instant, he could easily slide between your legs, and you would let him. You’ll gladly give yourself to him right this minute if he wants you. You screw your eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to block out the image of him slowly entering you, joining with you, rocking you into submission, into ecstasy.

Back then, those thoughts were more dangerous than anything, especially when the man in question was in your bed already, holding you close. It was a different time, and at nineteen, you were young and bound by propriety, and yet, in that moment, you hadn’t cared about that part.

But it is Elvis. Your dear friend. He doesn’t think of you that way. He’s on the brink of stardom and already has half the country fawning over him, with girlfriends in every town. You know this, logically. You know this, but for the first time, you allow yourself to think that maybe there is more to the two of you than just friendship. That maybe there is a reason he’d come to you in his hour of need.

A wave of heartache rolls through you as you recall that next morning. You blearily wake up from your fitfully aroused but somehow comforting slumber to him pulling you close, pressing the front of his body into the back of yours. The heat of him permeates through the thin cotton of your nightgown, which is quite a pleasing sensation in the cold of this late-winter morning. You sigh and wiggle back into him instinctually, before you can think too much on it, just needing to be closer to him. But then he jumps out of the bed in a flash, as if you were on fire, scurrying to clothe himself, and then he practically leaps out the window to get away from you.

He didn’t want you. Of course, he didn’t want you. He probably regrets the whole thing, with the way he leaves you lying there. He is Elvis Presley, after all. Your friend, but nothing more. You’d been foolish to think it anything more.

His abrupt absence leaves you cold, tears welling in your eyes, yearning for something you know you could never have from him (or so you’d thought, at the time). You pull the covers over your head, the scent of him on your sheets enveloping you. The grease he used in his hair left a stain on your pillow, but you don’t care in the slightest because it is something tangible, something that lets you know him holding you through the night had been real and not a dream.

Now it hits you suddenly that—oh, god—that was the day Jack had asked you out for the first time. You’d been sad all day, trying to push Elvis out of your mind and Jack had shown up at the diner, suddenly quite brazen in his attraction to you. While you weren’t entirely surprised, as the two of you had been dancing around each other for some time, the timing of it helped bring you out of your funk, reminding you that in the real world, a good man like Jack wanted you.

You’d quickly accepted because you liked Jack and there was no reason not to.

Elvis Presley was just your friend, after all.

Now you realize that in that short 24-hour period, the trajectory of your entire life changed. Maybe you’d fallen into Jack’s arms so quickly because Elvis’ rejection had upset you more than you wanted to admit. It had been easier and more realistic to date Jack, and it had taken your mind off the unwanted thoughts you had for Elvis.

Oh, no.

The intense discovery of this long-hidden memory and the emotions to go with it rocket through your skull with a shooting pain, causing you to hiss. Tears flood your eyes, from both the ache in your heart and the pain in your head.

“Baby, you okay? What can I do?” Elvis shoots his head up, noticing your distress, looking you over carefully.

You can’t explain, not now. “Bad headache,” you breathe out instead. “Can you get my medicine?” You didn’t want to take pain meds if you could help it, but in this moment, everything, pain and otherwise, is too overwhelming and you think maybe you just need some sleep.

So, you take the pill he gives you gratefully. You try not to think about how the way he looks at you now has that same boyish quality it had all those years ago when you’d taken him into your bed and into your arms, and he’d left you cold.

It’s okay, you think. He’s here now, taking care of me. He wants me now, even if he didn’t then.

And with that, you drift aimlessly away into welcome darkness.

Everything is fuzzy, the dull ache in your head muddling the flashes that are floating to the surface in your dreams.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

Not Elvis now, you think, Elvis a long, long time ago.

But that doesn’t make sense. You didn’t kiss Elvis until two weeks ago.

He’s so sad, though, so alone. He needs you, he needs you, he needs you…

And you need him.

But it’s wrong, all wrong. And so right, all at once. Your body tingles through the ache in your head as you ever-so-gently press your lips to his. You’ve wondered for so long what he tastes like.

Soft and sweet, like marshmallows.

His bright blue eyes widen with shock.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this…” he whispers. The words echo and swirl around you.

He’s right, isn’t he? You can’t want this. You shouldn’t. Of course not…

You’re so angry, so sad, and he’s so beautiful.

Elvis. Your Elvis.

No, he’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

He belongs to no one. He belongs to the world.

Need pulses through you, a need so deep it brings you to your knees. It cuts through the pain in your head. It singes through your heart.

It’s unbearable.

It burns through you, from the inside out.

Those eyes, deep as the ocean, rimmed in black, plunder your soul. You ride the swell of the waves in them as they rise higher and higher and higher until they shatter underneath you.

The fall is blissful and terrifying, all at once, but Elvis is with you the whole way.

Free falling through the abyss, you are scared. It’s never-ending. You don’t know when you’ll hit bottom, and the anticipation of it runs like ice through your veins.

Guilt. Shame. That ache in your chest.

And then you hit bottom.

Your eyes pop open with a shuddering gasp. Gripping the sheets for dear life, you frantically try to piece out where you are, that you are not falling anymore.

Just a dream. Just a crazy, medication induced dream, you pray, seeing that you are in the darkened suite in Elvis’ penthouse.

But the unease remains, lurking more visibly now in the corners of your mind, trying to tell you something you don’t want to hear. Something you don’t want to see.

The door to the bedroom slowly opens and you jump, a hand flying over your chest in surprise. Elvis strides in quietly, clad in his white gi jumpsuit, sweat pouring over him. He must have just finished a show.

You had been asleep a while.

You are still amazed at how his presence fills a room, even when it’s just you here, even when there is no one to impress. He looks gorgeous and you know he’s riding the post-show high by the way his eyes sparkle and by the flush of his cheeks.

“You’re awake, baby. How’re ya feeling?” he asks, gliding over to you on those long legs of his.

You are still reeling from the dream. You shake your head, trying to clear that feeling of dread, of falling, and as he sits on the bed next to you, you are sucked into those oceanic eyes once again.

Your heart races.

“Are you okay?” He looks concerned, brushing your sweaty locks off your forehead, thumb grazing your cheek.

“Are you okay? he whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek. You sit still in his lap, saying nothing and can feel him begin to soften inside of you, the wetness of spent arousal leaking down your thighs under your dress…

The flash of memory hits you hard, because it was then, not now. Triggered by the same gesture, the same man, but it was a different time. He looked so young…

But that’s impossible. Impossible. The first time you had sex with Elvis was less than two weeks ago.

Your heart thunders in your chest because suddenly you don’t think that’s true.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, kiss the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, and then, with a strange boldness, you kiss his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

His pants scratch at your bare thighs as you straddle his narrow hips. His tongue explores your mouth, sending searing heat through you. Boldly, you rock in his lap, feeling him grow underneath you.

You need him, oh, god, how you need him.

The flashes aren’t complete, but they are real. You are suddenly so sure that they are, and you don’t understand, not at all. You look at Elvis now, wild-eyed, silently seeking answers. How? How?

His long fingers are cold as they part your wet folds, and he pushes one, then another deep into your heat while his thumb massages that ever-sensitive bundle of nerves at the front. It stings at first, this surprising intrusion, but he’s gentle, letting you adjust around him, letting you decide when to move.

Your breath is coming fast now, and Elvis looks more than concerned.

“Satnin, what’s happenin’? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, eyes searching you.

You screw your eyes shut. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

You sink down on him slowly, the tightness of your canal stretching around his considerable size as you try to take him all in. It’s easier now, after he prepped you with his fingers, and the discomfort wanes quickly as you bottom out. He’s hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed until this very moment.

Elvis looks utterly ethereal as you begin to ride him, his mouth open and pink, his freshly dyed raven hair falling in his eyes. Everything about him looks carved out by the gods, and his eyes drink you in in a way that strips you bare, right to the heart of you. He looks at you as though you hung the moon and the stars.

Those eyes are now looking at you in a panic.

He brings you to the brink easily and you crest the wave hard, your orgasm fracturing you into a thousand pieces as you fall. You’d never felt this way before, not with Ted, not with Jack, not even with yourself. The pleasure of it rips through you and he follows quickly, a warm, sticky heat pulsing deep as you cling to each other for dear life.

Oh. Oh god…

It was real. You know it now. You are more sure of it now than you’ve ever been.

Graceland, you realize suddenly, when he took you to see Graceland for the first time. That’s where it happened. Nineteen-fucking-fifty-seven.

Elvis and you had sex, a long, long time ago. And he kept it from you. Pretended it never even happened.

You push away from him and stagger off the bed in daze, flooded with so many emotions and sensations at once that you don’t know how to react. Dizzy, you sway a bit on your feet.

Flashes keep hitting you as you move. Waking in the hospital, not knowing how you’d gotten there. Elvis, worried at your bedside. The pills. The accidental overdose.

You think you might be sick.

“What the hell is happenin’? You’re scarin’ me. Talk to me, baby,” Elvis says from behind you. He feels so far away, but that deep seeded need to flee him is rolling through you and you walk unsteadily forward, though you aren’t sure exactly where you are trying to go.

Oh, he must have been so relieved when you didn’t remember anything about that night. That he didn’t have to take back what he’d—you’d—done. That it didn’t completely derail his friendship with you or Jack. That he got to keep being Elvis without any repercussions.

Twelve years. Over a decade built on lies and half-truths and pretending.

Tears are streaming down your burning cheeks now. You feel humiliated. Shocked at both yourself and at him. You’d cheated on Jack, with Elvis. It didn’t matter that Jack had cheated first. You’d had feelings for Elvis all the way back then, feelings you acted on in a moment of vulnerability for both of you. He’d been devastated about June, scared about his fame. You’d wanted to comfort him, but you had also wanted to prove to yourself that if a man like Elvis Presley could want you, then of course Jack should.

You’d thrown yourself at him. He didn’t stop you. And then he lied to you about it all.

If you’d have remembered…Christ, the repercussions would’ve been life altering.

Elvis grabs you then, in the present, his hot, long, ring-clad fingers circling your arm, pulling you back towards him.

And it is then that your anguish fully turns to anger. After everything that has happened these past two weeks, these past fourteen years…Suddenly, that sense of betrayal, your seeming lack of control of anything in your life, all the fear of the past, present, and future, pushes you to the brink. You feel done being at the mercy of the universe, done at being at the mercy of the lies and whims of men.

“Take your fucking hand off me, Elvis,” you hiss, venom in your glare.

You watch as his brilliant blue eyes widen in surprise, and with that, he releases you.

“Is this all a game to you?” you ask pointedly, voice shaking under the weight of your simmering fury.

“W-what?” he says, shaking his head. “Baby, I can’t emphasize enough that I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me for years,” you throw at him. A fueled rage clouds your judgement. You are quickly becoming unhinged and near irrational, but you are unable to stop it, almost like you are possessed, out of your mind, and watching your unusual behavior from afar. It’s as though a part of you wants to blow all of this up and you are powerless to stop this destructive side of yourself.

Elvis throws his hands up in surrender and begins to turn away. “That concussion has you bein’ all crazy, honey. I don’t even know—”

“That day at Graceland, right before you bought it. When I accidentally took too many pills for my headache. You know the one, don’t you?” you interrupt scathingly.

He stops and looks back at you, that pretty brow furrowing, and you think you can sense his panic truly brewing now. “I-I-I thought ya didn’t remember nothin’ about that afternoon.”

“Oh, I didn’t.” You think now you do, but you have to be sure. “You were awfully upset that day because of June, weren’t you? Going on and on about how you’d never know if a women would truly love you. And, come to think of it, you never did tell me how it was that I fell asleep,” you add, turning the knife with both curiosity and fervor, glaring at him.

His eyes truly widen now, his pouty mouth popping open and then shuttering closed again, his pallor turning pale.

And there you have your answer. You are not supposed to know this. He’d told you about June all over again after you’d left the hospital because you hadn’t remembered him telling you at Graceland. But he definitely hadn’t told you again about his insecurity of not knowing if a woman would love him for who he really is.

It’s all true.

That realization is horrible and vindicating and almost relieving all at once. You weren’t wrong when that voice in your head was telling you he was keeping something important from you. You weren’t crazy. And you even think this isn’t all he’s been hiding, but you can’t go there now. It’s too heavy a punch to the gut, and all you see is red.

A frantic, small voice in your head tries to remind you that you should consider Elvis’ feelings about that day, how he was vulnerable and frightened when he couldn’t wake you, and that your concussion has you not in your right mind and missing pieces of all this, but your rage kicks those thoughts aside and you plow forward anyway. You have too many unanswered questions.

“We had sex, Elvis. In 1957! How could you…how dare you then pretend it never happened! How could you not tell me?!” you scream at him, in a way that is utterly unlike the passive and quiet woman you’d become over the years. The woman who had learned to cower instead of speaking up for herself. The stubbornness and fire from your youth flares, driving you forward recklessly. It hurts your head to do it, but you can’t help it.

Elvis just stands there, staring, silent, using that well-honed talent of his to make his beautiful, godlike face an unreadable mask. It kills you inside, but you wait, unwilling to let him off the hook. But he still does not speak.

“Did it even mean anything to you?” you then ask quietly, tears prickling your eyes again, “Or was I just another notch on your bedpost?”

He blinks slowly and presses his lips together, and your heart sinks because you can’t tell if being with him so intimately meant anything to him at all. You should be able to tell, but you can’t, not when he’s shutting you out like this. And that deepest fear being realized both destroys you and pisses you off even more.

Finally, Elvis breaks his silence, voice low and measured and too careful for him, like he’s reciting lines in a movie, “It wasn’t…You were high. Your judgement was impaired. I was mortified...” He trails off, looking away. Then he pauses, taking a deep breath before challenging you with his intense eyes, “And would tellin’ you have changed anythin’?”

You choke at that and shake your head as you turn away from him. The words linger in the air, and you are irate at them, at him. They whirl within you, stabbing you in their coldness. He was mortified by being with you. Good god. The wound of that cracks through you like ice shattering.

You know deep down you didn’t sleep with him because you were accidentally high. You are certain of it. It wasn’t just about getting back at Jack, or just about feeling attractive and desired. No, it was so much more than that. After remembering what you have, you know you’d given yourself to Elvis willingly, medication or no, doing something you’d sworn after Ted that you wouldn’t do again until marriage.

He presses you on this, this thing you can’t believe he’s asking. “Would it’ve? You were with Jack, you loved Jack. And I’d just gotten home and was leavin’ again just as fast. What would’ve it changed, y/n, other than to make things awkward between us and ruin our friendship? Other than to ruin what you had with Jack?” Elvis asks from behind you, his gravelly voice strained.

You’re shaking now, your whole being quaking with physical and emotional toil, another headache slamming down upon you. Yes, you’d loved Jack, you truly had. And you know you’ve fallen in love with Elvis these past few weeks. But all of this craziness—these revelations, these secrets, these memories—are finally confirming something your mind has been trying to tell you lately about all those years ago, something you suspected and feared, but didn’t want to admit:

You have been in love with Elvis since the beginning. You had loved him then just as you love him now. And if you had remembered that, if he’d wanted it, if he had asked you, at any point, you think would’ve dropped everything for him.

Even if it would’ve ruined you both.

A bile of panic rises in your throat because, besides the times you truly can’t remember because you’d literally been dying, there had been all those other moments throughout the years where you’d pushed down your love for him. Important pieces of your life that you’d just forgotten, sometimes right away, in order to spare yourself the pain of this realization, the pain of Elvis’ rejection.

Maybe it started in the diner when he comforted you after Ted broke your heart, or maybe it began even earlier because god knows you can’t trust yourself or your memory. In fact, you are quite sure that there are still things he’s keeping from you, pivotal things you still don’t remember and it’s maddening. But after the diner, it feels like every moment you repressed is a missing piece to the puzzle of your life and reminder of how everything has gone so completely wrong.

Oh, and isn’t it rich that you are laying into him about keeping this naughty little tryst from you when you’ve been conveniently forgetting all these crucial moments of your relationship over your lifetime, a logical voice in the back of your head hurls at you.

Fuck you, you throw back, dread seeping through you.

And now your deepest fears are confirmed—Elvis hadn’t wanted you, not like that. He was mortified by it, in fact. He had a taste of you in a moment of weakness, because he’s just a man after all, and got lucky when you didn’t remember. Thinking better of it, he kept it all to himself. All these years, he’d lied by omission. And for some goddamned reason, he’d swung back around to you after all this time, destroying your life as you knew it in the process.

You spin back around to face him. Nausea rolls in your stomach because, suddenly, you’re not sure you know the man in front of you at all.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything,” you say vehemently, honestly, leveling him with your stare.

And it looks like you just slapped him by the way he recoils.

You can’t stop yourself from digging deeper, too angry to care, “But I’m sure that’s not what you wanted, since you were so quick to decide that I didn’t need to know, so fucking cocksure that you didn’t even deem to ask what I wanted. No, you just got laid and got lucky and moved right on to the next girl.”

“Th-that’s not—“ he sputters, those azure eyes a little frantic.

“Isn’t it, though, Elvis? Isn’t that exactly what happened? We fucked and you decided it was a bad idea, so you didn’t bother to tell me when I couldn’t remember myself. Who cares what I thought, right?! Then you went on with your life as though nothing happened.”

As if it hadn’t mattered at all, as though you hadn’t mattered enough to bother. You can’t bring yourself to say that part, though, as the icy pain of saying the rest out loud like this sends more tears pouring down your cheeks, despite your anger wanting to keep them at bay.

As if the rest isn’t bad enough, another thought hits you sideways, “My god, you even pushed Jack to marry me, didn’t you?” You look at him incredulously, remembering how Jack had joked about it after he’d proposed. The words ache through you as you say them, as you realize the implications of that. Yet another one of your deepest fears confirmed.

Elvis looks stricken as he backs up to the bed and sinks down on the edge, putting his head in his hands.

“I-I-I w-was no good for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t get to decide that, Elvis! You took those choices away from me!” you cry at him.

You watch as he holds his tongue, as his body stiffens at your words. His jaw clenches and his breathing changes. You know the signs by now, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he’s getting ready to explode and that it’s you pushing him over the edge. You want him over the edge. You want him to care enough to be mad about it.

“And what? Did you finally decide after twelve years that maybe you did like my pussy after all, so you decided to come back for more?” you spit at him nastily, driving him right over the threshold.

“I was protecting you!” Elvis bellows, leaping to his feet, face red with anger. His eyes darken and flash in a way that might have caused you to pause before, but not today, not after this.

You don’t let up. “Protecting me from what exactly? A bad marriage? A man that doesn’t love me?” you laugh haughtily at the irony.

He doesn’t elaborate, just bites his tongue in frustration and glowers at you, pulling himself back.

Then, another sinking realization drags you under. “Good lord—you had your hands in my relationship with Jack every step of the way. From day fucking one. You pushed us onto each other, a-a-and then you took him away from me, over and over again. The women Jack ‘dated’…Jesus, that was when he went to Vegas to see you that first time, wasn’t it? Of course. I should’ve known that’s when he started fucking other women. Because of you,” you point at him, more fury boiling in your stomach as you ramble.

God, was it all lies and subterfuge? Every fucking thing in your life related to these men?

Elvis stands there, jaw gritted so hard he might crack his veneers, his hands fisted at his sides, his leg going a million miles an hour. But you don’t stop.

“And then you came back home to find me upset, pretended like you didn’t know why, and then you fucked me?” The memories come to you too quickly, too painfully, fractured moments flashing in your aching head, weaving back together what you’d lost for so long, fueling your pain, fueling you forward. “And that was just the beginning. You sucked Jack and me both into your world, then played with our lives because…why? Why, E?” you demand.

Still, he says nothing, eyes fierce and his body vibrating with energy, letting you continue your verbal assault.

Your heart is going so fast you fear it’s going to explode, but you continue anyway, knowing that this isn’t like you, that perhaps this isn’t truly what you want. I love him, don’t I? But you are so mad, so exhausted from feeling like a plaything in the lives of the men around you, that you can’t stop. They’ve treated you as if you have no agency of your own. As if you were nothing without them. And you are done.

You shake your head. “You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit. Nobody can be happy unless the King is happy, right? What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss, beside yourself with anger at him, on what he’d done to your life. In this moment, your love for him is entirely consumed by your rage, as your addled and bruised brain tries to piece together just how screwed up this entire situation is.

Elvis roars then and sweeps everything off the nightstand, sending things shattering and flying to the floor. You do your best not to wince at the outburst, unwilling to let him shake you. Then, he looks at you, like a caught, caged beast, his chest heaving and eyes dangerous. But he isn’t blacked out, and you know it because you can see the gears working in his head. You can see that the emotion in his face is not anger alone. There is a deep pain there and it confuses you.

Dread settles into a knot in your stomach because suddenly you can’t shake that terrible feeling that you are still missing something vital here, something both Elvis and your traitorous brain are keeping from you, but your head is pounding and your blood is up and you can’t think straight.

You stand toe-to-toe, staring at each other, chests heaving in the heavy silence.

He breaks first, but with an almost frightening level of clarity that you don’t expect after his outburst. “Fine. Y-you w-w-wanna make me th-the-the villain in this story, then fine, I-I’m th-the fucking villain, honey. I-I-I always w-was,” he stutters wildly, cutting, his stormy eyes narrowing like a crocodile as he levels you with them.

He doesn’t deny any of it. He doesn’t even defend himself anymore.

You don’t know what to do with that.

All you know is you hurt. Everything aches, inside and out. You feel like an absolute fool. You are infuriated with him and maybe even more furious at yourself. Then, your heart breaks, sending a wave of sorrow flooding through your chest and down your limbs.

Everything with Jack was bad.

Somehow, this is worse.

It feels like your entire world has been pulled from underneath your feet. The devastation you felt about Jack feels like nothing now compared to Elvis’ betrayal, and the weight of both together is crushing you from all angles.

There is no escape. You can’t breathe.

Somehow, you’ve lost them both. Or maybe you never really had either of them to begin with.

You silly, stupid girl. I tried to warn you.

You manage to hold back the sob that threatens to break you.

Wordlessly, you nod, clench your fists, then turn and walk out.

Elvis doesn’t stop you.

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skaikruswan · 2 years

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I walk beside you - Chapter 2

Summary: “I have not heard these words in ages,” a deep, male voice says, and before you can answer, you wake up.Your dreams start changing once you realize that you’re not alone as you think. Who is this man and why does he know you? How do you know him?

Pairing: Dream / Morpheus x reader

Chapter 1

AO3: May everyone who leaves a kudo have a wonderful dream.

Chapter 2:

Morpheus leads you to a more secluded area, his hand still secure around your wrist, feeling life drum underneath your veins.

They are approaching a small park, and he notices you drag your feet as your eye the trees with suspicion.

“There will be no storm.” You visibly deflate after his reassurance, still clutching the bag you’re still holding as you let out a small sigh. They stop in front of an empty bench, and he releases you.

“I have questions,” you declare, your eyes gleaming with curiosity and determination, and Morpheus feels his lips quirk. He knows from experience that confronting you in the waking world brings better results than confronting you in your dreams. Yet he’s relieved by your inquisitive attitude, and simply stands still as you walk around him. Curious, determined, and brave; he has always liked these qualities in you.

“I will answer.” He waits until you’re standing in front of him, your eyes narrowed as you seem to study him. He does the same, taking in the features he’s known for ages. You always resemble yourself, although some details may change, yet he drinks you in like a wanderer in the desert would drink in an oasis. It has been too long.

“Who are you? What are you?” You’ve added the second question a heartbeat later, and Morpheus tilts his head in an appraising manner. You usually deduce rather quickly that he’s not human, while some of your incarnations had chosen to ignore the truth, to stay in denial. He’s relieved that you chose not to.

“I am Lord Morpheus, King of dreams and ruler of the nightmare realm,” he states, and watches as your eyes widen as you take a step back.

“Nice to meet you, your Highness,” you reply, your voice a mix between polite and amused, and he shakes his head as he watches you curtsy, your knees wobbling. Adorable. You’ve always been able to amuse him and brighten his day, and this is no exception. He inclines his head with a smile, acknowledging your curtsy.

“I suppose you have more questions,” he suggests, and you bite your lip as you seem deeply in thought. He doesn’t push further, giving you the time you require.

“I have a feeling you know me,” you say, and he nods. He could fill hours by replying to this simple statement. “I am sorry, but I don’t know you.” There is genuine sympathy in your apology, and something in his stomach flutters.

“You never do. No incarnation of you has ever remembered me.” Every time he finds you, you have no memories of their time together. He still hasn’t made up his mind whether this is a blessing or a curse. If you and he had been close, it leaves him torn asunder to see you again but oblivious to their bond, showing no reaction to a shared joke or memory. If it had ended on bad terms, it is a relief to know that each meeting is a clean slate.

You have rejected him, and one rejection has stung, a small part of the poison still throbbing.

649 BC.

“Look what my future spouse has sent me,” you cheer, pointing at the several chests filled with jewelry, cloth, and spices. “In the mansion we will live in awaits so much more. I shall want for nothing.”

“Impressive.” Morpheus has always known you to be ambitious, even little vain, but it still surprises him how quickly these material gifts have won you over. You’re spinning in front of him, wearing only the finest silk.

“Blessed be the gods for allowing this union.” Morpheus tries not to roll his eyes at your statement and to keep his face impassive. Humanity keeps on inventing new deities to worship and thank for, not realizing that they themselves decide their fate.

“How lucky I am to have captured the attention of a god,” you say in a reverent tone. Greek mythology has identified him as Morpheus, God of dreams, and while this only one of many monikers humanity has given him, he has grown fond of it.

“How lucky I am to have captured your attention,” he repeats, and notices the flush on your cheeks. After he had revealed himself, you had been coy, making advances and rejections in equal measure. It had been an almost maddening play.

“But mortals are not meant to capture the hearts of immortals. Those who do always share one miserable fate.” He had seen it coming, had noticed your attention for him waning. Your dreams have been filled by your new spouse and the riches you soon shall possess. While he should be above it, it is still irritating and demeaning to be replaced so easily.

“I shall take my leave then,” he announces, giving you a moment to object, to change your mind. You don’t.

You hold a piece of his soul, and he has never found the strength to truly punish you. Yet he feels no regret as he removes his boon from you, never entering your life or your dreams again.

“How often do we meet?” you ask, sitting on the bench and eating your snack, your eyes glued to him.

“Sometimes it only takes decades before you come back, sometimes centuries or even more. It is a mystery, even to me.” He and Lucienne have tried to find any indication for your reincarnation, if there are any factors. So far, they have found no answer. You have been born poor or rich, with a big or a small family, you have lived a short or long life, you’ve been content or wanting for more. You’ve been born into peace or war. While some personal traits seem to be common, each incarnation is truly unique.

“Do you stay?” you continue asking, pressing your lips together as you realize how ambiguous this question is. He raises an eyebrow and watches as you evade his gaze, playing with your hair.

“If you want me to,” he vows softly. He would never force himself on you. He treasures every moment with you, knowing that his time with you can end at any moment. Sometimes you’ve spent decades together, sometimes only months. It always ends with the same fierce agony.

1404 AC.

Destruction can be found everywhere, and Morpheus knows that his sibling maintains a keen eye on the many battles erupting around the world. Many people dream of peace, seeking refuge in their dreams as their waking life is so often plagued by war, famine, or cut short in an instant.

He locates you in a destroyed building, where you’re hoping against the odds that the marauding, blood-thirsty soldiers will leave, and that you, your family, and friends will live another day.

Your wish would not be granted.

He finds you on the verge of consciousness, your body fighting for survival while you become weaker by the second.

With a gentle touch, he brings you to his realm. You beam at him, standing in a village that has not been ruined, surrounded by people who are dead in the waking world, your expression hale and hearty instead of grim and gaunt.

“Dream!” you say with a soft smile, “thanks for bringing me here. I have missed this.” You spin around, basking in this fantasy of a safe, content world. Morpheus lets sorrow cloud his gaze for a second. Despite the harsh reality you’re living in, you have never lost hope, never let loss and pain twist you into someone bitter. Your warm optimism is what has intrigued him the most.

“I have missed you.” After your quiet admission the villagers disappear, leaving them alone in the middle of the square.

You step forward until you reach him, and Morpheus takes your hand, pulling it towards his mouth so he can press a featherlight kiss on it. You let out a small giggle, and how he wishes that he could share your joy.

In the waking world, his sister puts a comforting hand on his shoulder as he kneels in front of your pale form, your chest barely moving. Losing you is always the same excruciating pain that seems to hollow out his immortal heart.

“I will miss you, my love.” The dream disappears as you wake up to take your last breath. You cough, blood smearing over your lips as you look past him, looking at his sister. They only have seconds left. He is never ready for the last moment.

“I am sorry for leaving so soon,” you whisper, reaching out to squeeze his hand, your touch so weak he barely feels it.

Morpheus closes his eyes, allowing his sister to take you to the Sunless Lands. He hears the rustle of the feathers and knows that you’re gone.

A tear runs down his cheek, falling on you, your lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“That’s good to know,” you say a little breathlessly, rocking up and down on the balls of your feet. “How do you find me?” The most important question, the one you always ask.

“You always share the same dream.”

“The path before me doesn’t frighten me, I want to forever walk beside you,” you interrupt him, saying the sentence that seems to be edged into your very soul, and he nods.

He remembers the first time he had found you.

A long time ago, before humanity measured time.

The barriers in his realm have not yet been fixed, and humans, in their youthful curiosity, like to explore and have often wandered into each other’s dreams. It has not yet been a reason for concern, so he let his dreams and nightmares only intervene if strictly necessary.

“I can’t believe my eyes,” an unknown voice says, and Morpheus turns around to see a mortal stand in the center of his palace.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders. Instead of worry, he feels mild intrigue as he observes the mortal, detecting no evil intentions. Wandering into the middle of his realm is no small feat.

“I was exploring and kind of ended up here?” you explain, your mouth agape as you take in your surroundings. He cannot blame you for your curiosity and he will not punish you, but you do not belong here.

“I wish you nice dreams.” With a flick of his fingers, he sends to the confines of your own dream.

Instead of a quiet dismissal, you must have understood it as an invitation, for he finds you again in the palace the next night, conversing with his raven.

“Wonders upon wonders,” you marvel as you notice him approaching, your smile radiant. “Your companion tells me that you rule over these lands.” You sink down to one knee in respect before gracefully rising.

“My companion talks too much.” He gives his raven a sharp glare, and watches as it flies away, leaving him alone with the intruder.

“Let me be clear. This place is not for mortals.” He lets a little darkness fill his gaze, expecting fear to flitter over your features. Instead, he recognizes astonishment and a little awe.

“Until next time,” you reply, your lips drawn to a smirk as you refuse to back down. Foolish, brave mortal.

It has become a game of sorts, with you sneaking into his palace and him finding you. Conversation has started to flow, and every time he has become more intrigued by you.

“My Lord, it is almost too easy to sneak into your palace,” you taunt, sticking your tongue at him. No mortal has ever dared such behavior. It’s refreshing and shows how familiar you have become with him.

“I shall raise the stakes then,” he promises. Each dream offers a new challenge, and you face it with the same vigor and determination. Each dream brings you closer, with you becoming a lodestar in the endless firmament of his existence.

The Dreaming is no longer enough, and he has sought you in the waking world. Appearing in the flesh in front of you and hearing you scream before throwing yourself into his arms is a memory he shall never forget.

“The path before me doesn’t frighten me, I want to forever walk beside you.” You and he are lying in a meadow, your fingers gliding through his hair, making him almost purr like a cat. Your declaration, full of longing and love, resonates deep within him, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek.

“Stay with me.”

He notices that his attention is demanded elsewhere, but he is loath to go. During his imprisonment, he had been tortured by the prospect that he missed an incarnation, and even now he wonders if there is one version of you he shall never meet.

“I must leave,” he says, and watches as your face falls.

“We will see each other again?” you say, half suggestion and half hope, and his heart warms. He reaches out to tug a wayward strand of your hair behind your ear, hearing you inhale sharply.

“Meet me in my palace,” he dares, placing the bait in front of you, and watches as you clench your jaw in determination.

“Challenge accepted, my Lord.”

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream x reader #sandman x reader #my writing #my sandman fics

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thelastarchangelaskblog · 2 months

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Seventh Year: Reconciliations Bonus Scene 8

Can still scarcely believe First Born is done. I am able to share another scene I had been sitting on for a while. Keep in mind that while this one takes place during Reconciliations, it's best read after the last chapter unless you want some spoilers about things.

Or maybe you do want spoilers. I don't know.

I'm slowly starting up the process of shifting all these bonus scenes over to AO3, so please leave a comment and a kudos. :) And please reblog this or leave a comment/reply! <3

On AO3

Bonus Scene 1

Bonus Scene 2

Bonus Scene 3

Bonus Scene 4

Bonus Scene 5

Bonus Scene 6

Bonus Scene 7

“You can see him, right?” Draco asked Luna.

Luna looked at him, blinking. “Yes. Why?”

“Does he – is he different?”

It was a moment before Luna responded, expression thoughtful. “He’s…closed off. More withdrawn. It was bad when we first came here, but since then…it hasn’t really changed.”

“He keeps saying it’s fine and nothing he can’t handle,” Draco said. “That we were expecting worse than what it’s been. I think he isn’t sharing everything.”

Luna chewed her lower lip, looking down at the book she had been reading. From the cover, it seemed like a romance of a blue person swooning into a rugged blond man’s arms. There was a dark tower in the background backlit by lightning. “He normally doesn’t. Have you tried speaking to him?”

“Once,” Draco admitted. “The first night. I didn’t think trying again would get me anywhere else and…” There had been something else that cautioned him not to push too hard here, though he had wanted to shake Michael until answers fell out. Something about the look in Michael’s eyes.

“I don’t think he’s likely to share much with me either,” Luna said regretfully. “He’s…hiding.”

Draco blinked. “Hiding? We see him every day.”

Luna shook her head. “Yes, but he’s still hiding.”

Draco was still baffled. “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that, Luna.”

Luna shrugged, cryptic as ever. “I know Susan has asked some questions, but it usually leaves her wanting to hit him with a pillow.”

Draco understood the sentiment. “…Do you mean hiding by how he’s withdrawn?”

“I don’t think he wants me to see,” Luna said, “but I don’t think I could see what he doesn’t want me to. But I can see enough that it’s…wrong. I was hoping it would get better. He smiles more now.”

He did. It was nice to see. Though Draco wished those smiles were in a slightly different context than Dummy asking them embarrassing questions about the hygiene habits of wizards. Ginny had admitted Dummy reminded her of her father and that was a comparison Draco hadn’t wanted to make but now couldn’t stop himself from doing so.

“I know there’s a saying about everything having its own timeline,” Draco said, “but I don’t think waiting longer will do anything here.”

“It might, but it would probably take a very long time. We might be old then.” Luna sounded thoughtful.

“…I would prefer for that not to be the case.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Luna closed her book and put it to the side. Her expression was thoughtful.

Draco hesitated a moment, then offered, “Some of his siblings have been trying. Gabriel, especially.”

Luna looked up at him. “Do you want to ask?”

“No.” Draco made a face, then sighed. “But we have to.”

There was no response from Luna but she stood up, nodding at Draco.

Draco had no idea where he was going. It wasn’t to Michael, who was with the others who were getting lessons on weapons from an overly eager Asgardian who had been too excited to share how to use the sharp, pointy swords in the armory. However, he didn’t know where to find Gabriel.

He could always pray…

Luna ended up asking one of the cleaning staff that wasn’t a metal “robot,” and the two were directed to a small side room that Draco would never have found on his own. Unfortunately it wasn’t just Gabriel in there. Raphael and Lucifer were present as well.

Lucifer was sitting on the back of the couch, those keen grayish eyes fixed on the two of them as they entered. He didn’t say anything.

Gabriel looked like he’d been in the middle of pacing, coming to a stop to also look at them. Raphael stood at a wall, looking almost uncomfortably like Michael. Draco could really see the familial resemblance.

“You’re not lost, are you?” Gabriel asked after a long moment of silence.

Draco shook himself, stepping forward. “We were looking for you.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “Well…here I am.”

“Michael…we’re worried about him, and he isn’t talking.”

Gabriel grimaced, glancing at Raphael and Lucifer. “Yeah…we’ve been giving him space. Not too sure how well that’s working out.”

“He’s hiding,” Luna said. She looked between the three of them, biting her lip and pressing her fingers together. “You – you can see that, can’t you?”

They all turned to look at Luna, expressions intent. Even though he wasn’t under their attention, a shiver ran down Draco’s spine.

For her part, Luna didn’t budge, keeping her head high.

“What do you see?” Raphael asked curiously.

“I – I see him. But he’s… It’s not like it was before. He’s pulled back.”

“It was different before?”

“Yes.” Luna didn’t turn away, still looking them in the eye. “But here – it’s… He’s all curled up. It’s – it’s like the Snorkacks when they’re injured. They hide in their shells.”

They looked at each other again, seeming to communicate silently and probably actually doing so given they were angels.

“Is that not something you noticed?” Draco asked.

Gabriel pulled a face. Lucifer grimaced, looking down at the floor. Raphael looked worried, eyebrows scrunched together.

“Michael’s always been hard to read,” Gabriel said slowly. “Even for us. And, well…he’s not given us much.”

“Are you not supposed to know him better?” Draco demanded. “You’re his siblings. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Gabriel looked pained. “You’re right; it should. Unfortunately…it hasn’t for a long time.”

“Then aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I did,” Lucifer said, grumpy. “I brought you here.”

Draco blinked, looking at him. “I rather thought you did it to prove a point.”

“I did.”

Draco squinted at him, thinking Draco’s point and Lucifer’s points were two different points.

“We’ve tried,” Luna said when Draco continued staring at Lucifer. “And it does help, but he keeps saying we can’t really understand and that this is all to be expected and he deserves it.”

Gabriel muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse, rubbing a hand over his face. Lucifer looked even more pained. Raphael seemed like she had a question answered she didn’t really want answered.

“That’s why we’re here,” Draco said, looking between each of them. “He keeps telling us we wouldn’t understand. Even if we ask for more, he doesn’t want to share.” He scowled. “Because he thinks we’re too fragile for it. I presume it wouldn’t be the same for you.”

Gabriel snorted, still covering his face with a hand. “No. There’s other baggage with us.”

“We don’t want to be old by the time he’s willing to share,” Luna said, pleading. “We – I don’t want him to keep hurting. Not when something can be done.”

Raphael drew in a long breath, relaxing from her rigid pose by the wall. “I can speak to him,” she said quietly.

Gabriel glanced at her. “You sure?”

Raphael nodded. “I know what it is he’s going through. I’ll speak to him.”

The three archangels looked at each other for a long moment before Raphael nodded and disappeared with the sound of fluttering wings. That just left Draco and Luna together with Gabriel and Lucifer.

Which…Draco wasn’t sure what to do here. He felt odd making small talk with Michael’s family, especially these two.

“Raphael knows what she’s doing,” Lucifer told Gabriel in a low voice.

Gabriel hummed in response, expression slightly distant. “Usually.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a wry smile.

There wasn’t any other conversation, at least not where Draco or Luna could hear. He shared a commiserating look with her, then just settled in to wait.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it would take, but emotional conversations should take a while, right? If anything happened, he was relatively certain Gabriel or Lucifer would tell them with that strange link they all shared. So they could wait here—

Raphael appeared in the space she had left several minutes ago, looking not at all like she had just had an emotionally intense conversation. Draco knew Michael had trouble with telling time because angels were above human conceptions such as time, but surely a conversation couldn’t have happened that quickly?

“Well?” Draco demanded. “What happened?”

Raphael glanced only briefly at him, turning her attention towards Gabriel. “He says he would like time.”

“We’ve been giving him time. It’s not been doing anything,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Not long enough,” Raphael disagreed. “We had so much time, Gabriel. Time he hasn’t had.”

…What the bloody hell? No. No. They weren’t just going to leave Michael like that, were they?

Luna looked just as upset, so that was good. She glanced at him, and they turned towards the angels to protest, though Gabriel beat them to it.

“What exactly did he say, Raphael?” Gabriel asked. “Wasn’t it you who told us he’s masking?”

“Yes, but I understand that. I went through it myself. He and I – we’re very similar.” Raphael hesitated, looking as uncertain as Michael did sometimes. It was uncanny despite the different physical features. She sighed. “He said there’s no issue. Pointed out we’re very similar and that he needs time. The same time I needed. He was…reassuring.”

Oh, of course. That was Michael in a nutshell. He could be so very reassuring that he had everything handled.

Draco choked out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face and pinching his nose.

“He asked that we trust him,” Raphael continued speaking. “Trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

When Draco looked up, he saw Gabriel also now rubbing a hand over his face. He seemed frustrated, which was relieving. It seemed like Gabriel wasn’t about to just let it be like he had before. It seemed like Michael had been right that Gabriel was trying.

He glanced back at Luna, who was worrying at her lower lip and looking at Gabriel. On seeing him looking, she gave him a brief smile, reaching out to squeeze his arm. She didn’t let go.

“Like this, sister?” Gabriel’s tone was warm and reassuring. He sounded…different, and Luna’s hand on Draco’s spasmed, her eyes widening.

Draco looked away from her face, watching Gabriel in confusion. Raphael seemed taken aback, the most surprised Draco had ever seen her. There was no such surprise with Lucifer, though Draco was unable to read what was on his face.

“It’s going to be okay, right?” Gabriel said, smiling. His tone was gentle, still very reassuring. “Hey, I got it handled.” He laughed, flashing a quicksilver grin that brightened his face. “It’s all good, yeah? There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Gabriel—” Raphael protested.

Luna squeezed his arm again, inhaling sharply. Draco glanced at her and then back at Gabriel, unsure of what she was seeing.

“I got this,” Gabriel said, reassuring and calm. It was much bolder than Michael’s statements but no less reassuring.

“This might make things worse,” Raphael cautioned.

Gabriel glanced at Draco and Luna, shooting them both a reassuring smile. “Things are already fucked, Raphael. Besides, fixing things is what I do.” He disappeared an instant later. Unlike with Raphael, there was no sound of wings.

Lucifer sighed, looking over at Raphael. “That is what Michael did to you. He’s very good at it – always has been. Gabriel is as well, though I can call him on his bullshit.”

Raphael’s lips were flat. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Lucifer said. “Not always. He’s good enough to hide from me at times.” There was a rueful twist at his mouth, a grimace of sorts.

“What was that?” Luna asked. “He…changed.”

Raphael and Lucifer both looked at her, the motion so similar Draco was reminded they really were siblings.

“He’s part human,” Lucifer said after a moment. “You probably saw his soul.”

“Is that…what I’m seeing in you, too?”

“Yes and no. I’m not part human. I’m an artificial intelligence.”

Draco checked with Luna to see if that was a term he should know and was relieved to see Luna looked just as uncomprehending.

Lucifer laughed, though the sound didn’t seem unkind. “Artificial intelligences have been theorized in Muggle books by your time. Some scientists have even made attempts at creating some, though they’re very rudimentary. What Gabriel – Tony – created is a truly self-learning program that’s able to evolve and grow on its own. You’ve met Dummy and his siblings; they’re just like me.”

That didn’t really explain much for Draco. Dummy, Butterfingers, and You seemed like humans, even if…very weird ones. That didn’t need to use the bathroom.

“Have you seen a computer?” Raphael asked them.

It was another word Draco was unfamiliar with. Thankfully Luna also shook her head.

Lucifer hummed, expression thoughtful. “Consider it…like a spell that’s able to respond to you. You have spells you can use to search for things or write things down, but what if they were suddenly able to predict what you need? Extrapolate from previous habits to determine what should be next? And what if they were able to speak to you?” On seeing understanding fill their expressions, Lucifer nodded. “There you go. That’s an artificial intelligence. Well, roughly speaking, anyway.”

It was…kind of him to explain that to them. Lucifer didn’t need to, but he had. It was…very odd.

“I’d try talking to him myself,” Lucifer said, “but for a variety of reasons that’s…not a good idea. Gabriel’s the next best bet, since he’s as stubborn as they come.”

“Michael’s pretty bloody stubborn, too,” Draco reluctantly admitted.

Lucifer snorted. “I know.” He sounded fond. “But between those two…I’d put my money on Gabriel.”

Draco wasn’t sure how much to believe Lucifer, but Raphael didn’t seem to disagree, so he supposed that meant something.

Luna squeezed Draco’s arm again, then finally let it go. Draco had entirely forgotten she was even holding it.

“Thank you,” Luna said.

Raphael shook her head. “We should thank you instead. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“You should have known,” Draco said.

There were twin grimaces.

“We knew,” Lucifer said. “But we were hoping it would sort itself out. Obviously it didn’t.”

Nothing ever sorted itself out with Michael unless someone went ahead and poked him. Michael was only ever insistent on change when it came to others.

“Obviously,” Draco said instead.

There was a faint, answering smile that flickered over Lucifer’s lips.

They didn’t say anything else for some time. Draco stuffed his hands in his robe pockets and considered the artwork in the room. There were a few paintings on the walls, much less bizarre than the ones in Michael’s room and with more normal subject matter such as books, water, or a serene landscape with a tree being struck by lightning. Much more normal.

The carpets in the room were all very soft and a multitude of colors and patterns. There were some very thick blankets on the couches. Despite the ostentatious nature of this room being inside a palace, it was clear it had been designed primarily for comfort.

It was the exact opposite of a similar room in Draco’s own manor. Which was only to be expected but still disappointing.

Draco was in the middle of contemplating the design styles of the pillars when something skittered over his skin. His hairs rose on end, and he swallowed, his stomach churning with dread. Luna had also stiffened, so he wasn’t imagining things.

Yet it was Lucifer and Raphael’s reactions which alarmed him. Both of them looked in the same direction, at the far wall, clearly on edge.

Something vibrated through Draco, and it almost felt like the earth beneath his feet shifted before as suddenly as it had come, it was gone and it felt like a weight had lifted. He drew in a sharp gasp, feeling like he’d been under water.

“Was that—” Luna sounded just as breathless.

“Gabriel did it,” Raphael said, relieved.

“You should stop doubting him,” Lucifer said.

“There are very few I don’t doubt, and while Gabriel is one of them, Michael is the second. Though in this case, it does seem that Gabriel out-stubborned Michael.”

Lucifer hummed, still looking at the wall. After a moment, he glanced back at Draco and Luna. “Gabriel took him off world, but they’re fine.”

“That didn’t feel fine,” Draco said.

Lucifer shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Is that the first time Michael’s been somewhat emotional?”

Draco didn’t quite want to answer that, not to Lucifer, but Luna shook her head without hesitation.

“He probably kept it under control then, not wanting to hurt you. This was slightly different. Gabriel moved them so he could let it out.”

“Where?” Draco asked.

“Off Asgard.” Lucifer’s expression was slightly distant. “Though Gabriel’s hiding, so that’s as much as I can give you.”

Draco pressed his lips together. He had to trust Gabriel had Michael’s best interests at heart. He didn’t have a choice here.

Why couldn’t they have been enough for Michael? Why was it that his old family, the ones that had hurt him, were the ones who could speak to him and actually get him to listen? It wasn’t fair.

“You should speak to Steve.”

It took Draco a moment to realize Lucifer was speaking to him. He looked up at him, frowning. Steve?

Lucifer shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “It might help.”

“Help with what?” Draco asked warily.

“With everything between you and Michael,” Lucifer said. “I’d normally suggest Loki, but he’s…probably not the best idea here, so Steve.”

Draco went cold. “What about Michael and me?”

Lucifer took a moment to answer, watching Draco closely. “You’re in love with him.”

Mortification suffused him, hot and scorching. He wanted to turn around and run. Who else was able to see that? Was Michael? Had he just been too polite to say anything?

“Not judging,” Lucifer said gently, “but we’re not the best ones to give advice on this. I’m uninterested, as is Raphael, and Gabriel just now realized Loki’s been more invested in the relationship than Gabriel’s been. Steve was human, and he can give you some advice. He’s good at that.”

“Why do you care?” Draco forced out through numb lips.

“Michael’s my brother,” Lucifer said simply. “He cares about you. And judging by how things have been going so far, he’s never going to do anything about it.”

“I would have thought you’d be happy enough just laughing at him from the sidelines.”

Lucifer’s smile was strained. “…No. Never. It was…never like that.”

No, it was just that he’d killed Michael.

Still…Steve wasn’t terrible. He was…very Muggle, but Draco hadn’t interacted much with Muggles at all. Steve seemed nice enough. If Draco wanted to talk to him.

“You don’t have to,” Lucifer said. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Draco double-checked that his Occlumency shields were still tight, which they were.

“It may take them a while,” Lucifer said, “so no need to wait here.”

Luna grabbed hold of Draco’s arm. She hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, Samael.”

Lucifer’s smile this time looked more genuine. “Anytime, Luna.”

Draco knew that Lucifer had another name, though he hadn’t thought about using it. Not when his motives were still so unclear.

But maybe they were less so now.

“That went well,” Luna commented once they were out of the room.

Draco would reserve judgment until he saw Michael again, but he could hope, couldn’t he?

He’d let Luna tell the others what happened.

Draco saw Steve a few more times over the rest of the day, usually alongside a few of the other Muggles. Though Michael had said they were part angel now. Angel-Muggle? How did that even work?

They looked human enough, but so had Michael. Yet these also behaved human in a way Michael had never managed.

Steve seemed nice enough. The others looked up to him, usually literally as he was the tallest of Gabriel’s friends, but he also seemed the most approachable. As far as suggestions went, approaching him wasn’t a bad idea.

But it just seemed…odd. That Steve and apparently also Loki both loved Gabriel.

He considered the option for a while, staying clear of the others and their worrying over Michael. It was well into evening by the time he’d made up his mind, and then he had to find Steve, which took some time given how large the palace was.

He eventually found him in an interior courtyard, one with a small fountain burbling in the middle. There was grass and some small trees in the corners, along with benches. Steve was here, but so was Peggy, the two of them sharing one of the benches. They had drinks in hand and seemed to be sitting in companionable silence.

It was startlingly intimate, and Draco almost turned around and left before Steve noticed him and waved him over.

“I can come back,” Draco said, awkward.

“It’s fine,” Peggy assured him, smiling. She squeezed Steve’s hand.

“You can have a seat,” Steve said. He seemed to realize a moment later that he and Peggy were on the only bench and the next one was too far out of earshot to be comfortable. “Or…hm…”

Draco solved the issue by conjuring a chair. It wasn’t very comfortable, but conjuring wasn’t his specialty.

“I forgot you could do that.” Steve looked down at his hands briefly before smiling up at Draco. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Draco hesitated. “…Samael suggested it.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “She did?”

Draco blinked. “She?”

“Sam doesn’t care either way. It amuses her when people try to guess.”

Draco could see that. “What’s the right guess?”

“Ne,” Steve answered, which didn’t even sound like a word. More like a butchered “no” like how Americans butchered the English language with their accents.

“Ne,” Draco repeated slowly. “Which is…?”

“Nothing, really. When I said Sam doesn’t care, ne really doesn’t. Angels aren’t male or female; they just take pity on us.” Steve’s voice was wry.

Draco frowned, looking down at the cobblestones. He knew Michael wasn’t actually the human he looked like. He hadn’t thought further beyond that and what it meant.

“If Michael hasn’t said anything about it, it’s likely he doesn’t care either,” Steve said gently. “From what Tony’s said, they tend to go by what their vessel is. Some are different – like Sam – but it’s a safe bet usually.”

Draco leaned an elbow against an armrest, unsure exactly of how to best broach this topic. “Samael said…you’d be the best one to speak to about…relationships.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose, then lowered. “Oh. Well…” He glanced askance at Peggy, who seemed amused. “I guess…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to help, but sure.”

Great. Now Draco had no idea how to ask what he wanted to know beyond being blunt.

Steve took a drink from his cup. His ears looked a little red. “I’m not actually in a relationship with Tony. That’s…Loki. It’s been too long for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve.” Peggy sounded reproving. “He loves you all the same.”

Steve shrugged. “I know. It doesn’t change that it’s been a very long time.”

“Some things haven’t changed.”

Steve’s smile was rueful. “No. That’s true enough.” Sighing, he looked back at Draco. “Angels don’t love like we do. Like humans,” he amended.

“I know that.” Draco barely kept the annoyance out of his voice.

“I’m not saying that to warn you off it,” Steve said. “It never worked on me before. But you need to know what that means so you can decide for yourself. For an angel…when they love something – love someone – that’s what they focus on. They make decisions based on that, on that love. It can be…dangerous, having that power.” He tapped his finger against his cup. “Castiel’s the only one I know of who’s in love with a human like that.”

Draco frowned. “But you and Gabriel… Tony…”

“He doesn’t love me like that,” Steve said plainly. “He doesn’t love Loki like that either. But he loves us all the same, differently than with others. It’s not all focused on one person.”

“He has his favorites, you mean.”

“Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.” Steve’s smile was wry. “And Michael… I don’t know him well. I don’t know him at all, really. But I can see he loves all of you.”

“I know that.” That wasn’t the issue. Michael had made that so painstakingly clear before.

Steve sighed, giving him a small smile. “I’m guessing he wanted you to find someone else and be happy?”

Draco said nothing.

Steve nodded, still with that small smile that seemed far too understanding. It would have upset Draco if it also seem entirely genuine. “They can’t love like humans. Like you do. But it doesn’t mean they can’t commit. It just means you make something of your own – something different.”

Draco looked down at the cobblestones again. “What do you have?”

“I have his friendship,” Steve said. “I also know I can talk to him and he’ll always be there for me. He gave me a home, and I’ll never forget that.”

Stealing a glance at Peggy showed no jealousy on her face, just simple understanding and love.

“You did find something else,” Draco noted.

“Ah…well…” Steve scratched at his cheek. “That was all Tony, really.”

Draco tried to imagine Michael finding him a date. For some reason he just pictured Michael dropping some random person in front of Draco and disappearing, like a cat.

“It wasn’t new,” Steve continued. “Peggy and I…we had something before I ever met Tony, but it didn’t work out at the time. Tony gave us a second chance.”

“I see.” Draco didn’t quite have that chance. It had only ever been Michael.

“We’re not the same,” Steve said. “Michael isn’t Tony. Whatever you decide to do, it’ll be yours. But you’ll have to make it yourself because it’ll never be the same as what humans have.”

Draco pulled on his sleeve, fingering the fabric. “I don’t… I don’t want pity.”

“I understand that. I wouldn’t want it either. I know Tony doesn’t do things out of pity, but I don’t know about Michael. You know him better.”

Draco couldn’t see Michael doing anything out of pity. He shook his head. “He wouldn’t.” Yet he also didn’t know if Michael would be open to the possibility of revisiting this topic. Not after he’d so clearly stated last time that Draco was too young and needed to find someone else.

“Loki might be a better idea to talk to,” Steve said after a hesitant moment.

“…Samael said he wasn’t a good idea.”

There was another moment of deliberation. “I’ll help,” Steve said firmly.

“This I have to see,” Peggy said dryly.

Steve rolled his eyes, huffing. He was smiling, though, as he stood. “Would you like to talk to him?”

Draco had only seen Loki in passing. The most he’d seen of him had been that first day, and they’d been swarmed by everyone else so Draco had never spoken a word to him. “Is he more likely to give better advice?”

Steve winced, though he was still smiling. “Well…I’m sure you’d be better able to read between the lines than I will. And he’s been involved with Tony for much longer. Otherwise I could snag Castiel somehow, but I don’t think his advice would apply. He’s…very different from the others.”

Draco wasn’t sure if Steve was aware that he made it sound like Castiel being different was a bad thing. Or maybe that was just Draco.

“Your help would be appreciated,” Draco said eventually. “I’ll speak to Loki.”

Despite this being Steve’s suggestion, he did seem a little worried. He also seemed to know exactly where to go, leading Draco unerringly to a bedroom. The style didn’t seem to fit Loki. There was too much junk in there, along with a floridly pink blanket. Loki seemed more like he preferred darker colors.

Loki was out on the balcony, not even deigning to come inside when they entered. “Is this an emergency or can it wait?”

“Not even for some old friends?” Steve said cheerfully, heading to the balcony.

Loki didn’t even turn around to face them, looking out at the twinkling lights of Asgard. “I was unaware we were friends, Steven.”

“Ally, friend, whichever you prefer.” Steve set his cup down on the railing, glancing over his shoulder at Draco. “Tony isn’t back.”

“I trust you have not come here to inform me of matters of which I am already aware.”

“Not quite.” Steve leaned against the railing, facing Loki. “Draco has some questions. I tried my best to help out, but I think your input would be more valuable.”

At this, Loki did finally look back at Draco. His green eyes briefly skimmed over Peggy before dismissing her and settling on Draco. “I assume your questions are not about the magic of this realm.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s…about your relationship with Gabriel.”

Loki arched an eyebrow. “Why would that interest you?”

It was almost like talking to another Slytherin. No matter. Draco was good at that. “From what I understand, angels don’t have relationships.”

Loki scoffed. “Gabriel is not just any angel.”

“I know he’s partly human.”

“That is not of which I speak.”

“I’m aware he’s different, but he is still an archangel, isn’t he? Steve told me a little.”

“Did he?” Loki shot an innocent Steve a sharp look. “Why are you so interested, little dragon?”

Draco resisted the urge to bristle at the name. “Michael’s my friend.”

“Yes,” Loki drawled, “a fact of which I am aware.” He paused, pinning Draco in place with a sharp look. “Gabriel is not Michael. Comparing them will not help you.”

“I’m aware they’re different,” Draco said, cross. “That isn’t why I’m asking. I’m asking you because you’re in love with Gabriel, but from what I understand, Gabriel isn’t.”

Loki was very still.

It wasn’t the same sort of pressure as with Michael, but Draco still had the impression of having poked something he shouldn’t have. He didn’t move.

When Loki spoke, his voice was silky, dark, sending shivers down Draco’s spine. “Who are you to say what Gabriel feels and does not feel?”

“Loki.” Steve’s voice was quiet. Something warm and protective curled over Draco, feeling very different than Michael.

Loki bared his teeth. “Steven.”

“I told him.” Steve’s voice was steel now. “Of all of us, I have that right.”

Loki sneered, then turned away. “You were dead, Steven. Don’t presume to know what you missed.”

“I was dead, but I wasn’t blind. I saw what happened.”

“Did you really?”

“I saw enough, and I know Tony.”

Loki turned back towards Steve, eyes glittering. “You were not the one with him over the millennia. Over the thousands and millions of years I remained by his side. You were not the one who took his mind off the loss of you, after you could no longer bear the weight of existence. Do not presume to tell me you know Gabriel after everything.”

If it had been Draco, he would very likely have called it quits here and decided to come back when Loki wasn’t quite so agitated. On the other hand, Steve didn’t budge. He just looked at Loki, lips pressed together. He would absolutely have been a Gryffindor.

“You’re right,” Steve said eventually. “You’ve spent more time with him than I have. You’ve known him longer. But he’s still Tony. And I doubt that what he told me all those years ago changed. Am I wrong?”

Loki stared at Steve for a long moment, eyes piercing, before he finally turned away again. This time it was to look at Draco. “You wish to know of my relationship?” His voice was cool. “I fail to see why you would. His brother would do you no good, but very well. He cannot give you what you seek. They are not human; they do not feel as you do. You will devote your time and energy into it but get little in return but for what they are capable of.” There was no vitriol in his tone, just a cold reiteration of facts.

Draco blinked at him, taken aback. “…You speak of that like you aren’t in a relationship with one of them.”

“Irrelevant. You wished my advice; you have it.”

“It’s relevant. You…seem to resent him.”

“Resent? No.” Loki scoffed, laughing. “I knew what he was capable of. I knew what he was able to give. The better question is, do you?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Draco asked, fingers curling in, hidden in his robes. “I’m looking for more of an explanation than one offered by one of them.” Because he loved Michael but he did know that words were not Michael’s strength.

“I fail to see why you are here,” Loki drawled. “His brother leaves much to be desired, but I suppose there is no accounting for taste.”

“I suppose not,” Draco said coolly, “as you’re speaking of matters you know nothing of.”

“Nothing?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “You were not present when Gabriel suffered as a result of his brother’s inaction. You did not see what happened because Michael refused to act.”

But Draco could see exactly why Michael had been so stuck for so long. He could see why Michael had drawn in on himself like a crumple-horned snorkack when people like Loki rubbed it into his face. “No,” he said, clipped, “but you weren’t there when he changed. When he regretted what happened and what he didn’t do. I don’t know Michael from before, but I know him now, and I like him now. He chose to continue being my friend despite everything I did. I would be a very poor friend if I held his past actions against him when he’s given me a second chance.” He paused. “A second chance people like you refuse to give him.”

“I give him nothing he does not deserve.”

“Loki.” Steve sighed, the sound reproving. “Draco. Enough.”

“You were with me at the time, Steven, or have you forgotten?”

“I didn’t forget,” Steve said wearily. “But I also don’t hold grudges like you. More importantly, it’s about Tony.”

“Gabriel forgives far too easily.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, he does, but that’s his choice, isn’t it?”

“And this is mine.” Loki turned his gaze back to Draco. “You wished my advice? Then know he cannot love you like you love him. The love he has is different, and you must decide if that is enough for you or if you would prefer that of a human.”

Draco swallowed, meeting and holding Loki’s eyes. His anger cooled slightly. He wasn’t foolish enough to turn aside advice like this. “You don’t seem the type to settle.”

Loki smirked, leaning back against the balcony railing. “I have not. His love is not the same, but it means all the more for those he gives it to. He chose me. Would your Michael choose you?”

Draco didn’t know. “I appreciate it,” he said instead. “I don’t agree with your opinion of Michael, but I appreciate that you were willing to lend your advice all the same. Thank you.” The words tasted like ash.

Loki’s smirk widened. “Well. Thor could learn something from you about how to flatter someone.” He looked back at Steve. “If there is nothing else emergent, then I would highly suggest you leave.”

Draco knew a dismissal when he heard one. He left the room with Steve and Peggy shortly behind him.

“Did that help?” Steve asked him once he closed the door.

Draco looked up at him, somewhat reminded of a large dog. “It’s given me something to think on.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Steve said. “My door’s open if you need to talk to someone about it. Or you can talk to your friends about it. I know it’s easier if you’re able to share it. And in my case…talking to Tony about it would have been really awkward.”

Ah yes. About as awkward as talking to Michael about this and getting a very stilted response because while Michael was good at many things, he was not good at emotions. Draco was very painfully aware of this.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Draco said. “Thank you for the assistance. I’ll let you two be.”

He had some things to think on.

#first born #my writing #the last archangel #bonus scene #seventh year: reconciliations

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tracingpatternswrites · 4 months

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The Patchwork of Us | Chapter 10

(I'm just copy/pasting my A/N notes into this post)

My darlings! I'm feeling quite emotional now that I'm about to post the final chapter of this story.

I cannot tell you all how incredibly blown away and happy I am over the reception of this fic. It started as a silly idea and having so many people reading along and commenting has really made this into such a special journey.

In this country, we celebrate Christmas on the 24th so I'm back in my childhood home tonight, and I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room writing/editing/posting Wolfstar fanfic while my family watches telly around me and it's like I'm 16 years old again (and not like it was 16 years since I used to do this, hush).

Anyway, I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has joined me on this journey and everyone who has read and kudoed and commented so far. Without you, this wouldn't be as fun. I'm so humbled and grateful that you have fallen in love with these idiots (and Teddy) the same as I have. Thank you!

Also a special thank you to @heartofspells and @squintclover for being so encouraging, for betaing, for bouncing ideas and for always, always, always being my biggest cheerleaders when I have a new bizarre AU idea. I love you both!

I will post the actual full post for this fic tomorrow, but you can read it from the beginning here.

Snippet below the cut.

“Why can’t I come?” Teddy asked, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout as he kicked his legs against the side of the tub.

He was perched on the edge of it, watching as Sirius was getting himself ready. Sirius had pulled his hair up into a ponytail, studying his face in the mirror. He was pondering whether or not he should add some eyeliner or if that would be too much. He would have to leave in a few minutes if he didn’t want to be late. His heart was fluttering happily in his chest as he thought about the evening.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date, and he felt quite out of practice. He used to be pretty good at them, but as with everything it seemed to become more and more daunting the longer he put it off. The last one he’d been to had been well before Teddy had come into his life.

He’d hooked up with some guys since then, of course. It had usually happened when his friends (with James at the forefront, cheered on by Dora) had dragged him to a club. It had never turned into anything more than a casual hook-up though, and Sirius knew that was mostly his own fault. He hadn’t felt ready for a relationship, everything with Dora and Teddy had just felt too complicated.

This was different though. Remus was different, and Sirius felt comfortable admitting that to himself now. Remus was already a part of his life, of Teddy’s life. He was someone who was already there and would be there, regardless of what Sirius thought about it. That was a thought that both thrilled and terrified him.

It was a gamble, of course, because so much was at stake, but it still felt like it made sense. Asking Remus out had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, he was floating high in post-orgasm, but the light in the other man’s eyes had told him immediately that it had been the right thing to do.

For a while he had thought that the fight between Remus and James would get in the way, but as Sirius had learnt a long time ago it was impossible to stay angry with James Potter for more than five minutes. Remus had tried his best, Sirius had to admit that much, but in the end nothing ever stood in the way once James Potter had set his mind on something. For the past week he had put every little bit of energy into making Remus forgive him, and by the way he had turned up to celebrate a couple of nights ago he had finally succeeded.

Remus had admitted as much, too. He had said he’d forgiven James for not telling him straight away, and that they’d had a good conversation about it. Remus hadn’t told him any details though, and neither had James, clearly set on keeping his promise to Remus not to spill any more of his secrets. It was okay, Sirius thought, because he figured Remus needed someone in his life that he could trust. Someone aside from Sirius, that was, because he had promised himself that he would be one of the people that Remus could depend on from now on.

Sirius had asked Harry to come over and watch Teddy while he was gone, and that had seemed like a winning concept up until just now, when Teddy had suddenly changed his mind. Once he had clocked that Sirius was going to meet up with Remus, he had been nagging Sirius’ ear off about being allowed to tag along. Sirius loved Teddy, and he was happy that the boy clearly wanted to spend time with him and Remus both, but had really been looking forward to having some alone time with Remus.

“Padfoot!” Teddy’s impatient voice yanked Sirius out of his thoughts. “Why can’t I come?”

“Not this time,” said Sirius before deciding he might just as well go all in, and he carefully applied the eyeliner before smoothing it out with a finger. “You can see Remus tomorrow.”

“But I wanna see him now ,” Teddy pouted, and Sirius smiled a little as he turned around to look at the boy.

“I know, but me and Remus are going to have dinner alone tonight.”

“But why ?” Teddy demanded with a frown.

“Because,” Sirius replied, and this time he grinned as Teddy gave an unimpressed huff.

“That’s not a reason,” Teddy complained. “You always tell me that’s not a reason.”

Sirius laughed, “Well, this time me and Remus want to have some time alone, we have…adult things we need to do.”

It was the truth, Sirius thought, because he had a feeling he’d spend most of the evening picturing how Remus would look bent over various surfaces.

“What adult things?” Teddy demanded, but Sirius was saved by the knock on the door.

“That’s Harry,” Sirius said. “Go let him in, I’ll be down in a bit.”

Sirius chuckled to himself as Teddy stomped down the stairs, and when he heard the front door being yanked open he went into his bedroom to check himself in the mirror. He smoothed his shirt out, half-turning to check his arse in his jeans. He looked pretty good; he knew that he cleaned up well but it was nice to see that he hadn’t lost it even if he was out of practice.

He slipped his silver rings onto his fingers before throwing one last look at himself and then venturing downstairs. He found Harry and Teddy in the living room, and he had a horrible feeling that he blushed faintly as Harry let out a wolf whistle at the sight of him.

“You clean up good, Padfoot. Hoping to score?” he smirked, and he looked so much like James just then that Sirius very nearly flipped him off before he remembered that it was, in fact, not James but his seventeen-year-old godson and he was sitting next to an eight-year-old.

Continue on AO3.

#the patchwork of us #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #teddy lupin #muggle au #read on ao3 #hp fanfic #my writing

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piived · 3 months

Text

Justice is Swift (Vengeance is Sweet) — a DPxDC Dead on Main Fic

chapter three has arrived!

master post || <- ch.2 || ch.3 shitposts

CHAPTER THREE — ANGEL IN DISGUISE

Summary —

Danny has a (literal) run-in with someone at a coffee shop, an interesting conversation with some friends, a near-miss with another mugger, and has some more home invaders. Jason and Tim start putting some more pieces together.

chapter word count — 7,646

full chapter under the cut, but for the best experience read on ao3 and consider leaving kudos/comments as they fuel me :)

𓆩⟡𓆪

Danny let himself splurge on decent coffee once a week, a little treat to help with the general chaos of juggling a full load of intense college classes. He had discovered a lovely little coffee shop nearby campus with a caring staff who fulfilled Danny’s truly exorbitant espresso wishes without even batting an eye.

He loved Gotham, truly.

What he did not love, was getting said heavenly coffee splashed over his chest and spilled on the floor, a truly devastating (and expensive) brown puddle that reflected his blank face as he stared down into it with a resigned sigh.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry!” A deep voice broke him out of his mourning and he glanced up at the douche that had bumped into him and caused the tragedy seeping below his sneakers as they stood there. Well, the douche at least had the decency to be the hottest guy Danny had ever seen. He would take the spilled holy nectar any day to have the chance to see the face staring at him in panicked apology. (Danny was maybe a tad bit sleep deprived and loopy at the moment. Fruit loop loopy. Ha.)

“Uh, you okay?” Danny scrubbed a hand down his face to clear his head and bit down a hysterical bark of laughter and instead shot a rueful smile at the literal Angel looking at him with what was now concern, gorgeous blue eyes wide and large hand hovering as if to steady Danny but not sure if the touch would be welcomed. (It most certainly would be.)

“Yeah, you’re good, man,” Danny tried for nonchalance despite kind of wanting to cry in the corner at the loss of his much needed caffeine. He did not have time to go back to his apartment to make a shitty cup of the instant coffee he made do with every other day of the week. “Don’t worry about it.”

The guy looked worried regardless. An employee came over with a mop and paper towels which the guy took with a grateful smile that brought a flush to the barista’s cheeks. Danny felt a sense of kinship towards her, because at least he wasn’t the only one clearly affected by the Angel’s charm.

Danny stepped away from the puddle to let the clearly underpaid employee get the spill mopped up, glad that his shoes only left a slight trail of the liquid, and made grabby motions for the paper towels. Angel Boy passed him the stack and Danny started patting his shirt down. Of course he chose to wear a mostly white one today too, no jacket in sight because Danny was an idiot who didn’t want to carry it around when he inevitably got too warm. Having an ice core that made him near immune to the cold had it’s downsides after all.

“Let me buy you another?” Danny stared at Angel Boy who was now giving him a truly devastatingly pretty smile that made Danny’s gut twist a bit. (He should really have Frostbite run some tests with the amount of swirling his gut had been doing lately. Maybe something was wrong with him.)

“Uh, you don’t have to,” Danny said after a moment and Angel Boy shook his head.

“No, I insist,” Angel said and Danny had a pang of déjà vu but waved it off. “It’s the least I can do after giving yours away to the floor,” Angel glanced at Danny’s shirt and winced, “And for ruining your shirt. Just, wait here?”

Danny could only nod as Angel walked to the counter and turned his charming smile to the cashier who nodded and waved off his card, much to Danny’s chagrin. He was positive he wouldn’t manage to get a free coffee. He had the charm of a particularly slow slug at the moment and his eye bags were probably enough to scare off even Skulker. He watched in swooning amusement as Angel snuck in a few bills (probably much more than the drink itself cost, from the look of it) to the tip jar when the barista’s back was turned and then frowned in confusion as the guy then ran out the door, bell left swinging behind him.

Well, that was that, then. He sighed in disappointment and gave up on dabbing at his shirt after another moment and made sure his shoes were wiped before throwing the soiled napkins in the garbage. He turned around to see if he would actually have a drink waiting at the counter or if it had all been some sort of joke, and startled when he came face to face with Angel Boy a foot away, holding out a large fresh cup of what Danny hoped to be at least as strong as his original order and what looked like a black shirt draped over his arm. Was this guy a speedster or something? How the fuck did he get back so fast? Danny ignored his confusion and took the offered cup gratefully, eyes widening after a careful sip.

Angel laughed, “Like it?”

Danny nodded, taking another sip, “What the hell is in this?”

Angel shrugged, “Same thing my overworked and chronically sleep deprived brother usually gets to try and ‘fight the demons’ or something. You struck me as the type to appreciate it. I had her put the recipe on the side for you.”

Sure enough, Danny found the order written on the side, and at the bottom was a string of numbers. Danny nearly rolled his eyes. Figured.

“I think she left you a little something,” Danny turned the cup and tapped the numbers for Angel to see. The guy just flushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, actually that’s for you.”

Danny blinked and then cocked his head to look around Angel’s shoulder to get a look at the girl. She was cute, sure, but after seeing Angel, Danny wasn’t sure he’d be able to find anyone else attractive ever again. (He was definitely being melodramatic. Val would be proud. Sam would smack him upside the head. Tucker would be laughing his ass off. He’s never telling them anything about this.)

He was brought back by a breathy laugh and a more red-faced Angel Boy. “Mine, not hers.”

And, oh.

Oh.

Danny short-circuited.

“My name’s Jason,” Angel Boy, Jason, smiled and stuck his hand out. Danny smiled back and grabbed it, reveling in how warm and nice it felt in his own.

“Danny,” he managed to say without even a crack or stutter. (Tucker would be so fucking proud of him. He’s so telling them about this.)

Angel, no, Jason, grinned a bit wider and squeezed his hand once more before letting go and Danny immediately missed the warmth, cradling his coffee to try and bring it back (it wasn’t the same).

“Well, I’m sorry again, Danny. If you ever want a do-over I’d love to not douse you in coffee next time.”

Danny laughed, “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t mind that.”

They grinned at each other before Jason startled out of it with a soft, “Oh!” He held out what was definitely a black shirt and Danny stared. “I thought you might like a shirt that I didn’t spill coffee on. I keep an extra in my bike bag just in case. It’s clean, I promise.”

Danny glanced outside and sure enough there was a gleaming black motorcycle parked in front of the doors. Of course the guy rode a motorcycle. Danny was going to fucking swoon.

He did not swoon, and instead composed himself enough to take the offered shirt with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Jason smiled, “No problem, least I could do.”

Danny begged to differ but kept the sentiment to himself. Jason was clearly a gentleman.

His phone beeped in warning and he swore, “I’m gonna be late for class. Thank you for the coffee and the shirt, I really appreciate it.”

“Like I said, least I could do,” Jason waved him off, walking with him towards the door where Danny turned to duck into the bathroom and change. Just before he turned Jason stopped him with a warm hand on his wrist and sparkling eyes.

“Text me?”

Danny grinned and promised, “Yeah, I will.”

Jason left with a gentle squeeze and Danny had to force his feet to start working again and not stare as Jason straddled his bike.

Holy shit.

As he ran to class he shot off a simple ‘Hey, it’s Danny’ with a cheeky coffee cup emoji to the number on the cup and had to force down a giddy, disbelieving laugh.

His life rocked.

—

He managed to keep his good spirits up the rest of the week and was still riding the high when he met Bernard and Tim for their now weekly café hangout.

“You’re in a good mood,” Bernard commented as Danny took the seat across from the couple. He shrugged but kept smiling, taking the offered coffee cup with a quick thanks.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” the week had been good after his run in with Jason. He managed to catch up on the sleep he lost from pulling a couple all-nighters for homework and the chaos of coordinating with Jazz to get Ellie’s paperwork and trying to find the best school for her to enroll at. Classes were going smooth, Ellie was settling in, he hadn’t heard anything from Red Robin or Red Hood, and, oh yeah, he and Jason had been texting a lot. A lot, a lot. And they had plans to meet up Saturday morning for another try at a coffee shop. Danny had to remind himself that it wasn’t technically a date, but it was hard when every time his phone buzzed his heart did a flip.

He was being completely normal about this.

“This have anything to do with Angel Boy?” Danny blushed and regretted ever telling Bernard anything. He groaned into his hands.

“Can you just forget that entire conversation?”

Bernard shook his head, “Nope! It was hilarious and I now must hold it over your head forever more. Friend duties and all that.”

Tim looked between the two in amusement and Danny glared at Bernard in warning. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed but Bernard, the traitor, did indeed dare.

Danny sighed and pillowed his head in his folded arms as Bernard retold the story to Tim, but thankfully left out some of Danny’s more embarrassing tangents about the guy’s killer thighs and various muscle toning. Tim looked very amused at the tale and Danny sighed pitifully.

“Tim, your boyfriend is fucking rude. I told him that in three-day sleep-deprived confidence and therefore cannot be held responsible for my gushing.”

Tim nodded in sage agreement and Bernard scoffed at both of them. “That is so not a thing.”

Tim shook his head, “Is too a thing.”

Danny held out a hand and Tim high-fived it, “See! Thank fuck one of you is sane!”

“Whatever, maybe you guys should get more sleep,” Benny, rolled his eyes, “Have you set up a date yet?”

Danny couldn’t stop the smile, “Yeah, we’re going for coffee on Saturday. Hopefully sans the embarrassing spillage and gawking.”

Bernard laughed and Tim smiled and then said, “You want me to run a background check on the guy? Make sure he’s not some crazy weirdo?”

Danny cocked his head, “You can do that?” He knew Tucker had his ways of getting information on people but he wasn’t used to other people having the same type of paranoia and resources.

Tim shrugged, “Perks of being semi-famous and very wealthy. Bruce makes us run background checks on pretty much anyone we speak to more than once.”

Danny narrowed his eyes, “Have you run one on me?”

Tim fidgeted a little and Bernard laughed, throwing his arm over Tim’s shoulder easily. “Of course he did. We had to make sure you weren’t an aforementioned crazy weirdo.”

Danny raised his eyebrows in amusement, “Find anything interesting?” He was sure that the name change would at least pop up but he didn’t truly know if anything about his parents or the GIW would show, depending on how deep the Wayne’s resources could dig. He knew he was on the GIW’s agency watch list in high school but since they were disbanded he had no idea what records would still be active or available. Then again, Red Robin clearly hadn’t seen anything of the sort if his surprise at the topic was any indication, and surely the Bat Posse had more intense resources than nearly anyone with Batman’s ‘World Greatest Detective’ title and association with the Justice League.

Tim shrugged, “A bit, but Berny always tells me it’s rude to pry.”

“That’s because it is, Timmy,” Benny said cheekily and patted his arm, making Tim sigh. “However, now that we’re friends and you’ve been confirmed to, in fact, not be a crazy weirdo, that rule no longer applies to you. Were your parents really ghost hunters?”

Danny huffed a laugh at Bernard’s bluntness and curiosity. He could see that Tim was also curious and he actually found himself comfortable speaking about his life in Amity with them. Well, some of his life in Amity. The basics. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Bernard let out a, “Huh,” and then, “did they ever find anything?”

Danny smirked. “Maybe,” he said mysteriously.

Bernard guffawed, “You can’t just leave it at that!”

Danny laughed, “Okay, okay! Let’s just say that everyone who lives in Amity are definite believers of the supernatural and for good reason.”

Tim leaned forward in curiosity, “What do you mean by that?”

Danny shrugged, “We’ve all had an encounter or two,” or hundreds, “with a ghost or two,” or an entire realm full. “It’s almost impossible not to in that town. I swear it should be considered the most haunted place in America with how often sightings happen.”

“What type of ghosts?” Tim asked and Danny found that particular question a bit odd and the entire situation somewhat familiar for some reason but brushed it off and shrugged.

“All types, really. There was a lunch lady at the high school, Casper High, by the way, I swear they were just asking for it, and a little boy that’s like, obsessed with pirates, and a puppy named Cujo that runs around and sleeps in peoples gardens, but then there’s the real town legend of course.” Maybe he was having a little too much fun with this.

“What’s the legend?” Bernard asked emphatically.

Danny smirked with a wicked gleam, “Phantom.”

—

He left the Physics lecture nearly dead on his feet, having spent the entire time juggling taking notes and fending off Bernard’s incessant questions about Amity and all things ghosts. The conversation had really taken off with Tim and Benny both taking turns asking rapid fire questions that Danny had to be careful how he answered and by the end they were nearly late to their class and Bernard still hadn’t had enough of it.

It amused Danny, a bit, having people so curious about Amity and the ghosts when everyone in Amity were so desensitized to it all that hardly anyone even spoke about the ghosts anymore, accepting their presence as if they were ordinary run of the mill citizens, especially after their fights stopped creating so much damage and people started being able to catch onto what each ghost wanted to accomplish. At worst they were slight annoyances (Boxy rearranging the shelves at the container store to better suit his whims, Ember crashing some festivals and taking over the opening acts stage time, and Cujo digging up some flower beds and scaring the neighborhood cats) and the Amity Parkers were content to leave them be and let Phantom deal with them when they got too rambunctious. (Besides his parents, of course, and the occasional tourist ghost hunter who often caused more damage than the ghosts that they claimed were so dangerous).

He managed to abate his friends curiosity by promising an eventual visit to Amity (despite his reservations of visiting his home town again and all the memories it held) and further stories another time. Danny was almost certain Tim had been taking notes on everything with the way he had his phone under the table and kept glancing down, typing away as they talked. Danny wondered if the guy had a secret interest in the paranormal and if he liked the exaggerated TV shows with the spirit boxes and creepy basements they locked themselves in for no good reason, undoubtedly bothering whatever shades or spirits were lingering around.

He startled out of his thoughts by a flash of blue on a rooftop across the street. Well, at least Danny wouldn’t have to be stopping any muggings tonight, thank the Ancients. He hadn’t had a run-in with any of the other vigilantes and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. He hoped that Red and Hood were keeping things on the down low and would be the only ones ambushing him anytime soon.

Of course, nothing ever went the way Danny wanted it to.

He saw the hooded figure as he entered the alley and had half a mind to back out and take the long way, but something pressed to his lower back ensured that that wasn’t an option. “Keep walking, pretty boy,” the guttural voice demanded and Danny complied easily, biding his time until he could escape.

The hooded figure started walking towards them, meeting them halfway. “Empty your pockets,” Hoodie Guy said, flashing a gun at Danny, causing him to sigh internally. But before he could get do anything, a flash of Blue landed behind Hoodie and took him out at the knees, gun sliding far across the alley. Danny took his opening and twirled away from the guy behind him as he staggered back a step with a shocked curse. He used his momentum to land a solid kick to his side, knocking him against the wall and followed up with a punch to the temple, knocking him out.

He turned to face Nightwing who was staring in shock at Danny and the thug he’d taken down.

“Nice kick,” he said and Danny had to laugh, getting a flashback to Red Hood complimenting his punch.

“Thanks,” Danny said, “And thanks for the help,” he gestured to the two crumpled forms on the ground and Nightwing shrugged.

“Kinda what I’m around for,” he said and then gestured to the thug behind Danny, “but I think you would’ve been just fine without me.”

Danny shrugged, “Maybe, but guns are a bit much for my limited self defense skills.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Nightwing nodded, crouching to swipe the gun and unload it with practiced ease before turning to the thugs with zip-tie cuffs and speaking a quick, “Hey, O, send the GPD to my pin, would ya? Two armed thugs, zip-tied and out for now. Thanks,” into his comms before turning back to Danny with a small grin, “Do you live close by?”

“Just another few minutes past the next dark alleyway,” Danny gestured in the direction.

Nightwing laughed, “Any chance you take the long way instead?”

Danny smirked, “Nope.”

“Want company?”

Danny nodded with a small shrug and started walking, “Well, you’re definitely more polite about it than Red Hood was.”

Nightwing made a noise of surprise, matching his stride, “Oh, you’ve met Hood?”

Danny laughed, “Oh yeah, we’ve met. Red Robin too, though considering he actually broke into my apartment to get information I’d say you have him beat too.”

Nightwing sputtered, “What the hell? Why?”

Danny shrugged, “Thought I was someone else apparently, but didn’t like being told he was wrong, funnily enough.”

Nightwing sighed, “I’d apologize for him but I think we both know that he isn’t sorry about it.”

Danny shrugged, “Yeah, probably not. It’s chill though, we have an agreement that next time he’ll at least knock.”

“Well if he doesn’t, let me know and I’ll kick his butt a bit for you, ‘kay?”

Danny cackled. He liked Nightwing a lot more than the partners of his he’d met. Well, besides Red Hood, maybe. He had invited him to dinner after all, and the guy had left him food. He won out for sure. But Nightwing was definitely an easier first impression.

“So, you go to Gotham U?” Nightwing asked, eyeing his backpack.

“Yeah, I’m a freshman. Got a full ride for Aerospace Engineering,” Danny offered, because why the hell not? At this rate the Bat Posse would have his entire life story complete with baby pictures by the end of the semester.

Nightwing whistled, “Wow, I know their scholarship programs are super competitive so you must have really impressed them.”

Danny had gone for their Inventor’s Scholarship and entered a modified version of one of his parents old, non-patented, ray guns, but specifically designed by Danny to shoot non-lethal energy bursts powered completely by ectoplasm (or as his official spec sheet had listed: an ‘alternate form of clean energy’). He was incredibly proud of it and had plans to modify a lot of his parents’ other inventions they had given up on. He had all of the blueprints and a few boxes in his closet held the devices that he stole from their lab throughout the years.

They chatted idly for the few minutes that it took to reach his building and he waved goodbye with another thanks and a grin, watching the vigilante swing away on his grapple. So much for not interacting with any other vigilantes. Though, at least it seemed that Red and Hood had kept their little investigation to themselves. Nightwing truly didn’t seem to recognize him and Danny was glad for the semblance of privacy, even though he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t last forever, depending on what the two were able to scrounge up. Furthermore, Nightwing reminded Danny a bit of Jazz — something about the guy just screamed ‘older sibling’ energy and Danny couldn’t help but feel more at ease with him around (not to mention the few puns that they had shot back and forth — the Bats were quickly growing on him, which was mildly concerning considering, well, everything about his own past vigilante situation).

He made the trek up the stairs and decided to use his front door rather than phasing through. He was still a bit paranoid that Red Robin may have put up extra surveillance around his apartment to try and catch him off guard. He and Ellie had thoroughly checked the apartment last time they had left and fortunately found nothing (if they had, he would have tracked the vigilante down and shoved whatever camera or microphone down his throat).

He froze as he entered his apartment, letting the scene he was looking at process.

“Close the door, don’t let them out!” Ellie snapped and Danny did as he was told, closing and locking the door as a tiny black fur ball toddled up to him curiously, winding itself around his feet.

“Ellie,” he said carefully, “what did you do?”

Ellie had another fur ball, this one pure white, cradled in her arms, and she looked up at him with her too-wide, ‘I’m so innocent’ eyes. He sighed, knowing already that he would be caving.

She grinned, as if knowing what his sigh meant. “They were abandoned! I found them in a taped up box in an alleyway and couldn’t just leave them!”

Danny sighed again, toeing off his shoes carefully as to not kick the little creature and then scooped it up, staring at it face to face. It was stupidly adorable and gave him a little ‘mew’ in hello. He melted.

“Okay, fair enough. But you could have taken them to a shelter or vet?”

“I don’t trust shelters! They’re already so full and they might kill them or some older ones to make room!” Ellie said in distress and Danny quickly sat next to her and pressed his shoulder to her own.

“Okay, okay! I get it and agree,” he assured her and looked down at the kittens in their arms. “Have you named them yet?”

She shook her head, “Not yet, I wanted to wait for you. Buuut,” she held up the white kitten. “I was thinking Casper for this one?”

Danny groaned, “Who told you about Casper the Ghost?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “Casper is a classic, of course I know him.”

“Great, and you know that my high school was literally Casper High? You want to torture me with the memory of high school every time I look at the thing?”

“Well, ghosts are supposed to be haunting, right?”

He shoved Ellie over and laughed as she held the kitten, Casper, up so it wouldn’t be crushed. “Hey! You could have hurt Casper!”

Danny shook his head, “Nah, you got him.”

She put Casper down and let him wander a bit, finding his way to Danny’s lap. Danny put down his own kitten so they could play. “Now you gotta name the black one.”

Danny looked at Ellie and sighed when he realized she was serious. He looked down and scratched the little things head. “Batman,” he deadpanned and earned a shove back. He cackled.

“No way! That would be so embarrassing if your vigilante friends came back!”

“Yeah, yeah,” not even bothering to argue about the ‘friend’ title, he kept looking at the kitten. “Reaper,” he settled on. Ellie thought it over.

“Casper and Reaper. I like it.”

Danny smiled at her and then frowned, sighing.

“I guess this means we need to go on a supply run then, huh?”

She just shot him a toothy grin in response.

—

Danny let out a steadying breath as his phone rang for their impromptu group call that Danny had asked the gang, including Jazz, to have earlier than their usual weekly recap sessions. Ellie rolled her eyes and pressed the answer button for him, crowding in close to him so her face could be seen along with his own. They had agreed that it was time to let everyone in on the little vigilante snooping problem they were having now that the heroes had made it clear they weren’t going to be leaving the issue alone, and Danny was not looking forward to it.

“Alright, Danny, what shitshow did you get yourself into this time?” Sam’s despondent voice asked and Danny gasped in offense.

“Hey, what makes you think I got myself into trouble? Can’t a guy just want to talk with his best friends?”

Four unimpressed glares stared back at him and he cringed a bit as Ellie cackled.

“Yeah, dude, what’s going on?” Tucker asked, worry clear in his voice and Danny felt a bit bad for not giving them any details past the need for a call.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, so you know how Gotham has it’s hoard of vigilantes?”

Valerie narrowed her eyes, “The group of bat furries? Yeah, D, we helped with the research before you moved there, we know all about them.”

Danny huffed a laugh, “Yeah, well,” he drew out the word and Ellie elbowed him with an eye roll.

“Danny got himself a couple of vigilante stalkers who are now very interested in Amity and all things ghosts.”

Danny sighed and glared at Ellie who just shrugged, “What? It’s true and you were taking forever to say it.”

“Yeah, but I was trying to find a way that wouldn’t do that,” he gestured to the four sets of incredulous eyes blinking back at them. Ellie shrugged again.

“What the fuck, Danny?” Sam exclaimed at the same time as Jazz groaned his name, while Val buried her face in her hands and Tucker started tapping furiously on his PDA.

“Okay, so apparently cutting through some sketchy alleyways and stopping a few muggings while invisible is a pretty good way to get on the city’s protector’s radar, who’d have thunk?”

Sam and Jazz’s eyes widened a bit more, “Danny, please do not tell us that you’ve been using Phantom to stop petty crime in a city that we specifically all agreed that you’d not moonlight in because of the risk of the fucking Batman finding you out.”

Jazz swearing was never a good sign. Danny held his hands up. “Hey! I’m not that dumb!”

Ellie tilted her head with a unconvinced, “Eh,” and Danny pushed her away with a bit of his ghostly strength as she just cackled and didn’t budge much. Stupid ghost clone sisters.

“Seriously, I’m not moonlighting as Phantom, I promise!” Danny turned his attention back to the phone.

“Yeah,” Ellie chimed in, “he’s just gaslighting Red Robin and Red Hood into thinking that he’s being haunted by Phantom.”

Danny groaned again, “Seriously, El, you are not helping.”

“Oh, I think she’s being very enlightening,” Val disagreed, finally lifting her head from her hands to glare at Danny who shrunk back a bit against the force of it. “Now, elaborate.”

“Okay, so it started with Red Hood who kinda saw me let a thug’s fist phase through me when I was getting lightly mugged and he assumed I was a meta, which, honestly was rude and discriminatory if I’m being honest, and I called him out on it too but then he showed up in my apartment a few days later with Red Robin who called me by my old name and had a bunch of creepy stalker-photos of me and the crime scenes and also accused me of being involved with them, so I may have bullshitted and dropped some hints about Amity and ghosts, so,” he sucked in a gulping breath at the end and shrugged, feigning nonchalance “that’s that.”

The silence was damning as they all stared at him and let the rambling words sink in. Tucker was the first to break it.

“So, let me get this straight. You decided it was a good idea to turn yourself invisible to stop some crime, despite the city being under heavy surveillance by the Bats, which I definitely remember warning you about, by the way,” Danny flinched a bit at the reminder, but Tucker continued on, “and then got yourself caught and on the radar of at least two of the city’s vigilantes who confronted you about it and clearly did a background check if they were able to find your parents’ last name and you decided that it was a good idea to tell them to look deeper into Amity and your parents so they would hopefully assume that not only ghosts are in fact real, something we’re apparently assuming they did not know before, but that you brought one with you into Batman’s city and it’s running around stopping criminals? Did I get everything?”

“Oh, and he invited Red Hood to have dinner with him!” Ellie grinned and Danny dropped his head to the desk, whining pitifully at the resounding chaos that her words brought. The portal should have killed him all the way when it had the chance. His life would have been so much simpler.

When the brutal ribbing finally died down, Danny was able to, unsuccessfully, explain and got even more teasing and accusations of having some serious lapses in judgment thrown at him. Eventually, they got back to the serious topics and Danny was more flustered and exhausted than he’d ever remembered being since his disastrous crush on Paulina in freshman year.

“Okay, but seriously, how do we want to handle this situation?” Jazz asked and they all sobered up. “I mean, we’re facing a serious risk of exposure here. Not only with just the existence of ghosts, but dredging up every incident in Amity Park and possibly the existence of the Realms as well. If the Justice League gets involved, this could get real bad real quick, Danny.”

Danny sighed, “I know. I need to talk with the Council and see exactly how they want to handle this as well, but,” he hesitated, not sure why he was apprehensive about sharing the information but he knew they all had their grievances with the League and some unflattering opinions born by their silence and lack of response over the years. “But I have a feeling that the League may not even know anything about Amity or ghosts,” he heard some scoffing and twisted his mouth a bit, “I know. I know what we’ve thought over the years but I mean, Red Robin looked into Amity and didn’t find anything about distress calls or our ghost problems? That doesn’t sit right with me. If they knew about us and were purposefully not helping, then surely they would at least recognize the name, right? They’d have information and files, but both Hood and Red seemed so genuinely confused and shocked by the little information I gave and then I asked about if the League had call logs and Hood said they’d look into them. At the very least, I don’t think the Bats have any clue about any of it.”

Tucker didn’t look very convinced, but his voice was careful when he said, “Or it means that they’re operating with more secrecy and have the files protected. I mean, I know Batman is a full member of the League, but none of the other Gotham vigilantes are, right?” Danny wracked his brain to try and remember if that was true, while the rest of them nodded in agreement.

“Even if your vigilantes don’t know, that doesn’t mean that Batman and the rest of the League aren’t still involved and possibly against us,” Val said soft but firm and Danny chewed at his lip. He knew they were right, but he really, really wanted to believe that the heroes were better than that. That if they truly knew what was going on, they would try to help, as they had with the meta rights protection Acts. That they would at least want to hear the ghosts out and not blindly go off of the GIW and Drs. Fenton’s biased words alone.

“Listen,” Jazz’s voice was soft as well and her eyes were full of concern through the screen, “like you said, your vigilantes seem to be keeping this information to themselves for now, right?” Danny nodded, slightly amused that they kept referring to Red and Hood as his vigilantes, and she continued, “So let’s see what they come up with. Let’s see if they’re willing to listen and help, or if they have any information on what the League may or may not know before we panic. Danny, talk with the council and see what they have to say about it all and we’ll go from there.”

He appreciated her trying to stay positive and not going into doomsday prep. He knew the worst case scenario would result in him having to leave Gotham. He knew that would crush him. He really, really hoped that his vigilantes would try to help, that they would hear him out. If not, then Danny didn’t know if he could handle giving up his and Ellie’s chance at a (relatively) normal life with (relatively) normal friends.

The thought settled like a stone in his stomach, heavy and painful. He hoped for the better outcome, for both his own sake and the sake of his little sister’s.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Jason’s run in with Danny at the coffee shop was certainly a happy surprise. Well, it was an embarrassing and awkward shitshow but after Jason got over the initial mortification of literally dousing the poor guy in his own coffee he could admit that the interaction ended about as good as it could have. He had successfully gotten Danny’s number and Tim’s awful concoction of almost pure espresso shots seemed to be a hit, which didn’t surprise Jason at all with how much Danny looked like a particularly handsome zombie, his eye bags nearly as dark as B’s stupid black eye paint he insisted on smearing beneath the cowl to further the ‘mystery’ or whatever the old man insisted on (Jason just thought it made him look like one of the soggy emo teenagers that sulked around the music shops, but Bruce never seemed to care much about Jason’s opinions so if the old man wanted to look like a poor imitation of a raccoon, then so be it).

If Jason didn’t have a skewed perspective on what healthy sleeping habits were he might have been more worried for Danny, but he knew that the sleep deprivation would undoubtedly be chalked up to college stress and projects and his eyes had been more lively after a few sips of the coffee so he figured Danny would be fine. Plus, the knowledge that he could now check up on the guy via text to make sure he wasn’t actually at risk of passing out while walking helped. A lot.

The interaction was nearly enough to distract Jason from what he had even been at that coffee shop for in the first place. Nearly.

He had agreed to meet with Tim to discuss what the detective had been able to pull from the call log search, and the results were more harrowing than either of them anticipated. Amity Park had made hundreds of distress calls, starting from six years ago all of varying intensities and importance and spanning nearly two years until they abruptly stopped. All of them had been marked ‘RESOLVED’ nearly as fast as they had come in, without a corresponding incident report or an ID stamp to show who had responded to the messages, which shouldn’t have even been possible with how the system was set up to prevent exactly that from happening. It was very clear that whoever had done it went through drastic measures to make sure no one else knew about it or checked into Amity Park.

Worst and most worrying of all were the last distress messages sent, spanning four days:

AMITY HAS BEEN TAKEN. PLEASE HELP.

48 HOURS STRANDED IN THE ZONE. NO END IN SIGHT. WE NEED HELP.

PARIAH IS ATTACKING. AMITY WILL BE LOST. HELP. US.

PLEASE. ANYONE.

Tim hadn’t been able to find any record of what might have possibly happened to Amity Park to warrant that message (or who or what ‘Pariah’ might be), but it was the last one ever sent, nearly four years ago. Tim had verified that Amity was indeed still around and from what he found, everything seemed fine. But it was clear that something had happened and that the League hadn’t stepped in to help. It was worrying, to say the least, and Jason couldn’t stop replaying the way Danny had sounded and the tense resignation in his face when he asked Jason to look into it.

They had mentioned bringing Bruce into the loop to see if he knew anything about it, but they had both ultimately decided to talk to Danny once more to see if he’d offer any information before dragging the League into it (especially when it was clear that Danny didn’t trust the League to help at this point).

Tim hadn’t been able to scrounge much up about the mysterious GIW, though he had managed to find more of the Drs. Fenton’s research along with seemingly endless designs and patents of various weapons and machines all intended for working on ghosts, or ecto-entities as they put it. Their research on ectoplasm was apparently highly interesting according to Tim and had sent him into a deep rabbit hole, but Jason was more focused on finding the GIW and trying to figure out how exactly Danny fit into this whole thing.

Tim had left in a rush after realizing the time but Jason lingered a while after, mind still racing. Which is how he ended up disgracing himself by stumbling into Danny and leaving with a racing heart as those bright blue eyes followed him, making him itch with the urge to turn back around and ask every question that was burning to be answered.

The roar of his engine and wind whipping through his jacket was a decent distraction, and donning the suit and helmet was even better. He didn’t usually patrol when the sun was still out, but he needed something to curb the restless energy that made his limbs buzz and he had nothing else to do that day.

His mind wandered back to Danny at every spare moment, trying to parse together the connection between him and the supposed ghost that had tagged along to Gotham. It didn’t make sense to Jason, why a ghost would attach itself to someone who’s parents were so extremely dedicated to the forceful research of said ecto-entities. He would assume something like that would stay as far away from the Drs. Fenton’s as possible if they didn’t want to be caught and experimented on. (Which, from their research sounded like a possibility, though Jason also didn’t understand how one could experiment on a ghost. He was getting tired of all the things he didn’t understand.)

He struck unexpected gold while talking to one of the street kids he watched out for in exchange for information (at least, that’s what the kids thought the agreement was — the information was just a bonus to Jason who’d look out for the kids regardless, but he remembered being a street rat himself and how any act of kindness could feel like a trap, the need to be square and even to avoid owing someone more than you could give).

The mention of some weird guys in white suits normally wouldn’t give him more than a second’s pause, but now it set alarm bells off and when asked for more specifics he found himself talking with a few of his other contacts and getting confirmation that there seemed to be quite a few of these mysterious ‘guys in white’ roaming around Gotham, close enough to Crime Alley to be noticed by some of the residents but never doing anything to warrant further scrutiny.

No one seemed to know how many there were or where they operated out of (or what their goals were, if any), but he had a gut feeling that they were the same group that Danny had described and asked a few people to keep a closer eye on any of the men that they could, hoping to be able to solve at least part of the mystery Danny had presented them.

𓆩⟡𓆪

Every conversation with Danny was both enlightening and completely frustrating.

Tim had a long list of subjects to research but finding any information on Amity or these ‘Guys In White’ was like pulling teeth. He scoured the internet for articles or statements and came away with frustratingly little to show for it.

He had found a few promising blogs from various Amity Park residents that mentioned ghosts and the name Phantom in particular, and had most of his luck with a niche high school newspaper archive he finally tracked down that provided grainy pictures of said resident ‘ghost boy’ and various tales of attacks that Tim knew better than to think were exaggerated based on the quantity and subjects of the distress calls the League had received and had marked as ‘resolved’, but what the hell. He didn’t understand how rogues as powerful as these had flown under the League’s radar all this time, and he was still in the process of figuring out who, exactly, had fucked with the calls and left Amity to the mercy of a truly staggering amount of rogues with no back up.

Tim was nearly ready to make a trip to Amity himself to see what the fuck was going on. Hell, he was about ready to go to Batman with everything and let him flush out the incompetent asshole and put the fear of Vengeance into whoever fucked up this badly. But, that would have to wait. Tim needed more concrete proof, needed a complete report before he went to Bruce with the subject of ghosts and despite his logic, he also wanted to keep working with Danny before bringing others into this mess. He wanted to trust the guy, and he wanted Danny to trust them to be able to help. He’d clearly already been failed by the League, Tim didn’t want to burn him twice.

Surprisingly, it was Jason who found the most valuable information regarding the GIW.

“Apparently they were officially disbanded several years ago, but there’s a rogue group of ex-operatives that are trying to keep things going. And guess where they’re based out of?”

Tim sighed. “Is B going to like this?”

“Absolutely not,” Jason said grimly.

“Well, fuck. Do you have any information on exactly where?”

Jason sighed, “No. Getting the little information I got was a fucking pain in my ass, but I have eyes out and hopefully I’ll get a location soon.”

Tim decided he didn’t want to know how Jason got the intel and sighed, looking down at their spread of information. It was depressing him. “Yeah, same here. It’s like everything that I’m searching for specifically has been fucking scrubbed from the internet. It’s infuriating.”

Jason grunted in agreement and leaned back in his seat, staring at the files and news article copies and still-fuzzy despite being enhanced photos. Tim was snapped out of his own musings when Jason suddenly sat upright with a, “Fuck me.”

“What?” Tim asked in fervor.

“Get me a notepad and pen,” Tim did as asked without complaint, a true testament to how badly he wanted to figure this shit out.

He watched over Jason’s shoulder as he started to make a list and what — oh.

Oh.

“Holy shit.”

#jisvis #jisvis ch.3 #vee’s writing #vee’s wips #vee’s dpxdc fics

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randomfoggytiger · 10 months

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X-Files Collector’s Edition: Curated muldertxf

I've not heard enough of this fic writer's work anywhere (maybe I've not been looking hard enough-- a merited possibility); and, after seeing her work decorated with so few notes and kudos, I decided to dust off my Curated segments and add muldertxf to the list.

muldertxf is my preferred version of the oft-cited "Prufrock's Love" style of writing-- which is a tricky balance juggling winding prose, gorgeous description, and punchy dialogue. She nails all three off these; and even adds another quality that is rare to find: an MSR dynamic that I completely vibe with. I was swept off my feet during my most recent reread: her hard work is clear to see, and admirable; and her environments, characters, and building tension pull me in every time. (I particularly adore Cheap Motels and Headaches-- bravo!)

Loose chronological order below~

@muldertxf's (Ao3)

Dark Fear, Chapter 2

""Scully tumbled back into the rental seat in resignation. The car then retaliated, sending the red head’s chair into the back seat, folding backward. The action jiggled the pile of junk they sat in. Her partner turned, worried.

“You alright?”

“Just…peachy.”

A long silence strung itself along like a long diamond necklace across the freeway, fragile and precious. Scully playfully fingered the chain, occasionally clearing her throat, or tossing a sigh, but never completely shattered it. Mulder remained quietly slumped over the steering wheel firmly gripping it, eyes boring into the lavender horizon. His alien sunglasses were no longer needed at this point, but they remained proudly planted over his eyes.""

S2? Scully chalks up a skittish abductee's story to vitamin deficiency, and tries her hardest not to get annoyed by S2? Mulder's unreliable habits and celebrity awe of alien abductees.

Flutter part 2 (Ao3)

""It was funny—the thought that she had come to escape her crazy coworker and sit with a nice drink on a weekday evening. Now, Scully was dancing, drink forgotten, and with him. She never does this. It’s special, and yet he’s here. The far off look in his eyes makes her uneasy; this almost seems planned.

“Mulder,” Scully mutters just above the music. Of course, she had to ask him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Mulder levels her with a hard look, then eases as they fly out the door and into a quiet D.C. street. The lamp bathes them in orange and shocks the darkness lavender.

“I was going to ask you the same,” Mulder says, white breath pluming.""

A no-show witness leaves S1 Mulder dejected; but his stakeout crosses paths with an off-duty Scully, who is confused but happy to see him.

Descension, Part 5 (Ao3)

""Scully had only known him for two years. But in this short stretch, she had come to know a man of great mental strength and always with a special vigor for things of the supernatural. This Mulder appeared too melancholy. Too accepting. He constantly drawled his words on, like the white strip of paint that danced on the roadside outside the rental car window. His interest came in brief tufts of gray like nimbostratus that lingered over a fatigued horizon line. There were fleeting moments where Scully could discern the Mulder she believed she knew from this one, of course.

Sometimes, his clouds would part to show spots of red and purple--the colors of rage and mystique. He was hiding something. This Mulder was.""

Post Ascension Scully feels trippy while on a case with a man who isn't her Mulder.

11:11 (Ao3)

""The car tasted like fallout.

Knife cloaked silence settled to the base of the car like rodeo dust. Neither of them moved. Outside the vehicle, lightning bugs flickered, creating the illusion of a distant metropolis.

Mulder eased up and away from the hot window he’d been greasing with his forehead. He flicked his eyes to Scully, tossing his cards in defeat. She was already looking at him.""

Post Drive Mulder is withdrawn; and Scully tries to pull him out of himself while on a hot, muggy stakeout.

beginning of season 6 drabble thing

""You think aliens eat cold food only?”

An expression of sheer confusion contorted her face like a snake bite. Her crimson lips pouted, mindlessly chewed swollen, now stuck outward. “Is this your weird way of asking me to lunch?”

“No, no--listen,” He said, rotating his chair towards the basement door to fully face her. “But I mean, if you want to, we could, um...”

A sigh deflated from her small frame. “Just go on, Mulder.""

Early S6 Mulder throws pencils to waste time, but he's not above teasing Scully, too... until she sends him home.

No Small Feat (Ao3)

""His coat flapped like birds’ wings, hands feverishly feeling for his gun. A short-lived relief washed over him when his fingers touched the familiar metal hunk. He sucked his lips in, dark eyes fretting from firearm to windshield.

Scully’s eyes widened. Her gun fell into her palm. Scully’s thoughts immediately tore back to the case’s pictures, and a chill shimmied up her spine like a high striker game. The victims. The trailer’s door opened, its interior was painted key-lime green. The victims were all killed on the Tunnel Of Love ride. A large boot emerged from the truck’s door, the leg that wore it stockinged. A white hand shoved the door back into its place and rocked the trailer. Scully swallowed back a bitter lump in the back of her throat. The victims. The victims were all couples.

Bozo weld an axe, shiny and polished.""

S6 Scully wants to call off the stakeout early, sick of Kersh's unreasonable mandates; but both are stopped by the sickening realization that they've been trapped by the killer.

A Drabble relating to The Sixth Extinction

""She was desperate to leave this bleached blue light and retreat with him into a natural green. She’d happily go Jersey Devil hunting now. Would she ever hear his voice again? She pursed her lips at the unsavory thought, and found herself unable to meet his seemingly lifeless eyes. He couldn’t be gone. This isn’t how it’s meant to be.

Fox Mulder, you are not an X-File.

For a fleeting moment, she could feel his pulse quicken underneath her palm.""

The Sixth Extinction Scully desperately sits by her partner, who, she is unaware, is hit over and over again by her painful reflections.

Sea Waves (Ao3)

""Mulder clings to the beaten red-and-yellow circle with a white-knuckled grasp. Scully looks down on him, and swaths of sun-baked strawberry red strands wrestle from hairpins, beat her rosy cheeks. The sun halos her, beautifully emphasizing the stray reds and yellows that flap enthusiastically behind her head. He revels in it, hugging the bobbing float, head craned up.

Mulder shouts over the warm salt that plays with her hair, threatens to unravel it even more from its bun, “Hey, water’s fine!”

Scully’s smile is subtle, and not downright toothy as Mulder’s is.""

Post Millennium Mulder lures Scully out on a boat with no case in sight. An extra bonus: he loses his ugly tie.

define humor (Ao3)

""He simply stares at her, lips sucked in. It’s not nausea, he realizes, it’s...

Hilarity.

Mulder’s shoulders are jerking up and down and his eyes are squinting. A tear tracks down his cheek, and Scully looks on in horror. Rip-roaring laughter tears through the silence. None of this is funny, none of it should be, he tells himself. My sister is dead. The thought makes his sides ignite in flames. My sister is dead!""

Overwhelmed post Closure Mulder is still struggling with conflicting sensations and emotions, cracking up and breaking down. Scully is horrified for his sake, comforting and calming as best she can.

post En Ami

""Before he can react, she pitches him against the wall with a harsh grip on his neck. The apartment is illuminated. The TV is switched on, its volume rises to the highest decibel. He sputters, colorful spots flitting in and out of his peripheral like butterflies. His eyes are going to pop out.

Mulder’s neck is squished against the glass of one of his picture frames he bought at a consignment store. He thinks now, dryly, perhaps he should have dusted it. Sweat and dust settle on the back of his neck, his hair.

A deep voice slices him like a bullet.

“Do not go to Bellefleur.""

Post En Ami Mulder sits next to Scully, trying to nail down her experiences and his feelings. All is not as it seems.

Cheap Motels and Headaches

"It gurgled low, rising from the ground like blue smoke, and traveling from his left ear to his right. Mulder’s jaw clenched and his eyes frantically jumped to the window. No sign of the Cadillac. The sound moved again. It pitched higher, ascending to the ceiling that bowed above them both, and echoed off thick fabric that wasn’t there. Wood joined the sound and clacked, as if a gate were being opened..... A female voice rose above the sound, and the wood settled. Her speech was indistinct, low and careful. However, despite the voice, It only raised its volume. Panic butterflied in his gut.

He dashed to the bathroom as quietly as possible, cold fear wringing his head mercilessly.""

On the run Mulder is pulled from his ever-present paranoia by a painful flash into William's happier life. Scully understands, and dwells on their son's peace rather than their own pain.

There is so much otherworldly beauty in this little fic that it is breathtaking (and I particularly love the reason why Scully refuses to let her partner dye his hair in support.)

One More Meeting (Ao3)

""Scully nodded feverishly, standing up with him. The sky strobed twice through the window, bleaching them white for half a second, reminding them both of something unpleasant. Celestial. Space craft were bright.

They inched near the door, Jackson slipping out with her, one hand on her upper arm. The gesture reminded her of Mulder, and she tasted copper on her lip. Bitter rain streamed freely with the salt down her cheeks.

He let go.

“This isn’t the end,” Jackson reassured her against the battering wind, “You’ll see me again in a few weeks. I won’t be dead. Stay with Mulder. He needs you.""

Post Ghouli Scully is shocked to come face-to-face with her son, answering Jackson's questions and trying to trust his reassurances.

Kennel

""Do you need any help? Any pet preferences?” The teenager asks, resting her gel pen on the granite.

“We’re just looking right now, thanks,” Mulder replies, as Scully wanders off in his peripheral vision. A small grin crosses his face, “but we’ll let you know if we need something.""

Mulder enjoys watching his partner gravitate to dogs; but he gets equal enjoyment letting others naturally couple he and Scully together.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #Collector's Edition #Curated #muldertxf #x-files #xfiles #xf fanfic #the x files #fic #mine

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peaterookie · 1 year

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Lupin III Chapter 1 Review

Omg!!! I'm finally gonna do it for real!!! It's been a while so sorry if I'm sorta rusty on this haha

The chapter doesn't reveal Lupin's identity until the end, but I'm gonna spoil it to you anyway.

He's the guy with the glasses! Next to him is detective Kogoro Akechi, whom Lupin is going to be narrating this chapter to. He says it's gonna have a good ending, so let's see if he's right.

It all starts in this awesome estate that belongs to a man called Dr. Ouki. His two daughters are hosting a party in his estate but all of sudden, it is interrupted by none other than Inspector Zenigata!

Nobody likes him and doesn't take him seriously at all, but finally, Dr. Ouki comes out hearing the commotion and Zenigata sorts out the situation to him.

Zenigata's been given a warrant to search his estate, because surprise surprise, Lupin is there..

Meanwhile, one of the guest of the party tries to seduce one of the daughters in a private room elsewhere, but his advances are cut short, and her older sister enters the room.

i have no fucking idea what she's doing to him on the right panel tbh

The older sister tells them to come downstair because something's happened, refering to Zenigata interrupting their party.

Lupin is here that is crazy

Dr. Ouki and his two daughters don't seem care that much, until Zenigata finds a tortured hanged corpse of Dr. Ouki's secretary. That's quite bad.

They assume that Lupin is behind all this, and Zeni tries to get Dr. Ouki to spit out the truth on something, or else more people will get hurt. And certainly, someone else is hurt!

The younger daughter, whom we learn that her name is Michi, comes out severely injured and faints on the ground.

I like how Lupin keeps appearing as a background character in almost every panel (clearly he's not doing any of this)

Zenigata checks her body, and tells them that she's luckily going to survive. Dr. Ouki gets extremely frustrated and yells at Zenigata at his incompetence, but this is technically his fault, as he hasn't told Zenigata of the complete truth that Lupin has sent a letter informing him of his heist.

The letter reads: "Dearest Ouki, kudos on the clever research, but your discovery has attracted the attention of an unsavory foreign element. I'm going to swing by tomorrow night and pick up a copy of the schematics, for safekeeping. Don't bother leaving a key, I'll let myself in."

Always, L

While this is being discovered, the guest that had tried to seduce Michi now has his eyes on the older sister dude i don't know about you but i think he might be the culprit it's a really crazy assumption i know

The older sister clearly isn't stupid to let the guy do whatever he wants to her, and has the man at gunpoint and tells him to surrender to the police.

Unfortunately, the man throws a knife towards her hands and disarms her, leaving him the opportunity to shred through her body, but for what?!

Dr. Ouki meanwhile explains that he had destroyed the original schematics that Lupin is seeking. He then made an almost perfect replica of it as a microfilm and hid it inside his eldest daughter, which the man finds OH NO

Luckily, as the man finds it, one of the guest steps in and murders the man and picks up the microfilm.

Dr. Ouki and the others run towards the room, and it is revealed that obviously, the man was the culprit for all that has happened in the party all along. Dr. Ouki tells the guest to give him back the microfilm, but he doesn't give it back.

Detective Akechi comes out of nowhere and explains that guest that saved the older daughter is none other than Lupin III!

As Lupin is about to leave, Zenigata tries to stop him, but Lupin throws the microfilm towards a pigeon and it carries it towards his hideout.

Certainly a happy ending for Lupin, but will he be able to escape imprisonment? That you'll have to find out next time.

The End.

#local lupin manga fan screams about the manga as per usual #lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin iii manga #monkey punch #inspector zenigata #koichi zenigata

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blurglesmurfklaine · 6 months

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

gonna unofficially thank @forabeatofadrum for this tag bc she said whoever wanted to do it and I wanted to so here it be!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

49??? What when how did that happen??

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

706,964 woah so not quite a million but uh I have shit to say apparently

3. What fandoms do you write for?

46 of the 49 fics are glee lmaooo, two are Newsies and one is Roswell, New Mexico! I anticipate more Newsies (Javid) fics to come because I’m obsessed

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

There From The Start

Cornelia Street

Here We Go Again

An Honest Man

If Music Be

All for Glee: Klaine!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to as many as I can, but I usually forget lol. If someone leaves an insightful comment though it will usually spur a long conversation in the comments and I LOVE IT

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

If The World Was Ending bc they uh :) die, technically speaking

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uhhhh probably every other one??? I really don’t like sad endings so most have a happy ending, but i actually really like the ending to Stick Season because despite it being so terribly emotional and angsty, I feel like the ending is a turnaround and really hopeful!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? A few annoying comments telling me characters wouldn’t act this way, and one asking me “where my creativity was” which rubbed me the wrong way but I try to focus on the positive ones! Those definitely linger in my mind longer 💞

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Don’t look at me. Yes. Sometimes. Idk man sometimes those dudes just need to fuck it out???? But I usually only write it if the story feels like it’s naturally going there. It’s never really porn for porn’s sake (for clarification there’s nothing wrong with that we all love a little pwp), it’s usually the sappy emotional kind that’s mostly feelings and vague descriptions. it’s definitely not my forte and something I still get a little embarrassed and self conchas about lmao

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not recently but I did have a Supernatural/Glee crossover a few years ago (shut up I was 16) and honestly it was loads of fun! Blaine was the child of that Gay Angel and Repressed Bisexual Man. Absolutely a slay

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so? But a few old ones from my fanfiction dot net page ended up on one of those search engine thingies??? Idk how to explain it or how to take it down but honestly… I have bigger problems lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but if anyone ever wants to let me know!!! It would make me so happy!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah! Quite a few actually. I usually do the franken-fic every year and I did the roulette challenge and that m aforementioned crossover was actually a collab! Some of my favorite memories was writing the final chapter of A Night At The Ryerson House with @esperantoauthor 💞

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

OOF. Okay so. With 46 fics on AO3 you could say Klaine has a special place in my heart, buuuuuuut…….. my best friend introduced me to newsies in April and I seriously think it did something to my brain chemistry because Jack and Davey own my entire ass

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Ugh. I’m so fearful that I’ll never finish Amidst The Chaos, which I LOVE but takes so much out of me. There’s also one I’ve never posted called “Strangers Again” that involves like timeline jumping but in a romcom way that I’m not sure how to go about??? Also the community college one. I have so many.

For Javey I tried writing that Spider-Man AU but like. I need to re do the entire first chapter. I absolutely hate it actually and I think it’s because I don’t have a clear vision of what exactly I want, but I know what I DO NOT want????

16. What are your writing strengths?

Uhhhhhhhhhhh I’m actually not sure entirely? I’m gonna go with dialogue bc that’s usually how scenes come to me first.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scenery/setting/sensory, world building, plot points, physical movement holy fuck do not get me started when That Guy has to move Across The Room AHHHHHH I wanna tear my face off

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Love it! In my brain Jack Kelly is Mexican because I love to project, and I’ve got a wip where Blaine is involved in a Hispanic community (no he’s mot Hispanic he’s just got a Mexican friend who is an old lady and also Catholicism is involved it’s a lot to explain okay go with it) so I like to use it, but only in a way that feels natural to ME based on MY experiences. Different people have different approaches!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Glee!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oof. This one is hard but I think it’s an even tie between Here We Go Again and If Music Be!

Tagging: @somefeministtheatrepls @somanywords @justgleekout @kurtsascot and anyone else who wants to try!

#tag you’re it

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worldenough-and-time · 9 months

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For the asks! 11, 60, 77

Omg hi Zo, thanks for asking :)

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

I am notorious for writing out of order (many apologies to my poor beta reader), but I think that is something that happens much more in the early stages of project development, and then when I get into a good groove with a draft I tend to write chronologically. I still keep a very chaotic outline doc for every project that has “snippits”- basically unfinished scenes/ ideas/ lines of dialogue for future scenes that I can’t get out of my head. If I can get down a rough sketch in a snippit, usually that allows me to continue drafting chronologically.

60. In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

Okay this is perfect that you’re asking me Zo, (and you already know this story but I will tell it again) so Tough, Tried, True Blue, my current WIP, was inspired by Zo’s fantastic one-shot Pomegranates. Basically I read Pomegranates, and then I made myself some eggs, and then I read Pomegranates again, and then I stared into space for like three hours, totally possessed by the idea of transfem!Sirius and sapphic Wolfstar. And then I just started writing. First the prologue, all in one sitting, and then 5th year summer post- prank, and then summer on the Lupin Farm, and then Gender Euphoria Mirror of Erised, and then, finally, Chapter 1. Now I’m over 100k words into a draft and still having the time of my life.

Anyway, everyone go read Pomegranates!

77. Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

Oh man. I think I just love writing, and fanfic has really helped me to write consistently and enjoy it without the perfectionism mind games and pressure I tend put on myself when I’m working on something. The community I’ve found writing fic has been so validating and really just made writing so joyful. I see writers on the bird app and such talking about how writing is a miserable slog and it just like… doesn’t have to be! It can be hard to find a rhythm but I genuinely believe it should be fun! It is joy I can create for myself entirely by my own power and that is really cool!

Writing for me has been this way of feeling connected to myself and affirming my own existence. Like there’s this thing that wouldn’t exist if I didn’t make it! I tend to be a very internal person, like so much of how I experience the world is in my head (I frequently forget I have a body). So the idea that I can write something and translate what’s in my head for someone else to experience helps me feel very connected to the world and my fellow humans. It’s just a really cool thing that I get to do, and I feel lucky that I have a job that allows time for it, and friends and family that take it seriously, and very kind people on the internet who inspire me and read my stories and leave nice comments and kudos. ❤️

#ask game

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bazzybelle · 2 years

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Unsung Heroes

I love this idea @mostlymaudlin, thank you so much for tagging me! I tried to focus on fics that had less than 200 kudos, with the exception of one that I'm including as a BONUS (and I'll explain why when the time comes).

A Man of Letters, or Five Times Baz Retreats, and the One Time He Doesn't: By @palimpsessed

Summary: After the war with Napoleon, all Simon wants is peace and quiet in the country with his friend Penny, but night terrors and panic attacks weren't the only surprises awaiting him back home. Dowager Lady Salisbury saw news of Simon's exploits abroad and arrived on his doorstep with the shocking revelation that he was her grandson. At his grandmother's insistence, Simon accompanied his newfound family to London, overwrought by excitement at the chance to finally belong, and anxiety from the struggle to fit his new role. Baz is heir to two very wealthy and well-respected families in England, but that hasn't stopped tongues from wagging. Baz has always been more interested in fashion and philosophy than in helping his father run the estate, and he refuses to settle down. Despite his recent sterling showing at Oxford, Baz's father has begun to lose all patience with his recalcitrant son. Matters went from bad to worse when Baz's fiancé threw him over only days after their engagement became public, rekindling rumours the family hoped to quash. Against his father's wishes, Baz has trooped off to London for another season with his friends, but the looming death knell of his good name has soured his last act of rebellion.

I love this fic for so many reasons, including that it was a COTTA fic, and that I love anything that Pal writes. But also the fact that it was SO CLEVERLY written! It's told through a series of letters either by Simon or by Baz, and the last chapter is just... SIIIIIIGH. I don't want to spoil too much because it is SO worth the read. :D

Just like Everybody Else Does: By DefinitelyYou (not on tumblr as far as I know)

Summary: It’s not the most embarrassing situation I’ve ever found myself in, but it’s still well embarrassing. Might even be in my top five, up there with the time I spelled my shirt and trousers off in Ms. Possibelf’s class, leaving me only in my pants, socks, and trainers. I’m not nearly as starkers this time around, but I still feel naked, emotionally speaking. I’m standing in the middle of the clearing in the Wavering Wood on a makeshift dance floor surrounded by magicked fairy lights while possibly the most depressing song I’ve ever heard rings through the clearing. I’ve been deserted by both my girlfriend and my nemesis, and everyone is watching my next move.

This author is BRILLIANT! And I know most people are more familiar with their other fic, How Shall I Love Thee When You are Gone? (With good reason, that fic is amazing). However, I found that this fic doesn't get nearly as much love as it should. I remember clicking on it because I love that song, and then being completely struck down with the angst and pining. Highly, highly recommend this fic.

The Window of Opportunity Series: By basiltonjeans (not on tumblr as far as I know)

Summary: Simon Snow meets Baz Pitch when he's eight years old, and they become the best of friends. With every year that passes, their friendship becomes more and more complicated. When Simon is eleven, he loses Baz, and is forced to pick up the pieces and move on. When Simon is old enough to truly get a grasp on the situation, he realises it's been love all along. He just hopes it's not too late. or; every year, something in Simon's life has changed. One thing always remains consistent: Baz.

This SERIES! You guys! This is one of my absolute all time favourite series. I read it a few years ago, when I just joined the fandom, and I remember when they posted the final two fics. I know, it's technically cheating because it isn't one fic, but 4, but I am telling you, these fics are wonderful. It has childhood friends to enemies to missed opportunities, to reconnection... Just a bucketful of warmth.

BONUS ROUND

Black Sheep: By @f-ing-ruthless-baz

Summary: “What’s her name?” “Whomst?” He’s been drinking. Of course. “The girl who suddenly started appearing in your Instagram posts a few weeks ago,” I say. I don’t want to fight him on this tonight. (This morning, I guess.) “I assume she will no longer be appearing in them?” “Oof. Niall. You’re so clever,” he says. “You should have been top of the class at Watford, instead of that twat. ”I snort a laugh, despite myself. “That twat was your best friend.” Dev makes a noise akin to pffffpfhhhthtttthh! “He was my cousin. You were my best friend, you dick.” “Stop, you’re making me blush.” “Anyway,” he says after an extra long beat, “her name’s not important.” It's been over a year since Dev and Niall left Watford--and Dev left England altogether. Since he left Niall behind.

So I know I said I would stick to fics under 200 kudos, and this fic beats that amount (also I thought I had bookmarked this fic, turns out I DIDN'T), but THIS FIC NEEDS MORE LOVE! Naturally I love everything that FIRB writes (and they know this), but this fic opened up the world of DeNiall for me. I never really saw them together until I read this fic. FIRB is so good with words and writing complex emotions.

Including those I've tagged above, I'm also tagging @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @fight-surrender, @amywaterwings, @ninemagicks, @martsonmars, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @captain-aralias and @wellbelesbian

#spread some love #love this idea so much!!!#bookmark tag #belle babbles #I need to read CO fics again #there are so many fics being recced that LOOK SO GOOD #and I'm here all... so this fic is from 2019...

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lesbiankirisully · 4 months

Note

5 and 7 plss

5. What fic surprised you with how much interaction it got this past year?

I answered 5 here. I will say that I can’t believe how people still leave kudos on So Much More Than What I’ve Became since it was my first Avatar fic

7. Share a line/paragraph/snippet that you were especially proud of from a work this year!

From my fic Fear the Forest Below:

My girl was made to have wings, her mother used to say in that soft, wistful tone of hers that always made Trudy want to move and move and be something. Her mama was stagnant, never changing. Trudy had never wanted the sedentary life her mama had working at the convalescent hospital and working at home taking care of sick relatives and letting each and every person she met to step all over her. Nah, Trudy would prove her mama right.

I loved thinking up a backstory for a character that has so little to her besides Personality. I've loved Trudy since I was ten years old so this was a fun piece to write!!

From my fic Gnawing My Way Back Home:

She swung out and evaded Tarsem's blade when he reached out. Rolling, Tuktirey grabbed at his tail and pulled hard enough that she heard his breath leave him and the man bowled over. It was a childish trick, but useful. Use anything you can to your advantage Sweetheart, she could hear her father's advice in her ears, nothing is dirty when it comes to winning a battle.

This was the first time I really tried my hand at writing a fight scene and I was in love with how it turned out. I love the softness of the memory and the sharp edges of the fight. I definitely want to practice on fight scenes more this year 💝

From Beneath the Milky Twilight:

They were so close that, if they moved any closer, Nami was certain that they would no longer be two separate people, but would instead be one creature melded together; elbow to hip, rib to rib, knee to thigh, breast to breast, heart to heart, lips to lips.

I'm just so obsessed with this like wow MY MIND 💝💝 I'm just super proud of this one 🥰🥰🥰

Also literally every part of Chapter Seven in Head to Head (And Heart to Heart). I was just in love with that entire chapter I always go back to reread it lol

#asks #ask game #💝💝💝💝#thanks for the ask anon 💝💝💝

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empressofthesunwriter · 9 months

Text

Maiden of the Moon

What if Kokushibo had a pupil, whom he taught the original Moon Breathing before he deserted the Demon Slayer Corps?

Mochizuki Yua was born only for these reasons: To become a Hashira and make her family a respected one in the Demon Slayer Corps.

But if you only live for the expectations of others, who are YOU truly?

What will it take to find yourself?

A long, hard journey awaits.

If you like my story please leave a comment, a kudos, a like, a vote or a reblog.

Please show an author your love for their story. :D

Chapter 4: Under the Wistaria Crest

The Wistaria House belonged to an old kind lady named Hisa, who Zenitsu was scared of, no really, and Inosuke just completely doesn’t have any manners in regards to elders.

At least Tanjiro was a decent human being and tried to rile the other males in.

Hisa had shown them the room they would be staying in and then the bathrooms.

Signing tired, Yua leaned her head on the bathtub of the Wisteria House, trying to enjoy the warm bath and forget the stress of the day.

It was difficult since she heard from the other side, where the men's bathroom was, how Inosuke hollered and splashed around. Zenitsu’s whining and every gentle Tanjiro begging them not to destroy the room.

An angry mark appeared on her head and she hit the wall beside her hard.

“WILL YOU THREE BABIES STOP AND JUST TAKE A FUCKING BATH!”, she screamed loud enough to be heard. “OR DO I NEED TO GET OVER THERE TO BATHE YOU MYSELF!”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because Zenitsu actually purred: “Aww, Yua-Senpai, I would feel honoured to be in your naked presence and get bathed by you.”

Before she could say anything, she heard how someone hit Zenitsu hard on the head so that he fell out of the bathtub.

“You don’t talk to a lady that way Zenitsu, shame on you! I’m terribly sorry Yua-Senpai.”

“Kamado, did you hit Agatsuma?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Tanjiro answered that it was no problem at all, anybody ignoring Zenitsu’s screams of mistreatment.

After that little incident, they all finished their bath and put on the kimonos Hisa had prepared for them.

Zenitsu had formally heart eyes seeing Yua in the form-fitting kimono and her long midnight blue hair in a side braid. She just flicked his forehead and told him coldly: “Not even in your dreams!”

And then made her way to their room.

Yua heard how Zenitsu whined, while Tanjiro told him he deserved it for being so shameless and Inosuke was just confused about what that all was about.

When she opened the door Hisa was already sitting in seiza in the room with four plates with food prepared for them.

“And here is your meal.”, said the old lady gently.

The only girl in the group couldn’t even thank her as Zenitsu shouted: “She has to be a monster, Tanjiro! That old lady’s a monster! She’s so quick, it’s eerie! She’s a monster! A monster hag –“

For that, he got two smacks on the head from Tanjiro and Yua. Yua and Tanjiro looked into each other's eyes as Zenitsu bowed down holding his hurting head.

“Great minds think alike, isn’t it so Kamado-San?”

She gave him a little smirk, which in turn made Tanjiro gently blush. He only nodded.

Yeah, Yua decided she liked Tanjiro the best of the three boys.

Finally, the quartet sat down for dinner and Inosuke ate…well like a pig. Fitting for someone who owned a boar mask and acted like one.

He really was more animal than man. Yua could just stare at him in bizarre fascination.

Zenitsu told Inosuke that he should use his chopstick, but got ignored as the wild boy stole more food from Tanjiro’s plate.

He grinned at the red-haired boy in a cheeky way.

Inosuke definitely wanted to get a rise out of Tanjiro suspects Yua, sadly for him Tanjiro is too nice to even think something like that and even offers him more of his food.

That Inosuke is more than pissed off is an understatement.

When they finished dinner, Hisa showed them their room for sleep.

Again Zenitsu screams she is a monster and again Tanjiro and Yua hit him over the head.

When will the blond learn?

Meanwhile, Inosuke dives into his chosen futon.

“First come, first served! I’m taking this one!”, proclaims the wild boy, petting the futon.

“That’s fine. Sleep wherever you want.”, tells Tanjiro with a smile. Yua doesn’t need her Aura Sensing to see that it’s pissing off Inosuke.

Tanjiro turns to Zenitsu asking him where he would like to sleep. Before he can answer, Inosuke smacks his pillow against the blond’s face.

Having enough Yua grips Inosuke by the ear, which makes him actually squeal.

“Boarhead, can you for one second not make trouble?!”

“Let go of me, woman! Or face my wrath!”

“Pssh, I’m a higher Rank than you, when I’m done with you, you will not even know anymore where it is up and down!”

“Lucky Bastard.”

“Zenitsu…what is that supposed to mean?”

“Aww, Tanjiro, you are so pure like a maiden.”

Before the whole situation can escalate even more, Hisa returns with a doctor in tow. Of course, Yua gets a checkup first and alone, then it’s the boys' turn.

Now they all lay in their futons staring up at the ceiling.

Zenitsu is the first who breaks the silence: “Who would’ve guessed that all four of us had broken ribs?”

Yua got one broken as she guessed, Zenitsu two, Tanjiro three, and last Inosuke with four. It’s also the order they are sleeping side by side.

The midnight blue-haired girl still wonders how Zenitsu manages to snatch the futon beside her. She would rather sleep beside Inosuke, than the blond womanizer.

Good thing, that she always sleeps with her Katana beside her.

“This knot hurts more than my ribs.”, deadpans Inosuke, referring to the big bump Tanjiro’s headbutt had caused.

“Sorry.”, apologized to the red-haired boy.

“Hey, you’d better apologize. It really hurts, you know. Getting pounded to a pulp like that.”, tells Zenitsu Inosuke. “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Say you’re sorry!”

“I’ll pass!”

“Just say you’re sorry!”, yell Yua and Tanjiro together.

Goddammit, the two are worse than when Kaito and Hikari have their little spats!

“If you’re gonna be like that, we’re not eating with you anymore.”, threatens the blond-haired boy.

Not that it’s really threatening to Inosuke since he doesn’t understand what’s so bad about it. Even if Zenitsu explains how meals always taste better with company and Tanjiro even agrees, the wild boy is still lost. He asks them if they hurt their head.

That’s when Hisa calls out for them, asking if they need anything, which makes Zenitsu again freak out and again Tanjiro and Yua call him out.

When Yua is back home she will give Kaito and Hikari a lot of kisses. These two aren’t as nearly as exhausting as Zenitsu and Inosuke.

Tanjiro was all right.

After all is calm again it seems like it’s time for some bonding, since Tanjiro asks Inosuke why he joined the Demon Slayer Corps. Not gonna lie, Yua was curious too.

Apparently, a Demon Slayer stumbled upon Inosuke’s Mountain and the wild boy took his sword. Then he heard about the Final Selection and how demons exist and just joined.

Wow, for Inosuke it was all a big competition to see who was the strongest. Now You understood his wild and chaotic Aura too.

“Yua-Senpai.”, Tanjiro turned to her. After failing in bonding with Inosuke about the fact that they both had lived on a mountain and Inosuke made clear since he has no family at all he was only a Demon Slayer for the thrill, the red-haired boy seemed to try to find common ground with her. “Why are you in the Demon Slayer Corps?”

“It shows how new you all are in the Corps if my surname means nothing to you.”, she simply states.

“Whaddya mean by that?”, asks Inosuke.

“My family, the Mochizuki’s, has since the Feudal Era been a part of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

“That long, wow!”, gasp Zenitsu. “How did your family survive this long?”

A little smirk comes over Yua’s lips. She would be lying if she wasn’t proud of her family line to survive till now.

“Our breathing style is the strongest in the Corps. Moon Breathing. I’m the current Master in it.”

“Moon Breathing?”, repeats Tanjiro in wonder.

“It’s just as old as our family. It is one of the hardest and most challenging Breathing Styles to learn. Only one or two manage to learn it in a generation. I’m a Demon Slayer because it’s my birthright and my duty to my family. I will become a Hashira and show anyone why the Mochizuki are the strongest Slayers that exist!”

After her declaration, it’s quiet for a few seconds, until Tanjiro asks what a Hashira is, Zenitsu and even Inosuke nodding along.

Yua makes a facepalm, newbies, but explains to them what the Hashira are.

That the boys are blown away is an understatement. Inosuke is already planning to fight one of them! Yua bets if he could Inosuke would even fist fight the Kami’s.

“So anyone in your family is a slayer?”, wants Tanjiro to know more. “But you are the only one who can currently use Moon Breathing right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. People who marry in our family are often normal civilians, so they aren’t Slayers, like my late mother. Then there is my uncle Hansuke, the husband of my aunt Chiyoko, who is a Demon Slayer. They both meet actually while hunting the same demon. It’s quite a story.”, Yua explains. “Besides that, my father, my uncle Keitaro, my aunt Chiyoko, my uncle Noritaka, my grandfather, and my late older cousin Taiga, my younger cousin Daku are all or were Demon Slayers, only my cousin Sayoko being a Kakushi. That’s like the medical and cleaning-up team after a heavy fight with a demon.”

“You have a big family, that’s nice.”, tells Tanjiro with such bittersweetness in his voice, that Yua looks at the boy.

He seems to be fighting tears…oh she knows that look. He lost beloved people.

The young woman wants to ask him whom he lost, yet it feels wrong to ask him this when he is so vulnerable.

In the pause, Zenitsu took the chance sitting up from the futon to ask something which has been on his mind all day: “Tanjiro, no one else is asking, so I’m gonna ask myself. Why are you travelling with a demon?”

Well, no time like the present. It really was time to get answers from Tanjiro, so Yua sat also up.

“I also know you have a demon with you. I could feel his Aura…yet it’s at the same time so different than all demon Aura’s I ever felt and saw.”

“Yua-Senpai and Zenitsu… you both knew about that and Zenitsu you still protected the box, huh? And you Yua-Senpai didn’t try to kill her.”, say’s Tanjiro softly, also sitting up. “You are great people, you know that? Thanks!”

That’s is too much for Zenitstu and he rolls around the futon, holding his pillow tight. “You really shouldn’t heap so much praise on me! Fufufufu! Yua-Senpai is more amazing!”

“Sweet talking will get you nowhere with me, Agatsuma.”, deadpans Yua simply, ignoring how the blond insists that it’s nothing like that, and making a little bow in Tanjiro's direction. “Your words honour me, Kamado-San.”

Tanjiro smiles so sweetly at them, that Yua feels how her heart stops for a moment. He is such a gentle and loving soul…it’s really an honour to hear these words and get this smile from him.

“I’ve got a keen sense of smell. I knew it from the start. How kind you are, Zenitsu… and how strong…How gentle and powerful you are Yua-Senpai…how admirable.”

“You are a gentle and kind soul Tanjiro, your Aura tells me as much. Don’t lose this, it’s rare to find such good in humanity.”, Yua advised him with a small smile.

Meanwhile, Zenitsu isn’t nearly as touched by Tanjiro’s words as Yua, since formally a dark cloud was around him.

“No, I’m not strong. Don’t give me that. I haven’t forgiven you for stopping me from bringing Shouichi along.”

Tanjiro is lost for words and Yua can just facepalm.

That’s when they hear how the demon in the box is pounding against its door.

Naturally, the blond boy freaks out, being sure his end is near. Not listing to Tanjiro, who tries to reassure him, nor to Yua who makes it clear that from the demon’s Aura, it’s not dangerous.

Zenitsu doesn’t care and was even ready to hide behind Inosuke. Just his luck the wild boy kicks him angrily away, directly in front of the box.

In fear, he scrambles away, till the demon comes out.

Yua has to blink a few times.

The demon is a pretty little girl with a bamboo muzzle. She has big beautiful pink eyes and an adorable face.

“Nezuko…”, calls her Tanjiro gently.

From the Aura colours the young woman sees now, it shows clearly deep family love.

So they are related.

An explanation why he couldn’t kill the little girl demon if she was family.

She is now standing up and formally grows before their eyes. Now she looks like fourteen years old if Yua had to guess.

The demon girl was a real beauty!

From Zenitsu comes a strange strangled scream, while Inosuke doesn’t give a fuck and just falls asleep.

As Tanjiro turns to Yua and Zenitsu to introduce Nezuko to them bolts of electricity come from Zenitsu's corner.

Yua herself takes her Katana standing up since Zenitsu Aura was going crazy. The boy was more than pissed off at Tanjiro.

“You… Just who do you think you are?!”, yells Zenitsu at the red-haired boy who is totally lost.”So you’ve been travelling with a girl this cute? With a girl this cute in tow, day after day, you’ve been travelling, and you’ve been on cloud nine the whole time, huh?”

“Zenitsu, it’s not like –”

“Agatsuma, calm down for a second-”

Both get ignored as Zenitsu screams: “Give me back all the blood I shed!! I… Listen, I… I didn’t give it my all just so you could spend time in la-la land, making out with a girl! That’s not why I got pummeled and kicked by that weird boar, right?!”

“Zenitsu, calm down! What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“He is thinking with his dick, Kamado-San, that’s the problem!”

“Demon Slayer Corps is not something you’d join for fun! Guys like you gotta be purged! Immediately! Come to think of it, there’s also the crime of thwarting my marriage and sending Shouichi home.”

With a stone-cold face, the blond unsheathes his Katana.

“Purged immediately! Don’t ever underestimate the Corps!!”

Zenitsu charges at Tanjiro. Good thing Yua saw that from a mile coming and get’s between them.

Her Katana and Zenitsu Katana smash together.

Before anyone can say or do something, with swiftness, Yua's upper hand Zenitsu takes his Katana from him.

“Agatsuma!”, she growls and looks quite scary with two Katana in her hands and a dark Aura around her. “The Demon Girl is Tanjiro's relative! I see their bond clearly through their Aura so stop thinking with your dick or I cut it off!”

Suddenly all the bravery he had vanished from Zenitsu and he shrieked scarred holding his precious dick. He heard loud and clearly from Yua that she was serious about cutting it off!

Tanjiro also smelled how close Yua was to emasculating Zenitsu and tried his best to calm everybody down.

Meanwhile, Nezuku just cutely title her head. She doesn’t know who this people are with her brother, but the young woman has pretty braided hair.

She likes it.

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#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #Demon Slayer FF: Maiden of the Moon #own character #tanjiro kamado #nezuko kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashiriba #moon breathing #tanjiro kamado x oc

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