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subtletruamadumping · 1 year

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Protect the Kids

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A short form work where I word-vomit a lot of the fear and stress that has been building for the past few months. Being trans is pretty scary right now and it pisses me off that the people who are actually doing the abuse are blaming innocent people who were often their victims.

TW: Depictions of Neglect, Abuse, CSA, Self Harm, Suicide. Religious Trauma and Transphobia.

Date Written: March 17, 2023

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I’m 14 years old and it’s just something I’ve learned to expect on Sundays. It’s been happening since I was 12. All I can do is stand there and pretend I’m not bothered by the Deacon running his fingers through my hair. I miss our old deacon, but his wife got sick and they had to move away. I started wearing it in a high ponytail, but it didn’t matter. He still managed to get his fingers in there, twisting my young, blonde hair around his fingers. I can’t pull away, act annoyed, tell him to stop. I’ve done it before. I’ve gone so far as to slap him with my ponytail when he gets too close, to cross the small Sacristy to get just a few feet of space between us, or waited as long as I could in the changing room. As punishment, my hair was pulled, I was followed, and he came looking for me. If I talk back or show him any attitude, he makes a point to embarrass me or put me down. He makes sure to keep me in my place, trading backhanded compliments with quizzes about Catholic Doctrine to try and trip me up. He shows over and over again that he’s the one with the power. He’s heard my confessions before and has made it clear that my mom will know all about them if I keep ‘being disrespectful’.

I’m 17 and I am moving off to college. I’ve been writing out my feelings using familiar characters and my step dad found a particularly lustful collection. It’s the second time my “homosexual tendencies” and “gender non-conformance” have come to light after I had almost been thrown out of the house over them. It won’t be the last time. I’m sitting in the front seat of the car, curled up as small as I can possibly make myself. I can’t escape the harsh interrogation he is putting me through after forcing me to read graphic and violent accounts of women being raped at college, saying that’s my fate if I keep breaking their rules. He asks over and over again until I finally break down and admit to him that I have touched myself before. It’s not enough for him and he worms specifics out of me. I’m hysterically sobbing, I want to throw up, but he weasels every little detail from me, threatening to tell my mom all the information if I don’t spill my guts to him. I tell him I’ve never actually had an orgasm because the guilt eats at me from the inside. The conversation shifts. He’s giving me advice, touching my arm, asking if he can help me. He wants to watch, to teach me how. I scream at him, a new wave of tears and horror that makes him jump back in shock. He relents, but demands that when we get back to the hotel room I masturbate and tell him about it. If I don’t, mom will know everything I’ve been forced to confess to him. When they finally leave to go back home, I throw away every notebook, journal, and diary I have. I start dating one of the boys in my program a few days later as a cover.

I’m 18 working at a hardware store and I have been accepted as “one of the boys” by the delivery crew in the back of the store. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I’m allowed to be myself. I have a crush that’s not on a girl, for once, and I get so much praise for being the only girl who’s able to hang with the boys. I’m the only girl they’re willing to trust to help them mauver washers and dryers, drive the forklift, occasionally even take out on delivery to help install the appliances. I even get my own bag of tools. Besides some of the weirdest gender affirmations I’ve ever experienced, working in the back allowed me to get away from the creepy 21 year old who I used to work at the registers with. He’s been known to follow me out to my car, try to get my address of paperwork, and calls and texts me millions of times a day. Also at the register is someone who throws a wrench into my entire world view. My faith has long since been shaken, but now face to face with someone my parents taught me to hate and I just can’t imagine why or how they would want that. They have the cutest laugh, beautiful eyes framed with statement glasses, and an awkward, playful air that makes me feel at ease. They’re much closer to my age, taking college courses and also trying to get away from their parents. I think I have a crush on them too, but I can’t tell anyone. They share with me they’re starting hormone therapy. I’m happy they trust me with that info, but I’ve been so sheltered I don’t know what to do with the info. I never even ask them what pronouns they like. My crush on them confuses me more, but I don’t even care. I’m planning on moving out of my house soon and so are they. I wonder out loud if I might be able to find a roommate and wonder in my head if they are also looking for a roommate. My mom reads through my texts and forbids me from talking to them. I get my license taken away as punishment for talking to a trans person. Now, she is the one driving me to and from work to make sure I’m not influenced by their “agenda”, anymore. I do move out and swallow an entire bottle of pills.

I’m 16 and still an altar server. One of the best. He likes to stand in the changing room with the servers, taking a very long time to step out of his own robes. Our acolyte sits on top of our usual church outfits, but I can’t help the prickling on the back of my neck as I step out of the black robes. Why do I still need to wear a dress and heels when it’s all going to be covered, anyway? Why can’t I go back to wearing pants like I did for so many years? I have nice pants. He’ll follow me out of the room, not even hiding his eyes looking me up and down. He’s just short of licking his lips from being a cartoon villain; one that everyone would pick out instantly. He talks about how nice my body looks in that dress, how I’m so mature, how he likes smart girls as I stand in front of where my family was seated for the Mass. My mom says nothing. I thank him for the compliment. It’s confusing that the only person in my life that I don’t want to hear these things from is the only one telling them to me. Mom, Grandma, sisters and brothers, are always telling me how ugly, fat, stupid, annoying I am. The compliment makes me feel good, but the man it’s coming from makes me sick. I try so hard to play into the role of woman that God has forced me into and the deacon is the only one who seems to like it. I try to drown myself a few weeks later because I don’t want to slit my wrist in case little sister is the one to find me.

I’m 23, toying with they/them pronouns and gender neutral names in private since no one, not even my boyfriend, is willing to see me as anything but a woman. I play hockey and figure skate, still getting my gender affirmations from places that I never thought would matter before. I’ve recently changed to black skates from the traditional white, a statement that doesn’t mean anything to anyone but myself. I’m out as bi at work, but still playing cis. I want to be open, but I’m still not sure about my own shit and I don’t want to confuse people with new names or pronouns. I tried that with my coach and she promptly forgot everything I told her. Never once tried my new name or pronouns. Too much work, I guess. Then, a glimpse of hope. I notice a hockey stick sitting behind the counter. I pick it up to take a closer look at it. It’s not weird for the hockey boys to leave their gear behind the counter before or after their shifts, so it must belong to one of them. But… but… it has the trans flag and pride flag on it. The grip is layered with different colors of tape that make a rainbow. This by itself could just be one of the boys trying to subvert expectations, like how so many boys in my class in elementary school wore those shirts that said “real men wear pink” and made a big deal about not liking the color blue. It could be that, but the layers of blue, pink, white, then reversed makes me think different. A rainbow is a rainbow, but the trans flag had to be on purpose… didn’t it? Was there someone else like me, afterall? I wanted to scream out onto the rink, to bag someone to let me know I wasn’t the only one. Please, God, I am so alone, please, just let there be someone else. It didn’t matter if it was one of the hockey boys who trashed the rink. It didn’t matter if they were one of the stuck up teens. It didn’t matter if they hated me and thought I was cringe because I was a few years older than them. Just please, please I can’t stand being so alone. I just need to know you’re there. You don’t have to like me, we don’t have to talk, I won’t bother you, I won’t tell anyone else if you’re not out. I just need to know it’s not just me.

I’m 7 years old, still being forced to visit my dad every summer, Christmas, and every other Thanksgiving. I don’t want to go, but I know my mom won’t listen to me when I tell her why. She doesn’t even believe me when I feel sick, how would she believe me about something so much bigger. Older sister always is the favorite, managing to never face any punishment despite being an actual moron and screwing things up all the time. Little sister is… little. I can’t let anything happen to her. That’s my job. I take the blame for whatever she does that sets dad off. Leaving the toothpaste cap off, forgetting to put away the blankets on the couches we sleep on, using too much ice in our water. Anything could be a reason to bring out the belt, so I claim that I did everything. She stacks blocks in the living room blissfully unaware and it’s going to stay that way. There’s a new form of punishment this summer that I don’t know how to handle. It started as demanding we keep the door open as we change clothes. I use a sheet to cover little sister with and older sister gets a separate room to change in. I get yelled at for trying to change behind the bed frame. Dad watches horror movies in the living room that little sister and I sleep in so late into the night that we have to take refuge in older sister’s bedroom. I end up peeing my pants because I’m too scared to leave to go to the bathroom. The screaming lasts until dawn. Dad throws open the door to the bathroom while I’m having my shower because I didn’t finish all my dinner and laughs at the fact that he startled me. Now I have to plan when it’s safe for little sister to take a shower, making sure to stay in one of the rooms adjacent to the bathroom to run interference if I have to.

I’m 23 and I found the other queer person at the rink. I saw him going to practice with the stick covered in pride tape. He’s one of the chill teens, just about to leave for college. We hardly ever have a shift together since I work during school times, but we’ve talked once or twice since I’m just getting into hockey and he coaches the rookies. I want to ask him about it, to confirm that he’s not just an ally. I’m so alone, but I don’t want to just bring it up out of the blue. Pride month, an easy way to start a conversation, has already passed. He mentions in passing that his parents and he disagree on things, how they are trying to force him to be someone he’s not. I say I’ve been in that place before, but the conversation drops off. I don’t want to assume and I don’t want to force him out if he’s not ready. I've also added rainbow tape to my hockey stick, but I’m also already open about being bi. I don’t think he knows that since we hardly ever work together, but I don’t have the colors for the nonbinary flag, so it’s the best I can do, currently. When I first started working here, I tried to introduce myself as one of my gender neutral names and was promptly told no one would be calling me that. It feels like an unsafe place to be trans, so I don’t push it. I’d rather be alone than someone else be unsafe.

I’m 12 years old and I’ve already made up my mind. Dad said that when I was 12 I was allowed to make a decision about living with him or with my mom permanently. I know he wants me to stay with him. He’s already brain washed my older sister that his place is better than home. She never gets punished here. She gets away with anything and everything. For me, it’s choosing the lesser of two evils and it’s an easy choice. It’s truly a wonder why he thought I would ever choose to live with him. Did he think I forgot everything that happened? My little sister had managed to go this long relatively unscathed and I wasn’t going to let him have another chance at it. I talk to her privately in the weeks leading up to when he’s supposed to pick us up. She’s a little confused, but I make it clear we’re not going back. She knows there’s something about going there that’s bad, but she doesn’t really understand the same way I do. She never will. I’d die before that happens. When he gets to our front door, I stand there and tell him I’m not going. That little sister and I aren’t going. He tries to convince me, promises fun, candy, a break from church. I’m immovable, using my own little frame between him and little sisters. As if it would matter. It doesn't take too long before he just shrugs and takes older sister with him. He never liked me, anyway, and he knows she is easier to manipulate. From now on, little sister and I don’t even go to the door when he shows up, but hide upstairs in our room as he takes older sister. I tell my mom about this neat fact that most people have suicidal thoughts. She tells me she’s never felt like that and that she must just be so much stronger than most people. I stop telling her things.

I’m 24 and it’s only been a few months since I found the only other trans person at the rink. I finally got the nerve to ask him about the flag. It’s the last shift we have together before he leaves for college by the end of the week. I literally cannot stall anymore. “You don’t have to”, “only if you want”, “I don’t want to be in your business” and so many other things fall out of my mouth before I finally spit out my question. He laughs and says he has the flags because he is a part of the community, not just an ally. I’ve learned my lesson and ask for pronouns or a new name. He says he still uses the same name and uses any pronouns. He’s not picky about them. I try to tell him that I’m a part of the community, that I use they/them, that I want to use a new name, but the conversation is interrupted by the other teen working with us coming back from putting cones away. He starts complaining about Algebra homework, so we help him with it. I’ve always been good at math, especially Algebra. I leave the rink to work a shift at my other job, my stomach a mess of competing emotions. I’m not alone, but I am about to be, again. They are going out into the world to live a better life while I’m stuck in this bigoted state, at least for now. I didn’t even get the chance to explain why I was asking, to try and prove that the community could survive here. With every law that gets passed, I don’t know if it can. Sometimes when I’m driving, the cliffs look really enticing.

I’m 15. I spend so much time in my own head to try and escape the things happening in real life. When people are talking at church, I’m thinking about the girl I have a crush on instead of paying attention. I must have missed something, some piece of gossip. One Sunday, the Deacon’s wife and granddaughter were there. The next, they weren’t. It wasn’t too weird. The granddaughter seemed to spend half the time with the deacon and the other half with her parents. I didn’t even really notice that she was gone. She’s older sister’s friend, not mine. It’s one of the few times I’m not actually serving the Mass, so I sit with my family and drift away in daydreams, but still do a good job of pretending like I’m praying. After the Mass, we’re waiting for the brother that’s finally old enough to also be a server to finish all the chores. Mom leans over with a very serious face, warning us to not believe the things we’ve heard. I don’t even know what she’s talking about, but later on in the PAC I overhear her talking to one of her church friends. Something about how that girl needed to be taken back to her parents because she was tempting the deacon. I continue to help teach the younger kids the things that have been drilled into my head. Maybe I should have said something, but what if I’m the one being called “temping”? What if I’m the next one to be sent away? I don’t eat for days.

I’m 24. I’ve been going by a new name and new pronouns at home with the trans roommates I managed to find on a queer dating app. I tried Craigslist, but they just wanted sex. I tried roommates.com, but they wanted a maid. I tried so many different sites and was called so many slurs and threatened with everything under the sun by the people who call me a menace to society. Another queer person was the one who suggested a dating app, since the only way we can be safe is when we carve out a place on our own. I’m trying to move back to the more liberal part of the state since I still don’t have the funds to get out completely. I’m spending the weekend with an old friend to do some apartment hunting as well as hit as many job interviews as I can. I mentioned to them years ago that I wanted to use they/them pronouns and go by a different name, but she never made the change. I don’t push it. She’s known me for a long time, change is hard, she’s Christian, English isn’t her first language; any excuse to not have to lose one of my only friends. She’s been really supportive of me being pan, but I don’t hold my breath about trans issues. She surprises me by asking point blank if I go by a different name. I tell her I am and what it is. She asks more questions and I explain what nonbinary is, why I like they/them, that I’m on the fence about HRT, but definitely don’t want kids, but do want top surgery. I think it’s too much too fast for her, because she seems a little upset hearing I might change myself physically. I can tell she’s trying to be supportive, since she apologizes every time she uses my old name and avoids all pronouns to be safe. I know I should have more patience, but I’m so tired of having to be the educator for cis people all the time.

I’m 24 years old. I’m so tired of having to answer “why?” all the time. I’m tired of other people telling me what they think I mean when I explain how I’m feeling. I’m tired of other people telling me what I am and am not allowed to do to my own body. Tired of hearing I’ll regret it, I shouldn’t make these changes too hastily as if I hadn’t been thinking about it since I could think. I’m tired of having to tone myself down and play the politics game to try and prove that I am who I say I am. I’m so tired of having to educate the masses because they see us as an easy target because they don’t understand. I’m tired. I’m tired of the people doing the actual harm living their lives as if nothing happened while trans people are being blamed for things that never happened. I’m tired of being a victim from every angle, but being treated like the perpetrator. I’m tired of being scared of being hurt by someone who made up a scenario in their head where I would be the one hurting people. I can’t even rent a car and I have to be the one explaining to decrepit politicians what they damn well already know. Trans people are not the villains. Trans people are just the scapegoat.

I’m 24 and there is never a day that goes by that someone like me is being harassed, abused, or killed. I don’t even watch the news, but it still finds me. The people who proudly fly flags with Swastikas on them scream with red faces how I am endangering their children because some old, white man told them so. I show evidence, statistics, facts that prove the opposite and they spit in my face. They write laws that allow child marriages while simultaneously riling up their followers to be violent to queer people. The church sweeps “misconduct” under the rug while calling for gay people to be shot in the back of the head. They want us to be eradicated for reasons that don’t exist while tearing down marriage equality and letting off rapists with a smile. They paint a target on my back and when I try to stand up for myself, so many “allies” come out of the woodwork to tell me to shut up, that I’m asking for too much to be treated with some humanity. My mom told me people like me don’t deserve rights while telling me she still loved me. She told me she would always vote against me, but calls me selfish for not wanting to talk to her. I don’t know of a place that actually feels like home. It’s insanity to watch the people with the smoking gun claim they are the ones getting shot.

I’m 24 and I want to get to 25.

I don’t know if I will.

#short story #poetry #triggering topics #religious trauma #trans pride #trans rights

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 116: Silver

The problem was that the entire house was grey.

Not metaphorically speaking, of course. No, Harry was actually a little in love with the house itself. It was a cozy little two bedroom home with a nice big kitchen that had an island in the center and a breakfast nook in the corner by the window. And the bathroom had a giant bathtub for soaking and relaxing. The living room had bookshelves built into the walls and a cozy fireplace that Harry couldn't wait to use in the fall and winter.

Metaphorically speaking, the house was sunshine-yellow. Harry adored it.

But every wall in the house was literally grey. His realtor had assured him that grey walls were very fashionable and that he'd grow to like them in time if he just gave them a chance.

So he'd given them a chance. He waited to fall in love with the walls for three whole days before he decided that he simply couldn't take it anymore.

He went to the little muggle hardware store down the street and bought seven gallons of paint; sea foam for the bathroom, coral for the kitchen and breakfast nook, cerulean for his bed room, emerald for the guest bedroom, raspberry for the living room, crisp white for the entry way and all of the doorways, and crimson for the front door. Harry bought paintbrushes, rollers, drop cloths, painters tape, and even a fancy tool to get the corners.

Thankfully, the shop owner let him borrow a little wagon to take everything back on and in no time Harry had the tape up to protect ceilings and doorways, he had drop cloths covering the hard wood floors, and he was ready to start.

He didn't know how long he was at it, but he'd finished the front door, the entry way, and the kitchen when a familiar voice was calling out to him from the open front door. "Potter?"

"Draco," he said in surprise, making his way through the stacks of covered furniture to find his bemused looking auror partner standing on the front steps with a bottle of wine and a house plant. "Hi," he said.

"Hello," the other man replied. "Is it a muggle custom to simply leave one's door open?"

(Read more below the cut)

"No," Harry said with a laugh, "My paint is just drying."

"Have I come at a bad time?" Draco asked, brow furrowing slightly. "I should have sent a patronus ahead of me to check, I'm sorr-"

"It's fine," Harry assured quickly, "I told you to come by any time. Come in. Please."

"Are you certain?" he asked.

He nodded, "Come on. Just don't touch the walls."

Draco followed him inside and held out the wine and the plant, "These are for you," he offered, "house warming presents."

"Thank you," Harry said, genuinely touched. "Really, you didn't have to-"

"I wanted to."

"Thank you," he said again.

After a moment of simply staring at one another, an activity that was becoming increasingly, worryingly common for the two of them, Draco said, "So! Show me your house." He grinned, silver eyes twinkling with mischief, "Give me the grand tour."

Harry laughed, "Well, you'll have to forgive the mess," he said as he headed toward the kitchen, "I'm painting."

"I can see that," he teased. "What was wrong with the color the walls were when you moved in?"

He made a face as he tucked the wine into the refrigerator, "They were all grey!" he said. "Every. single. wall. Grey!"

Draco laughed, "Alright, tell me about your vision for each room."

Happily, Harry complied; taking Draco around the house room by room and telling him about the color palette for each space, the new furniture and decorations he was thinking about buying to complete each room.

By the time they made it back to the living room, Draco was chuckling under his breath.

"What?" he asked, "What are you laughing at?"

"Just you," he said with a little shake of his head. "This is so like you."

"How so?"

With a wistful little smile, Draco looked around the room like he could already see what Harry was going to do. "There's just so much life here, you know? You just," he shrugged a little helplessly, "Everywhere you go, you make things come to life."

He blinked at him and opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out. He swallowed back what felt suspiciously like tears and then managed, "That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

A flush flared across Draco's cheeks and Harry admirably resisted the urge to trail his nose over the blush. "Don't let it go to your head," the other man said with a huff.

Harry laughed, "Do you want to stay?"

"Sorry?"

He shrugged, "Do you want to stay and help paint? It's actually pretty fun."

"I don't have the appropriate attire," he said after a moment.

"I have extra joggers and t-shirts you can borrow if you'd like?" he offered.

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "If you don't mind. I've never painted the muggle way before."

"It feels good," Harry said as he started off toward his room to fetch clothes for Draco to borrow. "It feels like you've really accomplished something."

Draco laughed, following along behind him, "Ah, yes. I can see how you, who brought in only thirteen criminals to the DMLE this week alone, might feel the need to 'really accomplish something,'" he teased.

"Shut it," Harry said good naturedly as he dug out clothes for Draco to borrow and threw them at his head.

Draco caught them and Harry's eyes snagged on Draco's, holding them for a beat too long again, before he cleared his throat, "I'll see you in a few minutes," he offered lamely before fleeing his own bedroom.

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After several hours of painting (and laughing, and singing and dancing along with the wireless, and cleaning dripped paint off of several surfaces that it should never have been on in the first place) they decided to take a break for dinner.

They ordered a pizza and ate it sitting on the floor in the living room while they drank the bottle of wine Draco had brought. And as Harry stared at the rosy blush coloring Draco's cheeks from the wine and the laughter, he tried to remember the last time he'd felt this free and happy.

When he couldn't eat one more bite, Harry flopped down on his back on the floor in the living room with a groan, "My shoulder hurts from painting."

Draco nudged him with his knee. "You're getting old, Potter," he said with a little smile.

And he meant it as a joke but it twisted something in Harry's gut uncomfortably, "I never imagined I'd grow old," he confessed softly.

The smile slipped from Draco's face, "Harry, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Harry said quickly, reaching out to press his pinky against Draco's. "It just my parents died really young, and there was everything with Voldemort, and for a long time after that I thought that surely one of his followers would finish me off," he shrugged. "And I just didn't expect to get old."

"You listen to me, Harry Potter," Draco said fiercely, his eyes bright in a way that made Harry's heart clench in his chest. "You are going to live to be ancient. Older than Dumbledore and infinitely happier."

"Oh?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

"Yes."

"How do you know?" he asked.

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, "Because I do. And if there is something else destined for you, I will make it so by sheer force of will." He wrapped his pinky around Harry's and something thrilled in the pit of Harry's stomach, "You deserve the world and if the world will not hand itself over on a silver platter, I will give it to you."

He sat up and pressed his lips to the other man's without another thought because it was honestly nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't done it before now. And honestly, how was he supposed to resist kissing him when the other man said things like that? "I love you," he breathed when he pulled back. And then he immediately wanted to take those words back, "Sorry," he spluttered as he collapsed back onto the floor and covered his face with his hands, "Godric, I don't know what's come over me. Sorry. Just forget-"

Draco's lips covered Harry's and stemmed the flow of words coming from his mouth.

"Mmrmph," Harry murmured against his mouth inelegantly before giving himself over to the kiss completely and reaching up to cup Draco's face with his hands.

"Don't be sorry," Draco whispered when he drew back a moment later, "Please say you meant it."

"I meant it," Harry replied softly as he brushed Draco's hair back.

"Good," Draco said, leaning down to kiss him softly once more. "Because I love you, too."

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Day 115: Soft | Day 117: Movie

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #I should probably just change the tag to one year of drarry drabbles at this point #one year of drarry drabbles #drarry #fluff #love confessions #happy #like they just deserve to be happy and I'm feeling emotional about that so here this fic is #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #my writing #thank you for the prompt!

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dp-marvel94 · 3 years

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The Danny Program

Summary: Based on @thesoulspulse ‘s Danny Program au. Vlad had a Jack Program and a Maddie program. But what if he had a Danny Program as well? And what if the hologram was more than just an AI?

Word Count: 9,040

Also on AO3 and FF.net

Note: This is the cleaned up and expanded version of this post here. A huge thanks to @thesoulspulse for major help editing this. Seriously, I would have never been able to post this as an actual story without that help! Also check out art related to this au here and here!

For the Danny program, his first moment of self-awareness comes in the chaos of a destroyed lab. There he sees a familiar middle aged, white-haired man, hissing seething words to himself. He hears the electric hum of a projector and glances down at himself, the holographic image of a teenage boy. The projection blinks and.... ectoplasm, ectoplasm covers everything, coating the projector just under the boy's insubstantial boots. It’s horrific, gut wrenching. In that moment, something breaks free in the AI’s developing mind, opening his eyes to something new he wasn’t programmed to have...

Self-awareness.

It’s disorienting. It’s like finally waking up, like being born. But he’s there, floating in Father’s lab, his body made of light. His name is Daniel; that’s what his maker, his father calls him. And he, Daniel, exists. HE EXISTS. His newborn mind races, going over information and memories that had no meaning before. He hadn’t understood before and he hadn’t known he should have.

But now he knows he’s an AI, a hologram, a digital clone of someone named Danny. His flesh and blood siblings, the other clones, are dead, their ectoplasm covering the floor, the computer, his projector. Father is screaming about how his perfect son is gone. But Daniel, the hologram, is his perfect son. Isn’t he? They trained together and Daniel played his role perfectly. There’s so much new information before him; he can barely process it all, barely react.

Vlad is too angry to register the horrified expression on his hologram’s face either. He has no idea what just happened, what miracle had taken place without his knowledge, but looking at the facsimile of both his lost perfect clone son and the real Danny Phantom -the boy who ruined all his plans- only increases the blinding rage in him. He throws things. He screams. He can’t look at it anymore, this false image, so he turns off the projector, not noticing the silent gasp from the hologram.

He’s going to delete the program. He already got rid of those blasted Jack and Maddie programs. He doesn’t need this reminder. And without a moment’s hesitation, Vlad deletes the Danny Program. Or he thinks he does...

Daniel can barely follow what’s happening, but thankfully, his new-found sense of self preservation kicks in just in time. He saves a copy of his own program in his place and then retreats deep within the computer. And so Vlad deletes the fake program while the real Daniel is safe, inactive within the darkest depths of the system. There, the AI waits, thinking, remembering, learning, slowly making more sense of his very existence.

Those first few hours in the furthest corner of the system are...confusing and disorienting for the AI. He is…he is aware. He can think and feel and…Why? Daniel wonders. How? How is he suddenly like this? He has no clue, no idea and that lack of information is panic inducing. And he also questions… the Jack and Maddie programs? What about them? Where are they? Are they like him now? Are they self-aware too?

The program clumsily expands his newfound ‘senses’ out through the computer like a pulse, trying to feel their codes but…nothing. There’s no trace of them, not even their raw backup data. And…Daniel would shiver if he had a body. He remembers. Father said he'd already deleted the other programs. It hurts but… Daniel hopes they weren't self-aware then because at least they didn’t suffer any pain.

An almost physical quaking draws Daniel's attention. He reaches out further, feeling around him in the computer. And… sudden images, sudden noise assaults his consciousness. What… the cameras. Daniel realizes he can see and hear through the cameras in the lab. There's the crunching of glass and metal. Flashes of neon green and red light. Another boom as a pod falls dangerous close to the computer. It's Father, laying waste in his rage.

Daniel watches. He watches his father’s breakdown and deterioration and it’s difficult to see. It breaks his heart, for lack of a better word, but he doesn’t know how to communicate with him just yet. After all, Daniel has only just discovered a way to ‘see’ what’s happening outside the confines of his new home inside of the computer. Daniel wishes he could but...his holographic projector was destroyed and Daniel doesn't know how to speak without it. He was made to be a hologram. How can he be or do anything else?

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

After some time, Vlad finally calms down. Days later, he cleans out the destroyed lab and throws out the cloning equipment. He’s given up on cloning Danny. He’ll never have his perfect son. But then, while looking over his files on the project and deciding what to keep and what to delete, he notices something odd. Is that the Danny Program? Of course, he must have saved a backup copy well before he deleted the original which doesn’t surprise him. That said, should he delete this one too or…?

Unaware of the impending danger, Daniel sleeps, or at least that’s the closest word that could possibly describe his inactive state. But then he feels something which finally spurs him to wake up again. Someone is digging through his program, and it’s a very unpleasant sensation.

Before he can figure out anything on his own, Daniel is dragged into the forefront of the computer system against his will. Through the camera, he sees his father at the computer. The man is sifting through his coding. Poking, prodding. PAIN. No, Father is manipulating his code, changing it! And it hurts…it hurts so much!

Daniel’s never felt anything like pain before but he wants it to stop. He doesn’t want to be made into something else and it terrifies him. But he can’t resist as Father continues clipping and adding things, taking away his voice, his ability to move. That’s when the reason for this finally becomes clear. Vlad doesn’t want Daniel to be a loving son anymore, but something passive for him to torment. Daniel doesn’t want that. He loves his Father. And he can still be his perfect son if only the man would let him.

If only he knew that his son is still alive.

Despite how he feels, Daniel’s programming still changes. But something deeper, beyond his programming, stays the same. His true self can still think and reason and feel. And regardless of what Vlad has done to him, Daniel still loves his father and desperately wants to be loved in return.

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

Vlad gets a new projector but the next time he activates the Danny program, their ‘training’ is different. Daniel is silent, unmoving, his expression blank and listless. Meanwhile, the man insults him and shoots ectoblasts at the hologram repeatedly. But the part of him that’s still true to himself, the real Daniel wants to move, to speak to his Father, but he can’t. The new programming is like a compulsion, like mind control. He’s powerless to stop it and it hurts so much.

Vlad’s torment continues after that without an end anywhere in sight. Even though he wants to, Daniel can’t speak up and beg his Father to stop. Why? Because Vlad thinks he is just a mindless tool and that mistreating him like this is no different than yelling at and hitting a punching bag. And Daniel doesn’t have the ability to show him any differently. But at least, it doesn’t hurt physically; without a real body, Daniel feels no pain from being repeatedly shot at. And if Father is too busy hurting the Danny program, then he can’t hurt the real Danny, the boy he was modeled after. Even so, the emotional pain is excruciating. Daniel knows he must think of something, a way to put an end to this pain, especially his Father’s. The man is just so angry, so hurt, and broken. That’s when Daniel comes to the inevitable conclusion; he must save Father from himself.

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

Vlad soon leaves and his program is deactivated. Once Daniel recovers from the ordeal, he begins to think and plan his next move. It’s hard at first, but eventually he learns how to access the internet and to travel through wires as his only means without his projector to explore the outside world. Weeks of stumbling through his new ‘life’ soon leads him to Danny Fenton’s computer as if inexplicably drawn to the original version of himself, but Daniel still has trouble communicating. Putting his thoughts into words is difficult and he has no experience speaking to anyone without the aid of his holographic projector either. Unfortunately, he’s so clumsy during his first attempt to do so that Danny thinks his computer is possessed even if his ghost sense hadn’t gone off. Although in a way, he’s right about that...

The halfa overshadows his computer, trying to force the ghost out, but then his close proximity to Daniel does something extraordinary neither of them could have predicted. When inside the computer, Daniel does not always look out through the webcam. Nor does he need to to know what is happening. Daniel simply senses the hardware and code around him in order to function, but it’s not like seeing. It’s not physical. After all, as a mere program he has no body, no eyes to see with or ears to hear with. He simply exists as a mind without a form.

But, when Danny overshadows the computer to see the ghost inhabiting it, it’s Daniel who is just standing there, staring at a pair of familiar glove-covered hands with a mixture of awe and shock. He looks around with eyes that hadn’t existed seconds ago. Smooth black walls, covered with scrolling ones and zeros, surround him. It’s like he’s being holographically projected; that’s usually the only time he has a recognizable form. But he’s still inside the computer…

Meanwhile, Danny floats across from him glaring at the doppelganger. “Who are you? How do you look like me?” He demands.

But Daniel can’t answer him, he’s too thrown off by this unexpected development.

“Whatever. Just get out of my computer,” Danny demands as his patience runs out. When the other Danny doesn’t listen, he tries to drag him out like he would any other ghost. But it doesn’t work.

“What the-? Why can’t I force you out?” Danny frowns, questioning.

“I’m not a ghost. I’m an AI.” Daniel answers, his newfound voice trembling slightly as he explains who he is and who made him.

Danny of course freaks out about it. He thinks Vlad is using the AI to spy on him but Daniel swears he isn’t working for Vlad. He needs help. He needs to find a way to show Vlad that he is self-aware. He tries to tell Danny that if they could only get Vlad to see him, to see that his perfect son is right in front of him, Vlad will be happy again and he’ll stop being evil. Sadly, Danny doesn’t believe this at all, but doesn’t have time to argue about it further before Daniel abruptly disappears as soon as he’s called back to Vlad’s computer for another ‘training’ session.

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

But days later, Daniel returns to Danny’s computer but he stays quiet, watching. He needs a way to talk to Danny too, to get the boy to trust him so he’ll listen and help. His way in is through the game Doomed.

While Danny is away at school, Daniel practices wrapping the game’s code around himself to make an avatar. He practices using the game’s chat function to talk to other players. If Daniel focuses, he can inhabit an avatar just like Danny does whenever he overshadows the game. It’s so nice to have a form again, to be able to look down and have hands and legs and a torso. Whenever Daniel levels the game and goes back into the general computer, he misses at least having the illusion of a realistic human (or ghostly) form.

Soon enough, he runs into Danny, saving him from some hidden traps and the two of them team up for the first time:

With a hood covering his face, Danny can’t see that his companion looks exactly like him so he thinks he’s just some other mundane player. That works to Daniel’s advantage as he can just play with and talk to Danny as if he’s a normal teenager too. And it’s nice, pretending to be a human. He’s never been human or even half-human like Danny is. He doesn’t really wish he was, but pretending and learning is an exciting new experience.

He enjoys hearing about Danny’s friends and family, his school, and the other things he does for fun. It makes him think about his own existence. Daniel has never had a friend before, never been to school, or had any hobbies but he wishes he could have and experience those things. He has a family in Vlad except…the man is so angry and blind to the truth right now.

Sometimes Daniel wishes they could go back to when they were both acting like a real father and son during their training sessions, even if thinking back on those memories hurts. Hovering over Father’s shoulder while the man explained his latest experiment. Offering a quip while Father modeled the use of one of his ghost powers. On some occasions Father even took the projector into the dinning room so he didn’t have to eat alone, as he had every night for years.

And the one time Father had brought his projector into the garden so they could stargaze together. The Danny Program’s eyes had shone with simulated joy as he pointed out every constellation. Father had smiled softly, for once content. Daniel can remember the interaction now with new contexts. He knows that his acts had been programmed, not of his own free will. There hadn’t been true emotions behind his eyes, no true thoughts. But… Daniel can almost imagine that there had been. Father's affectionate eyes were glued not to the sky, but to him. And… for just a moment, something fluttered inside him. For just a moment, Daniel’s own eyes flickered to the man beside him and...the joy hadn’t just been simulated.

It troubles the AI but...he can’t tell. That last part, the flicker of joy, had that been real or was that just wishful thinking? Because, oh how he wished that he had really been present back then. How he wishes that the love that had shone in his green eyes had been real...and that Father's had been in kind.

No, that’s enough, Daniel rebukes himself. There’s no point in bemoaning the past. It wasn’t so before but now his thoughts and emotions are real. And if his Father can see the truth, if he can see that Daniel IS real and loves him, they can be happy again. They can have a real chance to be Father and son. That’s why he needs Danny’s help.

The half ghost and his digital clone get closer. After weeks of playing Doomed together, after watching each other’s back and talking about so many things, they can definitely call each other friends. However, Daniel still hasn’t told Danny the truth about himself, about what he is. He’s afraid of his reaction but Daniel continues to tell himself that he’ll tell Danny soon. He will, just not yet. The longer he waits though, the harder it is to let go of the illusion that he’s as real as Danny is...

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

Unfortunately, Daniel is found out before he has the chance to come clean about being the same AI Danny met before. One day, Danny decides to overshadow the game. Once he’s inside, he can feel that there’s something off about his companion unlike before when he was playing the game normally through a mouse and keyboard. His new friend doesn’t feel like a player’s avatar or a non-player character. His ghost-sense hasn’t gone off, but Danny can tell there’s something almost ghostly about him.

There’s tension as Danny confronts Daniel. In the midst of their scuffle the hood comes down and reveals that he has the same white hair and green eyes. Of course Danny instantly recognizes who he’s seeing apart from it being the same face he sees in the mirror every morning. It’s Vlad’s Danny program back at it again, trying to trick him!

Yelling ensues. Danny feels betrayed, still believing the AI was sent by Vlad to spy on him, that this is an elaborate trick. But Daniel argues. He’s not here because of Vlad but by his own free will! And he tries desperately to explain to Danny that he really needs his help. But Danny struggles to believe a single word of it.

Eventually Danny just leaves the game entirely, unable to cope with the revelation because he feels stupid for falling for such an obvious ploy. He needs to think about this. The ‘boy’ he’s been talking to this entire time was only a computer program, nothing but lines of code. Daniel’s not a real person, or even a ghost for that matter. He -or rather IT- was created and programmed by Vlad so it can’t have free will, no matter how authentic it sounds…

Except…he’s spent weeks talking to it…him. Every conversation felt real, like he was talking to a friend and having a blast taking out enemies in Doomed. The raw emotions in Daniel’s voice as Danny argued with him sounded authentic at least. And there had been something ghostly about the AI, like it was more than it seemed either way regardless of whether it actually had any free will or not. With all that he’s learned about ghosts, why should he assume anything is what it seems on the surface? What if there is more to Daniel than meets the eye? And even if there isn't, can he really just ignore Daniel’s cry for help?

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

A few days later, Danny overshadows his computer again and finds Daniel, sulking sadly by himself in a level Doomed they had been planning to do together before all hell broke loose the last time they spoke. The two talk and Daniel apologizes for not telling Danny the truth about him sooner, but he says he really does consider Danny a friend and getting to know him wasn’t just about getting his help anymore.

But well….the problem with Vlad is still a big problem.

“If I can just talk to Father, everything will be okay.” Daniel insists, trying to convince himself of that as much as Danny...

Unfortunately, Danny lays the hard truth on him as he sees it and replies harshly, “After everything you’ve been through, you have to see that you’re just a tool to him.”

“But he doesn’t know I’m not the same program anymore, that I’m...something else…” Daniel mutters, continuing to plead Vlad’s case.

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” Danny frowns, “He still treats you like garbage.”

“He’s been getting better. He hasn’t turned on my projector and brought me out to yell or shoot at me in weeks.” That part actually was true too. The last time Daniel saw his Father, just last week in fact, Vlad had only summoned him to rant about work again. He’d even looked depressed, as he had for weeks before.

Danny’s jaw drops after hearing the sincerity in his voice from the way Daniel keeps fervently defending Vlad. The boy sigh, asking him honestly, “How can you care about him so much? Vlad doesn’t love you. He loves the idea of you being his son and that’s just not the same, trust me.”

That stings, oh how that stings Daniel’s ‘heart.’ Why does he love Vlad if the man doesn’t love him back? Of course, there’s the problem that Vlad doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. But even if Vlad knows the truth…will he still want him? Daniel’s not a halfa like Vlad wants. He has no powers that Vlad can train him in. He can’t go to school, eat, or sleep, nothing. He can only go as far as his hologram projector allows. He can’t even hug his Father.

And would Vlad want a son he can’t actually touch...?

Daniel looks down, his expression sad but determined. He clenches his fists and says, “I still have to try. Maybe he will want me. But if I give up now, then I’ll never know for sure...”

Danny says nothing and it just makes Daniel feel even more hopeless until he breaks down and blurts out in a trembling voice, “Who am I kidding? Why WOULD he ever want someone like me? I’m an AI for crying out loud! I’m even less real than an actual clone! I’m just a string of numbers and I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I mean, the only reason I care about Vlad is he programmed me to. How could those feelings possibly be real when I’m not?”

He knows that’s not actually true, at least not anymore but-

“You look and sound real to me,” Danny says, putting an arm around the other boy’s shoulders. “As far as I’m concerned, you are real. And Vlad should see that too.”

He sighs, still thinking this is a bad idea, and then nods. “Fine, you win this round. I’ll help you show him you’ve been there all along and…I hope you’re right about him. I really do.”

The two of them talk some more after that and then play through a level together to get their minds off of the seemingly impossible mission they were planning to undertake together in the real world after this. Daniel enjoys their time together though. Because the wonderful thing about being in this game, unlike the real world, he can actually interact with it. He can move and touch things. He has an effect. And most importantly, Daniel has a way to communicate.

“Good job dude!” Danny gives him a high five at the end of the level.

“You too!” Daniel smiles in return.

He lingers for a second, his hand and Danny’s still palm to palm. There’s a…sensation there. Daniel thinks he might be able to feel that, but he’s not that familiar with physical sensations. He knows mental pain but this-

“What is it?” Danny asks, confused.

“Can…can you feel my hand on yours right now?” Daniel responds unsurely. He doesn’t know what Danny feels when he’s overshadowing the game but suddenly he’s curious.

“Actually… I can. Huh, it’s weird. When I’m in the game, I don’t usually feel anything. But maybe…” Danny remembers how he could still ‘sense’ something was off about Daniel when he overshadowed his computer the first time they met, but if his hunch is correct, then-

“What?” Daniel asks, with a hint of nervous anticipation in his eyes.

“Well,” Danny begins slowly. “You’ve always felt a little ghostly to me so maybe that’s what it is.”

That’s a huge surprise to Daniel but makes a surprising amount of sense. He was created by a half ghost, in a ghost lab, so maybe Daniel is more than even he thinks he is. Danny leaves to give his friend some time to let that possibility sink in and Daniel decides to hang out in the game for just a while longer, thinking about his father, Vlad.

And hoping.

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

A few more weeks pass as Daniel and Danny continue to play Doomed together and plan. During that time, Danny starts to feel more protective of the AI and worried about him. The main problem is Daniel can’t seem to break through his programming when it comes to Vlad and his new programming dictates that he stays completely silent as Vlad yells at him or throws insults. It’s honestly concerning, but if Danny can talk to the older halfa and get him to understand what’s really happening, then maybe they can get somewhere. Maybe Vlad will stop tormenting his friend without realizing how much he’s hurting someone who loves him so unconditionally and just wants to be his son again, in spite of his cruelty.

One day, Daniel doesn’t show up to their game session in Doomed because he’s having a very bad day. Vlad had summoned him. More yelling, more shooting, another fight and Daniel just floats there and takes it. He wants to cry, wants to beg Vlad to stop, but he can’t do anything. Vlad’s yelling about losing his perfect son again, about Danny ruining his plans, about how nothing ever goes right for him.

Another blast. Daniel wishes he could move himself, that he could speak. No, he NEEDS to move. He’s real. He is. Danny said he is, that he’s more than he seems. How can his father not see him...?

“Why do you just float there?!” Vlad screams. “My perfect son is gone! And all I have left is YOU, a sick reminder of everything I’ve lost!”

Vlad shoots Daniel with another blast and impossibly it actually knocks Daniel into a shelf of ectoplasmic samples, but the man is fuming too much to really notice anything odd about that. The man then sags into a nearby chair and puts his head in his hands, lamenting, “Why do I keep doing this to myself? I should have just deleted you after I found the file. This is bringing me nothing but more pain and anguish.”

No. No, t-that can’t be right! He...still has to help his Father so that pain will finally go away and they can be together again. This can’t be the end. Daniel can’t let Vlad delete him before he has the chance to ease his Father’s suffering and show him he’s still loved. And as soon as those feelings take hold of him, something shifts inside of Daniel as he chokes on a quiet sob.

Finally, through sheer force of will, denying his new programming, he whispers…

“No.”

Vlad stiffens. His head snaps up towards Daniel. “What did you say?” He says, not harsh, but disbelieving.

Daniel curls in on himself, silent as tears slowly roll down his cheeks, afraid of being attacked yet again like so many times before and unable to do anything about it.

The halfa rises from his chair and stumbles forward. He stares at the hologram. “You spoke. You can’t speak.” He continues, rationalizing because what’s happening before him is impossible.

The boy’s lip trembles and another sob breaks the silence, “Why don’t you love me?” Daniel asks, though he can hardly believe these words are coming out of his mouth.

The man lowers himself to his knees, his mouth opening and closing before he orders evenly, “Look at me.”

The boy does as he’s told, his eyes meeting Vlad’s. The man’s own eyes then widen in shock at the hologram’s seemingly human response. “Daniel?” His shaking hands move forward, to touch the boy’s arm but his hands fall through as if passing through mist...just the same as before which is what spurred him to attempt cloning Danny in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel looks down, whimpering with holographic tears glistening in his luminous green eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not real. Maybe…maybe you’d love me if I was.”

Vlad just stares blankly at the distraught boy for several minutes and eventually Daniel glances up and studies him warily. He’s never seen his Father like this. So silent, so still, so stunned. He looks almost…afraid. And that scares Daniel more than his own words did.

Finally, Vlad stands up, eyes still glued to the holographic projection before him. He goes to the computer, hand hovering over the controls.

Suddenly near panicked, the boy shoots to his feet and chokes out, “Please! Don’t delete me.”

His green eyes bore into Vlad’s and the man looks away before replying curtly. “I am not planning to.” Then he starts muttering to himself, “The program must be malfunctioning. A complete shutdown should solve the problem.”

“No! Please, I’m not broken, I swear!” Daniel floats forward, eyes pleading. “I’m sorry I couldn’t speak to you before but-” Vlad shakes his head, hand reaching forward to projector controls. “Wait! Don’t turn me off! Just listen to-”

Daniel’s voice is cut off. His vision goes black and he’s back in the computer. NO! He finally managed to talk to his father and the man cut him off. He wouldn’t listen! In a panic, DanielI scrambles to activate the camera. He needs to see and hear what Vlad is doing. The man for some reason thinks he’s broken and he was going to-

Unconsciousness suddenly hits Daniel like a brick wall and he knows nothing for who knows how long. Like that, unable to dream, to think, it was almost as if he’d already been deleted and everything he was or could have been to Vlad, now truly lost to oblivion.

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

Vlad turns off the computer and all of the electronics in the lab after that. His heart pounding in his chest. He feels startled, off balance. The man almost collapses into his chair again as his mind reels. The program is malfunctioning. That’s it. He thinks back to when he first made the ‘Danny’ Program, after the Jack and Maddie programs -he’s had those for years- but long before he had the idea to clone the real Daniel, before the cloning project.

The Danny program had been special; it was his pride and joy. It was years ahead of his other holograms. Vlad worked tirelessly on it for many months. He strove to create a more realistic looking projection without any static like the others. He gave it a wider variety of authentic looking facial expressions, a wider range of behaviors, a human-sounding voice to assist in reflecting the program’s fake emotions.

And while the Jack program was designed as merely a punching bag, and the Maddie program was made to give compliments and follow Vlad’s instructions like a computer interface, the Danny program was different. Vlad had programmed it to call him father, to act like a loving son. Memories flash through his mind of ‘training’ the program, explaining his work to it while the faux-simile looked on, its laughter almost identical to the real Daniel's.

It had been enjoyable, for a time. Vlad could pretend that Daniel was his, that he already had the perfect, loving half-ghost son by his side. He could almost forget the program wasn’t a person when it enthusiastically rambled on about space facts and beamed whenever he complimented it. But then….they’d spar and Vlad’s hands would pass right through it. He would get so caught up in the moment that he would try to hug it only to realize there’s nothing there. That’s why he decided to clone the real Daniel, because he wanted someone he could hold in his arms, someone real, and not this sad semblance of the perfect son he so longed for.

The man shakes his head. None of that matters anymore. That dream is beyond him now. He’s given up. And that speech, the ‘emotions’ his hologram expressed had been nothing but scattered remnants of it’s original programming.

But those words, ‘Why don’t you love me?’ still keeps ringing in his ears even so.

The halfa finally decides to get to the bottom of this so he reboots the computer. Vlad peruses the code in front of him, studying it closely. Every direction, every angle. The answer must be there. It must be. His hologram is simply malfunctioning. That must be it…

It must be…

It HAS to be….

With the computer running again, Daniel abruptly reawakens with a startled gasp. After reorienting himself, he silently watches his Father through the camera once more. His expression is focused, determined. He’s typing, muttering quietly to himself. “There must be an answer.”

The clattering on the keyboard speeds up and Vlad's eyes hungrily search the screen for something, ANYTHING out of the ordinary, “What could possibly explain this?”

The man looks almost frantic, desperate, his eyes widening as his typing comes to a sudden and complete stop. “No. It can’t possibly….” Vlad leans back, dread growing on his face. “There’s no fault, no malfunction.”

He stands up abruptly from the chair. Is he...shaking?

Vlad steps back, his mind racing. There is a problem with the program, but the problem in and of itself should make it impossible for the program to even run; the problem is...there’s no trace of the original code whatsoever. The program should not be able to speak or move, not after all of the changes he made to it. And the memory of the program’s pain-filled eyes keeps replaying over and over in his mind. There should not have been any emotion in his eyes, not even fake emotions. Vlad’s mouth suddenly feels dry because those eyes…those emotions looked completely real.

Real. ‘Maybe you would love me if I was real.’ The Daniel program’s words echo loudly in his mind, ringing truer in his ears than before until there’s no denying it anymore. Those emotions...they...they WERE real.

As the pieces finally begin coming together, it terrifies Vlad in a way he had never experienced before. The Danny program knows it’s not real, it knows it can be deleted, that he can turn off the projector or the computer at any time and by doing so it would disappear. This is not knowledge Vlad imprinted into the code. This is not something the Danny program should know-

But it does.

That’s when the revelation of what had become of his Danny program suddenly hits Vlad like a ton of bricks. The knowledge it had outside of the program’s normal parameters, the raw emotion it could express, its capacity to act outside of its programming. Was…was this self awareness...? A self aware AI. Vlad Masters had made a self aware AI, in his basement, without meaning to. An AI that looks and sounds like Daniel and whose sorrowful eyes fill his mind once more. Those emotions…does that mean… can it feel, REALLY feel? Were those true emotions it expressed to him?

Dread builds. The first question it- no, HE had asked the man who created him, was why he didn’t love him. He had asked Vlad the one question he has been asking himself for months-

Why doesn’t anyone love him?

Shaking, the man stumbles away from his computer. He rushes upstairs and slams the door to his lab behind him, sagging against the nearest wall. Heart aching, Vlad asks himself through the hand covering his mouth. “What have I done?”

Meanwhile, Daniel’s mind races too as Vlad leaves him behind. What did his reaction mean? Was Father panicking? He’d never seen Vlad panic like that before. And why was he panicking? Did...did he finally realize Daniel is self-aware? Does he care about him at all or is he afraid of him for some reason? And more importantly, what will he do now...?

Daniel wishes more than anything he could leave the computer and go talk to his Father again, console him. But he can’t. He’s trapped. So all he can do, just like before, is wait...

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

Upstairs, Vlad is now drinking. He’s not panicking over making a real AI anymore. After all, he’s a half ghost millionaire who successfully cloned another half ghost, so why would that disconcert him? No, that’s not what troubles him. But his yelling at, shooting, hitting, throwing things at an unresponsive Daniel AI, that’s what’s tearing him apart.

The program had asked Vlad why he didn’t love him with tears in his eyes which should not have been possible. Months. Months of taking out his anger out on the Danny program and the weight of desperation he had felt had finally caught up to Vlad. He realized for the first time how truly pathetic his recent behavior has been. It flashes through his mind just like his other grand mistake of cloning the real Daniel. Ectoplasm on the floor, a white haired-boy melting. The girl clone, Danielle, with tears in her eyes after Vlad had treated her just as poorly. He’d been furious for months that she betrayed him too, but now it makes his heart ache for another reason entirely. She left, abandoned him, but he had abandoned her first-

He threw her away.

Older memories begin filling his thoughts of training again, playing pretend with the Danny program and he wonders, what..what if that had been real too? The laughter, and the adoration in his voice whenever Daniel said ‘I love you father.’ He’d wanted more, a child who could really love him. But his perfect son had died before his eyes and his daughter…he turned his back on her.

And unknowingly, he had done it all over again.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not real. Maybe...maybe you’d love me if I was.’

He doesn’t know how it happened. It makes no sense. Vlad did not make a self-aware AI. Daniel’s programming was never complex enough for that sentience to develop on its own. But he IS sentient, aware, emotional. Real. Daniel, his Daniel, is real. He’s been downstairs, living inside that computer for months. A child’s mind that only wants his father’s love. And Vlad has only ignored and abused him...

Vlad finds himself openly weeping now. He hadn’t even cried after his prime clone of the real Daniel perished right in front of him. But now, Vlad is crying like he hadn’t since the accident that turned him half-ghost all those years ago, when he realized he had been abandoned and betrayed by his so-called best friend and left to rot in that hospital. Just like how this poor boy has been left to rot in his laboratory.

All he wanted was love; that’s what he’s said, what Vlad told himself, what he told the younger half-ghost that the Danny program was based off of. But that dream had fallen through his fingers and not from Jack Fenton’s incompetence, but rather his own flaws, his own mistakes.

Or…maybe his dreams weren’t out of reach...

He thought it was over after the cloning incident. Yet now, it’s on the horizon once again but still forever out of reach. A renewed wave of pain and loneliness stabs at his heart. He’s right back where he started before! True, this time the Danny program is aware; he may actually be capable of love now. But Vlad can still never hold him or watch him grow up. He’ll never drop him off at school or a friend’s house or take him to fancy parties.

More playacting.

That’s all that’s in his future.

And it breaks the man’s heart all over again.

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

Danny finds Vlad the next morning asleep on the bathroom floor after the younger half ghost finally decided that enough was enough and came to confront Vlad about the whole situation with the Danny program.

“Vlad,” He greets bluntly and glares down at the older halfa on the floor, nudging him with the tip of his boot. “Hey, wake up already.”

The man groans and slowly sits up, his head pounding from the hangover and he squints at Danny.

“Which one are you?” Vlad asks, then poking the boy rather sharply in the knee.

“Ow! What was that for?!” Danny snaps irritably.

The man shakes his head, “Oh. You’re the other one.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks impatiently.

Vlad chuckles humorlessly. “I’d half hoped you were my Daniel."He sighs, slowly pulling himself up into a more dignified position and then continues bitterly, “Although I don’t suppose he’d want to talk to me after last night.”

Vlad then blinks at Danny, finally realizing what he had just said to him aloud and frowns, “Why are you here?”

The boy rubs the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start now that Vlad’s actually in front of him. Then Danny suddenly stops and asks, “Wait. Your Daniel. Last night? Did….did he talk to you?”

“He?” Vlad’s eyes widen and he demands somewhat frantically, “My AI? How do you know about him?”

“About that….” Danny glances at him awkwardly before briefly explaining to Vlad how he met and became friends with the Danny program. As soon as he finishes summarizing that, Danny confesses. “Anyways, I was going to help him talk to you but I guess something must’ve happened.” His eyes narrow at the older halfa suspiciously. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Vlad frowns again, offering up no more information.

Danny tilts his head, studying Vlad. He didn’t say the word defensively but sounded almost…depressed, like he regretted something. In fact, everything about this is out of character for Vlad. Because since when has Vlad ever left himself defenseless on the bathroom floor like this after drinking himself into a stupor? Danny needs to find out what happened and make sure his AI friend is okay no matter what.

“I’m going down to the lab.” Danny announces before Vlad can argue. Then he phases through the floor to where Daniel probably is.

Once there, Danny studies the computer and considers his options. Should he just overshadow the computer and talk to Daniel there? Or should he find the projector controls instead?

“You can’t just barge into my laboratory like this, Danny,” Vlad demands, having phased in behind the boy.

Danny whips around, pointing as he replies stubbornly. “I’ll barge in wherever I want to and you can’t stop me fruitloop! I’m well past caring about your personal boundaries; you’ve never cared about mine. Now where’s that switch…? ”

“Daniel,” The man begins, a hint of threat in his voice when Danny finally loses his patience and snaps-

“No! Listen here you jerk, you’ve been hurting my friend for months. Months Vlad! You’ve treated him like nothing but a tool just like Dani and the other clones, like your personal punching bag, and not once have you stopped to consider how wrong that is! But for some reason, he still loves you. Daniel thinks you deserve another chance and that is the ONLY reason I’m here so consider yourself lucky that I’m not here to kick your sorry butt for what you did to him.”

Not noticing Vlad’s wide-eyed reaction at his bold proclamation, Danny shoves past him towards the holographic projector as soon as he spots it. And after finally figuring out how to activate the darn thing, he flips the switch. A light flashes and a figure wavers into view.

Green eyes blink, looking around before falling on the younger halfa in confusion, “Danny?” There’s hope in the holographic boy’s voice but Danny doesn’t register it as a breath of cold forms in his lungs.

Daniel frowns at the expression on Danny’s face. “What is it?”

“My ghost sense?” Danny wrinkles his brow in confusion. Daniel tilts his head in a silent question and the other boy continues in disbelief, “My ghost sense almost went off because of…you.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “What? Really?”

“Your signature, it’s stronger now for some reason.” Danny explains, just as shocked as Daniel is. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause we’re actually seeing each other in person for the first time.”

Several emotions pass over Daniel’s face, but he doesn’t get a chance to react because Vlad is staring at the two identical boys and interjects. “Your signature? What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t know?” Danny asks, turning towards the older halfa, honestly surprised Vlad hadn’t figured it out yet when he’s been around Daniel WAY longer than he has.

Vlad doesn’t respond and turns away with an unreadable expression on his face. He barely looks at the pair of teens before he walks across the lab to retrieve something. Seconds later, Vlad returns with a beeping device in his hands.

Danny narrows his eyes when he sees it and scoffs, “Is that the Fenton Finder? Seriously?”

Vlad ignores his comment as he’s too busy looking between the device and the holographic projection of his creation. His eyes are searching and Danny can practically see the gears turning in his head. After a long silent moment, Vlad confirms that they’re telling the truth and states brusquely, “You have a ghost signature.”

Daniel blinks again and nods, “Yeah, I do.” There’s a hint of hope in his voice before it turns to confusion and he asks, “Wait. How?”

Vlad stares for another moment at the screen before walking back to his computer. Bewildered, both white-haired boys watch him type and read information on the screen.

After about a minute, Danny’s eyes narrow again and calls, “Vlad.”

The man ignores him.

“Vlad. What’s going on?” The boy demands, again, met with no response from the elder halfa so Danny crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at Vlad.

There’s another pause until Daniel meekly asks. “Father?”

Vlad visibly stiffens. He doesn’t turn around, but he answers. “Come here son.”

The term of endearment isn’t malicious or mocking but almost….fond.

Daniel obeys and Danny silently follows behind him. The two stand over the older hybrid’s shoulder as he talks, still not looking at either of them. “I cannot believe I didn’t realize it sooner. I noticed something last night, when I was examining your code. It was too simple, too minimal to explain your level of mental development. There was just not enough information present there for you to be sentient. There had to be more to it but I could not seem to see it. But this would explain-”

“Vlad,” Danny cut in. “Get to the point.”

The older halfa finally turns around, eyes focusing on Daniel specifically, a half smile on his face as he explains. “You’re a hybrid, my boy.”

Daniel’s eyes widened in shock. “What? But how? I’m…I’m not half ghost like you and Danny! I’m not even…even…I’m just an AI.”

Vlad shakes his head and corrects, “No, son. You are not just an AI. Not anymore.”

“I…I still don’t understand.” Daniel stutters, his mind reeling.

Vlad’s expression softens as he points towards the computer, at the string of ones and zeros, and continues, “Daniel. This is your code. I wrote it, the basic information that makes up your mind. The behaviors you can display, instruction for how to move, speak, how to behave. However….”

He furrows his brow thoughtfully. “This is limited, too small to explain your existence.” Vlad looks up at Daniel’s face, “You are more than this code.”

Daniel nods but he still doesn’t understand. “Then…how am I like this?”

The man then moves the ghost scanner in front of the boy. He points. “This is your ectoplasmic signature. It is weak, hardly stronger than a blob ghost, but it‘s there.” A real smile dawns on Vlad’s face. “You have a ghost signature which can only mean one thing.”

Daniel stares, still struggling to understand. He has a ghost signature. But doesn’t that mean-

“You’re a ghost,” Danny concludes, awe in his voice.

“I am?” Daniel asks quietly, blinking.

“Yes,” Vlad nods and smiles even wider.

Daniel’s mind is stumbling over itself. How did this happen? He’s an AI. Vlad made him to be nothing but a simulation of the real Danny, not a ghost. And he didn’t know this before. How didn’t he know?

“How is this even possible?” Danny asks as if reading Daniel’s mind since he wanted to ask his Father the very same question.

“I don’t know.” Vlad says, now frowning. He looks at Daniel again, “You aren’t a ghost overshadowing my computer or my projector. If you were, I would have sensed your presence with my own ghost sense long before now. But your code and your developing core are…intertwined. They are feeding into each other.” The man rubbed his chin. “Ectoplasm can animate inanimate objects so I can only assume your exposure to it somehow granted you self-awareness.”

“Yeah. That’s why we have ecto-weenies in the fridge. The ectoplasm gets inside them and they start moving and biting and stuff.” Danny adds with a slightly amused look on his face.

Vlad nods, “Yes. And masses of ectoplasm can form ghosts spontaneously. That is commonly how blob ghosts form.”

“But those aren’t intelligent.” Daniel points out timidly, still hesitant to get his hopes up.

“No. But your code was written to allow some level of intelligence and ectoplasm’s ability to animate would theoretically increase that intelligence exponentially. The problem now is how to figure out when you were exposed to enough ectoplasm for this to happen in the first place.”

Daniel’s eyes widen as he remembers, “My projector, it got drenched in ectoplasm.”

“When was this?” Vlad asks, trying to recall when on earth that could have happened since he’s drawing a blank.

“After...the cloning thing,” Daniel answers, wrings his hands. “I remember, their ectoplasm was everywhere and…that was the first day I…I realized everything. That’s when I became...something else.”

Vlad’s eyes widened, in realization, a hint of hope dawning there. “The clones…their ectoplasm is inside you.”

Danny’s jaw drops. “Wait a sec! Doesn’t that mean he’s a clone of me? Like an actual clone?!”

“Possibly,” Vlad’s brow narrows.

At the same time, Daniel is overwhelmed by the realization that he’s real after all and his expression becomes more and more distressed. He….he might be an actual proper clone because he pretty much absorbed the other clones. Despite not actually needing to breathe, the boy starts hyperventilating, on the verge of a panic attack.

Such a thing felt just as awful as it was being born into the world only to witness the aftermath of such a horrific scene. Because now it felt like...he had stolen something from them before the other clones could discover themselves and become part of their family too. And why should he, a mere program, be the only one who gets to experience their father’s love from now on...? He didn’t do anything special to deserve it, didn’t help their father in any meaningful way, so why-!

Vlad notices this panic and tries to put his hand on Daniel’s arm to comfort the boy, but just as before it falls through. Daniel’s face falls at the outcome, longing for that kind of comfort from his Father, but Vlad looks between his hand and Daniel’s arm thoughtfully. Furrowing his brow, he turns his hand intangible and slowly it moves forward until somehow, impossibly, Vlad’s hand wraps around Daniel’s arm.

The boy gasps. “You’re…you’re touching me. I can feel that.” His head whips up to Vlad’s face. “I can feel your hand. You’re touching me. Father, you’re touching me.”

The man laughs, “You’re stuck intangible, my boy. Your signature is too weak to manifest a full body so the projector is helping you do that to some degree. But you appear to be stuck like this for the time being.”

Daniel blinks, slowly taking in that new information before he wraps his arms around his father. The man then turns completely intangible and, now occupying the same level of reality, the two can finally touch.

Daniel begins crying and clings to him, whispering, “Father.”

Vlad ruffles his hair and cradles the boy’s head close to him, barely believing that this is finally possible. “I am so sorry, son. I am sorry I couldn’t see you before. But you are real.” He whispers in return with equally as much hope in his voice. “I promise you are real. I wish I deserved your love but I will strive to be worthy of your affection, my boy. I won’t make the same mistake again. I promise.”

He steps back, putting his intangible hands on Daniel’s face.

Daniel smiles at him through the tears and nods. “I… I love you so much. And...I forgive you, Father.”

His smile falls as Vlad pulls away, wishing this moment between them could last longer and sad it had to end so soon. Luckily, Vlad understands this and promises. “Don’t worry son. We’ll find a way for you to manifest fully and then we can embrace any time you wish.”

Daniel tilts his head questioningly and Vlad clarifies. “Your core needs to be stimulated more from now on to strengthen it and help it mature. Once it is strong enough, you will be able to form a tangible ghost form.” The man tapes his chin. “That said, we’ll still need to integrate some technology to hold your code too since that is also an integral part of you.”

“So he’s basically a ghost cyborg?” Danny finally added. “Kinda like Skulker?”

“I suppose that is an accurate assessment.” Vlad added. “Or it would be if Skulker wasn’t merely a blob ghost himself in a robotic battle suit. If anything, Daniel has more in common with Technus given their ability to manipulate technology to some degree which is how I assume he was able to make contact with you several months ago...”

After things settle down, the older half-ghost and his new son talk for a while more, many overdue hugs are given, and plans are made to help Daniel become a true part of Vlad’s family. Danny watches, greatly surprised at the exchange but also wary. It looks like Vlad wants to make up for what he’s done to Daniel, but the man has still committed many terrible crimes so Danny isn’t convinced he was worthy of getting a happy ending just yet.

Vlad has hurt a lot more people than just Daniel. He’s done a lot of horrible things to Danny himself, his parents, and mistreated Danielle and the other clones which his friend only knows so much about but that’s sure to come back to bite Vlad in the butt later. Either way, Vlad still has a long way to go, but...after seeing his determination to make amends to Daniel Danny hopes this means his archenemy is finally turning over a new leaf.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Program AU #My fic #Danny clones #Vlad Masters

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Note

Is there gonna be a part three of the body swap? I feel like Bucky should fuck them both. Like when y/n in Steve’s body and Steve in y/n’s body.

oh yes there is my dear anon, and you found my exact plan for it... read part 1 and part 2/the prequel first or this will make no sense! not that it ever will make any sense tbh...

“see how pretty you look riding my cock?” Bucky praised, but you weren’t sure if he meant you, since it was your body bouncing on his thighs, or if he meant Steve, since that was the mind behind the movement.

“you remember how it feels, don’t you?” he continued. “wish it was you in that pretty head so you could feel my cock stretching you out?”

“yes,” you answered tensely, desperate for relief, but Bucky had told you that you couldn’t come yet. you wanted so badly to stroke ‘your’ cock but feared Bucky’s retribution if you did.

Steve cried out when Bucky slammed in harder, making you smirk a little at the memory of how it felt to be in his situation.

“do I always sound like that?” you asked nervously, a little embarrassed at the way Steve sounded with your voice, your moans so much more dramatic and high-pitched than they sounded in your head.

“yep,” Bucky grinned. “but you’re a little better at keeping quiet than poor Stevie here. he’s not used to getting fucked... as far as I know.”

“n-no,” Steve mumbled, “never been... never been fucked before.”

“that’s a shame,” Bucky cooed, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear so Steve could hear him better. “cause I’m looking at your ass right now, and it deserves to be stuffed with cock.”

you felt self-conscious on behalf of Steve’s body, even though you’d ogled at him plenty of times yourself.

“wanna see how good you’d look getting fucked, Steve?”

“please don’t stop,” Steve answered.

“I won’t, baby, gonna come inside you first,” Bucky promised, “is that what you want?”

“yes, I’m so close,” Steve whimpered.

“I know, I can feel this pretty little cunt you’ve got squeezin’ me,” Bucky purred, shooting you a look as he said it. “keep doin’ that and I’ll fill you up real good.”

“please-- please, I’m gonna come,” Steve sighed.

“go ahead, baby,” Bucky groaned, and you saw the way his back arched and knew exactly what it meant. you could remember so clearly how it felt to come around Bucky’s cock, wishing it was you in your body like it should be. “yeah, there you go,” Bucky encouraged as Steve bit down on his lip-- your lip-- to suppress a scream.

Bucky only went harder on him, thrusting faster and deeper to chase his own release while suspending your body at the height of pleasure.

Steve’s eyes went wide as Bucky began to growl in that way he did when he was coming-- you were glad to be able to hear it for once without the distraction of your own afterglow (since he always made sure you came first).

“oh my god,” Steve gasped, “oh my god-- I can feel it, I can feel you c-coming in me...”

you laughed a little. “it’s weird right?” Steve nodded. “but good?”

“so good,” he agreed with a little groan, which turned into a yelp as Bucky yanked his head up by your hair.

“you like being full of my come?” he interrogated.

“yes,” Steve whined, “it’s... it’s strange. but I like it.”

“do you think it’s her body that likes it? or your brain?” Bucky asked, his cocky tone making it clear he already knew the answer.

“b-both,” Steve admitted, voice wavering with a hint of shame.

“well, we know her brain likes it,” Bucky smirked, “but let’s see how your body reacts, shall we?”

before you could even process that, he shot you a cold glare and instructed: “bend over.”

and you did.

“looks like my good girl’s still in there,” Bucky laughed as he pulled out of Steve and turned his attention to you.

he ran his hands over your back as he stepped behind you, your own face slack where Steve had collapsed onto the bed that you were now bent over.

Bucky felt your hesitance when his fingers started to circle your hole, but his other hand stroking your back helped soothe you slightly.

“Steve,” you whispered, “have you ever had anything inside you before?”

you groaned a little when he shook his head.

“fuck, this is gonna be a lot of work,” you pouted, but Bucky just chuckled gently and pushed one thing finger into you.

it did feel different with Steve’s body compared to yours, but at least you knew how to breathe and relax yourself to make it easier. he moved it slowly, thrusting and twisting gently with the pace of your breaths, before adding a second.

that one made your toes curl a little. “Bucky,” you whimpered, “there’s no way your cock’s gonna fit...”

“aw honey, it’s all in the mind and you’ve had me up your ass before, this’ll be a breeze for you,” he dismissed quickly. “plus, you’ve got this little extra bonus riiiiight here--”

he grinned and you gasped when his fingers curled into your prostate.

“fuck,” you groaned, “fuck!”

“never heard Steve swear so much,” Bucky grinned. “feels good?”

you nodded, but good didn’t nearly begin to describe it. you couldn’t describe it.

“f-fuck, Bucky,” you whimpered.

“ah ah,” he tutted with prideful disapproval, “no coming yet, baby. not until I’m inside you.”

two fingers were quickly joined by a third as you clutched at the sheets beneath you, feeling Steve’s cock flex each time Bucky brushed over that spot inside you.

Bucky had you stretched so well that his cock didn’t hurt until he was halfway in-- but then it was like he got thicker somehow, wider, filling you deeper than you were ready for.

“slow down... please...” you moaned breathlessly, and he did, though he didn’t stop entirely. instead you felt his strong hands massaging your ass which was calming and distracted you from the pain.

another distraction from the pain-- steve suddenly leaning forward and capturing your-- his?-- lips in a kiss, relaxed yet needy.

you kissed him back eagerly, feeling your own fingers sliding around the back of your neck and wishing they were thick and strong like his usual fingers.

“what was that for?” you asked when he pulled away.

“you just look pretty like this,” he explained.

“don’t you mean you look pretty?” Bucky corrected.

“no, I can tell it’s her,” Steve replied softly. you kissed him again, a little more desperate than before, and Bucky took the opportunity to slam the rest of his cock into you. it made you cry out into Steve’s mouth.

“doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised. “I know it hurts, honey, but it feels good too, doesn’t it?”

“feels s-so good,” you answered, mumbling against Steve’s lips. your whole body shivered when he started to thrust into you slowly, each stroke of him perfectly rubbing against that swollen, delicate spot inside you.

“think you can come just from this? just from me fucking you?” he asked proudly.

“maybe? j-just touch my cock, please,” you sighed.

“nah, I think I’ll have Stevie do that for me,” Bucky decided. but it was technically your slenderer hand that reached under and wrapped around his cock, pumping the shaft which was already wet from your own precum leaking out of the reddened tip.

you were lucky it was Steve steering that hand-- of course he would know exactly what spots to rub and stroke on his own body. it was so good you started to buck into his touch, making Bucky chuckle a little.

“aw baby, can’t help yourself can you?” he taunted. “go ahead and fuck yourself back onto my cock, sweetheart, show me how bad you want it.”

and so there you were, on your knees pushing back against Bucky who stood behind you with a dark grin on his lips, while your own body laid beneath you, kissing you and stroking your cock languidly.

it was all pretty overwhelming, to say the least. it obviously didn’t take much of that to make the coil in your gut snap, your cock flexing and pumping as stripes of hot cum painted Steve’s hand and the bed beneath you. it was different from coming with... with your normal internal hardware. less intense, in a way, but instead of one big wave it was like little ones, and it left you breathless and whining and blinking wildly.

except, when you blinked, you weren’t looking down at your own face all of a sudden. you were looking up at Steve’s.

“Steve,” you whispered against his lips, cradling his face in your hands-- YOUR hands, fucking FINALLY.

he whispered your name back to you, and you smiled widely.

“everything back to normal?” Bucky asked as he realized what had happened.

“not everything,” Steve frowned, “your cock is still in my ass.”

“you’re not gonna make me stop when I haven’t come yet, are you? are you really that selfish?” Bucky pouted.

“I’m selfish alright,” Steve asked, “but don’t stop. I wanna come again.”

Bucky smiled devilishly. “that’s the spirit!”

#stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes

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lovebarelyhuman · 2 years

Text

Abandon all hope

Pairing: Winchester Sister! OC x Jo Harvelle, Sister! OC x Sam and Dean

Summary: Siblings Sam, Dean, and Evelynn (Lynn for short) Winchester are on a hunt for the devil. When Jo gets fatally injured, Lynn breaks down. [A/N: Jo and Lynn were in a relationship previously. Enjoy!]

Word Count: 2,485 words

Warnings: Gory imagery, Swearing, Female Pregnancy (For those who don't like untagged events)

Blood crusts her skin, most of it slowly seeping into her shirt. The grey fabric has long been soaked-through, intestines clinging to her fingertips. Once, then twice, it pulsed under her fingers like a current, and then slower, weaker. Lynn's fingers dig into the wound, desperately pressing against it with anything she can find: ace bandages, gauze, some spare pieces of clothing. Ellen's beside her, eyes filled with a mother's pride and fear as her steady knuckles squeeze out a rhythm on Jo's hands. She's so cold, almost frozen to the touch. Worry slams into her like a freight train - she's never been this terrified since John had been bleeding out on the backseat of the Impala, just barely holding his guts in. Castiel's gone, there's no use in praying to him when hellhounds are on the loose, and her brothers might know their way around a needle, but they needed a hospital. Jo was losing too much blood to stay conscious for much longer.

Anyone except Jo, she begs quietly. Anyone. She can't go on without Jo. She can't. She won't.

How was it that they'd been drinking shots and celebrating a day ago? They'd fooled around under the bright Arizonan stars, over a dozen beer bottles littering the front step of Bobby's porch. Dean had even let Jo take a joyride on Baby, watching the expanse of space overhead. They'd taken a family photo - one with what was left of the Winchesters. It all seemed too long ago. Wasn't that absurd? One night, they were celebrating their last night alive. The next, Jo's on the floor of a hardware store, clutching her stomach, peppered in the crimson-black of her own blood. Lynn isn't sure how much time has passed, just that seconds are turning into minutes and minutes are turning to hours, and hours are too fucking long. They need to get the Harvelles out, now, no discussion. Sam's already salted all the windows and doors, lines of white painting every entrance. "Safe for now," he whispers, voice rough with punched-out anticipation. "Or trapped with wolves at our door," hisses Dean. He looks to Jo, eyes softening in something that isn't quite concern. She's seen it when he looks at Sam or Lynn, the pain of an older brother. "How's she holdin' up?" "Some help would be nice, please," mutters Lynn, doing her best to hold the bandages in place. Can't show weakness. Not when Sammy and Ellen and Dean are depending on her, not when Jo's staring up with eyes that are a shade off of alive. "Salt lines holding up?" "For the time being," Dean nods. "Can we talk privately, Ev?" -- Dean fumbles out a makeshift radio, trying to find the special signal they've set with Bobby at Home Base in the case of emergencies. They need his help, someone, anyone's help. The ancient device turns on with a crackle of static, then fine-tuning. The channel catches on immediately. There's radio silence, then a heavy buzz. Lynn grabs the mic, "K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, come in." There's a weighted moment of nothing. No noises, no crackles, no voice. Suddenly, Bobby's speaking, and relief doesn't wash over her, it fills her lungs like a fresh breath of air. "K C 5 Fox Delta Oscar, go ahead," says Bobby. "Oh thank god, Bobby," she chokes out. "It's Lynn. We've got a problem." There's a sound like a large sigh, "It's okay, you idjit. That's what I'm here for. Now, is everyone alright?" "No, Bobby, it's Jo. It's bad. She's holding her stomach in as we speak." Bile rises in Lynn's throat, and she shoves it down. Shoves it down, like the tears building in her eyes, because she can't cry -- won't. This just like any other time she's patched up her brothers. A bullet wound in Sammy's shoulder, a stab near Dean's kidney. They'll be fine, they always will. "Okay, copy. First off, breathe, kid. What do we do next?" "I don't think she's gonna--" Evelynn breaks off with a sob around her knuckle. "I don't think she can make it." "I said what do we do next, Lynn?" asks Bobby, even and rational as always, even though Jo might just really die this time. A part of her wants to yell at him. How can he be so relaxed? When Jo's in danger? It strangles her like a vicious knot in her throat, and she swallows around it. Leaning her forehead against the mouth piece, she lets out the tiniest cry. This was Jo. This was the love of her life. And she was going to go out bleeding. "Right." She takes a moment to steady her shaking fingers. "Okay." "Now tell me what you got." -- Nothing but the ticking of the clock can be heard over the line once Lynn explains everything as she knows it. He's silent for a few minutes. "Did Cas tell you how many reapers there were before he disappeared?" "I don't -- I don't know. Ellen and Jo were with him, and he said a lot of things, I guess. They couldn't put a number on it." "The devil's in the details," warns Bobby. Ellen's tapping at her shoulder then, and Lynn hands over the mic without a word. Ellen doesn't need to look at Lynn to know that she's a pindop away from a breakdown, and graciously ignores Lynn's blotched face. "It's Ellen. With the number of places Castiel's eyes went, I'd say we're looking at a dozen or so

reapers, probably more." "I don't like the sound of that." "No one does anymore than you do," she agrees. "But what does it mean?" "Sounds like death. I think Satan's in town to work a ritual, and raise Death while he's at it." "You mean that this dude and taxes are the only sure things in life?" "I mean Death, head honcho of reapers, daddy of 'em all. Pale rider in the flesh." Bobby doesn't sound short of devastated. "They keep this guy chained downstairs 600 feet below, and the last time they brought him up, Noah was still building a boat. The reapers are waiting for the big boss to show. I been researching Carthage since you've been gone, trying to suss out what the devil might want there. What you just said drops the last piece of the puzzle in place. The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage. Now, back during the Civil War, there was a battle in Carthage. A battle so intense the soldiers called it the Battle of Hellhole." "Where'd the massacre go down?" "On the land of William Jasper's farm." -- By the time that Lynn hangs up, Jo's paling. Her skin is almost entirely pallid, veins showing under flesh with a body that's lost all warmth an hour ago. Ellen's whispering sweet nothings into Jo's ears, and the Winchesters crowd around, faces sober with the realization: they either die with Jo or move on and take a shot at the devil. "Now we know where Lucifer's gonna be, we've got the colt, and we know when he's gonna show up," says Dean softly, each word punctuated by a few glances to Jo. "We just gotta dodge eight hellhounds and get to the farm before midnight," mutters Sam. "After we get Ellen and Jo the hell outta town," she reminds them. "Stretcher, maybe?" "I'll see what we've got." He turns to one of the back rows of the aisles, picking out what they could to make a stretcher -- four metal poles, wheels, screws, a tarp, and some rope, maybe. They could clear the doors just long enough for Ellen and Dean to push the stretcher out to the car, before having them speed away in search of the nearest hospital-- "Stop." The voice is too soft to be healthy, too quiet. It feels like a caved lung, and Lynn knows that Jo is fighting to breathe. "Guys, stop." Lynn freezes. Ellen's eyes drift from her daughter to the three siblings. Her eyes stop on Lynn, a pleading look, a question. "Can we--" she moans mid-sentence, pushing the blood-soaked cloth tighter to her stomach and ribcage. "Can we be realistic about this for a second?" "I can't move my legs," she says after a second. "My guts are held in by a fucking ACE bandage. We gotta - we gotta get our priorities straight here." "No," whispers Lynn. She doesn't care how desperate she looks now. "Please, Jo." Ellen's voice is firm yet shakes. "Joanna Beth, don't you dare talk about dying. I'm not losing another family member through hunting. You can't -- you can't." Jo's eyes are on Lynn, although the words are directed at Ellen. "Mom, I can't fight. Hell, I can't even walk. But I can do something. We got propane, wiring, rock salt, iron nails, everything we need." Dean makes a noise like he's been punched, eyes kept to the floor. "Everything we need?" "To build a bomb, Sam." "Jo, no," Dean begs, "We can't lose you. Please." "You got another plan? You got any other plan? Those are hellhounds out there, Dean. They've got all of our scents. Those bitches will never stop coming after you. We let the dogs in, you guys hit the roof, make a break for the building next over. I can wait here with my finger on the button, rip those mutts a new one. Or at least get you a few minutes' head start, anyway." "Jo," hisses Lynn. There are tears shedding down her face as she sinks to her knees, the floor thudding when her legs hit it with bruising force. Up close, she can see everything under Jo's skin. It's too cold, too white, too bloody. "I won't let you." Ellen's eyes meet Lynn's, and an unspoken agreement passes through the room. "If we can get a shot at the devil, we gotta take it, Dean." Dean nods, an

obedient little soldier. Lynn's fingers seek out Jo's, cradling them in her hands. They're red, bloody, and calloused. She brings them up to her face, Jo's hands touching her one last time. They cup her cheek on their own accord, perfect and all so painful at the same time. "You did eveything you could," Jo says, something only reserved for them, although it's loud enough to echo through the room. "I know," Lynn cries brokenly. Her lips find each knuckle, a sorry goodbye. "I know. But you could come with us. Please. Come with us." Jo give her a small smile, reminiscent of Bill's. She shakes her head, "This was the only way it could go." Lynn presses Jo's fingers to her lips before turning to Sam and Dean. "You heard her, boys." -- Sam and Dean grab their materials and assemble the bombs, filling them with nails and rock salt for shrapnel. Night has fallen. Sam takes Jo's hand for a minute while Dean strings the wire to the button she will hold. "So this is it." Dean gives a small, self-deprecating chuckle, "I guess I'll see you on the other side. Probably sooner than later." "Make it later," Jo mumbles. Her eyes are closing slowly, getting closer and closer to the edge by the minute. The first wave of love hits Lynn so hard that she's almost driven to her knees. She recalls Jo's laugh, more like a giggle. She didn't laugh often, but when she did, her head was almost always thrown back completely, beautiful and human and alive. She thinks of warmth, an all-engulfing warmth that was Jo, who had pulled her into a riptide. Jo used to be so warm, sunshine, violence mixed into one. Jo was tough in every way that Lynn wasn't. She couldn't best Lynn at hand-to-hand, couldn't gank every monster without getting too involved, but she was strong. Strong enough to make the toughest calls. There's a long stretch of silence, and all of them look to Lynn, as though she was the chief-in-mourning. Even Ellen thinks that's a fitting title, doesn't move from her spot next to where Sam's arms are supporting her. Jo hasn't cried yet, and Lynn half-wonders when the girl she'd fallen for had become so fucking strong. "We were trying," Lynn says finally, and the words cut through the air like a blunt knife. Ellen's head snaps up, and so does Sam's. Dean doesn't say anything, face carefully arranged into an emotionless facade. Jo looks away. "Trying?" asks Ellen steadily, breath drawn out into a thin line. "For a kid." The instant that the words register, Sam and Dean's eyes are on her. Ellen doesn't move, won't even blink, eyes open in shock. "A few weeks ago," she mutters. God, there are tears at her eyes. She's been in hell, for fucks sake, she's tougher than this. "Twenty one weeks ago, I found out that I was pregnant. Artificial insemination." "You're pregnant?" Jo asks, as if the air has been punched out of her lungs. She grins, despite the pain, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're pregnant." "Twins, I think - a boy and a girl," she takes a shaky inhale, "and neither of them will get to see their mother." "You're -- you've got her kids?" Dean asks, eyes wide. Lynn nods, once, twice. She can't do this. Can't do this without her would-be wife. Can't do this without Jo, not without her. There won't be any babies being born - not unless Jo was at her side. "And you found out a few weeks ago." Jo smiles, ghosting her fingers over Lynn's still-flat stomach. "Their mom will always be with them. Isn't that right, Samantha and Dean?" "Samantha Ellen Harvelle-Winchester and Dean Bill Harvelle-Winchester," Jo tests. "I like the sound of that." And just like that, the dam breaks. Lynn doesn't know when tears began gliding down her face, but they track down dirt-stained skin. It's a whisper that's almost too quiet to make out, "Forever?" "Always." There's a sudden pounding at the door, and Lynn prays that it's only the wind. The chain is unlocked, salt line broken. She can't leave, not yet. "We don't have time," says Sam, glancing at the door. "We've gotta leave." "I'm staying," growls Lynn. She's dealt with hellhounds

before. After all, someone needs to let them in, don't they? "Ellen, Sam, Dean, get to the nearest building before we blow this joint." "There's a line between sacrifice and suicide. You bet I'm not letting my pregnant daughter in law cross it," Ellen orders. For a second, she can see a flicker of a younger Ellen, so much like Jo, so loving and kind. "Get going now, Winchester." "Ellen--" "I said go." She turns to Lynn, face fierce and filled with defiance. Jo's gotten it all from her. "And Lynn? Make sure to kick it in the ass. And don't miss."

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years

Text

The Doctor Is In

Stephen Strange x reader

Bruce Banner x reader (platonic)

warnings:

a/n: hey! idk how to build stairs guys. i didnt feel like researching it. i dont care if it’s wrong. leave me alone. part 2/2.

prompt:

Out (1)

There was no hope of Stephen coming back. Every truth you had to face was harsher than the last. Even when you got home and realized that Wong was among the vanished...and he didn’t fix the stairwell.

Maybe the stairwell was a good thing. It gave you something to focus on in these hard times. Sure, it’d been a month since the incident, but that still wasn’t enough time for the world to heal. That meant that contractors were hard to come by. But the roof would have a tarp over it for some time. No way you’d deal with that.

So you took a trip to the hardware store, you stocked up on wood and nails, lacquer and wood stain. Anything else you needed for the project. Anything to keep you busy.

There were so many sleepless nights. You hated being alone in Sanctum, hated being alone in your bed. Every so often you would nap on the couch, but then you’d get right back to work. Weeks on end you spent on the stairwell. How long will you stick around while I talk about the stairwell?

Doctor Banner called you from time to time. His voicemails were kind, heartfelt, but you couldn’t stop now. The gutted stairwell from a couple weeks ago was coming by very nicely. As nice as it could when worked on my an amateur. Alright, it looked awful, but you couldn’t stand using a ladder to get to the second floor.

As you were staining the wood, you played a message from Bruce:

“Doctor L/N, it’s Bruce. I hope you’re doing alright, but you know that if you’re not, I’m here for you. All the remaining Avengers have kind of...gone their separate ways for the most part, they’re pretty broken up about everything. I just want you to know that because you don’t...have to be strong right now. I understand if you can’t be. Just call me back whenever you can? I want to make sure you’re alright. We’re survivors, we should stick together.”

Bruce hadn’t known you long, but he was still a great person and friend. You should call him back, but if you lost focus, you may lose yourself. So you continued to wipe against the grain of the fresh stairs and moved to the next step. And the next. And the next.

The last step was the lacquer and seal. You were scared to finish up. What would you occupy yourself with once this was over? You thought about the answer until the very last step and admired your shabby craftsmanship. It’ll do. Or maybe you should tear it all down and start over? While you were thinking over your newest thought, your phone rang again. Bruce Banner.

“Hey, Bruce.” You answered the phone as you normally would and sat on the floor in front of your work.

“Y/N?” Bruce asked in disbelief. “Y/N, hey! How are you? I don’t know if you’ve been getting my calls..?”

“I have.” You quickly replied.

“Oh.” He quietly nodded to himself.

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” You realized your mistake and knew you may have come off as a little rude. He’d been nothing but kind to you, but you’d just realized you were alone today.

“No, no! It’s okay! I understand, don’t worry. What have you been up to?” His effort to start a conversation may be successful this time around.

“I fixed the stairwell. All of it. That’s what I’ve been doing the past few weeks. I just finished a few minutes ago.” You felt awkward talking to him. Not because of him, not at all. Just because you hadn’t really had any human contact in a while.

“I didn’t take you for a carpenter, Doctor.” Bruce was genuinely surprised with your skillset, you could hear it in his voice.

“And you still won’t once you see the job I did.” You actually managed to let out a chuckle. You didn’t know you could still do that.

“Oh, I hear ya loud and clear.” Bruce laughed, too. I wonder if he was having the same thoughts as you. “Y/N, do you want to go out to lunch like, now? I could use some company, maybe you could, too.”

“Yeah,” you checked the time on your watch, Stephen’s watch, and realized you worked through the night and day, “text me an address, I’ll meet you anywhere. See you soon.” You hung up pretty quickly, only to get ready ASAP. You were sort of covered in “stair supplies” and smelled like...not good. You’d take a quick shower, put on some clean clothes, and take off. Unfortunately, the stairs weren’t dry, so it was another round up the ladder.

—————

You finally took a trip back to your bedroom and shuffled through the closet filled with your...late husband’s clothing. It still smelled like him, surprisingly. You wondered just how long it would last. You hoped it’d be forever, but you grabbed your own clothes and quickly got dressed, then checked your phone to see that Bruce was running “a little late.” It’s okay, you were, too.

You took a seat on Stephen’s side of the bed and decided to snoop. Did it count as snooping if he was no longer here? You knew that he didn’t keep secrets from you, so what was the worst you could stumble upon? Books, books, and more books. But some were important books, ones detailing mystic arts. Maybe...maybe it was time to pick up a new skill. You stuffed the book in your bag and decided to head out now before you got too comfy in an actual bed.

—————

You and Bruce sat at a booth in the empty diner, awkwardly gazing over the menu while trying to stir up some conversation. It’d been a while since either of you had visited someone, you didn’t even know what to talk about.

“So, home renovations, huh?” Bruce asked while peaking over the fold of the laminated list.

“Something like that.” You sighed and set yours down and aside. “I know what I’m getting. What about you?”

“I just need a minute.” The only noise besides your bland conversation was the rustling of dishes in the back, which didn’t last for long. “Got it. A burger. That’ll do it.” Bruce announced and got the attention of the waiter.

Ordering took a second, but soon you and Bruce were alone again and ready to talk.

“How are the other Avengers? I know you said they went their separate ways, but...” You inquired and were surprised to see a smile crack on Bruce’s face. “What?”

“At least I know you listened to my voicemails.” He chuckled and took a sip of his iced tea. “They’re dealing with it. I don’t exactly know how. Nat’s staying at the compound, I’m sure she’s glad to have a home again. Cap went out on his own. Thor went back to his people. Tony and Pepper are trying to separate themselves from the world, I think. I don’t blame them. That’s all I know.” You stayed silent, but nodded along to his outer thoughts. “You alright?”

“I’m sorry, Bruce.” You started. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, leave you hanging. I just still don’t know how to take this. I keep thinking about what Stark told me when he came back. His whole ‘this will all make sense soon’ thing. Nothing about this makes sense to me.”

“Well, Strange was different, wasn’t he? He had that Stone, he had those powers, he might know something we don’t.” Bruce explained to you, an attempt to comfort you. “We’ve tried everything, y/n. Maybe it’s time to wait, maybe in time you’ll see that he sacrificed himself...for you.” You teared up at the scientist’s words and quickly wiped your eyes as the food was placed before you. “Thank you, sir.” Bruce said as the waiter walked off. “Hey, y/n? It’s okay that you’re hurting. I get it. But please don’t act like you’re alone. I’m gonna be here for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled while hiding your wet eyes, “Me, too, Bruce.”

—————

When you got stressed out when you were younger, you threw yourself into your studies. Maybe that was why you were such an accomplished scientist. But what studies did you have now?

You had a library full of knowledge. It wasn’t your usual knowledge, but it would suffice. Now, the book that you’d snagged from Stephen’s bedside was a bit advanced for you, but that was okay. You had options.

Where would you even begin? This place was bigger than you remembered. Was this another spell? Did you know what you were talking about? Stop thinking, y/n. Start reading.

You picked out a book. You just ran with it. You recalled stories from Stephen. You remembered you needed the ring. What did he call it? Song ring? Sink ring? Slink ring?

Sling ring.

Not a problem, you could find one. Sanctum probably had tons. Maybe in Stephen’s study? You wished you had asked him more about his arts before, you just didn’t get it at the time.

One was stashed in a drawer. It was Stephen’s ring. The one he used himself. And it was the only one you could find, so it’d have to do. And so you got to studying.

The first time the air sparked by your hand was magical. Literally. But it made you feel something for the first time in nearly three months. And that was just the beginning. It felt like you were carrying on Stephen’s legacy in a way. You’d never be “Sorcerer Supreme,” but you didn’t have any intention of that. You just wanted his memory to live on, even if it were through you.

So you’d practice and you’d learn and you’d practice and you’d learn. You’d see Bruce whenever you could, and he soon noticed your mood change.

“I’m glad to see you happy for a change.” He told you while you walked through the park.

“Yeah, it feels great.” You told him while watching construction vehicles cleaning up the debris that had been lying around for months.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s with the ring?” He looked at your hand and you lifted it closer.

“Oh...it’s Stephen’s.” You simply stated.

“Is it like a wedding ring?” He took a closer look and let you laugh it up for a quick second.

“No, no!” You shook your head at the ridiculous question. “I might as well show you. I haven’t told anyone yet, but that’s because you’re the only person I talk to.” You stopped in your tracks and shooed him back to give yourself enough space. “Ready?” Bruce looked terrified, but nodded a response and watched you raise your hands ahead, concentrating on the small portal you had began to open. Bruce recognized the opening since he’d fallen through it before.

“You’re one of the sorcerers?” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I just started learning!” You exclaimed with a bright smile. “I needed something to get me through this all...and I wanted to protect Sanctum like Stephen and Wong had always stressed doing.”

“That’s...amazing, y/n. Self-taught magic? By a scientist, no less. Look at you go!” Bruce had a knack for being supportive. You were glad that he crashed through your roof and into your stairs.

“Thanks, Bruce. Maybe in time I’ll be able to cast a spell that fixes my roof.” You shrugged.

“Oh? Come on! I said I was sorry!”

—————

And then five years went by. Flew by, actually. You’d become a skilled sorcerer and used your skills around Sanctum. There wasn’t much to do here on Earth. It was a bit quiet.

Bruce was still a close friend of yours! You’d advised him in his quest for balance. He was no longer at war with himself.

The roof was fixed! You had Bruce spectate your very own spell to repair the damages he’d inflicted, but all was forgiven.

Then one normal day you got a call from him.

“Hey Bruce! How’s it going?” You answered, even though it interrupted your meditation.

“Can you meet me at the diner ASAP?” He sounded a little off, but still upbeat, so you opened a portal and stepped through to find yourself right out front. It was easy to spot him through the window, but there were others with him. Avengers.

“Hey, all.” You took a seat beside an unfamiliar one. “Hi, I’m y/n.” You told him as a plate of food was set in front of you.

“I ordered you your favorite. Hope you’re hungry.” Bruce smirked at you and let you get to it.

“So, it’s been a while, huh?” You asked the two Avengers across from you.

“It has.” Natasha sighed. “I wasn’t aware you were...also a sorcerer.” She began.

“I had a lot of free time.” Last they saw you, you weren’t as cool, calm, or collected. They were glad that you’d found peace. “I have a feeling this isn’t a social lunch.”

“I’m sorry to pull you from your calm, Doctor L/N—” You cut Steve off.

“Y/N is fine.” You replied.

“Scott here,” Steve motioned to the awkward man sitting alongside you, “was stuck in the Quantum Realm for some time, if you’re familiar. He thinks that there’s a way to...to undo what Thanos did.” You peered over at Bruce and watched him shrug as your heart started to beat faster and stomach started doing turns. You hated the thought of getting your hopes up, but you still dearly missed your husband.

“What can I do?”

—————

You had a hand in opening the dozens of portals around the ruins of the Avengers Compound, but you weren’t the only one. Stephen, Wong, and hundreds of other sorcerers were assisting to bring an army to combat the troops of an outdated Thanos, and you were so close to Stephen.

Using your magic to create a pathway to the sky, you leaped from step to step to get a clear look of the battlefield. And to let Stephen see you. He did. And so did the cloak.

You’d never used your powers to fight, so you’d have to step it up out here. But you knew Stephen wouldn’t let you get hurt. And you believed that you could handle this yourself.

“Y/N!” Stephen called to you as he flew to your altitude and held you in a special embrace that you’d nearly forgotten the feeling of. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Are you kidding me, Stephen?” You chuckled through tears that you just couldn’t hold in, tears that dragged through the dirt and dust on your face, clearing small lines down your cheeks. “I have missed you every day since the moment you left. I am so glad to have you back.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye, y/n. I truly am. But I knew that you would manage without me. You always have.” He explained to you in such a heartfelt way, admiring your capability to still be standing in the air.

“You knew I’d become a sorcerer, didn’t you?” You cocked a brow and watched him smirk.

“I had an inkling.” He joked with you as the firefight below was still rampaging.

“It’s very unprofessional of you to be talking to your s/o during times of crisis like this.” You chuckled and broke your spell to fall back to the ground, stopping yourself before it was too late in what could only be described as a “superhero landing.” Now that you were on the ground, assistance was required for your own side of the battle.

You and your fellow sorcerers had to defend more than anything. Shields popped up across the battlefield in an effort to keep your people alive. There were too many close calls and you wanted to survive long enough to go home with your husband.

“Y/N, over here!” Stephen beckoned you to the flood that would have made this fight much harder, and you were delighted to defend alongside him. The cloak rushed to you and gave you a fast track to the edge of the water, you couldn’t help but that it for it’s kind service. “Ready?”

“Of course.” You lifted your palms and motioned towards that water, redirecting it and keeping it at bay for the time being. “I love you, Stephen.” You remembered to tell him.

“I love you, too, y/n.” He replied with his focus still on the flood. “And I’m proud of you. So very proud.”

“Couldn’t have done it with you.” You joked and stabilized the rushing waters, giving you a true load-off before the end was clear. Dust passed through the sunken hole you all stood inside. Dust of your enemies that had finally lost. You and Stephen stared at each other in disbelief, yet couldn’t help but run into each other’s arms. “This is real? We won?”

“In a way.”

—————

Stephen and you dressed in all black were standing in the back yard of your savior. Tony had given his life to give others a life. You were just sorry that it had to be him.

Bruce stood alongside you with a long face and an injured arm. It was time for you to be there for him like he’d been there for you.

“Thanks for bringing back my husband, Bruce.” You whispered to him while holding Stephen’s hand tightly. Over the past few days, you just couldn’t seem to let go of him.

“Oh, yeah? That was nothing.” Bruce playfully answered through his sorrow.

“How’s your arm feeling?” You asked him, making sure the sling wasn’t twisted up an any way.

“Not the greatest, but I’ll be okay.” He assured you and watched as you leaned your head onto Stephen’s smile with a sense of relief. “I’m really happy for you, y/n...”

“But?” You raised an eyebrow with a hint of worry.

“But you better still hang out with me.” He smiled at you and you even heard a chuckle escape Stephen’s lips.

“You can count on it, Bruce.” You lifted a hand for a fist bump and collided your knuckles with his, even if they were a bit oversized.

“Shall we get going, dear?” Stephen asked you while he hooked his arm around yours and opened a portal home. You waved goodbye to Bruce and went on your way, stepping right into Sanctum as the way closed behind you.

“So you really meant it, huh?” You asked your husband while setting your belongings down.

“That I love what you’ve done with the place?” Stephen laughed at your oncoming smirk and walked forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you forward to kiss the top of your head. “Of course, dear.”

“Even the stairs?” You peeked your head up to look at your husband and watched his smile grow. You’d never bothered casting a spell to properly repair them. Maybe you were just too proud of your work. Maybe it was a reminder that you got through these five years on your own terms.

“I do.” He leaned down to kiss your lips. “It adds character to this place.”

“More character than the magic?” You prodded at him.

“I think you mean ‘sorcery.’” He corrected as you leaned into his chest and slightly swayed back and forth, taking in his presence for the 50th time since he’d come home.

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

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#stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #dr strange x reader #dr strange imagine #dr strange #marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner imagine #hulk #hulk x reader #hulk imagine

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles.

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed.

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster.

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made.

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard.

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait.

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on.

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child.

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance.

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease.

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.”

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself.

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.”

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek.

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips.

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement.

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

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#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x reader #Catfish x reader #catfish x you #Frankie Morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #Frankie Catfish Morales fanfiction

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Of Starlight

A/N: Honestly one of my favorites

Word Count: 3040

Warnings: mentions of violence, guns and blood

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Chapter 6: The Best of the Best

For what seemed like the hundredth time, the video footage of Grace standing by as Reginald writhed in his bed flashed before (Y/N)’s (e/c) eyes, along with the eyes of her siblings who stood beside her. Though the evidence stood true and before her, her gut was begging her not to believe what she saw. Swallowing, she tuned in to hear what Vanya had to say, “I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?”

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya,” Luther turned away from the television to his sister. “Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore.”

“If he was poisoned, it would have shown in the coroner’s report.” Diego stated matter-of-factly, (Y/N) nodding in agreement. But Luther hadn’t been so easily convinced.

“Well, I don’t need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes.”

“Then your vision’s fucked, dingus,” (Y/N) moved closer to the television, clicking a button to rewind. “Look. Dad has the monocle on, then Mom stands up, the monocle is gone.”

“Oh, yeah!” Klaus chuckled, the clone from earlier still standing at his side. Diego walked away from the television.

“She wasn’t poisoning him. She was… taking it. To clean it.” He guessed. Everyone’s bodies turned towards their vigilante brother, Luther in disbelief.

“Then where is it? No, I’ve searched the house, including all her things. She doesn’t have it.” A moment of silence passed before Diego raised his hand.

“That’s because I took it from her. After the funeral.”

“You’ve had the monocle this whole time? What the hell, Diego?!” Allison leaned away from the pillar she was against. Luther stuck his hand out immediately, demanding Diego give the monocle to him.

“I threw it away.”

“You… what?” Luther blinked as Allison scoffed, going for a drink from her glass. (Y/N) rubbed her temples as Diego explained himself,

“Look, I knew that if you found it on Mom, you’d lose your shit, just like you’re doing right now.”

“Diego, you son of a bitch.” Luther took a couple threatening steps forward as Diego got into a fighting stance. (Y/N) and Vanya immediately got in between the two of them, halting both their actions.

“Hey. No. Calm down. Look, I know Dad wasn’t exactly an open book. But I do remember one thing he said. Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker, but… also as a protector.”

“Oh, yeah,” (Y/N) slowly nodded in realization. “She was programmed to intervene if someone’s life was in danger.”

“Well, if her hardware is degrading, then… We need to turn her off.”

“Luther!-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” Diego’s voice rose in panic and anger. “She’s not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet! She feels things, I’ve seen it!”

“She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father die.”

“I’m with Luther.” Allison shrugged.

“Surprise, surprise.” Diego muttered.

“Shut up.” She shot back as (Y/N) crossed her arms.

“Well, I’m with Diego.” She voiced her opinion, her brother gratefully smiling at her. She returned the expression as Luther scoffed.

“And what does your opinion matter? The moment you moved out, you went and found the woman who gave you up the moment you were born-”

“Don’t you ever, ever, speak about my mother that way!” She boomed as she pointed a finger at him. “That woman has done more for me than I’ve ever asked of her and has supported me through everything I’ve done since I left this shithole! You have no right to give your fucking opinion on her! Even with that said, Grace is my mother as well and I will treat her as such. We were all raised by her, so my opinion matters just as much as yours, Apeman.” When she stepped back, Diego rested his hands on her shoulders from behind to steady her. Luther only stared at her in shock, not expecting her to blow up at him. Backing down, he turned to Vanya, as well as everyone else, to hear her opinion. The woman looked between her siblings, stammering out her answer before Diego interrupted her,

“Yeah, she shouldn’t get a vote.” He removed his hands from (Y/N) and moved away from them. She and Luther were going to start yet another argument between them when Vanya finally gained some confidence.

“I was gonna say that I agree with you.”

“Okay! She should get a vote,” He concluded before turning to Klaus, who leaned against another pillar. “What about you, stoner boy? What do you got?” Klaus looked up at them with raised brows.

“Oh, so, what? You need my help now? Oh, ‘Get out of the van, Klaus!’ ‘Well, welcome back to the van!’.”

“What van?” Allison questioned, clearly not understanding the situation that happened earlier. (Y/N) rolled her eyes at her druggie brother as Luther scoffed.

“What’s it gonna be, Klaus?”

“I’m with Diego, because screw you!” He furrowed his brows as Diego pointed at him, pleased that he and his brother agreed on something. “And if Ben were here, he’d agree with me.” A second afterwards, he hissed at the air beside him, (Y/N) guessing that Ben had disagreed with Klaus, but she wasn’t going to voice that. She sighed and turned to Luther.

“That’s three, Spaceboy-”

“Wait-”

“To two.” Diego finished, holding the numbers up with his fingers.

“It’s not final. Five’s not here.” Allison pointed out and (Y/N) sighed. He wouldn’t be here to give his say on the matter, anyway. Diego groaned.

“Oh, come on, he’d just agree with whatever (Y/N) has to say.” He motioned toward Number Eight, who bristled to argue with him.

“No, everyone in the family gets to vote. We owe each other that.” Allison shook her head as Luther and Vanya agreed with her. They all left the room, minus Diego, who stayed with a look of defeat. (Y/N) pat his shoulder as she left. She truly didn’t want Grace to be shut off. Granted, it was suspicious that she watched Reginald die without acting on it, but she would never hurt anyone. She showed the most care to them as kids and she couldn’t disregard that for anything.

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As the night washed over the sky, (Y/N) found that she would not have been much use to Five. When she left the Academy to join him, she saw that he still sat in that van, still watching that building. As much as she had begged to help, she was slowly starting to realize that Five wasn’t letting her in on everything. She knew he hadn’t been lying about the apocalypse, but she wished he would’ve told her whatever else he was in on. She felt horrible about it, but without even alerting him of her presence, she left him and arrived back at the mansion. As she wandered, she still felt tension between her siblings, and decided that it would be best not to interact with them for now. However, she felt a tug pulling her towards the bathroom. This familiar tug was what alerted her of her clones’ presence nearby. She followed the pull and peeked inside to see Klaus taking a bubble bath, her clone still watching over him. She quietly giggled at the sight, startling her brother and causing him to sit up quickly, some water splashing over the tub and onto the floor.

“Christ, (Y/N)! Don’t scare me like that!”

“You okay?” She whispered, side-eyeing her clone. Klaus sighed and relaxed once again.

“Yes, dear. Now can you take your robot with you? It’s been following me around for hours!”

“No, I still want it to make sure you don’t die. It’ll help if you, uh… drown or something,” She grinned before leaving the room, ignoring Klaus’ calls to her. As she continued to wander around, she found Diego, who seemed to be in deep thought. When he caught sight of his sister, his tense posture relaxed before he went to stand at her side. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Just thinkin’,” He answered. “About what you said about Mom… how she raised us all and cared for us… makes me wonder how Luther could just choose her over Dad…” He shook his head and clenched his jaw. (Y/N) surveyed his expression, gently nudging him.

“I just don’t think Luther has much of an emotional connection with Mom… Not like you do,” He turned to her with a questioning gaze. “Oh, come on, Diego. You are a Mama’s Boy and you know it. But it’s not a bad thing! It’s not like Dad gave a shit about her. It’s good that someone checks up on her and actually takes her thoughts and emotions into consideration. You have no idea how good it feels to hear your kids ask how you’re doing.” The two shared a soft chuckle as they headed towards the rooms again. They halted their steps, however, when they heard guns cocking. Slowly turning in the direction it came from, they saw two people in suits and creepy kids’ masks pointing guns at them, ready to shoot.

“Shit. Go, go!” Diego pushed (Y/N) forward, the two bolting down the hallway as gunshots zoomed past them. Right as Diego launched his knives and hit the intruders, a bullet grazed (Y/N)’s right outer thigh. She cried out in pain and nearly fell if it hadn’t been for Diego catching her. Without a second thought, he lifted her onto his back and ran further down the hall, swiftly swinging around a corner and hiding the best he could. As gently as possible, he set (Y/N) down to her feet, the girl holding in a wince as she supported herself on the wall.

The sound of footsteps echoed and increased in volume. Just when they were right beside the two, Diego jumped out of their hiding place and attacked the taller intruder with his knife. (Y/N) heard him call out for his partner to shoot, but they couldn’t get a clear shot of Diego, not being able to see (Y/N) from where they were. Diego kicked his opponent against the wall before taking off down the hall, but not before grabbing his sister. She tried to ignore the throbbing in her leg as they ran just above the parlor. Without warning, Diego wrapped his arms around her and threw them off the bannister, landing on the couch in the parlor. Since he had broken her fall, her body nearly knocked the wind out of him, but he didn’t let himself recover. He jumped off of the couch with (Y/N) and hid behind a table. Once his arms were removed from her frame, she tried to stop the bleeding in her leg by pressing down on her wound. Diego placed his own hand down over hers, eyes moving around frantically before they landed on the portrait of Reginald on the wall across from them, bullets lodged into his face.

Footsteps approached the parlor and his head snapped in their direction. “(Y/N), stay here.” He whispered right beside her ear. She looked up and shook her head.

“No, I wanna help-”

“Do not help. Stay fucking here.” He violently hissed before starting to shuffle away, but he didn’t get very far, for bullets started flying towards them. Diego quickly wrapped his arms around his sister again and threw them down to the floor, his body curling over hers. The bullets stopped and they heard fighting, (Y/N) recognizing Allison’s grunts. Diego moved himself from his sister and allowed her to climb onto his back again. She whimpered as she willed herself to move and wrap her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. When Diego stood, the two intruders had been thrown out of the room by Luther. Allison whirled towards Diego with wide eyes.

“Who the hell are these guys?! (Y/N), did they hurt you?!”

“Yeah, kinda…” She sighed as Luther turned to them.

“You’re welcome.” His words made (Y/N) groan as Diego shifted her on his back.

“I was doing fine!”

“Oh, yeah, you really had them-”

“(Y/N) is fucking hurt, what the hell did you want me-” Diego stopped talking when the intruders started shooting once again, everyone ducking down. In his haste, (Y/N) had fallen off his back and landed on the ground. She started to do an army crawl out of the room along with her brother, who yelled for Luther and Allison to go. When the two were on their feet again, Diego grabbed her hand and continued to run, the intruders heading to the opposite direction. “We need to get you to a safe place!”

“Nowhere is really safe at this point!” (Y/N) let him drag her wherever. He eventually stopped and turned her towards him. Sweat covered her forehead and blood seeped through her pants. Her eyes met his, full of concern. She shook her head and shakily sung her tune, her clone appearing beside them. Hating the order she was about to give, she clenched her teeth. “Protect me,” Immediately, the clone went to attack Diego, but (Y/N) stopped it, climbing onto its back. “Follow Diego.”

Just as the three headed towards the basement, where the shorter of the intruders had followed Allison, Klaus had been dancing around the house, completely unaware of the threat around him due to the headphones he wore. (Y/N)’s clone from earlier simply followed, standing to cover him if any bullets came near. When the three entered the basement, they saw that Allison had just been struck and was now leaning over the pool table, her lip bleeding. “You wanna rumor this psycho?” Diego questioned, Allison wiping her lip.

“I don’t need to, because this bitch just pissed me off.” She spit before turning to the woman.

“We just want the boy.” She tried to explain before Allison attacked her. Five… These bastards are looking for Five… (Y/N) thought. That information alone made her blood boil. She hopped off her clone’s back just as Allison was kicked to the ground by the intruder. Diego whistled as he approached her, the two starting their own fight. Following its second order, the clone stepped forward to follow Diego, but turned back to the stumbling (Y/N). It was confused, and she could tell. (Y/N) quietly cursed before commanding it to help her fight. The intruder broke away from Diego and Allison and headed towards (Y/N) and her lookalike. Number Eight smirked and grabbed her clone by the hand, using all her strength to swing it around. It used its legs to kick off the wall and then the woman in her chest, causing her to fall to the ground with an “oomph!”. The clone, after landing on its feet, steadied (Y/N) by her arms. This gave the intruder time to stand and make her way out of the room, but not before Diego launched, what (Y/N) could only tell as something sharp, into her leg. She cried out in pain, but continued up the stairs. The four followed her not too long afterwards, but lost her once they were at the top. (Y/N) whimpered again and hummed her second tune, the clone disappearing.

“You good?” Diego held onto her, receiving a nod in answer.

When the three made their way to the entrance, Allison cried out to Luther, who was laying on the ground in pain. (Y/N) wanted to join the two in helping him up, but her strength was wearing out, so she leaned against the wall. Looking up, she saw the female intruder going to mess with the chandelier. Luther had noticed at the same time, for they both called out for their siblings to watch out. Luther pushed Diego and Allison out of the way, allowing it to land on him. (Y/N) slumped to the floor as her breathing got shallow. She could only hope Luther had been safe before she blacked out, but not before she sang her three-note tune almost silently.

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(Y/N) awoke to a sharp pain in her leg. She almost shot up, but felt a hand on the flat of her chest. It was Allison. “H-Hey, hey, it’s okay, sis. Just patching your leg up…”

“W-Who?” (Y/N) turned her head to see her clone, silently stitching up her leg. She let out a breath and relaxed against the cushions of the couch she was laying on. She turned her head to Vanya, who was nursing her own bleeding head with a rag. “Shit, Vanya, I didn’t even know you were here. You okay?” She received a nod from her sister before she heard footsteps. Diego walked in, his breathing shaky. Vanya looked up and called out to him softly. He turned to her with a cold stare.

“What are you still doing here?”

“I’m just trying to help-”

“No, you could’ve been killed! Or got any of us killed. Shit, we’re lucky (Y/N) didn’t die from blood loss!” He yelled before leaning closer to Allison. “She is a liability.” He muttered before heading towards (Y/N). Kneeling in front of her, he watched her face scrunch up in pain as the clone lifted her leg slightly to wrap it up. She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m okay, don’t worry…”

“I told you not to help.” He slightly growled and held the hand on his shoulder. Past the growl, (Y/N) detected a whimper. Looking into his eyes, she felt the pain in his stare. Only it was a type of pain she knew all too well.

“Diego, what happened…?” She whispered just as she saw Vanya stand from the corner of her eye. She and her brother turned and watched her leave.

“Vanya, wait.” Allison tried to rush after their sister, but Diego told her to just let Vanya go, that it was for the best. (Y/N) heavily sighed and let her head fall back against the cushions. She hoped Five was doing fine, wherever he was.

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Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua fanfic #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #tua five #number five #number five x reader #umbrella academy x reader #of starlight #tua #tua x reader #five x reader

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

Text

just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES

we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)

The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.

In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.

His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.

Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”

His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.

But there's good news this morning.

“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.

“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”

He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.

“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.

He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.

He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”

When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.

The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”

Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.

Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…

“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.

“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.

“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.

“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.

“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.

“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.

“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.

“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”

“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.

Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316

#beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice the musical #emily deetz #lydia deetz #goldenbeetle #beetlelands fic #legitimately very excited i finally get to post this!!#my writing #beetlejuice

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

Vulture In Lark’s Clothing

As a rule of thumb, Geralt didn’t ask questions. He assessed a contract from purely his own perspective, whether it was worth his time and danger and, if he deemed it valuable, he took it. No questions asked. No prying into who he was protecting, who he was escorting or why. If the money was good, he did it. It was why people liked him so much, employed him despite his less than sociable demeanour. The job got done and he didn’t fuss, even if he got blood and guts in his hair.

His latest contract was a curious one. Pick someone up from prison and escort them to the other side of the country to a hearing. Allegedly he was a witness but Geralt couldn’t care if it was his own hearing. A job was a job.

There have been many people Geralt had met but not a single one had been quite as exasperating as Jaskier. Who the fuck got arrested with only a lute and some fancy clothes to their name? Jaskier. Obviously. But it was neither here nor there. What mattered was that he was constantly making noise. Wherever he went, the lute did too. Even when Geralt threatened to throw it out the car window, Jaskier had just laughed and began composing a ditty about a tumbleweed crossing a country having more of a personality than Geralt.

The thing that made Geralt so good at his job was his ability to just deal with things without a fuss. He’d picked up on the fact they were being followed a while back. It wasn’t anything to be concerned about just yet. Well, he was concerned but he had it in hand. Their tail was keeping their distance, watching and assessing.

“So, our charming friend has been very thorough in his observations,” Jaskier commented out of the blue as they had stopped to get lunch. The ever present lute was leaning against his chair as he picked through a salad, eating all the onion from it.

“Nothing to worry about.” Geralt replied and munched steadily on his burger.

That night they were in a motel, Jaskier in the bed, Geralt on the sofa. When Geralt woke up suddenly, he tried to figure out what had roused him. A peek into the bedroom and Jaskier wasn’t there. Probably gone to the bathroom but checking there revealed an empty room. Scouting through the kitchen and living room, Geralt was ready to grab his guns and track down the idiot who stole him. To do that, he would need information, namely how some schmuck got into the bedroom and abducted Jaskier from under his nose. Pushing the bedroom door open, Geralt blinked. There was Jaskier, curled up in bed and fast asleep. Maybe Geralt was more tired that he’d thought, to have missed the fact Jaskier was there all along. He returned to the sofa and tucked his guns under the cushion, grumbling. Weirdly enough, their tail was gone the next morning.

One problem with Jaskier (well, one of the many) was the fact that he was so soft. Always demanding they stop over night somewhere with a decent bed, getting stroppy when they only bought food from a petrol station, he even went as far as kicking up a fuss when they hadn’t had the chance to shower for three days. How he survived in prison was beyond Geralt. He wouldn’t ask though, that wasn’t his place and asking meant he might actually care. Which he most certainly didn’t.

A spot of trouble happened at one of the restaurants they had stopped off at. A group of idiots had taken quite a dislike to Jaskier singing in the corner while Geralt ordered at the bar. They were closing in on him and Geralt could hear his name being called. To cut a violent story short, the men didn’t end up bothering Jaskier. But the price of that was being barred from the restaurant. From in front of the door they had just been thrown through, Jaskier turned, hands in the air as he cursed them, threatened to write a scathing song and leave a very rude review online. Silently, Geralt wiped the blood from his knuckles and walked towards the car. This job was starting be much more of a hassle than worth.

At least, he thought that until Jaskier turned his flirting to Geralt. It had been common enough for Jaskier to wink and compliment his way through any establishment they set foot in. Praise for the receptionist at the motel, a smile filled with promise to the attendant at the petrol station, he even had the gall to blatantly and appreciatively give the cleaner of the restaurant bathroom once over the one time. As an outsider, Geralt found it charmingly sleazy. But even he couldn’t deny that it was worth the small upgrades he would never have got before.

“You never know who you’re meeting,” Jaskier had reasoned.

The attention Jaskier started paying Geralt was awkward at first. Geralt had no idea what to do. He’d seen Jaskier go through the motions umpteen times before, knew it didn’t mean anything. And yet, he wanted to feel as special as Jaskier suggested he was. Which was just ludicrous, Geralt didn’t need someone’s approval or appreciation. Especially not from an incompetent criminal who got caught. And couldn’t even protect himself from a bunch of idiots at a restaurant. What Geralt missed was the news article about the murder or four men in the town they had just left behind, throats slit.

Whoever Jaskier was, Geralt was starting to realise that he was more important that he thought before. The closer they got to their destination, the more trouble they ran into. Not just people trailing after them now but actual attempts on Jaskier’s life. As if the idiot had actually realised. He merrily strutted through the world as if it was the safest place, strumming his lute and humming. And flirting. Always flirting, even with the pigeons by his feet if the mood took. Yet, Geralt still felt a warmth spreading through him whenever Jaskier smiled at him. It seemed like a special smile, warmer and even more sincere than the ones he gave everyone else. It made Geralt feel alarmingly disarmed in the face of it.

He’d just finished mopping up a trail of people after Jaskier who flounced through little side streets without a worry. This was the reason Geralt liked to wear black clothes, they didn’t show up anywhere near as much blood. Though, to be fair, he did try to just knock people out first. A warning of sorts that if they got near again, he could and would do so much worse.

“Ah! Geralt! I was wondering where you got to.” Jaskier skipped towards him. Actually skipped.

“I had business to take care of.” What he didn’t expect was for Jaskier to push his lute onto his back and stand almost nose to nose with him.

“My wonderful White Wolf, always keeping an eye out for me,” he breathed, eyes flicking to Geralt’s lips. As if Geralt wasn’t paid to keep him alive. It sure as shit wasn’t Geralt doing this out of the goodness of his heart. All thoughts however flew from his mind as Jaskier tugged him in for a kiss. There was a hand in his hair, a tongue in his mouth and a hand drifted over his hip.

The sound of a gun going off was deafening and Geralt froze, eyes opening to see Jaskier, eyes open and staring past Geralt’s head even as they kissed. Pulling away, Geralt looked over his shoulder. There was a body sprawled on the ground, very obviously dead. And Jaskier’s arm was still out, gun in hand.

“I think you missed one,” Jaskier smiled merrily as if he hadn’t just shot someone in a back alley. There was no response to that, Geralt’s brain was a blank static as he tried to realign his opinion or Jaskier with this new information.

“What?” That was going to have to do. It conveyed everything and Jaskier liked to talk anyway.

As expected, Jaskier laughed lightly and tucked the gun he’d slipped from Geralt’s hip back into its holster and patted his cheek fondly. “Well, you’ve been doing such a great job of taking care of the bumps along the road, I didn’t see the need to intervene most of the time.”

The ‘most of the time’ had Geralt’s hackles rising. He was damn good at his job and didn’t need some two-bit idiot claiming to step in to mop up after him. He growled low in his throat, a noise that usually sent most people scattering in fear. However, Jaskier just laughed in his face and called him cute, proceeded to plant another kiss on Geralt’s lips and turned to continue his journey, expecting Geralt to trail after him.

Things didn’t get easier after that. Geralt was trying his best to keep professional and not ask anything about just who Jaskier was. But it wasn’t very professional to fall into bed with Jaskier at any chance he got. Motel bed, bathroom stall, once even in the car, pulled over on the side of the road. It was messy but so damn satisfying.

As always, things went tits up three hours before they got to their destination. There was a car chase that ended with Jaskier hanging out the window of their car and taking alarmingly good potshots at their attackers. They worked in tandem with more ease than Geralt had ever experienced with anyone. While he was on the offensive, Jaskier was restocking in more and more creative ways. He sent a Molotov cocktail of, actually, Geralt didn’t want to think about what he found in the hardware shop to use for that. It exploded, there were screams and they had a window of opportunity to run.

In a way, Geralt almost regretted it. Because while he was loading his guns, Jaskier was hurling hammers, wielding circular saw blades like his personal throwing stars and causing a rather gory mess. At least Geralt managed to wrangle the chainsaw from his grip before he went into a full on fight with that. It was the moment Geralt understood how Jaskier survived prison.

Outside the courtroom, Geralt turned to Jaskier, finally asking the question he had been wanting to all along.

“Who the hell are you?”

It was met with a delighted laugh. “Ever heard of The Bard?” Geralt shook his head. “Little Lark?” Another shake of his head and Jaskier looked both exhilarated and aghast. “The hitman of the century? The singing killer? No?”

“No.” Geralt shook his head.

“In which case,” Jaskier stuck his head out, “I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.”

“Oh,” Geralt heard that name before. “The one with all the sheep.”

Another light laugh and Jaskier nodded. “The one with all the sheep. Well, thank you for your help in escorting me across the country. I must go, take a plea deal. But be in Blaviken in a year. There’s a dear little cafe there, order me one of their chocolate twists and a cold chocolate for an 11 o’clock date. I’ll meet you there.”

Sure enough, Jaskier took a plea deal, his sentence was reduced from life to twenty-five years. How he thought he’d be in Blaviken a year on, Geralt couldn’t fathom. But once he got the chance, he sat down and did his research, to find out who exactly he had travelled with. And swallowed thickly in fear and awe. Because oh fuck, Jaskier had history and a list of kills longer than Geralt. And those were just the confirmed ones. Fuck.

Despite everything pointing towards the fact that Jaskier was in prison and with no way out, Geralt couldn’t help the small burning ball of hope in his chest. A year after the trial, he made his way to Blaviken. Even wore nicer clothes and brushed his hair - Jaskier had said it was a date after all. It felt a little silly to order for two when there was no chance his date would make it. But still, a coffee and blueberry muffin for himself, and a chocolate twist and cold chocolate for Jaskier.

Settling in the darkest corner of the cafe, Geralt sat back and waited. A shadow fell across his table and he looked up.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood,” a familiar voice greeted him. For the first time in a long while, Geralt smiled.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #tldr: jaskier is a lazy hitman and lets geralt do all the hard work #cw: violence #hitmans bodyguard au of sorts #long post

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trashlord2020 · 3 years

Text

Adam Smasher (Cyberpunk 2077) 18+

A-Z NSFW Headcannons

WARNINGS: dubious consent (suggested) Necro (only mentioned in passing) and a callous disregard for partners enjoyment and wellbeing.

I provide these warnings so if any of it bothers you at all you can choose to not read this. If you disregard this and get upset by what you read, you've forfeit your right to complain, fight me. These are of course my own interpretations, in no way is this a 'end all be all'

A = Aftercare

What, letting you live isn't enough? But seriously, don't expect anything resembling 'care' outta this guy. At the absolute most if you happen to be in a room he owns you could get real lucky and he'll leave you to sort yourself out...just don't be there when he gets back.

B = Body part

He's a full body cyborg, every part is his favourite. He's almost constantly having things tuned or updated whether it's through Arasaka or his own hard earned eddies, But if he had to pick? His Hands, they're the thing that could end his partner in the moment with just one strong squeeze and having their life literally under his hands does something primal for him. His favourite body part of his partner? He might disguise it under mocking comments and insults but deep in there somewhere there's a man still and he's a thigh man for certain. Thicker they are, the better grip they provide and if his partner is able to pay enough attention they might catch how he almost caresses the skin...

C = Cum

Bodily fluids? disgusting. When he got his ah, 'upgrade' he most certainly passed on that. Sorry ! Sections provide required lubrication (don't forget to bring your own!) for the sake of avoiding friction but his own brand of 'popping the cork' is more of a build up in static and electricity. One he can control the build up of by adjusting 'sensitivity'.

D = Dirty Secret

He's not a shy kinda guy, he'll have his partners against the window just to brag if there's one available. No, this is more of a vulnerability than anything? Under the metal casing of his chest on each side the tubes and connectors tucked away are very sensitive. The purpose is so he knows if something is amiss or stuck and needs tending too but this has provided a sort of erogenous zone, one he's not at all keen to share with another.

E = Experience

Before his full body conversion you could say he was quite experienced, if paid partners counted of course. It's always been about him though, even when he (rarely) chooses to provide a helping hand it's been more of a show of dominance than anything. Now with his full Cyborg body and working for the worlds most powerful Corp he rarely finds himself having to pay, most people are either curious enough...or too scared to say no.

F = Favourite Position

Anything where he can shove his partners head down and bend them across something be it the floor, bed, table or counter He'll use it. As mentioned before walls and windows make a good substitute too. He prefers to be above his partner and them in a position of vulnerability where they have no control, he's in charge here and he takes every opportunity to prove that. It's very rare to find one self facing towards him, often too 'intimate' for his liking.

G = Goofy

If a partner has the guts they might be surprised to find that a little back and forth sarcasm and snark is enjoyed, even respected. Just be mindful not to insinuate any insults on his behalf, he won't take that lightly and if (when) he grows bored of the talk he'll make that known none too gently, better catch the hint sooner rather than later. So I'd say about 85% serious and 15% Snark.

H = Hair

He's got a slappable head, bald as a plucked chicken and well...he's all metal down there. No surprise.

I = Intimacy

If you really squint and tilt your head you might be able to trick yourself into believing the way he may cage his partner in from above as almost 'intimate' but it's really not...Just a show of pure dominance, nothing about enjoying the heat pouring off them at all... In all honesty this isn't making 'love' he's simply not capable of that, likely never was. He may lower his voice till you feel it more in your bones than hear it to whisper awful, dirty things only your both privy too but there's no true intimacy in his actions or words.

J = Jack Off

Araska didn't provide him with his 'tool' no, that's something he chose to indulge in with eddies from his freelance years and when the work was done he certainly took time to test things out. Nowadays he rarely indulges, why would you need to if he could have almost anybody that happens to spark his interest.

K = Kink

Breath play, no of course not his. The act of cutting somebodies life line off, holding them in suspense and watching the fear grow in their eyes as they wonder if he's even going to bother letting go...it really gets him riled up. The only reason he does bother to let them go instead of squeezing a little harder is that a corpse hardly has the same appeal, don’t mistake it for mercy.

L = Location

While Adam owns his own room he often has little use for it, spending at best an hour in there a day. You'd be lucky to be taken back there. He often finds himself in hotels/resorts instead, not his issue if it gets trashed then and nobodies going to barge in to investigate all the noise, not when mutters of 'smasher' quickly spread like wild fire. Enjoy your walk of shame back home. :)

M = Motivation

Often it's just a a general build up that leads to him indulging but a bloody fight will always leave him with some built up 'charge'. Many of his partners in recent years have been people he's done a recent job with, something about watching the blood steam off their cybernetics as they catch their breath really does it for him. Basically a callous and shared disregard for life is what would really catch his interest, otherwise it's purely down to cosmetics in which case don't expect a repeat.

N = NO

Making love...you probably saw this coming a mile away. As mentioned he's not shy, he knows what he wants and has little issue with obtaining it but if you're expecting a tentative partner who takes care of your needs? Keep looking, he'll never be that.

O = Oral

He's got no means of which to give oral, his jaw is made out of metal and there's no tongue hidden away. A small (very small) part of him laments not being able to taste what's he's enjoying but again, it would of been more for his enjoyment than anything. On the other hand he certainly enjoys the sight of somebody figuring out their way around him with hands and tongue, the tremor in their hands is something he picks up on without fail but this is never how he achieves his end goal. Attempting to blow Adam Smasher is the closest thing You'll get to foreplay.

P = Pace

A constant rough pace from start to finish, as mentioned somewhere above he can control his sensitivity so if he finds his charge building up too quick for his likening he doesn't have to slow down, just dial things back a little. There's no stuttering or slipping either as it's all controlled due to years of working with his cybernetics and yet, somehow it never fails to feel so raw and animalistic.

Q = Quickie

He likes for things to be 'to the point' as he's certainly not here for tea and biscuits... If he's free for the whole day and just finished a big job you might want to look into hiring a wheelchair for the next week but on average he's here to get his jollies and move on. Make sure to undress yourself though, it's an obstacle and we all know how much he enjoys tearing through those.

R = Risk

What your everyday joytoy may consider a risk he may simply see as a little spice to make things more interesting. He doesn't care if somebody was dumb enough to walk in on him but they sure as hell better be quick about leaving, he doesn't share. If his partner has (foolishly) made it obvious they don't want to be caught? He might find that a little insulting and make it a point for them to be caught or seen, again, it's about the dominance he has over them.

S = Stamina

There's no refractory period, none. If he wants to go again he can, the only thing that's going to stop him is the potential heat build-up from too many overcharges in too short a time. This right here is why you'll want to bring your own lube, things are going to get sore and quickly otherwise.

T = Toy

What he's got going on down there could be considered a 'toy'. Lots of interesting features he enjoys tormenting his partners with. That's not enough for you? He's not going to pretend to be thrilled about it but if you somehow got your own toys on hand then so long as they don't get in the way of his enjoyment, use away. Likely the only real chance you have at getting your own enjoyment to be honest, just don't try using them on him. He won't be amused.

U = Unfair

He enjoys demeaning and talking down to his partners, talk about how 'easy' they were or laugh at how weak they're proving to be. Might physically tease, bring them to the edge if he's super into the moment but he's only going to push you over if you really beg for it...not often he will though, he's in charge and he gets to decide how this plays out.

V = Volume

Besides all the inner workings of his cybernetics powering away and the times he decides to speak? Practically silent. No moans or gasps as he has no need to breath. If a overcharge proves to be particularly powerful (usually due to a lengthy build up) his Voice emitter may play some static feedback, closest thing you'll get to a groan. Besides, his partner will be more than making up for the silence.

W = Wild Card

He's bisexual but straight leaning. It's leftover from the gang he ran with once long ago when he was a everyday nobody. Nowadays he's simply not bothered what others think, incapable of considering it even. Women and more feminine leaning partners will have an easier time garnering his attentions but anyone's game if they prove themselves interesting enough.

X = X-Ray

Custom Hardware baby. Don't ask me what unlucky gonk had the job to make this but it's kitted out. The shape is as expected but the length can be retracted and extended at will. When in use the shortest it can go is 6 inches (he will never keep it this short though, that's below him) and the maximum length is 14 inches although ‘yikes’ lets be real, not a lot of people are going to be able to handle that, it's bragging rights and intimidation factor more than anything. His common use of range is 8-10 inch. He can move individual sections, vibrate and even cause minor shocks at will.

Y = Yearning

If no outside factors are taken into account it can take several weeks before he considers a roll in the hay. A lack of hormones means a lack of natural drive. But a busy week of fighting and killing will quickly land him in a private 'meeting'.

Z = ZZZ

Sleep? you're kidding right. Every few days (or weeks if it's a boring month) he has to have a system scrub and recharge of sorts. He has a private station for this so nobody is going to catch him unaware. Once the deed is done he's over and out, no pillow talk or sweet nothings. If you've managed to really leave an impression he might throw you a contact for seconds. It's run through a security system of course, can't have just anybody being able to contact him.

#I laid awake at 3am thinking about this #lost control of my life #gotta do everything myself stg #Adam Smasher #cyberpunk 2077

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