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bluemoonbabes · 4 months

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Time Gone By

Debris fic. Bryan introspection New Year’s Edition.

It’s New Year’s Eve. The Kazemis’ house swarms with agents and techs and scientists and everything in between, trickling in from Orbital, piling themselves into the living room, meandering along the snack buffet, roving between people and pets. Bryan is the corner, is always in the corner because that’s where he’s safe, back against the wall, no one behind him, everyone in front of him, everyone where he can see. No one to catch him off guard. He’s got some buff, untouched drink in a candy red cup, some beer he grabbed just to hold something, to give his hands something to do, something to center himself on. Beer from that shitty gas station just down the street in a candy red cup just like last year. At least it’s something.

Tonight, though, is mildly pleasant. That’s the best way to put it, standing against the wall and watching the party, beer untouched, always untouched in a crowd like this (inebriation terrifies him, the lack of autonomy, the lessened reaction time, the lessened awareness). Maddox, Tom, Muntz, Alvin, and Lester all throng together in the dinning room, dispersed in various seats that are always being taken and then left and then taken, murmuring between each other things that Bryan’s too far away to hear. There’s one window in the dinning room, and two ways out into the adjoining rooms.

Kazemi and Claire and April have taken to the buffet of snacks spread out among the kitchen (one window above the kitchen sink), chatting as the pick and sniff and judge and taste. Bryan learns a lot being the fly on the wall, every conversation drifting his way, drawn to every little movement. Like how Rachel’s husband wants to get another cat, how Claire’s thinking about going back to college though for what yet she isn’t sure, and how April had the absolute funniest run in with this random stranger in a coffee shop a couple days ago that was such a coincidence.

The front door is clear. Bryan can sprint to it in an instant, that or one of the windows on either side of it. A roar of laughter snatches his eyes to the living room, where Finola and Hamid and Reed and Brandt dip and weave and shimmy and shake as they dance to the music, a collection of drinks in hand. Finola has wine, Bryan thinks, spotting the bulbous glass half-full with the sort of quartz-like color of white wine. They’re in front of the tv, which Bryan is near, against the living room wall, as it bubbles out song after song, songs that are light and groovy, dancing music with a base that rumbles in his chest. But it’s okay tonight. He can tune it out. He has the energy to spare.

He really is mindless tonight, isn’t he? All base instinct, absorbed in the vibrancy before him as Niels and Grace and Gibson come in from the backyard (one door out, two more windows), making some loud comment about how they were freezing their tits off and then promptly going for the alcohol. It’s as much as his brain can process right now, the music and the murmuring, the movement and momentum, but it’s not too much, lingering right at the perfect capacity, consuming his conscious yet not shredding it.

Kazemi hands out champagne flutes, and Bryan just watches her, watches as she weaves between people, making comments as she disperses the drinks. He takes his with a quiet thank you, voice cut, drowned out as the party consumes him, too invaded with what goes on to be much of a conversation. It bubbles, the champagne, a pale gold liquor that mutters to him in a cold, clear glass. His knees are starting to hurt with how long he’s been standing, and tomorrow morning he knows he’s going to wake up a being of nothing but bruise, but that’s tomorrow. Tonight, Finola is walking up to him, a soft smile on her face, her wine glass traded out for the champagne flute.

“How are you doing?” She asks.

Bryan returns that smile, soft and gentle and endeared, because she’s the only one who ever asks. The only one who tries to understand instead of taking the first assumption their brain sputters out. The only one who he isn’t terrified to exist with.

“I’m okay,” He says, “Just hanging out.”

Because that’s the only way he can really put it, isn’t it? Not actively engaging but passively enjoying, watching the people around him, as Kazemi’s catch jumps up onto the kitchen island, and listening, listening as someone shouts out ‘fifteen seconds’.

Finola nods and then the countdown starts, someone shouting out a ‘ten’ and then ‘nine’ as more people join in, ‘eight’ as the entire party catches on, ‘seven’ as it echoes through the living room, ‘six’ as it rattles the house, and then Finola joins in too

“Five!”

And suddenly, Bryan is still.

New Year’s Eve. In five seconds, this year will end, gone to the grave, tucked away for eternity, nothing but a memory as they’re thrust into the next year, only one year, so fleeting. Weren’t they just here celebrating the previous New Year? Or what that two years ago? Or three? Are years really this short?

“Four!”

Time starts to blur after a while. After his brain is rattled by IEDs, after gunshots and shouting chase him down, after the sun beats down on his back for hours and burns his skin, after dust and blood stain his skin, no wash enough, not even now, still slick and warm beneath his fingers. Time starts to loose meaning after the nights spent as days in a land he can only remember, as a car backfires and suddenly there are bullets shooting at him, as he starts to loose touch with himself, floating through life partially out of his own body because if he’s too conscious of it then there’s too much pain, too much freedom for his brain, too much input from the world, too much, too much, too much.

And now he’s going to loose another year.

“Three!”

But at least he got the year.

Asalah didn’t.

Carlotta Orlov didn’t.

Kieran Vandeburg didn’t.

Those farmers from Nebraska didn’t.

Kurt and Clara Cox didn’t.

Luke and Liam Packard didn’t.

George Jones didn’t.

And suddenly the room feels so much more empty than it should, because now Bryan’s aware of just how many aren’t here. Even Asalah, who’s haunted him for years now, painted in his nightmares, clinging to his wrist, hidden in his pocket. Even she still stings, the world around him just a little colder and little more empty than it should be. She should be here, not him, standing in the light as they cry out for the New Year. But then again, this isn’t the first New Year she’s missed. Nor will it be the last. Bryan can only hope that she’s helping the others get through it too, the agony of missing New Year’s as they reside in a place where time doesn’t exist. Or maybe they’re fast asleep, unaware of time at all.

How peaceful that would be. To be so unaware of time. Of the seasons changing. Of how it reminds him of every thing he’s lost, every thing he’s failed, every thing he could never live up to. At least then the pain would stop.

“Two!”

Finola bumps his shoulder.

The world may be a little colder, but it isn’t cold. Maybe a little emptier, but not empty. Not when she stands beside him, the light of the sun itself, beaming at him with freckled cheeks and beautiful eyes. He’s not so alone, as much as his brain tries to trick him into thinking he is, not so isolated, not with Finola here, like glue to keep his feet tacked to the ground and head on his shoulders and brain in the present.

Bryan turns to the party as a whole, the people packed into the living room, shouting together, glasses raised, his coworkers alight as they creep steadily closer to the New Year. And staring at the party, staring at the future, there is a sort of lift off his chest. A sort of acceptance, dare he say a spark of hope. Yeah. Hope. Because he’s not alone. For the first time in a long time, he’s not alone, and staring into the not yet told abyss of the future, he’s not scared. He’s almost excited.

He made it another year. He survived another year, even when all odds were stacked against him. He survived another year through the hell of the Debris. Survived another year even when his PTSD never thought he could, even after the days spent in bed sick and hurting because of how raw it’s worn his body, even after the hospital trips and Orbital scans and blood given to the Debris. He survived another year. So it’s not so sour as it had been the year before. The year before, his survival meant nothing, just that he was continuing, a cog in the machine, just going through the motions until he couldn’t. But it means something this year, in this moment, after months spent across country to contain the Debris, after months spent fighting to bounce back from injuries and missions gone wrong, after months spent with Finola, the closest friend he’s had in years, the only person who means something to him.

For once his survival matters.

“One!”

Bryan looks at Finola, so beautiful, and maybe he didn’t just survive. Maybe he did a little more than that, because she’s gazing at him, bright-eyed, beaming, beautiful. Maybe she’s the hope he feels now, heart fluttering in his chest, the future an abyss for them to carve into shape together.

So he joins in this time

“Happy New Year!”

Bryan leans in close and snakes his arm around her waist, holding her gaze, asking,

“May I?”

Finola’s beaming smile turns into a toothy grin, and then her arm is around his neck, and then her lips are on his, pressing into him, slipping into place, warm and soft and everything he had hoped she would be. She parts, but her arms are still around his neck, over his shoulders, gazing into his eyes, and hers are so brown, so beautifully brown like gemstones.

“Happy New Year, Bryan,” She says.

And then he hears it, sung among the crowd, floating above their heads. Auld Lang Syne. And as it floats, ringing out through the room, Bryan sees someone leave, some one in dark blue and gray worn pale by wind and wear. Asalah. She doesn’t turn to look at him. Just leaves quietly, slipping out and away, no more to say, no more to do, just leaving into the bliss of a tranquil night, where she joins with several others. A little boy. A few people dirtied up and sweaty from a long day’s work. A couple strolling down the street. Two brothers bumping each other’s shoulders. An older man who hobbles his way on.

Bryan just watches them, quiet, passive, accepting as he bids them one last goodbye, one final tear, one final farewell.

Auld lang syne.

And then he lets them be, lets them on their way, lets them rest. The road splits here, where Bryan must go a different way, where it continues on for him, where must keep going even if it’s not so fair, and he returns to Finola.

He grins, “Happy New Year, Finola.”

And for once, for once Bryan means it, because for once, for once the New Year means something for him. A mark of achievement. A mark that he’s survived. That he’s alive, still human and still moving. For once the New Year matters. For once he matters.

He kisses Finola again.

#happy new year #it’s been a year #for me especially #so here’s another fic #debris nbc #bryan beneventi #finola jones #brinola #fanfiction #blue’s smexy writing #fanfic

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thekaiserroll · 13 days

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Hug

It's nearly impossible to have a quiet and peaceful day with the crew, like the strawhats. Nami is mostly used to the noise on Going Merry but one day she gets fed up with Zoro and Sanji arguing. Not only are they extremely loud, but they've also already broken way too many things during their fights.

She decides that If they want to act like brats, then she's going to treat them as such. So she makes them apologize and hug each other in silence for an hour. None of them are happy about this punishment, but Nami threatened to raise Zoro's debt, and Sanji couldn't say no to her. It could be worse.

It's awkward enough for them to not incite any fight for a long time and Nami is quite proud of herself. She knows it won't last forever but at least now she knows how to handle them. It inevitably happens again. And again. And again.

Much to her surprise, those fights became more and more frequent. And what's even weirder is that she could see the way both Zoro and Sanji occasionally glanced at her to make sure she was nearby. It's almost as if they wanted someone to make them hug each other. As if they needed an excuse.... these idiots.

Soon, they don't even need Nami's help. When they aren't busy training, cooking or fighting, they cuddle together. Sometimes Luffy or Chopper would join them, but most of the crew knew it was their time.

After two years spent separately, they became extremely clingy. It's no surprise when they start sleeping in the same bed. What is surprising is that despite them behaving like a lovey-dovey couple, those oblivious idiots are STILL unaware of each other's feelings.

#It's almost 3 am and I'm a little tired #I really hope that what I wrote here is somewhat coherent #It's another idea that's been stuck in my head #I wanted to make a comic about this but I never have the time #so for now all I can give you are these notes and a quick sketch #and as always if there's already a fic like that please let me know I would love to check it out #sanji x zoro #sanji #roronoa zoro #zosan #one piece

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morganbritton132 · 1 month

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I want a fic where Robin is adopted.

The only parents she has ever known are her own and the only time being adopted has ever bothered her was when Amanda St. James made fun of her for it in the third grade. But Robin told her that at least her parents wanted her and were not just stuck with her like Amanda’s parents, “And maybe that’s why your Mom and Dad are so unhappy all the time.”

She got in trouble for making Amanda cry and went back to never thinking about her birthparents. She had no interest in knowing anything about them and it stayed like that until she turned sixteen.

On her sixteenth birthday, her mom gave her a letter written to her by her birthmother. Robin doesn’t read it immediately, but eventually gives in to her own curiosity. She reads it over twice before her mind snags on a sentence, ‘I wanted to give you and your brother a better life…’ … you and your brother…. You and your brother…. You and-

“I have a brother.”

This eats at Robin, especially after her dad’s call to the adoption agency goes nowhere. It eats at her so much that she finally gives in – Fred Benson swears up and down that Nancy Wheeler is the best investigator on the school paper – and asks for help.

Nancy says yes and is maybe a little too invested in finding the truth, but honestly, Robin is having fun and she wants to find her apparent twin. She wants to know about his life. Settle the whole nurture over nature thing.

They hit a lot of walls, a lot of dead ends. They break a few rules and maybe commit a felony. They enlist Jonathan Byers to help and even Eddie Munson at one point because he knows how to pick locks, and it’s all for nothing.

One day when they have everything they’ve found spread out across the Wheeler’s dining room table, Steve comes over to pick up Dustin. He looks down at the whole mess and points at her birth certificate like, “Hey, we were born on the same day.”

#Steve and Robin’s birthday is close to the cutoff for starting pre-k where you can either enroll them or wait for another year #so Steve is one of the youngest in his grade and Robin is one of the oldest in hers #I had every intention of writing this fic but I couldn’t come up with enough ideas for the investigation so I’m posting it here #incase someone else wants to take it and run with it #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley

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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

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For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents.

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside.

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream.

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high.

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face.

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep.

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating.

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head.

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe.

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment.

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian.

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist.

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said.

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body.

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional.

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks.

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her).

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath.

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not.

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together.

There’s no one he’d rather do this with.

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #thought a lot abt what the favor could be but i could not resist the idea of surprise co-parents once i thought of it #here's a kid who clings to someone she knows is safe bc she is scared and alone!!#heres a stressed out hero trying to take care of a kid with no knowledge of how to do that!! and the kid is a ghost!!#heres a ghost king expecting to be used as a weapon and called in for a big battle suddenly finding another halfa!!!#so much going on here. so much to think abt with this!!!!!#i do love found family like this where they all kinda stumble into it and do their best to make it good #also could not resist making yet another oc. chelsea has my whole heart i love her <3 shes my daughter first #the bats dont know abt chelsea yet!! bc she can go invisble. its all been instinct every time they pop over to visit duke #soon she'll be able to control it and meet them properly #by properly i mean dukes gonna go over for sunday brunch and a little girl is gonna pop out from behind him like 'hi! im new!'#they will all love her of course. they will be shocked but happy!!#and a little less happy abt the GHOST KING duke has been hiding in his apartment that hes co-parenting with #sorry for the long tags im obsessed w this idea i want to Expand on it #maybe one day... with my other wips out of the way...

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kaladinkholins · 4 months

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We all already know Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils. But you know what? Lemme just say it, here's what I think:

Taigen and Mikio are foils.

Not necessarily to each other as individuals in the way that Mizu and Akemi juxtapose each other, but mostly in the contrast between their relationships with Mizu.

I've covered specific parallels between Taigen and Mikio in other posts I wrote; but as the number of parallels I'm noticing between them keeps piling up, I'm compelled to just compile them all in one post. So! This is, thus, the post in question.

First of all, let's look at their similarities.

1. Their status in society is the same. They are both samurai who lost their honour and have dreams of reclaiming it.

2. They are also both diligent as they strive to achieve this goal, they both care deeply about their work, but here as they begin to contrast, as the work in question and way they go about their goals is different:

For Mikio, his work is in taming and rearing horses; in order to prove himself, he must tame Kai—a willful and strong horse—and present it to his lord. For Taigen, his work is in sword fighting and martial arts; in order to prove himself, he must kill Mizu—a willful and strong swordsman—and present her dead body to his lord.

In the parallel above, not only are Taigen and Mikio contrasting each other, but Mizu and Kai are placed in comparison as well. And of course, Kai is Mizu's horse, and represents her. Which is why, when later, Mikio sells Kai off, it represents the way he is tossing Mizu (and their relationship) aside.

From there, the rest of the details of their character begin to contrast and juxtapose each other more clearly. So let's look at those differences, shall we?

Their backstory:

Mikio was a great samurai who was banished. A somebody to a nobody. Taigen was a fisherman’s son who rose to the top. A nobody to a somebody.

2. The first time we meet them on-screen:

Mikio is an adult. An older man. Mizu's superior in age. He is Mizu's to-be husband. A love interest. Taigen is a child. A young boy. Mizu's peer in age. He is Mizu's bully. An antagonist.

3. Their maturity and growth:

Mikio is mature, but stuck in his ways. Taigen is immature, but capable of changing and learning.

4. Their overall attitude:

Mikio is generally relaxed, easy-going and unfussy. Taigen is uptight, irritable and severe.

5. How they talk to and conduct themselves around Mizu:

Mikio is aloof, soft-spoken, and serious. Taigen is obnoxious, brash, and sarcastic. Mikio is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, even when Mizu turns to smile at him and shows openness to be near him. Taigen is loud, talking while others are silent, even when Mizu turns from him and shows no interest in conversing with him.

Mikio doesn't show much of who he is to Mizu throughout their marriage, despite their growing affection. Taigen openly shares his traumas and life story to Mizu during their brief alliance, despite their mutual antagonism.

6. Their external vs internal selves:

Mikio is calm, gentle, and considerate on the outside. Taigen is hot-headed, rude, and selfish on the outside. Mikio is cowardly and deceitful on the inside. Taigen is brave and loyal to a fault on the inside. Mikio tells Mizu that he wants to know and see all of her. But he scorns and betrays her, the woman he loves. Taigen tells Mizu that he wants to duel and kill him. But he endures torture to not betray him, the man he hates.

9. Their hair, a symbol of their honour:

Mikio's topknot is untied by Mizu during their spar. This humiliation occurs in private, the two of them alone in a rural location where no one can see them. Taigen's topknot is cut off by Mizu during their duel. This humiliation occurs in public, the two of them being watched by many others in the Shindo Dojo.

10. Their power dynamic with Mizu:

Mikio believes he is Mizu's mentor. He teaches her to throw knives, how to ride and care for horses, and about the tactical benefits of using a naginata. Taigen believes he is Mizu's equal. He views Mizu as a samurai like himself who received all the same teachings he did, and who possesses the same values.

11. Their perceptions of Mizu:

Mikio sees Mizu's feminine side first. He sees her as sweet and gentle, but also clumsy and incompetent. Taigen sees Mizu's masculine side first. He sees her as terrifying and deadly, but also strong and skilled.

12. The way they approach sparring with Mizu:

Mikio only spars with Mizu once. As the fight progresses and she is beating him, he tries to put a stop to it. When she teases/provokes him, he starts taking the fight personally and seriously, finding no enjoyment in it. Taigen spars and brawls with Mizu all the time. No matter how many times Mizu beats him, he doesn't back down. When Mizu challenges him with a chopstick, he is eager to compete with her and gladly rises up to the challenge.

Mikio and Mizu's one and only spar is a friendly match; Mizu is smiling and having fun while he grows increasingly frustrated. Taigen and Mizu's last-seen spar is a playful wrestling match; both him and Mizu are having fun and laughing.

Mikio cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, so he scorns her and walks off, avoiding her thereafter. When Taigen cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, he follows her to observe her moves and continues training in hopes to eventually beat her. After being bested by Mizu once, Mikio leaves her and sells the horse he'd previously gifted to her. After many times losing to Mizu and fighting alongside her, Taigen commends her and admits she is better than him.

13. When Mizu pins them down in a friendly spar:

Mikio sees Mizu's whole face objectively. Taigen stares at Mizu's mouth and eyes.

Mikio gets angry when she kisses him, throwing her off of him and snapping at her, calling her a monster. Taigen gets aroused, apologising, so she pulls herself off of him.

14. Mizu's blue meteorite sword is a reflection of her soul. She believes most are undeserving to face it, let alone hold it. And on that note:

Mikio is the first person (chronologically) that Mizu fights against using her sword. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) that Mizu fights against with her sword. Mikio is the first person (chronologically) to ever hold her sword, as she passes it to him, letting him wield it. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) to ever hold her sword, as she passes out, and he picks it up and carries it for her.

15. Then, last but not least, in Fowler's fortress, when she is drugged and in pain, she hears Ringo's voice in the dungeon. She then follows it to an open cell:

Mizu first sees Mikio as a hallucination, the sight of him haunting her and causing her to lose her grip on reality. Her eyes glow a surreal blue to represent this. Her Mama appears then and says Mizu's name accusingly.

Mizu then sees Taigen, but he is real, the sight of him a relief and grounding her back to reality. Her eyes return to their normal blue colour to represent this. Taigen looks at Mizu weakly and says her name softly.

Then, later, when facing Fowler, her revenge awaiting her, she instead chooses to follow her conscience (represented by Ringo's voice in her mind), putting aside her vengeance for a time, in order to save Taigen.

So that's basically all the ones I've noticed so far, but even then, I feel there's already so much that forms a contrast between these two.

What makes it especially incredible about these juxtapositions is that Mikio was Mizu's husband, the man she had fallen in love with, the one person she had ever been intimate with, the man who made her begin to accept herself, to put down her desire for vengeance and instead live a life of peace and happiness.

So for Taigen to have so many parallels with him... Do you see what I'm saying here!

Not to mention that Mizu clearly already has some burgeoning attraction to him, as indicated by how she thinks of him when asked about her desires. And Taigen clearly has shown interest as well (see: him getting a boner after their spar, him holding her hand and telling her, "We're not done yet.").

And on the topic of speculating future possibilities of this relationship, this post by @stromblessed has pointed out yet another parallel between Taigen and Mikio:

Mizu promises Taigen to meet him for their duel in autumn. Mizu fell in love with Mikio and duelled him during autumn.

With all that said, I do believe Mizu and Taigen's relationship is definitely hurtling towards something. But whether they will actually end up together in a sustainable relationship and have a happily ever after? Well, that is a whole other story; we'll just have to wait and see.

#blue eye samurai #mizu x taigen #taigen x mizu #taimizu #taigen blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai meta #hope yall enjoy my thesis on virgin mikio vs chad taigen #this was written last night when i shouldve been writing the new chapter for my taimizu fic that i promised i would work on....whoopsies...#i will get to it eventually but i just have to get a firmer grip on characterisation before i can delve further into it yk #on that note. i kiiinda regret posting the fic on a whim!#my last longfic was written better because i had the whole thing complete and could go back and edit/polish/revise before posting #so it came out much more coherent and consistent ykwim?#this fic might suffer a bit for this reason 🤒#but its fine i have to remind myself im just doing it for funsies #anyway here have another long ass meta post from yours truly #meta dissertations.pdf #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf

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littlecrittereli · 3 months

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I don't usually post my sketches but I really like how this one turned out.

What's the point of angst without some good aftermath healing?

#reprogrammed au #wk reprogrammed au #wild kratts #chris kratt #martin kratt #littlecrittereli #wild kratts fanart #I guess spoilers for the fic but not rlly?#I am projecting chronic nightmares from PTSD onto Chris fr #but it's okay cause Martin is here :)#Small headcanon they have actual rooms in the Tortuga #u cannot convince me they actually just sleep in hammocks every night #they probably share a room too to save space bc it is like a giant turtle and they got shit to do so #POV you're a very tidy person being forced to share a small living space with your messy as hell brother #but thats a story for another day

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swedenis-h · 4 months

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Phoenix Tatooine day trip Goes Wrong™️ (X)

This is a little idea where Luke needs something (don’t ask me what) that he can only get on tatooine, so dinluke adventure ensues. The plan is to get there and leave ASAP, but then nostalgia hits and he needs to hit every shop and place he used to as a kid. But you know, “college kids comes back to hometown” syndrome hits and he realizes he’s changed too much. Think of how the holiday season doesn’t feel the same anymore now that you’re an adult, same feeling. AND YES ITS ALSO DUNLUKE BECAUSE I WANT THEM TO KISS AND TALK ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS AND ALSO KISS.

Heres some extras 🫡

#and also don’t ask me how I feel being back home for winter break!!#it’s irrelevant!#also tangent about Luke’s outfit:#I wanted it to look a little Jedi but also fit into Tatooine #in the fic in my mind he ditches the cape over time the more he embraces Tatooine again but you know #he’s been Changed By The Journey so he still looks like a Jedi #ANOTHER tangent: his HAIR #I have my usual color for his hair and I change it based on where in the timeline I’m drawing him #more blond around ANH more brown around and past RotJ #drawing him with ANH color pallet and his hair doesn’t match it as nicely… pain suffering I hate him why does he hurt me so bad #HE DOESNT FIT TATOOINE ANYMORE DO YOU UNDERSTAND #okay sorry bye #certified yapper over here YEESH‼️#art #fanart #digital art #fan art #my art #star wars #star wars fanart #dinluke #sw #sw au #star wars au #luke sykwalker #din djarin

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rikkivoid · 1 year

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winter kiss

#bakudeku #LAST NIGHT i had a dream that bkdk went on a first date and it was so cute #it made me wanna write a fic BUT IDK HOW JFHDJHF #SO I WILL JUST TALK ABOUT IT HERE #(also i rlly wanted to draw deku in fluffy warm clothes)#ANYWAY the concept of deku asking bkg on a date and them both just indulging in a moment of normalcy that's just.. simple and tender..#MAKES ME RLLY EMOTIONAL #bc they never really get the chance to just be normal teenagers #and the world they live in has become so dangerous and so chaotic #SO BOTH OF THEM GO ON THIS DATE and they have a nice time #but it's bittersweet too because they know they might not get another moment like this #bc they never know what tomorrow will bring #SO IT'S A HAPPY MOMENT but one that is fleeting #like snow :)#ANYWAY if u read all of that thank u JFHJFHF #rikkivoid #mystuff

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shitouttabuck · 1 month

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hi hi nina!! may i prompt number 20? (absurd terms of endearment)

rae!!! thank you mwah (also requested by an anon & @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove <3)

be there on the next train

buck/eddie | 1.7k | rated t | prompts: absurd terms of endearment | ao3

The day Eddie calls him that for the first time, Buck’s tearing through the hospital at top speed, narrowly avoiding mowing down nurses as he stumbles toward Eddie’s room.

He’s okay, Buck knows he’s okay, he’s just here on concussion watch and because he needed a doctor to reset his shoulder when it was dislocated at the house fire earlier. He’d been talking and coherent when Hen and Chim bundled him into the ambulance, reassuring them all that he felt fine, terribly unconvincing given the grimace, but no cause for major worry either.

Still, Buck couldn’t ride with him to the hospital, having to finish their shift and wash off an inch of soot before hurrying to pick up Chris from school. Even rushing through his shower and haphazardly pulling on his civvies so not to alarm Christopher didn’t feel fast enough, and when Chris had started to kick up a fuss about being dropped at Pepa’s instead of coming with Buck to the hospital, he’d nearly torn his hair out.

He’d placated Chris with the promise that he’d try and get Eddie released this evening, happy as ever to volunteer to spend the night keeping watch at the Diaz house. Thirty minutes and several agonising red lights later, he’s here, barging right into this hospital room before any orderlies can stop him.

Hen blinks at him from her seat beside Eddie’s bed, eyebrows raised.

“You’re loud enough to wake the morgue,” she informs him, sipping her paper cup of coffee. “Bull in a goddamn china shop.”

Buck frowns at her good-naturedly, rounding the bed to Eddie’s other side.

He’s sat up against some pillows, bleary-eyed but smiling at Buck. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Buck huffs, squeezing his arm gently.

“You always come,” Eddie agrees. His eyes are glassy from the mix of pain and painkillers, voice slurring ever-so-slightly. “Mi patito.”

Hen chokes on her coffee, coughs turning into laughter. “Your what?”

Eddie’s lips turn down at the corners as he looks at her, pouting. “He’s got the little tail, look.”

He gestures at Buck’s ass, and Buck cranes his head back to see what he’s pointing at. His shirt isn’t tucked in properly at the back, sticking out of the waistband of his pants in an upturned fold of fabric.

“Patito,” Eddie says again, nodding. “Little duckling.”

Hen snorts, dissolving into laughter as she doubles over in the tiny plastic chair. Buck shoves the hem of his shirt into his trousers properly, disgruntled by their amusement.

“Duckling, huh?” Hen grins. “I guess he does follow you around enough.”

“He followed me into the house today,” Eddie says, leaning back heavily into his pillows. It’s true—Buck had ignored Bobby’s shouts to stay put and raced back into the burning building after Eddie’s pained grunt had come through the radio, a badly-secured beam glancing off him as it fell. “Stupid as hell, but would’ve had a lot worse than a fucked shoulder if he hadn’t.”

Buck’s not sure if that’s a compliment or an admonishment, but it’s absolutely soaked with affection, so he doesn’t let himself dwell on it, smiling wryly back at Eddie.

Eddie’s studying his face, serious even if the corner of his mouth is tugging up on the right, smile inevitable.

“He’d follow me anywhere,” he says, confident, to Buck or to Hen or just the room at large. “Patito.”

Buck feels a sudden wave of embarrassment, caught out and called out on this thing that was never meant to be a secret but he hadn’t planned on saying out loud anyway, hoping no one would draw attention to the bottomless well of devotion he houses for Eddie. That he’d do anything and everything if only it meant he’d be beside Eddie for it. He’s scraped raw, naked under fluorescent lights for everyone to see.

Hen, perceptive to a fault, stands, ignoring Buck’s flaming cheeks and whatever shame is rolling off him right now.

“M’gonna check with the nurses about when he can be discharged,” she murmurs, leaving the room quietly.

Buck swallows, ducking his head as he sits. He doesn’t look directly at Eddie, instead fiddling with the scratchy blanket on the bed.

“Buck?” Eddie asks. Buck doesn’t look up. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, ’course not,” Buck says, shaking his head and smoothing out the blanket. “You’re right, I-I do follow you everywhere.”

“Okay,” Eddie says carefully. “Is that bad?”

Buck huffs a laugh. “No, no, it’s not. Just—revealing, I guess.”

Eddie’s silent for long enough that Buck chances a glance at him. His brow is furrowed deeply, and he’s frowning at Buck.

“I would follow you anywhere too, you know,” he says.

Buck’s heart flip-flops. He does know this, and it’s nice to be told, but he thinks all his endless adoration, the entirely unshakable loyalty with which he follows Eddie, comes from a considerably different place than Eddie’s. The roots of his wanting wrap around his heart and clench tight in ways Eddie’ll never be familiar with, steadfast friendship being the only thing he’s ever wanted from Buck.

“I know,” he says anyway, moving one hand to grasp Eddie’s briefly. “I know, Eds.”

A nurse bustles into the room, patient chart in hand.

“Alright,” she says, “hello there. Are you Mr Diaz’s partner? Will you be taking him home today? He needs regular monitoring tonight, but Firefighter Wilson mentioned your line of work, so he should be good to be looked after at home by his significant other.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “Um, yes. And no. Yes, I’m taking him home. No, I’m not his significant other—I’m just his, uh, work partner.”

“Oh! Sorry for the misunderstanding,” the nurse says cheerfully. “Shall we go over the concussion protocol before we get him discharged?”

Buck lets her run him through what to do and what to watch out for, well-versed in this rodeo but nodding in all the right places anyway. When she leaves to sort out the paperwork, he turns back to Eddie, who’s be quiet for this whole exchange.

“Actually, speaking of,” Buck starts, pulling the words out of his throat like barbed wire, “do you want me to call Marisol and, uh, let her know what happened?”

Eddie scowls at him. “Marisol? Why the hell would you call her?”

“Because she’s your actual significant other?” Buck says, frowning at the unreasonable amount of derision Eddie’s throwing his way. “And she might like to know that you were hurt?”

“She is not my significant other,” Eddie says, looking deeply unhappy.

Buck blinks. “What? Since when?”

“Since…” Eddie screws up his face as he thinks, and then screws it up in a different way when the pull of his muscles must aggravate the headache concussions so generously come with. “Since two Thursdays ago. The 14th. The day we had the fighter jet call.”

“Oh,” Buck says.

His heart isn’t sure what to do—glow bright at the thought of Eddie’s relationship crashing and burning, because Buck’s not as good a friend as he wishes he was, or sink even further at the fact that Eddie, even hopped up on heavy-duty drugs, can pinpoint with such precision the exact day they ended things, his unhappy face only further proof that the break-up was probably not his decision, if he’s so cut up about it. Which—

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buck asks. “I’m sorry, man.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry? Also, you didn’t tell me when you broke up with Natalia, so…”

“I did,” Buck protests. “I told you that day in the locker room, that day that—”

He cuts himself off, breathless for no reason.

He did tell Eddie in the locker room, the day that they had the fighter jet call. The 14th. Two Thursdays ago.

“Eddie?” he asks.

“I texted her from the station parking lot,” Eddie confesses. “After Chris’s date went home, I, uh. I went over to her place and broke up with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buck asks again, infinitely more hushed.

“’Cause you’d follow me anywhere, patito,” Eddie says softly, and his voice is so brimming with sadness, Buck’s chest aches. “Didn’t—didn’t know if this would be something you’d—actually want, or if you’d try anyway just because I asked.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, a quiet and desperate thing. “Eddie, you have to know—”

“I know you love me, Buck. And—whatever way that is, I’ll take it. Okay? I just—I couldn’t pretend that that thing with Marisol was anything more than me trying to—trying to—fill some gap while you were with Natalia. And I was a dick, but—you broke up with Natalia and I’m so tired of pretending. I’d follow you anywhere, patito, but I—I wish you’d follow me home.”

“Okay,” Buck nods, heart whirring with this new revelation and taking upon itself to glow, not in petty vindication, but with sweet, sticky happiness, honey-gold and sun-warm as it spreads from cell to cell, his whole body alive with it. “Okay. I’m following you home.”

“I know you are now,” Eddie frowns. “You have to make sure I don’t die in my sleep.”

“Jesus, Eddie, first of all, dark,” Buck laughs, “and, secondly, no, I mean I’m following you home. I mean I love you in every way. I mean I broke up with Natalia because everything was always about death and I want things to be about life and—that’s you. It’s been you for a long time.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, still frowning. “Does this mean you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I’ve never wanted you to sleep on the couch. You’re always falling asleep on that damn couch. I want you to fall asleep in my bed.”

Buck laughs again. “I think we can make that happen.”

The nurse comes back in with discharge papers, Hen at her shoulder, and Eddie asks, “Hey, what’s the medical advice about making out with a concussion?”

Hen says, “Oh, for the love of God.”

And, Buck thinks, if you’re hand-in-hand with someone the way the two of them are, who’s following who doesn’t really matter, because they’re getting there together.

#listen. i know i posted fic yesterday. i am so sorry. here is another one #911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #nina writes #mine

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merakiui · 2 months

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Okay speaking of magical girls.... Evil villain tako that has a crush on the cute magical girl at NRC but he doesnt know shes the magical girl that's trying to thwart his evil plan of taking over sage's island mwhaha

YES YES YES. And every week he gets his ass handed to him. You're determined to keep Sage's Island safe!!!! He's trying to get to know you through the fights. The (one-sided) sexual/romantic tension is too much. Tako who flirts at every chance during your fights... you genuinely want to take him out (defeat him), but he wants to take you out (on a date). And it's so obvious he's down bad for you, but you have no idea he's Azul Ashengrotto (your fellow classmate) and he has no idea of your identity either. Azul's trying to balance his love for the magical girl he fights on weekends and his darling classmate who he sees during the week hehe. How fortuitous that they are the same person.

Please imagine that trope where the villain ensnares the hero in tentacles, but it ends up looking more erotic than threatening....... orz evil villain tako whose tentacle is holding you upside down by the ankle and he's monologuing about how he'll take over the island and you'll get to watch, powerless against him. But then he looks at you and your skirt has flipped up and he's granted a gratuitous panty shot!!!!!!! Tako who gets a nosebleed on the spot. He's such a loser pervert. <3

Omg omg or you're squirming in the tentacles and ranting about how you'll get him for this, but Azul's trying so hard not to give into the horny thoughts because the way the tentacles are looped around you and squeezing is so attractive to him.

Like that one scene where Stocking's fighting the octopus ghost LOL.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #no one can shake azul from his pompous villain monologues quite like his darling can #on second thought maybe he won't get another angst fic #maybe i'll write this sort of concept with him #magical girl aus are so fun orz #OMG HIS VILLAIN OUTFIT IS THE GLOMAS OUTFIT..................#villain jade or villain floyd is also a yummy thought #twin villains who drive you insane because they're so annoying #omg maybe you're actually their maid outside of being a magical girl but they don't know that #and you don't know they're the villains always causing so much trouble #crowley is your pocket-sized mentor mascot and he's TERRIBLE at his job #(name): a little help here crowley!!! how am i supposed to beat *that* (gesturing to overblot tako)#crowley: believe in yourself? :3 anyways good luck don't die~~~#too many thoughts...

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daggerofthemind · 11 months

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reports after alpha shift

#i love aos fics where these two put intense and purposeful effort into working well together and getting along post-ST09 #like yes theyre eachothers destiny but right now? right now theyre trying so hard to make an effort for one another #the ‘i love you on purpose’ of it all #the ‘i am not here because of fate but because i made a decision and i chose you’ of it all #star trek aos #spock #jim kirk

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kay-jaye · 2 months

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aziraphale is pretty sure attempting to sneak a demon into heaven is a bad idea.

forget the fact that he’s the supreme archangel. forget the fact that the second coming is not going at all according to plan—his plan…the ineffable plan? forget the fact that he and crowley haven’t had a moment alone that wasn’t interrupted by muriel or maggie or nina or a legion of demons or the end of the world.

forget the fact that crowley hasn’t taken those wretched sunglasses off since…

it’s definitely a bad idea.

crowley is wearing a cream-colored suit over one of those turtlenecks with a gold version of his usual scarf, saying something about heavenly bees, but whatever joke he’s trying to make falls flat because all aziraphale can think is, i could appoint you to be an angel, you could come back to heaven, and isn’t that the pinnacle of cruel irony?

he understands why the disguise is necessary; it’s the not-so-subtle rub-in-the-face from a bitter demon squeezing his heart into a fist. it’s the prick of unease in the back of his mind that something isn’t quite right, the floor is at an odd angle, that book belongs on a different shelf. at the same time, it’s the you’re gorgeous he’s longed to return since before the beginning, sitting behind clenched teeth every day for 6,000 years. and it’s the realization that this was not what he imagined at all.

“this the one?” crowley asks, flipping through a file laid out on michael’s desk. “supreme archangel, and they’re still keeping secrets from you, huh?”

aziraphale would appreciate it if crowley would refrain from certain reminders. “yes, that’s it.” he looks around the pillar he’s taken to leaning against, waiting for the inevitable repercussion of being caught in the act. his suit is newer, sharper, grayer, but at this rate, all the worrying his thumbs have been doing to the fabric of the jacket is bound to have him looking his normal self. he supposes crowley sees something similarly foreign whenever he looks at him.

“wait, these are—”

“i know.”

crowley’s frown deepens as he rummages through the papers and documents and photos that aziraphale spent so long staring at, debating if coming back to beg crowley for help was worth the knife wounding his pride, and whether crowley would simply twist it instead and tell him to fuck off.

(he did, at first.)

too many things on the tip of his tongue—another apology, a frustrated yell, the heavy memory of crowley.

“you were right,” he settles with a sigh.

the demon pauses, considers him, then closes the vanilla folder, dragging the projected holograms back into the file. aziraphale braces for an “i told you so” or the self-deprecating laughter that’s made an increased appearance in wake of his leaving. the damn sunglasses render his expression unreadable, a book aziraphale regarded himself as an expert on, but now he isn’t so sure he’d ever gotten the words right to begin with.

then crowley is smiling at him. no sneer, no malice. crowley’s smile is small, two parts sad and muted expectations, and aziraphale feels like he’s being offered something important, more than a title, more than a job, more than the opportunity to fix the unfixable, though he certainly tried, and he’ll be damned before he lets it go. it’s still angry, but it’s so much realer than anything aziraphale has felt up here for months, and aziraphale knows. he knows they need to talk, and even if they’re just as irreparable as heaven and the whole system, he knows which one he’ll be devoted to mending.

“can i get that in dance form?”

and suddenly aziraphale knows what it is to soar without wings.

he doesn’t get the chance to respond before michael’s approaching voice sends him into a panic. aziraphale hopes the click of heels on white porcelain tile will drown out the sound of their own shuffling as he lunges for crowley, who just manages to grab the file they came for, and pulls him around the pillar.

there aren’t many good hiding places in heaven. why would there be? it’s supposed to reflect truth and dispel lies. the good thing about being an archangel, however, is the ability to alter heaven’s layout, although minutely. you want a desk? there. you want to lengthen the hallway from uriel’s office to yours? done. you want a slightly darker corridor leading into the wall a few feet to the left of michael’s desk? aziraphale does.

he almost shushes crowley’s quiet yelp of surprise when he frantically presses the demon into the alcove out of sight, and aziraphale feels the punched-out exhale more than he actually hears it.

it’s deja vu. they’re back in tadfield manor except crowley’s holding a folder containing plans for judgment day trapped between them, and aziraphale’s the one with his hands clutching lapels like they might leave with another stinging don’t bother. the moment is dangerously loaded because fuck, aziraphale has no idea where crowley’s sunglasses got thrown in his haste, and crowley’s looking at him, really looking at him, without dark lenses to hide the way his eyes flicker down or the split-second fear that flashes across them.

aziraphale is crushing their chests together, and crowley is caving under him, and jesus isn’t here yet, but there wouldn’t have been room for him anyway.

“angel,” crowley breathes, and aziraphale knows it’s a slip of the tongue because crowley hasn’t called him that since they last parted ways.

aziraphale’s mind is a constant loop of yellow, yellow, yellow, and it takes every ounce of remaining self-control in his body not to lean forward and do what he should’ve done months ago. he doesn’t have quite enough left to pull back though, so he’s stuck on the verge of never knowing how to ask for what he wants, always too good at backtracking for their own safety, afraid to do it now because he really thought last time was the last time, and he doesn’t know if crowley can take another rejection.

aziraphale doesn’t know if he can either.

any sound of michael has disappeared.

aziraphale reckons this is the part where he’s supposed to say something like, “i’m not nice. nice is a four-letter word.” aziraphale reckons crowley might even agree with him. he doesn’t feel nice; all these millennia of you go too fast for me, crowley, and i don’t even like you.

their noses bump as crowley shifts his head. “aziraphale,” he says. it makes the angel want to cry. “‘s alright.”

so crowley’s catching the bullet this time, and that’s all it takes for aziraphale’s grip to loosen. he steps back—all too familiar a motion—and watches the demon smooth himself out.

“crowley, i—”

“nah,” he interrupts, waving the file in his hands. “talk later, remember?”

aziraphale relaxes, wonders what miracle gave him this and who performed it, wonders which stars aligned and whether crowley knew about them. the angel nods.

neither speaks again until the elevator doors are closing and the angel disguise has fallen away.

crowley, in all of his too-tight pants and infinite patience, doesn’t even look at aziraphale when he says, “dance later, too.”

#good omens #good omens fic #reverse wall slam #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #supreme archangel aziraphale #um the last one got some unexpected but very appreciated attention so here's another #kayjaye writes

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