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luxaofhesperides · 2 months

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Ghostlight prompt: Danny and Duke being childhood friends, but Danny tells Duke the moment the accident happens and such cause he trusts him, only for Danny to go radio silent when giw decide to block the town communications in senior year.

So Duke-does he tell Danny he's Signal or not? Up to you-gets worried the longer no contact goes by.

Maybe the away game thing seen in other posts where the sports team still does away games and Danny gets enough good will with star or dash maybe and they send a message to Duke that's some coded phrase and Duke knows shits going down?

(yourlocalcorviddad, it's a side blog so didn't want to send from main sorry)

Danny is not someone who is on his mind a lot, these days. It’s to be expected, considering how distance and their double lives eat up all the time they have to talk. Really, it’s a miracle that they were able to speak enough to learn about their own individual vigilante work, especially with Duke bouncing around foster homes for a good portion of that time.

They haven’t spoke in months but that’s normal for them.

Duke thinks he can be forgiven for not knowing something was wrong. He still won’t forgive himself for it.

“Danny’s gone?” he repeats, feeling numb. There’s static ringing in his ears, his entire world hollowing out.

The guy in front of him looks grim, unable to meet Duke’s eyes. Did he introduce himself? Duke can’t remember, can’t keep his spiraling thoughts straight in his head. “He’s gone. His entire family is gone and we haven’t been able to call for help because… well…”

“It’s those guys, right? The ones in white?”

“You know about them?”

“Danny told me. Danny told me a lot about what he did in Amity Park.”

The guy lets out a slow, relieved breath. “Good, then I don’t have to explain. Sorry, it’s just that it’s not something we talk about, especially out in the open. After the last few months, things got really bad. We know the GIW took the Fentons, but we can’t find out how or why and they’ve got us on a tight lockdown.”

“Then how did you get out?” Duke asks. Another arguably more important question pops into his mind a second later. “Actually, how do you know about Danny and… you know. The other things.”

The grimness on the guy’s expression fades away some beneath the sudden shame and embarrassment. “Oh, that. Well, I dunno how much he told you about his, like, daily life, but, um. I’m Dash. Baxter. I bullied him?”

Dash.

Dash. That’s a name he recognizes.

Danny’s complained about Dash a lot in the past. Since they were in middle school, really. Duke would always get mad on Danny’s behalf about how terribly he’s being treated, how no one would stop such obvious bullying. And every time, Danny would laugh it off and say in that soft voice of his, It’s alright, Duke, really. Having you care is more than enough for me.

It never stopped the bullying, though, but the way Danny talked about Dash changed when they both entered high school. He was still annoyed about everything Dash did, but there were less insults about him, less venting about every little thing that pissed Danny off about him, as if he just didn’t care anymore.

And there is, of course, the most memorable time Danny called Duke about Dash over the summer.

Hey, Danny, Duke had began, only to be cut off by Danny yelling, I kissed Dash?! Or he kissed me?! What am I supposed to do now!

And Duke, despite the jealousy he felt at hearing that Danny and Dash kissed, laughed so hard he cried while Danny yelled at him to be helpful.

There wasn’t any discussion on Dash since, beyond a comment here and there about a funny fanboying thing Dash had said about Phantom. The focus of their conversations shifted towards how hard it was to be heroes or vigilantes, quiet reassurances that they’re both doing the best they can, tips traded about best ways to patch themselves up and get through the night. Sometimes, it felt like Danny was the only person in the world to really know Duke; all his pain and promises, his dreams, everything he was Before and who he became in the After.

He’s missed Danny, but the last message Danny sent him told him that things were getting rough in Amity Park, and to not call or contact him until he reached out first.

So Duke trusted in Danny and focused his attention in Gotham, putting his all into becoming a better hero, someone people can rely on.

He thinks that maybe he should have fallen into the Bats’ bad habits of invading privacy to make sure Danny’s okay.

Too late for that now, though.

“I know you,” Duke says after a long moment. “He talked about you sometimes. Come with me, we have a lot to discuss.”

Dash looks appropriately nervous, but he doesn’t argue.

It’s a tense, quiet walk to the library where Barbara works. She’s stationed at the front desk when he arrives and greets him with a smile, eyes flicking towards Dash in question.

“Hey, Babs, got a private study room open?”

Her gaze sharpens and Duke can’t help the feeling of relief that flows through him, knowing that Oracle is ready to look out for him. “Let me check,” she says, turning towards the computer to click around a few pages. “Study room 8 is open.”

That’s the study room with a working lock and soundproofing. It also has cameras and a mic inside, but all the other study rooms have one too, just for safety purposes. Things could always go terribly wrong when people are locked together in a small room, and having video and audio evidence of what happened has assisted in more than a few cases.

He leads them up to the second floor, past the students studying and the group of young children in the back corner of the library listening intently to a read aloud.

The only occupied study rooms are those up front, closer to the stairs. The back rooms are empty and quiet, the perfect place for a little impromptu interrogation.

“So,” Duke says as he closes the door to study room 8 behind them. Dash sits down as if this is just a casual conversation, but the way his foot taps against the floor betrays his nerves. “Danny’s gone. And somehow, that lead you to me.”

Dash glance around, then leans closer to drop his voice into a harsh whisper. “The Guys In White got some insane upgrades a few months ago and forced every citizen of Amity Park into a surveillance state. The entire Fenton family is gone, but we all know it’s really because they want Danny.”

“Explain the situation in Amity Park some more.”

“Well. It’s like this: we didn’t take them seriously, so they upped their moves and got us trapped. No one goes in or out of Amity Park without good, verifiable reason. We have a curfew and we can be randomly stopped and searched for ectoplasm or exposure to ghosts. Most of the ghosts have left, but a few of the stronger ones hang around to cause trouble to get the GIW off our backs for a bit.”

“So how did you end up in Gotham?”

“I was invited to tour the college. And since outsiders were expecting me, the GIW let me go. But there’s definitely some that tailed me to Gotham, but I can’t find them at all. Even talking to you now is a huge risk for me.”

Which means they don’t have much time to talk before someone comes looking for Dash. His words, paired with everything Duke’s heard from Danny, paint a deeply unpleasant picture in his mind. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s Danny we’re all worried about. He told me before he got caught that if anything happened to him, I should find you. Tucker helped us narrow down where exactly you are and sent you that text to get you to where we met.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Dash admits. “But Danny trusts you, and he needs your help.”

Duke was never going to say no to this request to begin with, but damn if those words don’t make him want to run to Amity Park without waiting for anyone else.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll help rescue him and bring down the GIW. You should go now, before they get too suspicious.”

“What are you planning?”

“I got a couple of friends who are good at destroying government property. Trust me, you’ll see what we’re up, we’re pretty noticeable if we’re pissed off enough.”

“Don’t take too long then,” Dash says, standing up, “I expect a good show from you. See you around, man.”

And with that, Dash pats Duke’s shoulder and leaves the study room. Duke doesn’t follow after him. He’s got a rescue to start planning, and the less time he wastes, the better.

In the end, it’s pretty simple. It’s not a hard mission at all when the time comes for them to act, but the amount of data they gather and have to shift through is daunting. But that’s more Tim and Barbara’s forte, so he trusts them to handle it.

Together with Red Robin, Spoiler, and Black Bat, they hit Amity Park hard and fast.

One night was spent learning the lay of the land and every station and lab set up by the GIW. The second night was spent burning it all down and tossing open cages full of green blob ghosts and a few transparent, weakly glowing human ghosts. Stronger ghosts, glowing brightly, joined them in a few places with battle cries and maniacal laughter.

They split up and took down all the bases and patrol stations on their own, sweeping through the city like vengeful shadows.

By dawn, the GIW were in shambles, without any bases or equipment, and rounded up for arrest.

Cass was the one to find Danny and his family; his parents were forced to create weapons for the GIW under threat of Danny and Jazz’s torture. Danny was locked up like an animal and studied. Jazz had restraints on, including a muzzle, and a bloodthirsty rage in her eyes. Apparently, she had put up the most fight and, while being studied for repeated exposure to ectoplasm and radiation, started biting people.

The Fentons are big names in this conflict. Tim makes the executive decision to burn one of his out-of-state safehouses so they can hide and recover in peace, then promptly moves them into it as soon as the EMTs give them the all clear. They’re gone by the time the sun is rising over the horizon, and the curious Amity Parkers that have gathered behind the blockade of police cars have to be reassured that the Fentons have been taken away for their protection, not for further abuses. Even then, tensions are high and the locals are clearly prepared to start rioting now that they have a chance to fight back.

As vigilantes, they’re not meant to interact with cops much. Perhaps it’s simply their experiences in Gotham that keep them at a distance, disappearing into the neighborhood the moment attention shifts off of them. Either way, Duke is hurrying out of Amity Park with the rest of the team on his heels, eager to return to Gotham and follow up on their own leads to make sure the GIW is properly gutted and dismantled.

Duke heads off for the Hatch as soon as they reach Gotham, hoping to shed the suit and finally be able to call Danny. The guilt of not noticing how bad things had gotten rolls through his stomach, and more than that, he’s missed hearing Danny’s voice.

The first few calls go straight to voicemail. Duke leaves a quick message asking Danny to let him know how he’s doing as soon as he can talk.

Then he goes for a shower and to change into civilian clothes, prepared to make his way to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know how everything went. And hopefully distract him from his Disappointed Father/Leader Lecture about taking on missions behind his back, as if Duke can’t handle himself. And also because Bruce has no leg to stand on when it comes to this. He’s fully prepared to throw that entire lecture back into his face at a moment’s notice.

The post-mission exhaustion is hitting him hard and fast. Duke has to brace himself against the wall once he’s out of the shower, resisting the urge to just lie on the floor and sleep there until he starts feeling more human.

Somehow, he gets himself into some sweatpants and a plain shirt, pulls on a pair of mismatched socks, and begins gathering his things so he can get to the Batcave.

He’s in no state to be driving. Maybe someone would be willing to take him there?

Just as he reaches for his phone to thumb through his contacts and see who he can bother, it buzzes in his hand. Duke blames the way he jumps on his exhaustion, then blinks his tired eyes to squint at the name that pops up onto the screen.

Danny.

All at once, his exhaustion fades away. A rush of adrenaline runs through him as he scrambles to accept the call, already pacing around the room so he doesn’t fall asleep.

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence, then the exhale of a breath that turns to static over the call. “Duke,” Danny’s tired voice says. “Duke…”

“You doing okay? I couldn’t get to you before you and your family had to leave and go into hiding, but I’ve been worried about you, man.”

“I’m good. We’re all fine, now. Fentons are strong, you know? We’ll bounce back in no time.”

From what he’s heard about Danny’s family, that’s most definitely true. He’s seen the pictures of walls Jack Fenton has burst through with his body. It’ still hard to believe that no one in the family is a meta, outside of Danny.

“You need anything? I can get it to you, just say the word. Anything at all.”

Danny hums, then asks with a playful note in his voice, “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I need you. How fast can you come meet me? I’ll even pay for express delivery.”

Duke laughs, so relieved at hearing the lightness return to Danny’s voice that he feels weak in the knees. “It’ll be at least two days. I gotta sleep and debrief with Batman before I can see you. It’s gonna take some time to get out of Gotham again.”

“Maybe I can go to you, instead,” Danny suggests. “Fly over and be there is less than an hour.”

“Are you in any shape to be flying right now?”

“I’m fine! Already healing and everything,” Danny insists.

“It might be dangerous if any rogue GIW agents go after you.”

“Well,” Danny says, “That’s why I need to get to my knight in shining armor sooner rather than later, right?”

Duke bites his lip to fight back a smile, blinking his eyes forcefully to keep them from closing under the heavy weight of exhaustion. “Does that make you a damsel in distress?”

“I mean, I did need rescuing, so I guess? I’m not much of a damsel, but I could put on a pretty dress for you. It’ll be like playing pretend when we were kids.”

“Oh, man, I kinda miss those poofy dresses. I think I could still rock on, put it on top of the armor when I go out for patrol.”

Danny snickers. “Signal: the most well dressed vigilante in Gotham.”

“That’s me, baby!”

The last of the agonizing fear that’s choked him since he first talked to Dash finally melts away. Danny’s fine now. Everything’s okay; the GIW are done for and there’s plenty of people willing to look out for the Fentons. This will never happen again.

“Hey,” Danny says, voice suddenly turing more serious. “Send me your location. I wasn’t joking when I said I could fly over to you. And before you say anything! I do need it; Jazz and my parents are smothering me and I just need to get away from everything and pretend all of this never happened.”

The admission softens Duke, makes him shove away everything that tells him this is a bad idea, that Danny needs more rest first, that having Danny fly over alone and without warning any of the Bats fills Duke with anxiety.

He does miss Danny. More than he can put into words.

“Yeah, okay,” he says at last. “Come meet me, Danny.”

He texts Danny the location of the Hatch before common sense tells him to be more careful with his base of operations. Not that it matters, anyways; if there’s anyone in the world he trusts with everything, it’s Danny.

Then he sends the Bats a quick text saying he’s crashing in the Hatch and to not bother him until the sun is fully up two days from now. Oracle gives him a thumbs up emoji, which is a good guarantee that she will personally see to it that no non-emergency messages interrupt his rest and recovery time.

Duke has no idea how long it will take Danny to get to the Hatch, so he putters around, cleaning up the space and straightening it out in an attempt to keep busy enough that he doesn’t crash. Travel really takes it out of him. It’s one of the cons of being born and raised in Gotham: he doesn’t have the stamina to travel outside of it, especially when they were there and back in less than three days.

Thank god for Tim’s many motorcycles and his tendency to see the speed limit as a weak suggestion that can be ignored while on a mission.

Ultimately, the call of sleep is too strong to resist.

One moment, Duke is sorting through files on the Hatch’s computer, and the next moment, he’s face down on a bed with his face shoved into a pillow.

Blearly, he manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and send Danny a typo-ridden text that hopefully gets across the message of might be asleep so just come in, don’t wait for me to answer the door.

He’s out like a light as soon as it sends. The last thing Duke registers is his phone dropping out of his hand and falling against the mattress with a little bounce.

When he begins to wake up, something’s changed. As much as he wants to go back to sleep, awareness comes back to him slowly and Duke forces himself to claw his way out of unconsciousness to figure out what, exactly, is bothering him so much. Until he figures out what’s changed in the room, he won’t be able to sleep because he’ll be worried about someone breaking in.

His mind comes back online long before his body does. It’s only when he tries to move that Duke realizes he’s no longer alone on the bed; there’s someone wrapped up in his arms, body temperature a little too cool to be a normal human.

Blinking open his eyes, Duke looks down at the head of messy black hair and feels Danny’s soft breath ghost across his chest.

“Danny?” he manages to say, voice rough with sleep.

Danny hums and doesn’t move.

“Hey, look up. Let me see if you’re really alright.”

“Mmm, no,” Danny mumbles, burrowing his face into Duke’s chest some more. “‘m sleepy.”

A good argument. Duke is also sleepy.

“Fine,” he says, “Check in the morning, then. G’night, Danny.”

“Night, Duke. Thanks for saving me.”

He tightens his grip on Danny, contentment burning warm in his chest. “Always, Danny. I’ll always save you.”

That’s why he’s a hero, after all. To save others, to reach a hand out to everyone the way he needed when he was younger. To keep the people he loves safe. To make sure Danny always finds a way back to him.

This is what makes all the pain of this lifestyle worth it.

Danny makes everything worth it.

(@yourlocalcorviddad tagging to make sure you see this!)

#ghostlights #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #prompt fill #my writing #i thought up a whole backstory to the duke/dash kiss (accidental. embarrassing for both parties) but it didnt fit w the rest of the fic so #its not included. i can include it in a rb if u want tho!!#my sleepy boys..... they go thru so much but at the end of the day they always feel at home with each other #childhood friends duke/danny is so important to me #also couldnt think of a coded phrase sorry. now we just have dash walking up to duke like HEY. HELP DANNY. and duke went with it #thanks for the prompt!!

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padfootastic · 1 year

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in a turn of events that doesn’t surprise anyone im sure, @impishtubist has caused yet another scene to be stuck in my head until i wrote it down. so, have some sexy, greying sirius; a deeply thirsty, appreciative james who won’t let him dye it; and a very-fed-up-of-his-parents-antics harry for prongsfoot wednesday!

Harry entered the house with ‘I’m home!’ on his lips that died an instant death as soon as he registered what he was seeing.

“Er,” he hesitated. Does he really want to—? One more look at the scene in front of him and he decided to bite the bullet. Better to clear the air now than keep stewing on it later.

“Um. Is this a—kink? A fetish? Should I leave and never come back?”

In any other scenario, the way both his parents froze and looked at him with wide eyes would’ve been comical.

If only Dad wasn’t straddling his Papa on the ground, one of his hands holding both of Papa’s above him with disturbing ease.

“Er—“

“It’s not what it looks like, Haz!” Dad yelped, cutting across Papa who’s face and neck were turning a steady pink. “I swear.”

“Then why are you still—like that?” Harry asked, deciding to play it safe and look at the boring grey couch in the living room instead. Nothing scandalous going on there.

He could hear the scrambling of feet, a few thumps, and a mini-yelp, absently wondering about the amount of noise the simple act of getting up could produce.

“Right.” Dad cleared his throat. “So, Harry, would you please tell your Papa that he is, under no circumstances, allowed to dye his hair?”

Harry blinks, turning to his other, exasperated, father in silent question.

“Harry, will you please tell your Dad that this is my hair and I can do with it as I please?”

“Not when you promised yourself to me!” Dad yelps and Harry is hit with an intense wave of regret at instigating this.

“Promised—?”

“Yes! Our wedding, you said, and I quote, ‘I give myself to you, James Potter, mind, body and soul’, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Of course I didn’t forget,” Papa throws his hands up in the air. “But c’mon James—this is not what I meant when I said body!”

“What, you think I only wanted you for that ars—“

“Dad!” Harry, yelps, mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating in a violent blush. He can feel a similar flush creeping up Papa’s neck. Sadly, his words don’t have the deterring effect he’d intended.

“I mean, it is spectacular, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more than just a beautiful body, Si!”

“James, please, have some mercy for our child, if not me,” Papa says. Thankfully, this seems to register as Dad’s eye widened, part horror and part apology. Harry waves it away tiredly; though he’s no less embarrassed every time it happens, growing up in the Potter household with two extremely affectionate parents has exposed him to much worse. He’s accepted it as his lot in life.

“Er—yeah, anyway,” he coughs, ruffling his hair, “Bottom line—Sirius isn’t allowed to dye his hair.”

“I literally never agreed to that.”

“Too bad because you will,” Dad says, slowly moving towards Papa with a look on his face that Harry is loath to describe as predatory. If only it wasn’t so true.

“Oh?” Papa’s left eyebrow rises extraordinarily high, as it tends to do quite often. He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge. The motion makes his Dad smile.

“Mhm.” The two of them are chest-to-chest by this point, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry could probably conduct a whole rave party right here, right then, and they wouldn’t even notice. That is when he decides it’s high time he should step in—not literally, Merlin, no—before they end up doing something that makes him try to run away (again).

“So I was right—it is a kink,” Harry says dryly, once again regretting starting this entire conversation in the first place. He should’ve just turned back around and gone to the Weasleys instead.

“Harry, no—“

Three years later, Harry—who’s almost blissfully forgotten about the entire incident—walks into his parents’ house to an almost identical scene, just with his Papa on top this time. This time, he makes the sensible choice he still regrets not making all those years ago, and walks right back out the door.

Let those two sort it out on their own. Merlin knows his intervention hadn’t helped a bit the last time around.

#sirius black #james potter #prongsfoot wednesday #bambibelle #prongsfoot #harry potter #not one person far has the ability to make me write on command like miss imp #it’s absolutely ridiculous (i love every second of it)#which reminds me #my sentient black tapestry fic is still in the drafts 😭😭😭#(yes there is a reference to harry running away from home bc he saw his parents kiss each other—and more—one too many times)#i just think the idea is exceedingly funny hehehe #little harry packing a backpack and running away to the weasleys #or hell. teen harry walking in & out of the house and not being found for the next day and a half bc he saw them snogging #also just want it to be known that i was giggling so much while writing amorous j/s and traumatised harry #bc it’s all jokes anyway. harry lowkey adores how in love his dads are. wants the same for himself #boys got HIGH standards #as he should #bc his parents aren’t gonna allow anyone but the best for their son #also SPOILER ALERT: sirius obviously loses. james employs some *creative persuasion* a box of dye never entered their house after that #pen’s writing #tumblr works

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aeoris4lovers · 1 year

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(click here to read on ao3)

When all is said and done, when Trent is locked away and their stories are told and there is nothing left of their old lives that must be turned over to the world and Caleb and Astrid are finally settling into the newer pockets of their lives, Eadwulf runs.

He leaves Astrid in the misty grey hours of early morning as she sleeps soundly, her face settled into a content kind of faint smile that so rarely graces it at any other time. There are no goodbyes on that morning, no confession of where he might be going or plans for when to meet again. There is only the ghost of a kiss on a temple, so soft it can hardly be called a true touch at all, and an apology deep in his bones that he can’t risk saying aloud.

Before he goes, he makes breakfast for her. He covers the table in a spread of fruits and eggs and toast, leaves fresh coffee in a pot, all of it magically kept warm until she wakes and finds it. There are only so many comforts he can deny her at once.

He writes a note for her, too, and props against the coffee pot. It’s short — just enough to reassure her of his safety — and carefully avoids using any of the code words that would alert her to some sort of danger.

The first step out the door is an amputation, rough and gorey and in the absence of any fire that might cauterize it, and he stumbles out onto the street in that familiar haze which accompanies, as always, the bearing of some unbearable pain. There can be no way forward for him with things as they are, grafted as he has been for so long to her stronger trunk and left to grow only as she does, but the necessity of the action leaves him no less an open wound.

Lost in that fog clouding his mind, hardly present at all in his own skin, he finds himself not long after at the outskirts of a familiar graveyard. He doesn’t remember deciding to go there, doesn’t remember wanting to, certainly doesn’t remember the process of casting a spell to close the distance — but there he is nonetheless, and as he takes stock of his surroundings, he hears the unmistakable croak of a raven ring out from a nearby tree.

There should be no warmth for him in this place, really; nothing but barred doors and shuttered windows to greet him after what they had done to it. It’s still being rebuilt, still not yet a true temple again. What reason would these people have to welcome him?

But somehow, impossibly, they do.

Not without their hesitations, of course. No one in the family has forgotten their last meeting, least of all the familiar cleric who opens the door to answer Eadwulf’s clumsy knock. Immediately, the darkening of Caduceus’ face betrays his intention to shut the door again, but then he looks at Eadwulf with a gaze that seems to burn straight through his flesh and pierce his skull. Whatever Caduceus finds inside, it must be to his satisfaction because only a moment later, he opens the door wider and asks with a smile if Eadwulf would like a cup of tea.

And with Caduceus’ blessing, the rest of the family accepts him easily enough. They are clearly unsure of him at first, but he helps in the kitchen and volunteers to take on much of the heavy lifting for the repairs and doesn’t complain when the youngest Clay practically climbs him or excitedly shows him the strangest insect she found that day, and soon enough, his presence there almost starts to feel natural.

So, he stays a while. He helps where he can but does his best not to intrude on the family otherwise, quietly haunting the further reaches of the Grove and idly tending to the plants there until needed (or just invited) elsewhere. He leaves for a couple of days every once in a while, to be on his own and give them some space, but inevitably comes back when his business elsewhere is taken care of, usually with some small gifts for the Clays in hand. He stays for what must amount to quite a few months, judging by how his hair grows long enough to curl again and then even longer still, until it nearly brushes his shoulders. He loses track of the time easily in the secluded beauty of the Grove, though, and the changing of the seasons only rarely reminds him of its passing enough to worry that he might overstay his welcome.

Constance and Cornelius insist on making a place for him to sleep inside the house, but most nights he prefers to sleep under the stars, taking in the ever-present air of nature and divinity and gentle decay. When the nights grow colder and he conjures a dome for himself to keep warm, Clarabelle likes to follow him out and join him underneath it. Sometimes she approaches with blankets dragged behind her, to throw over the top of the dome and turn it into a magical blanket fort. Other times, if the sky is clear, she lays down next to him and they look up together, him occasionally pointing out a constellation to her and her connecting the stars into constellations of her own design.

One night, just as she steps out to join him, Colton emerges behind her and takes her arm, bending to whisper something in her ear. She stops for a moment, nodding slowly as she listens, but then brushes him off as though his words were utter nonsense and makes her way over, undeterred. Later that night, as the two of them lay beneath the stars, she props herself up on her elbow to face Eadwulf and says with a cheerful smile and a mischievous glint in her eye, “Colton says you’re dangerous, you know.”

The implications of the statement only momentarily take him aback. Of course Colton — and the others, no doubt — would still be wary of him, especially with Clarabelle getting so close without them around. Propping himself up to look her in the eye, he replies with a small nod and an affirmative hum, and she only smiles wider.

“Cool.” Then, she shrugs. “You seem nice to me, though.”

Hardly a second later, she’s leaping up and out of the dome to catch a passing firefly, and the matter doesn’t come up again.

As irresistible as Clarabelle’s strange kind of charm is, his greatest fascination is — and has been, ever since that dinner — with Caduceus. Caduceus, who looked Ikithon in the eye and spoke so ruthlessly and yet without a hint of venom in his voice, who got under the archmage’s skin in a way Eadwulf isn’t sure anyone had before and lived to tell the tale, who could be at once so fiercely protective of his friends and so unflinchingly at ease in the face of the one who hurt them. Countless times, Eadwulf asks him for advice on which tea to try or which flowers are okay to pick from or some other simple request, just as an excuse to strike up conversation and pick his brain about nearly anything. Caduceus’ advice and words of wisdom are the farthest things from a disappointment and his way of looking at life is so unfamiliar yet so full of steady conviction that it borders on intoxicating, but it’s his humor — sometimes intentional, oftentimes not — that Eadwulf finds himself seeking out the most.

Every so often, the tiefling comes to visit the Grove and have tea with Caduceus; the purple one, Kingsley. He always comes with an abundance of stories about his life on the high seas, and Eadwulf can’t help but be mesmerized by the theatrics of his retellings. One afternoon, Kingsley comes with a story about a battle against a demigod with the whole of the Mighty Nein there — with Caleb there — and for the first time, he listens unabashedly, not bothering to hide how he hangs onto every word of their adventures. The two of them share a tendency to steal away to the outskirts of the Grove when they need a moment to breathe, and they often find themselves crossing paths in those stretches of the gardens. On multiple occasions, during their talks out among the headstones, Kingsley takes note of Eadwulf’s interest in his tales and extends an offer to join his crew. On almost as many occasions, Eadwulf surprises himself with how seriously he considers accepting.

The drow, Essek, stops by from time to time as well. Their first meetings are more complicated; Essek is familiar on more than a few levels with the tendencies of the man Eadwulf once served, and was present to witness under no uncertain terms how Eadwulf had done his bidding. Eadwulf, in turn, knows precisely what roles Essek played, the subterfuge that served as the basis of his career and the betrayal he was capable of. They circle each other for some time, keeping their distance but making no secret of how closely they watch each other. His curiosity eventually gets the better of him, though, and he can’t help but take the opportunity to ask a few questions about the magic Essek wields. As it turns out, one of the quickest ways to Essek’s heart is through his mind, and he can’t seem to resist the temptation of a conversation about the technicalities of his craft.

The three of them turn out to be better and more comfortable companions than Eadwulf ever could have expected. They each understand, in their own way, the hectic confusion of being pulled so suddenly into a new life by the whirlwind that is the Mighty Nein, and Eadwulf soon realizes how desperately he needed someone to be able to tell him he isn’t just losing his mind in the midst of that chaos. Even aside from that, the trio is good company, each with their own kind of intelligence and wit and arsenal of ridiculous stories to share. Though he finds himself inexplicably nervous to admit it, they begin to feel more and more like true friends with each shared conversation. They are a strange group — the ex-assassin, the grave keeper, the pirate, and the fugitive — but the strangeness is far easier to let himself settle into than his attempts at normalcy ever had been. The best days are those when all four of them are there at once, each of them growing increasingly familiar with and invested in the lives of the others, and he comes to anticipate those rare occasions with an almost childlike excitement.

(Later on, after Eadwulf’s time living at the Blooming Grove comes to an end, Caleb will frequently and openly express his absolute bewilderment at how his ex-boyfriend, current boyfriend, crush, and friend became such close companions. They seem to all outside eyes to be an unlikely match, but if you ask Eadwulf, the Grove just has a way of bringing people together like that.)

And every day, without fail, a sending from Astrid prickles the back of his mind. He always answers, of course. He reassures her with each new morning of his safety, promises her that his absence is of his own free will and that he will be returning. The idea that he might ignore her for even a day is beyond unfathomable.

Even so, the ease with which he puts her messages out of his mind after responding catches him off guard. He thinks of her near constantly, as always, but the calm beauty of the Grove and the ease of the companionship found within it makes it strangely difficult to regret the separation. Even the deepest wounds, he supposes, must begin to clot. He only hopes hers has done the same.

In the many months he spends there, he never quite apologizes for what he did to the home the Clays are now so bafflingly willing to welcome him into. Not in so many words, at least. He only lends a hand where he can and tries as well as he knows how to bring, if anything, a bit more light to their home. And in truth, it feels as though the words are unnecessary. His words are too often clumsy when they hold that much weight; they would only cheapen the remorse.

Eventually, he does take his leave from the Blooming Grove. He leaves each of the Clays with a hug, a token of his gratitude made by hand, and a promise to come back and visit. It’s Clarabelle who hugs him the longest but Constance comes close, sending him off with all of the pleas to stay safe and other such fanfare that one might expect a mother to give her son.

(The question of why will never leave his mind, no matter how often or how long he turns it over in his mind. To allow him into their home was one thing, incomprehensible in itself, but to find any true care for him was another entirely. It must be like living in a different world, he thinks, to be nurtured by a place like that for your entire life. It must change you, make you different, make you kinder. He can find no other satisfactory explanation for how such people could come to exist at all.)

When he finally returns to Astrid’s house, he braces himself for the earful he knows is waiting for him there, but Astrid only throws her arms around him the moment she lays her eyes on him. For the rest of the night, she keeps him captive as she tells him everything that went on in his absence and demands the same from him, refusing to let him leave her sight for anything longer than a bathroom break. The next day, of course, she has far angrier words for him, and he takes them without a fight — he knows he deserves them, with the way he left her.

Later that month, when he receives the expected sending from Essek on Caleb’s behalf, he accepts the invitation and agrees to attend the Nein’s monthly get-together for the first time, as ready as he could ever be to face them all again. Astrid still declines the offer and he nearly changes his mind, lest he do any further damage by leaving her again even for a night, but to his surprise she all but pushes him out the door.

Caleb greets him at the tower’s entrance, looking him up and down and saying with a soft smile, “You look good.” It’s strange, hearing his own words reflected back at him. More than anything, it strikes him that he knows full well what sentiment underlies them:

You look healthy. You look cared for. You look like yourself. You look happy.

#this was Supposed to be an exploration of wulf and astrids very complicated relationship #and what happens when they’re apart for a long time for the first time like. ever #and it was going to be angsty™️#but then wulf decided to go to the grove and make some friends instead and who am i to say no to that?#sometimes the healing insists on happening i guess. good for him #my mind just cant stop rotating the way he zeroed in on cad and was like You. I Like You #you cant tell me that was a short lived fascination. i just know he was thinking about that dinner and cad in particular for A While #and then realizing That was the home they were burning down to get at caleb???#no way in hell he just walked away and forgot about it. no fucking way #cr fic #eadwulf grieve #astrid becke #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #kingsley tealeaf #essek thelyss #the clay family #blumenduo #blumendrei #the mighty nein #critical role #critical role fic

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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something silly and soppy for this cold, miserable evening. indulge me in the vision I have of 9-5 Eddie and his gorgeous clothes. nsfw (kind of)

I know that Eddie's messy and boyish and wears ripped up clothing and that it's all part of the appeal but I want to indulge this idea I have so just imagine that you're both in your 20s and growing up with him by your side and he, to your surprise, gets a big boy job at a record label in Indianapolis. it's a 9-5 most weeks and so you take him shopping and get him some nice shirts and fancy trousers but you make sure they're still Eddie - a couple subtle chains and metal hoops, cufflinks with the devil and DnD dice on them. he keeps the rings and the bracelets and the chain he wears around his neck, though it stays under the shirt.

and then one day you come home from work and he's already in the living room, just like most other days. you find him on the couch, your cat on his lap, in his smart, well-fitting black trousers, crisp white shirt tucked in and a pretty leather belt around his hips. he's just in socks and he's messed his hair up a little, but he looks so goddamn grown up and smart and it makes you swoon.

he beams at you as you drop your stuff and sidle over to him. like usual, you're on him like a flash, the cat politely nudged off with you taking its place on his thighs, mouths and hands all over each other. this happens often; you miss him, he misses you, you both look hot in your work clothes. your hands roam over the cotton of his shirt and soon they grasp his belt and unbuckle it, running under his waistband and untucking his shirt. his lips are warm and wet on your throat and across your face; you're like horny teenagers who can't get enough of each other. the second half is true.

and, like every time, he takes you to the bed and the work clothes come off slowly but surely, thrown in slapdash piles on the floor. before he takes the shirt off he's between your thighs, because he knows you like how he looks in it. it's glorious and he's amazing and you're coming faster than ever, with his hands splayed across your thighs, rubbing up and down and gripping in desperation to the fat there.

when he moves up your body to kiss you, he stops, head hanging over your own, because you're crying.

he's pleading baby, are you okay? please stop crying, here, let's stop, c'mon, and you're reassuring him that i'm not sad, eddie, you're so good to me, i just can't believe this is my life.

he pulls you up to sit in his arms, and as he rocks you side to side gently, you tell him that there is nothing in the world you love more than coming home to your gorgeous, handsome, loving boyfriend stroking your cat on your couch in your home. and you tell him that you're not sure what to do with all the love you have for him, that you feel like telling him isn't enough, that you have never felt so content in your life.

he just tells you that he feels the same way. he tells you that he loves that he gets to wait for you to come through the door, he lives every day for the indescribable sensation he gets when you do, the way his heart leaps every single time, how he wants so badly to wrap you up and squeeze so tight that two become one.

he says he feels silly admitting that, but you just hold him in your hands and kiss him silly, assuring him that he's not silly, he could never be silly; you wish you could put it into words the way he does. a natural writer, he's so good at giving you ways of describing how you feel, and that's just it - you feel he completes you, though you know that you don't need completing. but that makes it better, because its a wholeness you never knew you could have.

he's still in his white shirt, though it's more crinkled now. you keep saying sorry for ruining the mood but he keeps repeating that you didn't ruin anything, as his hands continue roaming and he lies you on your back. you're kissing each other all over and you feel a warm glow inside your body. it is so nice to be so loved by someone you are watching grow up and who is watching you do the same.

#look ok I have a vision of him in well-fitting formalwear that made me buckle at the knees on my walk home this afternoon so here we are #imagine him in a pretty white cotton shirt and nice pinstripe black trousers and he's just got socks on and the shirt's unbuttoned a bit #and he just looks all grown up and like an adult and god the swoon #he'd be so beautiful #he IS so beautiful!#eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #Eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic

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lavender-acee · 1 year

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tell me headcanons and things about Kokomi that aren’t about how much guys are attracted to her plsssss im making a list

#sorry its just in the fic i want to give her.. more than one personality trait 😅#so #to me #on a basis of absolutely nothing #she memorises names dates and numbers because they’re calming to her #she runs an anonymous pintrest aesthetic blog for pastel academia #she loves the rain and will always walk to and from school regardless of the weather #ironically keeps live laugh love things everywhere bc people see it and think ‘wow shes so nice’ but she secretly just thinks theyre funny #kind of person who can solve a rubix cube in less than 10 secs #had an artsy phase and painted flowers all over her wall and theyre kinda mid but she keeps them there #hates the feeling of her school uniform and wants to change into a cozy hoodie or sweater the moment she gets home #horrendous at creative writing excersizes because she worries about the plot not being good enough #her favorite colour is actually like a muted pastel pink (makoto was wrong in that one episode lol)#has a dainty silver charm bracelet she fiddles with in lessons #she and rifuta have a minecraft server where theyve made a giant city #saiki k #kokomi teruhashi

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oops-its-a-fanwork · 9 months

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Tidbits about the lepom pokémon boys✨️

Just some little things to know about our fav legendary boys, Papyrus and Sans! You can read their home and backstory here!

The pair of brothers are both psychic types, but I'm not entirely sure about their secondary typing. For sans I'm thinking either psychic/normal or psychic/dragon, and for papyrus either psychic/fire or psychic/fighting. The size of their true forms is somewhat small for a legendary, more akin to the size of Latios and Latias: person sized! Actually these two seem to have inspired the boys’ designs in my mind: not too big, somewhat friendly but definitely not an average pokemon!

Interestingly enough, if anyone describes the boys’ human form, the description will always be focused on their personalities and some rough descriptions of their appearance at best. People remember Papyrus being tall and loud, that's for sure! And Sans is definitely a lot smaller! A laid-back dude! Oh what did he wear yesterday? Good question! …I don’t remember… … Skin color? Oh yeah he sure had one… Hmmm… Anyway yesterday Sans pranked the candy store owner with a whoopee cushion??!?-

Papyrus would love to help people train their pokémon! He adores the bond between trainers and their pokémon, and thrives off of their passion and determination! People would ask him about his team when he offers though, and that just gets them a fidgety “oh would you look at the time! It sure seems evident that I am needed to help with market preparations! But perhaps we’ll spar! Next time!”. Then he does an impressive leap into an open window of a random house and he’s gone. What a guy. You can also ask him to help you prepare for beauty contests. He has a very good eye for those, and although his choices are… non-standard, they have a 80% chance of actually being really, really good.

Sans doesn't really care for or about battling, but if you ask him about beauty contests he’ll at least humor you by joining you for prep time. His suggestions are ridiculous and none of it is helpful. He does seem to be enjoying himself though, and if he’s tired enough you can use props and make-up on him to make him look silly “to match his attitude :p”. If anything, prepping with him does make you and your team far less nervous. No judge could ever give you feedback that's more outta left field or ridiculous than he and his brother can, so you can handle anything now!

Papyrus definitely still gets lovingly attacked by dog pokémon all the time. He’s a magnet for them, they love him! His reaction can be best described as “exit, pursued by bear dog”. I mean it doesn't always happen, but they do like to mess with him, so it is also often times the other way around. Don’t try and keep an important conversation with him when there's dog pokémon nearby, because you will be interrupted!

Sans will tell you what your pokémon are thinking/saying unprompted. This tends to feel like he’s doing a bit, but he’s always telling the truth, or at least a half-truth. The bit is that he’s not doing a bit. What a funny guy!

Papyrus' cooking is in an odd position here: if there's a person to supervise and give advice, Papyrus can actually make a few really tasty dishes! However if left alone he doesn't really realize the way certain appliances work, and might experiment with ingredients that only certain pokemon or humans can eat, like uncooked wheat! Or pokemon berries! Or rocks! He’s personally not the biggest fan of rocks, but he has friends who love them! Sans absolutely does not count as supervision by the way. He doesn’t care what is made as long as his bro is happy, and if the kitchen is burned down in the process he’ll probably sleep through it anyway.

Despite him having the personality of a “dude who has a little truck he hangs out the window from to talk to u”, the only thing people actually see Sans drive are the tricycles he “borrows” from the town kids. Does he do it to entertain them or does he genuinely think they're fun? Hard to tell. The teens in town like to point at silly cars and other vehicles they see and tell each other it's his. He thinks it's hilarious and definitely plays into it.

Sans is the kind of guy who will walk you home at night if you work late shifts, and Papyrus will princess carry you if you are injured, even if it's just a scraped knee. In both cases, enjoy the view!

Most of their rare time away from any people or pokémon is spent either protecting everyone from an evil team or from agitated pokémon from the mountain. The latter tend to be ghost pokémon and pokémon living in harsh conditions, so no one really blames them for being irritable. These pokémon have been acting up far less the past few weeks though. Perhaps something happened?

#papyrus x reader #sans x reader #Sans walking you home? Papyrus princess carrying you? Prime time for romance me thinks~#one day I’ll try more actual scenes and fics but for now its just info and tidbits #undertale au #lepom au #Legendary pokémonsters au #lepom Sans #lepom Papyrus #Tidbits #Tidbits about the og!boys #homemade fanworks #lepom papyrus x reader #lepom sans x reader

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