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queenimmadolla · 2 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 6 months

Note

thanks for replying, i really appreciate it :D! my request has to do with jim hawkins and reader who’s the daughter of delbert doppler and is very shy around him, i’m ok with the plot being anything, thank you!

A/N: I started writing this a while ago but for some reason I just couldn't settle on a format OR a plot. But I decided to clear out my drafts and coming across this with a fresh mind definitely helped smooth things along. I settled for headcannons, along with a lot of other descriptions just to get a feel on the relationship Jim has with the reader. Mid write into this and a NSFW version smacked my writer brain so I’ll probably write that if it’s interesting enough to read too. This is set before the movie! I am SO sorry for such a long wait, I really hope you enjoy!

Jim Hawkins x Fem! Doppler daughter reader!

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, Jim being a trouble maker, good girl x bad boy trope, sneaky jim >>>

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

PINNING!

Jim had noticed you for quite some time before it came to actually making a move on you

He knew you were shy, you were shy with everyone, but with him it seemed you just tried to disappear right into yourself

He didn't really understand why, so he went to his mom about it

Her answer? She probably likes you

Well that was a first

He doubted it at first, and unconsciously started doing things to test this theory. To see if you really did like him

But the more he tried not to like you too, the more he did

He knew Delbert was gonna kill him if he found out Jim liked his daughter

but what else was he supposed to do? he couldn’t ignore you, not when he loved the reaction of you getting so shy on him

He asks you out late at night, Delbert is talking to his mother and he thinks it’s the perfect time

He sneaks in through one of the open windows of the small house, the soft sound of music in the background comforting to him

He sees you standing in the kitchen, drying a the last few dishes with a small smile on your face

“Hey Y/n.” Jim says in your ear, and you jump

“J-Jim! Don’t do that, you scared me.” She says, a hand on her chest to calm her breathing

“Sorry sorry, you’re easy to scare.” He says, before he sees your eyes looking at the hand he has tucked behind his back

“What do you have?” You ask quietly, and he smiles at the blush that creeps up onto your face

“Look, Y/n, I-“ He pauses, nervous. “I know I’m probably the last person you’d want to ask you this but, I really like you.” He says, pulling out a few flowers from behind him holding it between the two of you. “I really want to take you out. If you’d let me, of course.” He says, his head dipping a bit. He might get in trouble a lot but he still respects you

“Jim, I’d love too.” You say, you’re quiet and shy about it, leaning into your shoulder with a smile. He grins wide and hands you the flowers, watching as you go to put them in a vase.

DATING HIM:

He drags you out with him sometimes, and most of the time you stop him from getting in trouble

Even after you two start dating you still get so shy on him

He actually likes it, and he teases you for it a TON

He’ll purposely get your attention by taking things from you just to get you flustered

His mother loves you >>>

#jim hawkins #jim hawkins x reader #disney x reader #treasure planet #treasure planet x reader #x reader #delbert doppler

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

Text

i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part i - spring ; satoru gojo ]

synopsis; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo, who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided, wholesome n sweet overall, no curses au, gojo doesn’t know how to make friends and thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, reader doesn’t like gojo at first but dw they see the light eventually

a/n; the shoujo manga vibes are v heavy w/ this part i think. high school gojo was born to shoujo but forced to shounen </3

satoru gojo is annoying.

blunt as it may seem, it’s a conclusion you reach fairly quickly. when you first met him, you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel — a deliberate choice, on his part. looking back on it now, that’s the conclusion you come to.

he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand. observing all of you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his name. it’s a kind of power, a safety measure.

not like it lasted very long, though.

evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. after only a day or two, he began to show his true colours, having gotten more accustomed to the new environment and classmates — and with the revelation of his genuine personality, your unease around him festered even more.

where do you even begin to describe him? he’s childish, for one. and cocky. loud, arrogant. selfish and flamboyant. just generally an asshole. you could go on and on; none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly trying to pick a fight with someone, uninterested in manners or even common courtesy. he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it.

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless.

gojo does have a certain presence, though. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though — you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall.

most frustrating of all, however, is that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it, gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius, even. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those blue eyes and that snowy hair.

and he has no issue in getting what he wants. none whatsoever.

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way — it’s almost like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. evidently, he’s never once given a chance to the prospect of being a decent guy, then.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

annoying is still the most fitting word, though, undoubtedly. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone else in his entire life.

really, you don’t understand how geto can put up with him.

gojo said something to him, during your first week of school. what, you aren’t sure — probably some rude, untoward comment, something taunting. shoko told you about it, but you don’t know the details.

what you do know is that they fought about it, physically. and that ever since then, they’ve been on a first-name basis, attached at the hip. it’s not often you see one of the two without the other. evidently, the fight brought them closer. you think they must be at least a little bit insane, but maybe that’s to be expected of kids who’d choose some weird boarding school in the middle of nowhere over a more orthodox choice.

(not like you’re one to talk, though.)

geto is a little better than his best friend, at least. he’s polite, and relaxed, and easy to talk to, only ever annoying when gojo’s around. you don’t know how he manages to put up with him so well, but you get the sense that he’s the only one who really understands gojo. the only one who even tries to.

you haven’t even attempted to do so, yourself. fondness wasn’t something you held for him, from the very beginning, but every interaction between the two of you only serves to make him more and more insufferable in your eyes.

gojo is annoying to basically everyone, always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. and you’re certainly no exception — if anything, he’s even worse with you.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re not as self-assured as your classmates, and you think he must have sensed it, the moment he laid eyes on you. that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease.

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

so as soon as introductions were over, gojo immediately began to push at your buttons. grinning in that cocky fashion, not bothering to hide what he thought of you in the slightest. the first words that came out of his mouth when he spoke to you were rude ones, but you can’t quite recall them, muddled together with every other unneeded comment that he’s thrown your way since.

his behavior hasn’t gotten better, even in the slightest. gojo is always teasing you, annoying you, trying to figure out what makes you tick. almost like he’s solving an equation — the equation being you, the limit of your patience.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin; it’s your own fault, really, for giving him what he wants. a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. if you were more like shoko or geto, then maybe he’d leave you alone — if you could just brush him off, ignore him, not give him the time of day. deny him one of those reactions he loves so much.

but you’re not shoko. and you’re not geto, either. you’re you, and you’ve always been particularly bad at hiding what you feel.

it’s not like you hate him, or anything. you really have tried to get along with him. but it’s impossible, at the end of the day. gojo is just too good at being annoying.

and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. you can state his negative traits without a hitch, as well as his begrudgingly positive ones, but all of them are surface level when you get down to it. in truth, you don’t understand satoru gojo at all.

and that suits you just fine.

you’re just gonna have to live with it. live with him, his presence in your life, disrupting what should have been your peaceful high school years. your new start.

it sucks, but you’ve already resigned yourself to it. having to deal with him every day is annoying, yes, but what can you do? at least you get along well enough with shoko and geto. at this point, you’ve decided to treat gojo like an annoying little toddler, or an irritating pest. someone to put up with, not take seriously.

for a pest, he’s awfully good at making you angry, though. you can never seem to maintain your composure, when he’s around. it’s not always a bad thing — the banter can be funny, sometimes. just a tiny bit. doesn’t make it any less infuriating, though.

and in the state you’re currently in, you doubt you could handle it without popping a blood vessel or two.

a heavy sigh flows from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, and your mind is muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts you’d rather not be having.

you feel thoroughly exhausted, completely spent. and the day’s barely begun. you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, unable to slip into sleep’s embrace without being awoken by an abrupt nightmare.

and it’s painfully evident. in your face, your posture. in the paleness of your skin, only making your vague eyebags more noticeable, and in the way you can’t help but drag your legs slightly as you walk. in your disheveled hair, in every sigh and grumble you let slip as you try to blink the exhaustion away. you just feel so tired, both physically and mentally.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, at the very least. it would’ve been an actual nightmare, in the state you’re currently in; having to stay up, take notes and listen to yaga drone on and on. you like your teacher, you really do, but sometimes his lectures can be just a little bit tedious.

the only reason you even bother to leave your dorm at all, in such a restless state, is so you can grab some breakfast. if you’re lucky, maybe it’ll make you feel a little less like a walking train wreck.

with that thought in mind, you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen, enjoying the sight of the cherry blossoms through the windows you pass.

you’ll manage, somehow. your morning couldn’t possibly get any worse, after all.

when you enter the space, you’re relieved to find it completely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, or even gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t really want anyone seeing you like this — tired, meek, somewhat vulnerable.

least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.

with laboured, groggy movements, you move around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. the sizzling of the pan creates a soothing melody, pleasant to your ears, as you quickly make a lazy breakfast to wolf down.

when it’s finished, you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables; eager to enjoy the peace and quiet, at last.

but, as always, the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left, too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes across the open space is a chipper one. one you recognize. one you were desperately hoping not to hear today.

inwardly wincing, all you can do is continue to idly sip from your cup of coffee, silently going through all five stages of grief before accepting your unfortunate predicament.

that’s just your luck, isn’t it?

resigned to the sight you know you’ll see when you raise your head, you do just that — and, lo and behold, there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, wearing those ugly sunglasses, making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, as he plops down next to you like it’s nothing. unconcerned about you or your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in a sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s that teasing tilt of his, too, the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

usually, hearing him speak in such an irritating fashion would’ve put you off. maybe you would’ve given him an apprehensive look, or tried to sound unbothered when answering his inquiry — that usually only makes him more intent on annoying you, but you just never seem to learn.

in your current state, though, you can’t muster up anything of the sort. you’re too tired, too anxious. you just want to sleep.

and yet, despite your best wishes, here he is; satoru gojo, in all his glory, ruining your hopes of what could have been a peaceful breakfast. you can’t even bring yourself to get mad. today, you just don’t have the energy to deal with him at all.

when you glance his way, your eyes meet, for a second — not like you can actually see them, from behind his sunglasses, but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny. bright and excited.

you allow your gaze to linger at him for a brief moment, before trailing back to your plate. ”morning,” is all you manage to mutter, before taking a tentative bite of your sandwich.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. and it’s a little confusing — he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff. but no such luck. you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

so, after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, studying your face, the way your fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of your cup. he’s always been observant, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired.

you look out of it, plain and simple. eyes unfocused as you stare into space. gojo is silent for no more than a mere moment, contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before.

did something happen?

— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, teasingly, showing off the white of his teeth.

despite the oddity of your behavior, he can’t hold it back — despite his own intuition, telling him to let you be. he can’t help it. you’re just too fun to tease.

suguru or shoko just raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog — but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, or something to distract him when his mind is too full of noise.

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness in his chest.

— but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets.

he expects you to glare at him, or tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation. either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day.

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. traitor, is all he can think. and shoko is nowhere to be seen, either. probably off smoking in some random alleyway, listening to one of her weird indie bands.

the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years, but maybe it’d be just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. but then he entered the kitchen, and lo and behold; there you were, his saving grace. his dear old irritable little classmate.

a great relief overtook him, when he set his sights on you. oh, thank god — he thought he was going to die of boredom. but with you at school, too, his day is saved. now he can push your buttons to his heart’s content, bask in your playful banter until suguru gets back.

— only this time, you don’t react at all.

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. all you do is continue to eat your breakfast, and drink your coffee, in silence. intent on gulping it all down quickly, so you can leave.

gojo’s words aren’t even irritating to you, right now. barely even a hassle. you honestly can’t be bothered with him at all; he can say what he wants, you don’t care. even mustering up the energy to get annoyed feels like too much for your sleep-deprived brain.

gojo waits, for just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything.

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. ever so slightly, slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows as his lips curl down into a soft pout.

god — just what is your problem? what is with you, today? it’s no fun if you don’t play along.

gojo can’t help but grumble a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

whatever. he doesn’t care. not even a little bit. so what if you’re not talking to him? like he cares enough to be bothered by it. gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. not one bit.

(he hadn’t realized he’d begun to look forward to your interactions so much.)

but, really — come on. would it take so much effort to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired.

or what, did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive. right? or is that it? what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. so why are you acting so….

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you. that’d just be too troublesome.)

nonetheless, a strange frustration bubbles up in his chest. at your lack of reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more.

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

it’s fun when you do.

the silence lingers on, stretching out as you gulp down your food while gojo keeps on sulking. he’s still just sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, you can’t help but notice; it’s kind of hard not to, with how loud he usually is.

but you pay no mind to it, methodically washing your dishes in silence. deciding not to dwell on it. it’s a rare opportunity, after all, one you’d be foolish not to enjoy it while it lasts. you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either, as he sits there. still deep in thought and grumbling curses under his breath.

he watches you as you leave, gaze trailing after your form until you’re completely out of sight.

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

no nightmares came to haunt you, this time. you practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, finally giving you some peace of mind, and some well needed rest. maybe having breakfast really did help.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than you got last night.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time by just rotting in bed. maybe you can take a walk around the schoolyard? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and it’s a beautiful sight — perfect to enjoy on a day like this, framed by the blue of the sky.

it’s a pleasing mental image. enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, intent on seeing the idea through, before you reach a hand out to push the door open.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of collision between the door and something else. that’s all you hear, all you feel.

with a low curiosity simmering in your eyes, you exit the room, eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

as you do so, your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place as it lays on the floor. crouching down to examine it further, you recognize it immediately; a small carton of strawberry milk, with a plastic straw plastered on its side. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines.

you drink it fairly often, every time you need a small pick-me-up. the sweet taste always succeeds in soothing your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it in contemplation, holding it in your hand as the gears turn silently in your head. that’s weird. did someone drop it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

….

your mind stills.

the idea is odd, to say the very least. so odd that a part of you doesn’t even want to entertain it. but despite your inherent denial, it’s the most reasonable conclusion to arrive at. after all, neither shoko nor geto are there — and that just leaves one possible culprit.

why would he do something like that, though? he doesn’t like you, you know that. so there’s no way — right?

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you seem to like it, contrary to your classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto doesn’t go for strawberry milk if he can choose something else. honestly, it might be the only thing you and gojo have in common, the one thing that binds you two together. a single carton of strawberry milk. it’s almost comical.

(you wonder why he did it, if it’s really true. you wonder if he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy.

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you to believe that it’s true, if only because you like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. where could he be, you wonder? in the kitchen? in his dorm?

just as the question enters your subconscious, a flash of white crosses your vision. as you absently glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about.

you stop, and then begin walking once more. with more decision.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging as he gazes up at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin.

the air is filled with pink petals, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking.

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights. it was almost on impulse that you walked over to him, but now that you’re face to face, it’s a little nerve-racking.

still, it’s far too late to back out now. there’s not much to do except join him. so that’s exactly what you eventually do, albeit a little hesitantly.

attempting to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something.

mustering up the courage to do so is tough, though. the decisiveness you felt when you decided to go see him has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re somewhat nervous to verbalize what was on your mind when you made the decision.

but eventually, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” you start, softly, not looking at him. gaze glued on the cherry trees. but you know his eyes are still on you; you can feel them, and their weight.

the carton of strawberry milk is in your right hand, and you raise it up, faintly. to get his attention. then you look over at him, not quite managing to give him a smile, but you try your best to look somewhat appreciative.

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. then he turns his head away, swiftly. his hair is tousled by the movement, a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i don’t know what you mean,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard from him. he sounds almost embarrassed.

upon closer inspection, you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. a smile finds its way onto your lips, unbeknownst to you — like this, he’s actually kind of cute. denying your implication, when it’s so obvious.

some part of you was still a little unsure, but gojo’s embarrassment basically confirms it.

(maybe he’s not as bad as you thought.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but can’t help but stare at him, a little.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. they’re fleeting, hard to get a grasp on. pretty, and so out of reach, despite being so close.

you could reach over and touch him right now, if you wanted to. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul, and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you almost immediately; you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing a little further. it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles. a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate, either.

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes as they float up into the sky. as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light.

gojo is the first one to break it, surprisingly, in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. the statement catches you off guard, and you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher it.

unable to resist the temptation, you decide to look over at him. with his eyes conveniently hidden behind his sunglasses, you can’t get a good read on his expression; he’s regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place.

is that why he got you the drink?

you just can’t help it. you laugh, lightly, and this time it’s gojo who’s left confused.

”did —” you wheeze, softly, voice thoroughly amused. almost fond. you try to bite back the laughter, but it’s tough. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you, for a brief moment. a little stunned. the sight only makes your smile grow even further, as you meet his gaze, eyes crinkled. you really aren’t trying to tease him — it’s just so funny to you. so endearing.

from the angle you’re viewing him through, as you lean back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes at last. they’re awfully pretty. blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, white splotches of colour in them.

they look like the blue sky.

you called them menacing, before, uncanny, but now you don’t think that’s quite true. they’re awfully soft, in the sunlight. especially when viewed like this, right after catching him slightly off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though — the moment only lasts for a second or two.

then he scoffs, abruptly, turning away yet again. you swear that he’s pouting, a little, even if he’s trying to sound annoyed and nothing more.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding irritated as he rests his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you, and you’d bite back. but now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly. the tips of his ears turn red, again, at the sound.

yeah. he’s really not so bad, after all.

for a while, you don’t say anything else, afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than you ever have before, and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees; childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet, sweeter than usual.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. they’re honest words, after all.

you suspect gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you’re not sure. after all, you’re not looking at him, either — that’d feel a little too embarrassing.

he doesn’t quite know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel a little unsure of himself. your tone is so soft. almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko, or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you, as always. he can’t let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though — more of a vaguely amused huff than anything.

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you just chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.”

gojo should be irked, should grumble and shoot something back, but you don’t give him the chance to.

”i just… you know,” you mumble, tasting the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.”

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little embarrassed. ”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all.

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust from your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation.

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex, before he has to accept that it exists — only this time, he doesn’t succeed.

the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. and begrudgingly has to accept their existence, after all.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.)

what actually ends up leaving the confines of his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. ”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered.

the gruff sound strikes you as just slightly flustered. one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

you toss the now-empty carton into a trash can, dismissing the stray thought of keeping it as a memento of the interaction. that’d just be creepy. you are happy, though. you feel as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him, though.

there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye. hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes.

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities — it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement, to see how well it holds up.

the lacking empathic abilities, especially. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it, a little bit. it’s there, despite everything. in those eyes, in that carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention.

all eyes on him, at all times. you think that sounds just a tad exhausting.

as you return to the safety of your room, you still can’t help but ponder. there’s so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach.

(almost lonely, in a way.)

you wonder what he’s like when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. what is an actor without their audience?

you don’t understand satoru gojo, not really. not at all, not in the slightest.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

part 0

#i wrote this part a pretty long time ago so tbh i dont think my writing is. v good. but hopefully itll get better by the end LMAO #i love hs gojo soo much hes so cute. so shoujo manga ml. n hes so fun to write in a no curses au #i just feel like gojo is such a gift giver. physically cant apologize but throws ur fave bag of chips at ur head n acts like it wasnt him #hes so silly <33 #next part will b geto’s!!! but itll prob take a while bc my geto bias needs it to be Flawless #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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britcision · 5 months

Text

AND NOW: Part Two! One might think I would look at the fic at some point and check what chapter we’re on, but I will not! Mostly for “but that takes effort” reasons but also because by the time I get back here I WILL have forgotten!

Part One of this chapter:

First Chapter:

———————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee (part 2)

Tucker, Conner, and Tim had actually gotten through another round of Spiderheck in between the rabid buzzing of Tim and Tucker’s phones.

Conner had the good sense to mute his and toss it behind the couch… after sharing the “good news” of Timblr with the Young Justice chat. Without which his phone probably wouldn’t have been buzzing at all.

He regretted nothing, despite Tim’s alternate pouting and threats. Tucker was pretty impressed, and pretty sure that it wasn’t just for the guy’s good looks this time.

Finally, after the fourth time Tim’s ringtone changed itself and blasted at full volume (making Tucker completely drop his controller), the Black tech gave up, sighing heartily and dropping his head into his hands.

Not least to hide the sudden wicked grin on his face as an idea struck. Because yeah, sure, he could help Tim try and unhack fucking Oracle on the sly, or… they could remove the distraction another way.

(Tucker wasn’t a thousand percent ungrateful for the distraction; he was pretty sure even without the merry buzzing of his social life burning down around him he’d have had a hard time concentrating on the game.

It just plain wasn’t fair; Conner was too fucking hot, and so earnest, and excited when he was doing well! All the little shouts and exclamations, the broad grins, Tucker was really beginning to doubt his own demisexual nature.

Although, to be fair, it wasn’t like he actually wanted to… interact while Conner was being cuter than Cujo with a rubber bone. Just. It was hard to think about anything else when he could be appreciating all… that instead.

At least while Tim’s ass was being blown off by at least three separate group chats, Tucker’s floundering was less embarrassing.)

Tim gave him a consoling pat on the back while Conner whooped in victory, probably trying to comfort Tucker in the loss. Tucker let him for a moment, running a couple quick calculations in his head.

Because yeah, he’d never got around to asking Danny to ecto infuse any of the Waynes’ tech; not the batcomputer nor the gaming consoles, but. Well. They’d played for hours the last two nights, and it wasn’t like Tucker had never gotten his hands through a console’s innards.

It had to count as knowing the device, right?

And it wasn’t like it was that hard, doing it for just three people. For just one game.

Looking up at the other two, he gave them both a slightly shyer grin.

“So, like… I know we’re having a good time and all,” he began, and Tim groaned theatrically as he was interrupted yet again by his ringtone.

“I’m about to ask Superboy to toss this thing into space,” he grumbled, glowering at his phone.

Conner reached innocently towards it and Tim snatched it back up immediately. Tucker settled back once it was safe too, grinning sheepishly even if it wasn’t his bluff Conner called.

Conner tipped him a wink and Tucker had to clear his throat and give his head a quick shake to clear his blush.

“Right… yeah, uh, anyway. What if I had a better way to get us away from distractions?” He asked as innocently as he could, staring at the screen instead of that far too attractive face.

He could still see the other two sit up from the corner of his eye, both looking interested.

“We’re not allowed to game in the Bat Cave,” Tim said quickly, with a resigned air that said the question had come up before… and enough disappointment that they’d probably done it and been caught.

Which, yeah, thinking of the size of the screen in the cave, Tucker suddenly really wanted to try that too.

Already banned though. And he and Danny were already on thin enough ice with Batman as it was.

Reluctantly dismissing the thought, he returned his attention to the present moment, grin spreading as he turned to face Tim directly.

(Tim was safe. Tim was, objectively, a very handsome young man and Tucker could appreciate that in a distant way, but being pretty was just so much less interesting that almost anything else about Tim.

Tucker could worship him through a distant computer screen, so the pretty blue eyes weren’t much of a distraction. Looking at Tim face to face was really cool, but Tucker would be more tongue tied watching him code.)

“Sure, but you remember I told you about my technopathy? I can interface with machines I know really well,” he added for Conner’s benefit, accidentally looking over in time to preen as his face lit up with interest.

Tim, for some reason, stifled a snicker.

“Yeah, you mentioned. And that it was a little more complicated, but go on,” he prodded, and Conner shot him a look that Tucker was gonna have to ask questions about.

Later. Once he was done showing off a little. And, probably, getting his ass kicked at Spiderheck.

Tucker Foley was a master of video game controls, sure, and that sorta helped, as did “knowing you’ve been thrust into a video game”. He just didn’t delude himself into thinking it’d be enough to counter the actual literal battle training of superheroes.

But hey, maybe having all those extra legs would fuck them both up for long enough that he’d win a few rounds.

“Well I think you might’ve already noticed, but I know this game really well.”

Danny was doing his best to keep a cheerful face on things, especially the weird shit.

It had been a while since he’d had a nasty new halfa surprise of his own crop up (although he didn’t dare hope he’d had his last; that would surely bring something on), but he still remembered how it felt.

How overwhelming, how hollow and intimidating the world could be when you were learning that you really knew almost nothing about yourself. That at any time, your body could do something totally out of your control.

Something you might not be able to handle.

He’d felt the fear in Jason, deep and bright and smothered a second later, but not before Danny felt it.

At least he could be here for the other guy; he wasn’t going to be going into the whole mess alone. Danny would make sure of that. Understandable as his reservations about reliving his death were, they would face it together, and he had to hope that might help.

Possibly with Jazz too, when it was actually time for that first transformation. Danny hadn’t even really started coping with dying when he’d first changed, and he’d been dead less than a minute; it had almost been part of the rebirth process. By the time he’d had to do it for a fight, he already knew what would happen.

For Jason… well, it had been a while, and even Danny could see he’d not done much more than paper over the cracks with bad ecto induced rage and carry on.

He was trying not to let Jason see how much he worried, but had a feeling it didn’t matter. Jason was plenty worried already.

Good news was… well, there wasn’t much good news. It was going to suck, no matter what, and if they didn’t do it in controlled conditions it’d be fucking awful.

But they did have some controlled conditions, and better yet? Probably wouldn’t be a problem for at least a couple more days.

As little as Danny wanted to talk about the whole… mess that was Jason’s death, Jason himself was all about the detailed planning. Back ups of back ups and all that.

It probably came with the Batman training.

(The mad compartmentalising totally did. Danny had spent enough time with Bruce in one single car ride to be sure about that.)

For the moment, he gave Jason as much support he could; contact, a reassuring aura, and a smile whenever he could, and absolutely no oogling of his mostly naked body while they were doing the checkup.

(Jason had mentioned a pit-related growth spurt last time, and this close Danny could see that the scars all over him were interspersed with stretch marks. Now that he actually looked the difference was super obvious; the different colour, the creasing where they indented the skin.

Danny definitely wasn’t thinking of licking them to see if he could feel the texture.

Or running his fingers over bared skin, which was admittedly less intimate than the licking thoughts he totally wasn’t having, but also seemed kinda more a betrayal. Because Jason wouldn’t question Danny touching him, but Danny would have Nefarious Motives.

Of. Textures.

But it was totally fine because he wasn’t having any of those thoughts at all.)

He just wished he knew what had caused that sudden panic attack Jason had earlier; it had come almost from nowhere, a wave of black and crushing dread that froze Danny’s already-iced core. It filled the room, filled his lungs, and would have cost him everything to not respond.

Part of him had wanted to shove Jason fully inside himself, store the much larger man in the hollow of his chest so that nothing could hurt him.

(And Danny could, technically, kinda do that. Jason didn’t have to be that much bigger than him, at least while Danny was in ghost form. Ghost form was all about self perception and, well, raw power.

Looking like his twink ass self was a deliberate choice, and one he’d never regretted until it meant not curling Jason into the infinite curls of his tail and protecting himself from the universe as a whole.)

Danny was super great at boundaries. Yup. One thousand percent completely normal about them.

But he’d been able to wrap his aura around Jason anyway, because that wasn’t a freakishly massive monster form that would freak him out further. They’d helped him calm down, helped him breathe, and Jason seemed…

Way too fine, frankly, even his aura had cleared, and Danny trusted that about as far as Sam could throw him. Bat-level compartmentalizing, for sure.

That was gonna get real weird when the more emotionally regulated ghost powers kicked in, but Danny was gonna cross his fingers and hope that it made Jason’s transition easier, not infinitely more fucked up. Jazz would be intolerable, for one thing.

Most of the rest of the appointment went well anyway; bar the surprise “Congratulations On Your Soul Bond” news (which he would not be thinking about too hard until he couldn’t possibly avoid it), it was pretty much what they’d expected.

Jason was doing good, Danny was gonna need to work around classes tomorrow maybe for another trip, and there was just the teeniest chance Jason’s fully formed core would manifest like, physically.

Shockwaves had been mentioned. Danny now had questions about how much of his original death light show had been the portal itself opening. Ones that could never be answered, but hey.

If/when Clockwork showed up, Danny was gonna prioritise Jason’s soul contract over his own curiosity for purely friend related reasons.

Danny didn’t like soul contracts of any sort at the best of times, unwritten ones that put a friend into his service? Yeah, maybe he was feeling just a little vindicated that Jason could see what he’d been freaking out about now.

Now that it was too late, but Danny was technically the Ghost King and Clockwork’s boss, so even if he couldn’t fix the whole mess until his coronation, it wasn’t gonna be a problem-problem.

If Clockwork tried to use the contract to push Danny into accepting his coronation more quickly, well, Danny had a real good win streak of fighting ancients in his pocket. And he’d double never get coronated if they spent the rest of eternity playing cat and mouse for Danny to beat Clockwork’s ass, so.

Not that Danny believed Clockwork would, really. The Observants? Abso-fucking-lutely, he’d be swinging before they finished a sentence, but Clockwork genuinely seemed to care.

He pruned the timelines with the ruthless efficiency of a gardener, but always to make the best outcome. The one where the least people got fucked over.

He’d absolutely fuck Danny over in the service of getting that best outcome, but Danny was also pretty sure he’d feel bad about it if he did, and that Clockwork would and had chosen to believe in him over his predicted outcomes more than once.

Danny trusted Clockwork.

Of course, now that he wasn’t trying to hide and actually wanted to see his mentor and regent, the bastard was nowhere to be found.

All jokes about the “Ever-Moving Now” aside, they weren’t directly making for Clockwork’s tower; the only way to find it was with Clockwork’s permission, so Danny didn’t usually bother. As a kid they’d thought they could stumble across it and surprise him, but these days?

Danny knew better. And Clockwork wasn’t exactly subtle; his lair had showed up around the very first metaphorical corner when he wanted Danny to come in once too often. And hadn’t been anywhere to be found when Danny searched, only to show up beside his fucking portal home.

Where it definitely hadn’t been on his way in.

It went where Clockwork wanted it, when he wanted it there. Danny totally wasn’t jealous.

It had been a while since he’d bothered hiding from Danny though; these past couple months, just being in the Zone had netted him an unwanted visit from his regent. Danny was beginning to suspect Clockwork wasn’t actually all that keen on ruling the realms, and was just planning to fob the job off on him.

Which, y’know, fair. Danny wasn’t exactly thrilled with it either. But it was his job as Danny’s mentor to protect him from this shit, right?

Now that Danny actually wanted to see him though, of course he wasn’t around. Which probably wasn’t actually a bad sign, or that he’d done something he didn’t want them to know about.

Clockwork was just a cryptic asshole, and apparently Jason had used up all of his “getting clear answers” cards in their first meeting. If only Danny had ever gotten a single damn one.

There was one other detour Danny wanted to make while in the Realms, but… today didn’t feel like quite the right time. Jason had already had a fucking day of it, and Danny didn’t wanna dump any more on him. Even if Ghost Writer’s library would be a nice trip for Jason, it was something they should talk about first.

And… probably ask Ghost Writer about first too.

If Danny ever remembered to do that.

So they’d thanked Frostbite, gotten Jason a bag of ecto ice chips (Danny wasn’t allowed any, it was totally unfair because he needed an energy boost too! But noooo, his core was “stabilised” and “complete” and he needed to “sleep” and “eat” for energy like a pleb. Unfair!), and agreed to come back as soon as Jason’s core stabilised.

Danny figured he could always come back on his own for a visit to Nocturn. That was gonna be a whole ass emotional mess; Dan was technically in the database Tucker had handed over, but Jason hadn’t mentioned it yet. Danny didn’t know if that meant he didn’t know, or was just being actually tactful.

He wasn’t even sure what he actually wanted to say yet, how to ask for what he wanted, and he should probably do this right. Nocturn hadn’t challenged him again since he’d become king, and had actually been super helpful so far, but… well, the spirit of dreams was proud, powerful, and Danny was pretty sure he helped specifically to have something on Danny. He’d already decided that his main job tonight was to help Jason relax, feel better, and work out if he needed to sicc the Sam-Tucker combo on Bruce Wayne’s social media.

…

Who was he kidding. Of course they’d be setting Sam and Tucker on the guy, as soon as Jason gave the green light.

Jason had never exactly gotten all the way through the explicit details of how Bruce had fucked up this afternoon, beyond just siccing Constantine on Jason, but honestly?

He didn’t have to. Jason had been almost tangibly frustrated from the minute he rolled up to Danny’s dorms, though he was gonna shoot Tucker a thank you for his little “revenge”, since it had cheered the guy up right away.

Danny was totally not considering a little spectral revenge for himself too. Mostly because Batman would probably know all about ghosts by now, and probably had Constantine doing his spectral condom act all over the cave.

But it wasn’t like Bruce liked Danny anyway, so really, what did he have to lose? Not like Jason hadn’t already shown whose side he came out on on this one.

Danny didn’t exactly know what having over protective parents was like, but Jason could not be more clear that he didn’t appreciate Bruce’s interference. There was clearly a lot going on with those two, and while they’d already talked about Jason’s death and technically he had permission…

Well, Danny didn’t wanna push. Ask literally any ghost, dying could leave you with a whole stack of issues. Jason wasn’t even close to the most homicidal Danny had met.

That poisonous rage, though… Danny pushed it from his mind. It didn’t matter, wouldn’t matter, Frostbite said Jason was doing well and Pitty would be out of him soon.

…

Maybe, just maybe Danny was also starting to worry what that might mean, since it sent Jason into a full panic attack and he’d seen what the rage was like when fully under control.

Maybe they’d bump up the schedule on taking care of those Lazarus pits. Get that Obsession dealt with, see if it calmed things down.

Yet another thing Danny would have to talk to Clockwork about, and was his irritatingly omnipresent mentor anywhere to be found? Of course not.

Which probably meant this wasn’t a timeline threatening problem. Yet.

What a comfort.

Which left them flying home through the Zone, and Danny totally wasn’t overthinking literally everything. He was being considerate, quiet, giving Jason time to process everything they’d seen that day.

Maybe himself too. Just a little. But it wasn’t like Jason was hurrying to start a conversation, and they both had a lot on their minds. It was a good, comfortable silence.

They had nearly reached his preferred portal spot too, so today’s quick trip to the Ghost Zone was nearly over, unless Danny actually wanted to go Clockwork-hunting… which, while probably less emotionally fraught, wasn’t likely to go great.

(Realms geography could be more than just hinky; they were infinite after all, so he tended to open portals back out in the same place he’d previously opened a portal from the living world in. It seemed to help, and he didn’t usually wind up in the wrong dimension that way.

Especially if there was a nearby, powerful anchor.

Going searching up and down the whole ass Zone for the Ever Moving Now? Yeah, that’d fuck his portal plans right up.)

Danny could feel a steady building trepidation rising in Jason like the tide, but he had no idea what the hell to do about it. Back there in the world were Bruce and Constantine, and all the problems that kept Jason balanced precariously on a knife edge.

Here in the Realms, all the problems were new and interesting and could almost all be solved by punching, which really suited both of them. Danny would have been tempted to suggest that sidebar to see Ghost Writer, but it was late, he had school in the morning, and his super handy time manipulating mentor was being a dick and wasn’t here.

A couple years ago, he’d have said fuck it and gone on the sidebar anyway, and probably not slept all night to help his friend. And had Jazz harping in his ear about “developing bodies”, “needing his sleep”, and “this is why you haven’t had a growth spurt since you were fourteen”.

Which totally wasn’t a valid argument or at all what had made him start taking care of himself. He just… well, he just actually really fucking liked his classes these days.

Against all the odds, Danny Fenton had gotten into a prestigious college, into an engineering program that actually let him stretch his talents. And take apart old or broken lab equipment from the other buildings for fun and profit.

And if he hadn’t slept the night before, they didn’t let him use the welding torch. Danny was pretty sure Clockwork might be behind that, since they somehow always knew.

Maybe that was how Nocturn was already betraying him… conspiring with Clockwork to make Danny sleep more and absorb his power?

Danny considered that seriously for about half a second before discarding it. Sure, Nocturn was the King of Sleep and an ancient, but he was also a canny motherfucker and not likely to mess up badly enough to accidentally become King of the Infinite Realms too.

For all that he wanted power, fucking no one wanted to deal with the Observants. Danny had practically begged.

It wasn’t like they had to go back to Gotham and then immediately straight to bed though. Just, y’know, something that wouldn’t take hours and hours. There had to be something they could do in the city that wouldn’t keep them up all night, but would keep Bruce Wayne off their asses.

Unless Jason had shit to do. Danny… kinda hadn’t asked. The only plans he’d known about for the day was busting out Waylon, and then the potential trip to Frostbite.

Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to go so late? Maybe Danny should ask?

Maybe Jason was getting sick of him.

Maybe Jason was getting a little too good at reading auras, since that thought barely settled in before he broke the silence.

“What the fuck?”

And alright, that might also have been a coincidence Danny decided, brows furrowing as he looked for what had caught Jason’s attention.

It all looked normal up ahead to him. Bright green zone, a couple purple islands (was that the ghost of a Bat Burger? Maybe they should check this place out more), the haze of black smog that always surrounded…

Ah.

Yeah, they hadn’t really had that conversation yet, though Danny had meant to bring it up on the way home. Riiiight up until all that overthinking started.

Guess that made this introduction time. Sort of put a stop to wondering how to cheer Jason up… although depending on how Jason felt, it might just be a distraction.

Danny pulled to a stop, Jason coming in close before stopping alongside him, just in front like he might need to protect Danny from something.

Or like he overshot the stopping. Could be either, really. But Danny had a feeling it was at least a combo. He and Jason were just too alike, but it looked almost automatic. Vigilante training, and Danny’d bust his ass later about treating him like a civilian.

Jason was the civilian here, and his citizen.

He cleared his throat, wondering how exactly to go about this, since ghosts didn’t have an introduction protocol that wasn’t “throw down”. And spent about half a second wondering if that was actually on the table before deciding against it.

Sure, most ghost introductions involved a friendly punch up, but Lady Gotham had always been a little different. And this wasn’t exactly your standard “new ghost who dis”.

“Right, yeah… we didn’t see her last time we were in the Zone. Jason, this is-”

“You think my own boy wouldn’t know me, Phantom?”

The voice came from all around them, low and dark and smokey sweet like molten chocolate with just a hint of whiskey. Jason stiffened and glared around harder, conscious caution battling with the sudden wave of relief from his core.

She spun herself from the smog of the city, like she always had. A tall, curvaceous woman built to Jack Fenton proportions, easily seven feet tall with dark mahogany skin and pitch black lipstick, perfect black hair coiled tight into an afro about her head. Smoky black makeup lined her eyes and caressed high, generous cheekbones in a line of clouds.

Long black gloves covered her hands and arms, one of which was held across her body, hand cupping the elbow of her other arm while the other held what probably was a full sized orange traffic cone like it was a cigarette holder. It looked wrong clasped in her hand, scale thrown off by her size. A thin plume of white smoke even spiralled from the wider end.

She wore a short flapper dress covered in layers of tassels, each of which flashed with beads of jet all along the length except for the last bead on a scattering of the strands, which were large, blood flecked pearls. Below the end of the skirt, her legs were lost in the spills of black smog surrounding her, though occasionally more flashes of pearl could be seen shifting through the murk.

It was her eyes that captured all of the attention though as she caught and held Jason’s gaze, a sly smile on those black lips. They glowed yellow from lid to lid, each pupil shaped like a bat.

The fight dropped out of Jason instantly, jaw dropping.

And yeah, maybe Danny should have expected that he’d… sort of recognize her? Jason was a Gothamite to the core, had been one of her true defenders since pixie boots were in style… right up until his own death.

And if Danny read that twitch right, it was costing him an effort not to automatically drop to one knee. So apparently that was just wired into him, and not just a Clockwork-thing. Good to know.

Her smile spread, showing sharp white teeth dripping with tar.

“My son,” she purred, her voice filling the air around them and sending almost visible ripples through the ectoplasm of the realms, “it is so good to finally meet you in person.”

In front of Danny, Jason tensed again. Whatever he’d recognized didn’t quite cut through bat-paranoia, apparently.

“Danny, who is this?” He asked cautiously, his voice low and not taking his eyes off the twin bat signals pointed at him.

Lady Gotham sighed heavily, taking a deep pull on her traffic cone and blowing out a billowing plume of smog. She gestured to Danny, who nodded quickly.

Totally not gonna “I told you so” the city spirit for the city he was living in. King or not, he had some manners.

“Jason, Lady Gotham. She’s…” he hesitated, not sure how exactly to phrase it.

Had they talked about city spirits? It felt like they had? But it had been so little time, he wasn’t sure.

Lady Gotham stepped back in smoothly, shooting Jason a laconic smile and spreading her arms.

“I am exactly what it sounds like. The beating heart of the city, born from the well of souls and desperate hopes of those who call it home. Every shadow in the alley, every gargoyle you shelter under, every parapet that caught your grapple and let you fly…”

Jason had stopped breathing, which was alright as long as they were in the Zone but might not be later, his eyes tracking desperately over the ghost before them. Her smile softened, becoming fond, tender, her free hand now reaching out towards him.

“… and you have been mine since the day you were born, Jason Todd.”

Jason was…

Jason was. He didn’t know what he was.

He hadn’t realised just how much noise his heart made thumping until the first time it stopped. Until he’d slammed back to life, heard its drumbeat thudding in his head, every second of every day.

This felt a little like that.

Like a sound he’d been hearing all of his life had gone quiet, and then come roaring back in full swing. It was too much, and not enough, and everything he’d missed in Nanda Parbat and around the world when he’d been training, left with only the thudding of his heart.

The sounds of Gotham. Normal city noises, most of them; the honks and occasional screeches of cars, the buzz of people. And then the screams, gunshots, mad cackling laughter that most cities usually only saw in designated areas.

And underneath it all, a low, throbbing pulse, a hum in the back of his head that meant he was home. That told him where he was, every street corner or shady alleyway.

He could navigate the city blindfolded, knew every gargoyle, every running gutter and rusty grate, listening to that beat. That beat that told him it was his place, the one thing that nothing and no one could ever take away from him, not even all the bullshit with the League of Assassins.

He hadn’t really noticed it going quiet in the Ghost Zone before. Which, y’know, they’d been busy. He’d had a lot on his mind, and… well, it happened any time he left the city.

Going away with the Outsiders, it didn’t matter if they crossed the bay to Metropolis or went to space, Jason knew when he wasn’t in Gotham. Knew when he woke up in a hospital bed whether or not he was home just from that beat.

He’d started thinking it might be the city’s ectoplasm, since Danny was so sure that was why he’d risen before. Might have explained why the Zone was a little different; it was all ectoplasm.

And then he’d looked at this woman made of smog and shadows and smoking a fucking traffic cone, and the beat almost brought him to his knees.

How could he not know her? They danced every night, her hand in his, guiding his guns, his grapple, cupped gently around the back of his neck and showing him where to look. Hiding him from Oracle’s cameras, pointing him at those who attacked the weak like he was the gun himself.

Familiar as his own shadow. Constant as gravity.

And it was that familiarity that pulled at every ounce of Bat training, that unconscious recognition and trust that forced him to doubt.

Hypnotists were the fucking worst. Magic users were all annoying, but Jason would tangle with any of the rest before dealing with a hypnotist. They were worse than Condiment King and Kite Man combined into some ketchup splattered hell kite.

And the more something deeper than the Pit whispered that this wasn’t hypnotism, wasn’t an outside influence, was just the deepest part of himself recognising the deepest part of his home, the harder he fought that feeling.

Until her hand reached for his, and she said his name, and his hand was in hers before he could stop himself.

Contact was… it was a lot.

A barrage of sounds, smells, the backs of every alley flashing through his mind as he was bombarded with memories. Memories? Or was that what was happening now?

Flashes of rooftops, bodies tensed in the shadows, goons working below in blissful ignorance that was about to be shattered. Breaking windows, sprays of bullets or gas or worse, moving and punching and taking down without killing.

He caught sight of Cass for a brief moment, her shape outlined in glowing shadows that definitely weren’t visible to the men running past her hiding place. But of course they weren’t; that was the point.

Cass was the perfect shadow anywhere on Earth, her stealth unparalleled by anything but actual magic, but in Gotham? In Gotham the darkness wrapped her in loving arms, held her close, made sure she was never found.

His baby sister, Gotham’s child even if she’d never been to the city until she was nearly an adult.

More flashes, Dick flying across an alley in Bludhaven (thankfully in his current suit, not the Discowing, which might mean this was the present? Or just that Jason had been seeing him so much more lately that there were just more memories of him like this?), and that made Jason pause.

Bludhaven wasn’t Gotham. That was literally the point. That was why Dick lived there.

And he heard her low chuckle, smoky and soft in his ear.

*Just across the bay, my dear? No, he would have to go so much farther to be free of me, to stop being mine.*

The voice was warm and fond, soft like crushed velvet and so full of affection and pride it tugged at something in Jason’s core.

Something from the little boy who’d watched Robin fly through the air and could barely believe he’d touched the same dream.

Lady Gotham hadn’t moved, her hand still in his in the exact same position, and while he couldn’t see her past the images to know if she’d spoken with mouth or mind he had a feeling he knew. She was in his head, in his heart, and he’d not spoken aloud.

Before Jason would work out how to reply, if he even wanted to reply, his attention was caught by something else in the cascade of images.

A dark spot, not in every scene (at least not that he noticed), but often enough. Something that looked like a shadow, but just a fraction deeper than the rest, a fraction darker, that moved when all the shadows around it were still.

Now that he looked for it he could see it everywhere, the sight of it sending a shiver up his spine that made his hair stand on end. It wasn’t fear; Jason was well acquainted with fear, as little as it bothered him.

This was… tension, anticipation, recognition, the same thing he’d felt when there hadn’t been an Outsiders mission in a while and Roy had decided to hunt him for sport. Something, someone so familiar, with such a strong place in his life, someone he knew was damn capable, setting their sights on him.

(It was always play when Roy did it, a game to keep them both on their toes and get a different kind of training in. Jason didn’t know if Roy ever hunted the others; asking felt like cheating somehow.)

And then suddenly the shadow turned in a different way, its attention locking on to Jason in return and adrenaline shot through him like a bolt of lighting.

It had to be live. Or the shadow knew when someone saw its image. But it had looked back, raising the hair on the back of his neck until it felt like he’d become a Studio Ghibli character, and it was still looking at him.

His hands itched for his guns, the All-Blades, the Fright Gun, and he felt the large, hot hand still holding his tighten for just a second, felt Lady Gotham’s chuckle through his whole body like he was a speaker, and then he was looking at her face again, fond and smiling and larger than life.

“Now now, my sons,” she purred softly, definitely speaking with her mouth this time even if it was just as warm as when he’d heard her in his head, “play nicely.”

Had she been that tall before? She’d been taller than him, certainly, her hand completely enfolding his the way Bruce’s had when Jason had first come off the streets, but now she loomed almost twice as large.

Still holding his hand in hers, only now his was positively dainty, a doll’s hand held by the child who adored it. Her thumb was almost the size of his whole hand, brushing gently over the back.

She could probably snap him in half in an instant.

He’d probably let her.

Her smile spread, reacting to the thought, and her other huge hand came up to gently cup his face, all the pride and love he’d only ever seen from Catherine Todd before.

“My brave little knight…” her eyes closed for a moment and she sucked in a deep breath, her whole body gently expanding as she savoured… something. Then those signal eyes opened and fixed on him, full of lazy satisfaction. “Your belief is so sweet.”

The effect was somewhat spoiled by the traffic cone now pinched effortlessly between two fingers. It hadn’t changed size, which Jason supposed had to be his answer.

She totally wasn’t that big before. And apparently it was his fault? His… belief?

Danny was hovering in the more figurative, mother hen way now (literal not being optional at the moment), and Jason could feel his tension now that he was focused. He’d gotten closer, his aura putting him just behind Jason’s shoulder, but hadn’t gone further.

Not moving between them, which he already had the feeling would have been Danny’s preference after the gala. Jason would tease him about that if he hadn’t already put himself between the stranger and Danny without thinking. At least Danny hadn’t actually done it.

Whether that was because they weren’t in any danger or Danny was waiting for his go ahead didn’t actually matter; Jason couldn’t quite believe either of them would walk away from a fight with Lady Gotham no matter that Danny was the king.

A part of him deeper than the pit knew that she would never fight him. That it was his job to fight for her, to make sure she never dirtied her hands more than the streets already did.

Forcing himself to suck in a breath - and wondering why his lungs ached - Jason gave her hand a hesitant squeeze. Tried not to think about how ludicrously small his hand was tucked into the curl of her fingers.

“Uh… I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…” he paused, words failing him, and wondered how the actual fuck you were supposed to talk to a whole ass city’s soul all at once.

Lady Gotham laughed softly, giving his cheek (and consequently whole damn head) a gentle pat before pulling away, leaning back to sit as if in an invisible chair and regard him.

“But we’ve known each other from the day you were born,” she agreed gently, her voice still heartbreakingly warm.

No one had ever been so open in their love for him. It all but coloured the air in a rosy pink.

And alright, that was probably at least 90% because his family were in constant contest for Most Emotionally Constipated Soul On Earth and Alfred was British, but Jason still had no idea how to handle it. He had her full, undivided attention, which part of him knew he’d never had in the physical city.

She had so many protectors watching over her, even the crankiest parts of Jason couldn’t begrudge her that. He wasn’t exactly sure he was enjoying it now.

“Ask,” she said softly, gently, the word still echoing around them but in a way that suddenly seemed more enclosed. More private. The echo of a bathroom instead of a grand cavern.

Sucking in another deep breath, Jason realized he had about a thousand questions. But he had to start with the most pressing.

“That shadow, what was it? It was… following the others, all of them. And you called it your son?”

She’d called him her son too, and for the first time since he’d died the word didn’t rankle. But that could be the next question.

The smile she gave him was blatantly approving and she waved a hand gently, a patch of smog in her surrounding cloud suddenly taking on a darker, more solid shape. It wasn’t the shadow itself, there was none of the buzzing adrenaline or life in its movements. Just a facsimile.

He still kind of wanted the All-Blades. Just, y’know, for evil testing.

“Yes, your… brother,” Lady Gotham said slowly, rolling the word over her lips as if tasting it. “That is the Curse of Gotham. Older than the city itself, technically, but before more people came it was simply a malevolence on a patch of land.”

She waved a hand, dispelling the temporarily solidified smog easily.

“It was only once the city was founded, then filled with souls and then despair and superstition and belief that he became a true Curse. As you are mine, the rogues are his. Bearing his mark, flying his flag, putting fear and doubt into every soul as they huddle against the chaos and swear to each other that there is a darkness here like no other.”

Somehow, this did not endear Jason to his “brother”. It didn’t please Danny either, who leaned just a little into Jason’s shoulder, a sudden wariness pinging through his aura.

“Wait, so the curse is older than you? Then why are you…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing suddenly as he asked what Jason was pretty sure was the least important question.

Gotham bestowed him with a gentle, somewhat less fond smile too. Favouritism where he was the favourite kinda make Jason’s skin buzz.

“As I said, it was the city which gave him form. Land can hold a myriad of curses, and any city built here would certainly have felt his affects. But belief…” she paused for a moment, lips pursing as she considered her next words.

Yellow eyes flicked back towards Jason, measuring him, and her smile spread into something distinctly self satisfied.

“Belief matters, for the Neverborn. It’s food and drink, our lifeblood, a source of power. And people believed in Gotham long before they made more than jokes about the curse. No one says that Gotham is on cursed land; they speak of Gotham’s Curse. And so he is mine.”

Jason got the distinct impression that while everything was well established now, it had been more touch and go at one point… close enough that having won was still a point of pride. He didn’t even realize he was smiling back.

It was also probably what she’d meant before… when she’d grown. His belief fed her. Which… kinda meant that him thinking they couldn’t possibly win a fight was a self fulfilling prophecy.

Not quite sure if that was funny or worrying, Jason dismissed the thought and refocused. Some curse was still stalking his family after all, and probably him when he went back to the living world.

“So if this Curse owns all the rogues… is he going to try and hurt the others?” He asked cautiously. Because if none of this was new, the Curse had been stalking them all since they put on the cowls.

How many close calls…

No. Jason hadn’t been in Gotham when Joker got him. He’d thought it was the arrogance of youth that had made him feel invulnerable in Gotham as a Robin, but now he knew there really had been hands hovering over him.

Hands that hadn’t dropped him until he’d left the city. Half the world away and all alone, still sure he was invulnerable… right up until he wasn’t.

He only realized his attention had been drifting when he snapped back, a large and achingly gentle thumb brushing his cheek. Now bigger than his head, still smelling of the smog of the city.

Lady Gotham smiled gently, the dark bats in her eyes crinkling.

“He is no danger to you,” she told him softly, focusing on the question that was asked. Not his wandering thoughts, though he got the feeling she knew anyway.

Drawing back, she looked thoughtfully from him to Danny, taking another drag on her traffic cone, apparently thinking. Held the smogs in for a long moment, until she seemed to come to a conclusion and blew out a long stream.

“The Curse makes the rogues; takes those already on the edge of something bad, and pushes them over. Turns the stagnation of despair into frantic, violent action. It is what he is, what he does… a lingering rot land deep, which feeds on the darkness and breeds more in the souls of Gotham’s inhabitants.”

That definitely sounded like something dangerous to Jason, but who was he to interrupt Gotham herself? A sidelong glance made him wonder if she’d caught that thought too; just how well could she read him?

She waved the smouldering traffic cone in his general direction, blanketing him in a wave of almost comforting black smog.

“And yet, you notice, so few of the rogues seek to permanently remove any of your heroes from the board?”

Danny sucked in a sharp breath beside him, Jason’s heart clenched, but before either could protest, Lady Gotham gave a heavy sigh and inclined her head, smile slipping entirely for the first time.

“The Joker is an unfortunate exception. There is… something worse there, deeper, darker, but I will explain later. For now, consider the others. So many who could, so many chances that they could have taken to kill each of you. I would not allow it, of course, yet even those who wish to see Batman permanently defeated rarely even try to end his life. It is not for no reason.”

There was a true solemnity, almost pain in her face as she spoke of the Joker, eyes fixed on Jason and full of sorrow. Yet nothing in her aura, no push of regret-sadness or anything similar. Nothing to affect his own emotions, and Jason had the feeling that that was deliberate.

As if she knew how much he hated being controlled, pushed around. Or she just… didn’t want to do that to him. It was tough to say, but he was also self aware enough to know he was puzzling that out rather than thinking much about her words.

Of course the Joker was something worse than the fucking Curse of Gotham. Naturally. And y’know what else he was?

Not Jason’s fucking problem right now.

Lady Gotham had paused with him, waiting for his acknowledgment apparently, and Jason gave a stiff nod for her to continue. He’d asked the damn question. He needed to focus on the answer.

A gentle incline of her head the only sign she’d seen anything at all, Lady Gotham continued.

“The Curse will not harm your family, and nor do most of the rogues seek to actually remove you, because your family’s activities are integral to powering the Curse,” she said simply, and that snapped any fragments of Jason’s attention firmly back into place as he stiffened.

Danny tensed beside him as well, still hanging back, but it was Jason who spoke. He didn’t need help on this one.

“Wait, what? How the hell are we helping the Curse?!” He demanded, brows furrowing.

If the Curse made the rogues by taking people on the edge and throwing them off, sure, that kinda made sense. Gotham had always been a cesspit of crime, but it used to be at least 85% less brightly spandex coloured before the Bat came along.

Much as Jason didn’t think Bruce took his mission far enough, he could admit that at least the “normal” gang violence had died down significantly. For one thing, most of the old gangs had been driven out by the rogues, or absorbed by converts like Penguin and Black Mask. There wasn’t much space in Gotham these days for just run-of-the-mill crime.

And Jason himself had gouged a chunk out of what was left, which he used to find extremely satisfying… but how would that help the Curse? Unless… the Curse had pushed that darkness in him…

Lady Gotham shook her head, that fond smile curling sadly at her lips as she reached down to gently tip his chin up with a massive finger.

“No, my dear… you are not helping the Curse. He could no longer exist without you,” she explained softly, the dark and dusty smogs building heavily around them. Just seeing them made Jason’s throat itch…

He clenched his jaw shut, focusing on her face instead. Waiting for that to make some fucking sense.

Lady Gotham hummed thoughtfully, holding his chin a moment longer before releasing him, waving a hand vaguely through the smoggy air.

“It is… contrast. There are no shadows without the light, no sweet without bitterness, no… no hope without despair. And no despair without hope.” She seemed pleased with the metaphor, bat signal eyes bright in suddenly building gloom. Which then fixed on him.

“When people lose hope… when they give up on Gotham, accept the awfulness in their lives as mundane, it drains them of their will, their power to believe. If nothing fights the Curse, pushes back on the tides of corruption, then who’s to say there is a curse at all? Just mundane bad governance. Certainly nothing unique about that, in this world.”

A hand cut through thick black clouds and Jason realized abruptly that he’d lost sight of everything but her eyes, shining in the darkness. And then the shadows spiralled in front of him, whipped by her fingers into a familiar black silhouette.

“But the Bats… the birds, all of Gotham’s caped defenders? No other city in the world could fail to be safe under your constant attentions. No other city could take the stream of wealth and charity Bruce Wayne pours into it and be less than utopian. And yet Gotham remains, a far better city than the one you were born in, but still one of the most dangerous places to live in this country.”

The shadowy bat began to glow, lined in a bright golden light, yet somehow it only made the surrounding shadows all the darker. It swished its cape, striking at invisible foes, and the clouds curled in around it.

“What else but a curse could cause this? And what a powerful curse it must be, with a new vigilante showing every month, and still not a dent?”

The blackness around them grew darker still, the bat’s glow suddenly seeming weak and fragile. Jason’s chest lurched, his heart screaming to reach out and catch the faltering figure, pull it close and keep it safe, but he stamped it down.

It wasn’t Bruce in danger. It was just a light-show, a visual demonstration. And it sure as hell didn’t need his protection.

And then a skewer of pure blackness plunged through its heart and the golden glow winked out, leaving them in pitch darkness.

Jason’s heart clenched, a dread chill running down his spine and he spun around, searching for Lady Gotham and her searchlight eyes, but he couldn’t see anything. Not even Danny, who always glowed faintly in his ghost form.

Still, her voice continued, completely calm and unshakeable.

“If the symbol falls… if the Bat is broken, the Curse will gain a great deal of power for a day. Perhaps a generation. And then people will forget, and forget that they believed, and it will wane once again. A much worse loss, now that he knows the power he can have.”

The billowing clouds of darkness pulled back and the glowing green of the Ghost Zone almost made Jason shield his eyes. They hadn’t moved, of course they hadn’t; Danny was still right beside him, his aura a heavy throb of new understanding-exasperated-mildly amuse.

Which… well, yeah, now that he could breathe again Jason could admit it had all been pretty dramatic. If she was his first ghost, he’d have assumed it was just a Gotham thing, but Danny was also a dramatic little shit, so.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jason blew it out slowly, calming the beating of his heart. Lady Gotham looked quite pleased with herself, still sat reclined a little ways away.

It was one hell of a powerpoint, and he was pretty sure he’d got the gist of things. Not that it made any of this make sense, but it was pretty much what he’d expect from magic.

“So… the Curse makes the rogues, to make people think the city is cursed, but it also wants to keep the vigilantes safe…” a phrase from an old book tugged at his mind, and Jason couldn’t resist a slight smile, “because you gain status by the quality of your enemies?”

It startled a short laugh from Danny, quickly stifled as Lady Gotham beamed her approval.

“In essence, yes. The struggle will be unending, because it must be, but we have come to… an understanding of late. Despair and death feed my Curse in the immediate sense, but when both are only to be expected… it’s a paltry meal. There is inevitability, even boredom, when it’s all despair all the time. So now the city has hope, and I prosper.”

Lady Gotham preened, plumping up her perfectly round curls, the same self satisfied smile she’d had when mentioning how she had become the dominant spirit. Maybe the Curse hadn’t quite worked out just how much she got out of their little understanding too. Then she shrugged.

“And the rogues have their little obsessions, their tricks and games, and sometimes there is despair and sometimes there is death. But what matters is that you are there to fight against it, to nobly win the battle…”

“Even if we’ll never win the war,” Jason finished grimly, his mood souring.

Wasn’t that what he’d always told Bruce? That his damn rules, his “No Killing” standard meant that everything else he did was pointless? That just locking people up in the bloody sieve that was Arkham was never going to change anything?

Lady Gotham’s smile softened to something bittersweet and sad, and she nodded gently.

“Gotham city will never know peace, Jason,” she told him gently, and suddenly she was smaller again, scant feet taller than him, and holding out a hand he’d be able to close his own around. “It will never be like any other city. But the only reason I stand at all is because people like you will look at this city, with its soot and its smuts and its people who have nowhere else to go, and decide that it is worth fighting for.”

Those eyes were fixed on him again, black bats on yellow lights, and then suddenly… suddenly the irises were black, and the bats a familiar deep red. It might have been a blink; it might just have been that sharp moment of change.

“There is one way that the war will end,” she told him softly, stepping closer through the void until he could have counted the pearls skittering across her dress, and every jet bead around them, if he could have looked away from her face.

“On the day that those heroes turn away, that all else give up on Gotham and turn their backs. When no one stands against the tide of night and it is dragged down and away into the dark heart of the Cursed land beneath. It is only hope that stands in the way of that end, my Jason Todd… my Robin.”

His brow furrowed and a fleeting smirk dashed across her lips, the faintest flicker of her gaze to Danny beside him, and Jason understood. It wasn’t Robin’s colours in her eyes, no matter what Damian had done to the suit.

Her Red Hood.

But she wouldn’t out him to Danny, not even now.

His gaze fell to her hand again, suddenly bare and dark and open and nails that were a rich, bloody red. His blood, and Bruce’s, and every vigilante, and every citizen, and every rogue that stood, and fought, and died for her. Every life that was ruined or ended, all in this fight that could never be won, only lost.

He met her gaze again, felt the red bat he’d emblazoned across his chest once more pierce his soul.

Because… this was what it really meant, to wear the bat. Not just that he had forgiven Bruce, that they’d reconciled, that he’d rejoined the family. That he wasn’t going to kill unless he had to, and there was no other choice.

No.

He wore the bat because he wasn’t just the Red Hood, a name he’d stolen from the damn clown and carved across the city in blood until people only thought of him when they said it. He wasn’t the crime lord who’d filled a bag with the heads of his rivals’ best lieutenants, took Crime Alley in a bloody fist, and was just another gang leader. Just a bigger, scarier, nastier guy than the people who’d wanted that alley before to strip mine its people and poison its kids.

And sure, being that guy had worked. It kept the worse gangs out. Kept his street kids fed and occupied, and mostly out of jail. Did what all of Bruce’s crusade had never managed to do; he’d cleaned up Crime Alley.

And it hadn’t been enough.

Hadn’t made anyone feel safe; not when all they had was Red Hood’s whim that kept them from going right back to the mess they’d been left in.

The Alley was different too, this last year. He’d always tried, as Hood and Jason. Wanted people to come together, build a community, to feel safe in their home and protect it.

To feel like someone finally, actually cared about them. That someone cared about Crime Alley for its people, not what they could take from them. That they would be defended.

And people had played along, back before he took the bat. They’d come out, cleaned up the street, fixed up some store fronts and made careful conversation, because that was what you did when the man with the big guns said he wanted you to play nice.

And they’d been wary, cautious, watching the Hood like he’d snap at any second no matter what Jay told them. And he’d known they were just… humouring him. Didn’t believe in it. And he’d thought the only way to get them to see was to keep going, keep giving back until they realized he really meant it all.

He’d patrolled since the first day he’d come back, but it had been the day he’d gone out in his modified uniform, the red bat on his chest, that things finally changed.

His working girls and boys didn’t straighten up when he approached. The street kids didn’t run when his shadow passed overhead. People looked up into the night and they smiled, thanked him, reached out to the gang and left little red bat signs in their windows.

With the red helmet and black body armour, he’d been just another thug to fear. And oh, he’d fucking hated it at first, turned his vision to sickly green that all this acceptance only came with B’s goddamn bat on his chest.

When the kids tagged it on walls, dumpsters, taunting threats at the edge of their territory to every other gang in Gotham, they finally had a bat-approved protector.

Never enough that he’d taken the bat off, though, and now he could see what all those little signs really said.

“We have a protector too.”

“Someone will find justice for us.”

And, his personal favourite (love those little Alley bastards), “Our bat’s bigger than yours.”

Bruce had put the shape on the symbol when he became the night and wanted to drive fear into the hearts of criminals instead of the ordinary citizens, but it wasn’t really his. It was Superman’s S, the symbol of the House of El, the symbol of Lady Gotham turned to something humans could see.

The symbol of a protector, a guardian, and uniquely Gotham’s own.

It was all there, in those red on black eyes, in that soft, knowing smile.

“Have you ever backed down from a fight just because you knew you couldn’t win, Jason Todd?” She asked softly, so softly, and he had to smile back.

She’d known him since the day he was born, and there was only one thing he could say to that.

He took her hand.

“Never.”

——————

LISTEN Y’ALL I HAVE BEEN HOLDING THIS LADY GOTHAM REVEAL SO CLOSE TO THE CHEST.

HER DRESS. HER HAIR. HER GODDAMN TRAFFIC CONE! Anyway she’s wonderful and she’s perfect and she will be back next chapter too, but fuck knows when that will be, so! Hopefully a little less time than this last one, but We Shall See.

This chappy will go up on AO3 tomorrow, I usually try and do same day but I gotta be up early Yet Again and I still…. Haven’t done replies on the last one, so 😅

Wish me luck for the next chapter, I have SO MANY things planned and the outline is just sizzling and we are finally out of introductions territory and it’ll be time for the Plot! Ah, my beloved plot, which will hopefully pick up and speed things along a little more in-fic timewise…

Next Chapter:

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf f @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake e @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish h @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof f @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 9 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 17 part 2 #well you did get down on one knee #AND HE’LL DO IT AGAIN #jason 10000% has a worship kink he really just wants to worship someone #danny meanwhile is just a lil freak and i love that for him

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violet-shadows · 2 years

Text

These Hands

Masterlist

Summary: Your mate is thrilled about becoming a father, but his past makes him question whether he’s fit for the role.

Pairing: Azriel x pregnant!Reader (She/Her)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: pregnancy, baby kicking, angst and fluff

A/N: For a person who has no interest in having children, I sure do love a good pregnancy fic. I think I’ll probably write more of these that take place within the same “universe”. Thank you to the anon who requested this!

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

After three decades together, you prided yourself on your ability to read your mate. It took a long time to get Azriel to drop his mask around you, and even longer for you to learn what those microexpressions and slight changes in tone meant. But after much practice, you had come to understand him in a way no one else did. So, as you lay in bed one autumn evening, his hand resting on your small baby bump, you could tell that something was bothering him, despite his best efforts to hide it.

You knew Azriel was thrilled about your pregnancy. You had been trying for so many years that when it finally happened, you could hardly believe it. Watching him pick up on the change in your scent was one of the most joyful moments of your life, and you couldn’t wait to see him become a father. Despite his cold exterior, Azriel loved hard and you had no doubt your child would be absolutely adored by their father. So far, he had done nothing but express his excitement, listening to you babble about nursery plans and name ideas with a fond expression. But, every once in a while, when he thought you weren’t paying attention, his face would darken slightly as he peered at your stomach.

“Azriel?” you asked softly, pulling him from his thoughts. His eyebrows were drawn together slightly and he had a far-off look in his eye as he watched his hand ghost over your abdomen, a sure sign that something heavy weighed on his mind.

“Yes, my love?” he murmured, tearing his eyes away from your bump to look at your face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked simply, lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. You smiled when he leaned into your touch, shifting slightly to move even closer to you.

“Nothing’s wrong…” he lied smoothly. You raised an eyebrow accusingly as if to say ‘I know you better than that.’ He caught your meaning and sighed, his gaze drifting back to your stomach. “I’m just… thinking.”

“When are you not?” you teased. He hummed in agreement but didn’t say more. “What are you thinking about?”

“The baby…”, he murmured, “And being a father.” Once again, his face looked slightly pinched. It was the expression he wore often now, hovering as you walked down the stairs or threw up your breakfast in a bought of morning sickness. Always so cautious, so protective, so concerned. It was incredibly endearing.

“Are you worried?” you asked, knowing the answer. He sighed heavily and nodded, pausing to gather his thoughts.

“I just keep picturing holding her,” he whispered. Azriel was convinced your child was a girl, and although you had no way of knowing, you secretly shared his hunch. “With these hands. It seems… wrong.”

“Wrong?” you prodded, eyes locked on his face. Behind the worry there was sadness, so potent it echoed down the bond.

“What I am… what I’ve done with these hands…” he didn’t look at you as he withdrew his hand from your stomach, curling it into a fist. “It seems wrong, to be responsible for something so pure…”. His voice was rough as he spoke, the vulnerability of the moment bringing tears to your eyes. You were quiet for a long moment, thinking of what to say.

“Do you know that I love your hands, right?” you murmured, taking his fist and gently unfurling it. He nodded, you had told him as much often, especially in the throws of passion. “Do you know why?”

He stared at your intertwined hands and swallowed thickly. Azriel couldn’t imagine why you loved them, they were a physical reminder of the darkness that lived within him. Sometimes, he had wondered if his half-brother’s actions were somehow pre-ordained, a forewarning of the ugly things he would go on to do, of the blood he would shed and the fury he would unleash on the world. He didn’t regret all of his actions, but the person he could become when his job demanded, or when his temper was stoked, was frighteningly dark.

“I love your hands,” you continued to speak, pulling his hand to rest back on your belly, “because when I touch them, even in the darkest of places, I always know it’s you. When I reach out at night after a bad dream, I can hold your hand and instantly know I’m safe. When we walk together in the Hewn City, and the eyes on me make me feel small, I can grab your hand without even looking, and I feel strong again. And when you hold me close and run your hands along my back, I feel like I am home,” your voice broke, and the tears gathering in your eyes began to fall. Azriel sniffed, his eyes silver-lined, and he stared at you with such raw emotion that it nearly took your breath away.

“And when our baby gets here,” you continued, speaking through the tears. “She’s going to love your hands too. Because they’ll be the hands that rocked her and sang her to sleep. They’ll be the hand that held hers and walked her to her first day of school. They’ll be the hands that protect her no matter what happens. She will think of these hands,” you choked, “and she will know she is safe and loved and cared for.”

You were crying in earnest now and so was Azriel, tears streaming down his face. He kept his hand on your belly, rubbing it soothingly as he tugged you closer. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and let out a choked sound that you realized was a sob. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him down to rest on your chest, and stroked his hair in a soothing motion. “You’re going to be an amazing father,” you whispered. His breath hitched and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hand never leaving your stomach.

“I love you,” he whispered after a minute, raising up to look you in the eye. “I love you both… so, so much.” As he spoke, you felt something move ever so slightly, like the flutter of a butterflies wings beneath your belly button. You gasped, reaching down to place Azriel’s hand over the spot where you felt the movement.

“Say something else!” you commanded, staring at your stomach.

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, gaze flitting between your face and his hands. Just as he spoke, the fluttering feeling began again, this time stronger and nearer to the surface. Azriel felt it, his eyes widening in awe. “Was that…?” he trailed off as the thumping sensation happened again.

“That’s her,” you whispered, teary-eyed. “She knows your voice.”

New tears sprung to his eyes, and he rubbed the spot that she had just kicked. “Hello, little one,” he murmured, his voice raspy, and hunched down closer to your stomach. She moved again, ever so slightly, and you laughed. He did too, a bright smile lighting up his face, one full of hope and awe. He looked back down, smoothing his hand over the bump, and his eyes shone with tears as he whispered, “papa loves you.”

You sat in silence for several minutes, both of you basking in the joy of the moment. Azriel’s anxieties seemed to have slipped away, replaced by pure affection as he stroked your belly and whispered sweet nothings. “See?” you said, placing your hand over his, “she already knows you.”

“I love you,” he said again, bringing his lips to yours. You giggled as he moved from your lips to your cheek, pressing several chaste kisses all over your face. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he told you, then leaned down again, pressing his face close to your abdomen. “And you’re lucky, too,” he told your baby, “because you have such a great mom.”

“And dad,” you added, smiling down affectionately. “You got a really good dad too, baby.”

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated. Click here to check out my other work.

Taglist - Part One:

@answer-the-sirens @microwaveallthedemons @judig92 @wolfyland07 @donttellthecats @goldentournesol @mulansaucey @starlit-terror @starrstrucked @bankerfrog @xxoverthinkxx @luv-xoxo @abrunettefangirlnerd @smellys-cats @crazymar15 @feyretopia @we-were-beautiful @simplywitchy @milllionthingsihaventdone @sevikas-whore @lunaralaraspace @sfhsgrad-blog @lucyysthings @debramclaren @powerfulpantera @blurredlamplight @nightscourtt @disneyandkpoplover @linduzmunna @shadowhunterfangirlforlife @shadowcrowsworld @nightcourtwritings @thefandomswhre @high-bi-andreadytocry @percyjacksonspeen @tayrae515 @a-little-disguised @itendswithussadness @strawbwebbie @hopelesslyuncreative @cityofidek @hopelesslyuncreative @5moremin @meritxellao

✨CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST✨

#Azriel x Reader #Azriel x You #Azriel Fanfic #Azriel Fanfiction #Azriel #Azriel Shadowsinger #Azriel Imagine #ACOTAR x Reader #ACOTAR x You #ACOTAR Fanfic #ACOTAR Fanfiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #my stuff #ff

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cheesecakezyum · 2 years

Note

How about some competition? Like there's this character Who is also courting SWK and Macaque's s/o A LOT. How much annoyed and jelous would they be? Bonus scene: They came over just when s/o speak back at the other:"Look, I appreciate your feelings, I really do. But I am already in love with someone else"

Vying For Your Endearment

It continues, it continues. I really liked this idea though! Don’t know how I did thoughh

Didn’t put too much in this because of the fact that I want to keep some info for my fic. Mischief mischief mischief.

I like to think that while the scent of a demon is super pungent to them— when it comes to non-demons its rather faint to barely recognizable actually.

Scenting headcanons are so quirky

I’ll fix anything later we’re on that grind boyssss

Enjoy!

─────────────────

Sun Wukong

♡- At first? It really wouldn’t trouble him too much. He feels unintimidated, especially if the two of you have been courting for quite some time. If it’s around courting season, it’s only expected.

♡- The only thing he truly worries about in the beginning is certain traditions for demons who take interest in a potential mate; worst case scenario is you being kidnapped by this demon, and no way is that happening on his watch.

♡- It’s way more rare nowadays, but that doesn’t mean it’s essentially out of the question! Definitely would keep a better eye on you and take you home more often himself.

♡- If nothing changes though, and he notices that the other suitor just won’t bug off after a week— that’s when it starts getting to him.

♡- Catches you talking to the other demon in public? Definitely the one to impede on the conversation. He’ll just slide on over there, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Mind if I just borrow them for a bit? Yeahh, thanks!”

♡- If Wukong happens to visit and notices you with any slight smell (Stench, in his personal opinion.) related to the demon— boy are you in for it.

“Let go already! That’s enough!”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

♡- Not just to provide more overall affection but to drown their scent with his own. A threat on his part.

♡- Kind of but not kind of a property thing. He doesn’t want to own you of course! Never. But.. wants it known that you’re being courted by him and him only. Wukong’s personal smell of peaches is rather recognizable as well— so he wonders why such a lower class demon would attempt getting their hands on you. Do they not realize who they’re competing with?

♡- It's nothing but confusing to the monkey king. What do they have that he doesn’t? Why you of all people? Did they have a personal grudge against them with hopes of stealing you away? Why haven’t you just turned them down already?

♡- Don’t even get me started if you mention the demon in question in front of him. Expect a pouting menace.

The monkey king spoke under his breath, grumbling.

“I can do that.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”

♡- Even after an explanation of demon courting by Wukong did you not realize this new demon was trying to compete for your affection. You considered them more of an acquaintance, really.

♡- So when you got the sudden confession of their admiration for you with bold claims of wanting to make you his mate?— yuck.

“I’m sorry. I appreciate your feelings, really! But I already love someone else.”

♡- If he caught you in the act like that, rejecting the demon attempting to steal his place by your side? Fist bumping the air. I mean— cough cough, he never doubted you! Himself too, yeah.

♡- Would act as if he never saw it, brush it off and wait until that poor, poor rejectee finally left you alone to interact.

♡- It’d probably be the first time you told him you loved him as well! I mean, not up front just yet, but still said it! Wouldn’t actually mention it until way later, when you’ve most likely forgotten. It was an in the moment thing!

“You know, I love you too.”

─────────────────

The Six-Eared Macaque

♡- On Macaque’s part, it’s an instant alarm when he’s noticed another demons aura around you. Wouldn’t make it immediately known, but try to pry out as much as he can without sounding desperate.

“So— how was your day? Anything new?”

♡- When it turns out his suspicions are correct, he already knows their intentions. Courting season would give it out immediately. Not just anyone would attempt going for you— but then again, he did.

♡- He’d definitely be overprotective in the aspect that you’re at risk of being kidnapped. Would try to follow you around way more than usual. Going to the market? He’s been needing something actually. Taking a walk? He could use one too!

♡- Basically anything that would keep him closer to you. He respects courting rituals and wouldn’t go against them until absolutely necessary, so he takes the competition. Macaque isn’t letting you get away that easily.

♡- Similar to Wukong, your scent is a big thing to him. If you don’t smell like yourself or even him, man would it irritate him beyond belief.

♡- So coating his scent over the other demon’s will always be the #1 priority when he has you alone. Maybe leave in gentle bite or two for good measure depending on how far into courting the two of you have been.

♡- Macaque also takes it as an opportunity to be more bold with you— overall way more flirtatious. Any opportunity the six-eared demon has? He’ll take it.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing for me.”

“Let me get a good look at you.”

♡- Whether it be spontaneously cornering you while the two of you walked in an alley, wrapping his tail around you in public when no one else can see, WAY more eye contact. He isn’t going down that easy.

♡- He wouldn’t really be too scared to point the other suitor out to you too.

“What did they bring you today?”

“Next time, just call me.”

♡- I mean, he wants anyone else to know that you belong to him. You leaving is just, something he dreads. Let alone to a low class demon.

♡- Definitely would think it’s someone he’s wronged in the past trying to get back at him. I mean, who would be stupid enough to go for his prize?

♡- So catching you in the act utterly rejecting the poor guys feelings? He wanted to crack up right then and there, but stayed behind and watch the beautiful scene unfold before him.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t return your feelings. I love someone else,“

♡- That last part caught Macaque off guard. You’ve told him you’ve cared about him, but never said loved. Not like that. He was quick to take residence in your shadow once the demon took their leave, and waited for the perfect opportunity to speak up as you walked home.

“Yeesh. Who knew you were so cruel?”

Startled by the all too familiar voice, you jumped and turned behind you, only to see a pair of violet eyes and a cunning smile replace your shadow.

“Macaque?!”

“Really liked that last part, though.”

#Jealous bastards #sniff sniff #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk #sun wukong #six eared macaque #wukong x reader #lmk wukong x reader #sun wukong x reader #monkie kid sun wukong #macaque x reader #six eared macaque x reader #lmk wukong #lmk macaque

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phantomspiderr · 1 year

Text

Not A Bad Morning

Pairing: Steven Grant x gn!reader (ft. Marc Spector too)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Steven was just trying to have a stress free morning before his job interview but it just seems like everything’s against him

Warnings/Tags: not a lot of warnings really, it’s fluff. Steven has a little self doubt, reader has a dog, just a little meet cute in the park, Marc being soft and helping Steven

a/n: ohhhh Steven my beloved. Yes it's another Steven fic, sorrrrrrryyy. I promise I am working on other things, specifically a tlou fic if anyone is interested👀 also this is probably terrible but I hope you enjoy anyway

*(I orginally posted this last night but something kept happening to the end of the fic where it just kept deleting the last two paragraphs so we've had to make a new post and hope that works)

**any lines all in italics are Marc talking with Steven in case that isn’t clear

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

The morning had not been kind to Steven.

It had started with him somehow snoozing his alarm without even waking up and the water in his shower had run ice cold. Then all his clothes seemed to be in the laundry pile and he had to borrow a pair of Jake’s trousers that he felt were a little too tight for his liking.

It felt like some sick joke when he’d opened the fridge and it was empty; bar some dodgy-looking carrots, out-of-date oat milk, and a single egg—why is there just one egg?? Is it really that difficult to do a food shop??— so he had no breakfast and very little time. He makes a mental note to berate Marc or Jake the next time they show up on body sharing etiquette and making sure there’s bloody food in the fridge.

Steven was slowly losing hope for the day and it wasn't even 10am. He'd tried his hardest to plan the day to the tee. It’s been all he’s been able to think about since he saw the ad for his dream job and had been lucky enough to get an interview for it. He had wanted to make sure it was the least stressful it could've been but it was as if the universe wasn't on his side today.

Now he’s impatiently waiting in line at a local coffee shop, his foot incessantly taps against the floor as he anxiously checks his watch every few seconds.

You have plenty of time.

“Shut up,” Steven mutters quietly, looking off to the side into a mirror where he can see his own—slightly disheveled—reflection. A stranger gives him an offended look as they walk past, “not you-I-sorry!” He turns around to stare at the back of the person in fronts head and tries to act somewhat normal, giving Marc a cold shoulder in the process.

Stop stressing out.

Steven rubs at his temple while willing the queue to move even a fraction of a second quicker.

You’re going to get the job.

This time Steven sighs, this is one of those times he wishes he could just stick his fingers in his ears and hum a tune to drown out Marc’s voice.

Even if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world. We can go somewhere else. It’d be their loss.

There are just two more people in front, he can ignore him just a little longer.

You can’t ignore me forever.

A little more passive-aggressively than he’d normally be, Steven, rummages in his bag for his phone. Then he theatrically pretends to make a phone call.

“Hiya just wanted to let you know I’m fine.” He glances back to the mirror to see Marc with an unamused look and his arms crossed over his chest.

Sure you are.

“No, I’m not stressed.”

Clearly.

“I wish you’d stop saying I was because if anything that stresses me out more yeah?”

The tone in Steven’s voice is one that says he’s on the end of his tether and this time Marc just holds his hands up, not saying a word. Steven softens a little when after a beat Marc just gives him a look that says, ‘you are stressed out and I just want to help.’

“I appreciate you trying to help. I’ll talk to you later.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and gives his alter a final look in the mirror before turning back to see there’s no one in front of him now and the barista is waving their hand at him.

Now, with a fresh cup of tea and a surprisingly good looking vegan blueberry muffin secured, he takes the shortcut through the park to get to the museum on the other side. He went to check his watch, somehow forgetting the cup of hot tea in his hand and almost spilling it on himself. There was plenty of time for him to sit on that bench at the other end of the park, near the lake, where he could calmly enjoy his breakfast before his interview.

The park seems quiet enough that Steven feels comfortable talking with Marc now without worrying about people around hearing him. “You still there?” He asks the question while simultaneously knowing the answer.

Mhmm.

“Do you really think I’ll get the job?” Steven’s anxiety and self-doubt creep out with every word.

I already told you, if you don’t it’s their loss. Marc’s softens after a rather sad-looking Steven catches a glimpse of him in a passing puddle. You’re more knowledgeable on all that stuff than anyone else and you can do that job better than anyone.

“But what if…what if they just don’t like me, like how Donna didn’t?” Steven won’t even look at Marc as he passes another puddle, more interested in the plain-looking pathway below his feet.

Fuck Donna. And fuck them if they don’t like you.

Marc’s voice has an edge to it then before he relaxes again, remembering his goal is to soothe Steven’s anxiety, not make it worse.

Which they will…

…like you I mean!

People find your clumsy nature endearing.

Fuck, I’m not great at this.

The last sentence makes Steven chuckle just a little because Marc may not be the best with words but at least he tries.

As Steven goes to reply his thoughts are interrupted by shouting, for a second he’s so in his head he thinks it’s Marc but it sounds too far away and he looks up just in time to see a big dog bounding towards him. He doesn’t even have a second to react before the dog jumps onto him, knocking his tea completely out of his hand as he falls backward and lands on his ass with a thud. The dog continues to excitedly jump at him and tries to lick at his face despite him squirming as it does so.

“Val!” The shouting continues, this time much closer and it sounds like someone is running, “I’m so sorry! Val get off!” Suddenly the dog is pulled off of him and Steven’s a little dazed by what just happened. He blinks up at you, his eyes squinting because of the sun's brightness. Maybe that’s why he thinks you look like a literal angel standing above him. The sunlight behind you causes your silhouette to be surrounded by a ring of bright yellow light. “I am so so sorry! She’s a friend's dog and she’s just a pup. I’m just walking her while my friend’s away. I’m so sorry the lead slipped out of my hand and she just bolted.”

Either get up or talk please, this is painful to watch.

“Oh.” Steven’s head kicks into gear again and he awkwardly gets back up onto his feet, wincing slightly when he rubs a hand over his now sore lower back. “It’s okay, accidents happen.”

“I’m so sorry, I hope she didn’t hurt you. Shit, you’ve dropped your drink. Here-“ you start rummaging around in your pocket.

“Oh no, it’s okay! Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a great cup of tea anyway.” That was a lie. It cost about £6 and was actually a pretty good tea that he only got on special occasions, like today when the world seems against him.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes look so apologetic and Steven still feels a little dazed while looking at you. He thinks you look like you belong in a museum, amongst the marble statues and fancy oil paintings. You’re something that should be admired by everyone.

Steven, the attractive person is talking to you and you need to talk back, like now.

Steven barely has a second to form any thoughts before Marc speaks again.

Let me front.

“No!” It comes out before he even properly thinks about it and he tries his best to play it off, “no don’t be sorry. What kind of dog is it?” He tries to shift the conversation so you hopefully don’t think too much about how weird he is acting.

“Oh… she’s a rescue so they think lurcher but my friend swears she’s part collie too!” You’re fondly looking at the dog while Steven observes you for just a second more, “she usually listens really well but apparently, we need to work on not running off and jumping strangers. Huh, Valkyrie?” Both the dog and you look at each other affectionately as you scratch behind her ear.

“That’s a really nice name, it’s from Norse mythology right?” Steven likes it when you smile right at him, a quiet giggle slipping out.

“Uh, yeah. That and I think my friend is in love with the king of New Asgard.” You both laugh this time and Steven thinks it’s the nicest sound he’s heard in a long time.

Then there’s an awkward moment of silence and Steven just doesn’t know how to keep the conversation going or if you even want to keep the conversation going and now he slightly wishes he’d let Marc front. Marc’s always better at flirting with people in regular conversation, he can pick up on certain social cues Steven is blind to. Steven wants to flirt with you, he was just immediately drawn to you and he wants to get to know you so badly, he just doesn’t know how.

Ask for their name or introduce yourself.

Marc’s voice filters through Steven’s self doubting thoughts.

“I’m Steven,” it comes out quickly and forcefully before he can overthink it and his hand flies out in your direction. He can barely look at you his eyes flickering anywhere but at you. That is until your hand slips into his, your hand’s a little cold but it feels nice in his slightly clammy one and he watches your smile grow after you say your name. Quietly he repeats it to himself as a way for his brain to better remember it and he really just likes the way it sounds.

“I’m really sorry again, can I buy you another cup of tea? There’s a cart just down this path that sells hot drinks.” He thinks he’s maybe getting ahead of himself or looking too closely into it but he really likes the idea of spending more time with you. Marc catches him just before he ultimately agrees immediately without another thought.

Steven, your interview.

“Oh sh-!” He reluctantly pulls his hand from yours to check his watch only to see time has somehow run away from him. Now he suddenly has very little time to get to the museum. “I’m sorry I have an interview for this dream job of mine in like ten minutes and it’s probably going to take me that long to run there!”

“Oh.” Is that disappointment seeping into your features? “That’s okay,” just like that it’s gone and you’re smiling at him again, “I owe you a cup of tea then Steven.”

“After?” It comes out a little more like a forceful statement rather than a polite question. He just had to say it before his brain chickened out. Now you’re looking at him confused, quietly repeating the word he just uttered.

Steven, buddy, you gotta say a little more.

“I’m trying,” he quickly mumbles to the side before turning back to you and more cautiously speaking this time, “maybe we could- if you want to-maybe you’d want to-"

Steven, calm, breathe.

He pauses and takes a deep breath, his eyes falling closed for just a second. When they open you’re still there. You’re real and you’re still standing in front of him, curiously waiting on him to speak again. That beautiful smile still gracing your face and he’s lost again, lost in the calm of your eyes on him.

Steven.

“Do you want to meet after?” Marc’s voice reminds him of what he was trying to say and it comes out more smoothly than he expected. Maybe that’s down to Marc being even closer to the front, almost slipping into control of the body for just a moment.

“Oh.” Steven thinks he’s misread the situation—it wouldn’t be the first time—because you look surprised. Just as he opens his mouth to rescind the offer and apologise profusely you speak again. “I-I’d love that,” Steven watches as a grin spreads across your face and he mirrors your expression.

As much as I want to see how this pans out, we’re late.

“Shi-!” Steven checks his watch just to confirm even though he already knows he’s more than late at this point, “I have to go!”

The last thing he wants to do is leave and he awkwardly moves to do so before something else inside him fights it. If this wasn’t his dream job he’d forget all about the interview and just stay here in the park with you. Maybe you could walk around the water and sit with a cup of tea on a bench, and get to know each other better.

“Go! Go!” You’re gently shooing him off so he listens, and forces his feet to move but he keeps looking back at you as he takes the first few steps. Val tugs on the end of her lead, a little cry escaping as she looks at Steven and then back to you.

Wait!

Steven halts abruptly almost falling over his own feet.

Give them your number!

Frantically Steven rushes back over to you, Val now pulling you almost off your feet as she excitedly taps her paws on the ground. How did he somehow forget a crucial part?! He quickly rummages in his bag and pulls out the receipt from the coffee shop, a loose pen, and some crumbs from his forgotten, now squished muffin.

“Here,” he messily scribbles down something that resembles his phone number and quickly decides to add a little note on the end. You delicately take the note when he offers it, smiling as you glance over it before looking at Steven again. His face hurts from how much he’s smiling, “see you later then?” When you excitedly nod he adorably waves as he starts to back away again. Steven walks backward for a second longer than he probably should just so he can admire the way you’re still standing smiling at him too. Reluctantly he pulls his eyes away from you and turns, breaking into a light jog as Marc reminds him they're late once again. Steven takes one last look at you, he’s surprised you’re still standing there reading over his little note with a large smile still plastered to your face.

You did a good job back there.

The small compliment makes Steven feel good. He'd been working hard with Marc on communication. Learning to breathe and formulate his words better in conversation and it seems the hard work is paying off.

Steven takes one final look at you before he speeds into more of a run, his heart now racing for another reason. Even now when he nervously answers the interviewer's question his mind stays stuck on you. He can't stop thinking about how nice you looked or the way you smiled so brightly-

Steven, focus!

#moon knight x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #steven grant x gn!reader #steven grant fic #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant x y/n

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joshslater · 2 years

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A Star is Born

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"It's not just porn. The adult industry is much more than that. Unlike Hollywood there is room for more narrow interests, and more diversity in actors. Obviously the revenue per title is smaller, but the production overhead is too, so you could still get some decent cash."

I had changed to my sincere voice, somewhat undercut by the venue and the thumping music in the nightclub, but otherwise I had stacked everything I could against him.

"I don't know, man." He was still unconvinced, but I knew now it was self-doubt, not stigma that held him back. He didn't think he had neither the looks nor the body.

"You're exactly what I need. You don't even have to be naked. $200 for a few minutes of dry humping. Then we can see what the response is."

He sat silent, nodding slightly to the music and making up his mind. "What would your mates say?" I asked, already knowing the answer. In his friend circle he would move up in rank, being seen as desirable and virile.

"Ok, I'll do it."

The first shoot I keep very much on his terms. We have a large couple of warehouses in the old paint factory that closed where we can fit a lot of different sets, though you can't use two sets near each other due to the noise. I made sure the studio was empty by the time he arrived to avoid any second thoughts. I let him use his own clothes for the same reason. We go to the "boy room" set and I hand him a baseball bat. "Just walk in through the door, pick up the bat, put it between your legs, and grind on it for a bit. Just pretend it's the best fucking experience you've ever had."

I take the camera and he awkwardly follows my instructions. It's very stiff up until the bat is between his legs, when suddenly his whole performance changes. He slowly teases the bat in and out, polishes the base of the handle with one hand, keeps the bat in place with both legs and moves his hands like his jacking off a huge wooden dick, rhythmically buckles his whole body while riding that bat, in and out, while his ever louder moans turn into an uncontrolled scream of pleasure as he comes in his jeans.

He's trapped.

He's looking confused, shocked almost, as I wrap up the shoot. He's barely listening to what I tell him about publishing dates and payment details, as he is walking behind me toward the exit with a dazed look on his face. He just can't believe what he had just done. Not the recording of erotic content for the internet, well only partially, but mostly that he would be so good at it. He'd bragged of course to his group of mates what a stud he was, like they all did, but any of the girls he'd slept with would rate him "fine" at best, and he knew that. But here he had been like possessed by a gogo dancer.

There isn't any visible cum stain on his jeans yet when I take the bat from him and tell him goodbye. It will probably not soak through at all, but it will be on his mind all the way home. There will be a lingering feeling of unease, pride, confusion, and horniness that he can't shake over the following days. He'll have boners more often than even as a teen, and jack off multiple times a day. Every time with a big release and trembling orgasm. He might hook up with some of the girls he knows to relieve his constant horniness, and find that he is a much better lover than he used to be, but can't last very long. Most importantly it will only give him a very short-lived relief.

By the time I call him a week or so later he's desperate to film. I ask him to come in later that afternoon, making him disrupt whatever else he has already planned. He shows up right on time though, slightly out of breath, and with a visible bulge in his jeans. This time there are a few people around in the studio. A painter is finishing up the new frat room set, dirtying the area around a light switch with a paint-dipped sponge as we walk by. Once we carefully pass by the "boy room" set a pair of twinks are fucking on the bed surrounded by a cameraman, a boom boy, and the director. He's torn between his old impulse to look away in modesty and his new one to see as much as possible. He doesn't slow down, but he is taking in everything.

I lead him to our private gym. It doubles as a movie set, but all the equipment there is legit and used by all the talent in between shoots. "The guy on top is Xander XeXy," I tell him.

"What?" He looks confused.

"The guy you watched in the room I filmed you in. He's been trending a lot." I can see reality intruding. He realizes this is a business with porn actors doing porny things, seen by the public. "Oh. OK."

He doesn't follow up so I move on to our business at hand. I hand him his next outfit, a maroon sweatshirt, grey gym shorts, white crew socks, and a pair of Nike sneakers with orange details. No underwear. The sweatshirt has a yellow sigil printed on the front looking like any college emblem, unless you read the "Professional Porn Actor" around the rim of the sigil. At first he looks a bit lost, like he's wondering where he'd change outfit, until he realizes we just walked past two naked men fucking.

He gets naked and his dick stands attention as soon as it's out of his briefs. He doesn't look at me, awkward about being alone with a man, naked and with a boner, for the first time in his life. The moment he lets go of the grey sweatpant shorts, the tent his erect dick made collapses and the dick hangs down one of the shorts legs. It's the same size as when it was erect though.

I pick up the camera and start shooting, directing him to get onto the treadmill and start running. His sloppy dick isn't really visible through the thick shorts fabric, but you can see from the movement that it's swinging inside. After that warmup I continue to direct him on what equipment to use, what exercises to do, and with what configuration. Light weights, many repetitions. I however ask him to repeat the sets several times to give me multiple camera angles to cut between. At least that's what I tell him. Then when he is all damp and flush after the thorough session I tell him to start over from the beginning and do all of them once more. This is the only usable footage, because otherwise it would be obvious how much he's changed in just two hours.

He looks about the same on the treadmill, though way more athletic, an inch wider shoulders and a few inches shorter, with his dick flopping around. Then it starts getting interesting. During squats we can see a tent forming, and by the time we're recording bench presses there is a very noticeable straining of fabric going on. Much bigger than was going on before, though perhaps unsurprising given the size of his now much larger flaccid dick.

We move to the locker room set and I have him stretch a bit, feeling himself up after the workout, before sitting down and cool for a bit. Then on the bench he starts to tease out his rock-hard dick from his shorts. He takes the balls out too and just stares at them for a bit. I'm still recording of course, but I haven't told him to do this. He doesn't know why he did it. "It's what would happen in a porno, and we're recording one," is how he rationalizes it for himself. At the same time he wonders why he did it unprompted. Deeper yet he is confused about how his dick is suddenly way larger than when he stepped out of his jeans just hours ago.

He grabs it, leans back against the lockers, and begins to stroke himself. It is already slippery from sweat and pre, and makes a wet noise as he lets his hand move up and down the shaft. As the shoot before he begins to moan loudly, and goes on for a good 5 minutes until he erupts in shot after shot of cum landing on his sweatshirt and his shorts. As before he is looking shocked and confused as I wrap up the shoot and he finds himself on a porn set, drenched in sweat, and with several ropes of cum on his clothes.

He slowly puts his deflating dick back into the shorts while I come to the rescue with a towel to clean up the worst of the cum. I tell him it was great, that he's a real natural, while I nudge him to his feet and walk him back out through the studio. I tell him he should consider doing workouts regularly. That he looked great doing them here and people would love watching him doing more. He's still in that post-orgasm glow, but nods politely while looking at the now empty sets to see if he can get another glimpse of any action. At the entrance I hand him a promo card for the Xander XeXy series and thank him once again. He's well out the door before he'll starts to wonder what happened to his old clothes, deciding to pick them up another time.

He'll be hard again before he gets home, and he'll be self-conscious about the big dick being hard to miss as it moves around unrestrained, bouncing against the fabric of the shorts. Then he'll have a few days of uncomfortable discoveries. He's just as horny as before, but instead of constantly orgasming and getting hard again he's lasting much, much longer. He's not interested in getting together with any of the girls he has on speed dial to ease hard dick issues though. Nor does his usual porn appeal to him. Instead he's just lying in bed, pumping himself for an hour or two until he explodes in loud orgasms. Maybe an hour later he starts firming up again.

He's giving excuses to avoid meeting any of his group of friends. The shirts don't fit his broader shoulders anymore and his trousers either don't fit at all, or show a big dick outline. When he does show up for a night out he finds himself distracted, like nothing he used to like about going out interests him anymore. He's introduced to a new girl. "He records some adult videos," his mate says with a wink. "I can see why," she responds, staring at your groin and licking her lips. She just looks so boring to him. It's getting more and more difficult for him to orgasm and he doesn't even see the point of having sex. He feels like a soda bottle, and masturbating or sex is just someone shaking it without opening it.

He's getting a pair of compression shorts to wear under his gym shorts, and a membership to the cheapest gym within reasonable distance. Something about looking great and others watching got stuck in his head. He's following the same routine as in the shoot, and really putting in an effort. To his surprise he can see some of the other men glancing his way. He likes it. If only they knew how hard he was while they were watching him, he's thinking. Perhaps they too were hard watching him. Suddenly his fantasy is pushing him to the edge and he is overcome with the desire to finish. He runs to the locker room and find the most private place he can, though nothing is truly private there, and starts working his big dick. It's not unlike the latest scene he recorded, but this time there are people within earshot hearing him moan. He's sure of it. His cum explosion is more under his control this time, so he doesn't look unreasonably untidy, at least not given his previous hard workout. Hardly any visible stains that can't be explained as sweat.

The few people in the locker room behaves as if they didn't hear anything, but he knows they would have to. He blushes as he rushes out and jogs back home, his mind again a jumble of emotions. Back home he strips naked, puts on the "Professional Porn Actor" sweatshirt, loads the Xander XeXy video from the business card URL, and coming again several times over the next few hours.

By the time I call him next time he's into a routine. Workout at the gym every day, a run home, and an hour or two of wanking to Xander videos. It takes longer and longer for him to get off. Physically he's changed further. Dropped perhaps another inch, massively improved muscle definition, and a whole lot of extra chest muscles. Most of all though his body fat has continued to climb down, making his face look much younger and leaner. His friends have mostly given up on him, or at least decided to come back later when he isn't so occupied with his latest obsession.

I call him in the middle of wanking, asking him if he wants a supporting role for the next Xander video. I can almost hear his precum drooling. I tell him that it's a bit of a bad boy on bad boy, so he needs to be outfitted properly. Nothing permanent of course, but it would fit the scene if he got some piercings. Doesn't have to be anything crazy, but perhaps a ring in each ear and studs through the nipples. I could of course just do it myself, but I want him to find a place, book a time, feel the procedure, and then anticipate the shoot for a few days.

He shows up on time, hard and horny. He hasn't been able to come for the past few days. He's wearing his new golden earrings, the porn actor sweatshirt, but compression shorts and blue jeans. Xander is already there, shaking his hand and greeting him by name. It always makes such a big impact when the guy you've been masturbating to for two weeks is just as stunning in real life, and knows your name. I quickly move along to our garage set, with a shutter door to the outside, to snap him out of his daze a bit. Partly to be professional, but party to not make him too comfortable with Xander yet. Just before the garage I have them strip and put on the dirt bike kit I've laid out for them. Thick polyester pants, slinky polyester shirts, boots, gloves, helmets, and goggles. All of it Fox Racing branded.

The glossy material of the shirt hangs off of his sizable chest and you can see a hint of the piercings through the material in certain poses, but his focus on the upper pec muscles makes the nipples point slightly out and down. I've told Xander to keep it cool initially, so there's no talking between them. For this shoot I've also gotten a boom boy and a cameraman, so I'm free to only direct.

First I have them mount the dirt bikes, some cheap 125cc ones we got that look aggressive with lots of open space, black mechanical parts, and the rest in striking green for one and blue for the other. Then they ride out a bit, turn around, and we start rolling. They ride into the garage, kill the motors, and dismount. Then they do a bit of teasing each other, while they remove more and more gear. Googles, gloves, helmet, shirt.

He's too into looking Xander's naked chest up and down to notice he is hairless and bronzed. They play a bit until Xander pushes him onto the flatbed with rugs and crap on it. I cut and before we continue with the sex part we need to set up the fixed cameras we cut between. With Xander on break and the rest of the crew rigging I walk up to him and tell him he was great. Then I push him every so slightly on the abdomen and a small amount of oil leaks out of his pores, covering him with a glistening sheen that makes the muscles pop in the light. It'll lock him into that greasy twink look we've been looking for.

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aestheticpearl · 3 months

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— 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

✧·˚ the few times xanthus and love had some domestic moments together

𝓲.

“so you take the hair and go over and then under, you see?” dontis explains how to do a fishtail braid to you while using himself as a example.

“wow it’s really that simple?” he nods.

“yep it’s best not to over think it, it becomes muscle memory after a while, did you wanna try it for yourself?” you nod excitedly.

“i would love too.”

after a while you feel as though you’ve mastered the braid.

“i like this braid, it’s so simple but it looks so complicated and in turn it’s prettier.”

“i think you’ve perfected the braid now, you’ve been at it for hours and each new braid you make is better then the last.”

just as you finish combing out the braid from dontis’ hair, xanthus walks through the door, no doubt coming back from a fruitless search on some more information about the organization hunting him.

xanthus is clearly exhausted but still walks over to sitting on the couch and places a kiss on your cheek.

“i’ll be in the bedroom read if you need me love.”

you nod and watch him walk quietly to the bedroom. dontis picks up on your concern for him and chimes in.

“i have an idea, why don’t you try out your new braid skills on xanthus hm?”

you practically beam at the idea and thank dontis before quickly leaving to the bedroom. you knock softly on the door before hearing a ‘come in love’ from the other side.

“xanthus could i braid your hair?” you ask as you open the door to him sitting in bed reading a book.

“how many books do you think you’ve read?” you ask focusing on the braid you’re creating with his blonde hair.

“far too many for me to count. love are you sure you want to braid my hair? surely it would be easier to braid dontis’ since his is much longer than mine.”

“you’re probably right and he’d probably make less of a fuss about it.” xanthus looks up from his book, dumbfounded.

“i am not fussy.” he tries to move his head to look at you before you correct his position and he whispers an ‘ow’ as you pull his hair a bit.

“see? fussy.”

xanthus pouts as he hears dontis chuckle from the other room.

“i am not fussy” he mumbles.

you lean down and kiss him gently on the cheek.

“okay you’re not fussy, just pouty.” xanthus grumbles as he lets you continue braiding the short pieces of his hair.

“dontis i think you should let them braid your hair.”

dontis leans against the door frame and smiles.

“who do you think taught them?”

𝓲𝓲.

“what are you doing love?” your fingers light trace over xanthus’ palm lines while you lay in bed with him.

“you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“this one says you’ll live a long life.”

xanthus’ free arm wraps around you to pull you closer to him as he lets you continue reading his palm.

“oh really? what else does it say?” his eyes remain closed as he breathes in your scent before kissing your neck gently.

“does it say you should go to sleep?”

“that’s not how palm reading works you know.” you feel his lips curl into a smile again your skin.

“i know, but you need to get to sleep.” he says before placing a soft kiss on your jawline.

“sleep is so boring, palm reading is so interesting and palm reading a vampire is very interesting, plus i know you like the feeling of my fingers tracing your skin.”

“you little—”

“shit—” you quickly try to scramble away for him but his vampire reflexes are too quick for you and you’re trapped in his arms.

“go to sleep love.”

“do you miss being human?”

the question catches xanthus completely off guard and he has to think about it before he comes up with his answer.

“…yes.” he instinctively pulls you closer to him. “i didn’t before but now that i have you i miss it. i miss the fact i won’t get to grow old with you and that you’ll leave this plane of existence before me and i’ll be left alone.”

his answer stuns you to silence as you let his words sink into your mind. xanthus misses being human because of you. you place your hand over his and give it a light squeeze to reassure him.

“i’m not going anywhere on this plane of existence without you xanthus.”

“i appreciate that love.”

a part of xanthus aches for himself and his love since they’ll never be able to see him grow old. he lays awake most nights wonder if they’re upset at the fact they don’t have a normal partner, that they love a monster. the thought eats away at him constantly and he does his best to repress it, but it’s hard when you can feel what he feels.

“i love you xanthus, i hope you know that i couldn’t ask for a better life partner.”

‘life partner’ what a funny way to describe their relationship.

𝓲𝓲𝓲.

“xanthus how do you even know so much about skincare?”

for the past half hour xanthus and you have been doing skincare to keep the theme of a selfcare day and he has surprised you with knowing much more than you on what and what not to put on your face, he even defined your skin type and the best products for it.

“when you’ve been around as long as i have you pick up on a few things.” he says as he applies a cleanser to your cheeks.

“are the headbands necessary?”

“absolutely, you look adorable— look up for me.”

you sigh and look up so he can apply a cream for your under eyes that seem to grow darker by the day.

“i thought the roles would be reversed for this, you know me telling you what to use on your face.” you say as he finishes smoothing out the product.

“oh please, i don’t age.”

“then how do you—”

“lotion next!”

you smile and shake your head at the quick redirection of the topic.

“i would say with your complexion this will be the best product to use.”

he holds it up to you and you nod in agreement like you have a say in what’s happening. as he applies it you can’t help but stare at the focus on his features, it makes you smile.

“what are you smiling about love?”

“nothing, i just love you.”

xanthus stops his application and kisses you lovingly before pulling away.

“bleh, i think i got some of the toner on your lips and it is not a pleasant taste.”

you lick your lips to see what the fuss is about and you regret it instantly.

“oh bleh that tastes terrible!”

“i told you!”

finally here is some xanthus fluff! i’m not a monster, i love writing fluff but got so many asks for angst so i just did them all at once (YOU GUYS ASKED FOR IT)

this is an apology for what’s to come

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

#pearl’s ❤︎ works #zsakuva #zsakuva audio #zsakuva fan fic #sakuverse #zsakuva headcanons #zsaku #zsakuva xanthus claiborne #xanthus fan fic #xanthus claiborne x love #xanthus claiborne fan fic #xanthus claiborne #zsaku xanthus #xanthus x love #zsakuva xanthus #xanthus fluff

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littlerosetrove · 8 days

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The point of this post is to explain why I, personally, enjoy Buck/Tommy. I’m not trying to convince or persuade anyone to feel as I do. And in that same vein, whoever reads this, if you read this all the way until the end and you’re still neutral or still dislike Buck/Tommy, honestly that’s fine. However, please do not comment or reblog to try to dissuade me from my enjoyment. If by the end of this post, whoever you are, still feels unsure about Buck/Tommy, truly that’s fine, but I’m not the person to talk to about your unease or hesitancy, okay?

All right.

I’ll state it up front that, yes, Buck/Tommy did happen a bit quickly. I agree, but it doesn’t really bother me. Allow me to explain and elaborate. I’ll be jumping around talking about Buck, Buck/Tommy and just Tommy, so bare with me.

For starters, I’m just happy to see Buck so giddy, excited, and happy about a love interest. The last time we’ve seen Buck remotely like this was with Abby. So it’s just a refreshing thing to witness and frankly for Buck to experience. Once Buck got past admitting, “oh yeah, my date was with a guy,” Buck was so excited to talk about Tommy with Maddie, someone very important to him. As well, I don’t think any previous love interests have looked so charmed and smitten with Buck the way Tommy does. On that note. Tommy has seen Buck be goofy, jealous, inquisitive, awkward, nervous, sweet, honest, a little bit of a mess, and still thought, “yeah, I’m attracted to this one.” <3

Now I fully recognize that Buck is not suddenly fixed by having gone on one official date with Tommy. Certainly not. Buck most definitely still has plenty of issues to work through, and on some level, probably always will because - just look at his past. Now I don’t know how long Buck is going to be with Tommy, but I don’t think there’s any inherent harm in Buck, even with his issues, dating Tommy for a little while. I don’t see it as Buck doing some kind of irrevocable damage to himself or Tommy if they just date for a bit. Yes, at some point Buck should be on his own and do some self reflection (which he struggles with), but until then? I’d just like to see Buck continue to be excited to get to know Tommy, and work on figuring out how he feels about his uncovered queerness.

Tommy is a breath of fresh air in many ways to me. A big thing is that he already had a connection to the 118. He’s a firefighter and also air rescue, thus can understand and click with Buck on a major and important level. Abby was a first responder, yes, but she too like all other past love interests of Buck’s were still pretty much disconnected from Buck’s friends, family, and his job. They were almost always separate. Then we can add on the fact that Tommy is friends with Eddie, which is another big connecting point for Buck and Buck and Tommy in general. Hell, Tommy has already met Christopher who already appears to like Tommy, too. The only previous girlfriend of Bucks that met Christopher was Taylor Kelly of all people, and I doubt Chris and Taylor interacted all that much since Eddie and Buck were there as buffers. Plus that dinner was for Eddie’s sake more than anyone else. To be clear about Bucks previous relationships, Abby was an interesting character that I liked, but I was certainly not impressed with her ghosting Buck and then not really apologizing for that. Ali was perfectly fine, but she was barely there, so there was no time or reason to get attached. Taylor Kelly is the only one I hate and do I really need to explain why? Natalia was fine I guess. She was hardly developed, so I certainly never got attached to her. We never understood why she liked Buck beyond him dying. She was also very much a “no homo” insert, but that’s just me. In addition, the only compelling relationship Buck has had up to this point was with Abby. There was nothing to grasp onto for Ali or Natalia, and please tell me what was compelling or fun to watch about Taylor and Buck being in an unhealthy and miserable relationship. Idk, maybe if I’d watched season 4 live, I might have felt a little more open towards Taylor and Buck and their friendship, but I kinda doubt it. When I did watch it all I could think of was, “why does Buck want to be friends with Taylor Kelly of all people so bad?” But anyway. Tommy is the first love interest of Bucks that I actually like, without any hesitation. He’s just a good guy, and a little bit silly (fake mouth static you’ll always be famous). Though some people ignore it, Tommy did change in season 2. Yes he started out as a jerk, someone just going with the bad flow of the firehouse (and to protect himself), but he did change from that. I think in his last episode of season 2 it shows him being on much better terms with Hen and Chimney. They threw him a “moving to Harbor” party! In present times? Tommy’s clearly more at ease, confident, friendly, charming, sweet, has shown vulnerability, is honest, social, mature, and helped Hen and Chimney at the drop of a hat - at the risk of being suspended or fired - to save Athena and Bobby. I’m sure I can list off more traits and interesting attributes, but you get it. To me Tommy already has a lot of personality and I do look forward to discovering and learning more about him. And that’s an important thing, that I’m interested in Tommy as a character. I’m not trying to be a dick, but I couldn’t say the same for most of Buck’s previous love interests (nor Eddie’s).

And sure Buck needed some nudging from Eddie to not give up on Tommy, but he did actively reach out to and meet up with Tommy, and was honest about where he is in all this, you know? That’s a key thing, Buck being more active. He passively fell into every other relationship he’s been in. That’s not me dismissing those relationships, because Buck did learn something from each. I’m pointing out an important difference. Buck, before Tommy kissed him at the loft and when they met up at the cafe, has been quite open and honest with Tommy. At least on screen, idk when Buck has been quite this upfront about stuff at the start of things, so to speak, with a love interest. That’s progress for Buck. Perhaps not massive, but it’s not nothing.

Like. Buck just discovered a whole new and big part of himself. He discovered this missing piece of him that’s eluded him for so long (basically his whole life). He’s going to be messy about it. But just because he’s going to be a bit off balance about it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t date someone (re: Tommy) right now. Tommy is aware that this is all new for Buck (side note: here’s a link to a post that talks about the nuance of Tommy, while gentle with Buck, was a bit annoyed at the end of their date and wanted to leave, which was fair and valid. it’s a good read). At the same time, as I mentioned early on in the post, I also think that yeah, at some point Buck does need to be on his own to do some much needed self reflection. Until then, damn, I just want him to try out this sweet thing he has going with Tommy.

And yeah, I just think Buck and Tommy are cute together. I do think they have chemistry (which was lacking/absent in some of Bucks previous relationships). I’m intrigued by the potential they have together, even knowing they’re not meant for something long term, and that’s okay. Even for a short time they still can have a good and happy time. And in my ideal world, they’ll remain friends when they part ways.

If I had to attempt to sum this all up… I find Tommy interesting on his own, and I like what I’ve seen with Buck and Tommy together. I’m thrilled to see Buck so into and smitten with Tommy, since we haven’t seen Buck like this since Abby. Buck and Tommy are cute and refreshing to watch. Plus, I want to see Tommy stick around and not just for Buck, but because of his friendship with Eddie, and to see him continue to? properly? reconnect with Chimney, Hen, and Bobby.

If you read till the end, thanks! Even now I feel like I probably missed explaining something haha.

#9-1-1 #Evan Buckley #Tommy Kinard #Buck/Tommy #I read over this thing several times #...I hope it all still makes sense 🫠#my thoughts #long post #ramblings

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ilyuu · 8 months

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update!

get ready folks this is a rollercoaster of emotions but uh, just to put this out here, it isn’t exactly good news

alright, so i think i’m gonna go ahead and quit writing for this blog. yeah, not exactly the best start to this - you think as a writer i’d know what words to use.

before anything - nope, i am not going to deactivate my blog, next best thing is to archive it since there’s so many memories that i like to at least keep, of my moots and of just a lot of things in general that i like to memorialize and a lot of writings and posts.

i want to keep them here because i want someone, whoever comes across it, to read whichever one and feel some semblance of comfort; that’s the main reason why i made this blog in the first place and that’s how i intend to leave it.

oh uh, yeah, for the reasons why i’m quitting, i can technically list a few :

genshin burnout : i don’t feel as strongly as i do for the game anymore, not as excited, even as fontaine was released, and stopped playing it a few months back. so, y’know, as genshin-centric this blog is, it’s technically a bit hard to try and get into something that you long lost interest for.

school : it’s catching me off-guard every time and even though i found a rhythm with my classes and schedule, it’s only asking for more of my time and, quite literally demanding. i’ll be honest and say that i can’t juggle a blog with a post every day and stay consistent with my schoolwork and what’s expected of me. i need to start thinking about my future.

spiraling thoughts : yup, you read that right; i’m back at it again with me thinking that my writing isn’t good enough and am doubting my skills as a writer as a whole, especially with my way of writing that as his poetic touch to it that’s making me wonder if it’s even worth anything at all.

with that, i think i just need to start writing for myself again because i haven’t felt that feeling for literally a while now.

have i thought about this for a while now? i have actually, somewhere in the middle of august but i was really, really hesitant for a lot of reasons.

said reasons being mainly my moots. i don’t like the ideas of leaving any of them behind at all, especially with them being the main reason why i love opening this app every day, seeing them flood my dash with everything that happened the night before, saying good morning, and seeing them in my notifs and inbox with their chaos and genuineness. i have so many memories here that i consider so dear to me because of each and every one of them, making my day and night, and… i don’t know, it’d suck to lose all of them.

@mikacynth : you were my first moot and i know i’ve mentioned and said this so many times to the point that you’d probably get sick of it but it did and does mean a lot to me knowing that you opened a door for me to meet so many others that made writing and just being on here amazing. you’re just so damn cool, creative, and nice and i’m so, so happy that i met you.

@floraldresvi : i don’t remember how i met you, and i’m so sorry for that vi, but you’re the kindest, absolutely gentle and attentive person i know and i just wonder how i ever got the chance to talk to you and be moots. i wish you nothing but the best because that’s all you deserve and more and you better keep that in mind vi.

@st0pthatsgay : this was a strangers to friends to lovers arc fr!! sorry i couldn’t help that, do you know how long i wanted to make that joke? but seriously, oli, you and your unbridled chaos and energy never fails to make my dash and quite literally everyone else who follows you like a rom-com movie or something; i’m so glad that i can call you a moot and one that i cherish so, so much.

@papiliotao : rei, you made my day whenever you drop in one of your small blurbs into my inbox and i get the space to just write whatever comes to mind; it was a little thing we had and, i don’t know, i loved it. i love it still a lot. it was like a duo we had and always made me smile with whatever we talked about, maybe just about writing in general or the cats that you always see. i’m just sorry that we won’t be able to have our wedding soon. really.

@supernova25 : bestie, i still remember those times about the ai bots!! i still think about them a lot!! it was fun!! in general, you’re always a lot of fun to talk to, and it could be about anything and it’d fly off the roof. also your asks about the most random of things has definitely made me feel better on my worst of days just to put that out there.

@soleillunne : i’d make a joke about you running up for the title of creator of angst and all that but you’ve always been so sweet so let me just push that aside, considerate as well; don’t think i didn’t see you send me links of anything scaramouche related because i do and i appreciate that so much

@hollythius-rising : YOU AND YOUR THEME CHANGES DON’T THINK I DON’T NOTICE THEM you’re also very very sweet and chaotic when it comes to your taste in tall purple men in lab coats but we don’t talk about that aosjksjs just that it’s always been a pleasure to talk to you whenever we have the chance to

@mondaymelon : YOU. we vibe with each other a lot like radio waves and it got me all giddy, and i’d just drop a lot of memes into your inbox just so i could see how you’d react only for you to give me a taste of my own medicine when you do the same thing 100 times more effectiveaisjsjs

@venusflwers : those late nights of playing roblox with you makes me feel so, so happy, you have no idea. it’s filled with crack with whatever you say and you somehow make a horror game feel like some comedy instead i swear; you’re literally the most unhinged and funniest person i met and i love that about you so much

@kazumist : it’s like a parent watching their kid grow up and then completely surpass them in terms of height. yeah, that’s you akiaki!! always frothing over your writing, your drabbles, because it had that soft and domestic feeling to them that i absolutely love to the moon and back

@m1shapanda, @snobwaffles, @vennnnn-diagram : you three are, excuse me for my language, so fucking amazing. i always wanted to talk to you so many times and even when i did, always hoped that we could’ve talked a bit more. misha, you’re so cool and i always wanted to just ramble with you; that and your art is so pretty and soft and just so DAMN COOL did i mention that? snob, you detective, you and your curse arts that make me laugh as much as pour bleach on my eyes (/j), you’re just so supportive and i really like that about you. ven, i wished we could’ve talked a lot more too with how just vibe with everyone so quickly and easily - you’re just as amazing, really.

and to all of my other moots, the same goes to you, even with the ones i didn’t talk to as much - just being moots with you, knowing that someone liked me like i liked them made me feel more belong on here and more a part of something. i’ve never been a part of something like this, and know so many people and to know that i mean something to them? yeah, that really, really means a lot to me.

i’d probably just be a lurker on here than anything… haven’t really thought that far, only that i know that i can’t stay on here any longer without feeling guilty, burdened, stressed, or all of the above. or maybe just start off as a smaller blog again without any sense of obligation because ever since i’ve hit 500, which was a while ago, that’s what this blog started to feel like with each bit of time that passed.

i’ve enjoyed it, of course i did, don’t get me wrong! i’ve just been enjoying it less than i did when i started off, that feeling of accomplishment and joy and pride at myself numbing a bit more with each milestone i passed. that’s just all me though, i’m sure.

anyways, not right now though, maybe just around the weekends when i actually have time to spare. so, until then, i’ll stick around here as much as i can. other than that, i don’t have much else to say other than thank you.

that i hope that you’ll keep doing what you love, whatever that is, despite the highs and lows. just know that the community you’re in is filled with people who love you through and through and that i do too - that you’ll do what you love because you want to, not because you should.

#!!!

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stray-kaz · 1 year

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Oh Dear, Baby : Lockwood and Co x f!reader oneshot

A/N: This involves the found family as a whole, but heavy on George x f!reader. Sorry, this is probably quite OOC for everyone, I love babies.

The Gist of This: Flo brings an abandoned baby to Lockwood so he can turn him in to DEPRAC safely and without getting her arrested, but Barnes invokes a little known law allowing agency heads to be legal guardians of children under their care until a suitable adult can step in to take over. Barnes drags his feet, simultaneously paying Lockwood and Co, and keeping them out of trouble while they look after the infant.

Warnings: Mention of female chemical sterilisation. Fluff and some sadness.

Thank you, @the-biscuit-agreement for giving me “custody” of this idea! I love it and hope I can do it justice.

It was Lockwood’s name being voiced loudly from the other side of the door, but you answered, pulling it open and raising your eyebrows at Flo, standing on the doorstep and awkwardly cradling a bundle wrapped in muslin. Your heartbeat skipped and you pointed at the small package.

“Florence Bonnard, is that a baby?”

“Yeah, sunshine, it is. An abandoned wee boy. Where’s your boss?”

You rolled your eyes at Lockwood being called that and gestured for the baby.

“Give him to me” you said.

Usually, Flo would have waited for Lockwood and would have ignored your order, but something in your tone and in your eyes gave her cause to obey. She passed the sweet, warm weight into your arms and you tugged back the edge of the muslin cover to see his face. A thatch of dark brown hair and impossibly blue eyes peeked up at you.

“Hey” Flo said gently. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”

You met her gaze sharply, but there was no judgement, no malice, just a hint of understanding and sympathy. You shook your head.

“No” you murmured. “It isn’t.”

Flo sighed.

“Look, sunshine, the deal is I can’t take him to DEPRAC because I’ll be detained, at best and at worse, arrested. But Lockwood can do it without blowback. ‘Kay?”

You nodded and backed up into the house, slowly closing the front door. You were just turning, still staring down at the baby, when George paced into the hallway, calling your name. He hesitated when he saw you holding what was plainly a new human child. He glanced beyond you at the closed door and then returned to studying your face.

A year into loving you, George knew three things without a doubt, and one of them nobody else did. One: you loved him. Two: you wanted nothing more out of life than to live long enough to eventually be a mother. Three: when you were fourteen and showing some interest in boys, your agency head had you chemically sterilised.

You looked up and saw him standing a few feet away from you, and felt the colour drain out of your face and your eyes widen.

“Georgie...” you said softly, fearfully. “He can’t be more than six months old! You know what they’ll do. He’ll get shoved into an orphanage and eventually the Talented ones will be weeded out and taken away, and if he isn’t one, he’ll get booted out.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses and sighed heavily.

“I’ll get Lockwood and Lucy” he said quietly, and then without thinking about it, he strode towards you and cupped your face in his hands, lowering his head to press a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll do the right thing.”

You bit your lip and nodded, and walked quietly into the sitting room, standing in the farthest corner and gently swaying with the little boy, your eyes flickering between his face and the open doorway opposite you.

Five minutes later, a wide eyed Lockwood burst into the room, Lucy and George hot on his heels. George pushed between them to stand at your side, his attention distracted by the baby’s blue eyes, which were now locked on his face.

“How do you have a baby?” Lockwood demanded, staring hard at you.

“Flo left him here because if she turns in an abandoned baby to DEPRAC, she’ll likely go to jail. You, on the other hand, won’t.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“This is true” he admitted, resigned.

He glanced at his watch.

“But, it’s too late to do it now. Should be time to get supplies, though!”

He said this last brightly, and winked at you.

“You and Luce go out to do that and George and I will cobble together a cradle.”

George arched his eyebrows at Lockwood and snorted.

“Oh, we will, will we?” he muttered.

“Having three engineers in the family must have rubbed off somehow, right, George?” Lockwood replied, entirely too cheerful.

“Just shut up, Lockwood, and come help me.”

When you and Lucy arrived at Portland Row, Lucy’s arms held down by shopping bags bulging with nappies, bottles, formula, dummies and clothes. Lockwood swung open the door before you could get to it and beckoned you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

“Come on in, ladies” he said. “Come and see!”

You and Lucy exchanged weighted glances before following him into the bedroom you shared with George. The carpet had been cleared and sat in the middle of the space was an empty drawer lined with a soft blanket, its corners and edges sanded down to smooth roundness. You looked up at George, something stuck in your throat, and he shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, thinking you were disappointed.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice” he mumbled.

You handed the baby carefully to Lockwood and stepped to George, stretching up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him, your fingers sinking into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, Georgie” you whispered, just for him. “It’s just right for Theodore.”

George’s hands landed on your hips and he pulled you away slightly to look you in the eye. Lockwood moved around the room so he, too, could see your face.

“Theodore?” they repeated together.

You smiled over your shoulder at Lucy.

“We named him on the way home” she said, shrugging while staring the boys down as if daring them to argue. “We can’t just keep calling him ‘the baby’ or worse, ‘it’. We decided he needs to have a name. He’s a human, Lockwood, not a Source or a relic. He’s flesh and blood, not plasma.”

George raised an eyebrow and looked over at Lockwood.

“She’s right” he told him. “They both are. He’s a person. Theodore. Strong name.”

You grinned and leaned on his chest, arms around his waist.

“I thought so.”

You woke in the middle of the night and shuffled on your knees to the edge of the bed, only to discover that baby Theodore wasn’t sleeping in his makeshift bassinet. Panic propelled you from the room, socked feet almost slipping on the stairs as you made it to the kitchen, where there was a dim light.

You pulled up short, breathless at the sight before you of George pacing the kitchen, baby nestled in one arm, a half full bottle of formula in the opposite hand. You must have made a sound, for he stopped and glanced in your direction, eyes wide until he saw it was you.

“Sorry if I scared you” he said quietly. “He woke up hungry and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You padded across the floor, leaned down and kissed the sleepy baby’s warm forehead. His eyelids flickered and lips pursed. George watched you closely, knowing that when Inspector Barnes took this baby away, you would be heartbroken.

The next morning, you handed Theodore to Lockwood as he settled himself in the backseat of a cab. You bit your lip hard as you gently stroked the soft dark cap of hair before George grasped your hand and pulled you away from the edge of the curb. He wrapped his arms around your middle and rested his chin on top of your head, hugging you tightly as the cab disappeared, taking Lockwood and your dream with it.

He was back two hours later, carrying both the baby and an official looking document. He didn’t miss the light in your eyes as you jumped up off your chair in the kitchen and took Theodore out of his arms.

“What happened with DEPRAC?” Lucy asked Lockwood, surprised.

He passed her the paper and the three of you gathered together around her to read over her shoulder. You muttered parts of it under your breath as you read.

“...law invoked...infant or young child...under care of agency head...more permanent solution...”

You raised your head and stared at Lockwood, hope fluttering wings inside your chest.

“We get to keep him?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hesitated, then nodded.

“For now, yes. He’s ours” he told you.

You let out a triumphant squeak and flung your free arm around George’s neck, pulling his startled face down to kiss him, your mouth ecstatic and open over his.

“We have a baby!” you stage whispered in his ear.

George nodded, but when you pulled back from him and turned away, he watched you go with dread settling down upon him like an unwelcome visitor. This wasn’t likely to end well for you.

It took a week for Barnes to arrive at 35 Portland Row to check on the home environment the abandoned baby was living in, and when he knocked on the door, no one came to answer it. But he could hear voices from inside, so he tested the door, found it unlocked, and let himself in.

He tracked the voices, steadily getting louder, to the warm kitchen, where he found all four members of Lockwood and Co standing around the Thinking Cloth, all hands pressed down onto the table, and the six month old baby boy rocking gently in a bouncer on the floor, curious blue eyes gazing in the direction of the familiar voices.

Barnes almost laughed out loud when he realised what they were arguing about.

“Theo!” you were insisting, a faint dusting of red in your cheeks.

George’s hand came down on top of yours, covering it entirely.

“I love you, babe, but Teddy is pretty cute” he added, wincing when you glowered at him.

Lucy pushed her hand into the air.

“I agree with George!” she announced.

Next to her, Lockwood shook his head vehemently.

“No, I think Theo is better” he agreed with you.

“So you’ve named him then, have you?”

Barnes finally spoke and all four stopped to stare at him. He noted how you stepped away from George to stand in front of baby Theodore. You crossed your arms over your chest, but still looked small. Small but ready to go to war.

“Yes, we’ve named him. We feed him, change him, cuddle him and wake up in the night to him.”

Barnes eyed you, nodding slowly.

“Want a baby of your own someday, kid?” he asked.

They all watched you stiffen, but only George knew the reason why. Neither of you bothered to respond, you instead choosing to crouch down and lift Theodore out of his bouncer, tucking his soft head underneath your chin.

“Well, don’t mind me” Barnes continued eventually, trying to bypass the tension. “I’m just here to have a look around and make sure Theo is safe with you four.”

He winked at you and you smiled back, turning in triumph to face the others.

“See?”

It was another whole month before Barnes returned to your home, and when he did, he almost tripped over the largest stuffed zebra he had ever seen, just sitting in the middle of the hall. He looked around him, surprised and a little amazed, to see dozens of polaroid pictures of Theo and his little oddball family stuck to the walls on either side.

Lockwood and Co had experienced a quiet number of weeks at home together, paid comfortably by DEPRAC, Barnes ensured, to keep them away from the dead and keep them safe, them and their ward. Because of this, the house was quiet as he trekked calmly through it, no plans being pawed over on the Thinking Cloth, no chains being oiled, no George nose deep in a book.

Curious, he followed the trancelike sound of white noise coming from behind George’s bedroom door. It was ajar, so Barnes gently pushed it open a little further, leaning against the jamb so he could soak in the image in front of him for a while more.

George and you were facing each other on the double bed, sound asleep, his glasses already leaving indents on his skin. You were both curled like fiddleheads, leaving space in between you for Theo, lying asleep on his back, his head turned toward you. The fingers of one of your hands were loosely tangled with George’s, you having fallen asleep holding his hand, while your other hand was resting lightly on Theo’s tummy, rising and falling with his every breath.

Barnes heard a footstep in the corridor behind him and turned to face Lockwood, who was watching him with a half worried, half determined look on his face.

“You’ve seen them” he said solemnly.

Barnes nodded slowly, and waited.

“Are you going to let us keep Theo?” Lockwood asked quietly.

Barnes took a deep breath in, taking time to hesitate. Then he released it and nodded again.

“Yes, I believe that I am” he said simply, and then turned and left.

Lockwood suppressed a grin as he tiptoed to George’s bedroom door, glancing in at you. Theo shifted a little in his sleep.

“Sweet dreams, Teddy” he said softly. “You’re home now.”

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #fan fiction #lockwood and co fics #liss writes #george karim x female reader #george karim x reader

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koolades-world · 1 year

Text

Genius OM! Character Design

Next up in character design analysis is Asmo!! @xsugarxglass asked that I do him next so I am! If anyone has a character you want me to do next please let me know cause otherwise I’ll probably drag my feet lol

Before I actually get into looking at his design can we please admire that all his buttons are heart shaped?? it’s literally so cute. The hole in the back of his shirt for his wings is also a heart <33

First, I’m going to look at the obvious and pick the low hanging fruit. The golden scorpion accent thingy is pretty clear as to why it’s there and what it does. The splash of gold on a mostly black and pink outfit not only draws more attention to it, but it also helps him as a character. Scorpions, or more specifically, scorpion tattoos can symbolize many things, but the one I found most interesting was it’s meaning of rebirth after ending something toxic and resilience. While all of the brothers did changed in a way, I personally think Asmo was the most upset after the fall. Levi and Beel were also pretty distraught. Levi’s reason was most in tune with Asmo’s reason of hating becoming a demon. I feel as if scorpions help represent how he grew to accept himself the way he was after the fall.

Both the tail and the head of the scorpion have a heart, which could just be a callback to his sin, but I think it might represent his journey as a being. It sounds more stupid the more I think about it, but hear me out lol. He started as an angel, where he loved everything about his life. Nothing could be better. He had everything he could ever want. Until the Celestial War happened. He became something else, hence the red heart becoming gold. (An after thought to this was I noticed the red heart was outlined with gold, but this might be to symbolize how his fate was set in stone, and how he was always meant to become a demon. However, I’m not really sure about that so please let me know what you think.) The scorpion trails around his chest, his back, and finally ends around his hips. I think this might represent his journey as a demon and accepting himself. It isn’t a smooth one. It’s constantly spiny and prickly. While observing the detail more, I noticed some spines were hidden or missing, perhaps representing breaks within this journey of self doubt and hatred. The closer you get to the end, the smaller the spines gets, which could mean he learnt and eventually accepted himself the way he was as a demon, since the scorpion ends in a heart. Or I could be over thinking it LOL

On his torso, he has eleven black roses. I did a little research since I don’t know much about flowers, but apparently eleven roses means “you are my treasured one” and don’t ask where I learned this since this is a random piece of knowledge I just have but apparently it also means rebirth which ties back to my previous point. Black roses usually symbolize death and mourning but again, mean rebirth! See a pattern here?

His wings are the smallest of among (among us lol) his brothers, so I imagine he can’t do a whole lot. He probably can’t carry people super effectively like his brothers can. His wings might represent how he feels kind of unless. Although I did just go on a whole rant about how he’s grown to accept himself as a demon, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think he’s ugly or pointless sometimes. Not much else to add here because any other point I thought made sense in my head made zero sense written down. If I ever find a way to make it make sense I’ll add it lol

The heart birthmarks? I think they are, on his arm are meaningful too. This is unrelated, but I noticed any brothers with specific marks like these have them on one side of his body, like Belphie, but that’s for later. Apparently three hearts mean the loves of the past, present, and future. This is a bit of a stretch since all the three heart designs I saw were all connected or closer, but otherwise I would have nothing to say about them lol. The hearts are also stressed looking, pulled thin at the tips, which could represent his emotional turmoil. The one outlines in pink almost reminds me of a tear drop. If were still going by the heart tattoo thing, that would be his heart of the present, meaning his current reality is distressed, but he’s happy in a way becuase it’s outlined in his color. This could represent Mc because Mc is the first person he thought he could love as much as himself

What he’s wearing is something I would call faux-formal. I personally love the faux anything style, especially faux-business. It’s like when you wear something that looks like it’s intended to be for a more professional or nice setting, but it’s actually breaks pretty much all of the rules. My personal favorite example is this cute button up shirt I own. It looks totally professional on the hanger, but like it’s actually super see through and the top buttons are fake, so I usually wear it with a short but businessy skirt and blazer to embrace the look. The collar being buttoned up to the very top, his shoes, and the tail coat is giving very formal, but the cutout in the back and his pants ruin this look. I think this might be a way to say “fuck you” to the Celestial Realm or anyone who might judge him for his sin. People often write him off as the horny, comic relief, but he’s so much deeper than that. He’s capable of feeling love, but just doesn’t fully understand it and everyone around him easily say it’s just his sin talking.

Unrelated observations that I don’t think means a whole lot include his nails are pink and lime, and not pink and teal and his horns are dipped in pink and I’m not sure any other brother has colored horns. lowkey he snatched… Bella Hadid 🥳

Let me know what you guys think or if you have anything to add

#obey me #obey me!#obey me asmo #obey me x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me character breakdown

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carpisuns · 1 year

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Now that you are no longer avoiding miraculous ladybug spoilers, can I say that it is absolutely bonkers the way the sentimonster theory started out with just Adrien, but then spread to Felix, and now apparently kagami??? And I've heard there might be another person who is one as well?? Like at this point I think we might as well say that every rich kid in paris (or vaguely related to paris) is probably a sentimonster. I bet it was a top secret Agreste collection back in the day, and all of Paris' wealthiest got a slice of it

OHOOEHEHEHE YES AND IM LIVING FOR IT!! honestly I never thought we would get confirmation of the senti theory that is this clear—like I thought it would be hinted but left open enough for the average child viewer to totally miss and for deniers to be able to deny if they want to. And I guess they could still deny? But man I didn’t expect it to become so central!! the felix eps were insane i was yelling !!

A while back I saw this theory that was basically what you said—that all the rich kids in Paris were sentis. Because of that fancy weird cult party from the episode Gabriel Agreste. Which was so fascinating to me back then and now it feels not unlikely?

It’s so interesting bc we know sentis are created from a specific emotion. It would seem appropriate that Emily created adrien out of love, and that’s why he’s such a kind boy who gives undeserving people second chances and who loves people with all his heart. Im not sure what emotion felix would be?? he’s a pretty complex character but his sense of personal justice is strong, wanting to free himself first and then the other sentikids, and using morally questionable means to reach his mission. So maybe something along those lines. And for kagami, idk, is perfection an emotion? Desire for perfection? That idea is brought up more and more surrounding her and her mother is very concerned with kagami’s perfection.

This gets even more interesting to me when you consider Chloe. Admittedly, she makes less sense as a senti bc the other sentikids have a missing parent (presumably the one who wielded the broken peacock and then eventually died from it??). But im just considering the concept of Audrey making Chloe from her own emotions….which seem to consist solely of selfishness and superiority. So if Chloe was made with such ugly emotions, no wonder she is the way she is. And no wonder that every time she seemed to make a little progress, she backslid into her old behavior. Bc any display of self-awareness and kindness and genuine care for someone else goes against her emotional core—her very essence. Is it even possible for a senti to change their emotional core? that would be an insane display of self-control and sheer force of will that would challenge the very concept of sentis as creatures who are made to be commanded. if it’s possible for a senti to break the bounds of their emotional core, is it also possible to break the bond between them and their amok holder and disobey a direct order? Could they even break their link to their amok entirely? This is all crazy talk bc it doesn’t even make sense in context and I doubt Chloe would end up having that big of a role anyway lol but the implications are interesting to think about! It’s even interesting to think about XY and the possibility of him being a senti—emotional core of greed, maybe? or, like, shallowness? lol. his dad definitely controls him and his image pretty carefully so. Hmm!

anyway insane musings aside I am really enjoying this arc with the senti focus!! felix’s Argo fit is so cool. his villain song. Girl help!!! when he had to kill his sentimoon and cried…oh that got me. That was his SISTER !! and FELIGAMI HELLO???? FELIGAMI PRACTICALLY CANON AFTER 2 EPISODES??? i did NOT have that on my bingo card lol but you know what?? Hell yeah!!!!!! Kagami said if Adrien doesn’t love me I’ll simply fall for his more intense and moody twin who rapidly and rightfully became obsessed with me

#ask #therealslimshady #ml spoilers #ml emotion #ml pretension #i hope im getting these tags right it is SO hard to remember these ep names lol #ml

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vodika-vibes · 6 months

Text

Golden Thread

Summary: 12 years after your parents banished you to the Labyrinth, you finally have a chance at freedom. And Prince Bly is determined to ensure that you get it.

Pairing: Prince!Bly x F!Reader

Word Count: 3912

Warnings: Violence

Tagging: @trixie2023, @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: This was supposed to be a Rapunzel AU, but I apparently wasn't feeling Rapunzel, so this is what was born instead.

Divider by Saradika

When you were a child, your father used to scoop you into his arms and toss you into the air, and you never had to worry about whether or not he would catch you, because he always did.

He would press his face against yours, and press your nose against his, and he would tell you, “Your mother and I loved you so, so much that we just had to raise you as our own!” And you would giggle and hug him.

You never doubted your parents' love for you.

After all, they told you they loved you every day.

And as you got older, your mother would bundle you up onto her lap and braid your hair, and tell you stories of wizards and princesses who were locked in towers. “Ah, my little dove,” She would say in her scratchy voice, “There are only two types of people who live in towers: Wizards and Princesses.” And then she would tickle you and press kisses all over your face, until you were giggling and squealing.

And then you’re ten years old, and your parents don’t take you to the market anymore, and your mother asks, jokingly, how you felt about becoming locked in a tower, and you press your face into her stomach and say, “Mama, I’m neither a wizard nor a princess, towers aren’t for me!”

Your parents moved you into the labyrinth the following week, with your only companion being the half human-half bull child, named Mnemosyne. He’s the same age as you, and has been living in the labyrinth since he was an infant.

You remember, later, raging and screaming at your parents while Nemo keeps you from running into one of the deadly traps that keep him contained. They left you there, in the cold and dark, with only Nemo to keep you company.

That was only 12 years ago now, and you have grown into an adult. You’re perfectly at home in the labyrinth, and you are familiar with the twists and turns as it grows and changes.

“Sister,” Nemo’s voice is low and rumbly, “I found a new passageway.”

“Oh? Did you smell anything interesting?” You ask.

“Fresh food,” He replies, “But also people. Recent people.”

You turn your attention away from your book, “You think other people have entered the labyrinth?” You ask.

Nemo rumbles low in his chest, and your hair stands on end, “If they have, I will kill them.”

Your brother has become violent and dangerous over the years. Not towards you, never towards you, but you know that if anyone else were to enter the labyrinth, Nemo would kill them…and probably eat them.

“There’s no need for such dramatics, brother mine.” You say lightly as you close your book with a snap and set it on the table, “How about I go and check it out, and if we’re lucky I’ll be able to make stew tonight.”

Nemo grumbles, “Hate stew. Not enough meat.”

“Now you’re just fussing to fuss, Nemo.” You scold gently, as you stand from the ratty old couch that Nemo dragged back to your shared quarters years ago. “I’ll be back shortly.”

You leave the shared quarters and head into the labyrinth proper and you sigh. The Labyrinth has changed Nemo, twisting him from an innocent child into something monstrous. He has taken to hovering around you more and more, and the way he looks at you sometimes-

Well…it’s only a matter of time before he kills you.

You head deeper into the labyrinth, twisting and turning down familiar passages, until you find the new one that Nemo told you about. As with every other part of the labyrinth, the stone walls look to have been colored with red clay, though the further down the stone started looking more and more like granite.

You follow the passageway from the labyrinth, into what looks like a massive garden. There are rows and rows of flowers and other decorative plants, but nothing that you could use as food.

You’re disappointed, but not really surprised.

Aside from the ranch where you and Nemo have to negotiate for your weekly allotment of food, none of the other places the labyrinth opens up to have ever led to food.

Still, the feel of sunlight against your skin and warm breeze through your hair is nice enough that you consider just sitting and staying for a time. Anything, really, to get you some space from Nemo.

You walk further into the garden, your fingers trailing lightly over the flowers…it’s been years since you’ve seen flowers that exist solely to be flowers. And they’re not trying to kill you, like that one whole section of labyrinth that is home to man eating plants.

“Oh.” You jump at the sound of a voice from behind you, and for a moment you fear that it’s Nemo. Only the voice isn’t half gravelly enough to be your brother, “I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to be here.”

You spin on your heels, and look up into the face of a man. He’s taller than you, and broader, but then, you’ve never been a particularly big person to begin with, and twelve years living underground has stunted your growth…probably.

He’s handsome, with short cropped black hair and yellow tattoos on his face, “I’m sorry.” You say, your voice hushed, “I’ll leave.”

He scans your face for a moment, and he frowns, “You don’t have to do that. You don’t seem to be hurting anything.” He takes half a step towards you, “My name is Bly, what’s your name?”

You hesitate, and then reply with your name, and he smiles at you warm and broad, and your stomach does a flip.

Bly moves even closer to you, his smile never once wavering, “How did you even get in here? The gate’s locked.”

“Um…well…there’s another entrance.” You admit as you tuck your hair behind your ear, nervous though you’re not sure why.

“Another…?” Bly looks surprised, “Where?”

Even more hesitantly, you point in the direction of the labyrinth entrance, “Over there.”

He turns and stares. Bly stares for long enough that you worry that maybe he doesn’t see the entrance, but you also worry that he does see the entrance to the labyrinth.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Bly asks, turning fully to stare at the entrance.

“Uh…if it’s any consolation, it’s new?”

“It’s not.” Bly replies flatly, “This Labyrinth is your home?”

“Home. Prison.” You shrug, “Sort of the same thing, really.”

He stops and turns to stare at you, “What.” His voice is flat, and that handsome smile is gone.

“Uh…well…my parents decided to lock me in the labyrinth with my brother. Twelve years ago.” You nervously tuck your hair behind your ear again, “So, you know, Home. Prison. Same thing.”

He continues staring at you, and you shift nervously, “Right. Right, okay. So…that stops.”

“I…uh…what?”

Bly smiles kindly and offers you his hand, “Come on. I’ll get you inside, and we can get you proper food and well fitting clothes. And you never have to go back to the labyrinth.”

“I…” You stare at his hand, longing warring with indecision.

Is it really that easy? Can you just…not go back?

Bly waits patiently, a gentle smile on his face. A smile that broadens into a grin as you slowly, hesitantly, take his hand. His hands are calloused, likely from practicing with the sword that sits comfortably on his hip, and this close it’s obvious that Bly is a soldier.

But you don’t feel nervous or even intimidated by him.

You feel safe.

And isn’t that a kick to the gut? When was the last time you felt safe?

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

“Are you alright, sarad?” Bly’s voice is quiet but he makes his footsteps loud as he walks up behind you. The family and staff at the palace learned, the hard way, that you react violently when people sneak up on you.

Though they’re always kind enough to not ask questions, even after that one time you accidentally broke Prince Neyo’s jaw when he snuck up on you.

You’ve been living in the palace for two weeks now, and aside from a few mishaps -sleeping is hard above ground, and you’re so twitchy at times- you’re starting to feel settled.

Starting, but not quite there yet.

“Just thinking,” You reply, belatedly realizing that Bly had asked you a question. Your gaze is locked on the sealed off entrance to the Labyrinth, just barely visible from where you’re leaning against the railing on the balcony.

Bly leans against the railing next to you, “Well, I’m happy to listen, if you want to share?”

You turn your head to look at him, “Why are you so nice to me?” You ask in return.

“Well, because being nice is my default setting,” Bly replies drily, “But also, the first time I saw you, you looked like you needed a friend.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Your gaze drifts back towards the labyrinth.

“Are you homesick?” Bly asks, shifting closer to you so that you can feel the warmth from his body through the thin tunic he’s wearing.

“Not homesick.” You shake your head and absently lean into his warmth, “the labyrinth was never home. But I do feel guilty.”

“About your brother,” Bly replies.

“Yes.” You tremble slightly, “He must be so angry.”

“Hey,” Bly presses his hand against your shoulder, sending warmth right down to your toes, “As soon as the Master Wizard comes up with a way to map the labyrinth, we’ll go and find your brother. I promise.”

“...you don’t understand.” You whisper.

“I know that I’d do anything for my brothers,” His hand slides from your shoulder and up your neck, and then settles against your cheek. Bly gently tilts your head to look him in the eye, “And we’ll do the same thing for yours.”

His thumb lightly brushes against your lips, and you inhale sharply. Bly slowly pulls his hand away from your face, “Sorry,” He whispers.

“It’s okay.” You whisper right back, “what…what if my brother can’t be saved?”

Bly’s hand cups your face again, “Do you trust me?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you sigh and nod once, “Of course. You’re a good man.”

He grins at you, “Then trust me to save your brother.”

You turn to look at him, and you reach out, pressing both of your hands against his face, “Bly…my brother-”

He places his hands on top of yours, and gently pulls them away from his face. And then, with his gaze locked with yours, he presses feather light kisses against your knuckles, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath against your skin, and Bly smiles at you, “Let’s get you back inside, sarad. It won’t be long before we save your brother. I promise it.”

You want to believe him. You do.

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that this is not going to end well. And that it’s only a matter of time before Nemo breaks through the magical barrier holding him back.

And it is holding him back.

You glance at the entrance to the labyrinth, and shiver when you see a pair of malevolent red eyes glaring up at you from behind the barrier, but when you blink the eyes are gone.

Bly drapes his arm over your shoulder, and guides you inside, “Look at you, sarad, you’re shivering. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Two days later, you’re standing in the garden with Bly, the Court Wizard and King Jango, while the old wizard squints at the barrier through irritated eyes.

“You seem troubled,” King Jango notes as he glances at his wizard.

“I am troubled. The barrier has weakened…a lot.”

“So, something has been trying to come through?” Bly asks, “Your brother perhaps.”

“Oh…most assuredly.”

The wizard scowls at you, “Your brother is a magic user?”

“Uh…no. Not at all.”

“Well, no human could get through that barrier without magic-”

“I’m not entirely sure why you all assume my brother is human…” You say quietly, as you take a half step back, behind Bly. “And he’s here.” You add as you point at the barrier.

There’s a loud thump, and then another one. And then the sound of shattering glass as the magic barrier shatters into pieces, and your brother steps into the garden, “Sister-” He bellows.

Bly shoves you behind him, and draws his blade, and you hear heavy footsteps as ARC Knights start pouring into the garden. “Nemo! Stop!” You shout, “They’re not going to-” You release a startled cry as a large hand shoves Bly to the side, flinging him into a tree, “Bly!”

You stumble back as Nemo looms over you, “Sister…” He rumbles out. Nemo reaches out and grabs your arm with a large hand and he jerks you, painfully, to his side, “You left…” He snarls.

“Nemo…I’m sorry.”

“Not…good…enough…”

His other hand wraps around your neck and shoulder, and tightens to the point where you’re quickly gasping for breath. And then there’s pain, blinding pain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of shouting, the men around you trying to rip Nemo off of you…and then the pain flares, and that, paired with the lack of oxygen, causes the world around you to go dark.

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

Bly stares as the creature carts his sarad into the Labyrinth. He’s in too much pain to move, or else he would be on his feet, and chasing after them. “Easy, vod. I have you.” His gaze flickers to the medic, who’s kneeling over him, “Your injuries are severe, but you’ll heal.”

His gaze flickers away from his brother, and to the slender arm laying on the ground. That creature, Nemo, he heard you call it, had ripped your arm off, and then tossed it to the side as though it was nothing.

Bly struggles to sit up, gasping as pain flares from his ribs, “You need to lie still, Bly!” The medic snaps.

“He ripped her arm-”

“We’ll find her,” King Jango interrupted, turning his furious gaze on the Court Wizard, “Well?”

“I attached the magic thread to her,” The Wizard replied grimly, “It’ll remain attached to her even if that creature kills her-”

Bly releases a noise at the thought of you dying, and he tries to lurch up into a sitting position, only to get forcefully shoved back to the ground.

The wizard pauses, and then continues, “The thread cannot be broken, cannot be cut, and will connect from the young lady to this very spot until such time that I break the connection.”

“So we can send someone after her.”

“Indeed.” The Wizard nods, “I suggest that we send Prince Bly.”

“He’s injured.”

“He’ll heal,” The Wizard points out, “And he’s going to go after her with or without your permission.”

King Jango is silent for a moment, and then he nods once, curtly, “Fine. Once he’s healed, we’ll send him into the labyrinth.”

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

How long has it been? You no longer know.

Your head swims and you tremble with pain, and your trembling hand crosses your body to brush against the ragged, and painful, edges where your arm used to be.

You release a silent, shaky, breath.

Your brothe-...no. Not brother, never again brother.

Mnemosyne, the Minotaur, had ripped your arm off as punishment for leaving him.

To his credit, he has been taking care of you. Ensuring that your arm…the remains of your arm…are clean and bandaged. Making sure that you have enough food to not starve. Bringing you fresh water every day.

You’re surprised. You thought, for sure, that the scent of you bleeding would be enough to push him into killing you, but so far, it hasn’t.

You drop your hand onto your lap, the clothes that Bly gave you were stiff with dried blood…Mnemosyne hasn’t bothered to try and replace them, and you wonder if that’s because it’ll be easy for him to track you if you try to run.

Probably.

You wouldn’t have been so harsh in your appraisal of Nemo…but Nemo died the moment he ripped your arm from your body. And no amount of Mnemosyne’s kindness will help you see him as Nemo ever again.

Your gaze drifts to your wrist, specifically the golden thread that connects you with…something. Mnemosyne doesn’t seem to be able to notice it, and has walked through it multiple times since he returned you to the den.

Maybe…maybe if you follow the thread…?

Slowly, painfully, you push to your feet and walk across the den to where the door to the den is. You push the door open and step into the hallway, your eyes easily picking out the glowing thread in the dark halls.

And so…you start walking.

You feel bad. You’re in pain, and you’re too hot and too cold and the world swims around you. That’s probably bad, you remember reading something, once, about infections and fevers…but it’s too hard to think right now.

So you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and you follow the thread.

Before you really realize it, you’re moving slower and slower, and then you slump against the wall and slide to the floor. Mnemosyne is going to find you…and this time he’ll probably kill you.

It’s a shame, really, Bly was going to teach you how to dance. You had been looking forward to it.

The next thing you’re aware of is hands against your face. You blink slowly once. And then again as the world remained out of focus.

“...Bly?” You whisper as the world finally comes into focus, and you see a familiar face.

He heaves a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank the stars. I thought you were…” Bly shakes his head, “Never mind. You were unconscious, sarad.”

“Was I?” You ask quietly.

“You were.” His hands are warm, even though the gloves he is wearing, “Sarad, what were you doing?”

“Was following the thread,” You mumble.

“Good girl,” He breathes out, and you blink up at him, “That thread would have led you right back to Mandalore.” He looks you over, and then frowns, “Let’s get you out of these clothes, and I have some stuff for your arm.”

“Oh. Alright,” You allow him to help you to your feet, and you’re barely able to keep standing as he quickly strips the blood soaked clothes from your bruised body, and replaces them with a clean tunic and pants.

You’re vaguely aware of him unwrapping your arm and placing some sort of ointment and then clean bandages on it, but it’s a hazy awareness. You blink at him, hazily, and he gently cups your face, “You still with me, sarad?”

“I…maybe?”

“That’s alright.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, “I’m going to take care of you, sarad. I promise.” One of his hands slides into your hair, and he gently tugs your head so it’s resting against his chest plate. You shakily wrap your arm around him, and you feel his lips against the top of your head.

“How are…” You grimace, the words fleeing your mind before you can say them, “Mnemosyne?”

Bly pauses, “We’re going to collapse the labyrinth.” He says softly, “There are dozens of my brothers setting explosives throughout the labyrinth as we speak. I just need to get you out.”

“...oh.”

“Are you okay with that?” Bly asks.

You pull your head away from his chest, and look up at him. Slowly you nod, “I think I am.” You whisper.

He smiles at you, warm and gentle, “I’m sorry that we have to kill your brother.”

“...he’s not my brother. Not anymore.” You whisper.

Bly nods and kisses your forehead, feather light, “Come on, sarad. Let’s get you out of here.” He takes your hand and starts leading you back the way you came.

You do your best to keep up, but you’re not surprised at all when he has to switch to carrying you.

You cringe as the sound of a furious bellow fills the labyrinth. All you can do is press your face against Bly’s neck as he follows the golden thread. You lift your head slightly when you hear the sound of lots of men in armor running.

ARC knights, all of them following a different color thread, are heading in the same direction as you and Bly. And before you realize it, you’re back in the garden of Mandalore.

Bly hands you over to the medics, who immediately sit you on a gurney and start fussing over you.

You float somewhere between conscious and unconscious, though you do jolt to awareness at the sound of a massive explosion. You’re not able to do much of anything though, as one of the medics injects something into your arm, and you swiftly drift off to sleep.

The next time you wake up, you’re laying in a soft bed. You’re covered in healing bacta, you can tell because of the smell, and you’re no longer in pain.

You turn your head to the side, and you smile when you see Bly sitting there. He’s absently twirling a hunting knife between his fingers, his gaze locked on your face.

“Sarad!” The knife slides back into a sheath on his thigh as Bly leans in to take your hand, “You’re awake.” He sounds relieved.

“Bly…how long have I-?”

“It’s been three days, you had an infection.” Bly explains, as he folds his hands around yours, “You’re going to have to stay here for a while longer, while they make sure the infection is gone. It…it was pretty hit or miss there, for a while.”

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“Not your fault, baby.” He replies, as he brushes some of your hair off of your face, leaving his hand pressed warmly against your cheek, “How are you feeling?”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, “Mm…I’m not in pain. So I'm just tired, I guess.”

“That’s good. Great, even.” Bly says with a sigh as his fingers begin lightly tracing your features, “Do you want an update on the Labyrinth?”

“Yes please.”

“So the entrance in the garden was completely destroyed,” Bly says after a moment, “But we found another opening just outside the city. As of right now it’s under 24 hour guard, and there are magic drones mapping out the landscape, and trying to determine if Mnemosyne survived.”

“And if he did?” You ask, softly.

“We’ll cross that bridge only if we have to.” Bly insists, “And it won’t be your job.”

“Oh, alright.” You swallow hard, “So what happens now?”

“Now you rest and recover, and then we’re opening an investigation into your parents. They have a lot to answer for, not just for sealing you away, but also for Mnemosyne.” Bly replies, his thumb lightly caresses your cheek, “And, when you’re healed, I’m finally going to teach you how to dance.”

You laugh softly, and favor him with a small smile, “It’s a date then.”

Bly’s face brightens, “The first of many, I hope.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we.” You tease lightly.

He stands and kisses your forehead, “You’ll see, angel. I’ll be the best boyfriend.” Bly kisses your forehead again, “But I’ll let you rest-”

You close your hand around his, “Stay?”

And he grins, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

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