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lol-im-done · 6 months

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First Lady of Panem

Pairing: Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: When your family arrived to the Capitol from District Ten to secure their place as one of the most prominent and wealthy families of Panem you could have never dreamed fate would lead you into the arms of Coriolanus Snow. Falling in love was easy, watching him become President and becoming First Lady of Panem at his side would test your limits. Panem's history would forever be changed by this union.

AO3 Link

Author's Note: TW & Tags will be updated as each chapter comes out, first chapter is just to set up the story & characters. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Sky Blue Eyes

Those bluebonnets how sweetly they grow

For all the wide prairies they're scattered like snow

They make all the meadows as blue as the skies

Reminding me of my darlings blue eyes

The cow-filled prairies shifted to mountains signaling the train's entrance into District Two as you hummed to the tune of an old song from before Panem’s creation. The sprawling grass sea of District Ten, of your home, disappeared in the distance as you made your way to the heart of Panem.

“Darling, are you listening to me?”

Lifting your head from the rattling window you turned to see your mother looking at you with soft concern.

“Sorry Mama, what were you asking?”

Her hand smoothed over your younger sister Mellona’s curls, making her nuzzle deeper into her side. “I was asking if you were hungry so I could order lunch.”

“That would be nice Mama. Thank you.”

“Alright, call for Agnes if you need anything she’s in the next car,” your mother stands, lays a snoozing Mellona down, before making her way to the dining car.

“Homesick already?” Victoriosa, the eldest, asks from the chaise never taking her eyes off the magazine in her hands.

“Is it that obvious?”

“We always knew we’d have to move to the Capitol.”

“Why now? I thought at least another year or two,” you asked, sinking into the plush leather seat. Victoriosa pauses, looks up at you and for an instant you can see your father’s intense expression staring back at you.

“Papa wants to finally establish himself as a prominent figure in the Capitol. He needs Capitol support if he is to fully absorb the rest of the ranches, you know that,” she states. “This is also our opportunity to reach our full potential, choose our own paths. Once you finish your career you can always return to Ten if you wish but that would be a waste,” she returns to flipping through her magazine.

“Silva, what do you think?” you turn to your only brother who is seated next to you.

He gives a short shrug. “I don’t mind it much as long as I can continue my research,” Silva sighs from behind his thick textbook.

Victoriosa tilts her lithe neck backwards, “Yawnnnnn.” A snort leaves your lips and you’re grateful your mother isn’t nearby to reprimand you for your ‘unladylike’ behavior.

“Biodiversity is the pinnacle of our success as cattle breeders!” Silva scowls.

“I thought you’d be missing a certain milkmaid Carpathia,” Victoriosa smirks and a wild blush spreads under Silva’s glasses.

“Oh like you’ll be missing your ranch hand Bronco,” Silva snaps back.

“There’s always summertime. Plenty of time to catch up,” Victoriosa grins like the cat who got the cream. The three of you burst into a fit of giggles right as Mellona groggily rouses from her nap.

“Are we there yet?”

Another burst of laughter fills the private train car.

It would only take a few more hours before you arrived at the Capitol train station, nightfall falling over the city. Unlike District Ten, not all the stars were visible, the Capitol’s bright lights polluting the sky. Peacekeepers were already stationed to help move all the luggage into the waiting line of cars. Driving through the streets towards your new home, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the statues in the squares and the towering buildings. Most of all you were excited to finally see your father, it had been almost a month since you had seen him last.

“Papa!”

All of you crashed into Alicio Lupus’ awaiting arms, his rumbling chuckle bouncing off the high marble ceilings of the penthouse. Refugio joins in on the hug with teary eyes, reaching up to press a kiss on her beloved husband’s cheek.

“Welcome home my darlings,” he squeezes you all tighter. Any fear you held disappeared in an instant, as long as you had your family by your side, all would be well.

The first few weeks in the Capitol had been a whirlwind- meeting other Capitol families for dinner, registration for coveted internships and school courses, and endless shopping trips to assure your home and wardrobes were up to Capitol standards. Refugio Lupus wanted only the best for her children, which included constantly coaching you all to leave behind the District Ten accent that made certain words in your vocabulary drawl.

After dinner one day you thought you had finally caught a moment of peace before a knock at your door startled you from your book. Agnes, your family's nanny, rolled in a rack of dresses with Victoriosa in tow. Victoriosa was already dressed in a sleek blood red dress with a mink shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“What’s all this?”

“We’ve been invited to a soirée to commemorate the end of the 13th Hunger Games. Papa thinks it’s a good chance to introduce us to others in the Capitol’s high society,” Victoriosa swept her arm towards the rack of glittering and ruffled dresses. Nerves made your stomach churn, mouth turning downwards into a frown as you remembered people’s faces this past week when it was revealed you had recently arrived from District Ten. Most look startled before looking at you like you were some exotic bird at the zoo.

“They’ll never accept us.”

A prideful look crossed her face, so similar to your father’s. No wonder your mother said they were cut from the same stone. “They will once we show them we are as refined as they are. As long as you lose that accent of yours you’ll blend in like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she grinned, canines glinting in the light of the chandelier. Rolling your eyes you step over to the rack, feeling the fabrics under your fingers. Stopping at a silver dress, the sequins twinkled like stars entrancing you. Agnes helped dress you before getting to work on sweeping your hair up into a fashionable updo. You waved away the highly pigmented makeup, not ready to delve into that side of Capitol fashion quite yet.

“Remember you’re a Lupus. We’re wolves among sheep,” Victoriosa pinches your cheek. The usual calluses that adorned her hands were gone, chemical treatments making them a long forgotten memory.

Wolves among sheep.

Victoriosa’s words replay through your head like a mantra as you step into the grand ballroom behind her and your father. Thankfully your sister was a gifted extrovert, introducing you to the friends she had already made. Soon you found yourself surrounded by members of the new Gamemaker class, a glass of posca in your hand. It took some time but slowly your shoulders loosened and your smile widened, confidence making you stand a bit taller.

Across the ballroom, Coriolanus Snow was repeating his own mantra to himself- Snow always lands on top. A reminder that showing up for another Capitol soirée wasn’t simply a waste of time but another way to show all these sycophants how high he had made it. Now heir to the Plinth fortune he was dressed impeccably. Tigris had helped style him, no more handmade shirts, and the final touch- Grandma’am’s rose pinned to his lapel. Like at most parties he was surrounded by his former classmates who were all desperate to remain in his inner circle- he was an esteemed Gamemaker after all. A glimmer in the distance caught his eye, distracting him from the meaningless chatter before him. He recognized the group as intern Gamemakers but not the young woman, fresh faced and glowing in the candlelight.

“Who is that?” Coriolanus feigned nonchalance as he tilted his head towards her.

Festus Creed followed his gaze, “Don’t you know?”

“How could he know? The Lupus Family only recently decided to establish here in the Capitol,” Pup Harrington said in between bites of hors d'oeuvres. The name rang a bell, stories and information from his various connections coming to mind.

“I believe that’s (Y/N) Lupus. I saw her the other day with her father, Alicio Lupus, at my mother’s bank” Livia Cardew said, inching closer to Coriolanus. “They practically own all the ranches in District Ten, Alicio Lupus’ brother is the Mayor of the District,” Livia whispered, lips coming close to his ear. Festus and Pup exchange an eye roll at her shamelessness and Coriolanus resisted the urge to shrug her off. Offending a Cardew would never bode well.

“She’s district, probably going back and forth from Ten to the Capitol like one of her family’s pigs,” Livia giggled, but it sounded like grating metal in Coriolanus’ ears.

“Don’t forget cows! Oh Panem, I dream about those steaks-,” Pup practically salivated.

“Imagine living all your life in that District, like poor Sejanus,” Festus tutted. Coriolanus immediately bristled at the mention of Sejanus, his icy blue eyes darkening like an impending storm. Festus must have realized his mistake because his eyes widened, apology on the tip of his tongue before Coriolanus cut him off.

“I should go make her acquaintance then,” he announces, ignoring Livia’s scowl. It was an opportune moment he thought as you now stood by the bar alone. Perhaps you would be desperate enough to try and get in his good graces, and offer to introduce him to your father. Coriolanus would be a fool not to recognize the Lupus family’s wealth and influence, they kept the Districts fed and the Capitol fat. Any potential relationship he could make was more support he could need when he would take a position in the Government.

As you took another swig of posca, you thought you had managed to escape more social interactions for the night until a voice made you jump.

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus Snow. Welcome to the Capitol.”

Turning around you looked up at the man’s captivating eyes, as blue as the sky back home. His pink lips curled slightly at the ends as if he was holding in a secret. Blonde hair pushed back in a neat fashion, accentuating his cheekbones. For a moment you were speechless. Remembering yourself, you gave him your name but you had a feeling he already knew it.

“Pleasure to meet you Coriolanus Snow.”

His stomach swooped. Coriolanus swore he heard a familiar lilt in your voice, but it was not as strong as Lucy Gray’s and those in District Twelve. No, yours was smoother and made your pronunciation of his name sound like it was dipped in warm honey.

“How are you finding the Capitol?”, he forces himself to ask, to ignore those dangerous thoughts.

“It's something...definitely not like back home,” you look around at the extravagant decor.

“Ah yes, District Ten. I’ve never made my way there but I’ve heard wonderful things,” the lie flows smoothly past his lips. “How grateful you must feel to finally be brought to us.”

Coriolanus would never miss a chance at making anyone District born feel inferior, all the posca he had been drinking making him loose lipped tonight. Indignation made your hands tingle, but you took a deep breath and clenched the glass tighter in your hands to ground you.

“I’m surprised you weren’t assigned there as a Peacekeeper. I suppose wherever the songbird called from you followed,” you replied, taking a demure sip from your glass, relishing in the way his jaw tensed. You knew who he was, his story with Lucy Gray Baird. Victoriosa had heard it all from a friend and had no qualms in passing the gossip down to you. If he was going to throw thinly veiled insults you’d have to show him you wouldn’t take them lying down.

“There’s that famous Lupus bite I’ve heard about,” he grins, taking a step closer to you. The scent of roses fills your nose, the sudden proximity to him making a blush rise up your neck. His hand reached out, moving to push a piece of hair behind your ear but the moment was broken when Victoriosa called out for you, pointing to your father who was making his way out the doors.

“If you’ll excuse me it’s time for me to get home. I’m sure our paths will cross again,” you murmured softly, dipping your head in farewell. Coriolanus stepped back with a slight bow, eyes never straying from your figure as you sauntered away. Oh yes, like two stars crossing in the night sky, you would meet again. Coriolanus would make sure of it.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas

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aprocessionofthoughts · 2 months

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Explanations

part 4 of MM ao3

Danny winced, overwhelmed for a moment at the emotions Hood was projecting. A flurry of fear, anger, not again, pain being shoved at him as forcefully as if someone were screaming in his ear.

Danny raised his hands in surrender. “Look, we don’t mean any harm. I honestly have no idea what pits you’re talking about, but I do know a lot about the being dead thing.”

Hood didn’t move, just kept glaring at him.

Danny took a chance and projected peace, want to help, it’s ok.

Hood’s angry aura faded and he stumbled back a step.

“What was that?” Hood growled and Danny gulped as Hood’s aura flared again with anger, confusion, fear.

“Sorry.” Danny said. “I forget that new liminals aren’t used to projecting, but it’s just another form of talking. And you don’t need to worry, I’m also dead adjacent. “Though,” Danny paused, “I don’t know what the lazarus pits are.”

Hood was still tense but his aura had pulled back a little. “The Lazarus Pits are lakes of glowing green goo.”

“Huh.” Danny gleaned at Jazz. “We call the green goo Ectoplasm. But if these pits are what brought you back, I think they might be rancid. You stink.”

“Excuse me?” Hood took a step back as his aura flared with indignation.

Jazz cleared her throat.

“What my brother means is that the ectoplasm that brought you back may have been polluted. He can tell because he also has ectoplasm in his system which allows him to sense other sources of ectoplasm.”

“Explain.”

“Look,” Jazz said, “Why don’t we all sit down and I’ll make some tea and then Danny can explain better.” she sent a pointed look in his direction.

“Fine.”

Jazz nodded and turned and walked toward the kitchen where there was a table and some chairs. Danny followed her and so did Hood.

Danny fiddled with his hands as Jazz was making tea. Honestly, Danny was trying not to comment on the fact that the fully dressed vigilante looked kind of ridiculous sitting at their kitchen table.

“Would you like some tea?” Jazz said, looking toward Hood.

Hood paused before responding. “No thanks.”

Jazz nodded then turned back toward the kettle.

“Soooo….” Danny started. “Before we go on, i do need to know if you actually died, or if you just encountered some green goo.”

Hood didn’t say anything.

Danny sighed. “If it helps, I actually died and was brought back to life via green glowy stuff.”

Danny waited and was about to give up and wait for Jazz to lead the conversation when Hood finally spoke.

“I died, I’m not sure what brought me back. But then I was dumped in a Lazarus Pit.”

“Huh.” There weren’t a lot of things that could bring people back from the dead as far as Danny knew, but with all the craziness he’d already experienced in his own life, he wasn’t surprised. Though it was interesting that Hood had been exposed to ectoplasm afterward. What would that make Hood? A liminal, or a halfa like him? But as much as Danny would like someone else like him, since it wasn't ectoplasm that brought Hood back the man was probably just a liminal.

“Here you go, Danny.” Jazz said, setting a mug in front of him and then taking a seat next to him.

Danny inhaled the warm scent of spices and then looked at Hood. “So, how do you want to do this? I can do a quick info dump and then you ask questions, or you can just ask questions and I’ll answer them?”

“Info first, then I’ll ask questions.”

Danny nodded.

“First of all, ghosts are real.” he paused, but when Hood didn't say anything he continued. “They live in an alternate dimension and are fueled by and made of ectoplasm, the green glowy stuff. There are various things that can make a ghost, but we don’t need to get into that now. This is just the basics. When a human has a near death experience, or is exposed to ectoplasm they have the chance of becoming what we call liminal. That just means that they lean a little toward the ghostly side.” he glanced at Jazz, his gaze questioning and she nodded. “That’s what me and Jazz are. And that’s what I think you are.” Danny waited for a moment, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Any questions.”

“How did you heal me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Danny shrugged and sat back. “As liminals we actually need some ectoplasm to survive and it can help heal us. Usually, the ectoplasm in our bodies heps us heal ourselves, but I think yours can’t since,” Danny wrinkled his nose, “whatever source you got yours from is obviously rank.”

“What does that even mean?” Hood said, but he sounded tired not angry.

Jazz smiled gently at him. “Ectoplasm that stays too long in the Living Realm, here, can absorb pollutants. Think of it like,” she hummed and tapped her finger against the table, “like air in an improperly ventilated area. If air isn’t allowed to move and flow it can become stale. The same with ectoplasm. It’s a form of energy that needs to flow and be filtered in the Infinite Realms, where the ghosts are, or it needs to be filtered by ghosts. But if it’s allowed to just sit in one area and build up, continually absorbing energy, but unable to filter or release it then it grows rank.”

“It’s complicated.” Danny said. “And neither of us is the greatest at explaining since we’re still learning. But yeah, ectoplasm is a form of energy that flows between dimensions.

Danny smiled at Hood, there were faint feelings of confusion, disbelief, denial, no true, not true, I’m alive. But Danny did his best not to push anything toward the other liminal. He didn’t want to scare the man.

“I need to go.” Hood said, standing abruptly.

Danny startled, but nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Jazz stood. “You’re welcome back here anytime if you have questions.” Jazz smiled.

Danny felt the briefest glimmer of attraction come from Hood and while Jazz was good at not projecting, Danny could tell from her face that she was feeling similarly toward Hood.

Danny smirked. This would be fun.

#danny phantom #jason todd #batman #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc au #danny fenton #liminal jazz #jazz fenton #jason is liminal

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five-rivers · 2 months

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Season of the Skies

I started playing a game called Sky: Children of the Light recently, and although this isn't a crossover, it's definitely inspired by the vibes of that. It's a cute game!

Also, based on the feedback I got on AO3, there seems to be a significant overlap between the Phandom and Sky: Cotl players? Is that the case?

Reality had broken a month ago, and Danny was having the time of his life.

He leaped lightly from rooftop to treetop and back again, gravity a dreamy afterthought. The tiles and bark were rough beneath his bare feet, but not so rough he regretted not wearing shoes. His impacts shook loose pollen, glitter, and a few stray petals, but did the trees no harm. On the roofs he was silent, and no one came out to yell at him, but the window glass chimed with flashes of light.

The colors around him were bright and soft. Easy to look at, easy to fall into. The sky above was marbled with dawn-colored clouds and stars caught among distant nebulae. Light and color were some of the first things to break, and Danny wasn't sorry to see light pollution go. Most Everything glowed, now, and stargazing would have been terrible if eyes still worked the same way.

At his next jump, this one taking him up a good ten feet, the feather-soft edge of the shawl he was wearing flared out behind him, brushing his arms. The shawl was huge on him. An old project of his great-grandmother's, it had been made with the typical Fenton girth in mind. Honestly, it fit him more like a cape than a shawl, but he liked it that way.

He landed safely and straightened the cape. His dad’s needlepoint hobby had been inherited from her, so the dark blue fabric was covered in fine embroidery, lace, and tiny glass beads in shades of clear, pale blue, and white. Great Grandma Fenton hadn't been into ghosts the same way the current Fentons were, but she'd been into something, so the patterns were strange. Icicles, snowflakes, stars, clouds, and trees competed with lightning, runes and sigils, and strange, spirit-like creatures.

“Hey!” shouted someone from the street below. “Hey, Fentwerp! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Ah. Dash. Charming. Danny leaned over the edge of the roof. “What does it look like I'm doing?” he asked agreeably.

“Getting your dumb nerd self killed is what it looks like,” said Dash, glowering up at Danny, his face turning red.

There. See. That's what Danny didn't understand. No one else seemed willing to experiment with how the world was now. They were all operating under the old rules, or, worse, looking for ways to fix things, as if the new world wasn't better than the old.

Sure, it had been scary the first few days. The suddenness. The uncertainty. The way systems they had relied on for so long had stuttered or failed outright. Danny knew people had been hurt, that, in some places, they were still getting hurt. He had been one of those people, having been in the hospital when the change rippled through the world, a result of an equipment malfunction in his parents’ lab.

Maybe his opinion would be different if he was still getting hurt. But as it was… why would he ever want to go back to how things were? Why would he want to leave this world, where the colors were soft and bright, and the light sang? Why would he want to leave this world where the air itself seemed to bear him up? Where the possibilities seemed limitless?

There was so much more potential for good, with the world as it was than as it had been. So much less potential for harm. This was a more finished version of the world. All the rough edges were gone, and filled with wonder. He could feel it.

“Get down here!” demanded Dash, when Danny didn't respond.

“No,” said Danny.

“Get down here or else.”

“Or else what?” asked Danny, genuinely curious. Dash couldn't get up here. No one else could, as far as Danny knew. They hadn't taken the time to work out the new rules for gravity.

Dash clenched his hands into fists, then stooped to grab a fairly large rock. Danny, seeing no reason to just let Dash throw it at him, left.

“Hey!” shouted Dash. “Hey! Freakton! Get back here!”

Names like that were a lot less distressing when the people using them had no power to hurt you.

Danny continued on his path upwards, touching on higher and higher buildings. It was tough to get the proper amount of momentum to make some of his jumps, especially since he'd stopped to talk to Dash, but he managed to make all of them, and soon he was standing on top of the tallest building in Amity Park.

In the center of the roof was a small tree, a sapling. It hadn't been there the first time Danny had made it up here, and it had grown rapidly since then. Next time he came, it'd probably be taller than he was.

For now, though, Danny knelt to check the roots where they grew through a widening crack in the building's roof. He'd warned the people in the building (he had warned everyone in buildings that had suddenly found themselves with roof trees), but he hadn't heard that anyone had done anything about it, and the roof trees felt friendly to him, so he hadn't pushed the issue. From the descriptions and pictures Sam had given him, this one seemed healthy enough.

He pulled a bottle from his backpack and gave the tree a generous sprinkle. Then he stood up, gave the crown of leaves an affectionate ruffle, and made his way to the edge of the roof.

The city spread out in all directions below him, vibrant and changing. Towards the edges of town, some buildings had lifted off their foundations, becoming floating islands. Across the viridian, iridescent forest to the north, he could see blue-bright-gray flashes of Lake Eerie. Fentonworks was easily visible off to the west, silver dishes and spires chased with green halos. The parks bloomed with flowers both alien and familiar, vines trailing up into the air, trees growing explosively fast. A breeze from behind turned his attention south, and he saw high clouds letting down shimmering curtains of rain.

It wasn’t like Amity Park had been drab and horrible before, but why would anyone want to go back?

He looked away, back down at the street far below him. Steeling himself, he grasped the edges of the shawl, he spread his arms wide.

“Time to lift off,” he said, quietly. “T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two–” Where he would have said one, he instead inhaled deeply. Where he would have said zero, he jumped.

For a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake, if he’d made an error in his calculations, if reality had chosen that moment to reassert itself and he was about to drop like a rock.

The moment passed quickly. He was flying. Or, at least, gliding.

He laughed, and flapped his ‘wings.’ The shawl snapped behind him and gave him a small amount of lift.

He was doing it. He was doing it.

And now that he was doing it, it felt as natural as breathing. All that planning, all those calculations, all that running, climbing, and jumping–

He could fly.

Oh, maybe it wasn’t as impressive as it would have been in the old world, where gravity was a cruel mistress. But it was still flight, unpowered, human flight, and no one he knew of had done this before.

He laughed, and banked to the side, flying in spirals. He wasn’t brave enough to try a loop, yet, but he would, eventually, when he learned more about this.

His spirals took him over the park, the school, the mall, even the Nasty Burger. But he was losing altitude, his arms were getting tired, and he knew that if he got too close to the ground, gravity would get him again. Not to the point of hurting him at all, but he didn’t want to land just anywhere after all this work.

He tipped his wings westward, and started gliding home, pumping his ‘wings’ as infrequently as he could get away with. He didn’t quite make it all the way back to his front door, but he got close, just a few houses down the street. He rubbed his shoulders. That was going to leave him sore. He’d have to work out and practice more if he wanted to fly any real distance. He'd also need a way to take off that didn’t involve climbing the tallest building in town.

The front door of Fentonworks slammed open, revealing a pale Jack and a furiously pink Maddie.

“Daniel James Fenton! What do you think you're doing?”

Danny looked down at his bare feet, then back up at his parents. “Walking?”

Maddie sucked a breath in between her teeth. “Inside,” she said

Danny hurried to obey, taking the steps up to the door two at a time and squeezing past her and Jack to get into the house. Maddie closed the door behind him.

“So, um,” said Danny, shuffling from foot to foot. “What, um. I thought you guys were going to be working all day today?”

“On the Ops Center,” said Jack. “Not in the la– Not downstairs.”

Danny made note of the near-slip but didn’t comment on it. He was already in trouble. He didn’t need to remind them that the lab didn’t exactly exist anymore and make their mood worse.

“Oh,” he said. “What were you–?”

“Never mind what we were doing. What were you doing? What were you thinking, jumping off a building like that? You could have died?”

“Or been seriously hurt!”

“But I wasn’t! I’m fine. I planned it all out, and it worked.”

“And it shouldn’t have!” shouted Jack and Maddie at the same time.

Danny blinked up at them. “What?”

Jack explained. “We’ve been tracking the changes to gravity, too, Danny. We’ve been measuring it, measuring all the changes, to see what those darn ghosts did.”

Danny held back a sigh. There still wasn’t any sign that ghosts had done this, or even that ghosts existed.

“Gravity might have changed a bit,” continued Jack, “but not enough to keep a human being airborne like that.”

“There are whole buildings floating,” said Danny. “I’m a lot smaller than a building.”

“The rules seem to be different for different masses, as well as different altitudes,” said Maddie, making a face.

“Yeah! It’s really exciting. We’re trying to measure the ectoplasm levels– It has to be related, but we haven’t been able to detect any yet– Those ghosts are tricky, son–”

“Well, yeah. But the rules are also different for things that are alive.”

“Really?” asked Jack, leaning close.

“Uh, yes? Otherwise I wouldn’t have done, um. That. I tested it.”

“You tested it? Did you write it down?”

Danny nodded, cautiously. Jack swept him off his feet. “Our boy has been doing science, Mads!”

“He’s been jumping off of buildings!”

“Putting his research to practical use!”

“He’s been jumping off buildings without being peer reviewed!”

“Oh, yeah, son, you should have had someone check your work.”

“You never get peer reviewed,” said Danny, scowling.

“That’s different,” said Maddie, quickly.

“If anyone else believed in ghosts, you’d be sure we would be!”

Hanging limp in Jack’s arms, Danny grumbled.

“Danny,” said Maddie.

“Yes?” he mumbled.

“No more testing theories without checking in with us first. Safety first. You should know this by now.”

Danny hunched his shoulders and tried not to think too hard about his scars. They weren’t very visible, and the doctors had said that they’d fade away, probably entirely, eventually, but they were still there now, if you knew where to look.

A month ago, reality had broken.

A few days before that, Danny had almost died. Lab accident. It turned out that his parents thought portals to other dimensions which may or may not exist needed a lot of electricity and chemicals to function. Danny had been curious. He’d wanted to explore, to investigate. He’d stepped on a loose wire that had led to a capacitor. He’d been horribly electrocuted, and then exposed to a chemical cocktail. Sam and Tucker, who had been in the lab with him, had called for an ambulance, and he’d been brought to the hospital.

At least, that’s what he was told, later. He hadn’t woken up until he’d been in the hospital for a few days. Of course, when he had woken up, he did so because a bunch of the medicines going into him had started to do weird things while reality restructured itself, and that had been… incredibly unpleasant. Everyone had been grateful that only a very few things - like whatever Danny had been on to take care of the chemicals he’d picked up in the lab - had acted like that.

Later, Jazz had told Danny that for a brief period of time between the accident and reality breaking, Jack and Maddie had sworn off ghost hunting. Presumably forever. But once the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology started to rebel and twist, they’d taken it back. Well, to be fair, apparently they didn’t take it back until the lab disappeared. And the Fenton Stockades.

Although, to be fair in the other direction, it was more a case of everyone’s basements disappearing and being replaced by weird misty caverns than ghosts specifically targeting his parents. It was a whole thing.

(Personally, Danny was glad to see them go, although it had sounded like Sam was mourning hers.)

“Danny,” said Maddie, “tell us that you understand.”

“I understand. I don’t test theories without you,” said Danny, grudgingly. “Not even about cool things like flying.”

Maddie scowled. Jack beamed.

“Great!” shouted Jack. He whirled Danny around again. “Let’s go see your data! Where is it?”

“Upstairs,” mumbled Danny. “I’ve got a notebook.”

“A notebook, Mads!”

Maddie sighed. “Alright, let’s see the notebook.”

#danny phantom #fic

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torscrawls · 1 year

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Cold Snap

Bruce tries to protect Phantom during his first real mission but he soon finds out that Phantom needs less protection than he thought.

Words: 4 307

Can be read on AO3!

"Phantom. Stay back," Bruce said gruffly as he pushed the Justice League's youngest member behind himself and out of the line of sight of Poison Ivy. She was currently calling forth a small jungle in the middle of the street; vines forcing their way up through the pavement, stems and roots rapidly growing up the sides of the surrounding buildings as they sprouted a copious amount of leaves and flowers.

Predictably, Phantom immediately tried to protest, "It's fine, I can–"

"No," Bruce cut him off as he drew a batarang, "she's dangerous."

Bruce gritted his teeth. Of course Ivy had to show up when it was just him and Phantom on the scene, and unprepared for a confrontation to boot. Bruce had been showing Phantom around Gotham—not giving his new son a tour of his place, no matter what his other children said—but because he wanted Phantom to have the tactical advantage of knowing his surroundings if he ever had to fight in the city. Which proved to have been a very valid point, considering their current situation.

It would be a tough fight to go head to head with Ivy while keeping Phantom safe at the same time. At least the civilians in the area had almost all completely fled by now; routine and repetition really did wonders for the effectiveness of evacuation.

Phantom scoffed. "She's just producing a few flowers. This isn't the first time I've faced someone who's controlling plants, you know?"

Bruce was now positive that Phantom wasn't used to fighting real threats and was severely underestimating the danger. The young ghost had been a part of the Justice League for a fairly short amount of time—coming with them on missions and helping out where his specific skill set was required—but it was enough for Bruce to come to the conclusion that he was an enthusiastic teenager with a lot of potential in the sneaking-around-undetected-business, but he was generally a bit too impatient or just plain untrained to make full use of his potential.

Then again, he hadn't been involved in a full-blown confrontation since he joined the League, but what little fighting Bruce had seen him do was sloppy and more haphazard than he would have liked.

Bruce might have made a mental note to offer some hand-to-hand training for the boy as soon as they had the time to spare. Only to make sure he wasn't a liability in the field. Of course.

But to do that Bruce needed to keep him safe, so he tried to put as much seriousness into his voice as he could as he growled out, "This isn't up for debate, Phantom."

Phantom's retort was drowned out by the deafening sound of a car getting crushed beneath a mass of twisting vines and then by Poison Ivy's voice ringing out across the street, "Enough with all the pollution! Enough with all the destruction! Enough with—"

Before Bruce could stop him, Phantom had called back, "Isn't that a bit ironic considering what you're doing?"

Ivy's eyes fixed on him and Bruce swore under his breath. Of course he had to call her attention to him. Of course. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Phantom! It's…not nice to meet you, but, you know. Hello."

That seemed to stump her for a second before she laughed. "I like you. Too bad you sided with the wrong side."

Phantom crossed his arms over his chest. "You're the one hurting people and destroying things."

Batman sent him a warning look, trying to get him to stop antagonizing her.

If there was one thing that was good about Ivy, it was that she tended to at least be possible to argue with, to try and find another solution. She did what she did out of a misguided sense of justice, not to simply destroy and hurt. But that also meant that Phantom shouldn't needlessly push her.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head, looking very disappointed. "If that is how you want to view things. Then I guess I have to hurt you too. And Batman, of course."

Ivy added the last part with a wink in his direction and Bruce's frown deepened as he raised his batarang and breathed out to steady himself, and then he stopped. He frowned as he took in the way his breath was misting in the air in front of his face. In the middle of July.

And now that he thought about it, he did notice that it was an unmistakable and sudden chill in the air. He hadn't noticed because of his thick armor and focus on Ivy, but it seemed like they might have another threat on their hands. He cast a quick glance around to try and spot the new variable in this increasingly unpromising equation, and that was when he noticed that Phantom had gone very still at his side.

Bruce risked a quick glance down to check on him, not wanting to take his eyes off the enemy but needed to check that their young member was okay. He didn't have time to babysit him right now, but he couldn't just look the other way if a kid was panicking right next to him. Especially a kid that Bruce had indirectly dragged into the situation himself and was partially responsible for. So he said, in a voice that was only slightly gruff, "You don't have to be scared. I'll protect you."

It came out less reassuring and more annoyed than he had been aiming for, but hey, at least it was something. Bruce privately thought he was getting better at this whole comforting people business, but then Phantom shook his head. "I'm not scared."

Bruce opened his mouth to say that it was okay to be scared, that he knew Phantom wasn't used to fighting real battles against strong enemies, but before he could say anything Phantom spoke again, and this time it was with an echo and a snarl and loud enough that Ivy would be able to hear, "I'm angry."

That… was not what Bruce was expecting him to say. "What?"

All thoughts that the sudden drop in temperature could be caused by a natural occurrence flew out the window as Phantom's stillness seemed to spread—both through the ghost himself and through the environment around them—and goosebumps broke out all over Bruce's body as the temperature dropped even further. It came from Phantom.

This was unlike anything Bruce had seen from him before and he hated to admit it, but it was an unknown, something he hadn't taken into account, and he decidedly did not like it. So he turned to his companion and asked, "Phantom?"

But Phantom didn't have time to answer before Ivy spoke up, "Well, if you won't listen there's only one way to make sure this all ends…" She raised her hands and with them, all the vines surrounding her rose up too. "I have to take control of everyone's minds and make them respect nature!"

Bruce cursed under his breath as a cloud of spores erupted from the flowers around her, immediately starting to disperse in the wind as it carried the cloud deeper into the city, and thankfully away from him and Phantom.

Bruce threw his batarang at the closest wine, not waiting to see it connect before throwing three more in quick succession.

"What is it with you plant-people and mind control?!" Phantom growled out from next to him, and his voice was no longer anywhere close to human.

A shudder traveled down Bruce's spine and he couldn't tell if it was due to the sound of Phantom's voice or the sudden and steep drop in temperature, making the surroundings, impossibly, even colder.

He could already feel numbness spreading through his fingers and toes as he started shivering as a chill settled in, deep in his bones and much too fast to be natural. Bruce threw another batarang and watched as it missed its mark.

"Phantom!" Bruce barked out as he looked to his teammate and the blooming frost that branched out from where he floated, looking like deceptively beautiful and delicate latticework.

"Aww, what a pretty ice-show," Ivy cooed with a laugh. "Let me take Batman here out of the picture and we can talk. Just the two of us."

A vine shot out towards Bruce and he cursed himself from getting distracted. The cold surrounding him made him slow enough that he wouldn't be able to duck in time, he just had to trust that his armor would protect–

Or not.

The vine suddenly stopped in mid-air, overtaken by ice.

Phantom rounded on Ivy. "How dare you threaten my friend?!"

By now, the air was cold enough to hurt going in and Bruce had to struggle not to gasp as his shivering turned into painful shaking. It was cold and it was all his brain could focus on. Cold cold cold cold—

Bruce managed to convince his legs to move enough to take a couple of stumbling steps away from Phantom, hating that the action wasn't a conscious decision, and hating eve more that it left Phantom's side vulnerable. But his colleague didn't seem to mind, instead it was Ivy who looked suddenly exposed and unsure.

And Bruce couldn't blame her, and he definitely couldn't fight like this; while having to keep an eye on his ally at the same time. He needed his head clear, and to do that, he needed Phantom to calm down and stop whatever it was he was doing. Preferably now.

"Phantom. Calm down," Bruce tried again through chattering teeth, "You have to stop this."

But Phantom didn't seem to hear him, or if he did he ignored him, as he kept addressing a wide-eyed Ivy. "You have nothing on Undergrowth, and I won't allow you to destroy the city. It takes ages to restore the damages caused by the roots."

At the end of the sentence, Phantom's eyes blazed blue and Bruce realized that he couldn't remember a time in his life where he had ever been this cold. But wait… Maybe he wasn't cold? Bruce realized that he almost felt warm on top of alarmingly tired. Bruce blinked. That… was a bad sign, wasn't it?

When he blinked again he got distracted by the sight of his own eyelashes laden with frost, and then, again, by the sight of all the plants surrounding them suddenly freezing in place. Bruce watched in horrified fascination as a second later, they all turned brittle and hard before crumbling to pieces, and he realized—to his horror—that despite how cold he felt, Phantom was somehow protecting him from the worst of it.

His aching eyes landed on Phantom where he floated perfectly unaffected by everything going on around them, and even Bruce's struggling brain managed to come to the conclusion that he might have severely misjudged Phantom's skill set and what he was capable of.

It hadn't been Phantom's safety he should have been worried about

Ivy seemed to share his conclusions as she didn't waste any more time before turning and beginning to stumble away.

Which proved to be a mistake as it prompted Phantom to move, and with him all the pressure, all the focus of the sudden all-encompassing cold moved as well. Like an avalanche rolling down the street, unstoppable and terrifying.

Ivy stopped, frozen to the spot as he approached, wide eyes fixed on Phantom's form, and Bruce couldn't tell if that was because she was actually frozen to the ground, or if she was simply frozen in fear.

And then it was as if Phantom shed the burden of all that heavy power, and in an instant the slow inevitability of his movements switched to swiftness and Phantom faster than Bruce could follow, faster than he had ever seen him move before, and in the blink of an eye he was in front of Ivy and with his hands raised towards her—his expression was completely blank and deathly cold as his normally lively eyes held nothing but ice.

Bruce felt a sudden dread twist his gut.

What if he was about to kill her? He couldn't allow that. Not while he was there—he couldn't just stand by as the League's youngest member become a murderer. A voice in his head whispered that he apparently knew nothing about his team member and that Phantom might very well already be one.

How he managed to get his aching throat to produce words was beyond him, but he did manage to croak out, "Phantom, stop!"

And—this time—thankfully, Phantom did.

He tilted his head in Bruce's direction with a questioning look in his eyes. "Shouldn't I capture her?"

Capture her. Of course. The relief he felt at that barely registered beneath the mind-numbing cold and even if he wanted to, he couldn't give an answer as his shivering lips and hacking teeth refused to form any more words. Instead, he settled for gesturing with a shaking hand around them and to his throat, hoping that Phantom would catch on to what he meant.

Phantom frowned in confusion for a second before his eyes widened with sudden realization. "Oh, right. Sorry. Wait a second."

And, just like that, warmth started to spread across the street and across Bruce himself and he could feel a painful tingling starting up in his fingers as they came back to life.

The next breath he took almost burned on the way down as his frozen throat thawed.

Phantom looked the same as ever, as if controlling the very climate of a whole street was nothing to him, as if commanding the power of a tundra, an ice storm, was nothing to him.

Maybe it wasn't.

Ivy sank to her knees and Bruce would have followed her if he hadn't managed to lock his knees at the very last second, a skill honed after countless times of staying on his feet for far longer than he really should have.

Bruce forced his throat and mouth to work. "Don't hurt her."

Instead of answering him, Phantom turned to Ivy and asked, "Will they be okay? The people you mind controlled?"

She nodded. "Yes. It will wear out in an hour and they will be unharmed. I won't ask them to do anything. Please, you have to believe me, I just wanted to help—"

She stopped speaking abruptly when a Phantom moved, and Bruce had a second to tense up before he saw that Phantom simply crossed his arms and nodded as he said, "Alright."

And it felt like a judgment.

Bruce let out a slightly unsteady breath. He had thought he had become used to powerful beings, what with aliens, literal superheroes, and living legends being on his team, but this was foreign in a way not even the aliens they had encountered were. This was foreign to life itself.

After Bruce was able to move again, they made short work of capturing Ivy and sending her back to Arkham. For once, she didn't argue or try any tricks to get away, her eyes stayed locked on Phantom the whole time until she was taken away.

When it was only the two of them left, together with a couple of small and inconspicuous puddles that was all there was left of all the frost and ice, as well as quite a lot of destroyed plant matter, Bruce turned to face his teammate.

And all of a sudden, he started to doubt what had transpired; his brain having trouble connecting what had just happened with the innocent looking boy in front of him. But the street around them as well as his own shaking body spoke of the truth. That it had really happened.

Besides, the whole street as far as he could see bore traces of the melted ice and the crumbled plants. He felt himself hesitate for a split second at the implications of that—at the sheer size of whatever power Phantom had unleashed so casually and at the potential danger that it posed.

But then Bruce looked back at Phantom's face and the way he was keeping his earnest attention on Bruce—waiting for what he was about to say; waiting for his judgment—and felt himself relax.

Phantom had never done anything since he'd met him to earn his distrust and to his surprise, Bruce found that he didn't want to ruin that. His children had told him that he was too paranoid for his own good and maybe this was the time to start working on changing that; to prove them wrong.

Bruce fixed Phantom with what he hoped was a stern look and said, "Let's go debrief."

Phantom at least had the sense to look faintly ashamed. "Are you sure? Shouldn't we—"

"Watchtower. Now."

This time, Phantom followed him without further debate, and Bruce breathed out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure that he would be able to force Phantom to come if he didn't want to.

As soon as they arrived at the Watchtower, Bruce led Phantom to an empty meeting room and closed the door before anyone could stop them to talk. He was grateful for the effectiveness of his glare in keeping people away.

Bruce placed his hands on the table and fixed Phantom with a stern glare. "We need to have a serious talk about following orders. As well as withholding important information."

Phantom grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so angry. I just… Hated that she threatened you. I couldn't just—"

Bruce cut him off with a stern, "I can take care of myself." He couldn't have a young boy risk himself in a misguided attempt to protect him. "But I need you to listen to what I say in the field."

Phantom looked like he wanted to argue for a second, before he deflated. "Yeah, sure. I'm sorry."

Bruce had sons of his own; he could tell Phantom didn't mean it, so he raised an eyebrow and stared him down in silence until the boy broke.

"Okay, fine! I'm not sorry! I could help in that situation and to stand back and do nothing wouldn't have helped anyone!"

And that was a good segue way into the other topic Bruce wanted to discuss. "Why haven't you used those powers before?"

Phantom hesitated. "I was scared of hurting you guys. We've only really been on missions in small spaces and my skill set isn't really made for that." Then he paused with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, except for the invisibility and intangibility and stuff, but that's just basic powers, you know? Every ghost can do that."

Bruce had thought that was his only skill set.

He mentally tried to re-categorize everything he knew about his teammate, and started on making new contingency plans.

Phantom took a deep breath. "I normally try to hold back a bit. I know humans aren't really as durable as ghosts and I don't want to hurt anyone more than I have to, I don't want to destr–"

Phantom cut himself off, a pained expression flashed across his face, but it was gone before Bruce could get a good read on it.

And that was part of the problem, wasn't it? He didn't know enough about Phantom to know what to expect, not really.

He had been blindsided by Phantom's apparent youth and humor, how willing he was to cooperate, and how happy he always was to interact with the other members of the league. But Bruce knew, better than most, that appearances could be deceiving.

He should have dug deeper.

He had just assumed that there wasn't anything more to dig up on a dead child. That had been a faulty conclusion. He was getting weak. Lenient.

Well, he could start to work on fixing that now.

So Bruce crossed his arms and fixed Phantom with what he hoped to be a stern stare. "Why didn't you tell us you had powers like that?"

"I promise I didn't mean to keep it from you guys! It's just… I forget."

Bruce raised an eyebrow in question. Forgot what? He wanted to see where Phantom went with this. Thankfully, Phantom seemed to take the hint and elaborated, "My powers."

Okay, Bruce took it back. That didn't really clear anything up.

After a few silent seconds in which Phantom didn't seem to think he needed to explain further, Bruce caved and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean I forget what my powers are sometimes. Or at least some of them."

"…What?"

Was Phantom messing with him? He couldn't seriously mean that he didn't know his own powers?

"Yeah… I know it's bad."

Bruce blinked. Or… He was serious. "How can you not know what your own powers are?"

"It's not my fault I get new ones all the time! I mean, of course I know about the ones I use on the regular, but the others… I get new ones so often it's hard to keep track!"

Well wasn't that a terrifying admission? Bruce almost didn't want to ask, "How many do you have?"

Phantom paused with a thoughtful expression on his face. Bruce wanted to cut in that it was a fairly straightforward question.

Then Phantom groaned and threw his hands in the air as he exclaimed, "Well that's the problem, isn't it?! I'm not sure!"

He couldn't really be serious, could he…?

Bruce looked into Phantom's eyes that were once again back to their familiar green color, and found only honesty there. Well, honesty and a fair share of annoyance and resignation.

What was he meant to say to that? He got new powers just like that? Was that typical for ghosts?

…How was he supposed to keep a detailed list of his teammate's powers if Phantom himself didn't even have the information and if it changed all the time?

Phantom seemed to take Bruce's silence as disapproval, which wasn't completely wrong, as he raised his hands defensively in front of him and plowed on, "I didn't know that was, like, a requirement for you guys! There's nothing I can really do about it."

"What about making sure you know your current powers before going into dangerous situations, at the very least?" Bruce barely recognized his own voice, he sounded so exasperated.

Phantom looked at him as if his statement was in any way shape or form an intelligent and revolutionary one. "That might actually be a good idea. I can try to write a list down if you want?"

"I can help you compose the list." The words were out of his mouth before he had made the conscious decision to say them and Bruce cursed himself as soon as he let them slip. His teammate might get the wrong idea that he wanted to help him out of the goodness of his heart, but it was simply to keep a closer eye on Phantom and learn his strengths and weaknesses. Of course. Nothing else.

Phantom stared at him in silence for long enough that even Bruce started to second-guess himself, before he broke the quiet with a barely audible but clearly awed, "You would do that? For me?"

Bruce cleared his throat. "It would be bad to not know your powers. It makes you a liability and a danger in the field."

"Aww, you care about me!"

"Of course I—" Bruce cut himself off. He would not admit to something like, especially not for a colleague of all things. And of course he didn't. He just needed good intel to make sure a repeat of today never happened again. What if next time Phantom got hurt or—

No. What if next time, Phantom compromised the mission. That was what he cared about. Only that.

Phantom's green eyes suddenly shone with tears and Bruce stood up straighter. Please, Bruce begged silently, please don't start crying. He hated it when his kids cried. Not that Phantom was one of them. Of course not.

But then a wide grin slowly spread across Phantom's face, stretching his mouth wide and squinting his shining eyes into mirthful crescents. The innocent picture was slightly ruined by his fangs peeking out from between his lips. "I care about you too!"

Those words shouldn't have almost made Bruce smile back, but he forcibly reminded himself to focus on his faulty assumptions and on the risks this whole thing posed instead of the warmth spreading through his chest. And Bruce could admit to when he had been wrong, despite what his sons said, but it had been a long time since he had been this wrong about something or someone. He didn't like the feeling, and he would make absolutely sure it didn't happen again. And that no one found out that it had happened.

He shook his head, forced the small smile off his face and said, "Prepare a list of all the powers you do know about until tomorrow."

Phantom sloppily saluted him with a grin. "Yes, sir!"

Bruce scowled harder, but it only made Phantom's grin widen. He needed to make sure Phantom knew the importance of this.

"And next time I tell you to do something, you do it," Bruce growled out.

Phantom nodded, still grinning. "If it's not too stupid."

Bruce could recognize when he had lost an argument and decided to take what he could get.

The next day Bruce found a note on his desk at the Watchtower with a long list of increasingly absurd powers in a very scratchy handwriting covering both the front and back and covered his face with his hands as he groaned.

They had a long way ahead of them.

#dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp fic #danny phantom fic #phic #i'm sick and i'm tired and that means i'm back on my bullshit #have some more op danny #just confusing bruce with his usual shit #i hope you enjoy!#my writing

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just-french-me-up · 10 months

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(In)somnia Veritas

Fandom : The Sandman (AO3 link) Pairing : Dreamling (Dream x Hob) Rating : G | 1.8k Tags : Angst & Comfort, Retired Dream, Post Wake Fix-it, Established Relationship Summary : No longer Dream of the Endless, Morpheus spends his first night as a human at Hob's, struggling with his new condition. He can not sleep. He will not sleep. How could he, when wakefulness is all he has ever known?

Hob had expected the craziness of it all to keep him awake. The Kindly Ones. The Fates. Daniel Hall. Dream of the Endless, now, for all intents and purposes. It all whirled in his head as he settled in bed, Dream―Morpheus' form next to him, already still from sleep.

Hob's gaze lingered for a moment. He didn't look changed. Even like this, very much asleep and vulnerable, his lips slightly parted in a shallow, slumbering breath, Morpheus still looked like the powerful being he'd been, mere hours ago. Human. It hardly seemed thinkable. Hob had been around for a while, and never had a human ever looked like that. Yet another rule broken tonight, it seemed.

As his head hit the pillow, Hob could feel the heaviness of the day weighing on him, a crown of lead encasing his head, a migraine he resigned himself to fight all night. Instead, sleep took him the second he closed his eyes, his body melting away, as though engulfed by a wave.

The rest was for Dani―Dream of the Endless to know.

It was still dark when sleep loosened its grip around him. Disoriented, Hob rolled drowsily on the mattress, expecting to meet the cold yet substantial shape of Drea―Morpheus' body, yet only found more sheets.

Confused, he cracked an eye open, his hand instinctively patting the empty space, as though he would find Morpheus hidden between the folds somewhere. Nothing. Hob's heart jolted wildly in his chest, pumping bitter bile in his throat. The Fates changed their minds, panic whispered in his ear instantly. They've taken him back. They could not let him be.

Slapped awake, Hob sprung out of bed, blood thrashing in his ears. I've got to get him back, he kept thinking. I must get him back. He did not know where to start, how to work out any kind of summons or strike any sort of supernatural bargain (those had a tendency to find him, not the other way around), but he would figure it out, he had to, he would even call―

His hand still tense on the doorknob, Hob froze in his tracks.

In complete darkness, Morpheus was sitting on his couch, his thighs pressed against his chest, still wearing the old t-shirt Hob had given him as improvised sleepwear. He barely seemed to notice the interruption. He barely seemed to breathe, for that matter. He simply sat there, statuesque, his eyes burning a hole into the opposite wall.

Relief flooded through Hob at the sight, no matter how eerie it felt. He was there. He hadn't gone anywhere. His hand relaxed around the doorknob, though his heartbeat had trouble adjusting.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, his voice slightly hoarse.

There was no acknowledgment of his presence, or answer. Still as a rock, Morpheus kept staring at the wall, his face blank.

Hob dared a few steps closer.

"Can't sleep?" he tried again, cautious not to startle him as he neared the couch. He considered switching on the lights, but quickly decided against it. It felt like one of those matters that were best discussed under the cover of darkness. The constant London light pollution would have to do.

"It's all so... silent."

Hob stilled, caught off guard by the sound of Morpheus' voice. It was still his, undeniably, every note, every inflection, but it missed... something. An edge. A preternatural depth that rose from the dawn of times, when the first being laid down and dreamt on its first night. A human did not need such speech. Like the rest, it now belonged to Daniel.

Hob approached him, electing to sit at the edge of the couch rather than directly next to Morpheus.

"You think this is silent?"

He had grown used to the constant whir of London life, every new century bringing new sounds to the mix, but there was no ignoring the myriad of dogs barking outside, the drunk students talking much louder than social norms would allow during the day, and the ballet of bin lorries and automated street cleaners. Could Morpheus not hear that?

"How can you bear it?"

Slowly, Morpheus' eyes left the wall to settle on Hob, turning to face him. Even with the lack of proper lighting, Hob could see his eyes clearly. Blue, as the day they first met. And full of apprehension about this world he'd never had to navigate this way, even though his pride would not allow him to put it in such words. This, at least, had been his to keep.

Hob stared at Dream, at a loss for words. If this was silence for him, what hellish racket must have been filling his mind until then? How could he bear it?

"It's all I've ever known," he said, settling for something that felt true, in his core. "I'm sorry. I imagine it must be... jarring."

"It is... unnerving," Morpheus nodded slowly, looking down, as though he would not bear to admit it while looking at Hob in the eyes. "Isolating. Empty. And at the same time..."

"Deafening," Hob supplied helpfully. "I understand."

Of course it felt empty, he thought. When one had spent their entire existence with the collective unconscious at their fingertips, dreams and nightmares echoing into their ears every second of every day, being severed from it must feel like having your head dunked into a bucket of water.

"It is no wonder humans devised all matters of utensils to fill the silence," Morpheus mused faintly. "It kept them from going mad."

Them. Humans. Hob wondered how long it would take Morpheus to see himself as one. Never, perhaps. He struggled to see himself as other than what he was, originally. The only difference between them was that Hob had considerably benefited from the change. For Morpheus, this was hardly a step-up. It was free falling.

There was an urge there, lodged deep into Hob's chest, to reach for Morpheus' hand, to hold him close, to offer him all the reassurance he could provide and then more. But Morpheus was not there yet. This human body ached, Hob knew it. It was new, unused, unacclimated to the world it had been thrown into. It looked every way the body he knew, the one he'd touched, loved, held, once. Not quite, though.

"We could buy you a white noise machine," Hob suggested lightly, pushing down the emotion down his throat. He was here, safe, it was all that mattered, in the end. Hob just needed to be patient.

Morpheus frowned, confused.

"It's a box that makes noise. Some people use it to fall asleep."

There was a huff, and the first hint of a smile on Morpheus' lips since their encounter with the Fates.

"Of course you people fashioned a noise machine."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Hob smiled, purposefully stirring the conversation towards a lighter territory. "Whale songs might be just what you need."

"I doubt it will suffice."

In spite of Hob's best efforts, Morpheus' playfulness was short-lived. His face closed again, returning to its persisting melancholy. Hob leant towards him, inching closer, assessing his lover's reaction, any sign of recoiling.

"What's wrong?"

"I fear I may not be... welcome to the Dreaming."

The admission rolled out of him like a wound, bloody and raw, almost shameful. Hob furrowed his brows.

"You're afraid Daniel may not grant you entry?"

"No, I..."

Morpheus gave out a faint frustrated sigh.

"It is no longer mine to rule. Dream of the Endless endures, outside of me. Perhaps I do not... belong there. My presence could be ill-received."

"Love, I―" Hob bit the inside of his cheek, trying to find the words that would hurt the least. "You will have to sleep at some point. That's... I'm sorry, but that's part of... this."

"I know."

In the darkness, Hob could have sworn he saw a tear trail down Morpheus' cheek, glistening in the light of a nearby street lamp.

"I'm sure Daniel will go easy on you. He's a good kid."

Was a good kid, Hob reminded himself. Daniel was an empty name now. There was no more Daniel Hall. Not really. Dream was what remained.

"It is a terrible fate I have delivered onto him," Morpheus countered weakly. "It would be fair on his part to torment me for it."

"Morpheus."

Unable to help himself, Hob rested his hand atop Morpheus'. His skin was warmer than usual, he noticed. Human. Instead of pulling away, Morpheus leant towards him, almost nuzzling against his shoulder.

"I have never fallen asleep," he confided softly. "Never dreamt. Not once."

It had always felt odd to Hob that Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares, did not sleep. How scary it must be, for someone who had never done it, to surrender yourself to the hand of another, in your most vulnerable state. Scary enough to leave the bed and avoid sleep altogether.

"I could hold you," Hob suggested gently. "Whatever happens in the Dreaming, it can't harm you here, can it?"

"No. Not really."

Not the most reassuring answer. Nor the clearest. Vagueness was a Morpheus trait, then, not a Dream trait. Good to know.

"I would like that. You, holding me."

"Come here, love."

It happened slowly, inch by inch, but Morpheus nestled into Hob's arms, resting his head in the crook of Hob's neck. Hob could feel his breath blowing against his skin, warm, regular, vital. It was odd, but far from unwelcome. More new than anything else.

"How does it happen? Do I merely close my eyes and wait?"

"Essentially. There is a relaxation aspect to it, though."

Clearly something Morpheus had no experience with either, considering how tense he felt against him.

"You could... breathe with me."

"Breathe with you?"

The suggestion sounded ridiculous in Morpheus' mouth, but Hob was not so easily deterred.

"Yeah, just... just humour me."

It was difficult, at first, for Morpheus to follow the rhythm of Hob's breathing. He was going either too fast or too slow, as though breathing did not come naturally to him, which, in fairness, it did not. It was a conscious effort, every time. After a few minutes of off-beat inhales and exhales, they came to a harmony, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Morpheus had only been pretending to sleep earlier, Hob understood. He could see it now, from the way his face truly relaxed, how his body became more pliant in his arms. If he was not fully asleep, he was getting there, at last.

Hob smiled at the sight, pressing his cheek against his lover's forehead. He could feel Morpheus' pulse where he held him, strong, regular, and undeniably human. Yet no less the man he loved, in spite of the changes.

"Sweet dreams, dear heart."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, knowing full well there was no one to hear, and no one listening, but he could not help but add:

"Let him rest, will you? I don't think he's ever done that in his life. Might as well start this one with something new."

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captain-gillian · 5 days

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'no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft'

2,407 words. rated t. summary: In the wake of a powerful solar storm, Buck and Tommy take to the skies for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the northern lights over California. huge thank you to rachel @sznofthesticks for the beta read <3

After the news of the solar storm and a rare opportunity to see the northern lights in California broke mid-shift, it didn’t take long for the 118 to start making plans. Nobody seemed to want to let the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass by, least of all Buck, who, for the first time in a while, hadn’t even been bothered by the fact it was Taylor Kelly who broke the news on the station television.

The station was a flurry of action as they put into place protocols to prepare for an onslaught of calls relating to the solar storm. Amid the chaos, Hen and her wife, Karen, found the time to make a plan. Karen called Hen and offered to pick her up as soon as her shift ended so they could take the kids out of the city and away from the light pollution for the best chance at seeing the colourful phenomena. And as it always goes, the plan grew quickly. Hen invited Chimney, Maddie and Jee-Yun to join them. Then Chimney invited Ravi, who invited Captain Nash and his wife, Athena. Bobby then invited Eddie and Chris. Finally, Eddie invited Buck. But Buck had already been confirming plans of his own over text.

“Can’t, sorry,” Buck tells him. “Tommy and I already have plans.”

“Next time,” Eddie replies with a smile, and Buck swallows down the urge to remind him the statistical likelihood of a ‘next time’ to see the northern lights this bright in California is more or less zero.

Buck’s phone buzzes in his pocket as he leaves the locker room at the end of his shift; he takes it out to read the message. Butterflies flutter in his stomach when he sees the message is from Tommy. The text is a quick reminder that Tommy will pick him up at ten and not to forget his camera—he’d mentioned once in passing over coffee a passion for photography, and Tommy had committed it to memory.

read the rest on ao3

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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Mm, Daddy Daddy

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Being a student is hard. For your Master's degree, you have to contend with classes, labs, and assignments in addition to feeding yourself. You're treading water coming into the end of the Spring Semester when your roommate tells you she is breaking her portion of your lease and moving in with her new fiancé. You're left at wit's end and you're not sure how you'll make ends meet. Until, that is, a friend and colleague suggests a website called icanbeyourbaby.com. You're not sure what you'll find there, but Jake Seresin is not it. He's everything you've ever dreamed of and more. But can you keep him despite the contract the website insists you draw up? Will this ever be more than a short-term business arrangement? You hope so. Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one. This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact. Warnings: Reader gets paid for her companionship. This is a Sugar Daddy/ Sugar Baby agreement, after all. Word Count: 4354 Author Note: Hello, hello all you beautiful people! I'm insatiable and you only have @desert-fern to blame for putting this thought in my head. Fern, this one is for you! I hope you'll find yourself a Jake to entice you into studying and call you 'His Good Girl'! 🥰 😘 Also, the real ones know. The title for this fic comes from Sam Smith & Kim Petras - Unholy.

AO3: Cross-posted here! Wattpad: Cross-posted here! Anthology Masterlist My Masterlist

College sucks. You love learning, and you love being surrounded by so many different, amazingly talented people. What sucks is how expensive it is. Even with a scholarship, a roommate, and not one, but two full time jobs, you're just barely making ends meet. You've just gotten out of a double shift from hell when you walk into your apartment to see that Joanna, your roommate, has her boyfriend over. They're making out on the couch, and while you'd love to ignore them, you need to make yourself dinner and then write a ten page treatise on the effects of pollution on bivalves due tomorrow during your last class for your final grade.

Just as you're pulling your last Cup Noodles out of the microwave, making a mental note to buy more tomorrow, Joanna speaks up.

"Hey, Blue." She sounds nervous for some reason. "I'm glad I caught you before you headed to your room for the night."

"Hey, Jo!" You sound about as tired as you look. "What's up?"

"Well…. Austinproposedtomeandisaidyes." Her last words are too fast for your already stressed brain.

"One more time, Jo? Slowly?" You point to your head. "My brain's kinda fried and I didn't get any of that."

"I said, Austin proposed to me and I said yes." She's proffering her left hand out to you and you can't help your own squeal of glee as you examine the ring and congratulate her.

"Umm, you're the sweetest, you know that, Blue?" Why does she sound so sad when she’s telling you such nice things? "I hate to do this to you, but, um. Well, I'm moving in with Austin this weekend. Our landlady is letting me break my part of the lease, so the place is all yours."

You just congratulate her again, and watch as she and Austin retreat to her bedroom. When the apartment is quiet again, you begin to think. You dimly note how the fork in your hands goes clattering onto the countertop as you try to mentally catalog how many extra shifts you'll need to take to make your next month's rent payment and pay for classes at the same time. But no matter how you do the math, it doesn't add up. You'd need to work more hours than there are in the day and you still wouldn't have enough money.

It's a conundrum that continues to churn away in the back of your mind as you slurp down the cold noodles and finish writing your paper. You'll need another roommate, at the very least. But summer break has already begun, and you're not likely to find one. Los Angeles is expensive. You mull it over for weeks, even after Joanna moves out. It's your lab partner at the Marine Institute, a girl named Samantha, who suggests an unlikely idea which might just be the most likely solution.

"Create a profile on this site: icanbeyourbaby.com. It's a sugar daddy/sugar baby site. It's full of older men looking for companionship. I started it a couple of months ago and I don't have to worry about anything anymore." It's true. Sammie doesn't look stressed or tired anymore. Her clothes are all new. You thought she'd just gotten a great job, which is why you'd asked if her boss was hiring. You'd never have expected Sammie with her neon pink and yellow hair, piercings and tattoos to be a sugar baby.

You turn the thought over and over in your head, trying to puzzle another way out of your situation without going into prostitution or living in the campus library out of a duffle bag for the rest of the year. When nothing else comes to mind, you fill out a profile on icanbeyourbaby. You stay as true to yourself as you can, feeling heat in your face and ears at the extremely in depth questions about sexual experience and kinks. Finally, you add a selfie taken recently at a friend's birthday party and hit submit. The congratulations screen is so cheery that you almost immediately want to slam your laptop lid down and curl up under your blankets.

But you don't, because right as you try to, huge cheesy letters spell out "Congratulations, you got a match!" You're then routed into a chat window. You've been matched with a user called longhornlover, and when you click onto his profile, your jaw nearly drops out of its socket.

His name, when you read through the details, is Jake Seresin. He's a lawyer working for a law firm downtown. He's just turned 34, and you can't quote this enough, he "needs a pretty girl on his arm for galas, dinners and parties, who is intelligent and able to keep up a conversation". Is this guy for real? At least the age gap isn't too bad. He's only 11 years older than you. Money is apparently no object and when you've flipped back to the open chat window, he's already messaged you asking you to meet him for coffee.

You can't be blamed for saying yes, right? It's way too easy to sink into chatting with Jake on the app. He's more attentive than every man you've ever spoken to and he gives you butterflies every time he messages you good morning.

The day of your first date, you wear your best dress and walk out of your building, prepared to walk to the bus stop in order to make it to your date on time. You're definitely not expecting the shining blue Porsche idling on the street or the six-foot tall man leaning elegantly against the door. Jake's even more gorgeous in person.

You stammer all over yourself as you greet him and then allow him to help you into the car, and whisk you away. He takes you to a little coffee shop outside of the city. The hostess leads you to a secluded booth and hands you a menu that is a leather bound book with no prices anywhere on the pages. It's quiet as you order an iced coffee and hand the menu back over.

"So, Blue, can I call you that?" At your nod, he continues, "Why did you sign up? What made you consider being a sugar baby?"

"Oh, I, um. My roommate just moved out, I'm working two jobs and I don't know if I'll be able to make rent, my school fees or be able to feed myself now that she's not going to be able to split rent with me." Your voice is quiet, ashamed. You're asking a stranger for money, practically.

"You're in school, your profile said. What are you studying?" He glosses over your shame so easily. Rich people really do have different cares from ordinary people like you.

"I'm at University of Southern California - Los Angeles getting my Masters in Marine Biology and Biological Oceanography." At his inquiring glance you continue, elaborating on the program a little bit. You finish up just as your waitress drops off your coffee, twirling her manicured nails in her hair as she smiles fetchingly at Jake. It's very satisfying to see how he doesn't respond to her at all.

"Thank you for telling me about yourself." He takes a sip of his coffee. "So what are you hoping to get out of this arrangement?"

This is the question you've been asking yourself non-stop for the past few days.

"I'd like to not have to worry about whether I'll be able to eat if I pay my rent and tuition. Or if I'll be able to sleep at night if I work and still have assignments I need to complete." You sip on your coffee, praying that all of your nervous sweating hasn't exposed the raccoon circles permanently tattooed under your eyes. "W-what do you want out of this?"

"I want you to be healthy and happy. And, when I have a company party or event to attend, I want you on my arm, smiling and being just as gorgeous as you are right now." His voice is so soft that the butterflies swarm up your esophagus.

"I can do that. Um, what about, um, sex things?" Your voice drops down to a whisper as you say the last words, sinking into your chair while furtively glancing around to see if anyone heard you.

"That's all up to you. I'd love to be able to call you my girlfriend and lavish a bunch of affection on you, including making you feel good. If that's something you're not comfortable with, then let me know." Jake's green eyes are glimmering with amusement as you stutter out your agreement.

Your eyes go even wider when he fishes an iPad out of his briefcase and pulls out a contract. He goes over every inch of it with you, making changes based on your comfort level, and then you both sign. That's how you became a sugar baby.

At the beginning it was all new and exciting. Jake deposited a quarter of a million dollars into your bank account the next morning, calling it your quarterly allowance. A part of you still doesn't believe that he's real. In the six months since that day, you've gone to no fewer than five parties, dressed to the nines in designer gowns with diamonds dripping off of your fingers, throat and wrists and been swanned around as Jake Seresin's girlfriend.

You love the kisses and possessive grip he has on your waist at those events. But you're at the point in your relationship, and it is a relationship - Jake had shredded the contract months ago, where you want more. You want the sleepovers at his penthouse downtown. You want him to call you his Good Girl and mean it as you bounce on his cock. So you take matters into your own hands. One Friday afternoon you let yourself into his penthouse, glad that at least you have the keys and don't need permission to do so. You set your bookbag down on the leather ottoman in the living room and pad into his bedroom.

Jake's bedroom is your favorite place in the entire apartment. It's all pale wood and glass. His bed sits against the sole wall, a plush pillowy California King that you love taking naps in. You walk into the gigantic walk-in closet and pull out one of his button-down shirts, a pale cream one that you love seeing on his golden skin. The fabric is rich and silky and most importantly, ever so slightly transparent. You strip off all of your clothes and swathe yourself in the silky shirt. The cool fabric has your nipples turning into firm points and as you look at yourself in the mirror, you know Jake's going to love seeing you in his clothes, too.

Then comes the next part of your plan. You settle down on the sofa with a throw over your lap and begin to study. Even though you have seduction on your mind, it's still finals season. Now, you wait. You're completely immersed in your Marine Law class when you hear the door open and Jake walks through the door. He's got a bag of groceries in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Hi, doll!" He sounds exhausted.

"Hi, Jake!" Your voice is soft as you wave at him from your blanket burrito on the couch.

"How was your day, baby?" He sounds exhausted. You answer him from the couch, barely noticing him until you feel a kiss press against the side of your head. It's Jake, now dressed in just a pair of sweats with damp hair.

"When did you shower?" You can't help the confusion in your voice as you rub at your eyes from behind the frames of your glasses.

"Twenty minutes ago, baby." You can feel the amusement in his voice. "What're you so immersed in, huh?"

"Marine law." You keep scanning the slides in front of you, ignoring how his hands are tracing across your shoulders.

"Y'know, baby doll, I am a lawyer. So you can ask me for help if you want?" You can feel your resolve flagging as he sets your laptop down, unwraps you slowly from the throw, and tugs you into his lap. His hands trail teasingly over the bar expanse of your thighs, pausing at the junction of your hips, caressing the soft bare skin there.

"What do we have here, Baby Blue?" His voice is deep and velvety as he rucks the shirt up a little, knuckles firm against your bare stomach.

"W-wanted to wear your shirt, Daddy." You can hear the rumble of his voice as he groans, trailing his fingers over your peaked nipples and back down to the apex of your thighs.

"And the rest of your clothes?" He's got a firm grip on each thigh, tugging them apart until your bare pussy is completely exposed.

"I-I took 'em off. Just wanted to be surrounded by your scent, Daddy." Your voice is a mewl as Jake massages teasingly over your clit, the barely there touches sending even more heat coiling through your veins.

"And you decided to be my good girl and study while you waited for Daddy to come home?" His calloused fingers pluck at your nipples with each word.

"Y-yes." Your chest is heaving, your mind going fuzzy and blank as Jake's - no - Daddy's hands rob you of all thought.

"You've been such a good girl, baby doll. D'you want your reward?" The fondness in Daddy's voice has you writhing as his hands open your tight walls up for him.

"Yes please, Daddy! Please!" He lifts you up with one thick forearm before working the sweats down to his knees. Now, you can feel Daddy's cock as it glides over your weeping hole as you wriggle in his lap.

"Come sit on this cock, Blue, baby." He punctuates the order with kisses that steal the breath from your lungs. You love when Daddy kisses you like this. You tug the constricting button down off, and carefully sink down onto his hard length. Daddy's cock is so big and thick that it nearly splits you apart. Each inch has your mouth open in a silent scream, and when he bottoms out, you're sweaty and exhausted. Your skin feels too tight and electric shocks are zipping across every inch that he touches.

Daddy takes pity on you, letting you quiet on his cock, feeling how your walls clench around his length as you settle back against his chest.

"God, look at you, baby Blue. So pretty, my good girl, impaled on Daddy's cock like that." Daddy's big hands cup your tits, and you shudder before melting further into his arms. After several moments, he leans forward, tugging your laptop back onto your lap. "Gotta make sure my good girl is comfy. That she knows daddy is here for her always. Now, you sit here and study. If you're good, I'll fuck you until you scream later."

You're already so wet and aching for Daddy, that it'll be sweet torture to spend so long impaled on his length. His cock is pressing up against all the parts that make you see stars. But you're Daddy's good girl. So you do what he says. The first few pages, you're completely distracted, wriggling around in Daddy's lap, wanting more stimulation. But eventually you fall into a flow state, Daddy's presence comforting.

You lose time. You must, because it's dark when the laptop closes and Daddy peppers kisses across your exposed shoulders. You're still impaled on his length, each thick inch pressing against your walls in the perfect way. You're slow to respond to the teasing caresses, nuzzling against the palm of Daddy's hand sweetly.

"Aww, baby Blue. You're so good for me, doll." Daddy's voice sounds so fond and it makes a small part of you light up. His praise and gentle words make you feel even better than his cock buried in you. When he lifts you off of his length, you sob at the empty feeling, weeping cunt clenching on nothing where it had once been wrapped around Daddy.

Before you can blink, you're splayed out on your back on Daddy's comfy leather sofa. He's crouched between your legs, gazing raptly at your heat as he pets across your hips and lower belly in slow soothing strokes.

"D-daddy?" Your voice is tiny, as you try to swivel and nudge your hips closer to him.

"Yeah, baby doll?" Daddy punctuates his words with kisses against your inner thighs and your mound. Your mind whites out a bit at the pressure as he flattens his tongue over your fluttering, wet slit. His voice is smug as he continues, "D'you want something from Daddy, baby?"

You don't get the chance to respond, though. Between one breath and the next, you're being treated like a steak dinner placed before a starving man. Daddy feels like he's everywhere. His mouth and fingers devour you whole. Your entire body feels like a live wire, warring sensations dancing like electric currents across your skin as the band in your gut winds tighter and tighter. It feels like you're on a tightrope, dangling over a cliff.

Each heaving breath feels like too much and yet not enough oxygen is entering your lungs. You're begging and babbling, tugging on Daddy's hair in graceless sweeping motions as your mind forgets how to move or do anything than be at Daddy's pleasure. It's when Daddy growls against your cunt that you cum, screaming his name as your muscles lock with the force of your orgasm.

When you come back to yourself, it's on the cool satin sheets of Daddy's big bed. You feel wrung out and exhausted, mind floaty even as your limbs struggle to cooperate. You've just managed to sit up when Daddy wanders in, holding a condensation covered glass in his big hand. You make grabby hands for him, smiling as he drags you against his chest as you sip on the cool juice in the glass.

"How are you feeling, baby?" You nuzzle in closer, sleepily peppering kisses across his chest.

"Feel good, Daddy. Y'always make me feel good." The kiss Daddy presses against your lips consumes you body and soul. It takes several moments before you collect your frayed strands of thought.

"B-but, what about you, daddy? Did you cum?" Your voice is soft as you take his length in your hand.

"No, Blue, baby." His breathing hitches with each pass of your hand as you work his length in your fist. "But you don't have ta'...... Ahh!"

Each stuttering breath makes your smile just a little wider. Daddy's so pretty, his tawny mane of hair spread out against the pillow as a flush spreads across his chest. His big hand is curled around your bare hip as you slowly pump his length.

"Doll, are you just going to tease me all night?" His voice is so fond as he tugs you close.

"No, Daddy." You melt into his chest as he kisses you. Each long slow slide of his tongue plundering your mouth has you pressing yourself closer. You kiss your daddy slowly, losing yourself to the touch.

"D'you want something baby?" There are big hands on your hips, stalling every movement as you try and fail to search for friction.

"Blue!" He's laughing now, peppering kisses across your pouting face as you fight to eke some pleasure out for yourself. But no matter what you do, you don't move.

"What're you searching for, huh, baby?" You growl as a result, stilling your hips as you suck kisses down his throat. You relish in the moans pouring out of Daddy's throat, brattily ignoring the teasing path of his hands across your lower stomach and breasts.

It's the sharp sting of a hand on your ass that has you squeaking and your mouth parting from the hickey you'd been leaving on Daddy's neck.

"Oh, baby. Did that sting?" As Daddy's big hands rub over your aching ass, you arch your back and try to nuzzle closer. But all that does is bring your bare skin closer to his mouth. The first wet press of his tongue to your peaked nipples has you moaning. You're so occupied by the dual sensations of the hands kneading your ass and the wet insistent suction of Daddy's mouth on your tits that you barely notice the pinching insistent pressure as Daddy's dick presses into you.

When Daddy finally bottoms out, you're already a drooling mess. This sugar baby arrangement is the best decision you've ever made. Daddy's a million times better than your first fumbling sexual experience in your prom date's pickup. His thick hard length in you has your pussy fluttering and already has you on the edge of an orgasm. When you're tipped onto your back in the sheets and Daddy starts to move, you're completely at his mercy.

Each thrust has you taking Daddy from root to tip. The entire room is filled with the lewd slapping of sweat-slippery skin against skin. Your breaths are punched out gasps as Daddy draws your legs up to his shoulders, holding them securely against his chest with one thick forearm as the other presses insistently against your engorged clit. Each brush of his calloused fingers coats them in your wetness and tips you even further towards your orgasm. You're babbling, hardly able to keep eye contact with the piercing, intent gaze Daddy's leveling on your sweat slicked skin. You cum with a scream, back arching off the bed.

"Aww, Blue, baby. Look at you! Fucked dumb on Daddy's thick hard cock." Daddy sets your legs back down as he pulls out of you and turns you so your back is pressed against his chest.

"You're going to be good, right Baby?" You're grinding your ass back against Daddy's ass unconsciously even as Daddy wraps a hand around your throat. You love having Daddy all over you like this. Even though you just came, you can't help wanting more. He uses the extra leverage to kiss your slack mouth until a thread of saliva stretches between your mouths.

"Daddy's gonna fuck your wet little pussy just like this with a hand around this little throat until you gush for me." His voice slows to a hiss as he teasingly runs his finger through your sensitive folds. "And you, baby. You're going to tell your daddy exactly how good he feels in that pretty little pussy."

You're nodding frantically, but that's not enough for Daddy. He smacks your pussy, tapping it until you're writhing against the steel hold he's got around your waist.

"Y-yes, Daddy! Yes! I can do that!" Your voice is a high pitched keen as you sob your relief at having Daddy buried inside you again.

He starts off slow, keeping the pace teasing as he pulls out of you until just the tip is sheathed and burying himself in you over and over again. Your hands are grasping onto his arms with all your strength, as you let Daddy chase his pleasure in you. His hand is firm against your throat, the pressure making you lightheaded and the sensations setting your blood aflame. With each slap of his hips against your ass you're telling him how good he feels. He's so big and thick you can't help it.

"Blue, baby." Daddy's voice is a purring growl which has your pussy dripping even wetter as your third orgasm builds. This one is going to be even harder than the last one. His hands pinch and tug at the heavy swell of your tits as they bounce with each thrust. "Cum for me, pretty baby. C'mon. You can do it. Cum for daddy."

"Yes, Daddy. Right there! M'so close. Wanna cum on your cock. Please. Please. Please. Please." You're still babbling for permission when Daddy's hands slide down to your clit and massage on the bud in time with his thrusts. When you come, it feels like you've been struck by lightning. You see stars behind your eyes as your orgasm builds and crests, seeming to never end. You vacantly feel Daddy empty himself in your sopping cunt, but that's it.

When you wake up, it's in the big bathtub in the master ensuite. There are hands carefully massaging shampoo into your hair and the water is steaming in the quiet night air. There's a deep relaxation weighing your muscles and bones as you blink yourself awake.

"Hey, Blue. How d'you feel?" It's Dadd- no, Jake, who's making you feel good.

"I feel so good, Jake." You kiss his wrist before turning so you can kiss him. He hefts you into his arms, not caring in the slightest that you're dripping soap and water all over his floor.

"You're back up, huh, baby?" At your nod, he kisses you before continuing. "I know you told me you've never been so far down before. And it definitely wasn't discussed. Was that okay, for you?" He sounds so worried as he sits on the tile with you dripping all over him.

"I'm perfect, Jakey. Perfect. It was everything I needed and more. If you liked it, I'd love to be your Baby Blue again?" You hope he'll agree. You love being Daddy's baby and brat.

"Absolutely, you can. But for the rest of tonight, how about we curl up on the sofa? I made some pasta and garlic bread." He grins at your nod before joining you in the tub again. This? You wouldn't give this up for anything in the world.

"Hey, Blue?" He sounds sated and sleepy.

"Yeah, Jake?" You cuddle closer to him and kiss his skin.

"Move in with me?" He sounds nervous. Like you’d reject him? After everything you’ve built a relationship with him? Not possible. You can’t believe what he’s asking you. You can’t even pretend to think about it. Your mouth runs away before your brain even processes the words screaming, "YES!" while you kiss him until he’s breathless again. This man? You’re going to keep him forever.

Taglist:

@desert-fern 🥰 @mayhemmanaged 🥰 @cassiemitchell 🥰 @thedroneranger 🥰 @cherrycola27 🥰 @roosterforme 🥰 @roostette 🥰 @dakotakazansky 🥰 @bobby-r2d2-floyd 🥰 @sarahsmi13s 🥰 @lovinglyeternal 🥰 @lovingbradshawafterdark 🥰 @mamaskillerqueen 🥰 @chaoticassidy 🥰 @genius2050 🥰

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun smut #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #hangman smut #reader insert #smut #Spotify

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lumierexfics · 4 months

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Chat Log Name : Original Sin

Chat log description: After eating the forbidden fruit, Archangel? Gabriel soothes your distraught behavior.

Online Users : Alternate Archangel Gabriel, You

A/N: I’m really rusty for tmc!

❗️ CONTENT WARNINGS : Religious references / undertones, Second person POV, Alternate Gabriel being OOC. ❗️

<< AO3 link

It was a mistake, you didn’t mean to take a bite of the fruit. It just looked so delicious with the cooing of the snake that had graciously pulled the fruit with its tail and handed it to you.

The tears came in floods, it was never ending. Hot sand engraved itself onto your skin and beside you was the half eaten fruit, a heavy sensation was pressed on your chest and it couldn’t be the weight of the white burning ball in the blue sky that decided to burn your skin. You didn’t have a origin nor a name since it was forsaken the moment you decided to bite into the fruit nor the feeling of the weight didn’t a name but it had origin; you.

The you before was special, crafted to match your partner that remained in paradise; nothing more. Special before you were polluted by the disgusting sin that you caused. It was your fault, wasn’t it? You should’ve stayed near your partner and you wouldn’t have been drowning in the sin. It was a breeze of wind touching your skin, your hands scraping the pearl walls of the garden and your throat ached from incoherent begging for an entrance back into the garden; why couldn’t it realize it was a mistake? It was an accident.

It seemed to be an Angel flew down from the heavens, beautiful soft feathers shielded your burning skin.

“Born from soil of the garden and dust of the cosmos. Do not weep anymore, favored one.” His cold hand wiped away the tears. “I’m here to guide you to a new paradise.”

“A new paradise?” you said. “I don’t deserve the paradise that you will bring me too.”

The angel’s eyes held warmth that only existed from the fireball in the sky. His lips grew and tugged a faint smile as he tilted his head.

“The paradise that I will bring you too is where you will not weep these tears nor feel the despair on you,” he said, softly. “You are too feeble alone, favored one.”

The boiling sand underneath your feet dissipated and was replaced with strange things that covered the bottom, shoes. These so-called shoes were uncomfortable and shielded you from the aching burning of the sand. He offered his hand for you to grab, the angel’s right. You were feeble alone, outcasted by the very thing that created you. You took his hand.

#the mandela catalogue x reader #tmc x reader #alt gabriel x reader #alternative gabriel x reader #sus gabriel x reader

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eddiediazes · 1 year

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broken pieces fit together

[2.7k words] [rated: teen+] [post-6x10 coda that also scraps 6x11 spoilers for parts, sorry] [hurt/comfort cuddling getting together fic]

[read on ao3]

It’s the middle of the night - the kind of late where it might actually be early, and some of the light bleeding in through the kitchen window has more to do with the sun creeping up towards the horizon than it does with just light pollution in the city.

Eddie had stopped seeing this time of the night for a while. He got lucky. He still remembers, though, and it settles in his body like a kind of muscle memory. He’s well-acquainted with the ache in his skull that spreads out from his eyes, the way fatigue spreads through every one of his limbs. He’s got a glass of water sitting on the counter, and he keeps thinking about trying to make hot cocoa, but he can barely manage to make his fingers twitch to try and grab a pan. Instead, the images from his nightmares keep flashing behind his eyelids every time he manages to squeeze them shut, and it’s all he can do to stay upright.

He’s so, so tired, but so tense he can barely move, and he feels like there’s gravel in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow.

“Eddie?” A tired, familiar voice calls out behind him.

For two very separate reasons, Eddie startles. He shakes off his fatigue enough to turn around and cross the room, and he only stops once he’s within arm’s reach of Buck, just in case. He reaches out as if he might steady him, but hesitates with his palms hovering over the bare skin of Buck’s biceps.

“What are you doing up?” Eddie asks him quietly, eyes checking over Buck’s body for any unfamiliar signs of further damage - catching only briefly on the new scar that spreads over his chest.

“Woke up and you were gone,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I got - I don’t know, just- I don’t wanna say nervous.”

Eddie shakes his head just slightly, and finally reaches out to wrap his fingers around Buck’s right elbow, far away from the scar. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You should be resting.”

“I can walk, Eddie,” Buck grumbles - but as Eddie steers him back towards the bedroom, he follows the touch easily.

“I know that, but you still shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

“Don’t really think stumbling into your kitchen counts as straining myself.”

They make it back to the bed, and Buck sits down, as slowly and gently as he’s able. Eddie puts an arm behind him and supports him as he lays back against the pillows. Then he goes around to the other side of the bed to climb in.

It’s a new arrangement, and one they haven’t actually talked about out loud. Obviously Buck couldn’t sleep on the couch right now - and Buck couldn’t seem to stand the idea of Eddie doing it either, so sharing the bed had been the unspoken compromise.

Buck hasn’t really said much about it, but it’s starting to become clear that he had some kind of dream in the coma that he hasn’t managed to shake off completely. Every time he wakes up now, Eddie can see the way his eyes seek out whoever else is in the room, the way they look for familiar landmarks that he can use to ground himself.

Sometimes Eddie wonders if that’s why Buck hadn’t ended up at Chim and Maddie’s new place, and had instead ended up here, at the Diaz house. The loft’s stairs had made it out of the question until Buck was further along in his recovery, but otherwise Eddie had less space than Bobby and Athena or Chim and Maddie - but here Buck is, all the same, sharing Eddie’s bedroom.

All Eddie really knows is that he’s grateful. It soothes him more than he can put into words to have Buck here and close. Even if sometimes the nightmares do still push Eddie out of bed, it still helps to be able to wake up, roll onto his side, and to see Buck lying there next to him, breathing deeply.

Right now, as Eddie does that very thing, he finds Buck looking back at him.

“You don’t have to get out of bed when you have a nightmare, you know,” Buck whispers.

Eddie huffs out through his nose and turns properly onto his side, tucking a hand under his pillow. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Buck huffs out a little breath through his nose. “That’s sweet and all, Eds, but I’ve been sleeping like shit anyways. I’d rather-” Pausing, Buck flicks his eyes up to the ceiling. He opens his mouth, though, and closes it again, and shakes his head.

“You’d rather me wake you up than you wake up alone?” Eddie finishes softly - as gently as he can make his mouth take shape around the words, trying to sand off any edges that might cut or puncture.

Sighing, Buck nods, just one simple move that tucks his chin down towards his chest. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Reaching over with his free hand, Eddie hooks two of his fingers over Buck’s palm, right where it’s resting open on the blankets. “I don’t know what it is that’s - you don’t have to tell me, you know. Not until you want to. But I don’t really want you out of my sight right now either, Buck.”

Another little huff - the closest thing to a laugh that Buck seems able to manage for now. “Think you and Bobby and everybody else would be happiest if you could just set me up in a glass case and keep an eye on me for a little bit.” Buck’s hand twitches a little, then he shifts so he can tangle his fingers with Eddie’s properly, and squeeze tight. “The worst part right now is, I don’t know if I’d mind.”

Nudging closer on the bed, as close as he can get without touching, Eddie pulls Buck’s hand up and wraps his other hand around it, too, curling up around it, fighting against the desperation he feels in every cell of his body to press his lips to Buck’s knuckles or the point of his shoulder. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re all in this with you.”

He tilts his head back up and finds that Buck is looking down at him, right down at his face rather than the awkward curve of his spine or even where their hands are interlocked.

“Eddie, what was your nightmare about?” Buck asks quietly.

Unable to stop it, Eddie laughs, dark and a little strangled. “What do you think? You- I don’t have to say it, Buck, we both know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie urges, shifting around so he can move one hand up to Buck’s chin, nudging it towards him with just one press of his index finger. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t being reckless, we both took all the precautions, it just- happened. You got struck by lightning.” His tone edges into something desperate, and he squeezes at Buck’s hand like it’ll help emphasize his point. “I saw you dangling there - and I don’t think I can ever unsee it. I felt responsible, and I couldn’t help you, and then I couldn’t even do compressions until we got to the hospital, but - please don’t blame yourself. I’m just-”

But there, Eddie stops, because any single word he could say falls short.

He isn’t just happy or relieved or grateful or glad. He can’t make a single one of those words come out. Instead, finally, he manages to edge out, through the grip his own emotions have on his windpipe, “I don’t even know what I would have done, if you weren’t- If anything had happened to you.”

“You-” Buck pauses, and blinks at Eddie. “You sound like how I felt, when you got shot.”

“If you felt like this, I don’t know how you did it,” Eddie admits.

This time when Buck laughs, it’s a little more like a wheeze - a little more sound than the huff. “I still don’t know how I did it. I didn’t even feel like I was - functioning. But I had to be.”

Those days in the hospital, haunting the waiting room waiting for news and feeling like a hollowed out shell - Eddie remembers them well. If Buck really felt like that-

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk about it,” Eddie says, and he sounds like he’s choking back tears, probably because he is.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that, too.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Still isn’t your fault.”

“Still wish I could do something about it.”

“You’re here,” And that - now, out of sheer relief, and the way it’s sweeping through his body all over again, Eddie does pick Buck’s hand up, and he avoids kissing his knuckles only by pressing them against his cheek instead - by feeling the warmth of Buck’s skin pressed just there against his face, just by the corner of his mouth. “You’re alive , Buck. You’re doing plenty.”

“I felt like-” Buck can’t shift much, on the bed, but he turns his hand and brushes his knuckles more deliberately against Eddie’s cheek, down towards the line of his jaw. “Just the fact that you let me take care of you helped me so much. And you couldn’t even - you kept apologizing for not being able to do things on your own, and every single thing you let me do for you, every thing I got to help with, felt like a gift, because you were still here to ask me for it.”

Eddie nods, just once, and swallows. “I know the feeling.”

“Eddie…” But Buck trails off there, and he doesn’t say anything else.

Silence stretches out between them, but their eyes stay locked, and Buck’s fingers are brushing restlessly over the shape of Eddie’s ear.

“I love you,” Eddie says finally, shifting his grip down to Buck’s wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse. “I don’t know that I’ve ever - said it in those exact words, but I should have. When I was telling you about the will or thanking you for helping me out or just - any time you’re over here, I should have said it. I’ve said it fifty different ways without ever telling you that, and it was all I could think about when we didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says - and now that his hand is free, he presses his fingers gently against the mole just below Eddie’s eye. “No matter what, Eddie. I love you, and I love Chris, and I’m so - I’m so glad that I have you in my life, and I’m sorry if any of my stupid - soul searching happiness bullshit made you feel like that wasn’t true.”

That actually makes Eddie smile, a real genuine smile for the first time since he sent Buck up that ladder. “Buck, c’mon. I knew it wasn’t about that.”

“I’m not-” Buck shakes his head, and moves both his hands, reaching them over towards Eddie. “Can you help me turn, please? I need to be facing you for this, I have to do it right.”

He doesn’t even try to ask exactly what it is that Buck’s doing, or trying to do. Instead, he nudges an arm under Buck’s waist and grabs onto one of his hands, and pulls him up onto his side, holding his breath as he tries to make the movement as smooth as possible. Buck exhales with him, once they’re both settled - but suddenly, they’re almost nose to nose. Eddie’s arm is still tucked under Buck’s side, and Buck doesn’t startle or pull away, he just settles there, his hand still holding tightly onto Eddie’s, keeping him close.

“Hi,” Buck says softly.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, just a little bit breathless.

“What I realized isn’t just that I was already happy in general or that I was implying something by saying that I wasn’t, that some nebulous thing was missing. It was-” Buck pauses, and bites at his lip for a moment. “I had this dream where everything in my life was different. And I had never been a firefighter, so we were never partners. I never worked at the 118. And in some ways it was this - picture perfect postcard life, but I felt sick to my stomach, because it was wrong - it was so wrong, and I woke up and realized that I don’t want any of that. I don’t want what I thought life would be like or might be like - I want to feel secure where I already am. I’m not gonna be happy unless it’s here - with you, and Chris - and with the rest of the 118, too, because they’re my family, but my whole - the thing that was missing wasn’t a person, or some outside thing. It was just you. It was the rest of what I didn’t think I could have, with you. Some other couch and some other family isn’t gonna cut it. Someone else’s kid-” Buck finally cuts off, and he tips his head down, breaking eye contact. “I would do anything to get back to you.”

“And you did,” Eddie reminds him quietly, so awestruck it feels like he’s been staring into the sun. The room is actually almost light now, and he can hear birds chirping somewhere down the street. “You came back. And you’re here - in this house, in my bed, instead of with anybody else. And every time you let me help you with anything, since you moved in here, I want to tell you thank you for it. Because it’s proof that you’re alive, and you’re here, and you’re breathing, and I still have a chance.”

“A chance to do what?” Buck asks, tipping his head back up.

“To tell you that I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” Eddie murmurs. “Maybe even, if I got really lucky, to kiss you.”

Buck’s face lights up, and it puts any ray of sunlight to shame. “Eddie.”

“Can I?”

“Please.”

So Eddie does. He shifts just enough to close the centimeter or so that’s left between their mouths, and he brushes his lips against Buck’s. Buck’s mouth is still damp, from the way he’s been biting his lips all throughout their talk, and it means that their lips catch for just a moment, stick in a way that’s somehow both a little uncomfortable and a little perfect all at once. Eddie pulls back just to feel the drag of it, but Buck follows him forward and Eddie gives up, pushing closer again instead, pressing in harder to kiss Buck properly.

It still isn’t rough - there’s no teeth, no biting or tugging, because Eddie is probably being overly cautious in light of Buck’s recovery. The kisses are thorough, though. Slow and lush and lingering - Eddie turns his head to literally brush his mouth against Buck’s, back and forth, a kind of nuzzle. Then he ducks in and kisses Buck’s top lip and his bottom lip in turn, truly trying to feel out the lines in Buck’s lips, the texture, the feel and the warmth of his mouth. Then he opens his own mouth to taste, to lick over the salt of Buck’s skin and to press their tongue together as gently as he can.

They kiss until Buck starts to shiver, and Eddie pulls back out of concern only to find his pupils wide and dark, and they snap right to Eddie’s face as soon as he can focus.

“Eddie,” Buck says out loud, his voice still rough.

“6 out of 10?” Eddie asks, knowing full well that it was the best kiss he’s ever given in his life.

“When I’m feeling better I’m gonna hit you for that,” Buck says - and then he tips forward again, pressing his mouth against Eddie’s, kissing him again, and again, and again, a series of damp little smudges to each corner of Eddie’s mouth and then right in the center. “10 out of 10. 100 out of 10. Keep kissing me like that and it might actually cure me, I’m - 70% sure.”

“Only 70%?” Eddie repeats, wrapping a hand around the back of Buck’s neck. “I think we can do better than that.”

So Eddie tugs him close again, and slides his tongue back between Buck’s lips, and he feels the hum against his tongue, and he shivers with it.

Outside - the sun climbs into the sky, and the birds start to sing in earnest, and any lingering signs of the storm are cleared away.

#buddie fic #911 spoilers #911 on fox #buddie #sorry i went crazy and wrote myself a comfort fic before bed!#goodnight aksmdf

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rosalinrabbit · 1 year

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Wildflower, Wildfire

Over-Pollination part 2 / Blue Banisters Track List

Pairing: Morpheus x Nymph!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight hurt w/ comfort, fluff and feelings, relationship doubts, pre-existing relationship, soul mates?, Morpheus likes to tease reader, smut, sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, possessive sex, slight dom!Morpheus x sub!Reader, cum obsession, begging, breeding kink? Porn w some plot.

Summary: Since Desire’s interference in your relationship with Morpheus, things have been going very well for the two of you. Yet you can’t deny the aching worry in your heart that you’d end up like his other lovers. When you begin to question your place in Dream’s realm, it appears that Desire is trying to interfere once more.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Continuation of Over-Pollination :> Also author makes up some bullshit about how the Dreaming works lol enjoy. Will cross-post to Ao3 later today.

SMUT 18+ / Minors DNI / You are in charge of your own media consumption. Please read responsibly.

Do not translate or re-upload any of my work. Works are only cross-posted on AO3.

< I’ll be like a wildflower

I live on sheer willpower

I’ll do my best never to turn into something

That burns, burns, burns… >

-Lana Del Rey, Wildflower, Wildfire

Entering through the back doors of the palace, you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. Your dress was unwrinkled and your feet, while bare, showed no signs of where you’d been, such was the magic of the Dreaming. You had spent most of the day in the gardens among the flowers, and while you greatly enjoyed the work, you always felt sleepy by the end of the day. Morpheus may not need to sleep, but you were not originally from the realm. Though not human, your body still required some sort of rest to maintain function. However, you never liked going to sleep without seeing your partner.

As Morpheus would likely be busy for a while longer, you made your way to the library, bare feet padding through the castle quietly until you arrived at the familiar door. You often came by at least once a day, picking up or dropping off books and chatting with Lucienne.

“Lucienne?” You called, voice traveling through the long halls with books from floor to ceiling.

“Up here!” You heard her faint voice from above, and ascended the stairs to find her. When you finally found her, she was pulling books off a particular shelf into a stack on the floor, likely going through a certain topic and re-arranging.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, no, my Lady, I’m quite alright. There is, in fact, a method to all of this.”

“I can well believe that,” you smiled. “And stop calling me ‘my lady!’ You know that is a title I do not possess.”

“Perhaps one day,” she smirked. “I know you are still worried that he is not sincere, but I promise you, it is different this time.”

“I hope you’re right. I just couldn’t bear for him to one day regret it, yet live amongst those in his realm that call me their lady. There have been others before me, there may be more after.”

As much as you loved Morpheus, and as much as he seemed to love you now, fear remained in your heart that you would be like the others. Even Queen Titania, who ruled over the fae and the nymphs, was rumored to have had a brief and tumultuous affair with the King of the Dreaming. And yet, people had begun to call you “my lady,” and as it went on, you started gently correcting them, not wanting to take a position that was not truly yours.

“I would never lie to you, y/n. If I say it is different, I mean it. For all of the loyalty I have to my King, I’d never see you hurt. If I had doubts, I’d tell you.”

“I know,” you assured her. “I trust you whole-heartedly, dear Lucienne.”

“I am glad you’re here, as there have been plenty of new books appearing in the non-fiction section regarding the effects of deforestation and pollution on the greater environment of the waking world. Seems like you’ve been making some progress.”

“I am just happy Morpheus lets me interfere in the dreams sometimes,” you laughed, elated that you were successful in turning attention towards mother earth. “It’s a slow process, influencing the waking world. Seeing any improvement is exciting.”

“Y/n!” Matthew cawed from somewhere nearby, and as you and Lucienne looked up, you spotted the black raven hurling toward you. You quickly stepped to the side, and he crashed into the bookshelf next to Lucienne instead of you, causing the pile Lucienne had been making to fall. “Y/n- OW!”

“Matthew,” she scolded. “What have I told you about being careful in the library!”

“Sorry- sorry,” he spoke, shuttering slightly as he righted his wings. “It was an emergency! Morpheus wanted me to warn you that Desire has been spotted in the Dreaming. He has gone to look for them now!”

“Not again,” you sighed. While you didn’t harbor any ill-will towards the other Endless, you certainly did not appreciate being drugged without your will. You would think that would be a given, but even though Desire had successfully meddled in yours and Morpheus’s lives, you feared they wouldn’t stop while they were ahead. What’s to say they wouldn’t ruin your relationship as easily as they started it?

“Maybe you should leave the library, this is where they found you last time,” Lucienne suggested, sending you an apologetic glance.

“I’ll be in Morpheus’s solar,” you spoke, leaning down to pick up a book that had landed by your feet. “I doubt they could have gotten in there- right?”

“Unlikely?” Matthew gave what seemed to be a shrug, before flying over to you and resting on your shoulder. “I’ll come with you! If Desire causes trouble again for you, Lord Morpheus surely will never let me hear the end of it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes and gave a playful swat to the worried bird before bidding goodbye to Lucienne and heading back down the stairs of the library. The halls seemed quiet as usual, and you made it to Morpheus’s solar without trouble. Matthew left your shoulder and perched on one of the arm chairs by the fireplace as you closed the door.

Matthew would not sit still, hopping from chair to chair as you settled into a loveseat by the window, overlooking part of the gardens that you worked in nearly every day. He wasn’t in here often, usually if he did rest he went to his chambers which were connected by a short hallway between, but you wondered if he had ever spotted you working from the windows. Despite Matthew’s endless rattling on, you found your eyes growing tired, and slipping closed. You wouldn’t sleep, you told yourself, you tried to keep listening to the raven talking nearby.

You definitely had fallen asleep, and your only tell was how much the sound of the door opening startled you. Your head tilted up, and you saw a very distraught Morpheus in the doorway.

Matthew had squawked when the door slammed open as well, but was collecting himself. “My Lord! There you are! I watched over Y/n the whole time, Desire didn’t find her.”

Morpheus showed no indication of hearing what Matthew was telling him, for as soon as his dark eyes met yours, they were locked on you.

“Matthew?” He eventually spoke, still not looking at the raven and keeping a quiet, even tone.

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you. Now get out.” He ordered quietly, and Matthew immediately followed his command, probably just thankful not to have angered him.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, now that it was just the two of you. Morpheus calmly closed the door behind him, and you watched that calmness break as he strode over to you quickly, leaning down and kissing you hard.

You gasped at his sudden change in demeanor, and at the fervor with which he was kissing you. “Ah, Morpheus-”

He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing for a moment. “They really didn’t get to you?”

“No-no I feel fine,” and you gasped once again when the King of the Dreaming pulled you into his lap as he sat down. His arms wrapped around you tightly and as you shifted to put your head on his shoulder, you felt his arousal against the underside of your thigh. You froze, unsure if what had affected you the last time Desire came to visit had been given to your King.

“Did they-”

“They didn’t drug me,” he spoke softly, anticipating the question. He seemed very sure of this by the way he was looking at you, but you had to ask again.

“Are you sure? You’re- you seem worked up,” your voice trailed into a whisper as he set his hands on your hips and started grinding your ass against his hard length.

“I’m sure, but I need to be inside of you, my dear,” he murmured against your lips. He was riding up the skirt of your dress, eventually finding your underwear and ripping them clean off of you. He could have gotten rid of it with ease, but Morpheus always tended to enjoy ripping the clothes off of you more. It sent flutters through your stomach and heat directly to your core.

“Get up for a moment, love.” You obeyed immediately.

He pulled his hard cock from the confines of his pants, opting to leave his clothes, as well as your dress, on. Morpheus sat back down on the loveseat and leaned back slightly before reaching for your hips again, pulling you gently to straddle his lap. You were already wet from the way he had grinded you against him, so as he aligned himself with your entrance, he was able to slide in with ease, pulling you down so he could sink into you further. You let out a whimper as you were stretched open on his cock, filling you completely. It was still overwhelming, your eyes rolled back, no matter how many times he’d been inside of you it overwhelmed you. You were convinced it was just Morpheus himself, because truly, nothing else felt like him. Nothing else compared to how much the King of Dreams showed you he wanted you and showed you that you were, in fact, his.

As you tried to move your hips a little, his hands harshly gripped your hips, lifting you up before pulling you back down onto him.

“Ah!” you gasped, your legs struggling to match the pace he was setting you at. Riding him was something you rarely did unless the sex was on the gentler side, which was once again unusual for the two of you. But when you did ride him, he was still in charge of you, and you loved to have him remind you of that.

His hands roamed across your still-clothed body, ghosting over your breasts and squeezing your waist, until his hand was cupping your jaw, making you look him in the eyes.

“Look at me, little one,” he spoke softly and evenly, as if he wasn’t currently all the way inside if you.

“Please, please touch me,” you begged, longing to feel his hands on your bare skin. The teasing was overwhelming, and you wanted nothing more than his touch. Even though he could have removed both of your clothing in a mere instant, he had left it all on.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he ordered. When you only whimpered in response, he pulled you flush to him, slowly grinding you on his cock and hitting spots deep inside of you. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said once again with a sharper tone.

“You! ‘M yours!” You stuttered as he was at just the right angle inside of you. He seemed satisfied with your answer as he brought up a hand behind your head and grabbed your hair, gently pulling your head back and exposing your neck fully to him.

“That’s right, you’re mine. No one else can have you,” he growled and sucked marks into your neck. You clawed desperately at his shoulders, the pleasure in your core rising with every movement from him.

“Take me,” you panted, desperate to have Morpheus fuck you the way only he could. “Please!”

“Cum for me first. I wanna see you come apart, my love,” he murmured into your ear, voice as sweet and dark as sin. He moved one hand to your waist, and the other pulled up your skirts to rub tight circles over your clit. You moved your hips against him, arms around his neck as you began riding him once more. “Good girl, keep going, fuck, I can feel how you’re tightening around my cock. No one else makes you this desperate, do they?”

“N-no, never, just you,” you whimpered, growing closer with each passing moment. His voice and his words kept pushing you nearer to the edge, you felt yourself getting warmer and your legs were shaking.

“Cum, cum for me,” he whispered in your ear, and it broke you. You felt the pressure in your core tighten and burst, sending waves of pleasure through your whole body, cunt spasming around his cock as you cried his name. Your legs became useless nearly the instant your orgasm hit, but Morpheus continued to thrust up into you, letting you ride it out and extending the pleasure further until you collapsed against his chest. “That’s it, good girl,” he praised, running a hand through your hair for a moment before fulfilling his promise to you.

He pulled you off of his cock and had you hips up and face-down into the couch cushion in seconds, causing you to cry out loudly at the overstimulation when he swiftly re-entered you in a single thrust. Your inner walls were sensitive, and as he began fucking into you at a brutal pace, you could barely form a single coherent thought. It was at least twenty full seconds until you realized that the room had gotten colder because Morpheus removed both of your clothing. You could do nothing but take what he was giving you, and as he continued to hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars, you felt yourself getting closer again.

His hands gripped your hips so deeply you knew there’d be marks to admire later, and as you glanced over your shoulder, you could see the intensity in his eyes. His lips curled when your eyes caught on his, and he leaned over you to grab you by your neck and pull you up so you were kneeling with your back flush against his chest, changing the angle. Your head was on his shoulder, and your cries mixed with the lewd sound of skin against skin.

“Who’s making you feel so good, hmm?”

“Y-you!”

“Say my name, little one.”

“Mor-Morpheus!” you cried as his hand found your clit once more, pushing you closer and closer.

“Yes, that’s right,” he groaned, movements becoming more erratic as he neared his end, too. “I’ve marked you all up, but I still have to claim your insides, my love. Have to fill you so much it starts dripping out of you- that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck,” you mewled, he knew those words would send you over the edge. The knowledge he was going to cum inside of you just to re-claim you as his had the cord inside of you snapping and your orgasm hit you like a wave, each of Morpheus’s thrusts sending you further into a state of bliss as you cried out, unable to even hold yourself up as you felt his cock twitch from the way your walls were squeezing him. “Cum in me, please, breed me, Morpheus,” you babbled out as your orgasm continued to wash over you.

“Good girl, asking so nicely for it, that’s my girl,” he moaned as his movements slowed. He was fully holding you against him as he reached his peak with a deep groan, pressing as far into you as he could and his cock releasing so much that you could feel it hitting deep inside of you and beginning to drip down his cock and out of your soaking entrance. He kissed your neck as you both came down from your highs.

You shuttered at the feeling of him dripping from you, and he carefully slipped out of you before gently setting you on your side on the couch. Your body was still twitching with aftershocks as he moved to push the cum that was leaking out of you back inside with his fingers, causing you to sigh with contentment.

“After all this time, you’re still obsessed with my cum, hm?” Morpheus hummed in amusement.

You giggled despite your exhausted state, swatting his hand away from your entrance. “Can’t help it. I know it isn’t gonna get me pregnant, it’s just the whole nymph and fertility thing…”

He smiled tenderly at you, placing a soft kiss to your lips before shifting to lay behind you, arms wrapping around your naked form on the plush couch. “I know. Besides, it drives me crazy hearing you beg.”

You hummed in response, his chest pressing against your back making you feel drowsy and safe.

“Are you really okay? What did Desire want, anyway?”

“I’m perfectly alright, it’s just that they are always looking to stir up trouble. I can’t believe Desire thinks they could come anywhere near you after last time. I was worried what I would do to them if they got to you again. But I did hear something interesting…” He pulled you even closer, speaking in that suave voice of his directly into your ear. “It seems that someone doesn’t want to be the Lady of the Dreaming.” His voice was low, and while he didn’t seem angry, you could not tell what he was feeling. “What do you have to say to that, little one?”

“I-” You began to speak, but you felt yourself blushing furiously when the words got stuck in your throat. “I- I didn’t want to take the title just because we’re together,” You confessed. “I know you’ve had other lovers in the past and those relationships didn’t turn out well, I don’t want to take a title that is not rightfully mine… It feels wrong to establish myself so firmly in this realm when we have only been together a short time.”

You craned your head to the side to look at him, and his eyes twinkled slightly in amusement, which confused you, as you were on the brink of tears. He lovingly brought a hand to cradle your cheek as he spoke to you.

“Little one, this is not the first time you’ve told me of your doubts, but I am surprised at this. You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“If people living beyond this castle have been calling you “my lady,” that is because it is your rightful title. Your rightful place. Destiny made certain of that, long ago.”

“But what does that mean?”

“It means that this realm and its inhabitants are not capable of recognizing someone as their Lady unless it was truly meant to be. While I had always hated Destiny’s interference in my realm, I see now that he has given me the greatest gift.” You were in disbelief, and you rolled over to face him on your side, looking for any signs of him joking. But Morpheus would never make a joke like this… No, he must be completely serious.

“What if- what if one day you no longer want me?”

“That day will never come, darling. Trust me, I’ve lived long enough to know. Even if I did not feel this way, Destiny is unchangeable. Even if you correct the townspeople and the visitors, they will still refer to you as the Lady of the Dreaming because it is ingrained into the fabric of this world. When you rejected it… well, that’s why Desire paid us a visit. They seemed to be worried that I wasn’t holding onto you quite tightly enough… I had to give them a very very firm reminder that you’re mine.” His hands wrapped around you tightly when he spoke, and you smiled, tucking your head into his neck. “I made a decision, quite some time before we met, that if I were ever to love again, it must be reserved for the right person. The way I felt for you, long before Desire interfered, it was indescribable. I waited so long to tell you because I was terrified knowing that if I had you, I would never be able to let you go. Desire could apparently feed off of that knowledge, off the desire I held for you, and got annoyed by it. That’s why they interfered.”

Morpheus had never told you any of this before, and while you had never doubted his love for you, his admission pushed away all other doubts you had about the two of you. And about your place in the dreaming.

“I do feel like I belong here,” you whispered. “I just didn’t want to overstep.”

“The Dreaming is your home now, love. Will you take the position of Lady?”

You pulled your head back to look in his eyes, and a soft smile was on his lips.

“Morpheus… was that a proposal?” He shrugged.

“I suppose it was half of one.”

“Half a proposal?” you stifled a laugh.

“I would not propose to you in this state,” he chuckled. “No, not a real proposal. Though, it did kind of sound like one, didn’t it?”

“If I am the Lady of this realm, doesn’t that make me… your wife?”

His face broke into a grin at your question. “One day, yes. It doesn’t have to be now. Might as well have you get used to being called “Lady,” first,” he teased.

You smiled at him as you spoke. “Okay.”

“Yes?” you nodded in affirmation. “Would my Lady be so kind as to kiss me, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was teasing you, but you still obliged him, leaning your head up to meet his lips in a loving kiss.

As the Lord of the Dreaming stroked your hair and held you close as you drifted off to sleep, you felt completely sure that you were where you belonged.

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #morpehus #morpheus of the endless #dream #dream of the endless #dream x you #morpheus x you #smut #fluff #rorabbit

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lucky-clover-gazette · 8 months

Text

Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

2.5K-word Buffy AU Vidow One-Shot, written for @fsfrightfight

“I’m sorry I haven’t brought it up sooner,” Shadow says, insecure in a way Vio rarely sees him. “I thought you, uh, didn’t like me anymore. Since I’m all vampy now.”

Vio’s jaw drops.

“You thought I would like you LESS because you’re a vampire?”

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut:

It’s Vio’s night to patrol the cemetery, fair and square.

Yes, it had been insulting when the others gave him Friday night because they knew he’d have no plans. But it’s not like they’d been wrong—he would have ended up reading no matter what. He might as well do it here, alone, propped up against a headstone and tapping a pencil steadily against the ground.

Someone seems to have missed the memo on the ‘alone’ part, though.

“Viiiiii.”

“Oh my god, what?”

Vio’s head swivels to see a familiar figure lounging theatrically against a headstone. Shadow grins, clearly pleased to have his undivided attention.

“Hi, Vio,” Shadow greets with a lazy wave.

Vio blinks slowly, his eyes adjusting to the distant darkness. “Hi, Shadow.”

“What are you doing out here at this time of night, handsome?”

Vio absolutely does not blush. Not perceptibly, at least, in the semi-light-polluted suburban darkness.

“Annotating,” he says, raising his pencil. “And hunting vampires.”

“At least the second part is cool,” says Shadow. “Seen any yet?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

The vampire gasps in fake-offense as Vio removes another heavy tome from his purple backpack. Shadow eyes it curiously, joining Vio where he sits.

“Ancient texts?” Shadow asks, eyes narrowed in the dark. Vio switches his book light from the novel he’s been marking up for fun to the ‘ancient text’ in question.

“Not quite,” he says with a smirk, revealing the cover to Shadow. “The Once and Future King, chapters fourteen through eighteen.”

Shadow’s nose wrinkles. “Oh, fuck that.”

“If you’re going to loiter here, I might as well help you pass AP Lit.”

“I’m doing just fine on my own, Vio,” Shadow says, rolling his eyes. “I have, like, an 84 overall. That’s almost a B+.”

“You never do the readings.”

“Yet I manage to get good grades anyway. ‘Cuz I’m a fucking genius.”

“You don’t even use SparkNotes!”

“SparkNotes are for cowards. I raw-dog my essays like god intended.”

Vio pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “If I read it out loud,” he groans, “will you listen?”

Shadow immediately pulls out his earbuds, but Vio rips them away. “These are so tangled,” he observes, already working through the knots with nimble fingers. “You’re going to, like, electrocute yourself.”

“Y’know, I think you’re pretty electrocute yourself.”

Vio scowls. Shadow plops down next to him.

“I won’t listen,” he says, oh-so-casually leaning against Vio, “but you can still read.”

Vio nods and begins. And while his mouth says the words on the page, his mind quickly wanders, not not distracted by the feeling of Shadow’s body beside his own.

Did Shadow just call him cute? And handsome? It’s not unusual behavior per se, but it’s still baffling as hell. Shadow can’t possibly want him, not after all the misfortune Vio’s mere existence has brought him.

It had all just happened so fast: their first kiss after the fall formal, the surprise vampire attack, Shadow taking a bite to save Vio, and Vio using his connections as Slayer to leave his newly-undead friend(?)’s soul intact. They’d stepped away from the dance for less thann ten minutes, and as a result Shadow’s life had been changed forever.

They still haven’t really discussed it, beyond the necessary information about Shadow’s new form. As a vampire with a soul, he gets along just fine with the other slayers and the Watcher they all share. He’s a willing ally to their team whenever the Hellmouth sends a monster of the week their way. He’s confided in Vio about the highs and lows of his new existence, and Vio has supported him unflinchingly the entire time.

But there is no way Shadow still has any intimate interest in Vio, beyond the powerful Slayer’s blood he willingly supplies. And while Shadow only drinks from Vio (“You got him turned,” Blue had said, “so it’s your responsibility to keep him alive.”), they have no such bitey plans tonight.

But despite his huffiness, despite the impossibility of the dynamic they’d shared before, Vio is glad that Shadow came to keep him company. Things are calm, things are good, there’s a routine in place and everyone’s on the same page. Vio could almost call it settled completely.

But they still haven’t addressed that goddamn kiss.

“We can talk about it,” Shadow offers, and Vio’s heart stops.

“I—what?”

Shadow’s amused smile speaks for itself.

“Oh my god,” Vio says, placing the book on the ground. “I didn’t.”

He puts his head in his hands. What kind of absolute moron confuses the words he’s reading with the words he’s saying? That’s the kind of bullshit that happens on TV, and he cringes at it every time!

“Hey, no, listen,” Shadow says, losing his previous smugness. He gently grabs Vio’s wrists and lowers them back down to his lap. “Vio, look at me.”

He does. Shadow’s eyes have the same unnatural glow present with every vampire he slays, which for the record is a lot of vampires.

“I’m sorry I haven’t brought it up sooner,” Shadow says, insecure in a way Vio rarely sees him. “I thought you, uh, didn’t like me anymore. Since I’m all vampy now.”

Vio’s jaw drops.

“You thought I would like you less because you’re a vampire?”

Shadow throws up both hands, annoyed but relieved. “Forgive me for assuming that you, Vio the Vampire Slayer, would perhaps have some reservations about kissing a vampire.”

“Shadow, roughly sixty percent of my self-indulgent fantasies involve a handsome vampire kissing me.”

“Really?” Shadow asks, perking up. “Any vampire in particular?”

Vio blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only one in recent history,” he admits. “Ever since you turned, that is.”

Shadow appears to be thinking something through. “Holy shit,” he finally says, a grin spreading onto his face. “You must have been so psyched when I turned into a vamp.”

“Of course not, that would be awful!”

“Oh, come on,” Shadow teases, poking Vio’s arm, “I know your main priority was saving my soul or whatever, but there had to be some part of you that was also just like, ‘hell fucking yeah, vampire boyfriend.’”

Vio shakes his head, stopping their banter in its tracks. “I shouldn’t have been out there with you in the first place,” he says. “Even just outside the gym, I should have expected to attract monsters. Meanwhile, you had no idea about the Slayer stuff or the Hellmouth or vampires even existing at all, and I put you directly in harm’s way. There’s a reason the others don’t date, Shadow, it’s dangerous to be close to a Slayer.”

“Vio, no,” Shadow replies, his voice suddenly gentle. “I don’t blame you for what happened. At all.”

“You should,” mutters Vio, folding in on himself. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, his back pressing uncomfortably against the headstone.

“I also don’t think you take pleasure in my misfortune,” Shadow adds. He lightens his tone slightly, cautiously, and eyes Vio to see if it’s the right move. “Honestly, you’re probably worse off than I am.”

“How so?” Vio asks, trading self-loathing for reluctant curiosity.

“Uh, you’re a vampire Slayer dating a vampire,” says Shadow. “I’m just some guy with fangs.”

Vio raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were dating.”

“Everyone else is.”

“No they’re not!”

“What the hell else would they assume, when we excuse ourselves to a dark corner of the library at least three times a week?”

“We do that so you can suck my blood!” Vio exclaims, “Not so we can—”

Shadow scoffs. “Oh yes, because me nearly sucking you dry to sustain my lifeforce is the less weird option of the two.” He makes a face and lifts a finger. “Don’t say it, I know that came out wrong.”

Despite himself, Vio smiles. Relaxes. Leans closer. “Well, if we are dating,” he says, intertwining Shadow’s fingers with his own, “is this, right now, a date?”

Shadow looks at their hands and then back at Vio. “If you want it to be.”

Of course Vio wants. He’s always wanted, why else would he have taken Shadow outside the dance in the first place?

With the softest tone he can muster, he begins to speak. “Shadow, I—”

A monster roars, and it’s not Vio’s boyfriend.

He jumps to his feet and assumes a fighting stance, his Slayer senses kicking in immediately. Swiveling his head, Vio sees a very unfriendly vampire headed straight in their direction, newly risen from a nearby grave.

How the fuck hadn’t he noticed sooner? He’s supposed to sense when there are vampires around!

“Not again,” groans Shadow, cowering behind Vio like the human he so recently used to be. But Shadow isn’t human, he’s a vampire with a soul, whose presence must have masked the appearance of the true enemy.

They were going to have to figure that out in the future, if patrol dates become a normal thing.

But Vio shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

“I was busy,” he growls, kicking the vampire square in the chest. The vamp looks to be in his mid-forties, still all dolled up in his funeral suit. Very much soulless, with a fucked-up transformed face and absolutely nothing to lose.

Vio’s supernatural strength sends his opponent backwards, his back slamming against a particularly tall headstone. Vio reaches inside his jacket pocket while the vampire recovers, horrified to realize that he left his favorite stake at home.

“Shit,” he mutters, using a precious second to glance behind his back. Shadow half-hides behind a gravestone, clearly experiencing some kind of flashback to the last fight he experienced. Vio wants so badly to comfort his friend—but then again, there would probably be nothing more comforting in this moment than Vio kicking ass.

Without a stake or a stake-adjacent object, though, Vio’s options for vamp obliteration are limited. Beheading seems unlikely. Sunrise is hours away. He’ll definitely get arrested if he tries to set a fire. And while he does have supernatural proficiency with hand-to-hand combat, so do the vampires he fights—plus they’re speedy, too.

Capitalizing on Vio’s hesitation, the vamp clasps cold hands around his neck. He’s so strong, and squeezing with such force, that he’s able to fully lift the teenager’s body off the ground.

Placed in such a predicament without his trusty stake, Vio feels a combination of fear, panic, and embarrassment. Green, Red, and Blue would never make such a stupid mistake.

Mistake… missed stake.

Vio would laugh, if he could breathe.

“Hey, asshole!” a familiar voice shouts. “Get your dead hands off my boyfriend!”

Vio opens eyes he hadn’t even noticed himself closing. Is that… a cord around the vampire’s neck?

Shadow yanks backwards by both earbuds, releasing Vio from the vampire’s grasp. Shadow himself seems surprised by the strength he now possesses, on par with both his ally and opponent. He wears the gruesome face of a fully-transformed vampire, and while Vio rather likes Shadow’s normal face, he’s glad to see a monster now.

Of course, Vio thinks, his eyes full of wonder. Last time, it had been a human and a Slayer against one nasty vampire. This time there are two nasty vampires, one of whom Vio has apparently been dating for the past several months. At the risk of overconfidence, Vio much prefers these odds.

Snap! The cord quickly loses its effectiveness, breaking in half against the vampire’s neck. Still, the diversion has given Vio enough time to retrieve the most stake-like resource available.

He lifts the pointed object and locks onto the vampire, who now wrestles with Shadow against a headstone. One particularly brutal knock of Shadow’s head against the stone humbles the teenage vampire, and the resulting whiplash allows his opponent to swipe a claw across his face.

Shadow cries out in pain, losing his hold on the enemy. This time, Vio is ready.

“Get lead poisoning, idiot,” he quips, and then plunges his #2 pencil into the vampire’s heart. The monster turns to dust, suit and all.

“Fuuuuuuck,” groans Shadow, still bracing himself against a tombstone. Vio frowns and runs to his side, cupping his soft humanlike face. There’s still a cut, but it should heal just fine, especially since he was transformed when he took the hit.

“Are you all right?” Vio asks anyway, searching Shadow’s eyes. “You didn’t have to—”

Shadow just smiles. “Yeah, but I wanted to. I’m not just some lame-ass human anymore, I can hold my own.”

He’d tried to protect Vio the last time, too. The irony of that still stings—a completely average person, risking his life in defense of someone Chosen to smite evil. Vio still feels guilty about Shadow’s misfortune, but at least now they’re on even footing.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Shadow continues, taking both of Vio’s hands. He looks concerned too, and Vio realizes that Shadow is still not quite used to the sight of him in moral peril. He’s not sure how to explain to Shadow that to him, Red, Blue, Green, and Zelda, mortal peril is just another Tuesday.

Vio squeezes Shadow’s hands. “I’m okay, I promise. I know that must have been scary to see.”

“Yeah, a little bit. You were, like, off the ground.”

“I get into tight spots pretty often,” Vio admits, “especially while patrolling. I understand if you’d prefer to keep our dates out of the cemetery in the future.”

Shadow shakes his head. “Nah, I’m no coward. And besides, I’d feel better knowing that someone has your back.”

“I… am not opposed to your company,” Vio mutters, and Shadow takes it for the grand declaration it is.

“Besides,” Shadow says, sitting back down against their original headstone of choice, “we definitely need to workshop your punning.”

“What’s wrong with lead poisoning?” Vio demands, offended.

“Pencils haven’t had lead in them since, like, 18-whatever-the-fuck.”

Vio allows Shadow to drag him to the ground. They settle against each other, just as they’d been before—but somehow, everything feels a little bit different. “Well,” Vio asks, “what else could I have said?”

He knows Shadow is pleased to have a say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. “I dunno. You could have killed him with the book and told him to read it and weep.”

Vio rolls his eyes. “I can’t stab anyone with a book, Shadow.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t!”

Oh my god, Vio thinks, he is so annoying. So annoying, and so persistent, and so, so, so perfect.

“Hey Shadow… can we kiss again?”

Shadow grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Vio is admittedly psyched as their lips finally meet.

Hell fucking yeah, vampire boyfriend.

#fsff23 #four swords #four swords manga #vio link #shadow link #vidow #my writing #there's so much cringe teenage dialogue in this #also this is the last vampy thing i'm writing for a while i'm getting bite burnout (affectionate)#fs

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writing-for-life · 6 days

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From time to time, I just need to flog the goods (speak: my fics) on here because I’m notoriously bad at it. So have one of my favourite chapters from The Light of Stars, and read the rest on Ao3. Bye 🤣

[Oh, before I forget: Even if the thing has been published for a while: I still love your comments, and it’s not weird to comment on a completed fic. We don’t suddenly stop caring just because a fic is finished. Actually the opposite.]

The Light of Stars (76,167 words) by Writing-for-Life

Chapters: 31/31 Fandom: The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Character(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Other(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Reader Characters: Original Female Character(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), Fiddler's Green | Gilbert, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Original Male Character(s), Destiny of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Despair of the Endless, Delirium of the Endless, Dusk (The Sandman), Night (The Sandman), Hob Gadling, Thalia Callaghan (OC), The Gatekeepers (The Sandman) Series: Part 1 of The Light of Stars

Creating Stars

Thalia felt an inner restlessness that would not dissipate, and it could neither be manoeuvred with work nor distraction. She didn’t want to go to sleep yet because it meant seeing him, and while she wanted to, she also needed space. Space to tune into her feelings, space to let her soul speak. So she decided to go for a walk to create that space, despite the late hour.

It was a beautiful clear, if cold night. Autumn had closed in completely; the air felt sharper, the balmy feel of summer was gone for good. However, she hadn’t seen the stars so beautiful in a long time. It was rare to see them so clearly because of light pollution, and for a moment, she wondered why they shone so brightly tonight. It stopped to matter—their beauty made her feel small, but connected to the universe in a way that was new to her.

As she kept walking, she began to agonise over her time with Morpheus coming to an end. If her stories weren’t what had brought her to him, what else was there to explore? She understood, on a deep level, that she wouldn’t really lose him, that he had always been there, as he was for everyone. And yet, it wouldn’t be the same. Thalia had long realised she wanted him the way he was now—fully present with her in both her dreams and waking hours.

Thinking about it too much made her head spin and her heart ache, and the pain was sharper than the night air.

She wrapped her coat around herself tighter and pulled up the collar before looking up to the sky and taking a deep breath. Her attention was drawn to three intensely bright stars that lined up in almost perfect symmetry. Something about them felt significant. Just when she was about to check her mobile phone for constellations, she was overcome with a feeling of deep peace and clarity.

Let the stars remind you of your strength and courage. Your guidance springs from hope.

It was almost like she could hear someone, or something, say these words to her, and she neither doubted them nor did she feel afraid.

There was no hubris in her realisation that her effect on him was as profound as his was on her, and that all of it was somehow meant to be. Perhaps finding him was the universe’s plan, and while it might have been beyond her comprehension, she trusted it. She didn’t care if anyone else would be able to understand—she just knew it to be true.

She also knew he was with her, even before he began to speak.

“It’s Orion’s Belt. The three stars are called Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. Some also call them the three sisters.”

Thalia turned around to face him, and for a moment, the way he looked in this darkness completely took her breath away. Something about him was night, but he was also light. Not the incandescence of the sun, but the reflection of a thousand stars in a pool of cool water, or the moon’s soft sheen in a hazy winter sky.

“You should not be out on your own at this time of night,” he said softly, and the slight hoarseness in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Are you worried about me?”

“What if I were?”

Diamonds set in gold was all she could think of when she looked at the stars in his eyes.

“Maybe it would mean you cared more about me than you want to admit.”

He stayed silent, eyes firmly fixed on hers.

Thalia could tell his breathing was shallow, not least because he seemed to breathe in perfect synchronicity with her, and she was acutely aware that none of the air she inhaled seemed to reach the bottom of her lungs.

She took a cautious step forward, reached out her hand and touched his face. For a moment, he allowed her hand to linger and leaned into her touch so subtly that it was hardly noticeable.

And yet, she did notice.

She sensed it with every fibre of her being, and she wished this moment of exquisite tension and closeness would last forever.

It didn’t.

Morpheus laid his hand on hers, his touch cool, and gently removed it from his face. He bowed his head and exhaled deeply.

When he looked up again, his eyes met hers, aureate stars shimmering. “I care about your safety, and you are not safe out here.”

The air between them remained charged.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second, but…”

She put two fingers on his lips and shook her head. “I think the real reason you’re here is that you like my company. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to wait until I’m asleep?”

Morpheus didn’t shrink back, neither from her touch nor her brazen claim. The stars in his eyes were flashing and flickering in a dance of cool blue and warm red until they finally settled on the richest, most fluorescent indigo she had ever seen.

His lips were soft against her touch. Thalia became painfully aware how much she wanted to kiss them, and she was also cognisant of the fact that she might not be able to hide her thoughts and feelings from him. If she was totally honest with herself, she didn’t care. She decided, there and then, to let him in because she wanted him to know.

And from the look in his eyes, she could tell he did.

She felt his breath on her fingers, and his eyes were burning like molten copper. He laid his hand on hers once more, but this time, he gently pressed her fingers against his lips. For the briefest of moments, it felt as if he were kissing them so lightly that it might as well have been an illusion.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard and removed her fingers, but he held on to her hand when he said: “Let us walk, Thalia Callaghan.”

Although his words felt like a cold shower, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Uh-oh, the surname, I’m in trouble. In any case, you still have a talent for changing topic.”

As they began walking, he finally let go of her hand. “So I should.” He gave her a sideways look. “And you are not in trouble, although I might change my mind about it.” The faintest smile lit up his face before he refocused on the path ahead.

“Tell me about them.”

“About whom?”

“The stars. What were their names again?”

“Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka.”

“They are beautiful. It’s like they… called out to me tonight.” She hesitated. “Does that sound weird?”

“Not in the slightest.” He gently shook his head. “They are testament to the powers and wonders of the universe. Some believe they created the seasons, others think they are a symbol of the divine feminine and her strength. And then there are some who think Orion, the hunter, was transformed into the greater constellation after his death, and they like to see it as a symbol of bravery and courage.”

“Which one is true?”

He glanced at her. “All stories are somewhat true, even the ones that started as lies.”

Thalia stepped out in front of him and began walking backwards in her usual way, only that it was a lot harder in the dark, real world than it was in the Dreaming. “You sound as if you know but don’t want to tell me.”

He smiled faintly. “I do know.” Out of nowhere, he stopped. “Turn around.”

Thalia’s heart began to race the moment he stepped behind her, so close that she could feel him despite the fact their bodies didn’t touch. He moved his arm over her right shoulder and pointed. “Follow my hand with your eyes…”

She focused on what seemed the dimmest of the three stars.

“You are looking at Mintaka. What you cannot see is that she isn’t one star, but a whole stellar system, formed over 12 million years ago. And yet, she is very young, much younger than Earth. So are her people, who abhor violence but unfortunately also value conformity above all else. Some of them dream of being different, and to break free one day.”

Thalia felt her breath catching in her throat and turned her head to look at him. Their eyes briefly connected before he moved his head closer to hers and whispered in her ear: “Eyes straight ahead.”

It took all her resolve to follow his hand again, which slowly moved to the left. “This is Alnilam. She is the youngest of the three, 6 million years younger than her oldest sister, and she is alone. She is the brightest of them, some say the most beautiful. She lives and breathes and dreams of escaping her solitude before she stops burning and it is too late.”

Thalia couldn’t help but reach for him and let her hand rest on his upper arm. He inhaled deeply. His fingers were less steady than she had expected them to be when he pointed farther left.

“Alnitak is really a twin. The slightly younger one is stable, the other is unstable and perpetually circling her sibling. Over the past 7 million years, the elder was responsible for the death of three separate developing lifeforms. They both dream of being separate and free from each other.”

Morpheus slowly lowered his arm, and she removed her hand to face him. When she looked into his eyes, she knew everything he had just told her was true, and yet, it was beyond her comprehension.

“They live? How is this even possible?’ she asked.

“It is just as possible as my standing with you here right now.”

“And you are there for all of them?”

He nodded. “I have been for billions of years.”

She shook her head in disbelief, eyes wide. “I know Lucienne said you are old, but…”

“I have seen them come and go.” He looked up to the sky. “The nebula you can see right below Alnitak has been the birthplace of many stars. And when they start to dream, I am there.”

Thalia searched the sky. “I can’t see it.”

“It is there, trust me.”

“I do. I just wish I could see what you see.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“I know full well what I wish for.”

Morpheus looked straight into her eyes, and she could tell he was trying to judge whether she understood the true depth of her admission.

“I do,” she replied.

He looked surprised. “It seems we have learned to communicate without words, Thalia Callaghan.”

“We’ve been doing so for quite a while, it’s just that turned tables confuse you.” She blinked slowly, and the air charged with electricity again.

Morpheus seemed to get lost in her eyes.

“What are you looking at?” Thalia’s mouth was dry, and her voice nearly gave out.

He hesitated for a brief moment before whispering: “Close your eyes.”

Her deep trust in him made her do as she was told. A moment later, she sensed him, inside her head, her mind, her soul. It was nearly too much to bear, and yet, she didn’t want it any other way. A sweet dizziness enveloped her.

“Open them again…”

Clarity set in slowly. She didn’t know where they were or how they got there, and it didn’t matter. It felt like floating in space, yet her feet were touching the ground. All she could see was darkness and light and stardust, orange, pink and red. The stars were too numerous to count.

“Is it real?” She couldn’t help but reach for him because she felt unsteady.

“As real as your body and mind can handle.”

Thalia was completely overwhelmed, and silent tears began to fall. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

“Neither have I.” Morpheus was looking at her, and she could hardly breathe. He reached out his hand to catch a tear from her chin that had been slowly running along her jawline, all the while carefully avoiding to touch her face.

When he opened his hand, the droplet transformed into a tiny speck of light, shimmering like a diamond. He released it, and it moved away, floating, scintillating, and turned into a star right before her eyes.

She gasped. “Is it real, too?”

“If you believe it is, does it matter?”

Thalia couldn’t take her eyes off it. “When I wake up, will it be gone?”

“You are not dreaming…”

She turned her head to look at him. “But…”

“…and it will be here for as long as you remember it.”

“How could I ever forget?” She just didn’t care any more and embraced him.

Thalia could feel his resistance within an instant. He had somewhat become accustomed to the touch of her hand, but maybe feeling her body touching his was too much, and she immediately regretted her decision to act on her impulse.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He stepped back ever so slightly. “I… Perhaps I underestimated the human need for touch.”

Thalia mustered up all her courage. “Maybe it’s not just humans who need touch. For what it’s worth, I don’t touch indiscriminately. I just want to be close to you.” He didn’t react, but she was determined not to give up. “Can you promise me something?”

His eyes narrowed. “I am not sure whether I can.”

“Maybe you should take a chance and trust me, just like I trust you.”

The stars in his eyes looked like the most beautiful, shimmering moonstones she had ever seen, and they made it hard for her to focus.

“Proceed.”

Thalia couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to be formal, all the while only managing to sound wary.

“I want you to…”

“Want?” He raised one eyebrow, and strangely enough, she knew he was back with her. And apparently he knew she knew, because he began to smile.

“Yes, I want you to promise that you will remember tonight. And that you will remember the star we just created when I am gone, so it will keep on existing. Can you do that?”

He just nodded and turned his head to look into the distance.

Thalia stepped in front of him. “Please look at me.” She only noticed then that his eyes were brimming with tears. “Have I said something wrong?”

He shook his head. “I promise I will remember tonight. I will remember you, Thalia Callaghan…”

#the sandman #sandman #sandman fic #sandman fanfiction #dream of the endless #morpheus x oc #sandman oc #morpheus #dream of the endless x oc #dream x oc #the light of stars

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 1 month

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Chapter 21 of Chained: To Wield The Blade We Have Forged

A/N: This chapter is stephcass focused enough that I think people might enjoy this as a standalone thing, so I'll be posting the chapter both on AO3 as usual, and right here in this post! This also connects to the reblog I wrote up the other night gushing about Batgirl (2000) #19 and the potential in a Cass vs Jason confrontation!

For this chapter only, NOT the whole fic: Rated T for Teen Ships are Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain and vaguely hinted at Jason Todd/Tim Drake There's gonna be a LOT of plot points that don't seem to go anywhere, cause they're parts of much bigger arcs, but there's some really sweet talk about deep stuff towards the end and the start is Steph handling a deescalation scenario Hope you enjoy ^w^ !

Dear War Diary,

You know, some days I don't even think Ivy should be in Arkham. Logging, pollution, hair spray tearing a hole in the ozone layer, pesticides - if I could feel plants' pain as they were broken apart, I'd want to feed people to ambulatory venus fly traps too. Heck, back in high school I was sure tempted to let her have at some of my more obnoxious classmates.

Unfortunately, today was not one of those days.

We knew something was weird this time around when the docs at Arkham called warning us that she woke up screaming and her powers went out of control. Usually when this sort of thing happens she goes towards a clear goal. Like, there'll be a construction site or a factory or something damaging the land and drawing her out.

Thing is though, the more we chased her, the clearer it became that she wasn't running towards anything.

She was fleeing, and seemingly had no clear place to bolt to. First she fled to the meat packing district. Then she ran down to the water, and like, we expected her to follow the coast? But she just swam right in! Left huge algal blooms in her wake too; like the lacy train of a queen's dress. She even left Gotham altogether for a hot minute only to turn back again for no reason. She was very obviously out of her mind frightened of something, but we had no idea what it was, and frankly, we still don't.

Tonight had real big 'predator running from the wildfire' energy, is what I'm saying.

It took several days, but eventually she gave up on running and bunkered down in one of the parks. The concrete storage shed she picked as her new home was so overgrown by the time we got to it that it was impossible to see a single square inch of the structure. The hardwood and thorn vines covering it had to have been at least a meter thick.

And that little backstory finally brings us to tonight's patrol.

I tapped my earpiece, "We getting anything on the seismic, O?"

"Nope. If she's digging she's doing it slow enough we're not gonna get any warning. Good news though, I finally got an answer back from Waller. Harley Quinn can be on the line within ten minutes notice."

"Awesome. Speedy, you good to cover me?"

"Yup! Got a whole quiver full of tranquilizers and frog crotch arrows ready for her."

I snort-laughed, "God, what a name!"

"I know right?! But yeah, you're good to go. I'll be aiming from the East, so gimmie a sign if you think you'll need me at a different angle."

"Got it. Alright O, give that ten minute notice and I'll start the approach."

Step one: Get the cops to back up the perimeter by at least ten feet all around. Frankly they were gonna be useless in a fight if it came to that, and the whole goal here was to get this done without bloodshed.

This part was pretty damn easy. I knew one of the cops there by name and she was more than happy to back her fellow officers out of the negotiation zone.

Step two: Establish a desire for peaceful communication.

I spoke through a megaphone into the general direction of the tree-bunker, "Doctor Isley? Would you be willing to come out and talk?"

The woods creaked and groaned, shifting minutely. My heart pounded in my chest, waiting, watching, every leaf bud an acid spitting behemoth in the making.

Nothing came out.

I called out to her again, "Okay. Doctor Isley, you seem really upset, and we don't understand why, but you haven't hurt anyone yet so we're not going to hurt you."

I glanced around surreptitiously at the cops. Lucky for me they all seem to be on their best behavior tonight. No one was grumbling about wanting to hurt her loud enough for me to hear, and I just had to trust that meant the grass couldn't hear them either.

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's okay. We want to get you some help, so we're going to try and get Harley on the phone so you can talk to her."

Against my ear, the phone crackled to life.

Time for step three: Get negotiation partner on board.

"Which bat-brat do I have the displeasure of speakin to today!?"

"It's Batgirl; we need your help getting through to Ivy."

"HAH! Well fat fuckin chance, asshole! I ain't talkin her inta anythin she don't wanna do!"

"And we're not asking you to! She hasn't even hurt anybody, and she's not making any threats, but she is clearly terrified. We think there's something or someone after her, and it's not us."

I gave her a moment to think it over. She's got to know we wouldn't let Ivy die, but there's always the chance we're just lying.

"Fine. Alright, what's the plan here?"

"Thank you! I'm gonna hold the speaker up to the megaphone, and you let her know you want to talk, then I'll slowly approach and once in speaking range I'll take the megaphone off of the phone to give the two of you some privacy."

"An you'll still be listinen the whole damn time of course."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but at least the cops won't be."

Harley sighs, "Turn the lights down in the house and start the music then. Lets get this show rollin an' over with."

Step four: Negotiate and deescalate.

Through the phone megaphone combo she said, "Hey Sweetpea, mind lettin me hear yer pretty voice again?"

The protective wall started growing again, getting thicker. I chance a few slow steps forwards anyway, since nothing offensive starts growing either. Or at least I hoped there wasn't something offensive in there.

"I've missed ya. Not the same kickin ass with these bozos in here, ya'know?"

As I got closer, the smell of ozone got stronger, breathing started to feel weird, and every drop of sweat evaporated off of me, leaving me parched. Her hypergrowth vegetation was stripping the carbon dioxide and water out of the air so fast that the atmosphere around it was going haywire.

Just as I thought she was waiting for me to get close enough for her tree's roots to just use me as a nutrient bag, an opening formed over the doorway to the storage unit, and she shakily poked her head out, calling for Harleen.

She was messed up. She clearly hadn't been able to take care of herself and

I'm not writing the next part down verbatim. Just seems too... invasive. They said a lot of sweet an

I don't feel great about this, but just in case I need it, I am going to record what I remember of how Harley talked her down.

Harley said, "Pumpkin, I'm so sorr

Okay. Third time's the charm?

This was not a criminal wrecking havok for profit. This was not a terrorist making demands. This was someone having a breakdown due to forces outside her control and her girlfriend comforting her as best she could. I shouldn't even have been hearing it, really, so yeah I think I'd feel too skeezy to keep dinner down if I wrote it all out 'just in case'.

Informationally speaking, hopefully the only part of their conversation I'll ever need to know again is that Ivy said "The green is dying" and "She's made the world barren; the flowers will never bloom again" and basically made it really clear that the damage was already done and no one was after her.

If you're reading this Future Me and you desperately need to know exactly what happened, sorry not sorry, get a time machine or something.

Anyways, after it became clear that there was nothing we could do for her other than get her back to mental help, I gave Speedy the signal to take the shot. The tranqs hit her before she realized anything was up, and there were only a few seconds of scuffle, then she was down for the count.

I picked up the phone again to cut the line and Harley said, "So that's it, huh? I talk her into openin' the treeline, you drug her up, and that's curtains?"

"There clearly wasn't anything else we could do for-"

"Fuck off you insufferable, controlling, shitty, furry knock off cops! I shoulda told her ta mulch ya!"

There were the muffled sounds of the phone being taken out of her hand, and then a voice I didn't recognize, "Well, I hope that clown to plant heart to heart was worth the favor."

"Zero injuries, zero deaths, zero horrifying poison scares: I'd say it was."

She, whoever she was (I assume it was Waller) chuckled, "Well you aren't the one picking up the tab. Tell Oracle it was a pleasure doing business again."

The line went dead.

"You get that O?"

"Loud and clear. And hey, don't let what Quinn said get to you. You did great."

"Thanks," I kinda didn't feel it, but the sentiment was nice.

The rest of patrol was a long and boring ride on the top of a police van, making sure that no one ambushed her on her way back to Arkham, and then a short conversation about what they're going to do to keep her there this time.

They've had a couple different ways to cut her off from whatever The Green is for a while now. Every method has nasty side effects, and half her breakout attempts were in direct opposition to using them. At this point their policy is to just help her manage being connected. Considering what I saw that connection putting her through tonight? The docs rubber stamped cutting her off from The Green again, at least temporarily, and I'm pretty okay that.

So yeah. We won. Yippee. And all it took was arm twisting a woman held prisoner by a shadowy government agency in order to trick the love of her life into making herself vulnerable to us...

God this job sucks sometimes.

And the suck was not over yet, not by a long shot! And the suck was not only reserved for me either. Uh, okay obviously since Harley and Ivy, but also!

Oracle called to tell me this: "I need to give you a heads up before you return to base, and Speedy needs some time to handle a private phone call so I'm telling you this now. Black Bat got into a fight that upset her pretty bad. She's been on the training sims and dummies for over three hours, and I'm kinda worried she's not gonna sleep unless someone helps her untangle her head."

"I thought everything went smooth on her end, what the heck happened?"

"Easier if I just show you," Oracle said and fed a video taken by one of the Bat-House's internal cameras into my HUD.

It showed Ca (gah trying not to write anyone's names is a mess) Black Bat in civilian clothes, standing in a doorway. She's staring at the Red Hood from across the room with an expression of frustrated determination.

He ignores her for a while, continuing to read, curled up on the couch in a posture so terrible I have to wonder if he's trying to give himself back problems.

She just... kept staring. And staring.

Finally he asked, sounding very snarky and annoyed, "Can I help you?"

"Why did you pull the trigger again? You were better. You did better for so long. Why?"

"I don't owe you that shit," He narrowed his eyes at her, "And you don't get to decide I was better just cause you liked it more when I was docile."

She marches over to him, "I know how it hurts. I see it hurt you! I want to help. I want to know why."

"No," He said, standing up to loom over her, as though she couldn't kick his ass five ways from Sunday with a hand tied behind her back, "You want me to get on my knees and sob and beg for forgiveness. As though any of you shitheads ever even deserved my forgiveness!"

"No! I want to see you get better! I wanted another little brother!"

"Well congratu-fucking-lations, you got one! Don't worry, Dickie hates it just as much. I'm sure he can give you some pointers on how to go fuck yourself about it."

My jaw started hurting from how tight I had my teeth clenched as I watched her face twist in open rage-hurt-sorrow, "Why won't you stop burning our house down!? You're in it!"

"I. Don't. Owe. You. That."

She glared up at him defiantly, "You owe someone."

"No. I don't."

"Sheezus!" Black Canary said as she entered the room, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already picking a fight with her? Seriously?"

Black Bat's anger simmered below the boiling point again, "Not a fight."

"That sure looked like-"

"Not a fight." She declared bitterly, storming out of the room.

BC raised an eyebrow at Hood.

He smiled all teeth and irritation, "Not a fight!"

She rolled her eyes and took her post back up as the video ended.

I sighed, "Well. That'd do it. Thanks for the warning, I'll see if I can talk to her, take her mind off it."

"Appreciated. I tried but... I dunno. You'll probably have more luck."

"We'll see I guess! So, am I good to check in with Speedy, or is she still on her phone call?"

"You're good."

When I grappled up to the roof she was on, Speedy looked pretty damn unhappy. So, like, clearly tonight was sucking complete ass for everyone. Mercury in retrograde or some shit, idk.

"You got news I take it?" I asked.

"Mhm, great news! By which I mean totally shit news. Apparently the lab I get my bloodwork done at broke, as in everything is giving false negatives. So yeah, all my bloodwork for the past who knows how long might have been wrong!"

"Oh shit. You want us to test you in the Batcave? Guarantee the lab down there could handle whatever you need!"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll need to fast for twelve hours beforehand no matter what, so it wouldn't really be any quicker. Also my civilian GP would be pretty leery of a Bat-Diagnostic, especially since they already got me an appointment with the closest available people."

O cut in over comms, "That is suspiciously fast..."

Speedy shrugged, "I've got a feeling Green Arrow might have pushed me up the list somehow. He might not be (secret identity stuff I can't write down here :P ) anymore, but he's still got some pull."

"Hmm, well, both of you get back to base and we can figure out the logistics once you're here."

"Roger."

"Aye Aye Captain."

Once she cut off I offered, "Grapple line tag on the way there to take your mind off it?"

"You know what? I could use something to stretch my legs out after all that sniper crouching. Fuck it, let's do this."

Swingy swingy swingy over the buildings, across the bridge, to grandmother's imposing, minefield-surrounded cave we went!

We got into the cave, changed out of our gear, and sure enough, Black Bat was still in the training section, running herself ragged. Speedy went up to get some sleep since she couldn't eat dinner now anyways (do NOT envy that). So I went straight into an attempt to pry Black Bat off the training mats.

"Heads up!" I called out and tossed a bottle of water at her head.

She caught it without even looking, swapping to kicks and using her other hand to demolish her sandbag opponents, "Been drinking enough just fine."

"Sure. What'll it take to convince you to take a break and drink it with me anyways?"

She paused, leg still raised to kick, perfectly poised like gravity wasn't even a factor. It always makes my legs hurt looking her like that. Makes the rest of me swoon too.

"Would um..." She frowned, like she expected me to think less of her for making the request, "You bring dinner down here? For us both?"

I gave her a smile, "Yeah, of course. Mind saying how come?"

"Because Hood's up there and I want to fight him more. If I fight him, have to look at him. Have to watch him feeling and thinking and..." She finally put her leg down, and fidgeted with the cap of her water, "And I just don't want to."

"Didn't realize you hated him that bad."

"Not sure I do? Messy."

"Yeah, messy for me too."

Translation: I still don't know how to feel about him taking grisly revenge against Black Mask 'in my honor'. Still also super don't know how to feel about his welcome home gifts of a gun and an offer to come murder criminals with him.

Then I add, "But I'll have you know I'm a first class mess messer with-er! So if you want to talk about it, I'd be happy to."

She very briefly smiled, then her face feel again and somber moment passed before she said quietly, "Yeah, okay. Bring food down and... we can talk."

"On it."

"Um, wait!"

"Huh?"

She caught my arm and reeled me in for a kiss on the cheek, "There."

I laughed and gave her a proper kiss, "There! Love you."

Diary, have I ever told you about how she looks when she blushes? Because I seriously think I'll need to pull out the old poetry textbooks in order to do it justice.

Upstairs took me passed the dining room, where Red Hood and Red Robin were talking.

"The fuck is that?" Hood asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Blueprints. I'm having a section of my house renovated while I'm stuck here."

"Wwwwhy?"

"I am swiftly being driven mad by boredom and saw a really neat indoor garden set-up on pinterest."

"An indoor garden? In Gotham? Do you fuckin want to get strangled to death in your sleep by vines?"

RR does the little 'tch' thing he picked up from Robin, "Whatever, it'll be fine, these are tiny little arboreals and I'll have reinforced airlocks leading in and out."

"That does fucking nothing for attacks in your sleep."

"Which is why I'll have the whole lockdown system automated. I was already going to do automation for the plant care stuff anyways, cause lets be honest here, there was no way I was ever going to keep them alive on my own."

"...The speed and ease with which you oscillate between self depreciating paranoia and megalomaniacal hubris is fascinating."

And even as pissed off as I am with both of them, that still almost made me friggin lose it laughing, RR seemed so offended too, it was great!

And speaking of pissed off? Yeah, seeing RR acting so chummy with Hood was kinda making my blood boil! Like, maybe he didn't even know they fought. But he's supposed to be her friend too, and it's still sticking in my craw, and I'm busy with the whole damn city needing patroled, and so bottom line: I didn't talk to him tonight, and I'm probably not gonna talk to him tomorrow night either!!

Agent A had several plates set to the side already when I got into the kitchen. I think he assumed at least a few of us were gonna go off in our separate corners after the argument. Made it nice and easy to snag two and bring it down.

She had clearly been pacing, waiting for me, back down in the cave.

We sat together and she held my hand while we ate - pretty awkward, but super worth it. We stayed quiet, me cause I wanted to give her the space to start talking, and her probably because she wasn't sure where to start.

Once all the peas and mash were gone and she was pushing her drumstick around the plate she asked, "Ready?"

"Go for it. All ears."

"It's a guilt thing I think? Least a little?"

"Kinda always figured you were uh, how to put it, I guess invested in him, cause of that sort of parallel between you two?"

She nodded, "Not all of it's that, though. Different guilt," She gives me a rueful smile, "I'm layered in it, huh?"

"Like a lasagna of angst," I told her solemnly.

She huffed a quiet laugh, fidgeting with my hand, "Am I um. A tasty lasagna?"

"Oh yeah, you're delicious," I said with a cheesy wink.

"Terrible," She laughed a bit more, running her thumb over the back of my hand, and the nervous sad crept right back in, "You know about um... One day, I rescued a man? Murderer. From the gas chamber?"

"Yeah. Not well, you've never said much, but I've read a bit about it. Was kind of a big news thing."

"On the way out I met the mother of his victim. She demanded justice. She demanded his death. I didn't know how to- to reconcile her grief. Still don't. But back then... I put him back in the gas chamber. I look at Hood. Wonder if he's the murderer or the mother or the executioner. Wonder what the mother was. Wonder what I was. Wonder if the distinction matters at all."

"Hood's trying to cut all the bad people out, trying to bleed the world better. You're trying to keep it all alive, trying to keep everyone growing. Maybe the other distinctions don't matter, but I think this one has to."

She squeezed my hand tight and kissed every one of my knuckles delicately, "I hope so. Trying to believe so."

"I kinda think you already do. You may be an angst lasagna, but you don't do what you do just out of guilt, yeah?"

"Guess so... I wanted so bad to find out that they'd been replaced by aliens or something. Find out that wasn't him. Not now and um. Not on TV all those months ago. At the very least I was hoping to find regret."

"I really wish I had something better to say than, you know, his determination to be an asshole isn't something we can fix. Just gotta keep growing our garden and hope he decides to join us for real sometime."

"Yeah..." Another round of knuckle kisses, "Yeah, you're right," She wrinkles her nose, "Sucks you're right."

"Yup."

She pressed her forehead against our intertwined hands for a while.

Then she asked, "Tell me about one of your shows?"

"Sure."

So I chattered about some light stuff she nodded along to until we were both ready for bed. It was honestly really nice, and I think I needed it too, a lot more than I realized.

So yeah, here's hoping tomorrow is less of a complete shit show from start to finish.

- Batgirl IV

#jaytim #stephcass #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #damian's tomfoolery #chained fanfic #chained: to wield the blade we have forged #jason todd #tim drake

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revelisms · 10 months

Text

Little Numbers

Jinx has a lot of things she doesn't like—and, mainly, she doesn't like thunderstorms. Silco, slowly, is learning how to navigate that.

Rating: G | WC: 1.5k | Oneshot A lil' semi-sweet morsel of a character study, set early after Act 1. Features Jinx brainstorming a new invention, talking about her and Vi's papa, and asking Silco about his past. Silco is still figuring out how to be a Dad™️. Full story below and on AO3

They've something of a routine, in this.

He's come to expect it, over the months; on days like these, most of all. Past a spider-spiral of jade glass, glossed with gold, brews a storm: the rains speckling off the windows and battering over the roofs, a haze of gloom laid about their streets, like an old god stirred from the tides. It rakes its claws off every storefront and tile; leaves its footprints in polluted pools on the cobbles, with each howling stagger through the Lanes. It skews his office to gray tones, and ripples the walls with water-shadow.

A kindred spirit, in its own way. A comfort. But not for her.

The child dislikes the rain—much as she dislikes sunlight or the color lemon or the feeling of water in one's boots. Those menial things, though, can be corrected: a change of environment, new paints, fresh clothes. Contrary to the superstitions of those paid by his coin, however, he cannot control the weather.

A storm will oft send the girl into a reclusive fit. Ill associations, perhaps. He knows, best of all of them, that memory's a wry devil. With a sorceress's charm, she weaves sensation into the most stubborn edges of one's nerves; she steals things that were once cherished, and tarnishes their taste to rot; she encases, cages, and gnaws at the mind.

In his case, the work and the drink and the walks through the night's chill do enough to abide her.

Jinx—as she is now asking to be called—is still finding her ways.

On the rare, rain-drenched instances she will emerge from her den, brave the firecracker of the thunder to peel up the bar's varnish-slick steps, he's learned to find her here: her quiet tinkerings echoing from the underbelly of his desk, her small head at his knee, a gargoyled hunch in the cave-cover it provides.

He tends to think of the girl in feline terms: a spatting kitten clawing up the curtains. On these days, she's more akin to a pup at his feet—one he has to remind himself is there.

He shifts in his chair, pen in hand. She's brought a closet's worth of crafting supplies with her: papers, pens, metal parts, screws. His own work, housed in a series of reports, is similarly cluttered: steel mills, imports, distilleries, bullets. Cogs and wheels of his own toolbox.

"I see you're...working on something new." Rain smatters; his pen scratches. At his knee, the girl rifles through a set of oil-crayons. "Another invention of yours?" he wonders slowly, slicing the quill into three sharp lines.

1-5-7.

A code for Sevika: a blessing in order, with a red string. The mills were up thirty percent from the last quarter, but their chief of operations was getting skittish. Not all saw the promise in supplying disputes across the water.

He could bend their workers' ears, differently.

A small, paint-spackled hand twists around the front of his desk. With it, a splatting page.

The girl has her own codes, he's found. Music or mantras or poems, when the words won't seem to come to her. A color palette of emotions, when she isn't quite sure how to box them in, herself. He's picked up enough on their patterns. Blue means happy; yellow, sad; green, nervous.

She retreats her hand, quickly. In silence, he muddles over what he's left with.

No talking today, it seems.

Scrawled on the page: a flash of neon-pink.

Her penmanship spears through the paper, jagged lettering and punctuated swirls. It has a touch of carnivalesque charm about it. Bold, vibrant, uneven.

Gilby — Gilbert — Gilly? Like a smokie bear-BOOM! He's gonna be pink and red. See?

Underneath, she's drawn a ghoulish rendition of what appears to be a pipe bomb, with extra wires atop the head and a set of welded ears. The face wears the signature scowl she so seems to favor. Scribbled along the sides sit two claw-tipped paws.

Curiously, Silco cocks his head. She's gone so far as to outline the very chemistry she intends to use to stage the explosive. A viper-sharp mind in that little head of hers.

He hums. His pen scratches in a quiet response. A line jetted through smokie—above it, a thin respelling. Beside her drawing, he leaves notes of his own, in his sliced, sloping script.

Lovely colors. Consider a chlorate mixture — will better suit the size.

He slides the page back towards the edge of his desk, and returns to his reports. A thin set of fingers tiptoes over the varnish: slips the paper back out of sight.

Another rumble of thunder bleeds through the streets. His pen sweeps down a second sheet. Not a moment after, he finds his work again interrupted. A series of stars have been added across her page.

Sawdust or sugar? Why is it better? How did you learn about chemistry?

Silco leans into one elbow, with a low breath. He has half a mind to send his reports to the girl; see if her sharpness for equations extends to analytics.

Instead, his thumb slips her candy-colored questions farther over his wall of numbers, careful to avoid smudging her work. A gust of wind batters the rain against the windows. Beneath his desk, an incessant tick-ticking of metal. He scratches in his responses, lamplight glimmering on still-wet ink.

Sawdust. This design will have a greater reliance on pressure than combustion. From working the tunnels, then the doctor, then the tutors he knew of.

And so their routine begins: a question to a response, a response to a question. With each tradeoff, another smattering of doodles appears—some pink, some blue, some black.

Did you like school?

She's drawn a small galaxy, now, complete with star-shine and moons. He does his best to write around them: neat boxes of black lettering.

What I could get of it, under the company allowances. They hadn't much care for an educated workforce.

The company hadn't much care for anything, beyond bodies sloughing through that black earth, doing as they were told. Huddled in the barracks, his lamp tucked beneath his sheets, he used to read stolen books cover-to-cover and back again: histories, economics, folktales.

What was your favorite part? Literature.

The girl scribbles a violent response, to that. He lifts his brows, patiently, fingers laced. Gives a dull huff to the slash of pink she slides before him.

UGH!! Borrring! Did you ever write anything? Boring for you. Started with union pamphlets. Some essays stuck in the press.

A light thwunk of her boot hits the floor.

What about geology? I like geology. What's your favorite rocks? Consequence of the trade, less than like it. Minerals, not rocks. Covellite, jasper, bloodstone.

Each mineral hosts their own illustrations, by the time she turns the sheet back to him: a blue comet, a red heart, a green hand.

What were the mines like?

His pen idles on the page.

"Am I to answer that in stanza, or in a speech?" he muses, dryly.

Beneath his desk, a small sound, like an animal stifling a hiccup. After a moment, Jinx speaks. "Papa worked in the mines."

She hardly ever mentions her parents. When she does, it is with the same veneration that she speaks of her sister: like something too far gone to touch; something feared and worshipped, in turns.

Silco thinks of his own father, nigh-nonexistent father, with a lineage stripped from him since birth, and feels his nail bite into his thumb.

He thinks of Vander, for a short, vile moment—and then he doesn't.

"Then you know of it, enough," he mutters, regathering himself.

A feather-light touch toys at the clasps of his boot. "Papa hated them."

He is back in them, briefly. Back in that hellish chill, dry as death; in the red-lamped glow signposting ten-meter intervals in the pitch; in the feel of the rock at his back, a crawlspace of a work path, ore and diamonds rattling in his carts; the smell of sulphur and sweat and dust in his lungs, thick as sludge in his throat.

His pen twitches.

"Most the lot of us did, child," he says, far quieter than he intends, "and most hadn't a choice."

Jinx says nothing to that, for a long moment. She makes no move to retrieve her sheet, either. But he feels her shift: a firmer pressure at his knee, her tinkerings forgotten.

He lingers over her drawings.

Pink. The color of her shame and anger.

Silco drags his thumb against the ridges of his fingertips, worries over the hard calluses the years of that labor had left: scar tissue too deep to fade. In the silence, his reports tether back his attention. Still, Jinx sits.

He marks three sharp lines: another code for his right-hand. A gloss of green light begins to break through the gray. "These wretched things in life," he finds himself murmuring, "we all must endure. But we are stronger, for having endured them." His other hand loosens from his temple, finds the soft crown of the girl's head, and rests there. "Remember that."

Jinx draws in a small breath, picking at a piece of tin.

For minutes, she doesn't say a word. Then, quietly: "Okay."

The rains lighten. He returns to his work, leafing through new proposals and policy drafts.

At his feet, the child scribbles.

Pink and blue, and pink and blue.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #silco arcane #jinx arcane #silco & jinx #crime dad daughter duo #these season 2 tidbit ideas hit me like a truck #listen i just hhlskfj #i love lil jinx so much #and complete awkward crime boss dysfunctional dad silco #totally at a loss for how to Do This #but also just seeing so much of *himself* in her #and almost reapproaching his inner child as a result #writing

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jinxquickfoot · 9 months

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@badthingshappenbingo: Knife to the Throat

Find the fic on Ao3

“There she is. Took you long enough, Bishop.”

Kate figures that walking into her apartment with all the lights turned out isn’t a good sign. When Clint goes to bed early, he usually does it by just passing out on her couch, New York light and noise pollution be damned.

An ominous voice calling her last name from the darkness isn’t a great omen either. Already calculating just how quickly she can get from the front door to her bow, Kate flicks on the lights.

First the darkness, then the ominous voice, and now her partner pinned to the couch he likes to nap on so much with a knife at his throat. Three signs Kate's pretty sure mean danger.

“Don’t,” Madame Masque warns her as Kate prepares to dive for her bow, still hanging up next to her impromptu archery range. Damn, she really needs to take Harley Quinn’s advice and put a baseball bat by the front door or something. “Put down your bag and lock the door.”

Kate does neither, dropping her gaze to meet Clint’s eyes. There’s a trickle of blood drying on one cheek, a split lip, and even from his seated position Kate can see he’s favoring one leg. He winces as he takes in her expression, exasperation and resignation in his next words. “If I tell you to run, you’re not going to listen, are you?”

“Of course not.” Masque leans further over the back of the couch so she can press the knife even closer against Clint’s neck. “The baby hawk is going to do everything I tell her to do, or I’m going to ruin her couch.”

“Sorry, Boss.” Kate drops the bag and locks the door, before turning back to face Masque. “I’m really fond of my furniture.”

“Cute. Shed the coat,” Masque orders.

Kate does as she’s told, raising her hands to show she’s unarmed. Unfortunately. “You know, it’s usually polite to call ahead before you visit someone’s home.”

“And usually it’s impolite to steal what isn’t yours,” Masque snaps back. “Come here. Now.”

Slowly, Kate makes her way across the room, taking in the rest of the apartment. It’s far too quiet. “Where’s Lucky?”

Kate can’t see Masque’s face behind the golden mask, but she can hear the satisfaction in her voice as she says, “Your idiot predecessor decided it was more important to get the mutt out the door than defend himself.”

Of course he had. Well, that’s one less factor to worry about.

Clint shifts slightly under the knife, but that just gets his head yanked back by his hair. Kate starts forward in alarm, only to slam to a halt as Masque presses down, cutting skin. “Stay right where you are. Next time it goes deep.”

Clint tips his head back to meet Masque’s gaze. “If you're looking for the tape, it’s already with Hill,” he says, far too calmly for someone being held at knifepoint. “It’s over.”

“It’s over when I say it’s over,” Masque snaps back. “And this isn’t about the tape. This isn’t even about you, Barton.” She lifts her golden face to glare at Kate. “It’s about her.”

Well, Kate has always wanted an arch-nemesis. She’s not a fan of the part where the villain threatens her loved ones though.

Clint sends her a look, suddenly far more worried than before, knife be damned. “She didn’t do anything,” he insists. “Hill and I set the whole thing up, not Kate.”

“She embarrassed me,” Masque hisses, actually hisses, Kate didn’t even know that people did that. “You think I care about some lost tape? No—I care about putting some dumb brat back in her place.”

“Hurtful,” Kate mutters. “I actually have a GPA of 3.8, so…”

“You will lose something tonight,” Masque cuts across her, and Kate feels her heart pound a little faster. Not Clint. Anything but Clint. She’s already lost her father, her mother, she can’t lose him too. She won’t lose him too. “It will be your choice what it is.”

“My choice?” Choices are good. Choices mean that there’s an option other than watching Clint get his throat slit right in front of her. “How generous of you.”

“Kate,” Clint warns, but he’s cut off when Masque angles the blade right under his Adam’s apple.

Kate can hear the unconfined satisfaction in Masque’s voice as she says, “Go get a knife. The sharpest one you have.”

“The sharpest one I…” Kate trails off, doing a mental scan of the apartment. “You want me to get a knife?”

“I thought Barton was the deaf one.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Kate backs into her kitchenette, careful to not take her eyes off Masque. She slaps her hand along the cabinets until she finds the cutlery drawer.

Masque cocks her head to one side. “What are you doing?”

Kate locates what she’s looking for, pulling out the plastic knife she keeps mostly for spreading peanut butter on toast, and grimaces. It’s still a little sticky.

The reveal is met with twin sounds of incredulity from the couch.

Masque winds her hand tighter in Clint’s hair. “Do you really want to be making jokes right now?”

“You said the sharpest knife!” Kate protests. “This is it! It’s kind of the, um, the only knife?”

There’s a beat of dumbfounded silence before Masque says, “Why do you only have one knife?”

“I’m one person! Why is this such a hard concept for home invaders to understand?”

There’s a flash of silver, and then blood is streaking down Clint’s face.

Kate starts forward with a shout, only to freeze when the knife is shoved back against her partner’s throat.

Blood continues to spill from the fresh cut, far deeper than the one on his neck, and way too close to one of Clint’s eyes.

“No more games,” Masque says, slowly and clearly. “You fight with a sword. I’ve seen it. So go get the sharpest one.”

Swallowing back the horror that she’s just gotten Clint unnecessarily hurt, Kate pads over to the archery range, locating the katana she never uses. It’s more ceremonial than practical—a gift from her mother on her eighteenth birthday. Even after everything that had gone down on Christmas, Kate hadn’t been able to part with it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind the gold mask as Kate brings the katana closer. “You own a Master Yoshihara blade?”

“It was a birthday present.”

“That’s sweet. Take it out.”

“Kate, don’t,” Clint starts, but breaks off again when the blade bites into the already existing cut.

Kate slides the katana out of its sheath. “What, are you challenging me to a duel or something?”

“A duel is carried out to defend your reputation. You’ve already cost me mine. And now, that same action is going to cost you, Bishop. Completely your choice. Barton’s neck, or one of your hands.”

Kate blinks, sure she’s misheard. “I’m sorry, what was the second choice?”

“One of your hands,” Masque repeats, as though that’s a perfectly reasonable request. “It was going to be just a finger or two, but I’d hate you to use a blade that masterful on something so small.”

“She’s not doing that.” Clint’s words open up his wound a little deeper, but he doesn't stop. “Kate, just go.”

“Then you’re going to die, Barton. Which is perfectly fine by me.”

Kate lifts the sword so it’s pointed straight at Masque’s face. “If you kill him, you have nothing left to stop me from fighting you.”

Masque huffs. “Please. You are not going to kill me. The best you could do is get someone up here to arrest me and I assure you, if you do that I will be free and clear within the hour and your precious partner will be rotting in a morgue somewhere. So make a choice, Bishop. Chop, chop—pun intended.”

“Of course it’s intended.” Kate forces herself to breathe, meeting Clint’s eyes again, trying to ignore the blood still dripping down his face. Her fault. She’s not going to let this get any worse. I have a plan, she tries to project at him.

Clint’s shoulders stiffen in the way that means he definitely understood her, and he definitely wishes he hadn’t. Still, he gives her the slightest nod, showing her he’s ready.

Kate flips the sword over in her hand, rallying herself. “Okay, I can’t just…” She makes a vague swing at her wrist. “I need a hard surface.”

“Then get on the floor.”

“Right, yeah that’s…. that’s a big surface.”

“Stop stalling. Or I’m making the choice for you and it’s Barton’s neck.”

Kate sinks to the floor, holding her free hand out in front of her. “Don’t. I’m doing the hand one, alright? I’m doing it.” She makes a show of psyching herself up. “Rand Enterprises still makes cybernetics, right? I think my not-stepdad might actually have some contacts there he could—”

She throws the sword.

If it had been anyone else, it would have sliced right through their face. The sword pings off the golden mask just as Clint wrenches on Masque’s wrist, disarming her a second before he dives out of the way of the ricochet.

He needn’t have bothered. Kate’s aim is true. The sword pings off the mask at an extreme right angle, embedding itself in the far wall and far away from where it might have hit Clint.

Masque stumbles, trying to right herself, but Clint’s faster. He drives across the couch, tackling her out of sight. There’s a thunk that sounds suspiciously like a knife handle hitting a skull, and then— “Kate? You alright?”

“Still got two hands.”

Clint’s head pops up from behind the couch, taking her in before he slumps over the cushions in relief. “I can see that. Anything else we need to worry about?”

“You’re the one who’s bleeding all over my furniture.”

“And you’re a superhero now, you should get used to bloodstains.”

“Gross.” Kate clambers to her feet, making her way over to where she can see the unconscious Madame Masque for herself. “Think she meant what she said about getting off scot-free?”

“Probably,” Clint admits. “That’s rich people for you, Miss I own a Master Yoshihara sword.” He dabs at the cut under his eye, wincing. “Find the first aid kit, I’m going to call Hill. Maybe she can stick Masque somewhere she can’t buy her way out of. And Kate?”

Kate pauses, waiting for the speech. God knows her mother gave it to her enough times. You’re reckless. You’re irresponsible. You need to do better.

Clint offers her a crooked grin. “Nice shot.”

Kate’s shoulders drop in relief, a warmth spreading through her chest. “Yeah, well, I have a somewhat decent mentor.”

“That you do.” Masque stirs with a groan, causing Clint to kick her in the head, knocking her out again. “First aid kit. Phone Hill. Then go get Lucky back and call it a night?”

Kate smiles back at him. “Sounds perfect, Boss.”

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #knife to the throat #hostage situation #held at knifepoint #hawkeye #kate bishop #clint barton #madame masque #whump writing #marvel #mcu

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