#au: love at first sight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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I saw a post a few months ago (and damn was it really months? In PLURAL?) that was a cracky dpxdc au where the LOS were making Damian clones but the clones kept getting snatched by ghost portals and dropped into Danny’s lap and Danny just goes “ok ig this is my life now” and takes care of each one until he has his own mini army of Damian Clones.

And I remembered it a few days ago, and now I've been thinking about it again. Because I love clone aus (see: clone danny au, the 'danny is thomas wayne' au) because it itches the part of my mind that loves exploring personhood and the exploration of identity and what it means to be clone.

(What do you do when nothing about you is unique? When your face, your eyes, your hands, your hair, your voice, all the way down to your heart, all belong to someone else?)

(When it comes to nature vs nurture what of you came from your environment and your experiences, and what of you was already programmed into you from the DNA that made you?)

(What do you do to make it unique? What do you do to make you unique?)

And if I could remember who made that post I'd @ them right now because it was their original post that inspired this, but I'm just thinking of if the au only had One Singular Damian clone that fell into Danny's life.

(a read more because im apparently incapable of making posts that are less than 1k words...)

One Damian who knew he was a clone and knew that he was to either bring the original back to base or kill him to take his place, who was being trained the same way but kept getting compared to his original over and over again. Like an older sibling who you can never match up to. Who is still a child who craves adult affection and validation and praise, and can't get it because nothing about him is original.

One Damian who, at six years old, in a twist of fate is sucked through a swirling portal and lands in Amity Park, directly on top of, in front of, or in line of sight of one Daniel Fenton, half-ghost extraordinaire and local hero.

What happens next?

Well, for one, Danny recognizes him immediately. He would recognize the face of Damian Wayne anywhere because his best friend was ranting about him all week about Damian Wayne's environmental stuff he does.

And for two, he would recognize that the Damian Wayne in front of him was not Damian Wayne. Because Damian Wayne was a teenager. And the Damian Wayne in front of him is a child. Six years old.

Getting this not-Damian but also-Damian to go along with Danny is not, not an easy task. The tiny Damian is aggressive, regal, and at this point in time, six years old, barely understanding english. He also has a sword.

It takes all day and a google translator to get this Tiny Damian to finally agree to go home with Danny. It's a miracle. Seriously. A tried and true miracle. And its also only when Danny has to fight a ghost does he finally agree, saying something in arabic that Danny doesn't understand.

Danny flies them both home, carrying Tiny Damian like a koala. The ensuing conversation in his room is not any better. It is tiring, long, and exhausting. Tiny Damian is six years old, and every single thing he says when Danny asks where he came from is met with a poorly translated "that's classified".

Danny keeps an eye on the news. There are no reports of Damian Wayne going missing, in fact he's been rather public. Bruce Wayne is not one to lie about his children going missing, and Damian's secretive behavior and young age draws Danny to one conclusion: Damian is a clone.

He doesn't know why Damian Wayne is being cloned. Frankly he doesn't really wanna know, because whatever organization that did it doesn't seem too pure-of-heart if tiny-Damian's immediate attempt of murder when they first met is of any indication. But he's too busy taking care of his city, that he doesn't have time to deal with whatever shady business Tiny-Damian was produced from.

In the end though, he decides that this Tiny-Damian is not going back to whatever place he came from. Tiny Damian disagrees. It is a long, nebulous problem of Damian trying to run away, Danny catching him, and Danny pulling him back home.

In that time, Danny downloads a language app and starts learning Arabic so that they can talk to each other properly. Damian slowly, slowly, starts picking up English.

In that time, Danny also has to inform his friends and his sister about Damian. Tiny Damian is not a fan of this. That is another argument they have. Tiny Damian does not like Sam or Tucker for a long, long while. He only really "listens" to Danny, citing something in arabic that Danny still cannot understand, but has a repeated use of the word "lieazir". It's the only word that Danny can catch in a sentence immediately, because its what little Damian calls Danny.

Tiny Damian, in that front, is very interested in Danny's powers and in his parents work. He finds tubberware of ectoplasm in the fridge once while they're down in the kitchen and calls it something with the word lieazir in it. The other word is something that Danny later learns means water in arabic.

It makes him feel even more uneasy of whatever place little Damian came from.

It takes weeks for little Damian to finally give up on escaping, and then a few weeks more for him to almost entirely lose his spunk. Danny isn't sure what started it. It was as if he'd been flipped with an off-switch.

(Damian had been so confident that the League would go looking for him after his disappearance. He was wrong, and he is crushed. He is still a child, alone, in a country very big and very busy, where nobody understands what he's saying. He feels powerless, helpless.)

(The lazarus boy who calls himself Danyal is nice to him in a way the league has never been, and he's making an effort to learn Damian's language. But he leaves for hours at a time and Damian doesn't have much else to do but wait in this house for him to come back.)

(He tried leaving, many many times, but he doesn't understand the street signs, the roads, the people. He doesn't know where he is, and he feels scared in a way that he's not felt in the League. Danny finds him every single time, hours later when Damian is lost somewhere in Amity Park)

(And he never yells at him. Never. The first time this happens, Damian puffs himself up and prepares himself for this strange lazarus boy to yell at him. Damian feels like he's tripped on the last step of the stairs when Danyal doesn't yell at him.)

(He can tell he's frustrated by the tone of his voice, but when Danyal lays eyes on him he just looks relieved. He gets scolded on the flight home, but Damian doesn't understand any of it other than Danyal just sounds worried. Not angry. He gets a proper scolding once they get back, with Danyal typing into the google translator and playing it for Damian to hear.)

(This happens every single time until Damian finally agrees to stop running away.)

It's with Jazz's help that Danny finally realizes that Damian was depressed. It's with her help again that Danny tries helping with it. It's like trying to get a stray cat to trust him. And with everything else they've done, it takes a long time.

And it is so, so worth it when it all works out.

Tiny Damian doesn't really like Sam, or Tucker, but he likes Danny. And he finally starts calling him his name. His full name, but his name nonetheless. Danny doesn't bother correcting him. He's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And it's endearing hearing Damian call him Danyal.

Damian in this time, also begins to take more initiative into learning English. And they teach each other words they know. Danny buys flash cards and writes the english alphabet on them, and then finds a book on arabic to teach himself and Damian. Sam and Tucker and Jazz start learning as well.

And then when Danny knows enough arabic and Damian knows enough english, and Damian trusts Danny, Damian tells him he's a clone. It's a quiet moment, late at night when Danny takes Damian up to the ops center to look at what stars they could see through the light pollution.

It'd be very easy for Danny to tell him, "I know. I could tell from the start.". He doesn't, it's not the time nor the place, and Danny's matured enough to know when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. He lets Damian, almost seven now, tell him that he's a clone of Damian Wayne. Lets him tell him why he was made, what his purpose was.

(Danny will need a minute later to process the fact that Damian Wayne originally came from some kind of... assassin league with an obsession with immortality. But he's focused on Damian.)

In the end, he puts an arm around Damian Wayne's clone and pulls him into his side. Thanks him for trusting him, it must've been hard to tell him, that he's brave for being able to. And if he wants to, they can find a way to get into contact with the Waynes and let Wayne know about him.

Damian hides his face in Danny's ribs and holds him tight, and tells him he doesn't want to. Danny leaves it at that.

Perhaps it would be more morally ethical to alert Damian Wayne that there was a clone of him running around, that his... uh, grandfather was making clones of him. Hell, Danny would have liked it. But little Damian has asked him not to say anything, and little Damian needs someone to rely on; someone he can trust.

And in the end, its not that hard of a decision to make. Danny knows little Damian more than he knows Damian Wayne, and while Danny likes to think he's a good person, he knows he's not a great one. Nor a perfect one. He cares more about someone he knows than someone he doesn't.

If Sam tries to argue with him about it, then Danny will just double down. If Damian doesn't want to tell Wayne about his existence, then it's not their place to say otherwise.

There's a lot more to talk about over Damian's cloning, like what he wants to do moving forward. But that's a long conversation not meant to be one taken late at night. Little Damian is falling asleep at his side, seemingly much more relaxed than he did before, and Danny wasn't gonna ruin that.

And later he's right, it is a long conversation, and a slow one. Talking with Jazz about it helps him figure out what to do moving forward, and their best bet is to let Damian figure out what he wants to do. So he sits Damian down at the dinner table the next morning and tells him before breakfast that he doesn't need to be Damian Wayne.

He doesn't need to learn all the same things Damian Wayne did. He doesn't need to do anything that Damian Wayne does. And little Damian is seven, and he's smart, but Danny still has to word it in a way that's not too complex for him to realize.

And in the end, what he says essentially boils down to "You are not Damian Wayne, you are just you. Don't be anyone else but you." and it'll take more time to drill that into his mind when all he's ever heard and learned from is that he was a copy of Damian Wayne, and he must act like Damian Wayne. But it'll happen.

It's a hard task when Danny's the only person Damian really trusts and he can't be by his side all the time, but he starts to warm up to the rest of Danny's family. The Fenton parents know of him, it's hard to keep a six year old child a secret for as long as Danny did without eventually having to come clean about it. His parents, much to Danny's relief, are very welcoming to Damian.

Damian figures out what he likes. Slowly. He's six years old, almost seven, and nobody expects of him to figure out who he is immediately. No child knows who they are right off the bat. So like any child he begins to explore. His english is better but still rough, and he struggles to read said language, but the Fenton family are happy to help even if Damian learns words that no normal seven year old does. (Many of them scientific.)

Damian realizes he likes stars, even if said interest is influenced by the association to Danny. Danny is all too delighted to tell him all about them, and in the process takes him flying out somewhere where the light pollution doesn't reach and showing him where constellations are.

Damian is six-almost-seven, so he doesn't find all of them, but Danny helps him figure out the easier ones. He tells him the scientific facts behind them, and then tells him about the mythos of the constellations. Later on they make their own constellations and make up stories about what they are.

(Damian adores Danny out of anyone else in the Fenton Family. The name Danyal turns to Dany. If anyone asks, Daniel Fenton is Damian's big brother.)

(He still refers to Jazz as Jazmine, and Danny's parents as Mrs. and Mr. Fenton.)

He realizes that, like his original, he loves animals, and he becomes vegetarian too. Sam is smug and Tucker is disappointed, but Damian doesn't super care about their opinions. ...he's getting better at liking them, even if he thinks Manson is a bit snobby and Foley is too much at times.

Its inevitable that the conversation of school comes into play. Damian can't stay home all day and he needs proper schooling. So after a long talk with Damian, they agree to send him to elementary school.

...And before they can do that the Fenton Family goes through with legally adopting Damian into the family as Damian Fenton. It takes convincing to get the administration to enroll him into the first grade without a proper schooling background.

(On his adoption form, Damian asks to change his birthday to the day he met Danny. Perhaps its not the most responsible thing to agree to, but Danny wants Damian to find himself. And its not like they know when his actual birthday was.)

And despite where he learned it from, Damian quite likes sparring. And he quite likes sparring with Danny in particular. Danny makes it fun, something that was foreign in his old league training, and Danny never hurts him. It's a lot like roughhousing.

Danny tells Damian how he got his powers, and how his parents don't know. Damian wakes up late at night to Danny sneaking out of the room (their house is not big enough to give Damian an individual room, and Danny agreed to share his) to go fight ghosts.

It's upsetting. Damian knows that Danny gets injured in those fights, even if Danny never comes home until after those injuries have been fixed up. He wants to help, and he voices it, and Danny shoots him down.

It becomes an argument, something that has happened less and less over the months.

Damian is experienced.

Damian is a child.

Damian knows how to fight.

Damian is mortal and fragile. He is a tiny, squishy human boy and the people Danny fights are ghosts who are near-indestructible. Who are intimately acquainted with death but also do not remember that humans are capable of it. Especially when they're fighting.

Damian says that Batman's rogues are capable of the same thing, that he lets his Robins help him fight.

And Danny says he is not Batman and he will not allow Damian to fight ghosts with him. Those ghosts will kill him and it will hurt. Dying hurts in a way that is terrifying and unimaginable and he will not risk Damian experiencing it. Not even Sam and Tucker help him in his fights most of the time, they are not able to. Not in the way Danny can.

Damian doesn't talk to him all day the following morning, but Danny does not budge on his decision. Damian tries to follow him out the next night, and Danny catches him and takes him back. Over, and over, and over again.

Until finally he gets intercepted by Skulker while taking Damian back home and is forced to fight him in front of Damian. (If it had been his choice, he would not have let Damian see it at all.)

It's not pretty. Skulker has new weapons, weapons that hurt, a lot. Danny is stuck between trying to take him down and trying to protect Damian from Skulker's attacks at him and from all the debris being created from the fight. It's with Damian's quick thinking and fast feet that finally helps Danny take Skulker out. But Danny is badly injured in the aftermath.

He doesn't have time to take Damian home and get medical attention. So he takes Damian with him to wherever he has his supplies stashed. He doesn't call Sam or Tucker or Jazz, and has to stitch himself up alone, with Damian watching.

Damian is quiet the entire time, he feels awful. Danny's not mad at him -- well, he is. But not because he had to protect him. He's just tired, and a little disappointed in him. Damian doesn't sneak out again. But he still feels helpless.

Danny tells him that that is why he doesn't want Damian to help him. Ghosts, his ghosts, are hard to fight. They are powerful, and his 'rogues' are mean. They will not care that Damian is a mortal child, if he picks a fight with them, they will fight back. And Damian is not immune to certain ghost powers like Danny is.

Damian is silent. He wants to help. But Danny is right: he is a squishy, mortal, living child. There is not much he can do to help Danny. Not without any gear to do it. Not without any powers to do it. He wants to help. He cannot.

Damian, almost-seven-years old, begins to cry. It is the last thing Danny was expecting, and for a moment he is at a loss of what to do.

Damian reaches for him -- in the Fenton family, physical affection is expected. Damian is getting used to it, but Danny is the only one he likes touching him -- and then stops, cringing away like he only just remembered that Danny was hurt.

He only cries harder.

Danny meets him halfway and pulls him into his arms, situating Damian between his knees from where he's sitting. Through his tears, Damian says he wants to help. He wants to help. He doesn't want Danny to get hurt anymore. He doesn't want Danny to fight ghosts alone anymore. He's scared that Danny will stop coming back.

Danny doesn't have anything to say to reassure him. Can't say anything to reassure him. It'll all just be lies. He's not going to stop fighting ghosts, he can't. He's not going to stop getting hurt, he can't. He's not going to bring Damian with him, he can't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

"I'll always come back." He says though, because that is something he can promise. Whether dead or alive, he'll come back.

When the tears finally stop, Damian doesn't say anything again. He sniffles, and presses his ear to Danny's chest, listening to the steady, slow heartbeat. If he puts his ear to his sternum and strains his ear, Damian would almost hear the low hum of Danny's ghost core, like a small dwarf sun.

"If you die, I'll drag you to the Lazarus pools myself." Damian mumbles eventually, his voice sleep-full. It's spoken in arabic, and Danny only understands half of it.

He laughs quietly, and smoothes his hand over Damian's hair. He hasn't had a haircut since he arrived, it's gotten long and there are curls beginning to form. "Okay."

Damian falls asleep shortly after, and with much consideration to his own injuries and Damian's sleeping form, Danny flies them back home.

It's hard to say, but not much changes in routine afterwards. Damian hovers close to Danny, more than usual. Danny still goes out at night, he still stitches himself up before going back, he still goes back home where Damian is waiting worriedly for him. Damian doesn't like falling asleep without knowing Danny is there.

Now the hard question is: when does little Damian finally meet the Waynes for the first time? There's plenty of ways to go about it, both easy and hard. Perhaps we go this way:

The Fenton family are visiting Maddie's sister in Arkansas. And Damian is dragging Danny around through the surrounding forest. It's his first time being in a forest this large since he moved in with the Fentons. Safe to say he is delighted by all of the nature, and he's dragging Danny along with him.

Danny likes the peace and quiet it gives him, he's found that he enjoys the rural area more than he likes the city. He's happy to let Damian point out every plant he recognizes, even if some of it is in arabic.

They walk around all day until Damian gets tired, and then at night when the sky is clear Danny and him go look at the stars. It's peaceful at first.

On the third day of their visit, Damian drags Danny out far from the house. It's slightly worrying, but Danny can always fly them back if it gets too late.

It's in the woods that Danny and Damian stray much too far from Alicia's house, and from there in the early evening that they run into Batman and Red Robin, both of them in rough 'just got out of a fight' shape.

Safe to say, it was the last thing any of them expected to run into. Damian and Danny had stopped at a small crik to rest, and the two vigilantes came through the tree line on the other side.

It was... quite the staring contest.

Damian, now seven years old at this point, forgot to mention that the Waynes were vigilantes when he told Danny he was a clone. But he was told that Batman was his original's father.

Before anyone can say anything, little Damian wraps his arms tight around Danny's middle and stares Batman and Red Robin down. His sharp edges have softened around the Fentons. But he makes no exceptions to anyone else outside of Danny's immediate social circle.

Danny's arm automatically goes around Damian's shoulders, and he looks between both Red and Batman uneasily. If they were here then it meant that there was something unsafe nearby. Danny did not fight the living, and he wasn't going to put Damian in the crosshairs of anything that does.

"Should... should we leave?" He asks, brows knotted together with a frown. He stands. "Is there something going on nearby?"

Batman suddenly grunts, and looks at him. "It's been handled." He says, and his voice is gruffer than Danny imagined it. Lower. Danny is not all that comfortable with that answer.

"Do you guys live nearby?" Red Robin asks, and Danny can't help but notice that he keeps looking at Damian. Warily. In fact, so is Batman.

He pushes Damian behind him slightly, and Damian's grip tightens on him. "Not... exactly." He says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My family's visiting my Aunt and my brother wanted to explore since it's his first time out of the city, I guess we wandered too far away if we're running into you."

There's no visible indication of whether or not both Bats reacted to him calling Damian his brother. But he can all but feel little Damian preen at the title, it makes Danny's mouth twitch into a smile as his hand finds Damian's hair.

"Would we be able to go back with you?" Red Robin asks, startling both Danny and seemingly Batman, who looks at him instantly.

"Red Robin." He growls out, and Red Robin throws Batman a look of annoyance.

"We are lost, B. They jammed the comms and our trackers back there and it hasn't come back on yet, his aunt may have the signal we need to let the others know where we are."

They end up walking back with Danny and Damian. It's silent, and awkward, and Danny has Damian walking on his opposite side so he's not near the vigilantes. Red Robin is fiddling with a phone but still can't get a signal.

Batman is silently brooding.

Red eventually gives up and shoves the phone into a pocket on his belt, then turns to make conversation with Danny. "I never thanked you for letting us walk with you. Thanks, by the way."

Danny blinks at him, and smiles awkwardly. "No problem, man," he says, "I'm uh, Danny." He glances down at Damian, who looks up at him with big green eyes, and Damian nods quietly.

He looks back at Red Robin, and says, "This is my little brother, Damian." And Damian peers over his side and glares at Red Robin -- and Batman, who looks over when Danny says his name.

"He looks like Damian Wayne," Red Robin notes, head tilting like he's inspecting him.

Danny huffs dryly, "We get that a lot."

Red Robin smiles at him, its a tilted thing. It makes Danny uneasy. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Danny says bluntly, and he really doesn't want to tell them where he's from. Not when Red Robin was acting strange, but they're vigilantes and notorious for their detective skills. If he's suspicious, they'll look into him. "But I'm from Amity Park."

Damian in that moment, peers around Danny again and scowls at Red Robin. Full on scowls at him, as if it were the first months when he met Danny. "You're being nosy." He sneers, his hand squeezing Danny's.

"Damian," Danny hisses, suppressing a smile. Damian jumps like he's been startled, and looks up at him with big green eyes. "He's just being curious."

(He lets his smile slip through briefly, just to let Damian know he's not that upset. A tension leaves his little brother's shoulders.)

"But he is." Damian continues, a whine leaking into his voice. Danny jabs him in the ribs with his fingers, and Damian jumps, swatting away his hand with a squeak.

"Would you rather have us walk in dead silence, Dames?" He goes for Damian's ribs again, a grin stretching across his face as Damian jumps back again and swats his hand. "Hm? Hm? We could just walk in awkward silence for the entire trip back, I know you just love awkward silence, little brother."

(It's funny, saying little brother always sounds so uncomfortable when he reads it in books and watches it on tv. But Jazz always makes it sound so natural when she does it, and Danny finds that he sounds the same too.)

Damian continues to bat away his hands, but it's not enough to prevent him from squealing with laughter when Danny gets a good hold on him and starts tickling him. Danny's grin only gets bigger, and he swoops Damian up with his arm and holds him like a football.

"Is that it? Huh? Me, you, and two vigilantes walking back to Aunt Alicia's cabin in complete, utter silence." He says, "You won't get to hear any of my amazing jokes."

Damian's wriggling, trying to pound on Danny's ribs, he's giggling uncontrollably. It's the best sound Danny's ever heard. "Your jokes are awful! Laeazir! Put me down!" He cries, grinning from ear to ear.

(From the side, both Red Robin and Batman tense up.)

Danny chuckles, and through a short series of flips, has Damian sitting on his shoulders. "I will not. You're sitting up in air jail for insulting my hilarious jokes."

Damian tugs on his hair in revenge, harrumphing at him but making no move to get down. Danny squeezes his ankles playfully, and looks back to Batman and Red Robin.

Both vigilantes look at him like he's grown a second head.

....Red Robin looks at him like he's grown a second head. Batman just stares, and then looks away. Danny tilts his head at them, his smile waning. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something."

(Damian tugs on his hair again. A silent boo at him.)

Red Robin jerks, "Oh, sorry." He says, not sounding all that sorry. "It's just... I've lost count to how many times I've saved Damian Wayne from the occasional kidnapping and he's always been very... serious. It's just weird seeing a kid that looks like him be... not serious."

From his shoulders he feels Damian hide his smile in his hair, that's another thing they can put on their "Things That Damian Does That Damian Wayne Does Not" list. It started as a joke, but it's been surprisingly helpful for when Damian is questioning himself.

However, Danny is not a fan of the comparison, and he smiles widely, perhaps a tad passive-aggressive. "It's a good thing that my Damian isn't Damian Wayne then." He says, giving him the slight stink eye.

Red Robin picks up on it quickly, and nods.

The rest of the way is spent in idle conversation. It's oddly casual, even if most of the conversation is Danny talking about himself. It's annoying, but he unfortunately understands the reason. Secret identities and all that.

Damian interjects a few times, some parts to talk to Danny, and other parts to throw shade at Batman and Red Robin. Mostly Red Robin, who seems begrudgingly used to it.

("I'm surprised you haven't asked me much about myself." Red Robin says at one point into the conversation. Over his shoulder Batman glares at Red Robin. "A lot of civilians do when they're able."

Danny stares at him. "You're a vigilante." He says, frowning, "Isn't it superhero 101 that you don't ask superheroes for their secret identity?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Huh. Well, no. I'm not gonna ask you about yourself. I quite like talking all about me.")

When they finally reach the cabin, it's late into the night and Danny has moved Damian from his shoulders to his front in a koala-like carry. Damian's fast asleep with his head on Danny's shoulder.

His family was also frantically searching for him, and Jazz sees him first. She immediately turns behind her and yells "I FOUND HIM!". And then sprints over to him, his parents thundering not too far behind.

Both vigilantes are subsequently ignored as Jazz dotes over him and Danny, and soon enough so is his mom and dad. They're all talking all at once, asking him where he was, they were worried sick, did he know how late it was.

He shushes all of them, loudly. And whispers that Damian is sleeping. His family then immediately quiet themselves, and go back to yelling at him in a more appropriate manner.

"Me and Damian walked too far by accident." Danny finally says when he can get a word in, and then he jabs his thumb in Red Robin and Batman's direction. "We also found two superheroes who need assistance."

The speed of which his family all snap their heads over to the direction he's pointing is almost comical. As is all of their expressions of shock.

His mother is the first to regain her senses, and she sighs at him. She sighs! "Only you, Danny." She says, and Jazz snorts into her arm.

#dpxdc #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny phantom au #dpdc danny fenton #i am incapable of making short posts it seems. heavy sigh #this post is open to add ons if anyone's interested 👉👈#this entire au is essentially the song 'Strange Sight' by KT Turnstall from the Tinkerbell and the Neverbeast #This post mostly goes into how danny and damian's relationship develops because i think that's the more important part of the au #also damian's like six i firmly believe he wouldn't know much english #no no he's learning arabic first and then english LATER. if he would ever even get there with the league #iirc all the damian clones liked Danny so i wanna explore how their relationship got to that point. Like what happened for Danny to get eve #getting one Damian clone to like him enough to go up to bat for him? that takes time and patience and i wanna explore that lol #danny's in his late teens here btw.#Clone Damian is a 7yo child and I'm writing him as such because its fun. I thought about having Clone Damian change his name but nothing fi #little clone damian is also A Tad Clingy. Danny is the First Person to have shown him a kindness and Damian Imprinted On Him Like a Duck #i love clone aus and clone aus love me #clone damian and danny are bROOOTHEERSS #i thought about making clone damian's name damon bc its close to the name damian but also i like the idea that clone damian keeps the--#original name and then makes it his own. something about taking the name you were given thats not really yours and MAKING it yours

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just-j-really · 7 months

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"I just don't get it," Hob says, for the fifth or sixth or possibly twentieth time that night, glancing over the rim of his cup at Will, who's sitting on the other side of the room, cuddling with his soulmate in an armchair that's really too small for the both of them. "Why everyone's so hung up on soulmates."

It's all anyone's been able to talk about tonight- and sure, that's fair, it is Will and Ann's engagement party, but Hob has overheard the phrases 'oh you're so lucky you found each other so young' and 'why did you wait this long?' far too many times for one night. Will and Ann met as toddlers; they've never had another option and Hob cannot fathom why everyone seems to think that's a good thing.

Case in point, even his little group of Unmatched friends react to his statement with varying degrees of exasperation.

Hob is just sober enough to be aware he should probably shut up, and drunk enough that he keeps talking anyway. "I mean, I've seen 'soulmates'," he says. "My parents were soulmates, both my siblings met theirs, half of my friends are paired off by now. It's not like I don't know how soulmates work. Soulmates are..." he takes a moment, gathers his thoughts, and even though he's not entirely sure what he's about to say, the moment the word leaves his mouth he knows it's exactly right, "Stupid."

His friends laugh uncomfortably. "You're an idiot," Andrew says, not unkindly.

But Hob's on a roll now, an argument that's been simmering in his chest for years spilling out of him, the exhilaration of speaking making the words come easily. "You literally don't have to stay with your soulmate. No one has to! Everyone just goes along with it because everybody else does. But not me. I've made up my mind," he says, setting his cup down and straightening his shoulders. He's been bullshitting a bit but he means this, knows down to his bones that this is something worth staking his life on. "I'm going to meet someone perfect who isn't my soulmate, and I'll marry them instead."

He feels like he should do something solemn to mark this occasion. Stand up on a table, maybe.

Instead, most of his friends laugh at him again. "Hobs, that's the literal definition of your soulmate. Someone who's perfect for you," Gwen points out. The laughter is teasing, and Gwen's tone is more reassuring than anything else, but still, Hob finds himself frustrated.

"But there's so much more out there. So many people to fall in love with," he insists. "Shouldn't I know who's perfect for me better than anyone?"

And his friends tease him for somehow being sappily romantic in his opposition to sappy romance, and he laughs along with them and points out that his perfect person will be more understanding than them, for sure. And he's genuinely a bit hurt, but Gwen bumps his shoulder apologetically and he thinks that destiny has nothing on these friends he's made on purpose, who know him well enough for these unspoken gestures. And there's movement in the corner of his eye.

Hob looks up.

The most gorgeous man alive is standing in front of him. He's tall- probably taller than Hob, even- pale and willowy, with a mess of soft-looking black hair. His eyes are a deep blue Hob didn't think existed in real life until this moment. He looks like the slightly magical prince in a fairy tale got loose in the real world and decided to become a goth. He's perfect.

"Did I hear you say," the man asks, his voice soft and deep all at once, resonant in a way that Hob's never heard before, "you have no intention of meeting your soulmate?"

Not if he's you, Hob thinks, I take it all back if he's you.

Despite what many of his friends will argue, he is capable of not voicing every thought that comes into his head, if only under extreme circumstances, so he offers the stranger his best grin and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"You'll need to tell me how that works out, then," the man replies.

"Don't encourage him!" Andrew calls from the other side of their little cluster.

The man- flinches, just a little. Hob probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been staring at him, but Hob's universe just gained a new center, so he is and he does.

"Hey," he says, catching the man's eyes, "Don't mind him, he's just boring. You really want to know how it goes, finding someone who isn't my soulmate?"

"I do," the man says, seriously, like he genuinely thinks Hob's quest is worth his full attention. It leaves Hob feeling warm, almost giddy.

"Perfect," Hob says, and then, because he's never known when to quit, "Let me give you my number, so I can update you?"

The man nods, a teasing little smirk appearing on his face, as though he and Hob already know each other perfectly, and this is a shared, ancient joke between the two of them. His fingers brush Hob's as he passes over his phone.

Nothing happens. There's no spark, no splash of color on Hob's skin marking where this stranger's fingers first dragged over his.

They are, definitively, not soulmates.

And Hob knows for certain that he's right.

[Part Two]

#dreamling #the anti-soulmate au #I'm back on my bullshit everybody!#it's not soulmates but it IS love at first sight #for one of them anyway #my fic #unsoulmates au

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luckycloverforducks · 2 months

Text

[WIP? Sketch?? Idk concept]

[Swap AU]

"it's you... !"

That moment when the girl who patched you up and saved you from dying in an alley (that you promptly ran away from) show up at one of your very first concerts

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messrmagpie · 1 year

Text

“Hey, could I get an iced latte?”

“With oat milk?”

#marauders #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #fanart #wolfstar coffee shop au #coffee shop au #barista Remus #mwpp #anything for our moony #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #atyd #love at first sight #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar au #wolfstar fanart #fuck jkr #idiots in love

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

Clawing at the door for more cowboyau GHOST team . I’m literally addicted to your writing, I hope you have a lovely day/night! :3

Very quick Logan drabble because I have given him no love....

You spot him immediately as someone new in town. It's a small town and everyone knows everyone so you pick him out quick. He's arguing with Murphy over pricing, using big words like: ludicrous, and absolutely insane, and highway robbery. You laugh and finished sorting through the seeds you want. He storms out of the store in a huff, you catch his eye with a smile. His eyes soften, his step slows almost to a stop, and somehow you get the barest twitch of a smile back, before he seems to remember he's upset and turns to finish his stomping. You hardly pay it any mind, and finish your shopping, cracking a joke to Murphy about hot headed interlopers that gets a few dollars knocked off your total.

The next time you see him you're parked by one of the swimming holes, stripped down for a quick dip before the sun gets any higher. Most folks don't care much about private property when it's over 100 degrees out, but when you pop your head up out of the water he's glarin' at you from the back of a horse. Again, something in his face softens when you grin up at him. He swings down off his horse while you make your way to the shore, you've got a towel in your trunk, but that's on the other side of the pond. Logan offers you a hand to help you out of the water, and you do your best to keep your smile when you push your wet hair off your forehead. He does his best at keeping his eyes on your face.

"You're tresspassin'," He tells you. You laugh, and his lips twitch up just slightly.

"Someone's always tresspassin'," You assure him, "Where'm I tresspassin'?"

"Walker ranch," You hum and he holds out his hand, "Logan Walker." You take it, enjoy the firm shake, the callouses on his warm hand.

"Walker," You nod, shake your head and try to dislodge your smile. You remember some girls in town calling it "Can't Walk-er" ranch, giggling over the new studs running it. You can't say you disagree.

"What's so funny," He asks.

"Nothing," You like the way he smiles at you, like he doesn't believe you, "Y'all are new to the area right?"

"Pretty new."

"Well, here's a tip," You brush the water off your arm, "It's nearly a hundred and ten degrees out, you're gonna get a lot of folks jumpin' in that pond. Best just to let 'em." Logan glances past you to the pond, and gives a short nod. He swipes his straw hat from his head and fans himself with it before thinking better of it and settling it on your head. You wonder if he knows what that means, you suppose it doesn't matter, but it sure isn't the heat gettin' to you now.

"You better get goin' then," He tells you, hooking his boot in the stirup and swinging back up onto his horse, "Wouldn't want a pretty thing like you gettin' lost in the crowd."

#cod x reader #x reader #logan walker #logan walker x reader #cod logan #call of duty ghosts #logan ghosts #logan cod #cod ghosts #cowboy!logan #cowboy au #ehehehehe he's so funny #hotheaded former military man #love at first sight baby he's gotta have you #Logan trying so hard not to stare at you in your swimsuit #There reaches a point where u just wear a suit under your clothes #because you will be jumping in a pond at some point #otherwise you're just in your underwears #I guess either way is fine really

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lulublack90 · 1 month

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Prompt 4 - Airport/Travel AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 4, word count 997

He was running late. He ran through the airport, hoping to get to the gate before they shut it. It was all the guy with the curly black hair’s fault.

First, he stole the black cab Remus had been about to get into, making Remus wait for another one. Then he didn’t hold the lift for him because, apparently, they were both going to the airport, so Remus had to stand furiously pressing the button for the next lift.

The man spent so long chatting to the woman at the check-in desk that by the time it was Remus’s turn, he had to wait for her to swap with a colleague as it was time for her break.

Then he held him up at the metal detectors as every time the man went through it, it went off, and he charmed the agent so well they didn’t make him do a strip search.

Remus was so beside himself by that point he forgot to take his shoes off and got a dressing down by the previously cheerful agent.

His gate was on the other side of the terminal, so he set off running, his carry-on bag swinging wildly in his hand.

He arrived sweating and gasping for air at the same time as one of those airport buggies showed up, escorting the man and his backpack. He heard the man thank the driver and head over to the desk.

“You’re just in time, Sir, another minute, and I would have had to shut the door.” The woman told Remus, making him feel like a naughty schoolboy and not in a sexy way.

Finally tired, sweaty and feeling particularly rumpled, Remus got onto the plane and found his seat.

He sat down, not looking at his row mate, and leaned back, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself enough to relax while the plane taxied down the runway and took off into the skies.

He sat, ignoring everything for a while. He could feel himself falling asleep.

The ding calling the air steward went off above him.

“Hello, Sir, how can I help?” A sweet voice spoke next to him.

“Could I trouble you for a blanket?” A man’s voice asked.

“Of course, Sir. I’ll be right back.” She walked back down the aisle.

Remus realised how chilly the plane was and decided to ask for his own blanket when she came back.

“Here you are, Sir,” She smiled at the man beside him.

“Oh, excuse me,” Remus said politely. “Sorry, could I get one as well, please?”

“I’m so sorry, Sir. That was the last one.” He turned his head then and saw that the person beside him was the same man from earlier, sitting all snuggly under the last blanket. “There was an issue with the supplier,” She continued. “And we unfortunately don’t have enough to go around.” She looked worried he might kick-off. Clearly, she’d had to deal with many disgruntled passengers, and Remus refused to be one of them.

“No matter. It’s hardly your fault.” His voice had come out clipped, which he hadn’t meant to happen.

“Again, I’m very sorry.” She smiled apologetically at him. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” He shook his head, and she left to deal with another passenger.

Remus silently fumed. There was an entire plane, and he had to end up next to this prick!

“Excuse me, I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.” The man who had been annoying him all morning offered. Remus turned to glare at him as though he was rubbing salt into Remus’s wounds. But he found himself slightly stunned. The man was smiling at him. The skin around his eyes was slightly crinkled as he held out the scratchy blanket.

“Oh—er, thank you.” Remus gave him a quick half-smile. The man shuffled as close as his seat’s armrest would allow him and threw the blanket over them. Remus didn’t know what the man was wearing, but he smelled amazing.

“So, where are you headed?” The man asked. Remus had to shake his head to clear his mind enough to answer.

“Home,” he answered quietly. “What about you?”

“Oh, same. My best friend’s parents are renewing their vows. They asked me to give a speech and everything. I’m so nervous that I’m going to muck it up. Effie and Monty are so important to me. They basically raised me when my parents kicked me out, and I’m giving my life story to a complete stranger. I’m so sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous, and you are incredibly good-looking and agreed to share a blanket with me, and I’m doing it again.” He’d blushed bright red and chewed his lip to keep himself from talking.

Remus blinked a few times, taking in the onslaught of information the man had just spouted.

“Hi, I’m Remus,” He said, grinning, no longer irked by the man beside him, he found him oddly endearing.

“Sirius,” The man shuffled under the blanket and grabbed Remus. He froze. “Oh my god! That is not your hand! I am so sorry!” His eyes were wide with horror. Remus noticed they were a beautiful stormy grey and that he still hadn’t let go. Remus cleared his throat and carefully removed Sirius’s hand from his crotch. He kept hold of Sirius’s hand, hoping to calm him down.

“Breathe, Sirius, it was an accident. Just breathe.” Sirius did as he was told and took a deep, shuddery breath, keeping his eyes locked on Remus’s.

Remus felt a wave of bravery hit him and moved the armrest back into the seat between them. “You’re single, right?” He asked, eyeing Sirius up. Sirius nodded and shuffled closer to Remus.

Normally, Remus would never do anything like this, but something about Sirius felt right, as though they’d known each other in another life.

“Are you free on the 19th? I need a date for this wedding?” Sirius beamed at him.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar au #remus lupin #sirius black #remus john lupin #sirius orion black #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #sirius and remus #remus and sirius #airport #who is this annoying man?#blanket #love at almost first sight #airport/travel au

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princessasmosprincess · 9 months

Text

The Same Page

In the universe of Mermaid Splash

Summary: When your book falls into the sea, you come face to face with the fascinating merman who retrieves it.

Pairing: Satan x GN Reader/MC

Genre: Fluff.

Warnings: None.

***

Author's Note: While this work makes a few references to Mermaid Splash, you don't have to have read that one to understand it.

***

It felt so rude to stare, but Satan had never seen anyone’s attention so rapt before. Then again, it wasn't as if Satan had even met other merpeople who were avid readers, other than a few of his brothers.

It was nice to observe a human taking advantage of the privilege of reading.

Satan envied humans for their access to books, he could only get the ones claimed by the waves in shipwrecks. What he wouldn’t give to be able to visit a library, just once, like the ones he’d read about.

Many of the humans he had encountered were foolish sailors who placed more value on riches rather than knowledge. So when they succumbed to the song of Satan and his brothers, he didn't care one bit if their lives were lost to the unforgiving depths.

But you seemed different.

You stretched and crossed one leg over the other on the rail of the ship where you had perched yourself as you read, completely oblivious to the revelry on deck.

He was fascinated with the line of your muscles, the way they were able to keep you rooted in such a precarious location despite gravity, wind, and the bobbing of the ship fighting against you. It looked like it could be a comfortable position for reading, but Satan really couldn't say himself. His lower half was different from yours and he didn't have the same capabilities. Not to mention he was rarely, if ever, totally out of the water.

You turned on your side, facing the water, your legs still crossed at the ankle, the shape not unlike a merperson's tail. You gave a blissful sigh as you turned another page, leaning lazily on one arm.

Beautiful.

He could watch you read for hours. There was something so lovely in the way your gaze skimmed the page, the little expressions you made when you read something you liked. He saw you mouth a word you seemed to be unfamiliar with a few times until it felt comfortable on your lips, giving a satisfied smile as you pronounced it once more and then moved on to the next sentence.

Satan’s heart clenched. He did that too (or he used to, he’d already read the books in his collection several times through). It was comforting to know that humans and merpeople weren't all that different, even in little quirks like that. And maybe that meant he had a chance for happiness with his partner.

Asmo deserved that, at least, for all he had gone through.

A breeze picked up and the ship bobbed against the building current. You reached down to brace yourself against the rail, but in doing so you lost hold of your book and it plummeted into the sea.

“No, no, no!” You cried, hopping back onto deck.

“Lost another book over the side?” Someone called after you.

“Not this time!” Your voice faded away as you ran down into the ship.

You couldn't bear to lose another book, this was the seventh one yet and you didn't have the money to replace it. The story was really getting good, too. If you ran fast enough, maybe you could catch it before it sank under the waves.

You threw open the large porthole on the lower deck around where your book had dropped. The book had already begun to drift away but thankfully it still floated on the surface of the water.

Silently cursing yourself for not thinking to grab a net on your way there, you rolled up your sleeves and reached out to try to grab it.

It was too far away.

You looked around the room for something you could use to retrieve it, but there was nothing but tangles of old rope and empty wooden crates.

Now there was an idea…

You dragged a crate up to the wall under the porthole and stepped up onto it. You pushed your shoulders out of the porthole and stretched as far as you could, the green sea churning just a few feet below you, with only one hand as your anchor to the ship. You probably should have made use of the rope, but you had no time for regret.

“Almost…” You could feel your fingers slipping against the edge of the windowsill, but you needed to retrieve your book. Now.

You stretched as far as you could but the book was still too far away. Your fingertips didn't even brush the cover.

Ripples lapped at the pages, and it almost felt as if the sea was taunting you for your loss, keeping the book just out of your reach.

And in one fell swoop it was swallowed by a wave.

“No!” You sagged against the porthole, disappointed and near tears. Your poor book was lost to the sea.

“You should be more careful,” said a gentle voice.

“I know!” You sniffed, burying your face in your folded arms that leaned over the windowsill. “I just couldn't help it. The breeze felt so nice tonight, and sunset is the perfect time for reading.” The crew would never let you live this one down. Mephisto had already lectured you about making “frivolous” purchases, now he had a reason to tear into you about carelessness.

“You’re lucky I was here,” They pressed the book into your hands, prompting you to look up from your wallowing.

You blinked a few times to clear your vision, “Thank y–” It took you a moment to register what you were seeing.

A handsome man, wearing nothing but a single string of pearls, with golden hair and eyes the color of the ocean, floated in the water next to the ship, his emerald green tail swishing behind him.

You screamed.

Of course Satan had to come to your rescue. It was only right as a fellow bibliophile, although now he was starting to regret that decision.

“Please stop,” He tucked his tail underneath himself and treaded water.

You clutched the sopping wet book in your hands, dripping seawater onto the deck as you began loudly rambling something about not getting enough sleep or reading too many fairytales.

Satan needed to calm you before someone else came to find out what was going on. It would do him no good to have the entire ship, likely stocked with tools meant to catch and maim sea creatures, to be up in arms. How embarrassing would it be for a Prince of the Sea to be killed over a book?

“You know, that book of yours is salvageable.” He said, hoping to distract you from your panicking.

You hugged the book against your chest, “It- it is?” You stammered.

“Stand it on its end and fan out the pages and leave it by an open window, don’t touch it until you’re sure it’s dry. It might take a few days.”

You looked from him to the book and then back to him, “How do you know that?”

He gave a patronizing smile. “I take it you're finished?”

You inhaled a deep, shaking breath. Your eyes were still wide in shock, but at least you weren't screaming anymore.

You nodded, your cheeks growing warm. “I’m sorry. I just. I’ve never seen a merperson before. I didn't even think they were real.”

“Oh, I can assure you, we’re very real.” He snapped his tail up behind him.

You gasped. What a cute reaction.

“Um…” You said, trying to regain your composure, “Thank you for saving my book.”

You cradled it in your arms as if it was your most prized possession, and Satan thought he would melt into seafoam on the spot.

“Yes, well,” He looked away, blush blooming on his cheeks. You were even more lovely up close. “I might have kept it for myself if I didn’t already have the same book in my collection.”

“You collect– do you keep them under the sea?” You asked, cocking your head adorably.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, “I keep them in a cave, safe from the elements.”

“Oh, naturally,” you quipped, a playful twinkle in your eye.

So you weren't just pretty to look at, but clever too. He liked that. Really liked that.

“How else would I know the proper way to dry and preserve books? Waterlogged paper doesn’t make for good reading.” He said.

“No it doesn’t…” You looked down sheepishly at the damp leather and soaked pages.

“But if you heed my advice you won’t have that issue. Just don’t leave it too close to the open window.” He teased.

“I won’t, I promise.”

You seemed to study him with such probing, bright eyes. As if trying to figure out exactly how he worked, which Satan realized with a pang was exactly how he had watched you earlier. The thought made him feel almost giddy, it was as if the two of you were on the same page.

Satan swam up a little closer to you, languidly sweeping his tail out behind him so you could get a good look at his fins, his scales glittering in the low light of sunset. “So, which one were you reading?” He asked.

“Huh?” You blinked, distracted by his physique.

“Which story?” The book you had almost lost was a volume of Greek myths, one Satan had read so many times he nearly had it memorized. It seemed you had good taste in literature as well.

“Oh, I was reading the story of Orpheus and Eurydice,” you grinned. “Orpheus was just about to begin his journey out of the underworld when I dropped my book. Thanks to you, I get to read how it ends.” You appeared to be very excited.

“I see…” Satan frowned.

“What is it? Do you not like that story?”

You seemed to want his approval. Did that mean you sensed a connection the way he did? Satan could only hope.

“No, on the contrary, I love it, it’s one of my favorites. It’s just…” His expression was cryptic, “I’d recommend reading Eros and Psyche next.” Satan turned to leave, he could hear your fellow crew members calling for you up on deck.

“Why that one next?” You wanted him to stay, to prolong the time so you could learn more about this handsome merman you'd been fortunate enough to cross paths with. If only Mephisto hadn't chosen that moment to start bellowing.

“Just trust me.” He flashed a smile that almost made you swoon, “Next time you’ll have to tell me what you think.”

“Next time?” Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. “Does that mean I’ll see you again?”

“Perhaps…” He gave a wink over his shoulder before diving into the sea, his beautiful tail flicking up over the water before disappearing beneath the waves.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

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getmehighonmagic · 1 month

Text

Sentences Sunday, April 7th 2024

Hi, I'm back from the dead. Missed me? Lol. I'm so sorry I've been slacking, I haven't been in a great space, mentally, but I'm gonna try to tag along again!

Thanks for the tags @duchessdepolignaca03 @wordsofhoneydew @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and @itsmaybitheway ♥

From take me back to San Francisco, coming soon:

Sitting on top of the hill at one end of the Golden Gate Bridge, the sun going down over the horizon and stars slowly appearing above them, Henry doesn’t think he’s ever been happier, nor will he ever be again. The ice cream sandwiches Alex had picked up - a big scoop of madagascar bourbon vanilla bean flavoured ice cream between two thick sea salt chocolate chip cookies - are soft and sweet, and when Henry takes a bite, it practically melts on his tongue. “Bloody hell,” he moans, savouring the taste. “Hmm,” Alex agrees with a nod, a scrunch of pure delight between his brows. He licks the fingers of his right hand clean and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two plastic flutes. “Better make it worth your time.” He grins and puts his ice cream sandwich down in the container it came in to open the bottle and pour them both a glass. “Alex,” Henry whispers, his chest expanding, “you’re worth it, regardless.” The words mean so much, more than he dares to express, and Alex seems to feel it too, because his eyes tear up behind his glasses when he says, “So are you, baby.”

No pressure tagging @magicandarchery @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @affectionatelyrs @indomitable-love @heysweetheart-writes @firenati0n @anchoredarchangel @clottedcreamfudge @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @lostcol @matherines @captainjunglegym @thinkof-england @inexplicablymine @three-drink-amy @priincebutt @nocoastposts @littlemisskittentoes @cha-melodius @i-am-freyja @saturntheday @ships-to-sail @bitbybitwrites @cactusdragon517 @ninzied @porcelainmortal ♥

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marigolddove · 11 months

Text

Love Begins With Murder, Believe it or Not.

Part 3

Request by: @yandere-dark-cupid

I stayed up until 3 am writing this, passed out and then woke up at 6 am to finish it lol. It's okay though I'm not tired, I'm just happy to be writing. I hope you all enjoy this part there will definitely be another part which will probably be the final for a while. I'll probably try and leave this story with a not-so-official ending because I might make one-shots based around this in the future.

Also I'm getting a new job soon so that might cut into my writing a bit but I'm going to keep writing no matter what I'm so grateful for Welcome Home and all it's characters and all my fellow fanfic writers and artists out there making more and more content for this fandom. You guys are all awesome and Welcome Home is officially my comfort Fandom, without it I might've never wrote anything ever again. So thank you to @partycoffin, and all of the AU creators, you're all truly wonderful people.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of torture and violence, anger issues.

@elegantkidfansoul, @sunkyss, @all-things-fandomstuck, @sailorsimp13, @cricketsjunk

💀♥️💀

Wally couldn't believe he didn't have one single vase in his apartment, not one! He had been so certain he'd had flowers before, surely he'd had…he was a lover of beauty and nature, so it was extremely frustrating when he couldn't find his—imaginary—vase.

He could've let it go there, just put the bouquet in a tall glass or leave them out to dry and get a vase tomorrow, but to be honest he was procrastinating when he suddenly decided he needed a vase before his nap; he knew of a flower shop fifteen minutes away on a strip he was well familiar with—he often got lunch or dinner from a nextdoor diner, well he did before he hit this depression.

That's what all this is about, after all. Depression.

He lost the desire, the drive, to style his hair, paint, draw, talk to his friends and employees, he doesn't even make eye-contact like he used to; and now to top it all off, he realizes, there's absolutely no life in his apartment. Even his old paintings feel soulless, hollow, because they don't fill him with the emotions he once held as he crafted them.

When the depression set in, he couldn't be sure, it had been a gradual change; but it was one he hadn't noticed until now, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

He feels his face flush in embarrassment as he thinks of his neglect of himself and his home as he drives to the shop, the sky turning orange and blue behind the many buildings surrounding him.

As he kept his eyes trained on the still bustling road ahead, he could only hope he would make it in time so this uncoordinated trip wouldn't be a complete waste.

—————————

With traffic being convinently merciful to him this early in the evening time, he is soon racing to the shops entrance door, bouquet delicately cradled by his left arm; completely missing the 'open' sign flipping to 'closed' as his unoccupied hand grasps the door handle and turns.

As he pushes into the building he is shocked to find an employee standing right at the entrance, hand quickly retracting from the door as they lock eyes with him, seemingly just as shocked by his sudden entrance.

The bell above the door chimes.

For Mr. Darling, renowned local kingpin, ruthless 'family' man, time seemed to slow for a moment, just a moment. It was almost as if the chiming of the bell had put him into a trance, or maybe it was just you.

There you stand, (h/c) hair fluttering from the sudden rush of wind that came from him opening the door, staring right at him; your work uniform fitting you quite nicely, especially with your own accessories that added a unique personal touch, not to mention the smell—which was most definitely the shop, but there is no doubt in his mind that you smell any different—sweet and floral.

You're the first to speak, voice a bit nervous at his stare, "O-Oh! Hello, we–ah, I, was just about to close up shop." You move the hand that had been reaching for the door handle to fiddle with a ring on your opposite pinky finger, a sign of anxiety.

Realizing how he must look, a bit wild from the wind whipping his already disheveled hair around with tired eyes, his ears and cheeks grew a little hot, but he clears his throat into his hand as he tries to recover from his sudden and silly attraction.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to just barge in here, but…" he shrugs the arm cradling the bouquet, "I'm looking for a vase, this shop was the only place I could think to find one and it wasn't a far drive…I thought I had a vase, but I was wrong." He explains ratherly lamely, his usual suave and calm demeanor shattered by his growing embarrassment at his current mental and physical state. This was a mistake, he should've just waited for the morning or let the flowers dry out, he should be sleeping right now.

Like an angel you smile at him, so bright and warm it almost feels like the sun is beaming at him, "That's alright! I don't mind a bit, sir, follow me I have some you can choose from in the back." You move to allow him full access and then make your way to what looks to be a storage closet at the back of the shop.

He follows without a word, eyes glued to your figure as you seem to glide to the back, your feet making little to no noise as you move.

The door to the storage closet is open with chalk board sign leaning against the wall next to the door frame, 'small vase $10, medium $15, large $25 ALL HAND MADE!!'.

"You make your own vases?" Wally asks, impressed even before seeing the quality of your work.

You flush as you glance at the sign and then gesture to the closet, signaling him to take a look at your stock, "Yeah, it's a new thing I started doing…I've always been into crafts and stuff like that and working with clay seemed really fun and challenging, so…." He notices your words grow softer, seemingly embarrassed.

Well he can certainly tell you're a beginner, many of the pieces seem a bit lop sided or misshapen, but some are charming due to their faults. Something art had taught him early on is to love imperfections just as much as perfections.

"They're charming." He says, and it's the truth, hearing the honesty in his tone makes you turn a bit more red as you smile gratefully at him.

"Which would you recommend for this bouquet?" He asks, he already has an idea of which vase he'd pick but he wants to hear your opinion.

You eyeball the bouquet, a knowing look sparkling in your (e/c) eyes, and look to the assortment of pottery, "hmm".

Your eyes land on a particularly unique piece on the bottom shelf, it's wide and a bit overly round at the bottom and it narrows a bit more dramatically than you intended at the top, it was also colorful, painted with vertical rainbow stripes that had come out very pastel when you had originally wanted a very bold rainbow color. Overall it had been a bit of a flop, but at the same time it has become one of your favorite pieces and it was a tragedy it had never been used. Whether it looked good with this particular bouquet didn't really matter, to be honest it didn't compliment the bouquet at all, but it deserves a home.

Following your gaze, Wally examines the piece you're staring at so intensely.

"Is that the one?" It certainly wasn't the one he was going to pick, but the way you stared at it with such sentiment made his heart leap. Oh how he missed the days when he would look at his own art with such a nostalgic and sentimental gaze.

"I don't know…it's a little ugly, to be honest…it doesn't really go with the flowers."

"I can always get more flowers." He responds smoothly, catching even himself off guard.

The two of you lock eyes again and he wishes he had examined himself before coming here, so he could know how you see him. He's certain he looks like a mess, and not a hot one.

You seem taken back by his response, but recover quickly to smile, "Yeah, I guess you can. This is a flower shop after all." You glance down at his bouquet again, "you wouldn't happen to know someone named Julie, would you?"

He knew you would recognize the tag and the flower combination, so your question didn't phase him, "Yes, actually. I'm sorry I couldn't come in for the flowers myself, at the time I was…busy."

"Ah, no need to apologize, worrying about a funeral is tough even when you weren't close to the person who died. I'm sorry for being a bit nosey."

"I don't think you're being nosey at all," he ignores the bit about the funeral, not wanting to really lie, but still omitting the truth, "these flowers you picked are really very lovely, I almost want to keep them for myself." He absolutely intends on keeping them for himself.

Your smile turns a bit bashful, "Oh, well thank you. It's nice to know I got it right." Turning back to the shelves of pottery, you crouch to the one you had been staring at, "So is this the one you'd like? Or did you have your eye on another?"

"I'll take that one and these two as well." He gestures his free hand to two other pieces, one being a bit plain and lumpy, the other a bit more colorful; the base color being yellow with red and blue swirls.

"Three?" You ask, a bit surprised.

He grins at you, and unknown to him your heart flutters, "This way I have an excuse to come back, I'm going to need flowers for them, right?" It's been a while since he's tried flirting, but by the way your entire face seems to light up and flush he's certain it's been effective.

"R-Right," you grab two of the vases as he grabs one, "that's three medium sized pots so it'll be $45 dollars." The two of you make your way to the check out counter and place the three pots delicately, "I'll go ahead and wrap these for you." As he grabs the money out of his wallet, you rummage through the work table and pull out a bundle of plain wrapping paper. Carefully, you wrap each individual piece in a thick protective layer of paper, then delicately place the three into an oversized grocery bag, adding more wads of paper between each piece.

Wally lays the money down onto the counter, slipping an extra $5 bill as a tip, as you place the finishing touches on the bag of fragiles. When you're pleased with your work, you hand him the bag with a wide grin, collecting the cash; before you can finish counting Wally tips his head to you.

"You have a good night, doll, stay safe." Without another word he exits the shop, you call after him about his change but he doesn't respond. Upon examining the extra $5 bill closer you notice a series of numbers written on it, when had he done that?

It doesn't take a genius to know that he's written a cell phone number on the bill, despite his somewhat messy appearance your stomach feels as though it's infested with butterflies at the idea that he might have been interested in you. He certainly had flirted with you a little bit, but that didn't have to mean anything, but leaving his number? That means something.

He did say he would need to come back for more flowers, you smile at the thought, carefully folding the bill and tucking it into your pants pocket. You begin to close shop again, this time with no interruptions.

—————————

Julie should've told him he looked this awful, he thought to himself as he examined his reflection in the rear view mirror. No, no, no this won't do! Horror pierced it's way into his heart as he also realized that this is how he had looked during your entire interaction. He had flirted like this…left his number looking like this.

A part of him wanted to storm back into the shop and explain that this isn't him, just something he's been dealing with, tell you that he's not some pathetic, greasy nobody like he knew you must've thought he was.

He's Wally fucking Darling, he kills whoever he wants, whenever he wants, sells what he deems profitable no matter how morally gray and takes whatever he pleases. The people that surround him know to not only fear him but to adore him.

In his sudden shock and growing fury he almost, nearly, throws the bag of pottery to the floor of his passenger side; but he doesn't, of course, he's much too collected to just fly off the handle and break things—he most certainly is not, just two weeks before he broke that not-so imaginary vase he knew he had, it had been in a fit of frustration towards Howdy for failing a trade agreement; Wally didn't remember it now, but that day he had taken his only vase and chucked it at Howdy's much higher head. He had missed entirely, and now he's forgotten the whole ordeal.

Thankfully there's even less traffic, somehow, on the way back, which keeps his temper low but bubbling gently to the surface. A rolling boil was sure to start.

When he arrived back to his apartment, he placed the pots onto his sofa along with the bouquet, so delicate compared to the war of emotions he held inside.

Remember: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

He enters his massive, stunning bathroom and makes a b-line for the mirrors, he needs a better look at the damage his neglect has done.

If looks could kill one look would make the mirrors shatter, this isn't who he is. He feels like an imposter in his own body when he looks at himself, hair greasy and wild—no longer slicked back due to the wind, he doesn't even like slicking back his hair, it isn't his style! Then there's the grotesque bags under his eyes, when had they become so dark and puffy? How hadn't he noticed sooner? The rage was building now.

7, 8, 9—

Why was his skin so dull an–and sallow?!

Suddenly the sound of his marble counter top cracking triggers a roar of emotion to overwhelm him, he doesn't even register he's injured himself by slamming a fist down onto the marble. The emotions are so raw, so heavy, he doesn't even realize he's out of the bathroom now; doesn't hear the carnage he's creating or his own howls and shouts of incoherent anger and frustration.

When and how did he become so pathetic? How long had the others just sat idly by watching him grow weaker and uglier. His anger blinds him to the memories of when they had tried, all of them had; even Howdy, who wasn't the biggest fan of Wally to begin with, had tried.

The shrill ringing of his telephone snaps him back to reality, in his now bloodied and bruising hands he grips a broken frame that holds–held one of his own designs. His breathing is heavy and his head is swimming, wasn't he just in the bathroom a moment ago?

He drops the frame and stumbles to the phone, wincing at the loudness of it, he doesn't even take a moment to collect himself before answering.

"What do you wa–"

"Hello!" Your soft, sweet voice timidly interrupts his rude greeting.

Suddenly his stomach dips and his heart flips, he really hopes you hadn't heard him.

"Uh-uhm, it seems like I've caught you at a bad time, ha ha. I'm sorry about that, sir." You had heard his sour attitude, fuck.

"No, no," he corrects hastily, not wanting you to hang up, "I'm sorry, I just…I just injured myself getting to the phone." The lie feels bitter, like bile rising in his throat, fuck why did he lie?

"Oh," is your meek response, then a pause, "Well…I'm sorry for calling you so soon…and it's a bit late too, ah, this is so silly I'm really sorry."

He's about to reassure you he doesn't mind in the slightest, and it's the truth, but you continue quickly.

"It's just that I didn't ever give you my name, a-and I never got yours. Also I wanted to give you my number as well, that way I don't have to do all the calling myself, you see." Your stuttering is cute, but your sickeningly sweet reason for calling him has him swooning most of all.

"I see, well," he straightens himself, confidence filling him once more, "My name is Wally, Wally Darling, and you are..?"

"Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"That's a lovely name for such an enchanting flower like yourself, Y/N." He purrs, his turmoil and self-esteem issues quickly forgotten by this new cocktail of emotions, suddenly he's like a giddy teenage boy; twirling the phone cord between his fingers, a toothy smirk growing on his face and he imagines you blushing like you did in the shop.

"Your name is really cute too," you reply, you sound embarrassed but you're definitely smiling.

"Thank you," he grabs the note pad and pen he keeps by his landline, "Now then, what's your number?"

"O-Oh, right!" You quickly tell him your number and he repeats it back to you, once he's gotten it correct he smiles, gently placing his pen back down onto the table.

Sighing, "I must say, I'm glad you called." He admits.

"Oh?"

He hums, "Yes, when I got to my car I realized how I must have appeared to you. I typically take better care of myself, but, well, recently I've 'let myself go'." His tone remains light, almost dreamy as he speaks to you, even though on the inside he can feel the suffocating emotions from before bubbling up again.

"I just thought you were having an off day, you're actually very handsome." The way you say it, like its a fact he should already know, makes his face warm. Those emotions dying quickly before they can rise again, for a complete stranger you seem to have a powerful hold over him, you're able to make him feel nervous and excited.

It's pleasant.

"Well," you start, "It's getting late, I'm sure we both have things to do before nighttime."

He glances at the mess he made during his episode, as much as he wanted to disagree he knew he needed to clean up. He wouldn't live in this embarrassment any longer.

"Yes, thank you again for calling me, Y/N. I hope you have a good night."

"You too."

"Stay safe." He hears the receiver cut off on your end, he sighs into the now quiet and lonely air. He's grateful for your ability to distract him, he would've caused more damage to not only his home but to himself had you not called.

Wally looks around at the carnage he caused, grateful he didn't damage his newly aquired pottery and flowers. It's time to fix this.

—————————

When Barnaby returns to the building he's immediately greeted by Frank, with a disgruntled Eddie in tow. He had taken a bit longer than he would've liked with the rat, but the boss told him to really work on the guy, and he wanted to be sure the body couldn't be found and linked back to them. He's very thorough.

So he's a bit tired when he's approached by Frank, their face intense.

"Something's wrong with Wally."

Immediately dread fills Barnaby, worried something happened while he was gone, "What happened?"

"We heard him screaming and loud noises, like things being broken, upstairs."

"And neither of you thought to check on him?!" He barks, immediately heading for the elevator.

"It wasn't like the sound of struggling, I know what a struggle sounds like. He's probably just having a fit, like usual now-a-days, and I don't want myself or Frank to be caught in the cross fire." Eddie replies, his tone indifferent.

Frank sighs, following close behind Barnaby, "I wanted to go up and see him, but after what happened with Howdy–"

"I know." Barnaby cuts him off. A vase hadn't been the only thing Wally had thrown at Howdy the last time he became like this, and the vase hadn't landed anyway; but a paper weight had, and so did his punches. Despite not liking him, Howdy had stood there and taken it, claiming the boss "needed that more than anyone knew".

Barnaby wishes it had been him, not Howdy. He didn't want Wally to hurt him, but he's his best friend and he wants to be the one that's there for him at his absolute lowest, as well as his highest. It feels like recently he's missing all of the moments that are crucial for helping his first friend.

"Thank you for letting me know, I'll go see him alone now. You two get back to…whatever you were doing, have a good night." Frank looks like they're about to respond but the elevator doors close, effectively cutting them off.

Barnaby sighs into the silence of the elevator, readying himself for what's to come when he reaches Wally's penthouse.

He's surprised when he arrives and the room is filled with gentle music coming from the Gramophone—the record player—across the spacious living area; someone's singing in the bathroom, he soon realizes it's Wally singing and he's even more stunned. Wally hasn't sung a song in all the time he's known him, claiming he couldn't carry a tune.

To Barnaby, he sounds like a professional, smooth and suave. It almost feels like he's intruding, but the mess of the room makes him stay. Wally seems to have started cleaning up his mess, which is a nice change of pace. Typically Julie would come in and clean for him after hearing he'd had an episode, saying he deserves a clean safe space, even if he's the one trashing the place.

Barnaby moves to relax on the sofa, careful to avoid the bag Wally had left. He sits and waits a while, enjoying the soft melody and the surprisingly relaxing aura that the chaotic room held. He finds himself humming along with Wally, not knowing the words of his song.

When he hears his friend's singing end and the water shut off his posture straightens and becomes a little tense; worried how his little buddy might react at his sudden intrusion.

To his surprise, Wally exits the bathroom in a plush bathrobe, hair expertly wrapped in a towel atop his head as he continues humming a tune; and when he catches sight of Barnaby he's shocked but smiles.

"Ah, you're back. I did wonder if you would come and see me again today, I'm glad you're back safe." He moves closer to the sofa, bare feet padding against the hard wood floors, "Sorry for the mess, I got a bit carried away again today. I'm also sorry if I've been short with you today."

"There's no need to apologize, Boss. I'm just glad you're looking better."

"I do look better don't I? It's amazing what a shower and a quick skin care routine can do to a man." He says as he rummages through the grocery bag on the couch, pulling out three bulky items wrapped in paper.

He sits next to Barnaby and unwraps them, the record now fading into a new melody. Wally places three…interesting vases on the low table in front of them. His smile seems brighter as he looks at them.

"You starting a collection?" Barnaby jokes.

Wally hums, "I'm considering it."

"I told Julie to buy flowers for the…rat's lady friend, I intended on sending her a message with them, only to find out she herself is a rat. So I decided I'd keep the flowers for myself, they're quite pretty." He explained, his voice soft.

"But what's with the pottery?"

Wally laughs, "Well pretty flowers need equally pretty vases, my friend." Barnaby wasn't sure he would call them pretty, but he wasn't an artist so what would he know?

"Why'd ya get three though?"

"You're awfully inquisitive today, aren't you?" For a moment Barnaby worries he's stepped too far, but Wally's tone sounds mostly teasing and light hearted, "I bought three because I couldn't just pick one that I liked; besides, my home could use more art."

"Yeah, sure. It's just nice to see you smiling and, uh, getting out there." He admits awkwardly, his smaller friend looking up at him with a wide grin, it seems genuine compared to his usual facade.

"It has been nice, today hasn't been perfect, but it's been nice." Wally rises from the sofa, grabbing the plain, lumpy vase and the bouquet as he moves to the kitchen.

Carefully, he fills the vase with the recommended amount of water and retrieves a bit of lemon juice he's had sitting in his fridge for a month now—it's been longer than a month, he just doesn't know that—he adds a few drops to the tap water before arranging the flowers inside the vase.

He carries the vase filled with flowers back to Barnaby and places them at the center of the low table, adjusting it's position on the table until he deems it perfect.

Wally sighs as he relaxes back onto the couch next to his much larger friend, "Now all I need is more flowers to fill the other two, perhaps I'll make paintings of them as well, they're inspiring me already." He didn't say what else might be inspiring him, but in his mind an image of you formed. Maybe he would sketch you as well.

Barnaby raised a brow at him, even though he wouldn't see it, and smiled, "Hey, I'm glad you're wanting to paint again little buddy, after what happened earlier I thought you might be giving up for good."

Mentioning their time together earlier that day seemed to sour Wally's mood a bit, "Yeah, well, torture and death aren't always the best motivation I've realized."

At his sudden tone change, Barnaby scrambles to get him back to his pleasant mood, "So where'd ya get the pottery? Any place I might know?"

This seems to work as a twinkle appears in his eyes once again and he turns to fully face Barnaby, a soft and genuine smile gracing his features.

"You might, Eddie talks about it all the time it would seem, everyone knew about it but me, ha ha." He continued, "Well, actually, I knew of the flower shop but I had never gone in before, until today. You might know it, it's (S/N), over on 9th Street."

Barnaby contemplates the location a moment, he can't say that he does recall a flower shop there, "It's not ringing any bells, but whats so special about it, you seem very…happy and I'm not so sure it's about a flower shop."

Wally's eyes widen and pink dusts across his cheeks, something Barnaby isn't sure he's ever seen happen to his friend before, "Well, I suppose it's about more than a shop, yes," then he stubbornly adds, "Although the flowers do make me happy."

Barnaby motions for him to continue, Wally sighs and while it sounds like frustration he still has a grin on his face.

That's when Barnaby learns about you, although he's certain he might have heard of you before through Eddie Dear, but he knows Eddie never talked about you so dreamily.

This is also when Barnaby learns that his best friend might have experienced love at first sight.

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x reader #eddie x frank #Mafia! AU #mafia!Wally Darling #wally has some personal issues #this is gonna be cheesy #its love at first sight #deal with it #barnaby beagle

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madmanwonder · 2 months

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Prompt

Fusion Slavery: Combat Slave & Gladiator Slave AU

Pyrrha has been a gladiator and a combat warrior for a long time but always avoided being a slave for someone specific. Of course when the Arc family wants to get her for their only son she goes to decline... until she sees Jaune himself and it is instant love and she changes her tune. He is reluctant in owning a slave... but Pyrrha is insistent on this.

Love At First Sight Meme

As long she can remember. She was both gladiator and combat warrior slave who earn fame and infamy for being masterless slave who gone unattached to anyone in specific...

"I am Jaune Arc. As of today, I'm your, uh, first actual and permanent master...." Jaune said in a sheepish tone of voice, looking at her with big bashful grin and wide-eyed blue eyes that stare at her with friendliness and compassion.

...Until the Arc Family bought her for her combat skill in hope of protecting their sole son and perhaps teaching him few combat skills so he would die prematurely. Pyrrha knew of this, but as she look at the blonde man no older than her with blank look on her face but beating heart...

"My name is Pyrrha Nikos. Combat and Gladiator Slave..."

...it was at the moment she had fallen deep in love with the man who will be her first and last master as long she breathes.

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #fusion au #fusion au prompt #slavery au #slavery au prompt #combat slave au #combat slave au prompt #gladiator au #gladiator au prompt #slavery #master/slave #love at first sight #love at first sight meme #meme post #meme prompt

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possibilistfanfiction · 5 months

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Hi can we have some hallmark AU from Beas POV? Maybe their first Meeting?

despite what you know everyone believes — and what most of them aren’t afraid to say — you’re not lonely.

it’s a good life, the one you have, the one you have earned for yourself and made with your bare hands. it’s quiet, sure, and there’s solitude, and perhaps your therapist didn’t mean, a few years ago, that you should move far out of the city when they suggested you get away for a little while to be further from your parents and the feeling of this specter of trauma that floated all around that city, afraid you might see them at every turn.

even if it was an accident — or maybe because it was an accident — it had been easy to fall in love with this place, with the mountains and the cabin with floors you refurbished and bathroom tiles laid by your own hands, the practical clothes that fill your closet, the boots lined up neatly by the front door.

you had fallen in love with a family more complete and full of grace than you had thought possible — mary and her warm, safe bar; camila who always shares her books; lilith who helped you, despite a near panic, cut your hair for the first time; shannon and the ranch full of animals she always treats with such care; everyone who took care of you — with joy, without judgement or resentment — after top surgery, suzanne driving you to and from the hospital, four hours each way, and then a rotating cast of company and food, tidying around your home that has become theirs too, while you healed, and had, months later, mortifyingly whistled relentlessly the first time you went swimming in the lake the next summer. suzanne comes over sometimes with a bag from the farmer’s market to make you dinner and split a bottle of wine; camila has never forgotten your coffee order since the first time you went; lilith never complains on hikes that make you both bend over, exhausted by the time you summit, with matching grins; mary and shannon have you over every year for your birthday, throwing you a big party even though you insist you’re fine without. you are celebrated and seen without reproach, a miracle in itself.

you have theo, a great love of your life, no matter what anyone says, who had wandered up to you quite bravely the first time you went out to the ranch when she was still tiny, not quite coordinated, still downy and velvety soft in the way only her ears are now, with black freckles on her white chest and sharp puppy teeth when she chewed on your finger. you fell in love with the way she made shannon and suzanne laugh when she squared up with the sheep, much bigger than her, her fearless and ineffective attempts at herding both promising and adorable. she was never meant to be a working dog on the ranch full time, so when suzanne offered her to you as a companion who could work some days with the stock, it had felt like things slid into place. you talk to her and she tilts her head to listen; you laugh together and explore and she curls up, spine to spine, during the middle of the night; at sunrise you feed her scraps of bacon from your plate when she rests her head on your thigh.

you love and are loved so much; you are not lonely.

you know the entire town is meddling and loves to gossip, lilith being the worst even if she swears she’s not invested at all. camila is obvious about it, getting to know every person who ever visits to try to set you up with the ones she deems “eligible,” which, at this point, you think just translates into someone you would find physically attractive — not narrowing it down much — who is “probably” (camila’s words) single. it’s a lost cause, you’re fairly certain, even though everyone insists it’ll happen one day.

you should know to bet against god, or love, or fate, or whatever, because it’s an average day just like the others when you meet ava.

you had been reading a twitter thread the day before about how metaphors are relational only; they are rarepairs; they never fully tell the truth. it runs through your mind the first time you see her, laughing by shannon’s side, the snow just beginning to fall — you’ll think back on it years later and have no words or associations to really tell the whole truth of what you felt: like a door had opened in front of you that you had thought was a wall, or suddenly the grey light of the waning afternoon sounded a gentle purple, or planets and stars and the entire universe. there’s nothing but the truth of ava: her smile and her dark eyes and her cane getting caught in the fresh snow every time she takes a step, clearly annoying her but going unmentioned. her impractical puffer jacket, her red cheeks. you have never felt a pull like this before in your life, and it unsettles you.

theo barks at you, embarrassingly, after you’ve just been standing still, your world reorienting. she’s tired from working the sheep back from pasture to the barn before the storm, probably wanting water and a nap in your warm truck as you head home. you scratch behind her ears to soothe her and she shakes you off, still annoyed, which makes you laugh and follow as she trots along in front.

you haven’t felt this young maybe ever, suddenly blanking on literally any words when theo goes up to shannon — and, so, ava — and you don’t even know her yet, have never heard her name yet, but she beams at you.

‘beatrice,’ shannon says, and all you can do is offer up a weird, awkward wave, which shannon lifts a brow at, her smile sharpening when she sees what must be a blush on your cold cheeks, ‘this is ava; ava, this is beatrice.’

you take off your leather work gloves before offering your hand to shake.

‘wow,’ ava says, ‘that was so chivalrous, i loved it.’ before you can even respond, she leans forward excitedly. ‘and who is this?’

‘this is theo.’ theo, for her part, waits patiently by your side as her tongue lolls out in a happy, tired smile, her little coat admittedly very cute. ‘you can say hi, if you want. she loves people.’

ava is delighted by this, and she crouches down and pets theo happily but considerately, not getting too excited or up in her space. ‘i know you said she loves people, but i’m feeling very special right now.’

you laugh. ‘she has that effect.’

ava eventually stands, and you kind of resent shannon for leaving at some point in the last thirty seconds while you were both distracted. ‘do you —‘

‘—where are you—‘

‘apologies,’ you say.

‘sorry,’ ava says.

you reach out and touch her hand gently, briefly, enough to send a shock of electricity — warm and new — through you. it’s starting to snow harder, and you had planned to beat the worst of it and settle in for the night. ‘did you drive here?’ you ask, forgoing your first desire to ask where are you visiting from? or how long will you be staying? or why are you here?

ava laughs. ‘nah, mary gave me a ride. i was at the bar and she was telling me about this place; i do marketing and social media for an agency in the city and it sounded like the ranch could use some of my incredible expertise, maybe, for fundraising views. plus it sounded cute, so i wanted to see it and she offered. anyway —‘ she rambles and then takes a deep breath. ‘she didn’t say anything about you.’

you feel, mortifyingly, for a moment, like you might pass out, but you gather yourself. ‘oh, i, uh, i just volunteer here. with theo. we work stock. i don’t —‘ you clear your throat and ava looks on, grinning, ‘do you need a ride back to town?’

#just a little bit!!#wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #hallmark au #butch bea 🥺🫡#immediately just like wow this is my ultimate soulmate #but also whatever it’s the dog too lol #it’s love at first sight your honor

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