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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #Tea Shop of Mysteries AU #alfred pennyworth

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bluegummieshark · 18 days ago

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Danny's inator

Alright another prompt drop for y'all.

Here's the thing. Danny is really bad at being a villain. He's trying his best but at this point the Justice League doesn't even try to stop him any more there just letting him evil monologue and shoot whatever strange thing he's made because so far everything he's tried either does nothing or turns out really helpful and good. Think dr doofenshmirtz style of villain.

Danny at 19 had barely graduated high school, considered illegal by the United States, and an almost unlimited amount of resources so he decided to get the one job he could with his skill set and became a villain. Or that was the plan. His goal was simple, he wanted to build devices that would cause chaos while secretly collecting trace amounts of ectoplasma to feed zone. The thing was Danny was pretty bad at the actual chaos side of things. But this time he was sure of himself, it was a foolproof plan!

"Ha! You fools it's too late to save this city! Once I flip the switch my pickle-smell-inator will release a gas that in turn will make everyone smell nothing but pickles. Perfume ads will be a thing of the past, Gyms will no longer smell of feet, and best of all every restaurant will have to have pickles on the menu because it is all anyone will crave! Bwhahah." Professor Phantom aka Danny crackled standing next to his large green machine that honestly looked like a giant pickle itself with a Lazer on top. Danny himself was his "villain costume" he still had his jump suit on but on top was now a neon green lab coat, his white hair hung loose longer now with his green lab goggles on his head keeping it out of his eyes.

Robin was the only one who seemed to actually be paying any real attention to Danny's monologue. The rest of the heros were either texting or playing a game not that Danny had noticed as he floated next to his device now ranting about how the deli near his lab had been out of pickles for the third time this month. It seems the employees comment about how no one else seemed to care was what prompted this latest scheme.

"10 bucks this one does nothing and Danny just leaves sad." Conner tossed out.

"15 it blows up in some mix of neon green goo and pickles." Cass replied.

"Nah you're both off, 20 says it somehow cures some strange sickness again." Bart said.

"Do you even have 20 dollars? Didn't you say you were broke this morning when we got the bill for breakfast." Tim asked

"ha ha well uhh about that..." Bart trailed off.

Tim ignored Bart as he went back to watching Danny finish his story about the haunted pickles from his childhood that smelled great but he could never eat due to their hissing at his approach. Tim made a note to add haunted hissing and ghost pickles to Danny's ever growing profile page when he got back home later.

"-NOW WATCH AS I PROFESSOR PHANTOM MAKE THIS CITY SMELL OF PICKLES!" Danny yelled pulling down a clearly labeled switch to the on position.

A bright green beam immediately shot into the sky past the fog and from it a gas began to spread. No one tried to stop the growing cloud that looked like it was quickly eating the city smog. After a minute it became clear the results of Danny's pickle-smell-inator. The sky was clear, whatever gas seemed to great to clear the sky of its pollution and as a pleasant bonus left the smell of clean sheets behind.

For most people on the streets, none of which had even bothered to stop when realizing the villain was just Danny, we're now enjoying a clear sky happily while others just gave Danny a small word of cheer as they kept on their day. Danny himself stood by the machine looking both confused and slightly disappointed in the lack of pickles.

"So did I win?" Conner asked.

Behind Danny the machine rattled before a small explosion cracked the glass and a large amount of pickles fell to the street.

"yay" Cass cheered at the explosion.

Danny no stared down for a minute at the mess sadly. Before he turned around to stare at the group.

"Alright heroes! You may have won this time but I'll be back!" Tim watched as Danny deployed a smoke bomb before disappearing again.

Tim wasn't surprised by his escape just sighed knowing he had to fill out the report for this soon. Still before that Tim decided there was one thing more important then reports.

"So who wants to get lunch?" Tim asked.

"ooo! Yeah, I'm craving a sandwich with extra pickles!" Bart cheered.

End

#writing prompt #dpxdc #young justice #danny phantom #villain #dr doofenshmirtz

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mochinomnoms · 10 months ago

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Two's Company, Three's a Crowd, and Six is a Riot

i. thievin’, stealin’, takin’ what’s not yours

[wc} - 6,835

[notes] - hehe

make a choice at the end...

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i. thievin’, stealin’, takin’ what’s not yours

Listen to: "Taking What's Not Yours" and "Lovers Rock" by TV Girl

After learning who your friend Hornton really was, people would expect you to be a bit more formal with him.

After all, they could excuse your lax demeanor and loose words with him due to your unfamiliarity with the Wonderland’s political and royal spectrum.

But now knowing exactly who is the Malleus Draconia, the heir prince of Briar Valley, did not stop you, and quite frankly no one should be surprised.

You were his friend, first and foremost, and Malleus believed that fact with all his heart. You both did have to admit that it was very funny seeing everyone’s reactions to your casualness and affections to each other.

Though Malleus was much more reserved compared to you, anyone with eyes and a single functioning brain cell could see that he was ever so gentle with you.

He hung on to your every word like it was rapture, fascinated with your stories of home and humans, even if you weren’t like the humans of his world.

Especially because you weren’t like the humans of his world.

In turn, you were attentive to him, ensuring that you spent your time with him to the fullest. Maybe it was because he was your friend, or maybe you also knew what it was like to be lonely, but you loved outings with him.

It could be nightly walks in the woods near Ramshackle, it could be sharing a new flavor of ice cream with the same spoon, or it could be the words that only you two and the stars over the Diasomnia dorm shared.

In any case, you two were most endeared to each other.

It’s why no one was surprised anymore as you hanged off his arm as you two and Grim walked to his next class. It was actually quite comical, the way you swing your arms together, hands clasped, as you talked his ear off about your last class.

And from the small upward twitches of his ears and the small smile on his face, Malleus was absolutely basking in your attention. And amused by the swinging.

“And then I was like, ‘no Ace, I told you to not put the nightshade in the potion you chuckle-fuck, it’s gonna turn into goo’ but he was all like,” You mocked Ace’s voice as you continued, ‘I’m the one with the magic, so I’m the one that knows what they hell they’re doing’”

You were laughing as you told the story, the corner of your eyes crinkling. You both ignored the looks of students walking past you, giving you (Malleus, mostly) a wide berth of space. Once even gave you a look as they noticed your hands together.

“Then, like I told him, it turned into goop, right before a big ol’ bubble formed and popped all over him! He was covered in green, it was hilarious.”

A soft snort left you as you covered your mouth to quiet your laughter. The swinging relaxed,as you climbed up the steps to the castle. Malleus tilted his head, eyes softening as you looked at Grim padding to your right, rambling as well.

“Nyah! That big dumb-dumb is always underestimating me, I only pick the best of the best for my henchmen!”

“Snrk—you tell ‘em, Grim.” You gave Malleus an amused look, gesturing for him to lean in closer to whisper, “He also wanted to put the nightshade in the mix, by the way.”

Chuckling and straightening to his full height, your friend’s smile faded into something more concerned, eyeing Grim, who decided to speed up and pad up the steps by twos.

“While it is ideal that nothing more happened, perhaps you should encourage your companions to exercise more caution, I’d rather not hear from a third party of your harm if something were to happen.”

You felt his hand in yours tighten, tugging to closer to his side as he gave you a stern look.

“I know that you aren’t afraid of me. But with all the troubles you seem to get into…I’m starting to become afraid…of losing you.”

You think you could feel your breath hitch and a warmth flood your face, as you looked away, flustered at the fuzzy feeling in your chest. Instead, you turned your gaze back to Grim to watch as he hopped between rectangle to rectangle, avoiding the lines.

“You worry too much! I got Grim!” You cupped a hand over your mouth and called out, “Right Grim?”

“Huh? Yeah! Whatever you say, I’m the Great Grim!”

Both of you choked a laugh as he tripped over a rock and fell on his face. Finally letting go of Malleus’s hand (you missed the way he flexed his hand from the missing warmth) and jogging to your now whining direbeast.

“Owie!! (Naaaaame)! I’ve been fatally injured! Tend to me, henchhuman!”

You scooped up Grim, who was licking his wrist like a wounded kitten. Turning back to Malleus, you gave him an apologetic smile and gestured towards the main castle doors with your head.

“We have a lot of time until class, so I’m going to go to the infirmary just to make sure he isn’t actually hurt.”

“Hey!”

Malleus nodded in understanding, using a curled finger to pet the top of Grim’s head, who begrudgingly leaned in to the touch.

“Of course, I should get to my own classroom, I’d hate to be late.”

“Hornton, it’s like 45 minutes until class starts.”

“Exactly, I have such little time to make it to the room. My seat might be taken.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that most people wouldn’t show up until 5 or so minutes before class.

“What do you even have that makes ya want to show up so early?” Grim questioned, not particularly aware of the way you were cradling him like a baby.

Malleus’s eyes glinted in amusement as he gave Grim a polite smile.

“It’s an advanced Ancient Magic course, and though I find myself already familiar with most of the topics we cover, today we are discussing looking glasses.”

You and Grim both made a confused noise, tilting your head in opposite directions.

“Like, a mirror?”

Shaking his head, Malleus looked unusually eager to explain the concept.

“Not exactly, though they are a type of magic mirror. A looking glass is a tool used to view one's potential futures. It requires a ritual to turn a regular mirror into a tool and is rather difficult.”

You could feel Grim’s tail whip against you in excitement as you both listened eagerly.

“Only the most powerful of mages can successfully complete the ritual, and only lasts for 72 hours before the glass shatters beyond repair. I am particularly interested in using it to—”

“I’M POWERFUL! I WANNA TRY IT TOO!”

Grim jumped from your arms into a surprised Malleus, his ‘injury’ apparently healed at the thought of being able to complete a complicated and powerful spell.

“Let me join the class! The Great Grim can’t wait for two more years to try it out! Please, please, pleeeeeease!”

“Grim! Don’t bother Hornton with such silly—”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a bother to have you two assist me.” Malleus hummed, tapping a finger to his lips as he held Grim from the scruff of his neck, dropping him back in your arms.

“I usually find myself without a partner in this class, I would greatly enjoy the company.”

Grim squirmed excitedly in your arms, grasping your cheeks and squeezing as he jumped excitedly.

“Come on henchhuman! We can skip homeroom! It’s not like we’re missing anything, it turns into study hall anyways! Can we go? Pleeeeease?”

He would hate it if you called him cute out loud, but Grim was such a cute little guy sometimes.

“Mm, I guess we can…but only if we actually get to do stuff,” You wrinkled your nose in frustration. “Last time we joined 3rd year classes, Leona just used me to hide behind and nap, and the other time Vil kept taking stuff out of my hands instead of letting me do stuff.”

Malleus chuckled, affectionately ruffling your hair.

“Of course, I always value you and your words, my little beastie.”

Hmm, ‘little beastie’ is a new one.

You tapped your fingers against the desk, lazily skimming the book Malleus had left you to review as he was pulled away by the professor into the hallway.

The professor had muttered something about missing housewarden meetings, and you're pretty sure you saw a glimpse of Riddle’s bright hair at the door before it closed.

Riddle and Vil’s been complaining that Hornton hasn’t shown up to most of the meetings this year, maybe Riddle actually came to collect him this time.

At the thought of the two, you moved your hand up to fiddle with the tie around your next and smacked your lips, the raspberry flavored lip oil briefly meeting your tongue.

The tie had been Riddle’s, even still had the little crown on the left side, when he fussed over the raggy state of your old one. He’d insisted that he had plenty and showed you how he tied the bow with a red flush in his cheeks. Very cute, but you’d never say that to his face.

Vil’s lip oil you’re pretty sure was a pity gift, something he was sent in a PR package. He told you he wasn’t a fan of flavored lip products, but still needed to do a review of the products he’d been sent. Thus, Vil used you as a test dummy for his video review, leaving your lips feeling raw and dry from being constantly rubbed clean by make up wipes. Though, he told you to keep that specific oil, and said it suited your skin tone.

Now that you really think about it, a lot of the students had been rather…you don’t know. Doting? Sweet? Ever so slightly less mean to you as of late?

Especially the ones who overblotted this last few months.

You’re pretty sure you’ve been getting pity gifts, even they can feel guilty of all the trouble they’d put you in.

Some you’re pretty sure was just their way of paying you off without explicitly saying, “Look I’m sorry I almost killed you, but you're stupid for getting involved as a magicless student and I feel bad now take this.”

Idia had taken your cheap phone that Crowley gave you and upgraded it so that it had more functionality to it that wasn’t just sending an S.O.S. signal to your friends. He’d even put it in a clear case that held a dangling blue skull charm, which swung against you when it was in your pocket.

Leona tossed you one of his made beaded bracelets after you’d complained about Crowley cutting your funding again, leaving you with little to use for repairs and food. He told you to sell it or something and to shut up, as he was trying to take a nap. Never mind that it was your couch he’d decided to sleep on and not one of his usual spots around campus. In any case, it looked nice on your wrist, and it was good for a rainy day in case you did have to sell it.

Azul had also offered you a bracelet a while back, a very pretty lilac one that he told you was made of sea glass. You were wary to take anything from Azul in fear that he’d find a way to put you in debt. Very valid in your opinion, but it literally got shoved onto your wrist when Floyd held you down and Jade slipped in on with a smile. Apparently it had a protection spell tied to it, as Azul mentioned that you were overly prone to chaos. All it cost you was him checking in once a week to see how it held up, you think maybe to sell more in the future?

At least Jamil’s silk wrap wasn’t forcibly shoved into you, though you didn’t appreciate his comments on how unruly your hair was in the mornings. You told him that it wasn’t your fault that water at Ramshackle sucked and that you did your best! It wasn’t enough according to him, and he helped you wrap your hair into the silk cloth to protect it against the elements. While he’d originally suggested that you use it to sleep in, you’d taken to using it for everyday wear, using it as a wrap, as a bandana, even as a headband. Jamil sometimes looked both pleased and frustrated at the sight.

Pity gifts, you’re sure.

Ace thought otherwise, though, he and Epel teased you constantly about it. How ‘soft’ and ‘sweet’ they were to you, how you should take advantage and flirt back with them to get a well-off boyfriend out of them.

No matter how much you insisted that it wasn’t like that, none of your friends believe you. Even Deuce and Jack seemed to doubt your explanations, though Sebek at least stayed out of it.

Ortho was the worst of them, though. “I’ve noticed that at times, their heart rates increase when they’re around you, so Ace might have a point!” which was quickly followed up with, “But you focus on Idia, he’s the most ideal!”

Then it turned into a whole thing of them arguing who would be the best or worst boyfriend for you to get with. Why they were invested in your nonexistent love life, you don’t know, probably boredom and a need to gossip.

You sighed, eyeing one of the sigils in the book in front of you. Grim was looking at another book, surprisingly focused on reading the words on the pages.

“Hmph, I don’t get any of this, when is Hornton coming back! I’m getting bored, it’s too hard to understand!”

Pouting, Grim slumped against the desk and made a soft, whiny sigh.

“Henchhuman, tell me you found something interesting?”

Thumbing through the book in front of you, you noticed a rather fascinating sigil accompanied by some foreign writing along the edges.

It looked a lot like the magic mirror, though the edges were reminiscent of vines and the inside of the sigil looked cracked, like someone smashed the mirror with a hammer. Surrounding the image was an intricate cursive, it looked like some fae script.

“Hmm, this one looks cool. Think you can read that?”

Grim eyed the page you were on, ears perking up as he noticed the infographics on the right. It looked like a visual guide on how to complete the ritual on a mirror.

“Oh, can I draw that! I wanna try by myself! We don’t need Hornton!” Grim pushed the small handheld mirror that the students had as part of the class assignment.

“Do it!”

“What? No Grim, these aren’t our materials. Wait for him to come back and ask if you can practice.”

You snatched the mirror away from Grim’s paws, tucking it underneath a different book, and then resting your elbow on top for extra measure.

“Just wait Grim.”

Not unlike a child not getting their way, he stomped his foot and started throwing a tantrum.

“I wanna do it! Let me do it! Lemme! Lemmelemmelemmelemmelemmelemme—”

“—Oh. My. God. If I let you draw and practice on my hand, will you quiet down?”

The small creature pouted, eyeing the open palm you offered.

“...But the book says I need a mirror…”

“Well, the book doesn’t buy and serve you tuna, does it?” You snapped back, raising your brows and moving your hand closer. “Now, I’ll help you practice, but not with Hornton’s materials. Who knows how expensive or rare they are.”

With an indignant sigh and a roll of his eyes, Grim plopped himself on the desk and took your hand in his paws.

“Fine. Gimme a pen!”

You smiled, shuffling through your pen case to look for something he could use.

“Hmm, I only got pencils and a permanent marker…meh, whatever.”

Handing Grim a black marker, and him eagerly taking it and scribbling the sigil, you stared around the classroom, dazing off.

The class was already sparse, and you’re pretty sure Vil, Leona, and Idia were meant to be here too, so that made it feel even more empty. Though…the last two probably wouldn’t have even shown up.

Rook was here, though, conversing with his own class partner as they gestured over their own mirror and textbooks. Nothing escaped his attention, though, as he looked up and noticed you staring almost immediately.

He gave you a close eye smile and wave, before noticing Grim drawing on your hand and tilting his head in curiosity.

You shrugged and mouthed out the page you two were on. Rook took a moment to flip to the page you were on, confusing his partner. Watching in mild interest, Grim let out a little triumphant sound, drawing your attention once again.

“Finished! I’m so great at drawing!” You’ll give him the benefit of the doubt since your skin wasn’t flat like a mirror, but it barely passed for the sigil in the book.

“Great job, Grim, now practice your pronunciation.”

“Okie-dokie!”

Grim still held your palm in his paws, reading off the

“G-ge d'afr-fr-frm-ah-ys hmrian…od…sarl…lo-loysalri-que—no—cu cast!”

You chuckled as Grim struggled to pronounce the words, not paying attention to the sudden squeaking of a chair.

“Turn xiyaurrrr…day-na-r-yo…su liie xi-yie vast! Reflect col rricu…wyn-sash’s? Uh, wynsas’s, weli today…”

Rook calling out your name startled you, turning your head to see him urgently rushing to you.

“But loyricu—wait.” Grim looked back at the book and squinted at the pages. “No, it’s the other paragraph…

By now, you noticed that several of your accessories, along with the sigil, had started glowing in different colors, though Grim was none the wiser. Rook certainly was.

“Trickster, Monsieur Fuzzball! Don’t!”

“It’s fine, I got this! Imma start over!” Grim cleared his throat, bringing your palm even closer as he restarted his incantation.

“Wait, Grim—”

“Ge d'afrmays hmrianod sarl loysalricu cast. Turn xiyaur daynaryo su liie xiyie vast. Reflect col rricu wynsas’s weli suday. But ssarie die to what xiyie fsaadc biercvmirian!”

The glowing intensified, lines of cracks starting to appear from the sigil and up your arm, you even think the room started shaking.

“W-what? Henchhuman? (Name)! What’s happen—EEEEH!”

You watched helplessly as Rook scooped Grim up, calling out to the others, “Evacuate, NOW!”

He gave you an apologetic look, running out of the room with a crying and thrashing Grim in hand, following the other students out.

Dread filled your veins, a heavy feeling on your chest and shakes going down your body as you watched the cracks continue forming up your arms onto the rest of your body.

Scrambling to follow the others, you tripped over your own chair, pain going up your knee as you jabbed it against one of the legs. Nothing but adrenaline fueling you, you clambered to the door and tried pulling it open, pulling, pulling, and pulling until you realized.

You were locked in the room

Through the small window, you could see the small group of students turn into a crowd, everyone watching in horror, but unable to look away, as the cracks slowly grew up your neck.

You banged on the door and pulled, screaming at everyone to let you out.

“HELP ME! STOP STARING AND HELP! PLEASE, PLEASE!!”

You could feel your throat strain against the stress you were putting them under, tears streaming down your face as you saw the housewardens enter the hallway, drawn in by the yelling and crowd.

Riddle was shouting something you could barely make out, eyes flickering over to you briefly before he realized something was happening. He paled, shouting something at the others near him and pointing at you.

Pain was blooming from where the cracks formed, the glowing growing and turning your skin a dazzling shade of blue, like a crystal.

You continued banging on the window, watching as the other housewardens made their way to the door to pull it open.

Even Idia was hovering in the back, unsure of what to do himself. Kalim was pressed up closest to the glass, his own tears growing as he watched the spell take over your features.

You could feel your skin breaking, cracks finally formed over your lips.

Vil had turned to yell at the group, specifically at Rook, who had actually taken to arguing back at him, the former’s hand waving and gesturing at you. Azul and Riddle were at Kalim’s sides, arguing with each other on what to do.

Your left eye burned in pain as it was briefly blinded by blue until it turned dark.

The three sophomores were suddenly shoved out of the way onto a pile on the ground as Leona came into view, followed by Malleus on his right.

“Hornton! Malleus, MALLEUS HELP ME!”

You watched as Leona raised his left hand, his mouth uttering something as glowing yellow sand formed in his palm. He was using his signature spell.

Unfortunately, it was for naught.

The last crack finally formed over your right eye, the last thing you saw was Malleus’s grief stricken face as your vision turned blue, then black.

Then, it all went silent.

He could still feel the harsh light on his retinas, dots dancing in his vision, even when he closed them. Malleus looked down at the handful of students he’d covered under his arm, hunched over them in protection. His own body moved before he did.

The three beneath him were curled together, hands over their heads and eyes squeezed shut. One peaked an eye open up at him and squeaked at our close they were to him.

“U-um, thank you, Prince Draconia, sir…”

Malleus nodded his head, then snapped his head over at a shrieking Grim in Hunt’s arms.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! (NAME)! (NAME)! I WANNA SEE (NAAAAAAME)!”

The little one was sobbing as he thrashed and swiped at Hunt’s arms, the latter flinching as a claw dug into his cheek.

“Monsieur Fuzzball! S'il te plaît, calm down! You must understand, you would’ve been burned if you were still in the room!”

Burned.

An impending sense of doom filled Malleus’s chest, foreign and heavy, as he rapidly stood and turned to the door you’d just been screaming through.

Moments ago, he could see the fear and pleading in your eyes, pale blue cracks growing on your form as you begged him to help. You begged, pleaded, and cried for him, and he was too late to do anything. Now, only a white, dusty fog was in your place, shrouding his view into the room

The other students in the hall were now slowly getting back up. Schoenheit had done the same as he did with a few students near him, while his three younger housewardens had curled into each other, still in a pile on the floor.

Shroud had been in the back of the group, cowering behind a blue panel of hexagons sprouting from his floating skull contraption, with some students behind him.

Kingscholar was closest to the door, part of which was slowly turning into sand as he was hunched on the ground, hands over his eyes as he rapidly blinked. Tears were flowing from the corners, no doubt from the strain the sudden flash had caused.

“Tck, my damn eyes… Someone…go check on the damn herbivore…fuck! I can’t see!”

A yowl and a cry of pain caught Malleus’s attention as Grim finally dug his canines into Hunt’s hand, making the human drop him.

“(Name)!”

The little one ran into the foggy room through the gap Kingscholar’s spell was causing as Malleus tried following him, though another cry made him pause.

“Ow! What the—Grim?”

“…(Name)?”

Your voice! It was you! You were okay! Never mind that it sounded different, sounded…older. It was you, and you were okay! Malleus breathed a sigh of relief, hovering over the door to wait for enough space for him to squeeze through.

He couldn’t teleport now, he had no clue what spell went off or how it would react to another spell going off so soon.

“Ooh, Grim!” You spoke again, softer though…you sounded off. “Grim, you’re so small…”

“I forgot how small you used to be! Like a little baby~”

“Grimmy, have you been crying—ah! …Hell…o?”

“…Hi? What’s going on, why am I—”

“Why is it so foggy in here, I can barely see—oh! I like your shawl!”

“Oh, thank you! Um, do you—any of you—know what’s going on?”

“Nope!”

You spoke…multiple of you spoke? What?

“You! Go get the headmage and nurse! I…don’t…know what’s happening with the Prefect…” Riddle barked at one of the students, voice faltering as he stared at the rapidly disintegrating door with confusion.

“Y-yes Housewarden!”

Most of the students followed suit, chasing after their friends until it was only the housewardens and Hunt left.

Malleus finally had a gap large enough for him to fit, bowing his head to enter before a gray ball of fur rammed into his stomach. Grim must have been barreling out of there like an arrow flying from a bow, because it actually caused a bit of pain.

“EEEEEK! THERE’S A BUNCH OF WEIRDOS IN THERE!!! THEY’RE COPYING MY HENCHHUMAN, SOMEONE TELL THEM TO GIVE (NAME) BACK!”

Everyone made various sounds of confusion, except for Kingscholar, who was still rubbing his eyes and growled.

“What are you talking about, you little furball?”

“Go look for yourself!”

Malleus and the others shared a look, Asim helping Kingscholar from up the floor and inching closer to the door, now practically gone.

The others did the same, cautiously approaching the door and entering the room. It was empty at first glance, at least where you’d been. The fog was clearing out now, flowing out of an open window, a figure…no two…three…four…six? Standing by it.

“There, that ought to—gasp.”

Bright green eyes met with your familiar ones, one of you staring at the group as the other five looked out the window and quietly conversed.

Malleus and the others froze, as did the six, Hunt muttering something in amazement under his breath, staring as if any sudden movement would set someone off.

“Guys, guys!” The…(Name)s staring at them, adorned in silk that reminded him of the clothes he wore while at the Scalding Sands, smacked the other five, making them turn.

Now that the fog was almost completely cleared, Malleus could properly see the group.

It was indeed you…just older, maybe the same age as Sam? Each one looked a bit different though, some of you had your hair longer, some in an up-do. Some more chubby than others, others more lean, and your clothes.

The one in the Scalding Sands silks moved closer to the middle of the classroom, allowing space for the other six to approach as well. One of you was dressed in what Malleus was positive was in the royal garb from Sunset Savana. Another one was in some sort of suit, similar style to what Crewel wore, while one in an elegant one piece that shimmered with each movement, ears adorned with jewels. One was in loose, but silky clothing, pearls adoring their neck, and the last behind them was dressed in a dark gray uniform, with the S.T.Y.X. logo on their left.

No matter which one of you he looked at though, you were all breathtakingly beautiful.

“Oh my god!” The one in the suit gasped, hands covering their mouth. Your look one of…delight? “Riddle? Is that you?”

Malleus’s group was still frozen, some of the younger ones flinching at your cry. Rosehearts, at the sound of his name, approached, straightening and taking a few steps forward.

“Yes, um, (Name), is that—”

Malleus could hear what he presumed was the headmage and nurse approaching, their footsteps echoing against stone steps, at least until suit you squealed again and came rushing at Rosehearts.

“I forgot how much of a baby-face you had, and how short you were! Come here!!”

You practically scooped Riddle into your arms, the heeled ankle boots on your feet giving you even more advantage. Speaking of the devil, Rosehearts had a spectacularly brilliant shade of red on this face, his two strands of hair standing straight up.

Whether it was due to rage, embarrassment, or fluster as you nuzzled a cheek against his forehead, Malleus wasn’t sure.

“Wha—what—how—P-PUT ME DOWN!”

Shoving ‘suit’ you off, Rosehearts stumbled backwards, shaking in anger as the six of you giggled.

“How dare—it should be off with your head for such a stunt!”

‘Suit’ you clicked your tongue, placing your hands on your hips and wagging a finger at him.

“Now Riddle, that’s no way for a husband to speak to his spouse! Or, I guess—your future spouse!”

Malleus and the others froze, as did Rosehearts, whose face went white, then back to red again.

“I—I—I—what did you say?” Rosehearts had a soft, almost meek tone now. Strange to hear from him. “S-spouse?”

‘Suit’ (Name) giggled, nodding a swooning into your hand as you spoke. “Aw~ I remember when you used to still get all flustered around me, no one could ever tell if the red meant you were mad or not!”

“Ah, speak for yourself, Idia’s would turn pink when he wanted to hold hands.” ‘S.T.Y.X.’ you laughed as Shroud made a choking sound, then a thump, to Malleus’s left. “He still sometimes does.”

“Wait, so you married Idia? I’m Vil’s partner!”

“Interesting, Azul is mine! You two are pretty easy to guess, Leona and Kalim? The clothes give it away”

“Ah, yes, for quite some time actually…”

“I’m actually married to Jamil, though I can see why you’d guess Kalim.”

The six of you laughed together, oblivious to the distress happening behind Malleus. In fact, he turned out of curiosity, and it was certainly a scene.

Shroud had presumably fainted, his fiery hair now extremely pink. Schoenheit was staring at ‘Jeweled’ you, hand clasped over his mouth as Hunt whispered into his ear. Ashengrotto was glowing a light purple from his cheeks, mouth opening and closing, attempting to say something. Kingscholar was looking at his you, the one in royal garb, but had a pained, almost sick expression as he eyed you up and down. Asim seemed to be the only one excited about the situation.

“Woah! You’re all so pretty! And I can’t believe you married Jamil! He’ll be so excited—or, well, actually—you know what? It’s fine, I’m super excited to meet you all!”

Asim smiled, hands on his hips, until he frowned and asked, “Why are there so many (Names) though?”

You six turned back to Asim and the others, exchanging looks. You all looked confused, concerned even.

“I…I don’t know. I was with Idia just a moment ago when we started growing these blue cracks on our skin. Then, suddenly, the cracks exploded and I turned up here.”

‘Jewel’ (Name) nodded, piping up. “Same, I was at a shoot with Vil when the cracks appeared, like someone was smashing a mirror, but on my skin.”

The other (Name)s nodded in agreement, ‘Suit’ you pinching at your lip as you spoke.

“I think we all were with our husbands when we got here…wait, we all have different husbands?” You gasped, flapping your hands in excitement. “Is this like a multiple timeline thing? Like Doctor Who?”

“Oh my gooood, you’re so right, it’s a Doctor Who thing.”

“I totally forgot about Doctor Who!”

“I loved Doctor Who as a kid, was your favorite episode also—oh, uh guys?” ‘Silk’ you pointed at the group of men, wincing at the various states of distress they were in. “I think they’re not processing this well. Yours fainted.”

‘Silk’ (Name) gestured to Shroud, still on the floor, as S.T.Y.X. (Name) cringed, carefully making your way to him.

“Oh, Idia? Babe? You okay? Maybe I should get Ortho over…”

Following ‘S.T.Y.X’ you’s move, the other (Name)s each approached your respective…husbands.

Malleus ignored them, moving farther into the classroom to search for his (Name), his beastie. He dropped Grim, who landed on his bottom out of surprise, making an ‘oomph’ sound.

“Owie, hey Hornton, what was that for—”

“Where are they?” Malleus could hear the thunderstorms forming outside, but he didn’t care. “Where is my Child of Man?”

Silence fell over the crowd behind him, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the foreign feeling of anxiety in his chest as all he saw before him was remnants of you on the desk you’d been sharing. A pencil bag, a notebook, a chair fallen over.

One of the other (Name)s must have approached him, their footsteps but background noise to the sounds of thunder.

“…Hornton—”

“Do NOT call me that! How DARE YOU!” green flames and smoke left his mouth as Malleus turned to rage at the person who dared to call him what his Child of Man called him. What his beastie named him. What his (Name)—

SMACK

The back of a palm met the skin of his cheek, stinging and burning in pain. He’d never…been slapped before. It shocked him.

“Don’t you yell at me like that, Hornton.” The (Name) in Sunset Savana royal garb was resting their hands at their chest, rubbing the tender skin. “I may not be the same (Name) you know, but I am still your friend, even if from another timeline. And you will treat me with the same level of respect as you would your own (Name), understand?”

Malleus stared down at ‘Savana’ you with a blank look. You had the air of a ruler, the attire, the voice. His eyes told him it was you, but…you just looked…so uncanny. It was you, but his heart knew you weren’t his (Name).

The group behind ‘Savana’ (Name) all had different expressions of concern and fear, like they were waiting for him to strike you down. Except for Kingscholar, who had a disbelieving smirk, just barely noticeable. Your face softened, though, as you sighed.

“…I’m sorry Horns, I don’t know what happened to the me that is from here. I don’t think any of us even know how or what brought us here.”

“It was a spell, mon Royal Trickster!” Hunt spoke up, eyes still on ‘Jewel’ (Name) who had taken to stand between him and Schoenheit. “Monsieur Fuzzball decided to practice a type of looking glass spell on Roi du Dragons’s Trickster! It was vraiment terrible! We had to evacuate, as the others happened to see.”

“He WHAT!” Malleus looked down at Grim, who yelped at his angry gaze and fled into ‘Suit’ (Name)’s arms,

“I didn’t know! They wouldn’t let me practice the sigil and spell on the mirror, so they told me to do it on their hand! I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I didn’t knooooow—!”

Grim began crying into ‘Suit’ (Name)’s chest, babbling apologies and wails of regret.

“Looking glass…is that why the cracks formed on our skin?” ‘S.T.YX.’ you was now fanning Shroud with your hands. “But, the same started happening to our husbands, where are they?”

“I may have an answer for that!”

The group turned their attention to Crowley, finally arriving with the nurse in tow, who immediately fell down to attend to Shroud.

“Looking glass spells usually break the mirror and reform it back using a mirror dimension to reform, allowing the user to see into the future. Very complicated, very powerful spell. I’m surprised Young Grim was able to cast a variant of it.”

“Break?” Malleus hissed, interrupted by Grim.

“V-variant?”

Crowley nodded, leaning down to study ‘Pearl’ (Name), who leaned back into Ashengrotto, the latter turning purple once again.

“Yes, if it was the normal spell, it wouldn’t have worked. Nothing would have happened! But something did, which leads me to believe that it was another one with another purpose…Young Grim, may I see what it was you were referencing?”

Grim nodded, pointing to the book at the desk you two had been at. Malleus immediately snatched the book and practically teleported in front of him and Crowley. The direbeast flinched and curled into ‘Suit’ (Name)’s arms, muttering.

“…He says it was page 176.”

Crowley nodded, looking as Malleus flipped to the pages and taking the book from him.

“Let me see….ah! I see the mistake. Grim, you silly thing, you did a different incantation! Our Prefect (Name) was shattered into the mirror dimension!”

“I KILLED THEM!? WAAAAAA—”

“Nononononono—” The headmage frantically waved his free hand, shushing Grim. “Poor choice of words. They must have had some items of personal importance to the student here and were replaced by their mirrors! It’s not unheard of, but it’s very rare for it to even be done. The good news is that all can be brought to normal!”

A wave of relief flushed Malleus, his shoulders sagging, not gone unnoticed by the other students.

“But…”

“But? But what!”

Crowley remained unfazed by Malleus’s raising voice. “I am just ever so busy, and it requires many materials and a powerful mage to cast the spells needed to bring them back, and I just didn’t get many hours of sleep—”

“Then I will assist, problem solved.”

The headmage’s shoulders slumped as he muttered, “Wonderful.” under his breath. He straightened and gave the group of (Name)s a big smile.

“In the meantime, you six can take residence in Ramshackle dorm as we fix—”

“Oh, I’d rather not. Can’t we go with our husbands? …Younger husband? …Younsbands?”

‘S.T.Y.X.’ you smiled, looking down at Shroud as he began waking, the nurse waving their wand under his nose.

“Ugh…I was totally having a weird dream…:”

“Hi my Younsband!” ‘S.T.Y.X’ (Name) smiled at Shroud, which faded as he looked at them and promptly fainted again. “Oh, Idia…”

“That’s not a bad idea, with Hornton working on this, we won’t be here long.” ‘Silk’ (Name) smiled at Asim. “You think Jamil will be okay with me showing up?”

“Oh yeah! Probably, it’s all good (Name!)” Asim cheerfully responded, before frowning. “Should I call you (Name)? Do we call all of you (Name)? I feel like it’ll get confusing fast.”

The six of you hummed, sharing looks with each other.

“Perhaps a nickname?” Ashengrottto suggested, looking anywhere but at his (Name). “Are there any you six would like to go by?”

‘Pearl’ you smiled, tucking Ashengrotto’s long strand of hair behind his ears, making him stiffen.

“You call me Angelfish often, I can go by Angel.”

“Ah! I’ll go by Tart!” ‘Tart’ turned to Riddle and smiled. “Your favorite!”

Schoenheit turned to his (Name) and smiled. “What would you like?”

“Jewel works.” Jewel smiled back, laughing as Hunt exclaimed.

“Merveilleux! A beautiful name for a beautiful person!”

Asim looked expectantly at ‘Silk’ (Name), tilting his head curiously.

“Does Jamil call you anything back home?”

You paused, tapping a finger to your lip before smiling.

“Call me, Habibi.”

Asim looked utterly delighted at the name, eyes shining.

The others looked at the last two, mostly at the (Name) attending to a waking Shroud.

“Alright, alright. No more fainting…oh! Uh, call me Percie.”

The last (Name) looked down, embarrassed, as everyone looked at them expectantly.

“…Mousy.”

A snort left Kingscholar’s mouth, which he promptly closed before retorting after seeing the glare you gave him. His tail whipped against his legs.

Crowley clapped his hands, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Wonderful! Everyone, please make your guests comfortable! Young Draconia, if you will follow me, we will begin the new ritual spell. Come, come!”

Just like that, everyone began shuffling out of the room, the group of twelve separating from the headmage and Malleus as they went opposite directions.

Malleus paused, turning back to look at the group. The different versions of you all looked so happy, being with the others. It made his heart feel heavy.

“Poor Grim, Riddle dear, do you think Trey will be able to make him a treat? To make him feel better?”

“Azul, I forgot you had these glasses. I like them, you look so cute. Ah, it makes me wanna cry a bit!”

“Alright Idia, no more fainting please, you’ll get a concussion at this rate.”

“You know, Leona, it’s been a while since I've seen you with your hair down. You just look so much younger like this…”

“Oh, Vil, do you like the outfit? It’s one you picked out for me, you know?”

“Kalim, maybe text Jamil about the situation now? Just so we don’t stress him out…and no parties or feasts today, please?”

Ignoring the lump in his throat, Malleus turned back around and sped up to Crowley’s side. It didn’t matter what these other versions of you meant to them. He was going to get his (Name) back.

His beastie…come back to him.

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

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caffeinatedvigilantewriter · 2 months ago

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Ok this is based on my surface level understanding of the Particle Accelerator that gave Barry Allen his powers. I’ve also only watched the show and it’s been a really long time since I’ve read the comics.

Dani is traveling through central city in order to help Danny with a favor. He suspects that theymight have some ectoplasm that they found near a crime scene (one of his ghost fights got out of hand, by the time he realized, he found got back with getting caught by his parents)

So Dani helps. She breaks into the forensics labs where they’re storing the ecto. She’s goes in her human form to not make anyone think she’s a supervillain.

There’s a scientist in the lab. Barry Allen.

She waits until hes looking away to grab the ecto.

She’s spotted before she can escape.

After a couple of awkward moments of silence, it’s broken by the lightning bolt.

From what I can find, the reason Barry’s the flash is because he was standing next to forensics equipment and chemicals. By logic, Dani is also standing next to said equipment and chemicals. One thing is different.

She’s holding the ecto.

Barry was found in a coma like state, and another girl, around 13 was found next to him. The officers who found them say that she was melting and resolidifying into green goo. She looked completely normal when she and Barry were loaded into the ambulance.

Dani didn’t have paper of a birth certificate, she’s a clone. Any DNA tests crashes the computer. Shes labeled as a Jane Doe.

She and Barry are kept in close proximity at the hospital because of their similar conditions.

(Danny and Jazz don’t know what happened to Dani. To them, she’s disappeared, dead most likely. They think she’s been taken by the GIW)

Barry wakes up after 9 months but Dani’s still in the coma. The Flash team monitors her progress from the lab, ready to help her if she develops the same powers as Barry.

Then, 3 month later, on the one year anniversary of the accident. Jane Doe awakes.

Cisco forges documents that says the Caitlin is the girl aunt, and Caitlin takes her to STAR labs for testing.

They ask her if she remembers what happened on the day of the accident. Dani does, but she’s not about to land in jail, so she pretends she doesn’t.

Dani didn’t turn into more or less of a ghost, that lightning strike gave her the powers but that ecto made her DNA less stable, although she didn’t know it at the time. It also gave her a power boost.

Flash gets a partner, named Flare, who’s almost as fast as he is.

Things are good.

Until Dani starts destabilizing mid-run.

Things are grim. Nobody knows how to help, and Dani isn’t coherent enough to help.

Jazz and Danny are visiting through central city, looking for schools for the both of them. Amity is too dangerous for Danny with the GIW and Jazz is looking to transfer away from Metropolis University (the Alien attacks are very annoying, at least in central she doesn’t have to deal with city wide destruction threats)

Barry runs into a teen that looks exactly like Dani, and kidnaps him.

It wasn’t his best thought, but the teen recognizes Dani.

They vanish in a burst of light. Dani is no where to be found.

Barry is devastated that he got his partner kidnapped. Until she returns, completely healthy.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #danielle phantom #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #dani fenton #dp x dc crossover #cvw fic summaries #barry allen #the flash #cisco ramon #caitlin snow #Dani is a speedster #danny fenton #jazz fenton

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bluerosefox · 1 year ago

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Save Her

Guys I came up with a new DPxDC AU where we get Deaged!Dani(Ellie), Mom!Cass, and Dad!Danny.

"Cass... Are you sure you want to do this?" Tim asked one more time before he would put the last code in. He knew she was sure, more than willing to deal with it but he just needed one more confirmation before they all started what couldn't be stopped.

Cass stared at Tim, her face straight and her eyes firm without a hint of doubt. She nodded in his direction, despite the growing nervousness in her stomach for a second even with Stephanie squeezed her hand in reassurance and support.

Cass turned her gaze to the little girl, no older than thirteen, suspended in a tank full of green glowing goo and asleep. Her vitals showing up on screens near the tank coming from the wires that were hooked up to her inside the tank.

She said her name was Danielle Masters but had also said she wouldn't mind a new name once she was no longer just a clone but instead Cass's new daughter. She had only asked to include her 'dad', a Danny Fenton/Phantom, in her future naming decision too

Cass took a breath and said softly but determined "Save her."

Tim nodded back and entered the final code into the computer.

-x-x-

Basically-

Cass, while in Hong Kong, finds a destabilizing Dani.

Cass see's the desperation and fear Dani is in and helps as best as she can.

She manages to help but they both seem to know the next time this happens will be Dani's last.

Dani is very, very sick at this point and needs help even standing up.

Cass see's and remembers herself at this age and wants to help.

They do become friends and learn each other backstories

Cass goes to the one person she knows who might to be able to help with the destabilizing clone problem.

Tim, Tim is that person. (Because he's friends with Conner, and no doubt knows Conner's DNA and how it works, AND the fact he tried his hand at the whole cloning thing.... Tim told Cass everything once things settled down after his BruceQuest was done)

They fill him in on what is happening and he starts helping, mostly cause Cass asked and because "Clone rights!" (side note, he asked if its okay to tell Conner, when yes, Conner comes over and chats with Dani the entire time whenever he has free time) (the image of Conner sitting at her bedside as they chat is in my head btw)

Tim finds out the reason Dani is destabilizing so badly is because she's not 'complete', she needs a female donor technically because she's female not male (unlike Conner who is stable because he is male with male donors)

They find out that after trying to see of ways to save her that Cass was the closest that could donate her DNA (they also discover there might be a connection between ectoplasm and the Pits, they don't wanna run the risk of asking a LOA member) (If I remember right Cass grew around the Pits for a while and was even tossed in them after a fight with Shiva)

Tim also brings them news that Danielle's body is rapidly destabilizing due to her body/hormones trying to 'mature' her since she is at that age and she has less than a week.

Everyone knows there is no time to think of trying to save her in any other ways.

Tim says that if they do this, they have to technically 'remake' her body to the actual age she is (a couple months old/a few years old? Depends on the writer) and there was a high chance of her not remembering her old self. That the male DNA in her, the one that seemed to be the most is Daniel 'Danny' Fenton's DNA will be considered father DNA and if Cass does this, her's will be the mother DNA. (Vlad's DNA, because he would try to put his own in, would be 'pushed out')

Cass would become Dani's mother.

Both Cass and Dani talk about it.

Cass wants to help her, she had become friends with Dani and loves her like a little sister already but will try to love her as a daughter as well.

Dani wants to live an actual life.

They agree to it.

Tim sets everything up, Conner is helping around/keeping Dani comfortable/happy.

Cass told Steph and Babs whats happening and they're helping/being supportive once they find out everything.

Meanwhile Tim and Babs has Dick, and Damian go to Amity Park to find out whats happening there/bring Danny to her so they can explain what happened to Dani. (Dick and Damian have no clue why just yet but will find out when they get back, but oh boy is Amity a mess between the GIW, ecto-acts, crazy fruitloop mayor/villain ghost, and other stuff)

Cass and Tim tell Jason and he's helping Alfred (who basically already knows) set up a room for the newest arrival. Jason is gonna stick around if to just see Bruce's face when he gets called a 'grandpa' for the first time.

Duke takes this all in stride when told and just goes along with things now because this is life with the Batfam. He also helps with the room and keeping Dani company until the day.

Bruce was on a space mission thus comes home to find a new group of teens with his kids. One (with black hair and violet/purple eyes) is talking about a purple back gorillas with Damian and swapping vegan recipes, another (wearing a red beanie and has glasses) is getting into tech talk with Tim and Babs, a girl with red hair is talking classic books with Jason and giving Duke advice with school and stress, and another boy (one who could pass as one of his own adopted kids) is cracking jokes/puns with Dick, and telling Steph stories about his Rogues(!?).

Bruce isn't ready when Cass comes up behind him, nearly dancing in her spot and hands him something.

He is given a baby/toddler that looks like Cass but had darker hair and bright blue eyes.

He almost faints when Cass signs to him that he's holding his granddaughter, her baby.

He does faint when Cass notices the signs and takes her baby back before he falls over.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #Dad!Danny #Mom!Cass #Deaged!Dani #deaged!Danielle #Bruce wakes up confused and thinking he dreamed all of that #only to get hit by a wet tiny hand on his cheek #the baby/toddler was on his bed with him and was nomming on her own hand but once she realized he was awake she did the whole baby hit thin #Bruce has to come to terms that he is a grandpa now #He isn't happy when its finally explained #To be fair he left them alone #and they are chaotic #and just wanted to save a kid that finally gets to be an actual kid now #but hey they also discovered the Ecto-Acts. the GIW. evil mayor/fruitloop/evil ghost Masters. etc etc #AND they have new allies in Team Phantom #Also leaving the pairings open. Danny and Cass do not have to get together. They can be friends and just co-parenting

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consistentlyguessing · 3 months ago

Text

Girl Crush

Summary

Crushing on Yelena Belova is proven to be difficult. Even more so when you catch her making goo goo eyes at John Walker.

Warnings

THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS, ending kinda rushed? comma abuse, angst with happy ending, reader lowkey stupid, reader lowkey makes hasty decisions, JOHN WALKER!!, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, y/n used, not proof read, 2nd person pov. Das all bye

A/N

I KNOW this is not what the song is abt technically. But I heard it & thought of her. Obviously I do not ship John & Yelena. Also I listened to phoebe bridgers while I wrote this so it’s extra sad. I swear I’ll start writing abt other characters soon 😞. Bye Bye

After a group of misfits joined together to take down a common enemy, they accidentally were roped into a knock off avengers(Z) group.

The group consisted of; John Walker, a Captain America wannabe who was demoted after killing an innocent civilian, Ava Starr, who can turn intangible, Bucky Barnes, a former congressman, Bob Reynolds, some rando with insane powers, you (of course) and Yelena, an ex assassin.

Yelena was like the only person to ever walk the earth, in your eyes anyway. Her thick Russian accent was like honey. She had gorgeous blonde hair that she kept slicked back. Her green eyes that could make you float by stealing just a glance.

Everyone in the tower had picked up just how head over heels you were for her, except for Yelena. Whenever one of the Thunderbolts* saw you and her in the same room, they wouldn’t hesitate to tease you.

Ava would whistle and raise her eyebrows at the two of you, Bob would sing a poor rendition of “Careless Whisper” which was almost too much for your ears to handle. John made sure you were throughly embarrassed if he ever caught you eyeing Yelena. He would tap your jaw and whisper something to you about “drooling all over the freshly mopped floors.” Despite him never being one to handle the chores. Alexi was the worst one, though. He made an entire scene about it. Shout something about “lovebirds” and first love.

Never in a million years would you think to confess to her. But here you were, standing at the door of her favorite coffee shop, trying to hype yourself up. Flowers were never Yelena’s thing, you knew that. So, you had a blanket, crocheted to look like roses when folded. It was something you made yourself, originally just as a friendly gift. However, Ava engraved it in your mind that if you didn’t do something soon, you’d miss the window.

You opened the door gently, walking up to the front. By now, you already had her order memorized. Every day, Yelena would invite you on a morning run, where you’d get coffee shortly thereafter. It was the little moments of bonding time that ultimately made you sick to your stomach with butterflies every time she was around.

The barista recognized you instantly, he waved at you, a small and tired smile on his face. “The usual, Miss Y/n?” He questioned, examining the blanket poking out of your large tote bag.

You nodded, “Yeah. Let me get Yelena’s order too. I’m gonna bring it back to her.” You voiced, your throat feeling a little dry with nerves. The barista looked up at you, brow furrowed. You returned the look, not sure of what was going through his mind.

He looked across the room, “She’s already ordered.” He claimed, gesturing to a table behind you. You whipped your head around, confused. Scanning the room, a gasp elicited from your lips as your eyes landed on familiar blonde locks. A small frown appeared on your face, she was up earlier than usual today. As you continued to look at the table, a wave of shock hit your body. The person sitting with her was none other than John Walker. She giggled like a little girl, and shook her head at his teasing. Sarcastically rolling her eyes. John’s cheeks were rosy red, as if he had just said something bold and flirtatious.

Turning back to the barista, you shook your head and scrunched your face. “I don’t need it.” You said, cancelling your order. He shook his head in understanding, a look of pity flashing across his face. You spun on your heel and walked out of the shop as quickly as you came in.

As you walked through the streets, pushing and shoving past people, your mind raced. Of course you had seen them together before, but it was just for missions. Checking the perimeter, easy, team stuff. This was different. She was voluntarily hanging with him, laughing like something was funny.

How had you never picked up on this? How couldn’t you see the glint in her eyes when she looked at John? How could John do this to you? After all, he was relentless when it came to teasing you about your crush on Yelena. He would bring it up constantly. Hell, he even hyped you up to go talk to her. You two were pretty close, too.

Saddened by the events, you hurried into your room of the watch tower. You brushed past a smiling Ava who was excitedly asking you how it went. Alexi, who had just came out of the bathroom saw you speeding through the halls and called out to you.

You sat in your room, on your bed, all of the lights on, and questioned everything. The way Ava talked you up made you feel like Yelena absolutely liked you back. You stayed in there for a few hours, only coming out for a brief restroom break every now and then.

But of course, you can’t hide in your room for the rest of your life. Eventually, you’d have to come out and face the music.

Alexi had insisted when you guys first moved in that family dinners would be mandatory. Every night, someone would make dinner. It was a rotation. Alexi, Ava, Bob, You, John, and Yelena. Thankfully, it was Ava’s night to cook.

As you sat at the dinner table, in your unassigned-assigned seat, you watched how John and Yelena moved around the kitchen. It was as if they were doing this to you on purpose. He would whisper something into her ear and she would giggle. It was as if you were the only person seeing this too! Everyone else was acting as if it was completely normal.

As everyone began digging in, Alexi began talking. “How was everyone’s day? Good weather hm?” He said, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. Everyone nodded quietly, busy eating. “Y/n, you had a busy day today didn’t you? Exciting! Tell us how it went!” He prodded.

Tongue in your cheek, you looked up at him. Your insides were churning and you thought that you’d might actually have a stroke from how dizzy you were getting. You swallowed, “Yeah. Busy day. Uhm, went to get coffee. Then shopped for a little. Then I came home.” You lied, trying to get out of this conversation as quick as possible.

Of course though, the universe was never on your side. Yelena spoke up, “Coffee? When? We never went.” She questioned, chewing on a piece of steak. You looked over at her, and despite being upset at her, you could’ve melted into putty just by the way she looked at you.

You shrugged, “I went alone. Earlier this morning. I would’ve grabbed you some, but you know.. no need.” You muttered, feeling a little bitter.

John quickly looked up, panic setting in his eyes, Yelena stared at you confusedly. John was fast to defend himself, “No! Y/n, it wasn’t anything like that! I can assure you. I know—“

You shook your head and crinkled your nose as it began to burn. You blinked any tears away that were trying to prick up, “No, it’s fine. You don’t need to come up with excuses, Walker. I understand.” You smiled softly. Yelena and the others looked around puzzled.

You finished the dinner in silence while the others around you laughed and talked about their days. Once you finished your meal, you walked back to your room.

Later that night, hushed whispering could be heard from just behind the door. You were scrolling on your phone, mindlessly watching TikTok to drown your sorrows. Yelena and John were talking, trying to figure out what was wrong with you.

“No, John. I don’t know what her deal is. You clearly do though, so what’s wrong with her?” She whispered, her voice strained.

“Yelena, are you seriously this dense?” He asked, desperately. Yelena scoffed, “This is why no one can stand your ass! All you do is be insufferable and secretive!”

John and Yelena continued to argue for a little while longer, until you finally got tired of hearing and stood up out of your bed to open the door.

As you swung it open, both Yelena and John jumped, small gasps escaping from their lips. “If you two are going to have a couple squabble in front of my door, could you at least be mindful of those trying to sleep? AKA, me? Or do you guys just not care about others anymore?” You fumed, looking between the both of them.

Yelena scrunched up her face, “Couple squabble? Y/n, what the hell are you on about? Is everyone crazy today?” She questioned, feeling like she was in the dark.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Don’t play stupid, Yelena. I saw you and John today at our coffee shop flirting and practically dry humping.” You spat, a mix of disgust and sadness eliciting from your lips.

Yelena just furrowed her brows. You shook your head, closing your door before Yelena stuck her foot in it. “I’m not playing stupid, Y/n. John and I weren’t flirting. We were just hanging out after a run.” She assured, walking into your room and closing the door behind her.

“Yeah because that makes it so much better.” You huffed, crossing your arms and turning your back to her. Inside, you knew you were being dramatic, and you knew she owed you nothing, and of course you knew that you and Yelena weren’t dating. That didn’t make you feel any less pain, though.

She grabbed your arm, spinning you around, “Y/n, you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. I don’t want anything to do with Walker.” She reassured. You yanked your arm away from her, looking at the ground, “Sure didn’t seem like that. You all looked awfully cozy.” You muttered.

Yelena sighed, pursing her lips together. “We were talking about you, did you know that?” She asked, gripping the side of your arms and stepping closer to you. You looked up at her, disbelief across your face.

“What do you mean?” You asked, she smiled at you, rolling her eyes. “And I’m the dense one.” She chuckled and shook her head.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really like you, like, a lot.” Yelena said, her usual confidence faltering despite her tries to keep it all together. Her lips twitched as she looked at you, “We were talking about a good way for me to ask you out.” She promised.

A hopeful shine flashed across your face, “What?” You asked, feeling lighter already. She only nodded earnestly, not breaking eye contact. You opened your mouth and closed it several times before sighing. You licked your lips as you spoke, running a distressed hand through your hair. “Oh,” you laughed embarrassedly. “I’m sorry. It just looked like something completely different. It got in my head. I should’ve asked or something. Or stayed out of it completely. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.” You word vomited.

Yelena shook her head, trying to get you to stop. Once you did, she smiled softly at you, not saying a word. After a few moments of silence, her words actually processed in your head. You gasped softly, “I really like you too, Yelena. I forgot to say that.” You stammered, nerves setting in.

Yelena laughed at you as she pulled you into a tight hug, you reciprocated. For the first time that day, as if you had never truly been relaxed before, you breathed. You took it all in. Relishing in her touch, her smell, her clothes, as if she would disappear once you let go.

But when you did, she stayed put. She smiled at you, her tough exterior melted away like she had just been unfrozen for the first time in seventy years. The way she looked at you was something you could get used to, and you had a feeling you would.

#yelena belova #yelena black widow #yelena x reader #john walker #bob reynolds #ava starr #red guardian #black widow #thunderbolts #yelena thunderbolts #i need yelena so bad it’s not even funny someone help

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marlynnofmany · 2 months ago

Text

Unexpected Inconveniences

Ever park your car under a tree, then regret it? Come back to find it covered in tree sap or bird poop? Turns out that sort of thing is much worse on an alien planet. And when it’s a spaceship.

We couldn't get the dang door open.

I stood in the cargo bay, watching Captain Sunlight supervise an attempt to un-stick the big door. Blip and Blop were putting their muscles to use in shoving mightily, while the captain worked the controls and Mimi kept a careful watch out for stresses on the machinery. Mur shoved some narrow tool into the gap, muttering that the captain should let him use his tentacles.

Captain Sunlight told him sternly, “No body parts in danger. That’s what tools are for.” She kept both scaly yellow hands on the controls and gave him a look.

I asked, “Is there anything I can do? Help push, or get another crowbar?”

Blip grunted, her frills slicked back in effort. “It’s moving!”

With an unpleasant sticky noise and a creak of metal, the bay door began lifting open an inch at a time. Mimi’s rough voice yelled, “Stop!”

The Frillian twins stopped pushing. Mimi scuttled over on quick green tentacles to figure out what part of the door had creaked.

Mur shoved his prying tool in farther and managed to poke through the gooey golden stuff just barely visible from inside. But the hard-earned gap started to close. Blip and Blop pushed again, gently, while Mur’s blue-black tentacles danced in frustration. Then he lunged for the toolbox Mimi had brought, grabbing something I recognized as a hydraulic jack. He shoved it into the gap and cranked it until the door stopped closing.

I said, “Nice job,” kicking myself for not thinking of it first.

Captain Sunlight thanked everyone for their efforts so far. Mimi reported no significant damage, at least nothing he couldn’t fix later with the right tools and a bit of muscle. I got the impression that the twins were going to be roped into helping with that, which seemed only fair.

Mur was busy poking at the goo, clearing away a tiny opening that looked like a promising start. I peered into the toolbox, but didn’t want to get unknown nastiness on any more of Mimi’s tools without permission.

Footsteps in the hall turned out to be Paint, trotting in with a bottle of cleaning solution held high. Her scaly orange face was delighted. “The stuff dissolves!” she announced. “Kavlae finally got through to the local database. We have the right cleaner to get rid of it; we just have to spray it down. Apparently this is extra effective in direct sun.” She stopped next to the captain and looked at the door. “Which could be tricky, if we can’t actually get outside.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mur said, poking industriously with his prying tool. “Mimi, are you up for a squeeze through a tight space? If the captain allows it, of course.” That part sounded a little sarcastic.

I bent to get a better look. The gap was still only a couple inches wide.

I remembered stories of octopus escape artists on Earth, sneaking from one aquarium tank to another through exceptionally small openings. I stood back, ready to be impressed.

Captain Sunlight asked Paint, “Did Kavlae say whether it’s toxic at all?”

“Right, yes, it’s fine,” Paint said. “Not an irritant to any known species. Except, you know, mentally.” She grimaced. “It’s sticky.”

Mimi tentacle-walked over to join Mur. He grumbled, “I’ve seen worse. Lemme just put the other jack in place, and we can get out there. We’ll want that cleaner in some smaller bottles, though.”

“I’m on it!” Paint declared, setting down the big bottle and dashing off.

By the time Mimi had set up the second jack and pronounced the door safe to crawl under, Paint was back with three tiny spray bottles. She lost no time in filling them from the big one. I opened my mouth to offer to help, but she was on top of it.

Captain Sunlight told Mimi, “I’ll trust your expertise with the tools. The two of you may proceed carefully. In fact—” She pressed a button on the intercom for the cockpit. “Wio, will you join us? Kavlae can handle things there, and we need Strongarm capabilities.”

In no time, our ship’s three tentacle aliens were all armed with tiny spray bottles and ready to squeeze through a gap that I’d be lucky to get my hand through. Blip and Blop stood at the ready in case the jacks slipped (though Mimi assured them they would not). Then one after another, the Strongarms pushed up against the gap and squished on through.

It was really weird to watch.

When the last tentacle disappeared outside, Captain Sunlight knelt to ask for a report on what it looked like from the other side.

Mimi’s gravelly voice said, “Disgusting. Good thing it didn’t get the entire ship, or we’d be here all day. We’ll keep you posted on how fast it dissolves.”

They went to work, and there really wasn’t much for me to do. I wouldn’t fit through that hole, and the goo wasn’t dissolving instantly, so there promised to be something of a wait before anyone else could get outside.

I thought, Maybe I can find a poking thingy that could stand to get gooey. I headed off to check the most likely storage area. Something I can wave around through the gap to help get the door open sooner. There’s got to be SOMETHING I can do to help out.

My thoughts of spare pipes and prybars were derailed when I got near the medical bay, and heard beeping.

Urgent beeping. The kind that the machinery did when there was a big problem.

I ran down the hall and swung through the door of the medbay. I found Eggskin looking annoyed but not alarmed, poking at a display screen while alerts flashed. The medical table behind them was empty. Lights shone on it as if a major surgery was underway. I peeked over Eggskin’s shoulder to see that the screen was saying something about vital signs.

I asked, “What’s the problem?”

Eggskin looked up, surprised to see me. The beeping was very loud. They lashed their tail in irritation and tried again to remove the alarm. That just shrank the message so it covered less of the screen. “The problem,” they said over the beeps, “Is that the system thinks there is a patient on the table, and is distressed that it cannot detect signs of life.”

I winced, considering plugging my ears. “Can you just tell it the patient’s dead, and its job is done?”

“It’s not accepting commands,” Eggskin said, rubbing a hand over their scaly face. “Normally the system is much more reliable than this. I’d ask Mimi to take a look, but he’s busy.”

“Yeah he is,” I agreed. The beeping continued. “What if you turn it off and on again?”

Eggskin gave me a blank look that could have meant anything. Then they opened a side panel to reveal the power cord that connected the medical suite to the ship’s power. With a yank, they unplugged it.

Everything in the room except for the ceiling lights lost power. Eggskin waited a moment, then plugged it back in and closed the panel.

Screens glowed back to life. A polite recording about reinitialization played. Minimal lights shone onto the table.

Nothing beeped.

“Thank you,” Eggskin said with a sigh. “I probably should have thought of that.”

“No problem!” I said with a grin. “Glad I could be useful somewhere. Do you know where I can find a long stick we don’t need?”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs

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lowdownlolo · 8 months ago

Text

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓇ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃ℊℯ | 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞..

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐛 (𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞), 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐧, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥! 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐲 @kisses4fred 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭.. 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤!! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥! 💋❤️

The corridors of Hogwarts were abuzz with whispers about Fred Weasley’s latest prank. Unfortunately for you, his latest victim was… well, you.

You and Fred had been dating for a few months, and though you loved his quick wit and knack for mischief, this prank had crossed the line. As you stomped through the castle, the faint remnants of green slime still clinging to your robes, you plotted your revenge. He wouldn’t get away with turning your hair bubblegum pink and covering you in goo during breakfast in front of half the school.

Fred had laughed—oh, he’d laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen off the bench. Even George had muttered, “Bit much, mate,” while hiding a smirk.

But you weren’t one to take such embarrassment lying down.

That evening, you put your plan into motion. Timing was key, as was location. The Prefects’ Bathroom was perfect: quiet, luxurious, and the last place Fred would expect you to strike.

You caught Fred wandering the corridors after Quidditch practice, his hair still damp and a smug grin plastered across his freckled face.

“Fred,” you purred, approaching him with a honey-sweet smile. “Fancy a little… quality time?”

Fred’s grin widened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

In the Prefects’ Bathroom, the giant, gilded tub bubbled invitingly, the air fragrant with steam and lavender soap. Fred slipped into the water, utterly unaware of what you’d planned beforehand.

You sat on the edge of the tub, watching him relax, biting back your lip in glee.

As he turns his back to grab the soap, you start to undress, and make your way over to him.

“Are you alright Freddie baby?” you say flirtily as you whisper in his ear, his eyes dropping to your naked breasts, in awe.

Fred’s eyes faltered on your waist, his usual cocky demeanor slipping away as your fingers brushed gently against his chest. The mischievous grin that had been there moments ago was now replaced by an expression of quiet anticipation, his breathing quickening under your touch.

You could feel the shift in him, the way his usual confidence started to fade the moment you took control. His gaze softened, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen it.

“Is this what you want, Fred?” you asked, your voice low, knowing you had the upper hand now. You slowly traced your fingers down his torso, watching as he shivered slightly beneath your touch, his mouth opening in a half-breathless sigh.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice strained with desire, but also something else. Something that hinted at his willingness to give in, to let you take the lead.

You climb onto his lap, and lean in closer to his face, your lips brushing his ear as your hands slide behind his head, being rewarded with a groan, as you pull him towards you. “good” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. “because i think you’ve had enough of being the prankster.”

Fred shuddered at the implication, his body going still as he awaited your next move. His usual cocky attitude had disappeared, replaced by a raw, exposed side that only you get to see. It was intoxicating, watching him wait for you to dictate what happens next.

You placed your hand firmly against his chest, expending a slight resistance, but to your joy, He didn’t fight it, not even a little. Instead his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, chest heaving with each breath, waiting for you to do as you please.

"I think it's time you learned that some things are better when you're not in control," you teased, your fingers tracing down his stomach, drawing closer to where his skin was heating up beneath the water.

Fred's breath hitched, and he looked at you with an intensity that spoke volumes. His voice was a near-whisper, but the words were clear. "Do your worst."

You smirked, knowing full well that he was ready to surrender to you. He wanted this. He wanted to be taught a lesson.

With a gentle but firm motion, you pushed him back against the edge of the tub, your body pressed against his in a way that left him no room to move. He let out a soft, needy sigh as you slowly leaned in, kissing him deeply. His hands twitched, but you didn't allow him to touch you yet—he had to wait.

Fred's submission to your touch wasn't just physical—it was mental, an unspoken trust that you would push him just enough to make it exhilarating. As you deepened tr kiss, his hands finally slid to your sides, but you caught them, holding them firmly above his head.

“Patience, Weasley,” you whispered against his lips. “you’re going to realise that some things are worth waiting for.”

His eyes, wide and filled with anticipation, locked onto yours, and for the first time in a while, he was no longer the prankster who could get away with anything. He was yours, completely vulnerable to you, and it felt far more thrilling than any prank could ever be.

He let out a soft, needy sigh as you slowly leaned in, kissing him deeply. His hands twitched, but you didn't allow him to touch you yet—he had to wait.

You tightened your grip on Fred's wrists, keeping his hands pinned above his head as you settled against him. He let out a soft groan, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, every inch of him thrumming with anticipation.

"You like this, don't you?" you asked, your voice low and teasing as your lips hovered just above his, close enough that he could feel your breath but not the kiss he so clearly craved.

Fred swallowed hard, his usual sharp tongue silenced by the weight of the moment.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. "I like it when you're in charge."

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Good. Because you're going to stay right there until I say otherwise."

Fred's head tilted back against the edge of the tub, his auburn-streaked hair plastered to his forehead from the steam. His eyes were dark with longing, but he didn't try to move, didn't fight for control-he let you have it completely.

Slowly, you released his wrists, but instead of moving, he kept them where you'd placed them, as if silently asking for your approval.

"Good boy," you murmured, and the quiet groan he let out at the words sent a rush of power through you.

Your hands slid down his arms, across his chest, his pale skin shimmering faintly under the warm glow of the candlelight. He twitched under your touch, every caress sending a jolt through him that made his breathing grow heavier.

"You think you can prank me and get away with it?" you teased, running your nails lightly down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. "That you can embarrass me in front of the whole school and not face any consequences?"

Fred shook his head quickly, his voice catching as he replied, "Never again. I swear."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I don't think you're really sorry. Not yet."

Fred groaned softly, his head falling back even further as you shifted against him, your hands trailing lower, teasing just enough to make him squirm beneath you. "I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice rough and needy. "So, so sorry."

You smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Are you?"

His hands twitched above him, as though he wanted nothing more than to grab you, but he didn't dare. "I'll do anything," he murmured, his voice soft but desperate.

"Just-please."

You paused, savoring the sight of him like this: flushed, vulnerable, and completely at your mercy. “Anything?" you asked, tilting your head as though considering his offer.

You leaned forward, brushing your lips softly against his, but pulling back just before he could deepen the kiss. "Then stay right there," you whispered, your tone commanding but laced with promise.

Fred groaned again, his frustration palpable, but he obeyed. The combination of his restraint and his surrender sent a thrill through you that you couldn't quite explain. This was your Fred Weasley— mischievous, clever, and confident-but right now, he was completely and utterly yours.

As you wrap your fingers around his cock gently, stringing him out, his arms take place on the sides of the bath, veins showing from how hard he’s gripping onto the side, the pleasure sending tidal waves over his body.

Fred's jaw clenched, his body trembling beneath your touch. "I- I'll make it up to you," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Just-bloody hell-don't stop."

You chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Oh, I'm not stopping," you whispered. "But you're not in charge here, Fred. You'll take exactly what I give you. Nothing more."

"You're mine, Fred Weasley," you murmured against his lips, your hand tightening just enough to make him gasp. "And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Fred nodded quickly, his voice cracking as he whispered, "Yours. Always yours."

And as you took your time unraveling him completely, Fred didn't dare move without your permission. He wanted nothing more than to stay right there, under your control, letting you take everything you wanted from him. As you start to pump faster, his moans become whimpers and gasps, fuelling your state of dominance, seeing his walls crumble as he gets closer to his peak, you leaning forward to kiss his neck, leaving your mark.

As he reaches his peak, you squeeze his base, fuelling his frustration. “Wha- no please don’t stop-“ he whimpers.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. “Frederick Weasley, Hogwarts’ king of mischief, reduced to this.” Your fingers ghosted over his thighs beneath the water, never quite touching where you knew he wanted you most.

Fred let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Only for you.”

The admission sent a rush of power through you, and you smiled, leaning in until your lips were just a breath away from his. “You’ve always got a smart remark,” you said softly. “What happened to that sharp tongue of yours?”

Fred swallowed hard, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “You… you’ve got me completely undone, love.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. Your hand slid lower under the water, wrapping around him just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath, his hips jerking slightly against you.

“Ah, ah,” you chided, tightening your grip just enough to make him still. “You move when I tell you to.”

Fred groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub, exposing the long line of his throat. “Merlin, you’re going to kill me,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his neck, teeth grazing just enough to make him whimper. “Not quite,” you murmured against his skin, “but I’ll make you beg if you’re not careful.”

Fred’s breathing hitched, his hands twitching again above his head where you’d left them. “Please,” he whispered, the word tumbling from his lips unbidden. “Please, love, let me touch you.”

You hummed, pulling back to meet his gaze. “You don’t deserve that yet,” you said, your tone firm but playful, your hand teasing him mercilessly under the water. “Not after the stunt you pulled this morning.”

You suddenly move your hips forward, till his tip is against your hole, and as he breathes out, you suddenly sink down in one movement, making his body tense up. “Fuck- too much baby.. bloody hell!” he near almost screams, the pleasure bringing tears to his face, every roll of your hips nearing his orgasm. As your walls start clenching him, making his cock pulse, he almost starts squealing in pleasure. “Shhh baby you can’t be too loud..” you say through your kisses, “Everyone can hear you here, can hear how well i’m making you mine.”

As you say that, warm spurts come rushing out his cock, eyes rolling back as he’s whimpering and gripping onto the side of the bath, veins and jaw becoming visible as the tidal wave takes him under.

As you reach your orgasm, he is panting and using every strain in his body to not thrust up into you, being so overstimulated and overwhelmed it hurts, as your walls pulse around him, strengthening both of your pleasure and pain. When you move off, you notice him far away in his head, as you sit behind him, playing with his hair gently

After an intense moment, Fred leans back in the warm bath, his usual cocky demeanor softened. His hair, damp and clinging to his forehead, brushes against your fingers as you tenderly run them through his fiery locks. He sighs contentedly, the tension melting from his shoulders as the water laps around you both.

Fred, always so eager to take care of you, seems almost bashful in this vulnerable state. You gently wash him, your touch soothing as you glide the washcloth along his freckled skin. His eyes flutter closed, his lips quirking into a faint smile as he leans into your care.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, voice husky but quiet, “I don’t deserve how good you are to me.”

You hush him softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You deserve every bit of it, Fred.”

The two of you stay there, the warmth of the bath cocooning you, as you talk in hushed tones or simply bask in the comfort of each other’s presence. It’s in these moments, when Fred lets down his guard, that you see just how deeply he trusts and loves you.

taglist: @wingyattium @ivyinthesun

#fred weasley smut #sub fred weasley #subby fred has my heart #fred weasley is a simp #fred weasley #weasley boys #damn these boys

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geesecanon · 1 month ago

Text

Excitation Point

read on ao3 Rating: Explicit Type: One-shot, PWP Words: 6,362 Tags: Ford Pines/(gender neutral) Reader; Masturbation; Panty Kink; Panty Raid; Ford being an opportunistic perv (what else is new) Summary: ""Technically, you're supposed to be under there for fifteen minutes." He actually feels a little apologetic on that front. "Fifteen minutes?!" "You're... also supposed to shed any clothes," he continues, less sorry about that particular idea. "But I think you're probably fine." "'Probably?'" you repeat incredulously. "What do you mean, 'probably?'" "I mean..." He rocks back on his heels a little. "It might be prudent?"

One would think that, after thirty-odd years of traipsing the multiverse, Ford would hardly consider anything a curveball. He has seen his surfeit of oddities, and then some — he always makes sure to be prepared to the teeth, ready for whatever life throws at him. He’s resourceful, he’s savvy, he’s incisive. It’s served him extremely well in just about every endeavor he has ever set out on, and he prides himself in it.

And now, a majority of his days on land look like this: in his laboratory, with you, working separately and in reveric silence and companionship, unassuming and routine and ordinary. Surely, at this point in his life, nothing could phase him.

More fool him.

“Ugh! Gross!”

The sharp and sudden exclamation startles Ford out of his concentration, where he is doing delicate work with a pipette. Immediately catapulted into panic, his internal warning sirens start blaring. He spins around get his eyes on you. “What?!”

“I got gooped,” you complain, with no degree of urgency. You wipe a gloved hand over the lower half of your face, under the large safety goggles you are sporting, then flick your wrist a few times to get something off of it. The something is viscous and green and has splattered all over your front, across the borrowed lab coat you are wearing, and even on your clothes, where they are vulnerable in the gap. “It’s like I’m on Nickelodeon.”

Your cavalier attitude notwithstanding, the sight rouses Ford and he leaps into action. He crosses the lab in a handful of brisk strides, hardly bothering to stop and think what the stuff might be. Already wearing his own pair of gloves, he grips you by the shoulders and begins forcing you to walk backwards.

You sputter a wordless objection to being manhandled, but are forced to comply with his direction as his baseline strength overpowers yours.

Once he has you exactly where he wants you, Ford steps back, reaches out to grasp the handle of the chain dangling from the ceiling, and yanks.

You literally shriek as the water from the safety shower cascades over you. But, even through your clearly bewildered state, you must grasp what the situation is. Despite your obvious protest, you stay put under the steady stream of water pattering on the linoleum, looking up at the blue shower head above you huffily.

Arms crossed tightly across your chest against the chill, rivulets streak down your safety goggles as you snap your head back down to address him. “What the hell?!”

Lab safety is no joke, at least when it comes to you, so he doesn’t bother apologizing for his actions. Instead, Ford asks, insistently, “What happened?”

You huff and only cross your arms tighter, shoulders hunched up to your ears. “Found the excitation point for ectoplasm,” you explain flatly. The safety shower does its assigned job and is slowly washing the green substance off you, diluting it so it slowly swirls down the drain at your feet. You are steadily becoming more and more soaked, and you wring your hands together, washing them to get off any excess goo. Then, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to rid your face of the stuff.

The alarm in him pops like a soap bubble; ectoplasm is relatively harmless and is hardly toxic. Mollified, Ford raises his eyebrows expectantly.

You only take notice when he continues not to speak. “Somewhere in the negative eighty to negative ninety millivolt range,” you tell him. You scrub at your safety goggles next, but only succeed in making everything streakier. By now, the ectoplasm seems to be wiped from your bare skin. “It’s hyperpolarized as all hell. Can I come out now?”

Even with the benign nature of the stuff, he still shakes his head. “Technically, you’re supposed to be under there for fifteen minutes.” He actually feels a little apologetic on this front.

“Fifteen minutes?!”

“You’re… also supposed to shed any clothes,” he continues, less sorry about that particular idea. “But I think you’re probably fine.”

“‘Probably?’” you repeat incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘probably?’”

“I mean…” He rocks back on his heels a little. “It might be prudent?”

“I hate you,” you announce with an entirely flippant kind of conviction, back to trying to wash anything that might be lingering on your face. The press of your hands contorts your whatever expression you are trying to make. “So fucking much right now.”

He shrugs, knowing it to be untrue. Still, he sympathizes with your dour attitude, and the sudden and soggy turn of your, otherwise entirely ordinary, day.

You are still patiently, yet miserably, standing under the steady spray, back to crossing your arms. Even with half your face obscured, he can see the resigned expression there. But, you are staying put. Ford has the inane compulsion to give you a gold star for your behavior.

“Am I really supposed to strip in this thing?” you ask, sounding shy about the idea.

His mouth becomes a desert, and he has to actively wet his tongue to respond. While the idea is appealing, the last thing he needs right now is to think about you, naked, in his lab; he has a hard enough time concentrating with you, clothed, in his lab.

“Like I said,” he finally manages, hoping the quiet chorus of water on linoleum drowns out how his voice wavers, as he tries not to stare too heavily. “You’re probably fine. It looks like the lab coat got the brunt of it.”

You nod, then begin slipping the thing off your shoulders, one arm at a time.

Ford’s heart feels like it stops, but thankfully, blessedly, you stop there, dropping it in a drenched pile next to the drain. Your clothes underneath are just as wet, clinging to you in ways that should not be incriminating but still make him swallow thickly. You pull the hem of your shirt slightly away from you to peer down at it, trying to assess for goop-related damage.

“But… maybe not all of it,” you say, dejected.

Before he can truly realize the implications of what he is saying, Ford tells you, “Then you’ll need to change. Anything the ectoplasm touched qualifies as a biohazard.” Technically…

“Ugh.”

“Even washed, the chances of it having seeped into the fabric are…”

“Ugh.” Whatever look you try to give him is obscured by the haze of the lab goggles. “I get it.”

It definitely crosses the line of professionalism he has worked so hard to maintain over these past few weeks — hell, it probably pole vaults the thing entirely — but he offers, “I’ll lend you some.”

The idea makes him hot around the collar, but it’s not like you have any other option; at the most, he could offer to root around the kids’ room to see if they left any articles of clothing behind, as if any of that would fit you…

The expression shifts, and you look taken aback by his offer. “Oh. Okay.” Then, you venture, “… Can I also get a real shower? Maybe with water above lukewarm?”

Chuckling, he nods. “That can be arranged.”

This soothes over any of your ire, and you visibly relax.

Aiming to occupy you while the minutes pass, Ford asks, “Did the numbers line up with your estimation for the subthreshold membrane oscillation?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, and it is hard to tell past the safety goggles but he gets the impression you are rolling your eyes. Still, there is a small smile on your face. “Go ahead and check my math. You know how bad I am at it.”

He shrugs, thoroughly satisfied that you won’t move until the time limit is up, and turns on a heel to approach your work station. It really does look like you took the brunt of the goo-related explosion, as there are only a few small puddles on the stuff on the floor. He easily sidesteps them and starts looking amongst your notes for said math.

Belatedly, he replies, “You’ve gotten better.”

“Low hurdle,” you say sardonically.

“Let me review this now,” he says, spotting the handful of pages your equations are scrawled on.

“Yeah,” you say. “Reassure me that this,” you motion up and down to your person, “wasn’t all for waste.”

Your designated fifteen watery minutes pass excruciatingly slow, as Ford sits at his desk and begins his audit. Every so often, you call out to ask, “Time?” and he responds in turn, always glancing over his shoulder to make sure you still haven’t moved.

He pretends to check your work but in truth, his brain is too caught up in a licentious fantasy of you wandering his lab, completely naked while you shoot him a series of coy looks to test his resolve. Or, maybe just in the lab coat? Both options are equally enticing…

The fact of the matter is, Ford has come to accept these little mental asides. Since you have become a regular part of his working day, they now haunt his waking hours as much as his dreams, and every day begets a new challenge. While he is a man of reason and rationality, he still has an unfortunate compulsive streak, and you have unintentionally put his self-control to the test. More than once have you startled him out of a daydream, leaving him unguarded and almost saying something wildly incriminating.

You seem completely unaware of any of his struggles. By now, you two have established a loose but sturdy routine: you arrive in the morning; he lets you into the lab via remote access; you completely forgo any empty pleasantries to instead ask whatever questions you came up with overnight; and finally, you smile at him with an infectious kind of warmth and say, cheerily, “To work?”

He practically has a Pavlovian response to the phrase now. Even thinking it makes his chest ache with fondness.

Nothing in your behavior indicates that you have suddenly developed telepathic powers, making you able to see just how frequent his increasingly debauched fantasies about you are.

Small blessings.

“Time?” you call.

He checks his watch. “Your minutes are up.”

You whoop! under your breath, and the chain squeaks as you yank it, shutting off the spray of water.

Ford pushes away from his desk to stand, turning to see you back at your work station and shedding the safety goggles, revealing the imprint they have left around your eyes.

When you catch him looking, you ask, “Do you have a towel, or something?”

“Hmm?” He draws himself back into reality where you are not, in fact, only wearing the lab coat, but are instead wearing everything but the lab coat, and actively forming a small puddle under your feet. “Oh, yes. Hold on.”

Once he pulls a towel from a cabinet and hands it off, you wrap it around your shoulders like a cape, noticeably shivering in the brisk temperature of the lab. “Is fifteen minutes really the standard, or were you just being a dick?” Now fully visible, there is a shine to your eyes that indicates you’re joking.

If he wanted to be a dick, he would have insisted you strip fully. “Last I checked, it was the OSHA standard.”

You shrug. “Safety third, right?”

“Only you say that,” he responds, more xeric than intended.

Another shrug. “Normal shower time?” you prompt. “I’m freezing down here.”

He nods, hoping his face is nowhere near as red as it feels. “Right, normal shower. C’mon.”

The elevator ride up is awkwardly silent, and you only look slightly surprised when you bypass the first floor completely to take it all the way up to his room. Still, it is mercifully quick, and Ford squeezes through the doors the second they begin to open.

“The bathroom’s back there,” he says, voice a little too gruff, as he makes a beeline for his dresser to find a suitable change of clothes.

You putter out much more hesitantly, but don’t bypass him for the bathroom. When he realizes this, he glances over his shoulder nervously, he sees you standing in the center of his room, head swiveling from side-to-side.

“… What?” he asks, feeling self-conscious as you blatantly peer at everything.

“This is your room?” you ask curiously.

Although it may seem obvious, Ford realizes you have no frame of reference: he has no legitimate reason to ever bring you up here. You have, occasionally, gone topside in the rest of the house, usually for grabbing some kind of snack out of their kitchen or to use the bathroom. But, you’ve never been past the first floor.

“Yes…?” he answers.

“It’s so… normal.”

His room has the bare essentials: a bed large enough for himself, a modest dresser, a mirror on the back of the door, some overflowing bookshelves, a handful of trinkets. It is a place he hardly spends time in, cutting his waking hours between field research, the lab, or his study — he has never felt the need to decorate it, because no one else was ever going to see it. When he and Stanley had built this house, all that had mattered was the mattress was comfortable and that he had an en suite.

The only true indulgence is the large, stained glass window that sits above his bed, casting the room with a few patches of colorful light.

Ford clears his throat, and your attention snaps back to him, looking like you have been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“Sorry,” you laugh awkwardly. “Um. Is there something wrong with the guest bathroom?”

No. “Shower’s broken,” Ford lies in an admirably strong tone.

You accept the answer with a one-shouldered shrug, then step past him to enter the bathroom. To his chagrin, the door clicks shut behind you. A few moments later, he hears the squeak of the handle as the shower turns on.

It takes him another minute of rifling but he eventually comes up with an appropriate, if not mismatched, outfit for you to change into: a chronically underused button-up shirt and an extra pair of sweatpants whose existence he had forgotten about until putting eyes on them.

Swallowing, Ford raps his knuckles on the door and calls out your name.

“Yeah?”

“Can I — I have — there’s clothes,” he stammers. “I have clothes. The change of clothes. Can I come in?”

“Yeah!” you call. “Door’s unlocked.”

True to your word, the handle turns easily under his hand.

The room has already begun to steam up, and even with the translucent shower curtain obscuring you, he still averts his eyes as he places his clothes on the bathroom sink. You have left the towel atop the closed toilet seat and your pile of used clothes are in a heap next to the shower tub.

But his self-control is threadbare and another part of it snaps as he risks a glance.

Which is a bad idea. Even your silhouette through the curtain as you go through the motions of lathering yourself is somehow obscenely erotic.

“Thanks,” you say, not halting your movements as you presumably work the soap over your arms, over your shoulders, across your chest…

Is it hot in here or is it just him?

“I’ll be outside,” Ford strangles out, already halfway out the door before he does something he’ll regret. “If you need anything.”

He stands outside the bathroom door like some stalwart guard against some invisible, peeping threat. In truth, the only threat of you being spied upon is from him, but he is already so appalled by his previous indulgent look that he takes the position up as some kind of penance.

Soon thereafter, the door opens behind him; with a steadying breath, he turns to face you.

His clothes practically swallow you whole. You work to roll up the cuffs of a sleeve once, twice, a third time, before giving up and pushing it past your elbow with a slightly agitated huff. You have kept the top few buttons of the shirt dangerously undone, teasing a hint of your chest, and Ford finds his eyes naturally drawn to the exposed patch of skin as you go about bunching the other sleeve as well.

For practical reasons, he keeps his lab cold and you have complained about it more than once, with varying degrees of seriousness — but they are complaints nonetheless. He picked this specific pair of clothing to give you as much coverage as possible while keeping in mind that there might be another ectoplasm-related accident. They had seemed like a practical and innocent choice, but now that he realizes he had bypassed the opportunity to put you in any of his clothes…

Satisfied once you cuff the pants several times as well, to not trip over the hem, you glance back up to him with a refreshed and warm smile. “Thanks,” you say, much more relaxed than earlier. “What should I do with my biohazard-y clothes?”

“I’ll handle them,” he tells you. “They’ll need to be properly disposed of.”

You nod, finding it reasonable. He practically jumps to attention when you say, “To work, then?”

A few minutes later, Ford re-enters the bathroom with a biohazard bag and a freshly-steeled resolve. Steam still lingers, condensation dewing on the mirror, and he immediately goes for the pile of clothes on his floor.

This is fine. This is perfectly fine, he tells himself as he begins stuffing the soggy clothes into the red plastic bag. This will continue to be a perfectly standard and boringly ordinary day, all he needs to do is keep himself in check while watching you wander around his lab, in his clothes, probably also smelling of him since using his body wash, and —

Ford stops all the useless posturing when he spots, separated from the rest of the clothes, that you have left your underwear here.

He idles for far too long, staring at it, his mind hitting the equivalent of a dial tone. He idles for far, far too long. A million different thoughts fire off in his head, all varying levels of depraved, and he wonders if he can —

Ford snatches it, and everything else, in his arms and heads back downstairs before he can get much further on that thought.

Then, he is left standing in front of the incinerator in the back corner of the lab, your articles of clothing still clutched in his hands.

“I can’t believe you have an incinerator,” you comment idly from across the lab. “Actually, I take that back. I completely believe it.”

“Decontamination procedures are no joke,” he replies automatically, over his shoulder. When he opens the door, he is buffeted with the yawning heat. He hardly gives a second thought to tossing your shirt and pants inside, hoping the momentum will take him the rest of the way, but regrettably, he hesitates once he gets to your underwear.

Ford swallows thickly, staring down at the piece of fabric in his hands. It is a practical thing, cotton by the feel of it and slightly damp from your first bout of showering. The elastic of the waistband is worn slightly, and there is nothing special about it; just a standard set of underclothes. The fabric is even pilling slightly, and…

And he abruptly realizes that you are, currently, in this very moment, standing around in his laboratory without any underwear on.

The room is suddenly much, much warmer than before, for reasons that are not incinerator-related.

Typically, and perhaps ideally, this would be a classic shoulder-a-devil-and-angel situation. If he turns and raises the topic, you’ll know that he went through your (literal) dirty laundry. In practicality, he could give them back, but then you’d still know he went through your (literal) dirty laundry. He could burn them with the rest of your clothes, to end the matter entirely. He, in fact, should burn them with the rest of your clothes.

That thought is fleeting and weightless.

There is something deeply askew within him; Ford is not so obtuse to not know this about himself. Now that he actually has the time to focus on things other than dire survival and bitter revenge, like some tacky protagonist, he has become startlingly aware of his own personal desires. Like his fantasies, he acknowledges and lives with them, trying never to linger too long.

The rub is that he also has no baseline for what constitutes as normal in any scenario now, and by proxy, everything is laced with some degree of shame.

His internal compass has also experienced some polar magnetic shifts, because not only has he come to accept this shame, but he sometimes revels in it. It is a self-perpetuating cycle that he has yet to break free of.

But the impulse he has in this moment to smell the damn thing in his hands is a whole new level of depravity, even for him.

Still, he lifts it to his face.

Ford barely gets a whiff of the concentration of your scent leftover from being between your thighs, before you are asking, sounding perplexed, “Ford? You okay?”

In a split second, blindingly panicked decision, he stuffs your underwear into one of the front pockets of his pants before you can see what he was doing. “Yes,” he replies, hoping the distance means you don’t hear how his voice wavers. “I’m fine. Completely fine.”

When he glances over his shoulder, petrified at what he might see, you just shrug it off and return to your work.

He crosses the room to his desk and waits for you to fully turn your back before opening the first drawer he finds and shoving your underwear inside it.

You don’t even turn when it closes at an incriminating volume.

The next few hours pass torturously.

Ford can hardly keep his eyes off you — this is, admittedly, nothing new. He has always found your idiosyncratic methods entertaining to watch. You drag an unused whiteboard over and start scribbling on it, connecting dots between various points like a private eye in a network only you can see. You are so absorbed in your own work that you don’t seem to take notice that Ford has halted his own completely.

He’ll catch up later.

If the sight of you in his clothes isn’t intoxicating enough, his mind gleefully shuffles through possibilities this presents. What he gave you is clearly oversized — could he vie to put you in something else? Maybe one of his sweaters? He still has those absurd green shorts from his college days — how good would your ass look in those? Or, maybe just a normal tee-shirt. He owns a few. Some have even shrunk in the wash…

The thoughts slowly become more sordid and debased: every time he catches a peek of skin, he thinks about getting you out of the clothes. He thinks about posturing that he needs to examine you for possible contamination — thoroughly. Extremely thoroughly. Bare enough that he can make diagrams.

After the impulsive onus to steal your underwear, he just can’t find himself to care to rein in his wandering imagination. All he thinks about is your underwear sitting in his desk drawer, the brief smell he got of it, the fact that only a single layer of clothing is what is keeping him from it, currently…

“Okay,” you say abruptly, turning away from the whiteboard and capping the marker. “I’m calling it.”

It startles him right out of the daydream of the various ways he can get his face between your thighs. “What are you calling?”

You roll your eyes a little. “I’m calling it a day. My brain is shot and my math is getting twisted because of it.”

He concedes with a slight nod of his head. “Fair.” As if he is getting any kind of work done while you are here.

You nod back resolutely and go about packing your things, having to tug the waistband of his sweatpants higher on your hips at least twice, pulling the drawstring taut. Once everything is in order, you sling your bag over your shoulder and approach his desk, looking at him expectantly.

With a dawning horror, Ford realizes two things in quick succession: one, this is the part where he ritualistically walks you to the door; two, he has been sitting at his desk to cover the fact he has been half-hard most of the day.

His entire perception of the world narrows in on this exact moment.

He brusquely clears his throat. “Right.” As he stands, he snatches a random clipboard from his desk and, not unlike a teenager, conveniently holds it in front of him as he walks towards the door.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to realize anything is amiss; you cross the lab with him while keeping a respectable distance and stop in front of the exit.

“Thanks again for making sure I didn’t, uh…” Your eyebrows furrow, as you look up at him with a perplexed gaze. “What does ectoplasm do when in contact with human skin, exactly?”

The answer is, at most, an unpleasant tingle and maybe a small rash, but nothing more. Realizing he needs to justify literally burning your clothes, he replies, “Nothing good.”

You rock your head back and forth minutely, weighing his response. “Well, thanks anyway. I’ll get these washed tonight and return them tomorrow, yeah?” You pluck at the collar of his borrowed and still dangerously unbuttoned shirt. It draws his eyes back to the dip of your exposed collarbone.

Ford barely stops himself from blurting, You don’t have to do that, in some kind of perverted attempt to start a collection of things that smell like you. “No rush,” he says instead, appalled when he hears how the edge of his voice is actively fraying as the seconds pass. He shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortably.

You nod, either not hearing it or not acknowledging it. “Cool. And, uh, did you get to look over my math yet? For the subthreshold oscillation.”

Ah, yes, the exact thing he has been ignoring all afternoon. “I’ll review tonight and give them back tomorrow,” he promises, perhaps falsely. He is starting to get an inkling of what his evening is going to look like, and it is nothing good.

“Great. See you tomorrow, then.” You flash him a warm and unassuming smile, eyes crinkling, then pull the door open and embark up the stairs.

Before the exit door even closes, Ford is booking it to his desk.

With a few mouse clicks, he brings up one of the security cameras aimed at the front yard, watching as you climb into your vehicle. He waits with bated breath for you to leave, not quite sure what he is about to indulge in but knowing it is nothing he wants you in proximity to. But then… you just sit there. In the driver’s seat. Not leaving.

It is difficult to tell exactly from the angle of the camera, but he thinks he sees you lift the collar of his shirt and turn your face into it.

The moment hardly lasts long enough for him to give it much thought; soon thereafter, you throw your vehicle into gear and trundle across the front yard, then out of sight down the dirt road.

Ford is fumbling with the drawer handle and snatching your underwear from inside it before he even puts conscious thought to the action.

Immediately, he presses it against his nose and over his mouth and breathes in greedily. Even hours later, the lingering scent is strong and musky, laced with the lingering stench of sweat from being between your thighs all day, all the while still smelling so distinctly of you that it makes him a little lightheaded.

Or maybe that is just all the blood swiftly exiting his brain and towards his dick.

With another slow inhale, his eyes fall closed of their own accord and his imagination picks up the slack in the theater of his mind.

Ford imagines you perched at the edge of his desk, legs spread, while he kneels on the floor with his face between your thighs as he finally, finally gets his mouth on you. Although he has no evidence to the fact, it’s his fantasy and in it, he buries his nose in the thick tuft of coarse pubic hair at the apex, fully engulfing himself in your scent and it is most potent while he lavishes you, reveling in the taste.

Already half-hard and desperate for attention, his cock twitches in his pants and he shifts in his chair to try and get more comfortable as he palms himself. This is all undeniably self-indulgent but he has been thinking about variations on this theme all day — it is hardly his fault that his self-control has unravelled by proxy.

He imagines one of your hands in his hair, using the tight grip as leverage to move him just as you want him, while your other hand grips at the edge of the desk for balance, skin pulled taut over your knuckles.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, thighs twitching, hitching one leg up to rest your foot over his shoulder and dig a heel into his back, giving him better access. The feeling is overwhelming and intoxicating and he never wants to leave it. “Fuck — fuck, you’re doing so well, yes, oh, fuck, yes-!”

Even alone, his groan is soft and low-pitched, naturally guarded. He pants hotly, mouth open, the fabric damping on the small patch that falls across his tongue with each sharp inhale.

The need coursing through him spikes abruptly and suddenly he is fumbling to undo his belt, metal jangling. He yanks it through the belt loops so fast it practically snaps in the air, and drops it to the floor with a sharp sound. He has to use both hands to pop the button and get his zipper down, hands shaking a little, then lifts his hips to shove his pants down his thighs just enough to free his erection from its confines.

Having not let go of your underwear the entire time, the frantic series of actions bring it close to his cock, which is full and curving towards his stomach proudly. Free from anyone’s scrutiny, Ford ogles at the sight, jaw still hanging open.

Never did he think he would end up in this kind of scenario but, at least in the present moment, he is hardly complaining. He hasn’t been this blatantly aroused since that time you asked whether perturbation theory could be used to quantify a deviation from an approximate solvable problem.

He had jerked off just after you left the lab that time, too.

Experimentally, he wraps the hand still holding your underwear around his cock. This time, his groan is much louder as the softness of the fabric engulfs him. Gentle in his movements to mind any friction, Ford begins moving his hand with slow and measured pumps, twisting at the head just the way he likes.

Returning to his mind, he now has you pulled to the edge of his bed, once again kneeling on the floor with his face buried between your thighs as you moan unabashedly. Saliva dribbles down his chin as he works you with his mouth with a singular purpose, both his hands clutching your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

Even in fantasy, or maybe because of it, it does not take long for you to notice the slight bounce of the mattress as he humps the bed in small movements.

You make a breathless chastising noise, using your hold of his hair to lift him off you. “Ford,” you admonish, the heat of your gaze branding him. “Did I say you could get off?”

Congruent with the fantasy, he tortuously manages to stop the movement of his hand. Still grasping himself at the base tightly, breathing much heavier, his hips make small, traitorous thrusts beyond his control, trying to chase the pleasure from a moment ago.

“No,” he confesses. In the present, his mouth forms the word without the sound ever leaving his mouth.

“So desperate,” you croon, trailing your hand down his face with a light touch, down his cheek, until you are pressing your thumb against the plush of his spit-slick lower lip. You press in farther, minutely, so the pad is resting against his bottom teeth, the tip of his tongue. “That you’d hump anything, like an animal, so desperate that you’d…”

Without conscious input, his mind morphs the fantasy: now, you are standing over him with your hands on your hips, glaring down with blatant disgust, a wicked twist of an expression he has never seen on you. You had forgotten something in the lab and had returned to grab it, only to catch him in this exact position, doing this exact act.

“… so desperate that you’d fuck anything, huh?” you finish saying, with an uncharacteristic sneer.

A pathetic noise that probably classifies as a whimper escapes him, eyes squeezing shut against the indistinguishable mix of humiliation and arousal that burns through him. It is hardly an escape; behind his eyes, he is unable to look away while you scrutinize him, with his hand still on his throbbing cock, too caught up in the undercurrent of gratification to stop what he is doing, even in fantasy.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes it out as a whisper. “I’m sorry, I don’t, I shouldn’t have…”

You watch him for another moment, eyes flickering between the desperation on his face and how he is still squeezing himself, trying to keep his hips still.

“… Well,” you finally say, crossing your arms and leaning back against the edge of the desk. “Go on.”

Ford makes a confused, choked-off noise.

“You wanna jerk off?” you ask, looking at him with expectantly raised brows. “Then go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

This time, he moans loudly and murmurs, shakily, “Okay. Okay.” With the permission fictionally granted, he starts moving his hand again, with small, tentative strokes.

Every part of his body feels like it is overheating, despite the chilly temperature of the lab. Some sweat starts to bead at his forehead. Ford has seen you disappointed before — at results, at sources, at your own work — so it is not hard to imagine that downturned, borderline bored expression being leveled at him as he works himself with jerky, uneven movements, chest heaving.

When the friction starts to become a little too overwhelming, Ford switches hands, using his free one to smear the pre-cum dribbling down his tip as he fists himself again; without the buffer of your underwear, he can feel just how hot and heavy he is. Everything feels ten times more sensitive than it has ever been, and his whole lower half rocks up for a second when he rubs his thumb over the head of his cock.

Still clutched in his other hand, he presses the crotch of the fabric to his nose again, inhaling deeply. The fabric is warm now and its scent has a much muskier undercurrent before; he half-realizes it must be his own smell. Although the mix is intoxicating, it is not hard to identify your own scent again, over it all, and his hand speeds up involuntarily.

His mind rapidly cycles through the rolodex of fantasies he keeps as he gets closer to the edge, trying to keep a rhythm as his hips flex up and off the chair. He has you bent over his desk, you’re riding him in his chair, you’re on your sides while he fucks you from behind, he’s making notes while you lay, naked, on the examination table, he drives into you up against a tree in the woods, you are pinning him to the bed as you use his cock for your own pleasure, inescapable and unyielding and shit, shit, he’s so close, he’s going to —

Ford cums hard and with a pitiful moan, long and desperate and deafening in his own ears in the otherwise silent lab; the noise lasts until his lungs have run out of air and he has to take in a gasping breath before he gets more lightheaded. His hips snap forward in an off-rhythm to his hand while his heels squeak against the linoleum, both legs shooting out and his entire body shaking with the intensity of his climax. The ecstasy borderlines on unbearable as the wave of it overtakes him completely, so much so that his mind actually goes blank, just existing in sheer bliss for a few moments.

When he finally comes to, Ford is breathing heavily and still pressing your underwear against his nose. He blinks his eyes open, slowly returning to reality. There is some cum dribbling down his fingers, caught in his frantic motions, but most of it has unfortunately landed on his desk. Some has even splattered across the notes he has out, the ones he is meant to be reviewing. Your notes.

Right. He had promised you feedback on those. By tomorrow.

With a reluctant sigh, he tucks himself back into his pants and, deciding there is no possible branch of the multiverse where he returns your underwear, uses it to clean the spend off his desk. Still, he fists them tightly, not quite ready to let go of this hedonistic piece of you. Something repugnant is starting to rise in him, but he can’t quite find it in himself to be truly ashamed of his actions.

As he stares down at your notes, only half-seeing them, he hears you in his mind, brightly asking, To work?

“Yes,” he mutters to himself, pulling up closer to the desk. He will have to rewrite your work, claiming to have spilled coffee on it, and you’ll be none the wiser.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The shame and its accompanying perverted satisfaction threatens to crest over him and derail the rest of his evening, and in a desperate bid to keep his mind off it, Ford says aloud, to no one: “To work.”

#ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #ford pines #stanford pines #x reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #writing.txt #i have no real commentary on this one except i had a fun time writing it lol #i feel like i blinked and then there was suddenly 6k words in a word doc #anyways :3 #enjoy!

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totally-here · 1 month ago

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The lock to the cottage is an easy pick. Jason waits for a minute before actually going in, steeling himself for what unseen trap his newest mentor must have to make up for such lackluster security. He makes it to the kitchen unharmed before deciding that whoever this Fenton is, he’s either overconfident or stupid. There’s not even security cameras.

Fenton’s away right now, so Jason takes the time to do a sweep for any less visible bugs or cameras. He finds nothing unusual other than some unlabeled wine. The cottage is small, and almost eerily idyllic. It’s located in the English countryside, surrounded by woods but close enough to a town to not be completely cut off from civilization.

Jason has no idea what he’s supposed to learn here.

Gravel crunches underfoot outside, and Jason turns to watch a man walk up to the front door. His steps only falter slightly when he realizes the door’s unlocked, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees Jason sitting at his dining table, arms crossed over his chest and staring daggers at him.

“Your security’s shit,” Jason tells him.

“Um,” Fenton says in reply.The man’s probably late twenties, early thirties and doesn’t have much muscle mass. He’s carrying an honest to God wicker basket filled with miscellaneous plants. His face goes through several emotions, completely unguarded. Fenton’s clearly not an assassin. He finally lands on realization. “Oh! You’re Talia’s kid, right? She called a few weeks ago. Didn’t, uh, say why you’re here, though?”

Fenton passes Jason to drop his basket off near the sink, putting his back to him while he washes his hands like Jason couldn’t attack him right now. Or that Jason isn’t big enough of a danger to consider a threat. He tries to stomp down the indignant anger that wells up in his throat. Fenton turns around quickly without turning off the faucet.

He stares at Jason, squinting at his eyes. Jason stares back, showing anger instead of confusion at the sudden tone shift. Fenton tilts his head like a cat getting a new angle. Jason tries not to feel like a bird, but the comparison only stokes his anger instead of anything useful.

“What?” he snarls out, resisting the urge to just deck this guy for wasting his time and leave. He’s here to train, not get stared at like a caged specimen.

“...Sorry.” Fenton quits glaring and turns the faucet off without looking behind him. “I think I know why she sent you here… Um, what’s your name?”

Talia hadn’t told him? Not even a first name? “...Bennet.” Clearly she doesn’t fully trust this guy with how in the dark he is, so Jason’s not going to trust him either.

“Alright, Bennet. I’m Danny.” He shuffles around the kitchen for a minute, pulling out one of the unlabelled wine bottles from the back of the cupboard and a plastic cup from a cabinet. He uncorks the bottle, fills the cup, then slides it over to Jason.

Jason looks from it to Danny, who sits across from him. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

It’s not something he really cares about anymore, especially with the fluctuating limits across Europe, but it’ll say more about what type of person Danny is if he forces the issue or not. Jason takes note that Danny didn’t take a cup himself.

“It’s not alcoholic,” Danny says. He keeps the bottle on the table, but recorks it. “So, Bennet, I take it you took a dip in the Lazarus pit?”

“How do you know that,” Jason barks out, uncrossing his arms if only to be in a better position to get to his dagger. There’s no way Talia would have told him that but not his name.

Fenton shrugs. “I have an eye for that sorta thing.” He sniffles. He looks more tired than he did a minute ago. “Also your eyes are glowing green.”

Jason snaps his eyes down, looking away from Danny’s too calm face. His gaze lands on the cup, and looking for a distraction he holds it in both his hands. The smell is more floral than he expects wine to be, even a non-alcoholic one.

“How’d you get in? The demon’s head is pretty possessive of his goo.” Fenton fiddles with the bottle, tipping it back and forth by the top.

“Talia,” Jason grits out, still staring at the table.

Danny hums. “She threw you in? Must be pretty special for her to break the rules like that.” He pauses, and Jason feels eyes on him. “But I guess the why’s not important. The how, that’s what I want.” He hums again. Fenton lets go of the bottle, and it slams back onto the table. “Lemme guess, head injury?”

Jason grits his teeth against the sudden flash of memories the suggestion pulls, and then against the immediate anger at feeling, at being so weak. He’s alive again, it shouldn’t affect him so much. Jason pulls on that anger as an anchor, lifting his eyes again to glare at Fenton. The man doesn’t react, only looking at him expectantly. Like he thinks he’s owed an answer. Jason doesn’t deign to give him one, pointedly downing his drink instead.

He immediately regrets it.

Not even a second after it’s down his throat does the burning start. He lurches forward in his seat before stumbling out of the chair entirely. He has mind enough to fumble over to the sink to blow chunks in it. Instead of this morning’s breakfast, however, nothing but sickly green Lazarus water spews into the sink. He coughs out the last of it, collapsing against the sink’s counter. He tries to move his arms enough to get his dagger out of his boot, but his limbs are lead.

Jason presses the side of his face against the cool surface of the counter, staring across the room at Fenton, who has the audacity to look sympathetic. “What. Was that.”

“Blood blossom extract,” Fenton answers while swishing the bottle. He sets it down only to wipe at the stream of blood coming from his nose. “It’s toxic to the undead, but flushes out pit residue.”

Jason expects the anger that rises in his chest, but he doesn’t expect how quickly it subsides to the fear and coldness that follows. He tries to muster up any rage, just for the heat, but only gets another surge of green he barely shoots up to the sink to get rid of.

Jason leans over, panting against the countertop. “I’m not undead.” His voice comes out shaky.

“Yeah, which is why the ectoplasm from the pit keeps trying to fix you the only way it knows how: emotional energy,” Danny explains, “It hits harder than usual with head injuries. Gunk in the gears, you know?”

Jason does not know. His legs waver and he sinks back down to the floor, back against the counter. Fenton stays where he is. Not close enough to be an immediate threat and making no move to put himself in a more beneficial position.

“Ectoplasm,” Jason bites out, “like the ghost stuff?”

“Yeah. I’m kinda an expert. I figure that’s probably what Talia wanted me to teach you about, or, like the pits in general I guess?” He sighs. “I can never tell what she wants.”

Jason ignores the chatter, instead focusing on the important parts. Ectoplasm is ghost stuff, Danny got a nosebleed next to the blood blossom extract, the blood blossom extract is toxic to the undead. Talia sent Jason here to learn about the pits from a ghost that poisoned him. Poisoned him with a bottle that’s easily accessible.

Fine. Not like he expected this to go any different from any of his other mentors. Jason’ll learn everything there is about the pits, then he’ll kill the bastard.

#dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #cw vomit #tw emetophobia #not tagging the outer fandoms as to not clutter those tags #same with character tags #thinking about lost days againnn #i dont rlly like pit rage aus but here i think this would stop jason's more extreme stuff #like attacking tim #and mia's school #and killing onyx tho that wasnt rlly extreme #i just wish he hadnt done that tbh #anyway is danny with the league? previously with the league? just a freelancer?#who knows!

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year ago

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DPXDC prompt. Adult!Danny x Sleep-deprived!Constantine: We seem to have a misunderstanding.

Warlock was willing to admit that the Phantom’s company was mostly useful and not unpleasant. Because of the specifics of his work they had to meet quite often. It was nice to be at least a little sure that you wouldn’t get stabbed in the back. The new ghost king seemed to be amused by the World of the Living and that was quite useful. In addition, the Infinite Realms had a history of endless conflicts with Hell, so when demons was messing with him, Phantom was happy to put sticks in their wheels.

However, the current enemy of the League was another alien. Both John and Phantom happened to be nearby. But it seems ghost had no reason to help Hellblazer now, as this fight had nothing to do with his kingdom. Given that Batman had explicitly instructed John to stay on the battlefield, it seemed that if John Constantine wanted to count on a weekend, he would have to use his trump card now.

Constantine: In view of the urgency of the situation, I would like to make a proposal. Life offers many challenges. I know I can meet them if you're willing to face them with me. In the spirit of saving time..[holding up a ring] This is for you. You in?

Phantom: I..I don’t know, John. I mean i want to say yes but It’s all so sudden. Please gimme some time to think, okay? And let me help to deal with these invaders first and then we’ll talk about it.

John: ..Sure?

~~~~~

Tucker: Whoa crazy battle dude. John: Civilians are not allowed here. Danny: It's all right. We were going to meet at a cafe, but now, well, there is no cafe. I mean, he's with me and not so civilian, okay?Ehem..John, meet my best friend Tucker. Tucker, meet my..Em, this is John, and he's kinda my John. It's new for us.

Damn. He was in a hurry and offered more than he should have. It turns out the ghost had an interest in protecting the city. It is unlikely that he would allow the destruction of the place where one of his humans lives.

And worst of all, Phantom did not accept the ring (for which John had to hunt for several months) as payment. Constantine got it specially in case he needed a favor or a way to calm the anger of the spirit he was starting to get along with. Like, really, John spent a fair amount to own the artifact which would have neutralized the consequences of wearing a ring of rage. But Ghost didn’t want it? Why? And yet he helped. So John was in debt.

And how it's all at a bad time. The peace treaty and the treaty of cooperation between the States and the Infinite Realms was concluded only recently. Of course John didn't even have time to discuss the terms of their deal because the blushing ghost flew away to fight but to say that he won't pay for the service is like admitting that you want to start a new conflict. Constantine was starting to have a headache. He'll think about it when he gets at least a couple of hours of sleep. Whatever payment the ghost needs, it can wait a couple of hours.

~~~~~

But as it turned out, the ghost couldn’t make up his mind and decide what he wanted from him. He started showing up at John’s place and looking at him thoughtfully, also recently dragged him to pick out a suit. How he could be mistaken for a stylist John did not understand but preferred not to unnerve a potential ally.

Moreover, for some reason the chaotic creature decided that he had the right to condemn John for always forgetting to have dinner or take a bath. This scoundrel dared to lock him in a bathroom with strange scented candles and colored water. Whatever these bath bombs were, dumb spirit failed to poison him but now John smelled like peaches. Disgusting.

After breaking down the door he found the same mess with candles on the kitchen table. Phantom fought a fierce battle with the green goo in the pot that he brought to John's house, but eventually gave up and they ordered delivery. All in all, it was a pleasant evening. Of course John didn't admit it but for some reason Danny decided that he could make such a mess every Friday.

~~~~~

Danny: So..me and Morningstar are friends now. Do you mind? I know you don’t get along very well. John: Why should I care? Your friends are your business. Considering you’re crazy about the stars I’m surprised you’re not sleeping with their maker.

Danny: Hell no, Lightbringer is great. And I’m glad he’s sharing with me what I wouldn’t find in books but I would never cheat on my partner. John: Good to know. (Wow, who knew the Phantom has a lover.)

~~~~~

Morningstar: I have no idea what you see in this arrogant man, stardust.

Phantom: I don’t know. It’s interesting to be around him. You never know what’s going to happen tomorrow. And his determination and sarcastic nature are really charming.

Morningstar: Well, I’ll get rid of some of his contracts for your wedding but only because I like you and not because I’m willing to deal with this liar.

Phantom: Thanks, Luci, you’re the best.

Morningstar:That’s true. But it's not free. I need you as a babysitter to keep Spawn busy while, well, Detective and I are busy.

Phantom: No problem :)

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #have no idea what this ship name is.help?!#danny x constantine #dannyxconstantine

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richeeduvie · 9 months ago

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hey👋 😊🤗

where’s wedding bells pt.2 😠😾🔫

Wedding Bells (Part Two)

Stewy H. x Reader, Roman R. x Reader (complicated), Kendall R x Reader (minor, minor as in what Baby was when she was groomed by him) here yall go damn!! (jk it's been long overdue after my failures I love u guys)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

PART ONE (OUT OF FIVE), AUTHOR MASTERLIST After assuring Roman that Stewy being your date was nothing but a platonic necessity for Shiv's wedding, the start of the night has decided on proving you wrong. It's much to your dismay...maybe not so much Stewy's (for the most part), but most certainly Kendall's. Knowing the aspects of the "DogandBone!AU" do help add content to both parts of this story, but you do not need to read anything prior to understand it. If you would like to, you can go onto my masterlist linked and browse through the masterlists/content of my succession characters. All are content for DAB!AU. Or you can simply search up the tag. (Stewy's POV next!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

The ceremony was beautiful, vows mandated. Knowing Tom as your technical boss, you're sure he wanted to say something from the heart. Knowing Shiv...Shiv, Shiv, your only girl friend Shiv...you know she wouldn't have that.

Roman took to looking bored next to Tabitha. You caught him making quips to her and you hate to wonder what he was saying, if he'd tell you the same things if you were his date.

Or maybe there's just some different with you that you wouldn't get the default comments out of Roman. Something just for you.

Maybe that's true for the past, before Tabitha and the now. You hate to think that, you think to not be over it already - you were asking Roman the what ifs of finding someone for you and you've got nothing to show for being ready to find that someone. That not-Roman.

Almost. Not really. No, you won't say you do have something to show for you. That something being taking looks at Stewy in the aisles.

Feeling your heart skip when he caught you taking those looks.

You were to not figure what the fuck Stewy was thinking at your stares when you were supposed to be gooey-goo over the new marriage of your friend. You were and are to not think about the way he met your eyes. You were to not notice the way Roman's head quickly, curtly snapped to follow where you were looking.

And now it's time for pictures!

"Has new, tanner dick brought you cause to lie to me?"

Roman kicks the grass, cut and too green underneath the both of you. What he's wearing isn't much different than his suits day to day at Waystar, but he looks nice. You don't know how to feel about how you don't feel the warm roll throughout your body at the sight of him handsome. Like he's not your boyfriend anymore.

He never was, he wasn't ever anything but the only person you've ever been in love with. Felt your loins on fire for, if you want to be gross about it.

You tilt your head.

"What?"

They're flashing pictures of just the bride and groom and it leaves Roman to whine to you on the sidelines. Stewy...in fact him and Kendall are nowhere to be found. You just know it's got something to do with whatever will ruin this family again. It'll be by tonight and forgiven in two weeks. At least the way you've grown into Roman over the years isn't something of a complete waste, you get understand the family you're working for for the rest of fucking time. Life.

Frank waves to you, you wave back.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

Roman's slapped your hand down mid-wave.

"You told me you just needed a date and you were too stupid to go with the obvious three-way Tabitha and I offered. Okay. I accepted that like I wasn't being fucked, but then you're fucking Stewy with your eyes, opening legs with your irises at my sister's wedding. Bridesmaid gangbang."

"...Are the bridesmaids gangbanging Stewy?"

Roman's brows are perpetually down, nose flared. You've shat on the grass, basically. The joke's bombed.

"You. Stewy...and his of color cock and his smarmy eyes. You think you can find out the number to his shaft shade by now? With all the times you've-"

Your eyes dart to where his fist opens and closes, then to where his neck rolls and head jolts. It's like a visual cough.

"Jesus Christ, you know what? Let me just not quip bullshit, I can be serious. I think I deserve that, maybe?" He sniffs.

And there it is...or there it isn't. No automatic, instinctual rush to comfort Roman and hold him or punish his insecurities with teases or insults punchier than his. Nothing.

Because you see Stewy coming up behind him.

You've always noticed he holds himself well, ever since you were younger. But now...no.

But then, you look into Roman's eyes, brown - facing rejection or no-care he's always so sure of. You sigh.

There it is. The rush.

Roman leans into your palm on his bicep.

"I'm going to ask if you've been keeping track of how many times you've ridden him. Or he's ridden you. You've taken to American Paint Horses."

"...When the fuck did you know pony breeds?"

"When you started fucking the brown kind."

Jesus. Roman.

"Roman! Fucking cool it. You're being...like, racist. Cartoonishly racist over something that you've made up in your head."

"It's not racist. Stewy's brown. Shocker. You went from me, not brown, to him. That's a fact. I didn't press negatives onto the color of his cock or our cultural differences in...fetishes."

Roman blinks, he turns to Stewy smiling at you before he's talking to Kendall.

"And did I make it up? Really."

You blink. You sigh.

It just slips out.

"You went from me to Tabitha. Should I whine?"

The words already leave a bad taste in your mouth once they leave it. They're not even particularly jealous-sounding, it's more of a casual tease to bite Roman and his hypocrisy. Still, it reeks on your tongue - it's a gag of admittance and by Roman's smug fucking face, you know he knows it too.

It's a slow growing smugness, too. First it's comprehension of what you said in the first place, then it's realization - life breathed onto his face.

Complete satisfaction.

....She still likes me. Wants me. Fuck it, knew it. Her vagina cares enough to be jealous. Knew it, knew it. Knew it. Thank God, I thought I was fucking done for and ready to be shot out back.

"I'm joking, but it's also a genuine question...because you're doing that over something you're making up in your head, Rom."

Roman puts his hands on his hips, lips pursing out.

"I just question the stares, you baby. That's all I'm doing. It's fair, they were like - fucky eyes."

No.

You don't know what they were.

"No. They weren't. And I-"

"Okay, now the family together!"

You turn to the photographer, Roman doesn't.

"I don't think you get to think over who I stare at, may-"

"Fuck you. Of course I do. I don't deny you from commenting on Tab's love for me as a result of pussy envy. I don't. I won't...and we..."

Roman turns to his family gathering, Shiv's blinking quick at him. It's like she's cursing at him to hurry the fuck up. He turns back.

"We can talk about it. Past the bullshit."

...Really?

"Really?"

The word on your tongue is more sarcastic than it is in your head. And there, in the pause...it's like Roman's pulling back from the openness of himself. Taking what he's put out away.

"Me and Tabitha and you...sure."

"...Mm. Shiv's waiting for you."

"Like, do I have to stop playing bits here and be fun for you to actually still have fun with me-"

"Roman, hurry the fuck up, dude! Seriously."

"Cool it! I don't care that it's your wedding, Shivy Ginge. I'll set fire to your minge."

He taps into his British roots there before he's off. Not before he kisses your knuckles, though.

"I just fucking miss you, weirdo. I want conversations. I just...I don't like...do things in spite - not towards you, even though you're being fucking weird. I don't make wounds and shove my dick into them as a gotcha."

It's said as he moves off. They take photos - the Roys...your Roys. You smile at Kendall when he smiles at you. Your thumb rubs your knuckle, you won't think about his kiss.

"Tabitha, just get it here."

But you don't think anything at all when they let Tabitha into the frame. It's easy for her. Rightfully so, but it's on your skin on a knife and you don't feel that's right.

But you don't feel it go away.

It hits you like the first time you cried as a child. It's a childish hurt and you can't make it go away as you watch the camera flash and Roys and Tabitha smile, as they bring Rava into the picture taking. Rightfully so.

It's a nail in the coffin, the confirmation what Roman has with Tabitha is real.

Your love, it still here thumping at your heart, is not.

Why are you about to cry?

"Hey, you."

You turn to the dark-haired, clean bearded man at your side. His knowing but soft voice.

"Hey, Stewy."

"What's with the glossy eyes?"

The burning is against the sudden, unwanted warmth you feel. You don't want to feel warmth at how Stewy's so close to you. You've been close to him before and nothing - nothing like what you feel with Roman.

But here, everything with what you feel with Roman. Maybe something new, something giddy that differs because Stewy isn't Roman, he's Stewy. He exists differently.

And now Roman exists away from you.

"Weddings, you know?"

Stewy smiles thin, brown eyes light.

"...Yeah. No. But even if it was yeah...I don't think it'd be Mr. and Mrs. Wambsgans getting me leaky. How's your legs from your formal-attire workout."

"...Upright planking?"

"Exactly."

You are sore. "It was a workout. At least I didn't have to listen to DIY vows. That would've been the real challenge."

Stewy leans you. You try not to breathe, you don't know why.

"I don't know, I think it'd be fun to see a Roy attempt romantics in public. Do you remember Ken's wedding with Rava?"

Yes. You won't be mean in your thoughts, genuinely.

"Yeah. The singing during the dinner was cute, I'm glad he chose to put that stunt there instead of the altar."

Stewy puts his hands in his pockets.

"Isn't that fucking right." His voice is warm, almost teasing - well...always teasing, even if the conversation is genuine. You know him well enough to know he's not fucking with you, laughing at you in the bore of small talk. It's just how he talks.

You also know him well enough to know his cologne is wearing off.

"You're not going to join the happy family photoshoot?"

"No. Have no reason to."

You and him haven't been facing each other in your talk, eyes to the Roy family with Tabitha and Rava as the reception beings to bustle inside.

You wonder if Stewy feels the tension too. If you're crazy - if you're childish for thinking he does or if you're both for feeling it yourself in the first place.

"That's a same, you're basically a fifth child. Which makes whatever you had with Roman incested. Which makes it less hot. I know, I'm weird, not...illegally weird, though. For the most part...so, the honorary incest is not hot, now that I think of it."

Stewy takes his hand out of his pocket. You see it out of the corner of your eye and you feel his touch on your back a couple seconds after.

You don't see how he pauses, you couldn't know how he thinks about how this touch is going to feel on his skin.

What the fuck happened, man? What happened that now things are...fucking coiling inside him. Like he's a boy - or no. Gross, cartoonish to describe it like...now it's just different with you. What fucking happened?"

Stewy smiles.

"You're perfume is disappearing on us. I don't want to be sniffing up on your sweat follicles while we're dancing, princess."

You shiver.

Why the fuck are you on fire in the best way possible?

"What a bore, right? Let's get inside."

Shiv fixes the waist of her dress.

"Yeah, honey. Photos are a bore, but important for our memoralization of our love...tonight, right? And I think we're supposed to let everyone go in first before we come crashing as bride and groom."

Photos are done. Everyone separates and even in the fire, you look to see if Roman's watching the flames. And....

Of course he is. But then you realize that you didn't tell Kendall that Stewy's your date. You didn't think you had to, but his eyes catching to where his best friend holds you is where you remember that yeah, Stewy's his best friend. The only reason why you know Stewy is because he's Kendall's best friend that he introduced when you were 14. You'll give him more leeway than you give to Roman. Even though it's still a date you needed, it must be weird for Kendall to see without context.

"I think you looked very beautiful up there."

You turn to Stewy, heart beating quick. Too quick for you to judge yourself for it.

"For Shiv's sake, I won't say you outdid her but...you were the closest bridesmaid to doing the out."

You smile to break away from that tension - between him and between how Kendall's hand drops from Rava's waist, how his eyes blink low from afar.

"You were examining all of us up there to figure that out?"

It's a joke you think warrants another smarmy-charming reply.

But all Stewy does is just hold his head up with something....serious along his face. Nothing under a tease, just eyes not blinking before he looks to the grass.

"No."

You can't stop your smile from falling before the photographer comes up to the both of you.

"Hey, you two want a photo? Cute couple."

"Oh, we're jus-"

"Sure. Have at us."

Stewy says it as charming as he says everything before he pulls you close by the waist.

"Oh, I can smell you better now. Smile, princess."

You do with every roll of fire on your skin. Your stomach turns over.

Maybe it's not childish...it's just new, it's just how you feel. What you hate is that you do, that it's Stewy. You have a right to new people, a new person to feel like this for...but not Stewy.

But it is, for some strange, new reason.

The camera shutters on you and him.

"Can I kiss you? It'll be modest. Cheeky."

It doesn't take you more than two seconds for it to slip out.

"...Sure. Yeah."

"Alright, yeah."

Stewy says it quietly before he kisses your cheek.

Oh, God.

The camera shutter, you might be...shuddering. You smile anyway. The photographer smiles too.

"Alright, make sure to catch the bouquet!"

They walk off and Stewy doesn't let go of you. You realize that he was holding it before the photographer came up for photos.

...Just breathe, just breathe.

And you do, Stewy's face doesn't stop you from breathing, you're able to breathe into it. Because of it - suddenly.

With his smile, with his smile.

...Maybe you'll indulge, maybe you have been indulging.

"I-"

You were going to, just before there's the sound of immense gagging. Vomiting.

"Fuck!"

"Rome?"

"Roman? What the fuck?"

Stewy turns to the commotion, brows rising up.

"Oh...oh. Fuck. That's disgusting."

It's Roman puking chunks onto the grass. Tabitha stands over him, complete ohs and rightful confusion on now knowing what to do. His father, Logan just looks completely disappointed.

Roman's hunches over. He's holding his head in what you know to be complete pain.

What the fuck?

"Roman?"

Of course, he doesn't answer you. You go to go up to him, but there's a hand on yours.

"I think we can go inside. Roman's vomit breath will meet us there, it looks like he's got enough people to check on him and his insides."

"I don't th-"

Even after everything, or because of everything, you still try and go to Roman. But Tabitha's hands rubbing his back stop you.

It takes the breath out of you.

Yeah, it's just...he'll meet you inside. Roman's got comfort, he decided it wouldn't be you and that'll stop hurting.

Roman will stop hurting a lot easier than you, you're sure. It'll be okay, you've got the rest of your life to take his insults of tonight.

"Okay, yeah. Let's go."

You hear the last of the gags as you and Stewy head inside to the start of the reception.

"I think they got my favorite desert, actually. I don't know how. If I'm feeling sultry and you're feeling consensual, I'll fork it into your mouth for you to try."

"...Sounds sultry. Okay"

You neither lean or move away from his hand on the small of your back. You let him pick something out of your hair.

"Roman, what the fuck? You okay, bro?"

"That was...you okay, son?"

You won't catch how Roman can't catch his breath. He can't recover. He can't come up from his knees. He actually lowers.

Tabitha's hands feels like bees, unfuckingfortunately. Roman crawls away and jolts at her palm finding him again.

"Stop! Just- it's fine. Stop. Sorry, sorry, Tab's. Dad, I'm good. I'm-"

He hacks. He can't breathe.

He knows why he can't breathe, but where are you? Where are the hands that actually feel like life digging back into his lungs?

Roman looks up.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

Where are you?

"Roma-"

Whoever's talking to him gets interrupted by more vomiting. He's choking on it.

"Oh fucking Christ. I'm going, I'm going inside, Pinky. Someone get him water. Absolutely disgusting."

He would say he doesn't know what he did, but he does. He just doesn't...but he's sorry.

Where did you go? Why don't you come back?

"Roman, baby-"

"Don't fuckin-I said! I said stop. Sorry, you'll touch me later. I'm sorry."

He really fucking is, but someone else will be. If Roman sees Stewy in there...the bullet in Roman's head will be his to blame. That'll make him feel better.

Roman wipes his mouth, his eyes. He sniffles.

"Are you cry-"

"No! Tabitha, stop! Shiv - go get banged, it's your wedding day."

He can feel eyes. So, he's right. Staring does mean things.

"Fuck off!"

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #succession fanfiction #roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfic #stewy hosseini #stewy hosseini x reader #succession fic #roman roy x you #succession imagine

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