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willowser · 2 days

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i keep thinking about touya going to the same spot he and his ex do drop off, every two weeks. it's outside some little bakery that he thinks is too expensive—and he has a sneaking suspicion that's why his baby mama chose the place—but he always buys his little bug something regardless. a pink pastry with lots of sprinkles and frosting, in the shape of a unicorn or something or other.

and you always come with him. have been for a few years now and you make friendly small talk with his ex and when his daughter jumps into your arms, you swing her around and you both giggle to each other, foreheads pressed together, eyelashes blinking close enough to make his heart swell.

and the first time you're not there, his daughter doesn't wait a minute after jumping out of her mom's car to frown up at him and ask, "where's bub?"

and truthfully, touya's been dreading this moment since he'd pissed you off enough to have you storming out of his apartment, a few days ago. still doesn't know what to tell her, how to explain that he's never loved someone the way he loves you and yet he's sabotaging everything anyway.

"bub is at bub's house."

her light little eyebrows pull down ever further, until a crease forms between them, and then she even takes another look behind him in case he's joking. "why?"

touya grinds his gum between his teeth and tells himself it's better than a cigarette. "she just is."

his ex doesn't say anything, thank god, but he can feel the once over she gives him. he looks like shit and he knows it, because he's aggravated and disappointed in himself, and all the things he'd normally use to deal with those feelings would break his sobriety. so he's only got some spearmint gum.

his daughter doesn't say anything else until they're in their seats on the train, her by the window, drawing shapes in the fog her breath makes. they go through a tunnel and the light from the day disappears and she loses interest, turning to stare up at touya as he closes his eyes and leans his head back as far as it can go.

"are you and bub mad at each other?"

touya opens his eyes, but stares only at the ceiling of the train. all he can see is the hurt on your face when he'd yelled at you, the anger that he drew out, like a poison. "it's—" one thing he tries not to do to his kid, however, is lie. "somethin' like that."

she shuffles around in her seat until she's facing him fully, leaning her head against the back of it as she blinks her big, blue eyes up at him. "did she be mean to you?"

"no."

"did you be mean to her?"

it seems so complicated, when touya thinks about it. why he'd started a fight with you, where his insecurity comes from, why he wants you so bad but is too afraid to admit it out loud—but then his kid makes it seem so easy. so silly.

touya shuffles until he's facing her, too, and even scoots down in his chair so they're eye-level, almost like whispering school girls at a slumber party. "yeah," he admits. "i was kinda mean to her."

"but why?"

touya frowns and still doesn't know what to say. the city skyline opens up behind her, out in the distance, and he watches the setting sun over the buildings until it starts to make him sick. "you remember when you had that scooter, and you fell and scraped your knee?" she nods. "and then you didn't want to ride it anymore because you were afraid you'd do it again? it's...like that."

not a single look of understanding comes across her face.

touya sighs and scoots back upright, bending to dig his phone from his pocket. "you wanna talk to her?"

"yeah!"

he pulls up your contact in his phone—just your name and all the hearts removed, because he's petty like that—but instead of staring at it like he has been for days—he finally calls. it wouldn't surprise him if you didn't answer, but he gnaws his lip as it rings, and it seems like he and his little girl both hold their breath.

"hello?"

when he hands off the phone to his daughter, she happily snatches it up, turning on her knees to look out the window as she grins. "hi bub!"

and touya still doesn't know what to say or how he'll fix it, but he finds some comfort—some of the words—when he hears the tone in your voice change, all sing-song and adoring. "hi, my angel!"

#cw children #✿ thoughts: dabi/touya #i've been thinking about this all day #his daughter IMMEDIATELY is like #🤨🤨🤨 uh ???? 🤨🤨🤨#you forgot to bring something dad #LMAO #this is trash garbage but i'm sleepy 😌#✿ theme: dad dabi/touya

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thegnomelord · 7 months

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CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt

Masterlist <- Chapter 1 (you are here) -> Chapter 2

You can imagine the helmet however you want, but it's in the style of the Devtac Ronin helmet.

#centerpieces of the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fanfiction #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x male reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au #not betaed #next chapter coming soon

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five-rivers · 2 months

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wandering heart

For @phantomphangphucker for phic phight!

The needle was bronze.

The copper alloy stood out better against ectoplasmic flesh than it would have against red blood. It dipped in and out of Danny's skin with machine-like precision, drawing a slender purple string in its wake. Appropriate. Clockwork was at least partly mechanical.

“You're getting close to my liver,” said Danny. “Careful.”

“You are aware that these facsimile organs are not at all essential to the function of your body.”

“Sure they are,” said Danny. He leaned his head back on the cushion Clockwork had provided him. “That's why you're sewing me up.”

Clockwork's tower wasn't Danny's usual post-battle stop, but the fight had been nasty and it had been close. His other choices had been flying an hour to reach the Far Frozen and leaving an ectoplasm trail through the mad science lab dedicated to dissecting ghosts. The decision had been easy.

Clockwork had complained, of course. Ninety percent of the time spent stitching had doubled as time spent snarking. It was fun.

“You have more than fake human organs in here, and losing that much ectoplasm is unhealthy for a ghost regardless. You are friends with the doctors of the Far Frozen. Perhaps you should avail yourself of their knowledge more frequently.”

“I already have one health class I'm failing. Don't need another.”

“You are not failing your health class.”

Danny peeled back an eyelid that had fallen shut at some point during the exchange. “Are you using your time powers to spy on my grades?”

“Hardly.” Clockwork picked up a pair of ornate scissors and snipped the string he'd been stitching Danny up with. “But even so, I doubt you would notice if I removed one of your so-called organs.”

“You could try,” said Danny. He closed his eyes again and leaned to the side until he was slumped over on Clockwork, who made an offended noise. “You’re trapped now. Stuck.”

“I am a shapeshifter,” said Clockwork. “You cannot ‘trap’ me simply by leaning on me.”

“Can too.”

Danny was tired. Sometimes, he could shrug off both fights and injuries like they were nothing, but unicorns were vicious and Technus was mean. Electricity always took a lot out of him.

Clockwork sighed heavily. Danny smiled.

“You aren’t nearly as charming as you think,” said Clockwork.

“And yet, you are neither kicking me out nor stealing my pancreas or lower intestine or anything like that.”

“I could.”

“But you haven’t.” Danny tucked his feet underneath him and snuggled more heavily into Clockwork’s side.

The ghost groaned, but obligingly made room for Danny. Yes, yes, exactly according to plan. The evil one, where he made friends with Clockwork. He figured he was already halfway there, if Clockwork was willing to sew him up, but with this it was definitely closer to three quarters.

Having thought this, Danny promptly fell asleep.

The front doors of Clockwork’s tower were not made to slam open, but Danny, fingers of one hand clenched over his chest and still wearing a Far Frozen medical gown, managed anyway. He was resourceful like that.

“Clockwork?” he called. “Clockwork!” He flew from room to room, only sticking his head in long enough to assess them for Clockwork's presence.

Finally, he found him.

“Clockwork!” he shouted, re-energized by the sight. “Did you steal my heart? My heart? My actual heart from my actual chest?”

Clockwork stared blankly at Danny for long enough that his panicked doubled and doubled again. This was, quite literally, his only lead.

“No,” said Clockwork, finally. “I stole the replica of your actual heart. From your chest.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Is it?” asked Clockwork, smugly. “After all, you didn’t even notice this one was gone.”

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you did this.” Friendship plan canceled. Or something.

“I cannot imagine why,” said Clockwork. “After all, I told you exactly what I was going to do. You even gave me permission.”

“I thought you were joking. Who’s going to think that you’re serious about stealing a friend’s organs? That’s a joke. A joke. Banter, if you would. Not an invitation to steal my literal heart.”

“Even so, it has been done.”

“Well, can you undo it? Put it back in? You didn’t, I don’t know, toss it out with last week’s eggshells or something? Stick it in the back of the kitchen junk drawer.”

“No, I know exactly where I put it,” said Clockwork.

“And you can undo it, right? It’s not, like, expired?”

“It is difficult to get more expired than a ghost’s heart.”

Danny stared at Clockwork expectantly.

“Yes, I can undo it. It will be the work of a moment to return it to its proper place.”

“Great, so… Lead on.” Danny made a forward sweeping motion with both hands.

Clockwork’s eyes slid back towards his time screen. “Can it wait?”

“No!”

“You haven’t had it for weeks. You won’t miss it for a few more minutes.”

“Uh, yes, I will! You can time travel. Whatever you’re doing, you can do it later.”

“I suppose,” said Clockwork. “Very well. Follow me.”

Clockwork led him back, through narrow halls, into a towering closet with spiral shelves. It was full of what could only be collectively referred to as stuff.

“Wow, I wasn’t serious about the junk drawer thing.”

“Oh, please,” said Clockwork. “This is hardly junk.”

“You’re a hoarder.”

“I resent that appellation,” said Clockwork, flying up and rotating slightly. Danny kept his feet on the ground, slightly intimidated.

“The only reason you aren’t drowning in all this is because your house doesn’t have to exist in Euclidean space.”

“And yet, I am not drowning in it.” Clockwork continued to float upwards, a faint frown on his face.

“You do remember where you put it, right?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Clockwork, visibly rolling his eyes. “I put it right– Ah. Interesting.”

“Interesting? What do you mean interesting?” demanded Danny. He flew up to hover near Clockwork's shoulder. “Did something happen to it? Is it– It's not there? You said you knew where it was!”

“I said I knew where I put it, which is rather a different thing altogether.”

“No, it isn't! It's not like it has legs! It couldn't have wandered off on its oooohhhhhhhh my God, it could have wandered off on its own. That thing had more ectoplasm in it than a Christmas turkey.”

“It is, in fact,” said Clockwork, “entirely made out of ectoplasm.”

“If it’s moving around like that, can we put it back in? Would it– Would it try to escape? Like, escape my chest? Is that a thing?”

“Unlikely.”

“As unlikely as it starting to move around in the first place?”

“Unlikely,” repeated Clockwork.

“Where even is it? Do you know? Can you tell? Obviously, your whole ‘I know everything’ shtick is a lie, but can you, like, rewind things so that it’s here?”

“No,” said Clockwork. “We will just have to look for it.”

“In your hoarder cave?”

“It is not a cave.”

“Ah, but you don't dispute the hoarder part?” He spun, head over heels, trying and failing to see the entirety of the not-really-a-closet. “What if there are things in here? Like, living things? Could it have been eaten? By, like… Clockroaches? Do you have clockroaches here?”

“Media tends to grossly exaggerate both the aggression and size of temporal boggles–”

“They’re real?”

“Why would you ask about them if you didn’t think they were real?”

“I don’t know. It turns out I don’t think through the things I say to you very well.”

“Clearly.”

Danny arrested his motion. “Where do we even start? This place is huge!”

“That statement assumes that it is still in this particular room.”

“Oh my God.”

“Although, if we are to search this room, it would make the most sense to start from either end and work towards the middle.”

Danny flipped over. “I can’t even see the other end.” This was only barely an exaggeration.

“Then we had best get started soon.”

Danny rubbed his face. “Am I even going to recognize it? What will it look like?”

“Like the organ it was imitating, of course,” said Clockwork. “Oh, and don’t touch anything.”

Danny groaned.

There was something quivering and green huddled behind a bank of jars. Was that… it couldn’t be… He formed a stick out of ice and went to poke it.

“What are you doing to that poor frog?” asked Clockwork.

“Holy– It’s a frog?”

“Yes.”

Danny stared. Clockwork was covered in splatters and streaks of ectoplasm from head to tail.

“Why do you– I don’t even want to know. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” said Clockwork, holding up a jar. There was… Well. It was a heart. “Are you sure you want it back? Surely, the sentimental value cannot be that great.”

“Wh– It’s not about the sentimental value. Open it up, put it back in!”

Clockwork’s sigh was incredibly put-upon. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He unscrewed the lid of the jar, and the heart, which had up until that point, laid quiescent on the bottom of the jar, flew out, smacking Danny in the face.

“Augh!”

“Grab it!”

Danny managed to get a hand around a ventricle, but ectoplasm and ectoplasmic muscle was slippery. It escaped his grip. It flopped-flew its way down to the bottom of the genuinely-not-a-closet and made for the door. Danny dove at it, only to get a faceful of ectoplasm from an artery for his trouble.

Danny wondered if this was what Skulker felt like. He let ectoplasm dribble out of his mouth.

“That, bleh, that tastes like my ectoplasm,” he said.

“That’s because it is,” said Clockwork, tiredly. “I will refrain from asking you to elaborate on your ectoplasm-tasting experiences.”

“Look, when nature gives you a weapon, and afterlife gives you enemies, you use the weapon.” He peered cautiously out of the door, wary of being sprayed with what was essentially his own blood once again. “Where do you think it–”

He got another mouthful of ectoplasm.

“Bleh,” he said.

“I don’t suppose you saw it?” asked Clockwork. “Which way it went, etcetera, etcetera?”

“No,” said Danny.

“Then this will be a long night.”

“Can’t you just, like, stop time or something? So it won’t move around while we look”

Clockwork gave him a look.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“I think,” said Danny, from where he was dangling from the ceiling, a tangle of clock chains wrapped around his ankle, “that we need help.”

“Unfortunately, I must concur,” said Clockwork, who was underneath a pair of couches even he’d been surprised at owning.

“Unless you want to use your totally awesome time powers to find it.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “What did you lose?”

“My heart,” said Danny. “And I didn’t lose it. Clockwork stole it.”

“Is this some kind of Ice Queen situation here?” asked Sam. “Are you going to lose all empathy and care for other people?”

“No,” said Danny. “It’s just the, um, physical thing. And only my ghost half’s physical thing. Apparently. Apparently, the ‘human organs’ I have in my ghost form aren’t functional, unless the functionality is, like, the functionality of being incredibly annoying and spraying ectoplasm everywhere.”

“So, what should we bring for this thing?” asked Tucker. “Butterfly nets? Bow and arrow? Guns? What’s the endgame?”

“You want to shoot my heart?”

“I don’t know what you want here, dude. I’m still kind of reeling over the fact that the guy you were hanging out with literally stole your heart. Do you need someone to give him a stern talking to, make sure he gets you home before curfew?”

“That’s disgusting. He could probably be my great-great-great-great-great-great–”

In ghost form, Danny didn’t have to breathe all that much, so he was able to go on like that until Sam and Tucker joined forces to stuff socks in his mouth.

“How in the world did things escalate to Clockwork stealing your literal heart?” asked Jazz.

“Okay, yeah, I see how that’d seem bad, out of context, but you see, it isn’t actually my literal heart–”

Danny glared at Clockwork’s idea of ‘help.’ “I bring three completely reasonable and competent people, and you bring them?”

“From my point of view, I am the one with the reasonable and competent people,” said Clockwork, gesturing at the combined forces of Nocturne, Ghost Writer, and Skulker. “You, meanwhile, have brought three teenagers.”

“Are you really calling Skulker competent?”

“If not, he at least has experience in being outsmarted by you.”

“Hey!”

“Alas,” said Tucker, “the heart wants what the heart wants, and what it wants is freedom.”

“Where,” said Sam, kicking at a puddle, “is all this ectoplasm even coming from?”

“Around,” said Danny.

“Ooh,” said Jazz, “it’s condensing it from the atmosphere?” She paused. “What are you all looking at me like that for? I can have scientific curiosity!”

“I think it’s more because of what’s happened to your hair,” said Ghost Writer.

“What’s happened to my hair?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Danny, I think I hate you,” said Sam. They were sitting on one of Clockwork’s couches. Clockwork had a lot of couches. A fact that Clockwork seemed both bemused and distressed by.

“Oh, trust me, the feeling is mutual. As in, I hate me too.”

Clockwork sat down on the couch next to Danny. “Daniel, I must tell you that while hate is beneath me, I am seriously regretting my earlier decisions.”

“Does that mean that you’re going to time travel back to–”

“Absolutely not.”

Tucker ran past them with a butterfly net, chasing down a green blur.

“That’s a blob ghost, isn’t it?” asked Sam.

“I do believe so,” said Clockwork.

“Well,” said Danny. “At least this all makes us friends, yeah? Can’t go through something like this without being friends.” At least he’d get something accomplished with all this insanity.

“I wouldn’t call myself friends with Skulker. Or Nocturne. Acquaintances, more like.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about Ghost Writer.”

Clockwork shrugged. “He’s somewhat more tolerable.”

“And me?”

“I suppose.”

The heart fell straight down, into Danny’s lap.

“Are you serious–”

#danny phantom #phic phight #fic

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l--changetheworld · 16 days

Text

i got bored and decided not to wait for the poll. more horses

ft. misa !!! love misa shes so sillayy

i was gonna make misa a pegasus or earth pony but then i had a thought. pony kira would be a unicorn..... magic yknow.

L is a pegasus bc i think he'd never fly but he uses those big ol wings to cover his cm so people dont go hey what the fuck is that L the detective horse while hes outdoors.

light has unicorn vibes in general hes so prissy and dramatic it suits him. false wing markings bc hes full of himself !!!!!!!

i did name them but im not toooo set on them. "L" lunar law, shining light, misty web

#death note #light yagami #misa amane #l lawliet #l death note #light death note #misa death note #mlp au #deathnote fanart

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flowergirlzz · 14 days

Note

Could you make a Simon Riley x reader morning fluff?

✿ hii of course!! I hope you like it <3

the first thing you notice as your eyes flutter open, lids heavy with with sleep, is the golden light slipping through your half opened blinds. the morning sunlight finding its way through your room. painting its warm tone on your walls, bed, body.

bodies

a strong pair of arms are wrapped around you, holding you tightly, almost as if you'd slip away if they let you go. your back against his broad chest, every breath heavy with sleep.

you smile to yourself as the revelation hits you: simon is still asleep. waking up before simon is a rare occurrence. with the military man almost always waking up at the crack of dawn, hours before you do, you cherish moments like this.

feeling his hot breath against your neck, the occasional snore and twitch of his body. letting you know he's deep in his slumber, hopefully dreaming of cupcakes and rainbows and unicorns and anything pure you can think of. a well deserved break from the gruesome nightmares he's had from years. the ones that wake him up in a coat of sweat, hands shaking, thoughts racing. unable to go back to sleep. sometimes you wake up on nights like that too, somehow sensing your boyfriends discomfort. sometimes you lead him to the kitchen, making him a cup of tea, letting him lean his body weight on you as you sit side by side in silence. sometimes you stay in bed, caressing his hair while he tells you about his dream.

this is not one of those moments though, you think as you decide to turn in the grasp around you to face your sleeping boyfriend. you do so as gently as possible, being met by the sight of his peaceful form.

you can't help but to smile again.

his body not coated in the nightmare sweat, but in the golden rays of the sun, his lips slightly parted and hair messy with sleep. his muscular arms around you, intertwining you with him, never loosening their grip.

your handsome, handsome man

you lean forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. tracing your eyes along his features, admiring them. him.

"are you watching me sleep" simons deep morning voice suddenly mutters through the room, his eyes still closed shut, almost startling you. you playfully roll your own eyes. of course your small movements would wake him up. nothing goes past this man.

"maybe" you whisper and continue leaving small kisses all over his face. his jaw, cheek, temple, nose, forehead. "you're so handsome si" you say in between kisses. he only groans in response, pulling your body even closer to his, gently trailing his hands over the marks he left on your curves only hours ago, until he reaches your face. rubbing his tumb back and forth on your jaw, he opens his eyes. his deep eyes that somehow always seem to soften when they reach you. looking at you as though you're the only woman on earth.

for him you are.

"g´morning love" he says and leans his forehead against yours, smiling softly. oh the things he'd do to be able to wake up next to you like this every morning, in this life, in every life.

"good morning...wanna stay like this all day" you mumble with your eyes closed, feeling content in the arms of your man.

"is that what you want?" simon answers, smirking. he knows you both had plans today. errands to run, chores to do. that could wait, he thinks as his gaze wanders over your features.

you only nod in response and nuzzle yourself down on him, giving the crock of his neck a peck before resting your head on it.

"then that's what we'll do gorgeous" he whispers and kisses your forehead.

#simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost x reader fluff

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starlingflight · 3 months

Text

Priorities

A/N: I swear I'm going back to SEL now, but I sat down at my keyboard and this just came out of nowhere. Please accept this fluff filled HBP missing moment in penance for my procrastination:

Read on AO3

“Dean!”

Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of Dean's name from a voice that was unmistakably Ginny's. He turned to find her hurrying towards them across the common room, her school bag hanging haphazardly from her shoulder, and her eyes bright despite the early hour.

He wanted to keep walking. He'd thought he'd finally seen the last of her and Dean together since their break up a week ago, and he had no desire to witness more of it now, but Seamus stopped, and Harry had agreed to go to breakfast with both of them in place of Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with prefect duties.

Reluctantly, Harry halted beside Seamus, trying to look at anything but the way the morning sunlight slanted through the common room's high windows and made Ginny's hair look like it was glowing where it framed her face.

“I hoped I'd catch you before you left the common room,” she said. Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible, it was like his ears were attuned to the exact, musical frequency of Ginny's voice.

“Did you?” Dean asked sceptically. “We've not really spoken since we–”

“Well, I've been busy with Quidditch, and OWL work,” Ginny said, and even without looking Harry knew she'd be waving a hand unconcernedly in front of her. “But I wanted to give you this back.”

Beside Harry, Seamus sucked in a sharp breath. Harry’s neck moved without any permission from his brain, forcing him to look.

She was holding an article of claret coloured clothing out to Dean, one that Harry recognised immediately. Something integral inside him had taken great offence the first time he’d seen her wearing Dean's West Ham jumper; he'd not grown to appreciate it any more on any of the following, mercifully infrequent, occasions either.

“You can keep it,” Dean said now, looking extremely caught off guard. “I didn’t expect you to give it back.”

Ginny shook her head. “No, it's yours. I meant to give it you last week, but I've been–”

“Busy,” Dean finished for her. “You said.”

He took the jumper, clutching it awkwardly against his body. Harry looked away again. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I'll just put this in the dorm,” Dean said. “No point carrying it around all day.”

“I’ll come with you,” Seamus offered. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on a tapestry of a witch petting a unicorn hanging on the far wall.

“Bye, Ginny.”

“Bye, Dean.”

Harry felt rather than saw Seamus move away from him. He heard the simultaneous footsteps of him and Dean making their way back to the dormitory. He didn't look away from the tapestry until he heard the door to the staircase open, when he did, it was to find Ginny looking at him apologetically.

“Did I just doom you to a solitary breakfast?”

Harry shrugged, ignoring the flutter of butterflies rising in his stomach. “Not if you come with me?”

Thankfully, Ginny grinned in response to this suggestion, meaning Harry was spared from dying of embarrassment that morning.

“Come on then. I need to report back to Mum that you're eating properly.”

“Why would I not be eating properly?” He followed her to the portrait hole.

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, it's Mum, she thinks everyone's not eating properly.”

The corridor outside Gryffindor Tower was deserted. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way towards the staircase.

“Sorry if that was really awkward,” Ginny said, throwing a glance over her shoulder, obviously checking for Dean, who did not appear to have come back down from the dormitory yet. “I've been carrying that bloody jumper around in my bag for days trying to find a time to give it back. I had to take the opportunity when it was presented to me.”

“Honestly, I'm just glad it's gone,” Harry said, before his brain could engage his mouth. Ginny's eyebrows rose about as much as Harry's heart plummeted. “It's killed me to see you in West Ham colours,” he said quickly.

Ginny frowned. “I didn't realise you were such a big football fan.”

Well, he was going to have to pretend to be now. “I live with Muggles, don't I?”

“You've never mentioned a football team,” she pressed.

Harry could feel her eyes studying his face like a physical touch. His heart was hammering in his chest; his brain had conveniently chosen that moment to stop working; he couldn't name a single football team even with a wand to his head.

“I–”

“Actually, I have a more important question!” Ginny announced, saving Harry from whatever stuttered nonsense had been about to come out of his mouth. “Do you even have a Quidditch team?”

They were at the staircase now, Ginny was a few steps ahead of him, making their height difference even starker than usual as she looked up at him curiously.

“Er, Gryffindor?” Harry tapped the Captain's badge pinned to his jumper.

“No!” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. She paused, waiting for Harry to catch up to her. “An actual team – a professional team?”

“Oh, I guess–”

“Don't say it!” Ginny said, ending Harry's sentence once more. Her eyes narrowed. “If you tell me Ron's converted you to the Cannons, I'm going to disown you.”

“Disown me?” he repeated, his smile growing in response to the one gracing Ginny's face. “I wasn't aware you owned me to begin with.”

“Weren't you?” She looked away from him, taking the next flight of stairs two at a time. “Well, now you are.”

“Unless I tell you I'm a Cannons supporter?” Harry increased his pace to keep up with her. “And then you're going to disown me?”

“Exactly.”

Was she blushing or was that just in Harry's head?

“I'd better not risk it then.”

She was definitely blushing. Or, more likely, he had started with waking delusions to match the near constant ones he had about her in his dreams.

Ginny stopped on the step directly below him. She turned, placing her hand lightly on Harry's chest, halting both his descent, and the beat of his heart.

“Let me tell you why you should be a Holyhead Harpies fan.”

“Is this your sales pitch?” It was a wonder he could speak at all when his lungs had stopped working.

She nodded. She was so close, her head tilted up to look at him, and her hand on his chest spreading warmth throughout his entire body. It would be so easy to lean down and–

Ginny took a step backwards, letting her arm fall away from Harry as she continued down the stairs. Her eyes, however, never left his.

“One.” She lifted a finger in the air beside her. “Choosing the only all-female team in the league will make you appear sensitive, and extremely attractive, to most girls.”

“You want me to make a decision as important as this based on what girls might think?”

Somehow, he managed to keep to himself that he was on the verge of doing just that, based on what one particular girl might think.

Ginny shrugged. “It's a sales pitch, I'm trying to appeal to your top priorities.”

“Well, the opinions of unknown girls isn't one of them.”

“Good to know.”

“Is it?” He hadn't meant for his voice to drop so low, but he definitely liked the way Ginny's smile grew in response.

“Yes, it helps me figure out my angle.” She raised a second finger in the air. “Two: their colours are green and gold, which my mother would assure you are your colours too.”

Harry laughed; the sound bounced off the ancient walls surrounding them. “So, upon hearing I'm not making this choice based on the opinion of girls I might, hypothetically, want to impress, your next thought was your mum?”

“No!” Ginny protested through a laugh of her own. “My next thought was that you look good in green!”

Harry's laughter died as his breath was stolen from him once again.

“Three,” Ginny said quickly, raising a third finger into the air. “This one is the most important.”

“Go on,” he managed to say.

They were almost at the marble staircase now. Ginny halted their progress by leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the entrance hall. Harry lingered beside her, finding nothing to complain about in spending longer in her company.

“In a few years, when they sign me – which is definitely going to happen – you don't want the inner turmoil of choosing between your loyalty to another team and me.”

“There would be no inner turmoil,” Harry said, acutely aware that he should shut up, but finding himself completely incapable of doing so when Ginny was looking at him like she currently was. “I would obviously choose you.”

Her smile was almost too brilliant to look at, yet Harry couldn't look away. “Oh, so you'd say I'm quite high on your priority list?”

He didn't know if she took a step closer, or he did, all he knew was that the gap between them had decreased significantly, and that his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.

“Fairly high, yeah.”

Ginny's eyes bored into his; Harry was transfixed. He waited, barely breathing, to see what her response would be. The corner of her mouth twitched–

“There you are!” Ron's voice crashed into him with the force of a lightning bolt.

Harry jumped back from Ginny, whipping his head around to see Ron and Hermione approaching, Ron grinning broadly, and Hermione looking almost as pained as Harry currently felt.

“Have you eaten?” Ron asked.

Harry glanced at Ginny to find her glaring at Ron. “We were just on our way to breakfast.”

“Excellent,” Ron said obliviously. “We're done with rounds.”

He continued walking, without stopping, in the direction of the marble staircase, apparently secure in the knowledge that Harry and Ginny would join him and Hermione. A fair assumption, Harry reminded himself, pushing off the balustrade.

“I'm going to tell him,” Ginny said, quietly enough for only Harry to hear as she fell into step beside him. Harry's stomach sank, his brain leaping into overdrive, imagining Ginny informing Ron that he'd just spent the whole walk from the common room treacherously flirting with his sister. “...that you've betrayed the Cannons in favour of the Harpies.”

“I don't think I actually agreed to that yet.” He hoped his shaking voice was only detectable to him.

If Ginny noticed, she didn't show it. She was smiling again, her eye catching his. “You as good as did,” she said as they crossed the entrance hall. “But don't worry, it can be our secret for now.”

#hinny #harry x ginny #hbp missing moment

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