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valphorien · 8 months

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more than love or pleasure, there is Truth

An Elucien Regency AU (one-shot for now?)

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Rating: Explicit Word count: ~5,000 TWs: None Summary:

She could not trust anything a Vanserra said. And Lucien was, she now realized, far more dangerous than the rest; his words were sweet honey and his gaze was deadly steel. He saw her too clearly, clear enough that he might pierce the veil she’d so carefully arranged over her soul. - Behind closed doors, their families negotiate unsavory business. Elain and Lucien, who've both been deemed too soft for such dealings, find common ground with each other.

Elain was certain she could throw a spectacular dinner party, if only she had more to work with.

A lack of funds, of course, was not the issue, nor did she want for an impressive venue–though if she could have her pick, she would not have chosen to host in her brother-in-law’s ancestral estate. Some dour grandsire of Rhysand’s had designed it centuries ago to be like the venerable cathedrals at Canterbury and Westminster, less as a comfortable home and more as a place folk went to pay homage to a higher power. Newcomers were always charmed by its stained glass in narrow, arched windows, calling it “grand” and “stately” and, if they were bold, “antique.”

Yet dark as it was, the estate Elain now called home was not the reason her parties had all the cheer and charm of a wake. Fresh-picked lilies of complementary reds and oranges arranged in porcelain vases set atop the finest silk cloths all amounted to nothing, because there was only so much one could do with guests such as she’d been given lately.

It provided her some small comfort, as she watched the chandelier’s light glint in the facets of her crystal glass, to consider that this particular gathering had been doomed from the start.

It was, like all the Archeron gatherings these days, more of a business meeting than a dinner party. What sort of business that was, Elain had never been explicitly told; instead, she received nervous platitudes from Feyre and “never-you-minds” from Nesta. But Elain was not blind. She’d been there when Feyre had planned the emerald heist against her ex-fiancé–using the extensive resources of her now-husband. Elain had not been interested then, had not considered that it would actually come to fruition; but she had no delusions about what sort of illicit ventures had finally pulled them from their financial misfortunes.

Tonight’s venture featured the current source of Elain’s disappointment: ruthless crime family and dreary party guests, the Vanserra brothers.

Dinner had all the appearances of a polite affair, so long as one did not linger on the retorts that cut a bit too sharp. No one had any complaints about the food, at least, which meant Elain had achieved the bare minimum of her duty. But coaxing conversation from their guests proved to be an arduous task. Her efforts were met with suspicious frowns and one-word responses, and she gave up almost immediately. Many of their dinners relating to the business started out this way, with people who were accustomed to hiding behind their walls until trust or at least an understanding had been established. Sometimes, Elain was able to break them down. She could tell right away that she’d have no such success with the Vanserra sons.

She settled for observing them in turn with each sip from her gold-rimmed glass. There was a hierarchy among them, with the eldest at the top, though perhaps not solely due to age. For all the barbs they sank into Feyre and Rhys’s company, they turned just as often on each other, like a pack of starving dogs–all save one, who they did not give the dignity of an attack.

His name was Lucien, and he was the youngest brother, according to the briefing Feyre had given her yesterday. He seemed to favor the outdoors more than the rest, judging by his darker skin. The black eyepatch did not fully mask the brown scar that cut a jagged path down through his eye. Elain would’ve expected such a scar to upset her, to agitate her stomach in the way that the darker glimpses of these dealings sometimes did. Yet the scarring did not chill her as a bloodied dagger would, or the screams she might hear if she walked the wrong hallway at the wrong time of night. The scar was neither shield nor warning–it was history.

She’d felt a stab of guilt at first for the challenge she’d forced upon him–someone had to sit next to Nesta–but from her surreptitious glances around the table, their corner had less of that miasma of tension that seemed to hover throughout the dining room. She even saw Nesta crack a smirk or two.

When he caught one of Elain’s glances, she did not jerk her gaze away; what was the point, when she’d already been caught? Instead, she offered him a polite smile. His scarred brow quirked slightly, and he lifted his glass in a silent toast.

Feyre rose from the table first, Rhys immediately following–a unified force, as always. “Gentlemen,” she said, “if you would join us in the study.”

They all stood and quit the dining room. Normally, this is when Elain would retreat to the drawing room for some embroidery until the business in the study had concluded. Tonight, though–something ignited in her chest that made her hold her chin high. With a steadying breath, she fell in line behind the group, towards the study–

Until a broad chest blocked her way.

“Dinner was lovely, Miss Archeron, as always,” came the quiet voice of Azriel, Feyre’s brother-in-law and associate. A frown of concern marred his handsome face, but his voice held no trace of apology. “You must be tired from all the planning. Feyre can bid the guests goodnight, if you wish to retire.”

With that, he joined the others in the study. It was as perfectly respectable as one could be when shutting a door in her face.

She allowed herself a scowl and a sharp exhale. She whirled around, readying to return to the dining room and, quite needlessly, oversee the servants. She was sure she’d be calm by the time she crossed the hallway.

Except she didn’t anticipate having company.

Elain barely managed to stifle a gasp at the sight of Lucien leaning against the dining room doorway, adjusting his cufflinks and watching her. With only a blink, she regained her composure. Clasping her gloved hands in front of her, she took a few steps forward–just close enough to politely engage in conversation. She had been introduced to all of the brothers at the start of the evening, but they were both unmarried and without a chaperone, which gave her pause.

And, she supposed, he was part of a vicious criminal family. That really ought to give her pause.

She lifted a hand to gesture to the study door behind her. “Shall I knock? I am sure you do not wish to miss the discussions.”

“On the contrary, my lady, I am quite content to miss them.” He did not smile, but the suggestion of it lurked in his russet eye.

“Oh?” Her already foul mood, goaded by his seeming indifference, tugged her towards cynicism. “I suppose when one has attended so many important meetings, they must seem rather dull.”

There was nothing overtly insulting about the glance he gave, down to her feet and back up again–except that it made her feel like some prize animal being scrutinized. Elain wondered what he saw with that quick, keen eye. Would he notice her dress–its perfect fit, the fine material, the twinkling gems on the skirt and sleeve, the violet so dark she could be mistaken for a mourning widow? She’d chosen it to match Nesta’s deep crimson and Feyre’s midnight blue. She wondered if Lucien saw what she’d seen in the mirror: an ill-fitting costume. Only the spite simmering in her throat stopped her from looking away.

Though his gaze pierced as sharply as a knife, his voice was not unkind. “You mistake me, my lady. I remain here at my brother’s insistence.”

Elain could not keep the surprise from her face. Caution remained, tingling at the back of her neck; but curiosity was stronger. Her sisters would have wanted her to demure, make an excuse to leave. She took a few steps closer. “Were you not the liaison between your family and mine? Surely that earns you a seat at the discussions.”

Lucien pushed off from the doorway. Placing his hands behind his straightened back, he said, “Flattered as I am by your estimation of my importance, I must disavow you of the notion. Though my family does admit that I am the most approachable, which makes me a decent liaison.”

“Then why bring you to dinner at all?” She knew the answer: to put the Archerons at ease, to hope that a familiar face might soften their defenses. But she wondered how he might spin his purpose.

“Oh, I am only here to steal the good silver. We are thieves, after all, and I do have an eye for it.”

Elain gave a small tsk. “Then I am afraid you have dallied too long.” She gestured to the dining room behind him, cleared of all but a few bouquets, which were now being carried away. “Our staff is quite efficient, as you can see.”

“Dallied, my lady? At the scene of the crime, perhaps.” As he spoke, he reached into his jacket, and something silver flashed between his long fingers. He held it out to her: a soup spoon, from the very first course. “But I suppose it is a sorry prize, separated from its fellows. I only hope that returning it will grant me mercy from the lady of the house.”

She brought her hand up to muffle her laugh, the silk of her glove pressing into her lips. “I would not rob you of your spoils, sir. I daresay you earned it.” Straightening her shoulders, she lowered her hands to clasp again at her stomach. “As for mercy, you would have to ask my sister. I am not the lady of the house.”

Lucien tilted his head; loose strands of hair fell across his brow. He kept it unfashionably long, tied neatly at the nape of his neck. She did not blame him for wanting to keep so much of it. Its copper shades danced in the candlelight with all the glow of the sun setting behind an autumn forest. “No, but are you not its mistress?” When Elain responded with only furrowed brows, he continued, “Was it not you who orchestrated tonight’s dinner? You who selected the flowers in the exact colors of our family heraldry and brought out your finest silver?”

It was no great observance on his part–Feyre had declared her compliments to Elain at the start of the evening for arranging the dinner–but no one else had mentioned the colors. Her heart fluttered, floated up to her throat and blocked all speech. Lucien’s voice softened. “The flowers are beautiful, by the way.” They matched his hair. The ancient oak tree behind her garden would match his eye, come autumn. “Feyre told me you grow them yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, or tried to–it came out as little more than a croak. She cleared her throat and dipped her chin, the picture of modesty she’d practiced all her life to maintain. “Yes, I keep a small garden.” Whatever had caused her heart to flit up her chest had mingled with the anger lurking there, turned it into something light enough to lift her off the ground. Before the sensation had a chance to flee, she blurted out, “Would you like to see it?”

It was a ridiculous offer; the sun had long since set. Surely he knew that. Surely– “I would be delighted.”

His quick reply hurtled her back down to the earth. What a foolish idea! And dangerous, too–she could not trust anything a Vanserra said. And Lucien was, she now realized, far more dangerous than the rest; his words were sweet honey and his gaze was deadly steel. He saw her too clearly, clear enough that he might pierce the veil she’d so carefully arranged over her soul.

He offered his elbow. It was not too late. She’d feigned a sudden headache for far less than this. She need not even resort to lies, if she wished–they still had no chaperone. It was not proper. Her sisters would be horrified.

Elain took his elbow and led him outside.

—

She was only too glad to show off her garden, normally. But as she led Lucien from the gravel path and onto the grass beneath the iron archway draped in jasmine vines, she felt strangely shy. It was as if she was about to lay down a piece of her soul to be judged at Heaven’s gate.

She’d done very little weeding and pruning this summer, finding herself enchanted by the unruly sprawl that had resulted. The sweet peas were in bloom, dots of delicate pastels creeping up their wooden trellis, and the pale green buds atop the stalks of goldenrod indicated they were not far behind. Her pink roses were still producing, as were the lilies she’d harvested this morning; but it was September now, and those pinks and oranges felt like a sunset. Most of the other plants had finished blooming. Seeds nestled in spent flower heads or clinging to delicate white hairs awaited a windy day to carry them off.

All those details were but memories from the afternoon. Elain’s heart sank as she realized that Lucien could see none of it in the late twilight. The pinks were white, the oranges grey, and the seedpods only shadows in the light of the nearest lamppost.

He did try, though, leaning close to each plant, lifting his hand occasionally, as if he might touch them before thinking better of it. He got enough of a lay of the scene to comment on it, “I would not have expected to find such a garden on the grounds of that house.” He nodded back at the estate, its stone saints armed with tall spears standing atop ornately carved battlements. Most of the windows were dark, and the stained glass viewed from outside at this hour seemed like a cage for shapeless monsters.

“What would you expect instead?” she asked.

Lucien peered at her out of the corner of his eye, and Elain knew he was judging whether to be honest. His small smile set butterflies loose in her stomach. “A haunted cemetery, perhaps.”

The laugh burst from her before she had a chance to stifle it. She lowered her gaze to the well-trodden grass. “The nearest cemetery is far from here, and if any ghosts haunt these grounds, they’ve not made themselves known to me.”

His attention had caught on the potted shrub in one corner of the garden, set far enough from the hedge that it escaped most of the shade. A single flower remained, standing bold amidst the broad, dark leaves: five round petals, a vivid red at the center that bled out into pale pink. Lucien tilted his head. “I’m not familiar with this one. Is it from the Americas?”

“Asia,” she corrected. “It’s a hibiscus. Feyre bought it for me after–” After Elain had overheard a particularly dreadful interrogation session; Feyre had discovered her pale and trembling, and the plant had arrived the next evening. It had come from a steamy greenhouse in London, where Elain had commented on its beauty the previous winter. She drew in a deep, silent breath through her nose before continuing, “It’s a tropical plant.”

She could stop there. She might have, if Lucien did not watch her silently with curiosity simmering in his gaze. “It won’t survive the winter. It cannot withstand the frost.”

“Could it be moved inside?”

“In that house?” Dry and drafty, with its best windows facing east? “I’m afraid it would do little good. It may survive, but it would not thrive. A greenhouse would serve it far better.”

Lucien frowned. “Does your sister know she gifted you a doomed plant?”

“I would not trouble her with something so trivial.”

“Are your plants trivial to you, then?” There was a challenge in his voice. A dare. He wanted to watch her as she lied.

She smiled instead, a placid gesture that did not reach her eyes. “Feyre has sacrificed so much for this family. She would have been well within her right to leave us to rot in the streets. Instead, she allowed us into her husband’s home. I will not ask more of her than I already have. Because I know that she would do it. She would grant me anything, if it lay in her power to do so.”

“Anything except a seat in that study.”

He’d seen, then. Seen how they’d shut the door in her face. Elain lifted her chin. “She knows I find it distasteful.”

“Then why seek to join them?”

Her shoulders tensed, and she felt like a cat with raised hackles backed against a wall. She was well within her rights to walk away, to warn the staff of this guest who was too curious for his own good, to retire to her rooms where she was safe from uncomfortable questions. But he’d drawn too much out of her already, and she would not let him win that insight without a fight. Because she did have reasons. It was not mere petulance; it was being pulled down a path she’d not chosen, a fate that had been decided for her. It was feeling alone in a room full of people. “I am a part of this family. I should be allowed to help.”

“Or be allowed the choice to decline.”

She didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she could, with the weight of his perception upon her. She felt at once small and far, far too visible.

Lucien sighed and looked away. “My family thinks I am soft. That I do not possess the hardened heart that is often required for their line of work. My place is to arrange meetings but not to participate. I am given as little information as possible, lest guilt or sympathy loosen my tongue and put everything at risk.” He met her shocked gaze with a small bow of his head.

He’d broken into a small corner of her soul, and in recompense had offered up a piece of his own.

“And is your family right about you?” she asked.

He drew his finger along the underside of the hibiscus flower. “In a sense, yes. But if I am too soft for their dirty work, I am also too cowardly to break away from it. It makes me the worst of them.”

Elain joined him beside the hibiscus. She wondered if the plant knew its death was so near. If it could, would it crawl on desperate roots like some fairytale tree back to the jungles of its ancestors? Or would it wait in its pot, certain that someone would come along and fix the world around it, keep the frost at bay until spring?

Elain shrugged. “We could always report them to the authorities.”

Lucien heaved a sigh. “Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. Your brother-in-law has bribed or blackmailed half of Parliament, and my family has the rest.”

“Establish our own rival crime syndicate, then?”

“Now there’s an idea. Why, with you in charge, we’d need not resort to anything either of us find distasteful.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He came no closer, but the slice of his cunning smile sent a spear of heat down her spine. “You’d need only bat your eyelashes at the right people, and you could walk home with the crown jewels and not a drop of blood spilled.”

“You flatter me, sir, but you do exaggerate.” As she spoke, she ran her gloved fingers along the top of her bodice. The stays beneath felt suddenly far too constricting–like that house, like the role she played in it.

“A test, then. Try it on me. Ask me to do something unwise. Something I ought to refuse.”

“Have I not already done that?” She’d meant to say the words with cheek and charm; but they came out hushed. “Unwed and unchaperoned, and yet you followed me into this garden.”

“Followed?” The smile faded from his lips but remained sparking in his eyes. “I rather thought I was led here.”

Blood pounded in her ears as she tried to summon fear or even the barest shreds of caution. But he was not the hunter. He was not the one luring prey. He’d only walked into the trap with eyes wide open.

Lucien advanced on her, and she backed away, their steps in sync as if it were a dance. Elain let a smile tease at her lips to coax him forward even as she retreated slowly, methodically, into the darkest corner of the garden and the bench that waited there.

She stopped beside the bench. “Won’t you sit awhile, sir?”

He lowered his face until it was level with hers. “How could I refuse such hospitality?”

She lifted her hand. Through the glove she felt the warmth of his lips upon her knuckles, lingering far longer than was proper. But it was dark, and this was her garden, and no one would tell her what was proper here.

Lucien did not release her hand as he sat on the bench. He pulled, but she was already falling. She dropped into his lap, and she barely had the chance to gasp before he seized the back of her head and kissed her.

Elain clutched his vest and tugged, as if she could bring him any closer. His tongue pushed at the seam of her lips, and she yielded with a moan. Nails scraped her scalp, sending a shudder down her spine. He clenched his hand in her hair and yanked her head back, tearing their lips apart, and she moaned again at the loss; but he’d moved instead to her neck, wet heat lapping at the tender skin where her pulse raged. She could do no more than grasp at too many layers of fabric separating her from his hard chest, whimpering when his teeth pulled at her earlobe.

When he returned his lips to hers at last, she panted against them. Her hands wandered low enough to feel his cock straining between them, trapped within his tight breeches. Elain sucked his lower lip into her mouth as she loosed the buttons of his breeches to let his cock jump free. She seized his shaft and squeezed.

A sharp breath hissed between Lucien’s teeth. He gathered her skirts up at her back, and he drew his free hand to her bottom so hard and quick that a vulgar slap filled the night air. Elain gasped. Some small part of her, still fretting and pouting in the back of her mind, thought that she should be affronted that he would touch her so roughly. Instead, the sound sent liquid heat pooling between her widespread thighs.

In the moonlight and distant lamps’ glow, she saw Lucien flash a smirk. He squeezed her bottom, murmuring, “Has anyone touched you like this before?”

It was easy to dismiss it as male pride, but through the haughty smile, she also heard the question beneath it. It wasn’t a question she wanted to linger on, but she understood why he’d asked. “Not like this.” Not with her perched atop strong thighs, not with her clothes and her gloves on, not with eyes so open. She leaned forward, his cock still firm in her grip, and she pressed it against her stomach as she whispered into his ear, “Never like this.” She shifted her hips and pushed his cock down, so she could drag her wet slit along the length of him.

A guttural groan rumbled in his throat. He kissed her again as he pulled her bodice down, exposing her breasts to the chill night air, and circled her nipple with his thumb. She arched into the touch, still rolling her clit against his throbbing cock. He was thick, and she was wet, and as exquisite as this felt, she wanted more. She wanted.

Lucien gripped her hip to hold her still as he slipped a finger between them. Elain sucked in a sharp breath as his finger curled inside her. She rose onto her knees to give him better access, rose because she felt untethered from the ground. It had been so long. She’d not even realized it before now, that she’d not even touched herself in weeks for want of any desire.

“How shall I repay your hospitality, my lady?” His words blew hot against her ear as he pushed another finger into her.

Elain whined and thrust against him. Grasping his arm, she felt his bicep flex with each pulse of his hand. Though she throbbed around him, could’ve easily pumped on his fingers until she found her release, she forced herself still, long enough to hold his gaze as she breathed, “Fuck me.”

His response was little more than a growl. He drew his fingers out, and she cried out at the loss–but the cry dissolved into a shuddering sob of relief when he pulled her hips down and thrust his own up, filling her with his cock.

“God,” she gasped, her head rolling back.

Her hands on his shoulders, Elain allowed herself to rise and fall slowly along his length, savoring the feel of him once, twice. Lucien groaned and squeezed her ass. She leaned forward to bite his ear, to run her gloved fingers through his hair. She smiled at the mess she’d made of it. “Is this to your liking, my lord?”

She felt the barest scrape of teeth at her neck before he spoke, “Your work is ruthless, lady.”

“Work? Is this–” Her own cry cut her off–his thumb had found her clit. “Is this work to you, then?”

“No,” he replied with a sonorous chuckle. His free hand took her chin and tilted it so he could whisper in her ear, “It is torture.” She felt his smile as he pressed his lips to her neck. “Did you want me to fuck you? Or did you want to only give me a taste and watch me starve?” His thumb had quickened, worked her mercilessly. “I am not greedy, of course. So long as I can watch you come.”

Elain realized she’d gone still beneath his touch, senseless against him rubbing her clit even as he filled her, making the night spin around her. Even this was too much sensation; she feared how completely she’d come undone if she went further.

She squeezed his shoulders and jerked her hips, moaning as she began to ride him. Her breasts bounced atop her bodice. Lucien slapped her ass again, then kept his hand there, matching the rhythm of her hips as he squeezed and pulled her down forcefully onto him.

“That's it,” he rasped, his eye locked onto her face with a predator’s focus, “let me see you come.”

Elain leaned back, bracing herself on his muscled thighs, giving him better access to her clit. She couldn’t speak, could only let out an unbroken moan that changed in pitch each time she dropped onto him. She was a wanton fool, out here with her breasts thrust up to the open sky, bouncing on a stranger's cock. A reckless fool. She’d never felt such ecstasy.

Lucien said her name, murmured it like it was a sacred thing, and she screamed to the stars as she came.

She hardly noticed herself falling, maybe because his hand at her back kept her from striking the ground too hard, maybe because his cock was still inside her. He was above her now, all composure on his face chased away by feral hunger. He seized her hips and pounded into her throbbing cunt, and she didn’t know if the pulses of lightning pleasure were all the same orgasm or if he was coaxing them out, one after the other.

With a low groan, he pulled out of her to spill his seed onto the soil. Elain went limp, as if she, too, could sink into the earth.

Lucien tilted his head back, breathing deeply of the cool night air, and his thumb idly traced circles on her bare thigh. Fear shot through her like an icy blade. She was a scant minute removed from fucking him on a garden bench, but that simple movement of his fingers running gently over her skin felt too intimate, exposed them both in a way she’d not prepared for when she’d drawn him into this quiet corner.

As if sensing her thoughts, or perhaps the sudden tension in her limbs, Lucien pulled his hand away. He stood and averted his eyes as she pulled the fabric back over her breasts–both of them pretending that he'd not been the one to yank them free in the first place.

He offered a hand to help her up; perfectly acceptable, as if he was helping her exit a carriage. She did not take his arm as they walked in silence back inside.

Not a moment too soon, either–they entered the main hall just as the study door clicked open.

They were near enough to a staircase that Elain could slip away. No one would look for her anyway.

“I thank you for the company, Lady Archeron,” Lucien murmured.

“This cannot happen again,” was Elain’s whispered reply. The words came out in a rush before she had time to consider them; she had to be quick, else the fluttering in her chest might have reached her lips and been made tangible. It was better this way, she told herself. Let this night become ephemera, mere sensation drifting through her dreams only to vanish with the sunrise, never to trouble her with what might be.

Glancing sidelong, she could not quite gauge his reaction; the half of his face she could see had his scarred eye, which revealed nothing beneath its patch. There was tension in his lips, in the flex of his jaw.

But his voice was even, polite. Emotionless. “Good night, my lady.”

Elain scurried into the shadows but did not run upstairs, as she’d intended. She peered around the corner as Lucien stepped forward to meet his brothers and bid farewell to the others. Before any of them noticed his approach, he paused beside a table that held austere marble busts of Rhysand’s ancestors, and without a sound placed the silver spoon there.

The eldest, Eris, met Lucien's gaze and jerked his head to indicate their departure. Lucien followed and did not look back.

“Did you swipe their cutlery?” Eris asked, loud enough for all to hear.

Lucien shrugged. “I decided the quality was not worth the effort. It seems they keep their greatest treasures locked away.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction

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djarindroid · 1 year

Text

Stuck

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian keeps meeting you in the small elevator on base but what happens when it breaks down leaving the two of you stuck inside.

Warnings: Reader has a panic attack but I don't go into much detail.

Word Count: 2,578

Comments: I just wanted to write some pure fluff for Cassian 💕 I may have a rough idea for a part 2 for this in the works.

Day One- Cassian sat in the medical bay with a Doctor stood in front of him rambling on, he had stopped listening the moment he’d been told he’d need to be grounded for at least a month to rest. He thought back to the foolish mistake that had got him here, he was running from imperials and skidded too quickly round a corner, he crashed down some stairs, landing on his wrist and managed to sprain it.

The Doctor gave him some painkillers and dismissed him. Cassian sluggishly wandered to the elevator, wanting to do nothing more than take a hot shower and sleep this awful day away. The doors creaked open in front of him and he stepped in, quickly pressing the button to his floor. He repeatedly pushed the ‘close doors’ button mumbling ‘come on, come on, come on’ under his breath.

He leant against the back panel and watched as the doors finally began to close. An inch away from finally getting what he wanted he watched as a hand hurriedly slid into the gap to push the doors open again. He sighed in annoyance at whoever it was that was prolonging his journey to comfort. Although when the doors reopened he was taken aback, his eyes widened slightly at the person gliding in in front of him. He watched as you gently pressed your button.

He found himself staring at you, he’d surely remember seeing someone like you on base. He’d never seen anyone as beautiful as you before. He was completely mesmerised. You glanced over at him and he had to snap out of it, suddenly finding a mark on the floor extremely interesting.

A gentle blush blossomed across your cheeks as you realised he’d been looking at you. Your role in the rebellion wasn’t very glamorous and didn’t cause you to cross paths with many people, you were mostly just stuck in the record archive day in and day out.

Cassian thought he’d risk taking another glance at you and luckily for him you’d redirected your view back to the doors. He observed the rosy tint to your cheeks and a faint smile grew on his face. He let his eyes subtly roam down your body, taking you all in, but all too soon the doors dinged open and you were stepping out of view.

Day Two- Cassian only saw you briefly the following day, as he exited the lift you were standing there waiting for it. You smiled as you passed him and he couldn’t help but return the smile.

He didn’t understand how he’d never seen you before, surely he’d remember someone like you. Living life constantly jumping from one mission to another didn’t really leave him much time to actually spend at the base, he hoped he’d get more chances to see you before he was allowed to fly out again.

Day Four- It was a couple more days before Cassian crossed your path again. He was back in the elevator, planning to head to the mess hall for something to eat. As the doors began closing he heard a voice call ‘hold the door!’ He pushed the door back and watched as someone stumbled inside, their arms holding a stack of documents which were blocking their face. As they crossed the entrance they tripped, Cassian watched as mountains of paperwork filled the small space. The sound of an exasperated sigh pulled his attention back to the person who had just made that spectacular entrance and he was pleasantly surprised to see you again.

As the doors closed you dropped to your knees to begin gathering everything you’d dropped. Cassian was frozen staring at you for a moment, just happy to be seeing you again. He quickly snapped himself out of it and sank down to help you.

‘Oh you don’t need to do that,’ you insisted. Your voice was quiet but he thought it sounded as sweet as honey. Your cheeks were burning furiously, embarrassed by the impression you were making.

‘I know,’ he replied as he continued gathering paper ‘I want to.’

You silently accepted the help and continued gathering stuff in your arms, your cheeks still flushed red from embarrassment. A comfortable silence fell over you both as you worked together.

Cassian reached out for the final folder not noticing you were already reaching for it too. Your hands bumped into each other and Cassian instantly felt a warmth brew in his chest at the fleeting touch of your skin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this one’ you say as you let out a small giggle which sounded like music to Cassian’s ears.

You both stood up again and Cassian passed you back the paper he’d gathered for you.

‘Thank you’ you say, as the door dings on your floor.

‘Not a problem,’ he starts as you walk out. ‘Just try not to trip again, I might not be there to help next time.’

You turn to smile at him as the doors close between you and Cassian thinks it might just be the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Day Five- It wasn’t long until your paths crossed again, he entered the elevator after a long, uneventful day spent in meetings, going over translated imperial messages which eventually lead to nothing. He was happy to see you already stood in the small compartment, a small smile gracing your lips.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw stuff everywhere today,’ you jested as you slightly waved your empty hands.

The door closed behind Cassian as he let out a laugh. ‘Bet you had fun putting all that back in order,’ he joked.

‘Oh you don’t even wanna know how long it took,’ you smiled looking up at him.

He smiled back as he took in your features. Being able to look at you directly finally without anything in the way, he could really take in your beauty. He couldn’t help but stare as your smile lit up your whole face. You were glowing and Cassian found himself wanting to get to know you better.

‘Cassian,’ he suddenly blurted out, he mentally kicked himself at the way he said it, ‘that’s my name by the way.’ He quickly added. He didn’t understand why he was so nervous, he was a rebel spy and here he was completely messing up a simple introduction.

Your smile didn’t falter as you told him your name ‘nice to officially meet you Cassian.’ He loved the way his name sounded falling from between your lips. He could listen to you talk for hours.

‘Likewise,’ he replied. The sound of the doors dinging cutting your time short again.

‘This is me,’ you gestured as you headed towards the door, ‘until next time.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ Cassian replied as the doors once again closed between you.

Cassian couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. Maybe being grounded wasn’t so bad.

Day Ten- Cassian hadn’t seen you in a while and had started to worry that you’d begun taking a different route. He’d taken to scanning every room he walked into, hoping his eyes would land on you but they never did.

It was late when Cassian decided to head back to his quarters. He noticed the way his heartbeat picked up as he stood waiting for the elevator doors to open, he couldn’t help but let his hopes get up at the thought of seeing you again.

The doors opened and his heart sank, it was empty. Maybe he’d just got lucky in your first few meetings, it was just a complete coincidence that he’d bumped into you so frequently in the same small space. He stood to the back of the lift as it rattled, creeping upwards, stopping on the next floor up.

‘Hey,’ his head shot up at the sound of your voice. Ok maybe his luck hadn’t run out yet.

‘Hello stranger,’ Cassian smiled at you as you pressed your floors button and turned to face him.

The elevator made a strange groaning sound as it moved but you both ignored it. Too caught up in the fact you’d bumped into each other again. You’d barely spoken to each other but neither of you could deny the feeling you felt when you saw the other.

Just as Cassian opened his mouth to speak again the lift jolted to a sharp stop, throwing you towards him. The lights flickered as your hands landed on Cassian’s chest, his one good hand flying to your waist to steady you. Given the circumstances he shouldn’t have been happy to have you standing in his space, but it’d been too long since he’d been close to someone and the brief moment you were in his embrace was a moment of solace for him.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured as you stepped back swiftly, adjusting yourself. The lights were still flickering and Cassian watched you shift anxiously. He leant past you and tried a few of the buttons on the panel, but nothing happened. ‘Are we stuck?’ you questioned as you peered up at him.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine, we can just press the call button’, he pressed the emergency button but nothing happened. ‘Shit,’ Cassian muttured, he pressed the button a few more times but suddenly the lights in the small space shut off completely. You yelped and grabbed Cassian’s arm. ‘Hey, hey don’t worry I’m here,’ Cassian placed his hand over yours. Shit, this isn’t how he wanted seeing you again to go.

A small emergency light came to life over the door, shrouding the room in a low green light. Your grip loosened on Cassian’s arm but you didn’t let go completely. He looked down to you and he hated to see the fear in your eyes. He pressed the button a couple more times, but nothing came of it. Cassian began to panic slightly but he tried not to show it for your sake.

‘What are we gonna do?’ you whispered, ‘What if we’re stuck in here? What if no-one comes? It’s late Cassian no-ones gonna be around’ you began rambling.

Cassian gently said your name, drawing your attention to him. ‘Someone is gonna find us ok?’ He laced your fingers together. ‘We’re not the only people that use this lift, someone will come and see it’s not working, and they’ll get us out.’ His words didn’t seem to be soothing you in any way.

‘Hey come here,’ he pulled your hand lightly as he took a seat on the floor. You sank down next to him, he refused to let go of your hand and tried rubbing his thumb back and forth in an attempt to help calm you.

He didn’t know what to do, he could hear your breathing had picked up as you sat next to him. Your knee was shaking, jostling his own leg as you began to shake. This wasn’t a situation he saw you two being in when you re-entered his life today. He racked his brain trying to think of a way to help you, when the colour of the lights gave him an idea.

He turned his face to look down to you, ‘a few months ago I ended up on this tiny planet in the outer rim,’ he started, ‘I don’t even think it had a name, I was just hiding out there for a few days,’ your breathing hadn’t changed and if anything you just looked confused now, but he pressed on. ‘I lay there one night staring out of the window of my ship and suddenly the whole place was lit up with this bright green light, all different shades were bouncing around me. I rushed outside and I’d never seen anything like it, it was like the sky was alive.’ He noticed your body becoming less tense and the vice-like hold you had on his hand loosened slightly. ‘All these different greens dancing across every inch of the sky…it was stunning.’

He watched as your body began to relax slowly, your breathing gradually becoming more steady. ‘It…’ you took a deep breath in and started again ‘it sounds beautiful’.

‘I can take you, if you want,’ he looked between your eyes, hoping he wasn’t taking too big of a jump. You barely know each other and here he is inviting you away from the base, to a planet he didn’t know the name of.

You couldn’t hold back the smile that burst onto your face, Cassian let out a small sigh of relief as you replied ‘I’d like that.’

During the short silence that followed Cassian noticed your eyes flitting around the room again, panic setting in once more about your current situation, before he could act though you whispered ‘Can you tell me more?’ you turned back to him ‘more stories about what you get to see.’

So Cassian did just that, he spoke about anything he could think of, from a juicy purple fruit he once tried, to the giant loth cat he once found stowed away on his ship. As the stories went on you became more and more relaxed, eventually resting your head onto his shoulder. After a while your grip on his hand loosened completely and it took him a moment to notice you’d fallen asleep. Cassian felt his face flush, knowing how at ease he’d managed to make you feel.

He laid his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. He couldn’t quite explain the warmth that radiated through him, but he felt content for the first time in years. He stayed awake until morning, cherishing the small respite with you.

After a few hours he heard someone on the other side of the doors trying to pry them open.

‘Hey,’ he cooed your name gently so as to not startle you. You rose sheepishly, slightly flustered that you’d fallen asleep. ‘Looks like we’re getting out of here.’ Cassian rose to his feet, his hand still entwined with your own. He helped you to stand as the doors sprung open. Daylight washed over you both and Cassian gestured for you to exit first. You led him out, still hand in hand, and you both thanked the man who had freed you as you passed.

You both stood for a moment, enjoying the moment of freedom. He knew he shouldn’t think it was enjoyable being trapped in such a small space for so long because of how it made you feel, but he knew he’d only remember the way you made him feel.

‘I’m this way,’ you pointed behind you down the corridor and Cassian couldn’t help feeling deflated, realising he’d need to let you go as he was in the other direction.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ he asked, hopeful that you would say yes.

‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ you said, beaming up at him. You leant in to him, ‘thank you, for keeping me sane in there.’ You tiptoed so you could place a gentle kiss to his cheek, Cassian was sure you would be able to feel the sudden heat radiating from his skin. He watched as you swayed away down the corridor, his hand lightly coming up to touch where you had kissed him. He stood there until you were well out of sight.

Cassian never thought he’d say it but not being able to go out on missions may be the best thing that’s happened to him.

Part two

#Cassian Andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fluff #andor #star wars fanfiction #rogue one fanfiction

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m0srael · 8 months

Text

FIC REC:

A wee spinoff of my lapsed but not dead series, Reading Recs From Friends

I Was GIFTED (!!!)

The Waiting by @oknowkiss w/ art by @babooshkart [Drarry | E | 43k] cw: substance abuse, depression, grief

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love. inspired by the fantastic song "this tornado loves you" by neko case.

One Sentence Recap: Everyone in Harry's life is trying desperately to drag him out of the past, away from the moment he lost Draco to the unknown, but what if the past is the only thing that will save them both?

"I have waited with a glacier's patience Smashed every transformer with every trailer 'Til nothing was standing 65 miles wide Still you are nowhere Still you are nowhere Nowhere in sight" -Neko Case, This Tornado Loves You

This song is one of my absolute favorite songs of all time--it captures the raw emotion of frantic, seemingly-doomed, mutually destructive love in a way that doesn't deny its potential, all-consuming beauty. There's something painfully sweet about the music, the lyrics, and also this fic that @oknowkiss wrote based on a prompt I submitted for @hd-wireless 2023, and then GIFTED to me! Elaine and I share a deep love of complicated, plotty, twisty stories--I gaze up at them in awe every time I read something new by them because they are such a master of plot and narrative. This story is no exception--the characters are exceptionally imagined, the world is rich and unique, the mystery keeps you guessing in the best of ways, and the twist will absolutely take your damn breath away. I laughed, I cried actual tears, and I had to sit for a long time once I finished trying to figure out how to breathe again. Here are some specific things I loved about this story:

👨🏽‍🤝‍👨🏼 The Relationship Dynamics This particular song certainly opens the door for angst and tension and HOO BOY does E deliver on that front. Harry's depression and grief over Draco's disappearance feels so palpable and relatable. At times I pitied him, felt real heartbreak for him, and wanted to give him a firm slap to the back of the head. Draco is ESPECIALLY magnificently realized in this story--he has every characteristic I love: sharp and witty, scared and desperate, arrogant but deeply unsure of himself. He is the perfect foil to a Harry who is unmoored and craving some sort of connection with someone or something. The tension between them crackles with unspoken resentment, fiery sexual attraction, and the sort of nihilistic self-importance that seems to saturate early adulthood. It makes for some INCREDIBLE smut--no spoilers but there is a scene that begins in a dive bar in Alaska that you will be thinking about probably for the rest of your life🔥🔥. E also crafts some incredible relationships between Harry and the rest of the characters. The dynamics between him and Ron and Hermione are delicious as they worry for his very sanity and try their best to be good friends to him. E's OCs are spectacular--there is one in particular who has my whole heart, I don't even need to tell you which one you will absolutely know.

🌎 The World Building Elaine takes a very cool approach to ministry training and curse breaking that I've never read before--their descriptions of the training camp are so vivid I could picture everything so well as it happened. This story takes us and the characters around the world, and E really takes the time to ground us sensorially and paint us an incredible picture of exactly what Harry is experiencing. His depression and grief come through in the environment that he's built for himself--there are little symbols that reappear throughout the fic that feel like gentle taps on the shoulder--remember this?. It's a really masterful way of making an expansive, potentially disjointed universe feel smaller, traversable, and knowable. It can also be very challenging to describe brand new magical mechanics and theory in a way that a reader can understand, without bogging them down in detail--again, E does this beautifully. I felt totally sucked in to the world they crafted!=

📝 The Plot Look, it is very hard to write a mystery story that doesn't alienate the reader but still holds back some twists and surprises. It's even HARDER to do all of those things when you're writing in not one, but TWO timelines, and E absolutely smashes it with this fic. I had so many (incorrect) theories about what the hell was happening as I was reading--it was so fun to take the little crumbs E was leaving and try to make sense of them while Harry also tried to make sense of them. I am so delighted that at the end, some of the things I speculated about came to pass, but there were many things that I didn't see coming!

🎨 Bonus: The Art @babooshkart NEVER MISSES that is a truth universally acknowledged, one affirmed by the art they created for this story. Pictures, imagery, and the act of looking play such a vivid role in this story and Boo manages to capture so many of the little details Elaine uses to activate her narrative and her characters in a single, incredible image. Looking at Boo's art invites us to step into Harry's shoes, and lets us a little further into his world. The lighting in the photo feels close and intimate to the point of being lonely, the clutter Boo included in the scene echoes Harry's feeling of being crowded and overwhelmed by the case and by life, and as always Harry are (young) Draco are depicted beautifully.

Thank you for writing this story and gifting it to me!

More to read from @oknowkiss: 📚 a licence to kill [Drarry | M | 11k] 📚 Their microfic may 2022 series, jesus, etc. [Drarry | E | 3k] 📚 the complete idiot's guide to losing your entire mind [Drarry | E | 10k] 📚 Historians [Drarry | E | 30k]

More to look at from @babooshkart: 🎨 Boo's own Wireless 2023 contribution, Keep Driving [M] 🎨 The art they made for booktopus's Reverse Bang fic, A Convergence of Inks [G] 🎨 This steamy Dronarry they did for HP Triadfest 2022 [E] 🎨 Twenty five (25!!!!!!) drawings they did for 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2021

#mose recs #reading recs from friends #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fic #hd wireless 2023 #hd wireless fic and art #oknowkiss #babooshkart #healing my little brain one story at a time

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track2hack · 21 days

Text

07.04.2024

Pegasus/Harris Trophy 2024!! 🎉

I CANNOT say enough how proud I am of this little mare!! Her very first time going out without horses she knows well, her first time doing (some pretty freaky looking!) obstacles, and her FIRST ROSETTE 🤩🎉

In our first test (L2 2A) we smashed it out of the park not needing it called and got a 63.64 (70/100)! Those numbers will mean something to someone but nothing to me, I’m not a dressage rider 😂

In between tests our team did a pretty spectacular wine relay (everyone was watching at least 😅) and she was mega! She may look fat as a fat thing but she certainly has some get up n go about her!

Our second test (L2 2B) I didn’t warm up as much as I should’ve and the test suffered a bit for it -thought we had more riders ahead of us than we really did!- but still somehow managed to pull off a 63.08 (82/100)!

Combined show jumping/obstacles was what we were really there for though 😜 She’s a little jumping powerhouse and as soon as she saw the warmup ring she was all business! Did lose some brain function though but we got it back 😂 She pulled together a really sweet round and didn’t flinch at the flappy tarp with rubber ducks and mr frog hiding in the corner and trusted me enough to walk over the hay bales with noisy whirring fans and flowers! It doesn’t show up on camera but there’s a big black rubber mat on the ground in between the cones and she had a wee nosy at that but walked right over it first time!

Our super little team came 14th out of 18 fiercely competitive and talented teams and I’m so thrilled we decided to go through with the day! It was the most fun I’ve had at something that isn’t endurance and everyone was so nice and happy to talk us first timers through everything 😅🤩 Highly recommend getting out to Pegasus Cup if you can make it on the list!!

Gemmy’s having a well deserved break from competing this month and then back at it again for the In House day at Belfast!! This time mum might actually be allowed to pilot her pony 😉🤷‍♀️

#IM SO PROUD OF GEM AND PROUD OF ME WERE A SPECIAL LITTLE TEAM OF WEIRDOS #horseblr #horsblr #equiblr #equine #equestrian #horses #horses of tumblr #bay pinto #pinto horse #bay tobiano #show jumping #cowboy challenge #pony club #my ponies

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inlovewithquotes · 1 year

Text

"Ladies and gentlemen," Colin announced, his strong, confident voice booming throughout the hall, "I would like to propose a toast to the most remarkable woman in the world."

A low murmur spread across the room, and Penelope stood frozen, watching everyone watching her

"I am a newlywed," Colin continued, beguiling the partygoers with his lopsided smile, "and therefore you are all required to indulge me in my lovesick ways."

Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd.

"I know that many of you were surprised when I asked Penelope Featherington to be my wife. I was surprised myself."

A few unkind titters wafted through the air, but Penelope held herself perfectly still, completely proud. Colin would say the right thing. She knew he would. Colin always said the right thing.

"I wasn't surprised that I had fallen in love with her," he said pointedly, giving the crowd a look that dared them to comment, "but rather that it had taken so long. I've known her for so many years, you see," he continued, voice softening, " and somehow I'd never taken the time to look inside, to see the beautiful, brilliant, witty woman she'd become."

Penelope could feel the tears trickling down her face, but she couldn't move. She could barely breathe. She had expected him to reveal her secret, and instead he was giving her this incredible gift, this spectacular declaration of love.

"Therefore," Colin said, "with all of you here as my witnesses, I would like to say--Penelope--" he turned to her, taking her free hand in his and said: "I love you. I adore you. I worship the ground you walk upon."

He turned back to the crowd, lifted his glass, and said, "to my wife!"

"To your wife!" they all boomed, caught up in the magic of the moment.

Colin drank, and Penelope drank, even though she couldn't help but wonder when he was going to tell them all the real reason for this announcement.

"Put down your glass, dear," he murmured, plucking it from her fingers and setting it aside.

"But---"

"You interrupt far too much," he scolded, and then he swept her into a passionate kiss, right there on the balcony in front of the entire ton.

"Colin!" she gasped, once he gave her a chance to breathe. He grinned wolfishly as their audience roared its approval.

"Oh, and one last thing!" he called to the crowd. They were now stamping their feet, hanging on his every word.

"I'm leaving the party early. Right now, as a matter of fact." He shot a wicked, sideways grin at Penelope. "I'm sure you'll all understand."

The men in the crowd hooted and hollered as Penelope turned beet red.

"But before I do, I have one last thing to say. One last little thing, in case you still don't believe me when I tell you that my wife is the wittiest, cleverest, most enchanting woman in all of London."

"Nooooo!" came a voice from the back, and Penelope knew it was Cressida. But even Cressida was no match for the crowd, none of whom would let her pass, or even listen to her cries of distress.

"You might say that my wife has two maiden names," he said thoughtfully. "Of course you all knew her as Penelope Featherington, as did I. But what you didn't know, and what even I was not clever enough to figure out until she told me herself...."

He paused waiting for the silence to fall over the room.

"....is that she is also the brilliant, the witty, the breathtakingly magnificent--- Oh, you all know who I am talking about," he said, his arm sweeping out toward the crowd.

"I give you my wife!" he said, his love and pride flowing across the room. "Lady Whistledown!"

For a moment there was nothing but silence. It was almost as if no one even dared to breathe.

And then it came. Clap. Clap. Clap. Slow and methodical, but with such force and determination that everyone had to turn and look to see who had dared to break the shocked silence.

It was Lady Danbury.

-Romancing Mister Bridgerton

#quotes #book quotes #literature #books & libraries #life quotes #relationship quotes #love quotes #long quotes #julia quinn #bridgerton #romancing mister bridgerton #polin #polin quotes #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington

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vinvantae · 2 years

Note

Can you write a one shot about the Hungarian GP and start of summer break in Namibia with Lewis pleeaaaseee xxx

Of course I can! Thank you for the request ☀️ 🇳🇦 Short and sweet 💜

Warnings - None

***************************************************

You couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face as Lewis sped across the line, his podium streak continuing with a spectacular second. With all the speed you could muster, you ran from the garage so you could be right up against the barrier when he came out on the podium.

The Brit immediately found you when he stepped out, throwing you a playful wink before he took his place on the podium. You were really glad that he had taken a podium right before summer break - the two of you were going to Namibia and he was going to be in high spirits. Even though you attended a lot of races, you were still quite a private person, Lewis more than happy to keep you to himself. Sure, they new your name, but the details of your personal life you’d managed to keep to yourself. Sharing your partner with the world was tough but it was worth it for how much you loved him.

You loved his passion and his determination to keep fighting despite the rough start to the season. His hard work beginning to pay off - so, most would assume that your trip would be relaxing but you know your Lewis. He couldn’t sit still for more than 5 minutes so you knew he’d have activities planned for your whole trip.

He pulled his braids back off of his face as you scooped your board under your arm, trudging down towards the still waters. He’d originally wanted to go surfing but the ocean was too calm, so he’d rented electric-boards for you. It wasn’t just the two of you either, Fabio and several others had joined for you the day. And of course, you didn’t mind, you were well used to Lewis’ social butterfly tendencies.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t cherish your time alone with him. He’d rented a beautiful villa right on the coast for the two of you to share.

Lewis had two favourite parts of each day. The first was having breakfast with you on the front decking, before the caffeine kicked in and he felt the need to be rushing around constantly. He could enjoy a nice moment of quiet with you, nothing but a soft chatter and the sound of the waves lapping against the sand.

The other was when he got to wrap you up in his arms when the nights cooled down - your back against his chest as the two of you laid outside on a lounger, looking up at the stars. As much as adventuring and trying new things was fun, just feeling you against him and doing absolutely nothing was his favourite. They always say time flies when you’re having fun, but the Brit always found he lost track of time when the two of you did nothing together.

“I can’t see the bear.”

He quirked a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“You know how the Ursa Major is supposed to be a bear?” You hummed, pointing at the sky. “I can see like the saucepan part but where’s the bear?”

The driver couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him and he squeezed you close before reaching up and tracing the pattern of stars. “You see there? That part is his tail and those are his legs and head.”

You considered the stars for a little while. “Looks more like a horse or something.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll ring nasa and tell them first thing in the morning.” He chuckled softly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I think it’s time we get you to bed, you’re starting to sound a little loopy.”

“Mhmm, I’d argue but I thought I saw a constellation shaped like Helmut Marko a minute ago.” You admitted, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head. “Been a long day.”

Lewis smiled. “It has. Ready for another one tomorrow?”

“You know it, my love.” You purred, turning to give him a chaste kiss before standing up and offering him your hand.

He linked his fingers with yours and let you lead him to bed, clothes being tossed carelessly to the ground so you could slide straight under the sheets and back into his arms.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” You asked, brushing your finger tips across his jawline.

“Pancakes? We can make them together.”

You nodded eagerly before nestling your head against his chest and closing your eyes. The driver traced his fingers up and down your spine as you drifted off in his arms. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep after you, the two of you eager to take on another day of adventure.

But for Lewis, it was all about spending more time with you.

***************************************************

Hope you enjoyed 💜

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #Lewis hamilton x reader #x reader #hamilton x reader #f1 one shot

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bicycle4two · 1 year

Text

fine as we are, but we want more || Jason Todd x Female!Reader || Chapter 1 of 8

Summary:

all things considered, you're pretty lucky.

in all your years living in gotham city, you've never been mugged, never had your apartment broken into, never been held as a hostage.

until now.

it seems your luck has run out and there's nothing you can do about it other than wait for someone to come rescue you. . . .

or, jason and you reunite after a long time.

Notes:

title's from "fools" by lauren aquilina

i haven't written fic in a good while and well, playing gotham knights made me want to write jason todd fic because i love him

this is mostly self indulgent, just scenes i wanted to write all crammed together. it's been a hot minute so i'm very rusty

hope you enjoy it though!

...

Read on AO3

...

Chapter 1:

You like to think that all things considered, you’re pretty lucky.

Living in Gotham is no walk in the park. You imagine that people don’t normally have to look over their shoulder as often as you do when you leave the comforts of your apartment. You think that maybe people outside of Gotham don’t play Bad Guy Bingo with their friends, checking to see if they’ve got the wining row of cliches and chaos on their way home.

One night, you found yourself texting BINGO to your group chat within thirty minutes of leaving the café, having witnessed a bunch of Freaks setting fire to the streets—obviously just because they can—while trying to break open an armored truck’s door. It didn’t take long before Nightwing somersaulted into the scene and quickly beat the group to the ground, quite literally, if you do say yourself.

It was the description of Nightwing’s spectacular entrance that caused your win. Your friends tend to forget the theatrics of the hero.

Anyway. For all the years you’ve been living in Gotham, walking its streets, and being witness to the disorder and mayhem that the city seems to be victim to much too often, you’d been lucky. Your apartment has never been broken into, you’ve never had your purse stolen in broad daylight, nor have you been held at gunpoint.

Maybe you were born with the knack of always being in the right place at the right time. Or maybe, just maybe, you had someone looking out for you.

At least, that’s what if felt like a few years ago.

You wonder if anyone else has noticed that the Robin they see fighting on the streets, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, was not the original Robin.

You’ve heard stories of the Batman for years, practically grew up watching the news cover his fights with major threats like the Joker and the Riddler, and he almost seemed like a fairytale—the dark hero that keeps the monsters from coming to get you in the night. It wouldn’t surprise you if no one questioned the child, now teenager, fighting alongside him, maybe because he seemed like a myth, too. You remember the time Robin first appeared alongside the Dark Knight, flipping over bad guys with a boyish laugh only to hit them where it hurts when they least expect it.

You remember the first Robin and you’ve met, befriended, maybe even loved (if teenage you even knew what that meant, what that entailed) the second.

Your Robin.

The boy who fought with strength that seemed to come from someone much bigger than himself.

You were a couple months into your freshmen year of high school when you first ran into him.

You were once again out late at night, not your choice, really, the library had run out of paper and you really needed to photocopy several chapters from a first edition (something you cannot check out) for your homework, and were just about to take a short cut through an alley when you stumbled into something you were sure you were going to see all over social media tomorrow.

Robin stood with his back to you, his attention on four grown men in different states of collapse. Two were face down on the ground, hands zip tied behind their back. One was leaning against a dumpster, eyes unfocused and drool and blood dripping from his mouth. The last was dangling upside down from the fire escape. He was missing a shoe and his jacket was slipping off his arms.

You were so focused on taking in the sight of it all (it really is different witnessing something in person than seeing it on a screen) that you didn’t realize that Robin was now looking at you, a curious frown on his face.

“I wouldn’t go down here if I were you,” he said, forcing your attention to him, thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the scene behind him like he needed to clarify what he was talking about.

“I, I need to get home,” you told him, almost embarrassed by how small your voice sounded. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to talk to Robin. “It’s, uh, faster through here.”

“Faster doesn’t always mean safer.” Robin gestured to the bodies behind him again, emphasizing the scene once more. “If that wasn’t obvious.”

“Good thing I wasn’t here a minute too soon then,” you let out a huff. You wanted to take his advice, you really did, but again, you needed to get home and it was only getting later. “I doubt there’re more hiding around the corner there… maybe if I’m quick…”

“I think it would be better if you stick to where the light is, Miss.” There was a bit of impatience laced in his tone. You figured that Robin had better places to be now that his job here was done. There was only more crime to stop in Gotham. “Or, I don’t know, maybe call someone to get you.”

You couldn’t keep yourself from pouting at his insistence that you don’t take the shortcut. You really didn’t want to be picked up and lectured if you could help it. There was a reason why you chose to walk home despite the risks.

“But that could take like thirty minutes. Can’t you just, I don’t know, escort me? Isn’t that like in your guidelines?”

The Boy Wonder let out a short, surprised laugh. The restless energy he was exuding fading. “Guidelines?”

“Yeah.” You perked up as well, glad that he no longer seemed like he was trying to get rid of you. “Superheroes save cats from trees and help old ladies cross the street. Things like that.”

“I must have missed the memo,” Robin said, grinning. “It really says that?”

“Yup. Pretty sure I’ve read it in Superheroing for Dummies or something.” You gave him a smile. “So, what do you say?”

The boy put his hand on his hip, a sort of thinking pose, you guessed, before he shrugged his shoulder. “Oh, what the heck,” he said under his breath. “C’mon. What kind of hero would I be if I don’t make sure you get home safely?”

And he did get you home in one piece, his presence reassuring and comforting on the walk back to your old apartment building.

You didn’t expect him to make small talk, he looked like the type who was comfortable in silence, preferred it, but he asked about the papers you had cradled in your arms and surprised you with some recommendations for your paper, suggested other books to look into. When you reached the front steps of the building, keys out to unlock the door, you didn’t even have the chance to thank him before he disappeared into the night. You looked into the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but, alas, all you saw was darkness.

With a sigh of disappointment, you figured that maybe that was the last time you would see the Boy Wonder.

But then you caught sight of him right before the bank down the street practically burst into flames, people in heavy body armor running out with bags of money, and you watched him jump down from an impressive height, landing a kick on a goon twice his size.

And, again, you saw him brooding on one of the buildings you walked past on your way home, almost missing him if not for the chill that went down your spine, the telltale sign that you were being watched. Once you saw how his brightly colored suit looked in contrast with the dark skies of Gotham, it got easier to spot him running on top of buildings before disappearing into the shadows.

And again, and again, and again, outside the library’s doors, back against the wall, waiting for you.

“It’s late,” he would say, like this wasn’t the first time he’d wait for you to finish your schoolwork.

He said it like it was a coincidence that he was there, like he hadn’t waited for you about a dozen times before—in front of the school’s gates after you stayed back to decorate the classroom for the holidays, by the bus stop when you returned to the city after a weekend at your grandparents, behind the gazebo in the park when you stayed out late into the night just because being at home was too stifling.

“Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

“And leave you with nothing to do during your patrol?” You smiled when he took your backpack from you, the weight of your borrowed books practically nothing to him. “We all know how quiet Gotham is at night.”

“Safest city in the country.” He agreed before a thoughtful look passed over his features.

It was a familiar sight and you stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak.

Your friendship with the Boy Wonder (confirmed after a particularly awkward conversation that involved a lot of uhms and uhs and flushed faces) was special, unique—the kind of friendship that you were pretty sure you’d trust him with your secrets, your life, but he couldn’t return the favor, because of course he couldn’t, but you still trusted him and he still tried, tried to give you what he could, so you waited for him to gather his thoughts and put it into words that he could say.

“You’re…,” he began, clearing his throat. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“I don’t think I am. I do live on like the tenth floor. Why?”

Robin pulled out what you’d come to know as a grappling hook from his back, waving it with a grin on his face. It didn’t take you even a second to know what he was trying to say, and you found yourself returning his excited look.

“No. Can we, really?”

“Just hold tight,” he said as his only warning, arm suddenly tight around your waist, forcing you to press close to his side, your arms immediately wrapping around him before he lifted the grappling hook and shot upwards, sending you both into the midnight sky of Gotham, laughter lost in the wind.

A year into knowing Robin, he handed you what you at first thought was simply a keychain shaped like a bat. The visit started with him practically scaring you out of your seat, pointing out a misspelling you had in your research paper, his face so close to yours that you caught a whiff of his mint toothpaste in his breath.

“Jesus.” You breathed out, heart practically in your throat. You heard him laugh behind you, footsteps walking away. With a quick glance at the clock on your desk you saw that you’ve been working on your paper for a good couple of hours, so focused that you’ve literally lost track of time and your surroundings.

“Hello to you, too, Robin,” you said to him with a roll of your eyes, pushing your chair back and turning to look at him. He’s climbed into your room through the window again, tracking the dirt and grime from Gotham’s streets onto your fluffy rug.

“Here,” he said, tossing the keychain over his back. You barely caught it, jumping out of your chair to keep it from clattering to the ground, glaring at him when you have it safely in your hands. “Keep this with you, will ya?”

“And what is this?” You looked it over, thumb gliding over the metal finish. The wings felt sharp enough to slice through your skin if you weren’t careful.

“Good luck charm.” Robin said with a shrug, purposely not looking at you. “Might save you one day.”

“Oh yeah? How so?” You asked even though you saw the button. It reminded you of those anti-crime buzzers the school handed out at the beginning of the year. You had yours hanging on your backpack, unused, luckily.

Robin finally looked at you and frowned deeply, unamused, when he saw the look on your face. You knew that he knew that you knew what it was, what you were supposed to do with it when the time came, but you wanted him to explain it to you anyway, just to show that he cared. You watched him struggle with himself for a minute before he let out a grumble, marching over to you.

You immediately realized that you’d miscalculated your teasing because Robin was in front of you, standing close as he flipped the bat in your hands. You looked at him through your lashes, took in his features up close. You thought that his nose was slightly crooked, probably from being broken a few times, and there was a cut on his lip that was healing nicely. You remembered when it was fresh and bleeding, half his face discolored from a blossoming bruise, and you were rightly horrified at the sight, never thinking that Robin would crawl through your window, hands on his bruised ribs, cape and uniform dirty and torn.

It was nerve wracking having to patch him back up to the best of your ability with your makeshift First Aid kit. And keeping an eye on him as he slept over the covers of your bed, the sun only just beginning to rise, waiting for your alarm to ring. He had promptly passed out after a quick call to, you want to say Batman to reassure him that he was alive and that he’d be home soon. You promised that you’d wake him before morning so that he could go back to the Bat Cave.

(Bat Cave! You never would have thought such a thing existed.)

You let him sleep in just a bit longer, scared that he’d probably collapse on his way to homebase.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Robin wasn’t indestructible. That like you, he was only human.

And he was young.

It was fairly easy to see that he was your age, voice young but had definitely already cracked before you’d met. You were about the same height, but you could already see that in time—probably sooner than you’d like—he’d outgrow you, shoot up like bean and gloat about it for the foreseeable future.

But for now, for now you were the same height, and if Robin were to look up from your hands to see if you understood his explanation—there really wasn’t much to say, really, just press the button when you’re in danger and he’d come save you—you’d find that everything would align—you’d be eye to eye, nose to nose, and lips to lips.

The thought caused you to blush and take a step away from him when he did look up.

“Press the button, gotcha,” you said, clearing your throat. The room was warmer all of a sudden, but the weight of the key chain felt heavy in your hand—it scared you to think that one day you were going to have to use it.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Robin said, voice soft, clearly catching the change in your mood, practically read your mind. “Angel,” he held your hand tightly in his, grounding you. “No matter what, I’ll come to you, okay? Nothing can stop me from coming back to you.”

“Promise?” You asked, looking him in the eyes. Or in the mask. The whites of his domino mask hid one of the biggest secrets you’d always wanted to know.

“I promise,” he swore and a moment between you two, both unmoving, eye to eye, passed before he cleared his throat, red blossoming on his cheeks. You felt the same warmth on your own, but you didn’t look away from him. He probably felt the weight of his words in that moment, realized the kind of promise he’s made. But he didn’t take it back. Instead, he tried to shrug it off like it was no big deal.

“Besides,” he said, grin forming on his lips once again. “If you’re lucky you’ll never have to use it.”

And you were lucky, for the most part.

You kept the keychain with you, fashioned it into a necklace when you figured that if you were in any danger, your bag and phone would probably be the first to go. You never had to use it, thankfully, never found yourself in a situation that called for it.

But oh, was it tempting. Because although you and Robin were friends, it wasn’t like you could send him a text or an email and ask if he wanted to meet up for a movie. Or you could if only you had his contact details.

Apparently, friends of vigilantes aren’t exactly privy to that kind of information. Like his name or what he really looks like.

So, yes, it was tempting to use, what you fondly called, the bat buzzer because you knew it would bring Robin to you and maybe it would make him mad, make him think that you’re in danger, but some nights when the pressure from your parents and school and maybe just life in general was too much, you wished there was an easier way to get Robin to your side, to have him be with you if only just to listen to you rant or hold you when you cry.

But you wouldn’t do that to him. No. You wouldn’t abuse the power of the buzzer like that. You wouldn’t take Robin’s attention away from what could be something important just to keep you company.

So, the bat stayed around your neck, the metal cool against your skin, as you waited for the next time you would see Robin again.

And wait you did.

You waited for him. You waited for him outside the library, looked out for him when the sky grew dark on your way home, and stayed by your window, eyes scanning roof tops in the hopes that you’d see the bright red of his uniform.

You waited for what felt like a lifetime, worried when for a time after Batman sent Joker to Arkham in a full body cast, you’d see pictures of the Dark Knight on your feed, alone, fighting crime without the Boy Wonder by his side. You wanted to use the buzzer then, just to see him, to see if he was alright. But something told you that even if you pressed the button he wasn’t going to come.

And the thought of that made your chest cold, made your heart hurt in a way that made you understand why they described it as broken, so to ease the pain, you decided that maybe not knowing was better than knowing. That if you never called for him, there was still a possibility that somewhere out there, he was okay and, in time, maybe, hopefully, he’d come back.

So, you left the button alone and waited.

Waited until images popped up online of a costumed boy with a familiar R on his brightly colored suit fighting off bad guys with a bō staff.

It was Robin.

Only, he wasn’t your Robin.

And maybe that was the confirmation that you needed that if you were to push the button, your Robin wasn’t going to come.

But right now, on the cold hard floor of the cage you’re in, with music blaring from the speakers that the Freaks dragged into the building, you wonder if you should take that risk.

You hear the moans and cries of the other hostages, pleading for someone to save them, hear the taunting of the Freaks as they tell you that no one was going to come, and you wonder what would happen if you pushed the button on the bat’s back.

Because what was there to lose? Your luck has run out. You were taken in the night and now you’re forced to listen to awful heavy metal music and stare up at your captor’s made up face, his awful excuse of clown make up smeared from sweat and grime, and you think that this isn’t how you want to go, that this freak isn’t the last thing you want to see, that this noise isn’t the last thing you want to hear, and God forbid this stench is the last thing you’re going to smell, so with nothing else to lose, you bring out the bat around your neck and push the button down as hard as you can.

And you wait.

...

Chapter 2

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pieroulette · 1 year

Text

BOX

2023 | 2k | 13+ | COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES × PARK JAY

WARNING angsty, loneliness, mc is just tired of everything, short tempered! jay, he's just really noisy, cursing here and there. turn to fluff ig idk T_T, not proofread :3 grammatical errors yes

Lit up screen shining onto your face, straining your eyes with it’s whole effort—even the texts never cease to throw you mockery.

You type out a long paragraph, erase it after a few minutes of contemplation, you type out again, swiping through your list of active ‘friends’—which one? Which one should you ask? Which one? Which one?

Mother and Father says to never complain or confide in your problems with other people for they may use it against you in the nearer future.

Someone you trusted, words weaved in gentleness and familiarity—where have they gone to, you thought—as the photo with their clasped hands splattered to the reflection of your glassy eyes.

Darkness engulfed the cold room, your hands weren’t shivering though—your heart does—chattering just like your fingers typing out another long paragraph you knew you were going to erase once again.

You read through the old chats of the person you trusted—letting out a fit of laughter at all the silly little jokes you two created together—only for your eyes to blur in the sea of waterfall while you let out laughter one after another.

“You might be overreacting!” they say.

“This will pass, this is nothing!”

“You’re just emo.” they say.

Though as trivial as it looks, or as insignificant it sounds—sometimes there’s still a lingering wound from the words that were said. A little, tiny enough not to be noticed, but hidden enough—etched inside your soul till you carry it on your back your entire life.

Nevertheless, you’ll still erase the paragraph you type out for hours and tell yourself that;

“I’m just overreacting.” or “Others had it worse than me.”

Knock! Knock!

Your eyes fell on the wooden door, it would take you four or five steps to reach it and turn the handle. Yet, your fingers remain glued on the screen.

Cold breeze hits your cheeks, biting your skin like you were a corpse. How funny, you really thought of yourself as a corpse now.

You went out for work, pouring your soul into the sea of crowds once again, low murmurs and all sorts of sounds mixing altogether in what you would call now—meaningless noise.

Llowering your back till it's parallel to the ground—your spinal cord snapping like a rope everytime you repeat this action like an emotionless robot.

People, no—chattering boxes with nonsense spewing out from their boxy mouths. Saying things that degrade you to the point you have to suppress yourself from by biting your lips till it bleeds. Even when they put you down, threw insults at you, treated you like a trash—you kept silent, swallowing it all inside your stomach and throwing it all out in the dimly lit washroom while others were on lunch break.

Work doesn't feel like work anymore, your hands and your soul are bound in a tight rope akin to a marionette—moving in an autopilot mode. You have no idea what you want to do with your life, even getting up from your bed feels like you have to use your entire energy to do so, you just wanted to sleep though.

Your passion doesn't feel like it exists anymore, you knew what you should do but you just don't have the energy to do anything. You just wanted to sleep, drifting away to your Dreamland where all you would do is fell deep into your slumber—sleep to your heart's content, indulging yourself in the comfortness of your bed whilst the spectacular view of the universe presented itself before you and only for you.

Yet, the outrageous clock rang it's mockery to your ears once again—just like any other day.

Tired. Tired. Tired. Words you etched with your own fingers onto your walls to keep your mind sane as days go by. You couldn't even remember when you did that.

Sunlit summer kisses the wooden floor before you, flickering shadows of leaves shone on your yellow painted wall.

"Stay strong!"

"Don't give up."

"This will pass."

Bullshit.

You don't want to go to work today, you don't want to. You look at yourself through the reflection of your tiny round mirror placed on the round wooden table—heavy dark eye bags, eyes that hold no soul inside it—who were you even looking at?

This is not even you.

You were wondering maybe you should go outside and try something different instead—after all what could go wrong, and even more so why would you even worry about what could go wrong when your life had crumbled into nothing before your eyes?

Your eyes fell on the cardboard box leaning against the wall, you took the knife from the shelves and carved two round holes on the box and then a half crescent moon just beneath them.

It fitted right to the shape of your head when you put it on—you saw yourself through the mirror. Hidden, safe, and anonymous. Your identity enclosed in this tiny box from the noises of this world. Safe and sound. Silent and submerged in your tiny made up world.

Luminous blue sky kisses the snowy clouds forming beneath them, and just beside those clouds—there the sun stands in its brightest glory as it kisses the glassy windows of the tall buildings with its vibrant yellow hues.

Sea of banners and confettis shoots up in the air and fell upon the approaching cars with thousands of cosplayers waving their hands for the people in the sidelines.

The crowd greeted you the moment you stepped out, their lips tugged up in the slightest smiles as if to acknowledge your presence, little children running up to you in their tiny hops—stretching out their tiny palms which had a tiny red wrapped candy.

"For you!"

Your heart flutters like the flapping wings of a butterfly with the childrens' small gesture towards you. So tiny, yet the gesture was so significant you couldn't help but to smile, a tiny tear down your cheeks as you took the candy to your hand trying to take a taste of it but you realise—it would take two of your hands to take the box from your head.

Since the tight fitted box round your head won't come off unless you let go off that sweet candy on tight grasp beneath your right hand.

"Hey! What are you doing there? We're fucking late!" your arms get tugged by someone muttering a thousand words you couldn't fathom what it was but by his tone—it was obvious he was annoyed. You tried your best to get a better look at his face yet the carved out holes were pathetically too tiny for you to do so.

You could only let yourself be dragged away by the stranger who had his mouth chattering nonsense all the way through the journey—nonsense it was, yet this unfamiliarity from his voice somehow brought a weight of home towards your empty heart.

"H-Hey! Hey! We aren't late, aren't we?!" Stumbling on your feet, your face fell terribly on the strangers back.

"Oh!— sorry! You okay?" His hand touches the corners of the box round your head which accelerated your once dead heart.

Holding your box onto its place back much to the boy's surprise— "Don't." You let out.

"Dude, isn't it too hot in there though? Can't you breathe?" From the carved out holes, you observed him ruffling his jet black hair with faint green highlights as he spun around talking to another person. The round gold glasses shooting up as he scrunched his nose in annoyance, and then his tiny earrings and his overalls consisting of a grey suit with black loosen tie.

"Where's the next team— who the fuck— when's the next team coming?! Why is everyone always late whenever there's a festival?!" A loud outburst of scream emits from the poor stranger as he threw the bunch of papers on the ground, stomping it like a child. "That Lee fucking Heeseung— I'm gonna go bankrupt because of him!"

You fiddled the hem of your dress somewhat uneasy of what was going on—unsure of what you were even doing here. You felt lost, so you stood there in silence enclosed in the comfort of the box—the roaring crowd and blaring guitars and high pitched voices over the microphone had your ears submerged inside it.

"Tsk— you." He grabs the box, snapping your head right back to him—a frown splattered on your face upon his rough actions wondering what the hell is wrong with this dude. "Why don't you get up there, make some silly little jokes or I don't know—dance or something. Like just do something!"

Your eyes widened in fractions inside the box, "W-what? Are you saying—"

"Fuck, didn't you read the contract? Your team! Your team was suppose to perform up there in January 15th which is today! Today!" Another groan emits from the enraged stranger, facepalming himself wondering what have he done in his past life to deserve such an atrocity on such a special day like this. "So why the fuck are you here and where's your team?!"

"I don't know what you're saying!"

The stranger covered his mouth with eyes shot wide open in disbelief, "Bitch, you dare to lie to me?"

"—Boss! We're running out of time!" A blonde haired boy appeared, downright panic splattered on his face as he clasped his head. "This festival's a total failure!"

"Shut up, I'm thinking right here." A whole twenty seconds was what he took before wrapping his hands around your wrist once again.

"Wait! Wait! What are you doing? Let me go!" You struggled against his grasp, absolutely terrified of what plans he had in his mind.

The stranger suddenly halted his step which had your boxy head stumbled on his chest again, he pushed you with pure annoyance.

"You and I are going up there and perform. I don't care what the hell are we going to do but that's what we're here for, so prepare yourself, Miss. Boxy." He looks like he was dead serious over what he said and that had had your rampant heart accelerated right to your ears, sending signals to your braincells to .. freaking run.

"Hey! Where the fuck you think you're going?!" He grabbed your hand preventing you from escaping yet you managed to slipped away from his grasp, getting away from him as fast as you can.

"Bitch, I paid a huge sum of money for y'all asses and you won't even try to stand up on the stage and perform?!"

"Where the fuck you think you're going?! Come back here! Get your ass back here, dumbass!" Your feet strides off through the street, your shoulders bumping against the sea of crowds in the process—your hands splayed over the box on your head to keep it from falling.

You kept running for your life, sprinting to wherever you think you could go and still to your utter disbelief, the definition of chaos itself is still following you and hunting you down like a maniac, yelling about how you scammed his money and how you could be the reason for possibly ruining his entire life.

"MY MONEY! HOW DARE YOU FOOL ME!—*"

"S-stop! Stop!" To your dismay, he managed to catch up to you by grabbing a fistful of your dress, pulling you backwards and your butt fell on the ground in a loud thud. "U-ugh!"

"Get this shitty box so I can see your face, dumbass! I'll throw you in that musty crusty cell and make you pay for stealing my money!"

"No! Let go! Let go of me!" You screamed inside the box, your voice echoing inside it.

You let out a series of screams as he insisted on pulling the box off your head, kicking his knee much to his outburst of pain. Trying to get back on your feet again yet another harsh pull of your hair that had fallen due to the entire ordeal had you tragically falling on the hard ground once again—the stranger hovered on you, his knees on both your sides and his rough hands wrapping itself around the box on your head once again.

"Show me your face!"

#enha #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen scenarios #enha fanfic #enhypen x female reader #park jongseong x reader #enha jay #jay enhypen #enhypen jay #jay x reader #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enha oneshots #enha scenarios

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norcumii · 9 months

Text

Sliding in juuuust a little late (again - we’re 2 for 2!), I got some Rex/Obi for y’all for @rexobiweek!

I had at least two other ideas there were absolutely not working, and of course a chat with @dogmatix this evening meant she sparked a whole NEW plunnie.

Several hours and 2k odd words later, here we are.

Whoops?

This’ll go up on AO3 tomorrow. Fic beneath the cut!

Love Like the Tide - rated PG, modern AU, mermaid shenanigans, and mention of era-appropriate homophobia (and Jango’s spectacular parenting). Non-linear story-telling

using prompts of: Summer was almost over and they hadn't yet finished what they had intended to do; Skinny dipping; Sailor Knot Bracelets; lemonade; strawberries; sunflowers; Meteor Shower; Summer Fling; Wedding Invitation; Midnight Picnic

Obi-Wan’s always had a fondness for the little cave system at the furthest edges of the shoal’s territory. It’s dark and a little creepy, but generations of his people and humans have wandered through there, finding and leaving trinkets of various sorts. There’s some kind of camp on the human side of the caves, because during the warmest months there’s intermittent swarms of children of various ages clamoring around the beach at the oddest times.

And lots of teens making out in the caves. That was less than fun to realize, aside from – well. It was annoying.

Thankfully, it’s the last week of that camping nonsense, so Obi-Wan is looking forward to the autumnal quiet. And with the tide rolling in, it’s a good excuse to take a look at the caves. The easiest entrances are all underwater, but there’s a few of the larger ones that need high-tide to get to.

He swims off for them with the resolute determination that he’s just going for curiosity's sake. Nothing more.

***

As a teenager himself – not that his kind tended to think of that as an age group, but they had enough exposure through friends and allies that they understood the concept – Obi-Wan had been far too curious for his own good. He liked swimming too close to the humans, darting up the stream to their swimming hole to watch campers in their adorably awkward best to learn to swim.

(Adorable, and a bit laughable with all those legs and the splashing and no economy of motion whatsoever.)

He stuck too close to the shores, darting under the docks as they sprawled above him, sharing the strawberries they’d picked in some group activity.

(The ones they’d dropped in the water, by accident or teasing design – of course he’d snagged and eaten a number of them, and oh, he’d never tasted the like. He wasn’t one of the adults who dared to trade with the tiny handful of humans the shoal could trust, and he had no relatives of note who could vie for exotic goods. The memory of that strange sweetness had lingered with him for weeks.)

But he’d learned the price of curiosity, thanked the tides that it hadn’t been too cruel, and then he’d worked hard to keep his head down and out of trouble.

Mostly.

***

It’s easy to find the mouth of the caves, to slip inside and up, until his head breaks the surface and his gills eject water for air. His eyes are made for the deeps, so the cave itself is plenty bright. Smooth rock in delightful shapes, the erratic air-tide breeze trying to tug at his still dripping hair – Obi-Wan can admit in the privacy of his own mind that he always loves those first moments inside the rock hollows.

He lets the sway of the water carry him further in, and distantly he can make out the scent of smoke, the sound of laughter and human music. Someone mentioned there was some kind of party forming up the beach, but that’s far enough away he easily ignores it. He focuses instead on the wide, sloped ledge that at lower tides provides slippery access to the ground outside, and is just level enough that too ridiculously many picnics are held here.

It’s empty tonight, though Obi-Wan thinks he could easily hoist himself up, look out and see stars.

***

The stars had been brilliant that night, that third year in a row. He’d been just past his gawky phase, finally growing into his tail and limbs and feeling himself, watching the stars and feeling delightfully at peace with the world. His lips had still tingled, he could still taste strawberries and lemonade as drying salt prickled along his skin. Only his fins dipped into the water, and he’d known he’d have to return soon, but not yet.

They had time, yet.

(They hadn’t. There’d been startled voices, those teenagers who’d wanted to be necking only to be disappointed that the cave had been already occupied. Obi-Wan had slipped into the water almost in time – enough that he’d been presumed to be a human running away, not a mer swimming desperately for cover.

There’d been yelling. Awful words, fighting. Then angry human adults with flashlights and his own punishments when he’d fled right into the shoal’s adults who’d wanted to know what all the odd fuss was.

The memory of the reprimands that followed, the punishment detail of all the minor, boring drudge work – those were far less sweet.)

***

Obi-Wan shoves away from the ledge and the memories, moving further inside with purpose. He doesn’t stop at the large pool, instead squaring his shoulders and not glancing up at the wide walkway to his left. It’s empty, and there’s no reason to linger.

***

They often lingered together in the pool, tangled together. Obi-Wan’s gangly tail twining with Rex’s long silly legs, both working so hard to keep upright and not laugh – even giggling echoed so much in this area. The tunnels could carry that sound up, towards the humans, or out to the sea and across the waves where the shoal might notice. Of course, all it would take was one of them whispering an incredulous ‘skinny-dipping?’ to set them both off again. Obi-Wan just thought it sounded funny, and Rex would get an adorable flush up his neck as he’d glance over at the clothes he’d left on the stone.

(There’d been something lovely about it, the intimacy of nothing between them but the matching wristbands Rex had made them. Not that Obi-Wan would dare say, or could have imagined articulating.

Some dark nights, now years later, Obi-Wan wishes he had known how to craft those words.)

***

The very end of the cave opens to the sky – it’s a small, craggy opening, partially covered by grass, but Obi-Wan can glimpse the very edge of the moon and the tiny streaks of a meteor shower. The walkway ends in a shallow bowl, and humans are often silly and leave all sorts of trinkets there.

(At the end of that first, strange summer he swam in to find a bunch of sunflowers there, huge and bright as Rex’s hair. Obi-Wan hadn’t known what to do but laugh in astonishment, delighting in the strange, ridiculous gift.)

Tonight, there’s a man sprawled out there on his stomach, face turned away so all he can see is the short, bright blond.

That’s far more silly than Obi-Wan expected.

He’s honestly not sure he isn’t hallucinating.

He swims up to the edge of the bowl, peeking in. Full adult, and fully asleep as far as he can tell. Well-muscled, but lean, with dark skin. His dark pants are that weird length that’s too long for shorts, too short for actual pants, and his shirt’s sleeves are the same silly two-thirds length, giving him a bit of a formal air.

The thing that sets Obi-Wan’s heart racing though is three old, grimy bracelets held in the man’s hand, faded blue and once-white cords braided around each other. Three summers worth of bracelets, woven by those self-same hands if somehow, impossibly, he’s not hallucinating.

He tries to say a name, but it’s been over a dozen summers since he spoke a human tongue. A squeaky whistle comes out instead, and he has to clear his throat.

But that is enough, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s thrilled or terrified about that. The man’s head turns, and it’s Rex who faces him, older and with lovely strong lines to his face; delightful cheekbones; and that tender, sweet little smile on his lips. “Hi,” Rex whispers, then awareness clears his eyes and he jerks upright. “Oh holy shit, please don’t be a dream!”

Obi-Wan clears his throat again, a confused blush starting to burn its way up his cheeks. “Ah, hello there?” he tries, too confused to figure out which of a dozen questions he wants to ask.

Rex sits back, incredulity and stunned delight washing over his face. “It is you,” he breathes, then he grins. Obi-Wan isn’t sure, but he thinks Rex might also be starting to cry. “The beard is different. It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Obi-Wan resettles against the rock, and he can’t stop from reaching out to trace some faded scars along Rex’s chin and cheek. “These – they healed well.”

(He has faint stubble now, rough little hairs along his jaw. It’s hard, to pull his hand back instead of trying to find out what else feels different.)

He can’t read the human’s expression as Rex just looks at him, then he looks away, swiping a hand across his eyes. “You saw that.” As if Obi-Wan could forget any little detail of the last time he saw Rex, saw him brawling with the larger, older boy who’d called him terrible names.

(There’d been a sharp-edged ring cutting the bloody line across Rex’s cheek; his chin had smashed into the ground after another ugly punch. The tides had washed away the blood, for all that Obi-Wan sometimes still sees it in the shadows.)

“Yes.” He doesn’t know how to articulate all that, to compress years of grief and regret down into words, especially not human words. “I understand why you didn’t come back.”

Rex shakes his head, making a huff of noise that might be a laugh, or a scoff. “Session was over, but – no. My dad was the only one who was upset about the kissing a boy thing instead of the out after curfew thing.” He glances over and quirks a grin – that sly look inviting Obi-Wan in on a joke. “Then he thought it was a smart idea to send the queer kid off to military school. Full of only boys.”

He has many questions, but that’s for later. He has enough context to figure out the important bits. “Was it bad?”

From the distant expression, it wasn’t great. Rex shrugs. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve been stuck around Dad more.” He shakes his head, and levels an intense look at Obi-Wan. “You got away okay though, right?”

It’s his turn to glance away uncomfortably. “Some of the elders – I swam into them on the way back. They were...not impressed. As you said: it could’ve been worse. Could have been humans.”

Rex’s eyes cut sharply away. Within moments the silence is unbearable. “What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan blurts out. Rex still won’t look at him, but he grins a little.

“A friend of mine is getting married this weekend. I mean, the ceremony was earlier, but they’re partying now. Anakin knows I’m not into parties, so no one will be looking for me. Honestly, the real miracle is that his wife convinced him that a beach wedding would be a good idea. He hates sand. So much.”

Obi-Wan reaches out, placing his hands over Rex’s – over the cut bracelets still in his hands. “Why?” he asks, cutting through the nervous babel.

(He fell in love with this boy, and he was stunned each time Rex returned with the summer. From that bizarre moment in the first summer, when a human had seen him and innocuously asked if Obi-Wan could help him fasten this bracelet, and oh hey, would he like one too?

He had, and he did. They’d cut them at the summer’s end, together, and traded the worn remains with each other.

Well. Not the last one, but he’d cherished it anyways.)

Rex frees one of his hands, reaches out to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek much as he’d done earlier, though there are no scars there to trace. “I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he whispers, searching for something in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I didn’t want...that to be the end of it.”

It takes all of his courage to ask, “What if I didn’t want it to end?”

Rex’s face blossoms into the beautiful, crooked smile. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, already leaning in close.

It’s habit as old as their friendship: “I don’t know, can you?”

Rex beams and pecks him on the lips. “Signs point to yes.”

“Then you may kiss me.”

Rex leans in and takes his time, sweet and deep and with the kind of fervor Obi-Wan thought he’d imagined. He idly wonders if Rex came supplied with cord to make new bracelets (almost certainly), and how long he’ll be able to stay (with summer almost over, who knows?). Yet he can feel the certainty growing that if neither of them wanted things to end – like that, or otherwise – then they have good odds of making whatever-this-is grow.

Obi-Wan hoists himself up onto the rock, diving back towards Rex for another long, deep kiss. Apparently they do still have time.

~end

#star wars #sass and murder show #My writing #rex/obi #rexobifest2023 #mermaid #i was not expecting that to be done #fluff and nostalgia ahoy!

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 1 year

Text

It started with the television report, breaking news playing across most stations both local and national, inescapable, impossible not to notice. Newscasters speaking a thousand different languages relayed the same story: an angel landing, or perhaps falling, to Earth, crashing down in St. Peter's Square at the heart of Vatican City, just after High Mass no less, for extra dramatic effect. The Catholic Church, and Christianity as a whole, had been struggling valiantly to regain its footing following the brief but harrowing threat of Adriel the Con Man, the False Angel, the Antichrist (depending on your persuasion), and the new, hastily selected Pope himself could not have asked for a more spectacular sign of divine will.

Those exiting the Basilica, as well as tourists and passersby, were treated to the sight of golden light hurtling down from the sky to hit the stones with a stunning explosion of color and sound. All footage that could be salvaged was taken from some distance away, as exposure to the light of God disrupted and ruined all electronic devices within close proximity. But even from a distance, the inhuman majesty was unmistakable. The divine aura faded to reveal a humanoid being kneeling on the ground, 6 massive wings of pure light stretching from its back.

Witness reports were varied in terms of finer physical details. It was generally, though not universally, agreed that the angel was nude, and had a feminine form. Different tellings declared it (or she?) to be as tall as a giant or as short as a teenager, with hair that was either made of fire or merely back-lit by the glow of her wings. One Sister Cecilia, an elderly nun from Avignon, described her as the most beautiful being in all creation, the shining star of God's eternal sky. Salvador Cadorna, a tour guide passing through the square, described her as a monster of vengeance sent to punish those who abandoned their faith for Adriel's treachery. Joshua Dobson, a teenage tourist in Salvador's group, described her more succinctly as "really freaky".

All accounts agreed that the angel spoke with a voice that roared like thunder, echoing off the walls of the Basilica and shaking the statues of the saints above. Her words were universally understood, as all who listened heard their own language spoken back to them. Italian, English, Spanish, French, German, Cantonese, Russian, and more, corroborated by witnesses trickling in over time. Shaky footage captured on a cell phone showed a nun kneeling in front of the angel, hands clasped in benediction. "Angelo di Dio, qual è il tuo messaggio?" For a moment, the angel said nothing, standing in holy repose, or perhaps surprise at being asked a question. Her eventual response was… puzzling but clearly intelligible. "UM… ABORTION IS FINE, AND TRANS RIGHTS MATTER." Then, as though remembering something urgent, she added, "UH OH, GOTTA BLAST! BYE!" before disappearing in another burst of golden light.

To say that religious authorities, world leaders, and, most importantly, the Internet were now in an uproar was an impressive understatement.

#warrior nun #fanfic #my writing #snippet imagining what might happen if Ava comes back a bit more biblically than anticipated #may become part of a larger fic called 'the ecstasy of st. beatrice'#ava silva #i apologize to any Italian speakers I did just use Google translate

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bunny-heels · 5 months

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I love how the game brought us and we showed the maternal extinction of a mother who will never believe she lost her calf, saga demonstrated this in a spectacular way. Now I'm wondering what Alex would be like as a father?, the few moments we had with him commenting on Logan show that he is a very cool uncle and that Logan also loves to make fun of him (in the dialogue at the beginning with Saga and Logan)

oh he has gotta be one of the sweetest dads.

every morning before going to work on cases he has to make sure to say 'good morning' and 'i love you' to his kid, going in for a hug or pat or kiss on the cheek or forehead.

will text their kid or significant other to check up on them, asking them if they need anything or what they're up to. on breaks he'll look at a few photos of his family while also checking up on Saga and her family.

finally done with work and he comes home and IMMEDIATELY asked how the kid is doing and also if his significant other is also okay. will make sure they've eaten or are about to eat, asking if anything happened while he was gone, if food is ready or if he needs to order it, sometimes just come home with a dinner ready for the night.

he would absolutely love love love LOVE if his kid and Logan got along. his kid comes over and rambles to him about how much fun they had and he's just smiling and messing with his hands cause he's trying so hard to contain how happy he is. he watches them both like a hawk in public making sure they're okay. Saga has to keep him grounded if they do anything that scares him but also she loves Casey's kid to DEATH just as much as she loves Logan.

would get to know his kid so well that he has so many ideas for presents and gifts that his significant other or Saga have to chill him out on it, cause otherwise he's spending all his spare money. tries to have days where he just spends it with his kid, going to the mall or walking around. keeping them close to him so nothing happens. always has at least a taser on him in case someone gets too close for comfort. always there at the end of the day to tell his kid goodnight, read them bed time stories when they were little. cracking the door open a couple of times a night to make sure they're okay.

he would love love love love love his kid so much he'd be the best dad this is real to ME.

#the bun answers #alan wake #alan wake 2 #alan wake ii #alex casey #remedyverse #remedy entertainment #remedy connected universe

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underforeversgrace · 1 year

Text

definition of insanity (is doing the same thing)

Words: 11,694

Complete

Warnings: Dash centric fic, multiple references to bullying, suspected depression, and suspected self harm (no one actually hurts themself)

Summary:

AO3

It was only eight AM, yet Dash was quite confident in his feeling that this day was going to be absolutely perfect. Today was his sixteenth birthday and absolutely nothing bad could happen today.

It didn’t hurt that he was the most handsome, popular, and athletic male in the entire school. What could possibly go wrong on a day like today?

Dash grinned as he lounged right inside the front doors of the school. None of the teachers would reprimand him, no one wanted to risk losing the income the sports he played brought in, especially with how often walls and windows had to be rebuilt in the ghost central of America. His day was made all the more amazing when the nerd he’d been waiting for finally ran in, not noticing Dash.

Fenton ran too close beside Dash - this kid really did not have a single bone in his body concerned with self preservation, Dash had long since learned.

“Just who I wanted to see!” Dash yelled, grabbing Fenton by the back of his shirt collar and slamming him into the lockers beside them. Fenton yelped, in surprise or pain Dash wasn’t sure nor did he care.

“Oh lay off, Dash, I’m already late! Can’t we reschedule for lunch?” The loser whined, not even fighting back where Dash had him bodily lifted off the ground. Dash’s chest swelled with pride every time Fenton did that - Fenton knew he was no match for someone of Dash’s caliber and didn’t even try to pretend he was.

Good. Nerds belong in their place.

“But I had to tell you happy birthday!” Dash sing-songed as he dropped Fenton to his feet before bringing his knee up and slamming it into the loser’s stomach. He grunted, dropping to the ground with his arms wrapped around his center.

Originally, Dash had been quite annoyed to learn he and Danny shared the same birthday. Until he’d learned that he was older (by seventeen minutes) and it meant he would never forget Fenton’s birthday.

And was there a present so sweet as beating a freak on his birthday? Dash couldn’t think of any.

Dash couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them, alone in the hallway, Fenton brought to his knees in front of his superiors. Dash pressed one of his feet against Fenton’s shoulder and pushed, knocking the skinny teen over.

When Fenton looked up at him after that, Dash could’ve sworn he saw his eyes flash green but they immediately returned to their normal blue, hatred practically radiating off the kid.

“See you later, Fenturd!” Dash said, walking away. He couldn’t break his toy too early in the day, after all! That knee to the gut would leave a spectacular bruise already.

Man, life really was great when you had it all.

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire school seemed to have told him happy birthday - either out of friendship or fear. Personally, Dash liked the fearful ones even more. They held a sense of accomplishment, like the state championship Dash had led both the football and basketball team to last year, as a mere sophomore! He was the King of this school and absolutely no one was going to forget that.

Dash only knew of three who hadn’t told him happy birthday, but they were so small as to not even matter. He’d already beaten Fenton to the floor earlier, after all. Those three were the absolute rock bottom of the social ladder.

Still, Dash took great pleasure in body checking Fenton into the wall as he walked by, sending Fenton’s books tumbling to the ground.

“Still graceful as ever, huh, Fentonina?” The jock said with a smirk. Fenton just rolled his eyes, not even seeming to care it was just the two of them.

“I know you’re a little slow in your head, Dash, but you said no to the reschedule, remember? You already got your potshot in this morning.” Fenton scowled.

A single, solid punch to the face was Dash’s only response, feeling cartilage crunch and fold beneath his fist as he broke Fenton’s nose.

“What the fuck is your damage, Dash?” He demanded, voice muffled as he pressed his hand against the red dribbling out of his nose.

“You’re the only one here who’s damaged, loser.” Dash sneered, picking Fenton up and shoving him into his own still open locker, slamming the door closed and spinning the combination dial around to lock him in. He heard what sounded like Fenton banging the back of his head against the locker wall.

Feeling his task accomplished and his victim thoroughly bullied, Dash sauntered off to the cafeteria.

Of course, this is Casper High, so successfully finished lunches were few and far between. Not even five minutes after getting his helping of Questionable Slop, the hunter ghost who’d chased Dash and Phantom last year was there, screaming for the ghost child to show up. One of these days, Dash would figure out why a badass like Phantom apparently spent so much time around the school, he decided as the black and white form of their ghostly hero shot like a bullet through the lunchroom, catching Skulker in the stomach(?) with his elbow and forcing the both of them out the window, shattering the glass spectacularly.

“Now’s your chance, Dash!” Paulina urged to his side. Dash nodded, leaping from his seat, checking his pocket to make sure the paper was still there.

Feeling the soft crinkle of the worn paper where he wanted it to be, Dash marched out where the ghosts had gone. He did, however, use the door eight inches to the left of the window, deciding he did not want to be getting stitches today.

The fight hadn’t gotten very far, Dash realized as he slowly approached, keeping himself hidden behind some bushes.

“Come, whelp! Let your pelt adorn my bed!” The hunter declared.

Seriously, ew. What kind of nut was this guy before he died?

“Skulker, I’ve said it before, and I always hope to never say it again - stop trying to skin me!” Phantom yelled, throwing a green blast of energy with accuracy and speed that would have an MLB player salivating.

Skulker didn’t have time to dodge, catching the blast in his shoulder and getting knocked down. “But it is your birthday, child! What better present could there be than becoming a prized trophy in my collection?”

Phantom froze. “My birthday? You know it’s my birthday?”

“And your first death day!”

Dash scrunched his nose. First of all, hell yeah! He shared a birthday with the coolest ghost/person/thing ever! Second of all, did Phantom die on his birthday? Dash, entirely lacking the common sense of self preservation one should have after nearly a year under siege by ghosts, popped up out of the leaves. “Yo, Phantom bro, birthday twins!”

Phantom whirled around, eyes wide as he saw Dash. “Get out of here!” He shouted.

Deciding now was absolutely the perfect time like the truly brilliant student he was, Dash stepped closer, fishing the invitation from his pocket. “Actually, I-“

He was cut off with a yelp, jumping back as a blast landed an inch in front of his feet.

“Go!” Phantom yelled again before jumping back into battle with Skulker. Dash, not needing to be told twice, ran away and back into the cafeteria.

“Did you invite him, dude?” Kwan asked, practically jumping in his seat in hopeful excitement.

He was very much not pouting as he crossed his arms on the table, dropping his head onto them like a pillow. “No. Skulker interrupted.” Dash’s head shot up at his next thought. “But, dude, guess what Skulker said!”

“What?” Star asked.

“Today’s Phantom’s birthday!”

“Like. Human birthday or… ghost… birthday?” Kwan said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Both. And Phantom confirmed it! Today’s his first death day!”

Kwan’s look of discomfort was quickly mirrored on Star and even Paulina. “What happened to him?” Kwan mumbled.

Dash was quiet as the stark realization of what he’d heard settled. It was the biggest question since the ghosts had came - who was Phantom? How did he die? How long has he been dead? No one truly knew - one news reporter had asked him as he had finished evacuating a burning building. Phantom hadn’t answered, but he’d never looked so murderous, green eyes burning so brightly they hurt to look at through a television screen. The Fentons had then reminded people to never ask a ghost about their death or their life - ghosts were not rational on a good day but those topics could trigger higher levels of violence.

It was one of the few times since ghosts had become commonplace that people actually listened to the advice. Powerful as he was, no one wanted Phantom angry at them.

Dash sat up, running a hand through his blond hair. “Now I double need to invite him to my birthday party. It can be his too!”

“Are you sure? He may want to be alone.” Star pointed out.

“But who could possibly want that? To be alone on their birthday?”

“Maybe the kid who died on his?”

Dash grumbled. “Okay, maybe he’ll want to be alone. But I’m still going to invite him.”

“Just don’t push the literally most powerful ghost to ever set foot - er, fly through? - Amity Park, okay?”

He just nodded, not really paying attention to her words. He was going to make sure Phantom had a happy birthday!

The rest of lunch passed without any more excitement (though Dash noticed it was already over halfway through lunch period when Fenton finally came through), though the school got attacked no less than five more times by the end of the final bell. Paulina, the self-proclaimed gossip queen of Casper High, immediately began spreading the rumor that today was Phantom’s birthday and death day, so more people kept sticking around ghost fights to try to talk to him - Dash included, but Phantom always bolted as soon as the fight ended.

He sauntered through the school, looking for his favorite punching bag, deciding to get one last wailing in before they went home. Perfect, alone by his locker again! Today really was an amazing day.

Dash didn’t even bother with a greeting as he ducked closer to Fenton, driving his fist into his side.

Fenton, quite uncharacteristically, cried out in what sounded like actual pain, catching himself against his locker. That knee to the gut earlier must’ve left an impressive bruise to be hurting that much! Normally Fenton didn’t even bother acknowledging his pain, choosing to egg Dash on. Now, not even a single bit of talk back!

“Happy birthday!” Dash called, shoving Fenton back in his locker. Man, Fenton really did need to eat more, he was way too underweight. Not Dash’s problem, though!

Wiping his hands together and congratulating himself on a job well done, Dash walked away, towards the football field. There was no practice today, but it was a nice day outside, so the A-listers were meeting up at the bleachers.

Once again, however, after only a few minutes of them sitting there, ghosts decided to show up.

They all scrambled out of the way as soon as Phantom’s body collided with the plastic seats, collapsing several.

“Seriously, Plasmius, I am not in the mood!” Phantom snarled as the vampiric ghost appeared in front of him, cackling like a cartoon villain.

“Not enjoying my birthday present to you, dear Daniel?” Plasmius purred in a way that made Dash’s spine uncomfortable. The A-list, now long since used to the ghost fights, hadn’t gone very far away, just the opposite end of the bleachers, sitting down and resuming their chat. Or, they pretended to, they’d learned that listening to Phantom’s fights were troves of knowledge about their mysterious savior.

“You?” Phantom practically screeched, rising back to the sky, green crackling angrily in his hands. “You’re the one who told them it was my… death day and birthday?”

“Oh no, little badger! In fact, they were the ones to tell me it was your death day! I merely shared the knowledge it was also your birthday.”

The teenaged ghost lowered his hands slightly, the ectoplasm wavering some. “They knew it was my death day? How? Only three of us were there!”

Plasmius’s eyes were positively glittering as he responded. “Your screams were heard for miles, I’m told. Not a fun way to go, and by your own hand nonetheless!”

Dash nor the others had time to process that particular bomb before the ghosts moved too fast for human eyes to follow.

In an instant, Phantom was in front of them, highlighted and cast into shadows by the green behind him, falling to the ground as smoke rose from his chest, his suit burned clear through.

“I am so fucking sick of getting pushed around!” Phantom yelled, pushing himself back to his feet. Dash’s eyes widened at Phantom’s words. Despite being a teenager, no one had ever heard the dude swear. Or sound this furious, Dash would’ve been willing to bet.

The white haired ghost stood, not floating, seeming to plant his feet firmly onto the ground.

And then he screamed.

As fast as possible, the entire A-List had their hands pressed to their ears, watching Plasmius get thrown back.

The scream didn’t last for long, Phantom closing his mouth as soon as the other ghost had been knocked away, pulling the Thermos he always wore from his hip and sucking the other ghost in. As soon as he capped back the Thermos, he slouched forward, groaning. A blue ring of light flickered around his waist before disappearing. Odd, that wasn’t a power they were familiar with him having.

“Phantom?” Kwan asked, though his voice was hard to hear. Dash’s ears were ringing so loudly it felt like metal was being stuck in them.

Phantom tensed at his name, turning around to face them, hopping back up off the ground and floating two or three feet up, summoning ice to his hand and pressing it against himself. At his face, though, Dash wondered if he should be fearing for his life. “What the absolute fuck is wrong with you goddamn morons?!” The ghost yelled, anger radiating from him. “Are your heads entirely fucking empty? Do you want to die or are you seriously just that stupid?”

All of the group seemed to wither under his glare, his power a physical pulse in the air as his familiar white aura seemed to expand and contract. Despite the day’s warmth, Dash felt a chill all the way to his bones, frost beginning to form on the bleachers surrounding them.

“Well?” Phantom pushed, even his voice like the crack that precedes an avalanche.

“We…” Dash tried, coming up empty as Phantom turned his full gaze onto Dash, rage and pain burning in the green glow. Dash had never been afraid of Phantom, not even at the beginning. He’d always been so clearly good. Now, however, Dash realized just how easily the ghost could snap him like a twig if he chose to do so. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party this weekend?”

Phantom stepped closer to Dash, scowling. “You risked death, you got me shot, to invite me to your birthday party?” Dash could feel Paulina shaking behind him, he had no doubt Star was similarly protected behind Kwan. Phantom was terrifying. “And this isn’t even the first time! I’m tired of getting shot for a bunch of pieces of shit like you all!” Phantom came even closer to Dash, dropping down to match the human’s height, noses nearly touching. He grasped both of Dash’s upper arms and Dash could feel the bruising pressure of his grip, felt ice begin to run down his skin. “I would rather die again than spend a single fucking minute with any of you.”

Hatred laced his every word and Dash paled, suddenly genuinely wondering if he was about to die. Abruptly, Phantom pushed him, sending both Dash and Paulina crashing to the bleachers. “Stay out of the way of my fights. I’m done saving you. This is your only warning. Casper High would be better off without all of you.”

At that, Phantom flicked out of existence, the ice beginning to melt as soon as he did so.

“Dash, your arms!” Star gasped, covering her mouth. Dash glanced down at his bare arms, his jacket having long since been taken off. Dark purple bruises were already beginning to form where Phantom had gripped him. On top of that, though, was the clear imprint of reddish burns in the shape of a human hand.

“What just happened?” Kwan asked, staring around at the damaged bleachers as though he’d never seen the aftereffects of a ghost fight before.

“I’m sure my ghost boy didn’t mean it! He’s just having a bad day!” Paulina piped up but it was obvious even she didn’t entirely believe it.

The entire encounter left a bitter taste in Dash’s mouth. He’d never seen Phantom that angry, his powers raging so uncontrollably.

“…did Phantom kill himself?” Dash finally asked, Plasmius’s last words echoing in his mind even as Phantom’s scream settled into memory. They’d always assumed Phantom had been something like them - a jock, the ruler of the school, putting his human enemies down as swiftly as he did his ghostly ones. For the first time, Dash was beginning to doubt that.

“I think it’s time to go home…” Star said, hopping down the bleacher steps. The group nearly immediately disbanded, each heading to their own homes.

Dash’s steps were slow as he walked, jacket pulled securely back on. Getting assaulted by Phantom was not something he wanted anyone to know about or to ever speak of again.

Had Phantom really meant it? All of it, any of it? That Casper was better off without them? Of course not, he couldn’t, Dash was the star of over half the sports teams at the school, surely that mattered. But being done saving them? Had they really gotten him shot that often?

Had he really jumped in front of them to protect them so often, yet none of them even noticed?

A rock seemed to settle in his stomach, a feeling he was unfamiliar with clenching around his heart. Dash paused in front of his house, staring up at it. His parents’ cars were both gone, they must still be at work. He walked up the paved entry path, stopping to sit on the front stoop.

This was absolutely the worst birthday ever. What had he done so wrong that Phantom would apparently rather die than be around him and his friends? Would Phantom ever forgive them? Or had they just damned themselves to living in a city of ghosts without their only good protector?

He ran his fingers through his hairs, sighing. “I wish I could take it back. Do it over and get it right.” He said to the still air, the smell of his mother’s flowers wafting over to him. At least they smelled nice. His arms twinged. They’d been somewhat numb, still recovering from Phantom’s sub-zero grab, but seems they’d finally fully waken up he determined as it felt like fire laying into his skin.

Deciding that he absolutely was not the type of person to talk to himself on his front steps smelling the flowers, Dash went inside and (after researching it some on the family computer) pressed warm compresses against his injury. How in the hell does ice burn? It’s literally the opposite of fire! Which is what burns! At least football season hadn’t started yet, still in the early weeks of the school year. Every time he moved his arms or had any small contraction of his muscles, he ended up clenching his teeth together harshly as new flames seemed to circle his arm.

Deciding he was very much over today and that the pain was rapidly getting worse, Dash went to the bathroom, pulling out an old bottle of pain medication from an injury last year. He’d never really taken them, but he knew they knocked him out like a light.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

“Wakey wakey, son! It’s time to get up!” His mother’s voice said, grabbing his arm and shaking him. Dash whined something incoherently, tucking his head further under his covers. “C’mon, baby! It’s your birthday! Up and at ‘em!” She called and he heard the sharp click clack of her heels against the hardwood floor as she walked out. Dash pushed himself up, keeping the covers around him like a cloak with a hood as he blearily looked around. A yawn, an eye rub, and then suddenly his brain turned on. It wasn’t his birthday. Was his mom okay? That had been yesterday!

Relinquishing his hold on his very soft and comfortable armor and letting it crumble to the ground, Dash hurried downstairs.

“Happy birthday!” His mom and dad called at the same time, his father setting off one of those little popper things. Was something wrong with both of his parents? The table was set just as it had been the previous morning - confetti pancakes with syrup, a single lit candle stuck into them.

“Are you guys okay?” Dash asked. “We celebrated my birthday yesterday.”

“Don’t be silly, Dash! Today’s your birthday!” His father said.

“Did you two hit your head or something?”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Go check the computer if you want - today’s your birthday. I wasn’t even in town yesterday, I got home last night, remember?”

Dash, determined to help his parents out of whatever fugue state they were in, immediately beelined for the computer. He was, however, entirely stumped when the computer reflected back yesterday’s date - his birthday.

“Told ya so!” His mom sing-songed, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “You probably just dreamed it, dear.”

Dash hadn’t entirely heard her after she’d gripped his shoulder. He’d tensed, suddenly remembering the injury Phantom had given him, only to be surprised when there was no pain. He glanced back and forth between both arms - unblemished, unbruised, unburned. Had he dreamed the previous day? It had felt so real, though.

Thoroughly spooked, he returned back to the kitchen, pretending to laugh with his parents at his silliness, digging into his pancakes. He changed out of his pajamas and was out the door shortly after.

Something seemed to tingle at the edge of his senses - a feeling he couldn’t place, a sense humans didn’t possess. It spoke of wrongness. On arrival, he made his way to his locker, where he knew his friends would be waiting. He was, however, quite concerned when Paulina began to talk about the awful thing her cousin had said to her last night - something about her hair? - even though he didn’t really care. What he did care about, though, was this was the exact same thing she’d opened with yesterday. There was no way Dash had dreamt it. Was he in Groundhog Day now or something? A freaking time loop? But that was the stuff of fiction!

Then again, ghosts had been, too, until last year. What was the reason for the time loop in that movie, again? Falling in love with his coworker? That wasn’t helpful. As far as he knew, he didn’t harbor any secret loves. He also didn’t have coworkers. Well, maybe the guys on the sports teams? Would those count as coworkers? Hm, he’d have to think on that more later, he decided, as he noticed the time. For the first time that day, a grin had blossomed on his face.

Bullying Fenton on his birthday was absolutely worth the weird time loop.

Like yesterday, Paulina peeled off to her class as he walked towards the front door, lounging in the same place as before. Fenton came stumbling in at the same time, Dash caught him the same way, throwing him into the metal lockers.

“In a hurry, Fen-toenail?” He chuckled.

“Oh lay off, Dash, I’m already late! Can’t we reschedule for lunch?” He protested.

Wow, that was a hard hit of deja vu.

“I have to tell you happy birthday!” Dash laughed, kneeing Fenton in the stomach again, watching him fall to the floor. He decided to mix it up a little - he kicked Fenton, hard, not the gentle push he’d done yesterday. Fenton let out a harsh breath, winded and knocked to the side. Again, he glared at Dash with passionate hate.

His eyes must’ve caught the lights the same way again, appearing to flare green for a moment before fading to blue.

“Later, loser!” He called, heading to class.

Again, Dash collected happy birthday wishes like the taxman collected money - mostly out of fear.

And again, he slammed into Fenton, sending the nerd against the locker and his books to the floor. “Geez, watch it, loser! Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of freak out of this letterman?”

“You didn’t reschedule, you got your potshot in this morning. Screw off.”

With all the elation of a kid on Christmas morning, Dash again broke Fenton’s nose, red spurting like a fountain. Not even waiting for Fenton’s responding quip, he threw Fenton into the locker.

Dash paused before he got to the cafeteria, trying to decide what he should do differently with Phantom when Skulker showed up. Maybe not announcing his presence would be a good idea? Yeah, perfect! Just wait for Phantom to catch the ghost and then invite him to the party! Surely he’d be in a better mood!

Into the lunchroom he went, not even bothering with getting a meal as he waited. Right on time - Skulker appeared, Phantom shortly after and through the windows they went. Much more careful this time, Dash followed, listening to the conversation again.

“Come, whelp! Let your pelt adorn my bed!”

“Seriously, Skulker, I am not in the mood. Fuck off before I Fade you.” Phantom hissed.

Huh, that was… not what Phantom had said on the previous today. Shouldn’t everything be exactly the same, if he doesn’t interfere with it?

Skulker laughed. “Is it your birthday or your death day giving you that much confidence?”

Phantom came to a stand still. “You know that? How do you possibly know that?”

“We heard you die, child!”

“H…heard me…die?” Phantom stuttered, staring at the metal ghost dumbfounded.

“You’ve got quite the scream on you, whelp. Even when entirely human! Every ghost within twenty miles heard you!” Skulker shouted. Phantom was stunned and looked slightly distressed. The hunter smirked, firing a missile at Phantom while he was distracted, blasting him into the tree behind him.

Phantom slumped to the ground and for a panicked moment, Dash wondered if it had knocked him out. Both Dash and Skulker were entirely confused as they realized he was shaking with laughter. Slowly, Phantom rose from the ground, hovering there as he continued to vibrate with mirth.

“Uh… ghost child?” Skulker asked, lowering his weapon. Considering he was made of metal, his expression of sheer confusion still managed to be quite obvious.

“Y’know what, Skulker?” Phantom said, setting his feet on the ground. “I’m actually glad to see you.”

“Are you… okay…?” The metal ghost asked awkwardly.

“No, actually, no, I’m not. I can’t kill my human bullies, even if I do have the urge to snap his fucking neck everytime I see him. But you?” A nearly sadistic grin spread across Phantom’s face. “You, I can beat into a pulp without remorse. Or, well. Scream into one.”

Dash barely had time to cover his ears as he recognized the stance Phantom was getting into, the same one from the bleachers yesterday. Uh, not yesterday? Whatever. Skulker, much like Plasmius previously, was thrown away by the shock waves. Again, Phantom didn’t hold the scream long, just long enough to hit Skulker, who seemed to have lost consciousness from it. Or not? His body wasn’t moving but Dash could definitely still hear muffled shouts from the ghost.

Phantom marched forward to the dark metal, shoving his hand into Skulker’s body, fishing around for a moment before pulling out a little green ghost, who continued to yell.

“Thanks for reminding me about my Wail. I forgot how quickly it knocked out your suit.” He said, sucking the small ghost up, leaving the metal body in the dirt.

Perfect, now is his chance! Dash walked forward, into Phantom’s line of sight. “Yo! Couldn’t help but to hear we share a birthday!” He called.

Phantom’s eyes narrowed at him. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Huh?”

“That’s unfortunate. I don’t want to share anything with someone like you.”

Dash’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t even done anything today! He’d done better! Phantom didn’t acknowledge him further, instead focusing on the other ghost’s metal suit. Dash watched as he summoned a huge ball of ectoplasm into his cupped hands, letting it grow larger and larger until he slammed it down onto the suit.

Dash held up his arm, protecting his face as shrapnel seemed to fire everywhere, no piece big enough to truly cause harm, but still littering him with small cuts, the spot where Phantom had fired a blackened starburst in the dirt.

“Leave me alone.” Phantom said before flying off.

Dash sulked his way back to the cafeteria. He had done things differently! He hadn’t interfered! Why was Phantom so angry with him? It just didn’t make sense! Dash adored Phantom!

He didn’t mention Phantom’s birthday this time, hoping it would encourage Phantom to not be so flighty after the many more attacks that day - seriously, were the ghosts doing this because it was his birth/death day? - but he still fled as soon as possible.

Dash ran into Fenton several more times that day and Dash hurt him every time - punching, kicking, pushing. He was hurt by Phantom and he needed an outlet for it. He could practically feel Fenton’s anger and hatred rise even higher each time, though still he never struck back, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He still shoved the nerd into his locker on his way to the football field, an idea in place to make Phantom like him again. An idea he quickly launched into action as soon as Phantom crashed into the bleachers.

“Plasmius, I am this fucking close to snapping if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.” Phantom growled, the sound nearly animalistic, as he lifted himself from the debris.

“Daniel, it almost sounds like you haven’t enjoyed my birthday present to you today!” Plasmius said, still in that voice that gave Dash a feeling of wrongness.

Tuning out the fight, Dash grabbed at Paulina and Star’s arms, pulling them out of the way. They followed, Kwan behind them, as Dash pulled them further away from harm.

“Uh, you good, dude?” Kwan asked when they reached a safe distance and Dash let go.

“More importantly, did that ghost just say it was mi amor’s birthday?” Paulina said, glancing around the large tree they were behind to watch the fight.

“Uhh…” Dash started. He hadn’t actually told any of them about the time loop. His friends, as much as he loved them… well, there was a reason they forced the chess club into doing their homework and Dash did not feel like explaining something he himself did not understand. “Well, you heard Phantom. And all those fights today! Dude seemed on edge and I didn’t want to risk getting in between them.”

Kwan and Star just shrugged, accepting his response. “Paulie, I think you’re right. That vampire dude definitely said it was Phantom’s birthday.” Star said, swapping the topic.

Their conversation was caught off by an explosion behind them. All four poked their heads around the tree, concerned and curious.

Plasmius had been slammed into the ground, Phantom standing over him. Actually standing. He grabbed at Plasmius’s collar, his aura seeming to whip and crack, nearly electrical in sound. He leaned down further over Plasmius and began absolutely wailing on the dude.

No powers, no quick wit. Just a fist repeatedly to the face, green soaking further into Phantom’s white glove with each throw. He didn’t relent for over a minute, finally straightening up, blood (ectoplasm?) splattered across his face, breathing heavily as though he had over exerted himself. Since when did Phantom breathe?

“More like me every day, hm, child?” Plasmius croaked from where he lay, bringing a hand to his face to rub his cheek.

Phantom didn’t say anything, instead slamming his foot down onto Plasmius’s head as he grabbed the Thermos, trapping the ghost he had so thoroughly just wailed on.

“Oh, my ghost boy, you’ve saved us again!” Paulina cried out, running towards him with her arms outstretched, the others following close behind to keep up with her. While the other three stopped, Paulina continued to propel herself forward, jumping for the ghost.

Phantom, scowling and covered in green, sidestepped her, causing her to launch herself onto the ground. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I got us out of the way!” Dash proclaimed, puffing his chest out. Star went to help Paulina up, who was staring at Phantom in shock.

“Congrats, you have a single brain cell. Did you expect a cookie?” Phantom asked.

“Well, I, uh… I thought…” Dash stuttered. Yes, he absolutely did expect praise. He shifted gears. “I wanted to invite you to my birthday party!”

Phantom sighed deeply, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Dash, listen to me for a minute, okay?”

“Of course!” Dash said eagerly, ready to cling to every word his hero spoke.

“I fucking hate you. All of you.” Phantom said, staring into Dash’s eyes. Dash felt his soul wither some, that hurt to hear. “I could not care less about you. You lack empathy, general human decency, and any semblance of kindness. I honestly and genuinely do not give a fuck what happens to you. You are a useless waste of space and I’m tired of pretending any different. There is not a single redeeming quality in that empty blond head of yours.” Phantom’s eyes swept over the other three. “None of you are any different.” He returned his gaze to Dash. “And I would genuinely rather die again than attend your party.”

Dash felt like his entire soul was collapsing. The one thing Phantom had said today that was the same - his absolute refusal of Dash’s party.

Bomb thoroughly dropped and detonated, Phantom jumped into the air and flew away, leaving the four A-Listers shell-shocked where they were.

“He… can’t have meant all of that, right?” Star asked, glancing at her friends. “Right?”

None of them had a good answer. Phantom’s hatred was so strong the taste of it lingered in the air.

Again, chastised and shamed, they split up and headed home.

Dash genuinely didn’t understand. He’d done so much better with Phantom today - staying out of his way, getting his friends out of the way. He hadn’t gotten hurt defending them. So why did he seem even angrier?

Dash arrived home as though in a fog - his thoughts all-consuming yet fleeting and faint. Heading straight to his room, he dropped heavily into his desk chair. Finally, well away from watchers, Dash started to cry.

Sure, other people had insulted him before, condemned him for his bullying. But never people whose opinions actually mattered. Phantom was the one person in this world that Dash actually gave a damn what he thought. But this was two days in a row that his hero, the person he most looked up to, practically flayed Dash alive with just his words.

Snippets of things he’d heard over the two days forced themselves to his mind. From the sounds of it, Phantom had been bullied and then killed himself in a spectacularly awful manner on his own birthday. It still just sounded so fake. Sure, that’s always the ‘dangers’ of bullying but it was just a scare tactic, people didn’t actually do it. At least not anyone he’d ever known.

Then there was the swearing. Phantom had always been known as someone who didn’t swear. He had been furious and abandoned the PG language.

It just didn’t make any sense. Dash couldn’t understand Phantom hating him. Cool people just didn’t dislike Dash, and Phantom was the coolest person around (both literally and figuratively).

The rest of the day saw Dash running circles in his mind, unable to accept Phantom’s hate and wondering if tomorrow would be today again. Other than making Phantom apparently dislike him more, there had been no significant changes. And movie logic said something good had to change for the main character before the loop would break.

When he awoke the next day to more confetti pancakes, Dash hoped more than anything this birthday was better than the past two.

Again at the school, Dash dutifully pretended to care about Paulina’s cousin. Once that wrapped up, he again hunted down Fenton. Dash was not having a good birthday and he needed an outlet. If Dash’s birthday was bad, then Danny Fenton’s was going to be worse. So Dash gave him the worst beating of the last three days that morning, not even bothering with banter as he slammed the smaller teen’s head into a locker. By the time he was done beating Fenton, they were both very late for class and Fenton was on the floor, leaning against the lockers, looking slightly dazed.

By the time lunch rolled around again (and Dash shoved Fenton into another locker), Dash had determined that school sucked enough but learning the exact same thing three days in a row was something akin to torture.

…even with learning it so many times, though, Dash probably still wouldn’t remember it come test day.

Dash settled into his normal spot and - when Phantom sent Skulker flying through a window - he remained there. He couldn’t piss off Phantom before the afternoon if he just didn’t interact with Phantom.

A position he continued to hold throughout the day, not even trying to disturb the ghost after the many other fights during school hours.

When he went to the football field (after making sure his favorite nerd had been taken care of), he was extremely confident in Phantom’s acceptance.

This time, though, it was Plasmius who was bodily thrown through the bleachers.

Well. That was certainly different.

“Daniel,” the vampirish ghost drawled, brushing plastic chips off his shoulder, “are you having that bad of a day?”

“Yes.” Phantom replied simply, blasting the offending ghost as Dash pulled the others away once more.

If anything, Phantom was even more brutal when he beat down his target, too, before capturing him. He’d also been injured a lot more, burns on his sides, arms, shoulders.

“Dude, are you okay?” Dash asked, stepping around the tree.

Phantom didn’t really answer, only growling in Dash’s general direction.

“Mi amor?” Paulina asked, moving in front of Dash and reaching for Phantom. “You’re hurt!”

Phantom barked a laugh. If he was going for an insane look, he was absolutely nailing it. Covered in green blood, rips and singed material littered over his suit, he looked more than slightly unhinged.

Dash walked forward, gently pulling Paulina behind him. “Phantom, are you okay?”

“Have you stopped being a piece of shit or grown a heart?” He retorted.

Dash felt his stomach sink. Phantom was still angry with him and he had no idea why. This was the third day in a row like this! And Dash was so over it. “What the hell is your problem, dude?” He asked, clenching his hands into fists.

“What’s yours?” The ghost shot back. Apparently noticing Dash’s fists, he grinned. “What? Gonna hit me?”

“What? No, of course not!” Dash responded, though he desperately wanted to. He was sick and tired of being disrespected by this ghost he held in such high esteem.

“Of course not,” Phantom scoffed, crossing his arms. “Bullies are cowards who only torment those weaker than them. You wouldn’t know a fair fight if it slapped you across the face.”

The other popular kids stayed behind Dash, wide-eyed and speechless at the interaction.

“Phantom…” Dash started, remembering some of the conversations that now never happened. “Were you bullied when you were alive?”

The ghost’s face immediately sobered. No longer looking like a mad man, he now just looked tired. “Yeah. You know what? Yeah, I was.”

“Is that why you’re dead?” Kwan piped up from behind Dash.

Phantom didn’t answer, instead dropping to sit on the ground, dropping his head into his hands. “I didn’t care about living anymore,” he confessed and they heard him begin to cry. “I didn’t care what happened to me and was reckless. And then I died and it still didn’t stop.”

The four of them looked at each other in bewilderment. None of them had actually expected an answer, expected Phantom to be having what appeared to be a mental breakdown. Sat like that, crying into his knees with his arms wrapped around himself, he didn’t look like a badass. He looked like a tired kid. Dash could tell the others were thinking about the sharp increase in ghost attacks today. Dash, however, was suddenly comparing himself to the crying hero in front of him.

He had heard enough the first two times he lived this day to know the ghosts had targeted Phantom specifically because it was his birthday/death day. Dash had targeted Fenton for the same reason. In this scenario, he was more like Phantom’s enemies than Phantom.

“Why are you like this?” Phantom asked. “What do you people get out of injuring and belittling someone else? How do you not care that you may be a catalyst to their deaths? I don’t understand. I just don’t.”

As the ghost continued to cry, the four looked at each other. That same feeling Dash got the first birthday rose up - a rock in his stomach, a pressure in his heart - but a name finally associated itself to the feeling. Guilt. Shame. And, now, a touch of fear. Bullying was supposed to be mostly harmless fun, not that serious. A way to reinforce his position at the top of the high school food chain.

He thought of stories of vengeful spirits - the old, scary stories before myth became real - as he listened to his hero cry. He thought of Fenton - of his escalating anger today, of Dash’s own escalating violence - and suddenly considered what Fenton would be like as a ghost. He’d kill Dash, wouldn’t he? Ruled by anger and vengeance.

Whoever had made Phantom’s human life hell must be incredibly lucky. Phantom had even said he wanted to kill his bully, but refrained from doing so.

Kwan was the one who eventually answered. “I… don’t know.”

Phantom chuckled though there was no humor in it. “Of course you don’t. Your victims are nothing to you other than sadistic fun.” He looked up from his knees, looking at the popular kids in front of him. “And you never even try to be better.” He sighed and returned to his feet. Then he was gone in an instant, flying away in a blur of black.

Dash wasn’t entirely sure what to think of the look on Phantom’s face. He’d been a force of pure terror when he was angry the past few days. But Dash almost felt like he’d rather see that side of Phantom again before seeing this one. No matter how angry he got, he still didn’t lash out. But that sadness? That hurt in the way your parents looking at you in disappointment did. And Dash found he didn’t entirely like that feeling.

“So, like, does anyone else suddenly feel, like, kinda sick to their stomach?” Star asked softly.

“Yeah. I don’t think we can blame it on cafeteria food this time, though.” Paulina answered, nearly meek compared to her usual self.

They separated silently. Is this what people called a life changing event? Had Phantom’s human bully gone through it when Phantom had died?

Unpleasant as it was, Dash was grateful this was the event. Suddenly he was unsure of his belief that bullying didn’t really kill people. And Dash most certainly didn’t want death on his hands - in general or in a city with strong ghostly ties. He had some comfort in knowing Phantom’s death wasn’t his fault.

He fully expected tomorrow to finally come. He’d learned a life lesson, so movie logic said it was time to continue forward.

However, when he awoke the next morning to another birthday breakfast, he was well and truly confused. What else could he do?

Maybe he had to put his lesson to practice? Get through the day without bullying? He wished he knew why he was in this time loop.

That day, he didn’t wait for Fenton at the front door. He simply went to his first period class and learned the same thing for the fourth time. And just like before, he did not take notes. There was only so much change someone could do in a single day (even if that single day took up four days).

His second period class, he shared with Fenton. Every now and again he glanced over at the teen, remembering Phantom. He imagined Fenton with ghost powers, with the ability and drive to take revenge.

He imagined learning Fenton had died and that Dash had driven him to his early grave. More and more came to mind at that thought. The Fentons, grieving a dead son, no longer building the weapons and shields that kept the town safe. Phantom and the Huntress did good jobs, but people still needed to be able to protect themselves until the hunters could arrive. The school, knowing what he did, blaming him for another student’s death. He doubted he’d be able to keep his position at the top of the school with blood on his hands.

The worst image that filtered in was a headstone and a fresh grave, with the name of a teen he knew, a teen he unknowingly convinced that a coffin was better than breath.

He felt guilt at just the possibility of it. Phantom’s breakdown yesterday had made sure that he’d never have to feel guilty for real.

He tried his best to focus on his classes but honestly, they were just so freaking boring! But at this point, maybe he had passively absorbed enough information or whatever to get a good grade on the next test, otherwise he’d have to wallop Fenton.

Wait, no. No walloping. No taking out anger on someone else. No hitting people except on the football field.

When he passed Fenton’s locker on the way to lunch, the brief mental image of a funeral was more than enough to keep his feet going forward. And when Phantom tackled Skulker out the window, he stayed in his seat. Mostly. Ducking under the cafeteria table whenever a ghost appeared was second nature at this point. Once Skulker had been successfully evicted from the room, he returned to his food, snickering along with several others as Lancer sighed, going to get the broom to clean it up.

When Lancer passed one of the tables, though, Dash temporarily paused. The teacher had gone in front of the table where Manson and Foley sat. Yet where Fenton was notably absent from. Dash hadn’t shoved him in a locker today. Why was he still late?

When Fenton once again walked in halfway through lunch, Dash was thoroughly confused. Was someone else bullying the weirdo? How had Dash not heard of it? He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Dash was now the only one alive who had seen Phantom’s pain, everyone else’s memories forgotten. Like the previous days, Dash didn’t bother explaining the whole repeating day thing. He’d get around to telling them when tomorrow finally came. He was repeating enough conversations without adding that one in.

Shrugging, Dash determined it wasn’t his problem. Even if it was bullying, it wasn’t any that Dash himself was responsible for, plus it couldn’t be that bad if Dash never even noticed it, with all the time he spent tormenting Fenton. So he continued on with his day, studiously avoiding Phantom’s fights. He’d try to invite Phantom to his party again during his fight with Plasmius later in the day, but he also wouldn’t push. He very much did not want to hear Phantom’s declaration of dying again being better than spending time with Dash’s group, thanks.

When he passed by Fenton’s locker for the last time that day, he had to admit he was proud of himself. An entire school day and he didn’t bully a single loser! This whole being a good person thing was actually kinda nice, he determined. So he continued on his way to the bleachers, not even acknowledging Fenton as he had for the entire day. Ignoring his existence wasn’t bullying, after all! He was reasonably certain of that.

Dash was the first one there this time instead of being the last as he had the past few todays. He plopped down on one of the seats in the front row, enjoying the gentle breeze on a warm day.

The sound of a metal clang drew the jock’s attention, glancing around for the source of the noise, just in time to see what looked like Foley’s stupid red hat disappearing under the bleachers. Huh? Had that always happened? Or had he changed something?

Curious and bored, Dash got up, heading over to the side Foley had gone under, peeking around the corner.

All three of them were under there - he could see Foley’s and Manson’s faces but Fenton’s back was to him. Worry burned on both faces he could see. Fenton had his shirt partially lifted, apparently something on him was the source of the concern?

“Danny, what the hell happened?” Manson asked, leaning forward and pressing a hand to Fenton’s stomach.

Whatever she touched, it made Fenton hiss in pain and pull away from her. “Kitty had a gun.”

Huh? What the hell kind of sentence was that? And why did the other two seem to accept it as a perfectly normal answer?

“They’re really gunning for you today, huh?” Foley said, looking off into the opposite distance. Wimp. What could possibly be so bad? Fenton was clearly standing on his own. Maybe a paintball gun or something?

“You’re telling me. I haven’t gone longer than thirty minutes between each of them. Apparently, Vlad was nice enough to tell them about my birthday so they could all bring me presents.” Between who? Who was Vlad? The only Vlad Dash could think of was Amity’s mysterious mayor.

“Ugh, seriously? That guy is beyond a fruit loop, dude.” Foley said, shaking his head.

“Want to tell me something I don’t know?” Dash had never heard Fenton sound so tired. If nothing else, not bullying Fenton was absolutely worth it. Everyone knew there was something going on with them but no one knew what - most people’s best guess was they were all screwing each other. Dash made sure to keep quiet, being mindful of the metal bars around him. This could make for some amazing gossip!

…gossip wasn’t bullying right?

“Well, you need stitches. Is that something you knew?” Manson asked, moving to her knees and digging around in her spider shaped backpack.

Uh, what?

“I kinda guessed, yeah.” Fenton said, him and Foley joining Manson on the ground.

Uh, double what?

Manson pulled out a white kit from her bag and Dash felt rooted to the spot. Foley sat down near Manson and Fenton laid down on the ground, though he sat his head in Foley’s lap. Foley immediately began brushing his hand through Fenton’s hair.

Huh, maybe there was something to the rumor about them all sleeping together? Or at least the guys.

Dash nearly felt sick when Manson pushed up Fenton’s shirt, showing a large, deep gash on him, nearly the full length of his stomach. Who the hell had done that? And why was Fenton so calm? What was going on?

With fascinated horror, Dash silently watched Manson literally thread a thick needle and push it through Fenton’s skin. Fenton buried his head further into Foley’s lap and Foley leaned down closer to him as Fenton gripped at the other’s shirt.

There was something inherently wrong about the scene in front of him. Three teenagers - sixteen years old, like him - one laid out on the dirt while another stitched flesh together with what seemed to be practiced ease. Slick red blood trailed down Fenton’s stomach, stained Manson’s glove-less hands, practically glittering each time the light caught her hand the right way.

Throughout it all, Fenton never made a single sound of pain. Somehow, that was the worst part. Other than pulling Foley close to him, he just wasn’t reacting.

Dash heard as Fenton let out a loud, long sigh. Foley and Manson both began looking around, suddenly on high alert. Dash pressed himself further into the shadows, tensing when their eyes scanned over his spot. They didn’t seem to notice him, though.

“Seriously? Who is possibly left?” Foley asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out… bracelets? that he slipped on. What in the name of football was going on here?

“Guess it’s time to find out.” Fenton said, moving to sit up, Manson stopping him before he got very far by placing a hand on his chest.

“I only got half of it stitched. Be careful and try not to bust them?” She asked, also pulling silver bracelets onto either wrist.

The longer he watched, the more lost Dash became.

“Don’t I always?” Fenton said, batting her hand away gently, pushing himself up to his feet.

Red continued to drop down his stomach, staining his skin, bleeding into the waist of his blue jeans, half open wound still weeping. Yet he just pulled his dark red shirt back down, the blood spot only visible as a dampness in the fabric.

“I’m not in the mood for hide and seek!” Fenton yelled, turning in a small circle, eyes sweeping the same way his friends’ had. Foley and Manson followed his lead, coming to their feet, their backs all pressed together as they gently spun. Goth and geek both raised their arms, hands pointed in front of them.

If Dash hadn’t just seen them treat Fenton as though it were a common occurrence, he may have laughed. They looked ridiculous, two of the three with arms held in front of them, yet all had looks of seriousness on their faces.

“Are you having a poor birthday, little badger?” A familiar voice asked.

His breath caught in his throat as the Wisconsin Ghost popped into existence, a cruel grin on his face.

“Y’know what? Yeah, I am. And it’s been a whole twenty minutes since I punched anything, so you’re right on time.” Fenton shot back, moving to stand in front of his friends protectively. “I got this, guys. Get out of the damage zone.”

What? What? What?

There was no way that was Fenton standing there, glaring into the face of the ghost considered to be one of even Phantom’s strongest enemies. Not Fenton, who had meekly taken beatings from a human boy. Dash, strong as he was, was still a toothpick to be snapped in half when compared to a ghost.

Manson and Foley ducked and ran, leaving Fenton and the ghost alone, Dash trapped in his hidden alcove. The ghost didn’t even acknowledge the two running away, merely crossing his arms over his chest as he hovered there.

“Now, Daniel, is that really how to speak to your elder?” Plasmius asked.

Wait. Wait, hold up, back up, rewind, be kind, restart, whatever. He’d heard something like this before. The ghost saying Daniel. But he had said that to Phantom, why now to Fenton?

Dash glanced around furtively, wondering if Phantom was actually here. Wait, duh, of course Phantom would arrive any moment now! He’d been here the other days!

“Well, at least you’re admitting you’re elderly.” Fenton said, smirking. “Maybe time to stop wearing a cape, hm?”

Plasmius’s grin dropped into a scowl and he summoned a pink blast to his hand, throwing it toward Fenton. Suddenly, Dash was trying to remember if he’d ever seen Fenton again after this fight, realizing he hadn’t. Does Fenton die today?

Sure he was about to see his classmate burnt to a crisp, he felt like his brain was short circuiting as Fenton leaped out of the way.

“Says the child in pajamas playing hero.” Plasmius said, his face returning to a neutral expression.

What the fuck was happening? Like, seriously? How had it only been a few minutes of this and how did he only have more questions without a single answer? Fenton was most definitely not in pajamas!

“Hey! I like my suit!” Fenton shouted, though it nearly sounded playful.

Someone. Anyone. An answer. Any answer. A single breadcrumb of context.

Plasmius shrugged. “Be that as it may. I didn’t come here to talk.” He said, blasting pink at Fenton again. Dash made a strangled noise as the shot connected with Fenton’s chest, slamming him backwards into the fencing, the sound of the impact mercifully covering Dash’s sound.

Fenton, his shirt slightly smoking, stepped forward. “No, you came here to get your ass kicked.”

No. No way. Was Fenton threatening Plasmius?

Plasmius smirked, reaching out and waving his hand in the universal ‘bring it on’ movement.

Fenton was threatening Plasmius… and Plasmius was goading him on?

“Goin’ ghost!” Fenton shouted, jumping into the air.

Dash.exe has stopped working.

His entire mind went blank as he watched the scene in front of him. Fenton was suspended in midair, far higher than he should’ve been able to jump and then not coming back down. Light swallowed him and nearly blinded Dash, yet the quarterback didn’t even blink. He saw the entire transformation, saw his weak, spineless classmate fade away and leave behind Phantom.

“Just for you today, Vladdie,” Phantom said, summoning energy to his hands. “We have a two for one special going! Two beat downs for the price of one!”

With that, Phantom shot forward, sending himself and the other ghost beyond the bleachers, leaving Dash alone underneath.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and lowered himself to the ground, legs suddenly made of jelly. He didn’t understand. He had seen it but his brain didn’t understand what it meant.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there when he heard Phantom yelling halfway across the field, words muffled by distance. Dash remembered the first today - Phantom had gotten hurt protecting them. From the sounds of it, without Dash’s influence, the others had remained there and history repeated itself. But Phantom didn’t sound as angry this time. Fed up, but not furious the way he had that first day.

Because Fenton was Phantom. Because Fenton had spent the entire day being beaten by both ghosts and Dash. Because today was the anniversary of Fenton’s death.

Dash froze as Phantom phased in through the bleachers, settling on the ground, holding onto his side.

He didn’t remember speaking, didn’t remember telling his mouth to move. But nonetheless, he did. “I’m sorry.” Dash said.

Phantom whirled around at his voice. “Uh, you alright there, citizen?” He called, coming towards Dash.

“I know.” He said.

“Know what? You good? Come on, can you stand?” Phantom asked, stooping down to Dash’s level. He took Dash’s hands and pulled him to his feet. Regret, guilt, shame flooded him, stronger than any other iteration of today, as he felt the ice of Phantom’s body as the hero helped him. The chill of the grave.

“I… saw…” Dash tried to answer, but his tongue felt foreign to his own body. His entire being felt oddly disconnected from itself.

Phantom frowned as Dash swayed, reaching up and holding him steady by his upper arms, though he didn’t burn Dash with ice like he had the first day. “What did you see? Did something happen? C’mon, focus on my voice and try to ground yourself.”

Dash tried to say it, tried to say the human name for the ghost in front of him, but the word eluded him. “Your stitches were only half done. Were they always only half done?” The other times, had Phantom fought with that injury half mended? Or had Dash caused a delay the other days, Phantom having to fight Plasmius with his stomach sliced open?

“What did you just say?” Phantom said, jerking away from Dash. Without the ghost there to help him, he sunk back to the ground. Even his eyes felt confused, colors wrong and the world a little too tilted.

“She didn’t finish them. He arrived too early.”

“Dash. What did you see?” Phantom asked sharply, voice tinged with an emotion Dash knew so well. Fear. He’d heard it in so many others. An emotion that had always been a thrill to him, a success.

When was the last time Fenton had actually shown him fear? Or had he been a mere annoyance this entire time? Just a small delay to be forgotten immediately?

Well, it certainly hadn’t been forgotten at all. Phantom had grown angrier, crueler, the more Dash bullied him.

“Dash!” Phantom yelled, shaking him briefly. “What did you see?”

Dash looked up, Phantom’s face coming into sharp relief even though everything else seemed to be collapsing into colors and shapes Dash didn’t know. “Fenton.” He finally managed to say.

Phantom’s eyes widened in panic. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Danny said, pacing back and forth, though his feet didn’t actually appear to hit solid ground.

“The… the time loop… was this the lesson?” Dash thought aloud. Reality was slowly fading back into his consciousness, bringing back color and thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“What?” Phantom asked, stopping his pacing.

“I’ve been in a time loop. I’ve lived this day before.” Dash answered. He tried to push away the truth, the evidence in front of him, the realness of this situation. It pressed in on him even harder.

“Fucking Clockwork,” Danny swore. He squatted down in front of Dash, feet arched as he rested on his toes. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Dash didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think, to relive. To face what he’d done. But he had to. This was Phantom, his hero. This was Danny Fenton, his victim. “I… it’s… a long story.” He choked out.

“I’ve got time.” His classmate’s ghost said.

There was no avoiding this. The truth was collapsing into him and was impossible to stop. “This is the fourth day. The first day was just… normal. All the same ghost fights as this version of today. I was… my normal self. I was there with Skulker. I learned it was both your… birthday. And death day.”

Phantom paled, his aura seeming to dim.

“When Plasmius attacked, we didn’t get far enough away and you got hurt because of it. We… we had wanted to listen to your conversations. And Plasmius was talking.” Dash finally felt tears prick at his eyes. “He said you died painfully. And that you did it to yourself.”

Dash was shaking his head as he cried, let the knowledge of his actions burn into his mind. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Fenton. I never thought anyone would actually die!” He insisted, but it felt hollow as his eyes burned.

“I…” Phantom started, settling into a fully sitting position. ‘It isn’t… You…” He went quiet.

Dash pushed forward - he had begun, talked about the loop for the first time, and the flood gates weren’t going to close again. “You yelled at us. Called us… names we probably deserved. Burned me. And when I woke up the next day, it was my birthday again. The same things happened. I was worse, though. I acted worse. Hit harder. I stayed out of the way in the Skulker fight…” He trailed off, remembering how Phantom had laughed.

How he’d said he wanted to murder his human bully. Why hadn’t he? Dash would be no match for Phantom - for Fenton.

“I only popped up after you had caught him. You were angry with me. I didn’t know why. And I took my anger out on… well, I got us away from the Plasmius fight. I thought it’d make you like me. If anything, you were angrier. The third day, yesterday, my yesterday at least, I just wanted to understand why, how to make it right. But… I also decided that since I wasn’t having a good birthday, Danny Fenton couldn’t be allowed to either.”

And he’d taken every beating. He’d get beaten by a ghost just to be turned into Dash’s line of fire. He never fought back.

Dash looked up at Phantom. He was holding himself, looking firmly at the blank ground. What was going through his head, Dash wondered? “I didn’t follow you for the Skulker fight. Didn’t bug you after any of the others during the day. The whole day, though, I was beating you so hard my knuckles hurt. That day after the Plasmius fight was the worst.”

“Did I hurt you again? I’m sorry.” Phantom mumbled into his knees.

The entire scene seemed to play on fast forward in his memories. Phantom’s words, Phantom’s cries. Remembered his certainty Fenton would’ve killed him. “No.” Dash finally answered. “You cried.”

“I what?” Phantom asked, incredulous.

“You cried. Completely broke. Told us you stopped caring about your life because of the bullying. And we just… we finally realized what the consequences could be. And I couldn’t do it anymore. Not after seeing the ghost of a dead teen like that.” Dash chuckled before he continued. “I was afraid I’d push Fenton too far and he’d come back as a ghost to get revenge.”

“So the difference today was just you not bullying Fen…” he sighed. “Beating me.”

A laceration cut so deep into Dash’s chest he was surprised when there wasn’t a real wound. He’d seen the change. He knew who Phantom was. But hearing it, the acknowledgment, somehow made it all the more real. Regardless, he nodded. “I got here early today. I saw Foley. I followed.”

“So you saw everything.” Phantom groaned, leaning his head onto his knees. “Dash,” he pleaded, “you can’t tell anyone. They’ll kill me and that’s the good option for what’ll happen.”

This time, Dash paled. He hadn’t even considered that. “I already… already caused your death once. I don’t want to again. This is my fault.”

“If it helps, I’m not, like, entirely dead?” Phantom offered. “And it’s not like I committed… died intentionally.”

“Would you have done whatever reckless thing it was that killed you without me?” Dash asked.

Phantom fidgeted some. “It was an accident.”

“What I did wasn’t.” He said.

Uncomfortable silence filtered into the air, neither sure where to go from there, until Dash remembered what else he had said. “What do you mean not entirely dead?”

He didn’t say anything, plucking off one of his gloves and reaching towards Dash. “Look for a pulse.”

Dash did as he was asked, though he nearly recoiled when he touched Phantom’s icy skin, so cold it hurt. “There’s nothing there,” Dash said guiltily. As far as he could tell, Fenton was very dead and just good at hiding.

Light flashed around the ghost again, the bleachers suddenly feeling dark when they disappeared, Phantom’s glow gone with it. Only a very normal looking Danny Fenton was there now, clothes bloody, sat beside Dash. “Now try.” He said, shaking his arm slightly.

It was faint and it was slow, but it was there. Dash made a sound of confusion, unable to articulate anything more complex than that.

“I’m half ghost. An accident with my parents' portal. Apparently dying between two worlds is a good way to not die,” he said, laughing softly at the end of it before returning to being serious. “I don’t recommend it though. Dying and coming back wasn’t pleasant.”

His screams could be heard for miles. Dash remembered both Skulker and Plasmius saying.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Dash finally asked, the one question he had held back.

Fenton paused, resting his chin on his knee. “Honestly? Because hurting people is wrong and I didn’t want to be like that.”

Quiet stretched between them.

“Will you really not tell anyone? Can you even keep this secret?” Danny asked softly. “From everyone you know?”

“This town would collapse in a week without Phantom,” Dash answered. “And I don’t want any more guilt.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Uh, sure? What?”

Danny studied Dash’s face. “Stop hurting people. Try to get the others to stop. Don’t just stop with me. Be better. Even if I didn’t take my own life, there is already a ghost haunting Casper who did.”

“Sidney Poindexter is real?” Dash asked. “I thought he was made up.”

“Nope, he’s real. One time he even thought I was bullying you and got pissed at me. Can you believe it?”

Dash snorted at the idea of Fenton bullying him. The old Fenton would’ve been too weak. The new Fenton was much stronger than Dash, in morals as well as strength. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m stopping. This isn’t who I want to be.”

“Good.” Fenton said, standing up, pressing a hand into his stomach. “Now, I’ve gotta go and get the rest of these stitches done.”

“I’m not sure how I completely managed to forget that. Are you okay to… travel?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had a lot worse. I’ll live.” He grinned. “As much as I ever do. For now, though, I’mma die right quick.” And again the transformation swept over him. He was up in the air and gone with the win without another word.

There were no confetti pancakes the next time Dash woke up.

#Grace writes #danny phantom #danny fenton #dash baxter #Phic phight 2023 #Phic phight

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