#THERE WILL BE A PART 2

[starry-bi-sky]

i've mentioned in a few past posts about an au where Danny is a variant of Jason Todd. I haven't made a post about it yet because I need a good rhythm flowing however i've been listening to Gladiator by Jann and I have been having thoughts.

but first, let me set the au:

Danny Fenton is Jason Todd, or at least, a variant of him. A him from a universe separate to the major Batman timeline - but still Jason Todd, down to the structure of his face and his name itself. The only thing that changes, is who picks him up - and, that he follows old Batman canon, and was an orphan. Jason Todd steals the tires off the batmobile and wallops Batman with his tirejack, and then runs off. Shortly after, he gets picked up by the Fentons.

(Customary line break,,,, word count check: 5k)

And his name changes from Jason Todd to Danny Fenton. He doesn't care much for the new name change, it stems from his mute refusal to share his name to the people that picked him up; an attempt to make him untraceable should he get away from them, and to keep something of his to himself. So they name him something new. He grows to like it enough as he acclimates to his new family.

(He hangs onto the name Jason Todd like a secret - he may be 'Danny Fenton' now, but he'll never forget his time on Gotham's streets. He'll always be Jason Todd.)

(Jazz is the only one who he tells his name to in the family - she affectionately calls him Jay whenever she wants.)

He becomes friends with Sam and Tucker and deals with Dash and his bullying. And when Danny steps in during a fight between Dash and another student, Dash gives him a bleeding nose and mockingly says, "Do you think you're Robin just because you're from Gotham, Fenton?"

Jason looks him in the eyes and he bares his teeth, "Why not?" he asks, spitting blood, "being Robin gives me magic."

The nickname sticks. It's supposed to be an insult; Daniel Fenton is not Robin, he'll never be Robin. Not now, not in a million years. Jason Todd has always wanted to be Robin, so he takes the insult and wears it proudly. He buys a school varsity jacket and painstakingly undos the stitching of all the school's motif on it. On the breast of it, he embroiders in a black circle with the Boy Wonder "R" on it instead. It's not good stitching, but the next day Danny wears it down to breakfast and into school.

In normal au canon, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton (its a mouthful, just call him Danny) only meets the Waynes after he becomes Phantom - an event that leans more towards Daniel Fenton's accident than Jason Todd's death, but traumatizes him all the same. (Is it too much to want to be mourned? His best friends like to deny that he died - and Danny - Jason? - wishes they wouldn't, even if he did come back.)

(The accident embitters him, even more when his parents don't seem to pick up on it. He stops calling himself Danny Fenton - he's always been Jason Todd. It shows itself in his ghostly form. He doesn't want to wear the thing he died in, not in something that belongs to the Fentons, and his suit reflects that.)

In this timeline, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton, aged 13, meets Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne after a mishap with magic on the other end of the reality sends the three of them careening through time and space, and spat back out on the other end, in a world not their own. And together.

Danny is paired with a very confused Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Luckily, there's a few heroes there to help them. Danny can hardly comprehend the idea that he's in another universe - he doesn't know why Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are seemingly handling it well.

On their way to a secondary base with the heroes, Danny turns to Bruce Wayne and asks, "So, is it part of rich-person training that you're just totally chill with being sent into another universe, or are you just weird?"

Bruce Wayne huffs at him, rather than get offended, and he smiles that dumb lopsided billionaire smile that Danny's seen on every vogue magazine he's been in. "I'm not so worried with these skilled heroes here to help us get home."

Danny silently concludes that he's just weird. At least Dick Grayson is biting back a smile behind him. "Riiiight..." He says, dragging the vowel out dryly.

When they get to that secondary location -- a safehouse that one of the heroes had set up -- the three of them are sat in a living room-like room while one hero, Zatanna, goes and calls someone from the Justice League. The other two heroes stay with the three of them.

Within a few hours, Danny is face to face with Batman - someone who he hasn't seen since he whacked him in the stomach with a tire iron - and Nightwing. For a moment, Danny swears that the both of them look almost spooked by him.

Batman stares at him for a moment when he enters, and then he goes to speak with Bruce Wayne. Danny doesn't care enough to hear what they're talking about, he pulls out his phone as Nightwing goes to speak with Dick Grayson.

"Are you a fan of Robin, little man?" Someone says, and when Danny looks up he locks eyes with Dick Grayson -- who is leaning around Nightwing to talk to him, the both of them are smiling. And considering who Nightwing was, Danny finds himself turning pink to the ears.

But he will not hide his jacket. He forces a grin through his embarrassment, "Hell yeah, man, Robin's cool." He says, and pushes his arms down to pull out the hem of his letterman, showing off the emblem. "I made it m'self out of a school varsity after the A-Listers started callin' me Robin."

"A-Listers?"

"Popular kids," Danny corrects, loosing his hold on the hem and brushing invisible wrinkles out of the embroidery. "They didn't like that I kept stepping in when they were bullying. Dash asked me if i thought I was Robin because I was from Gotham."

Dick Grayson looks intrigued -- and concerned, and he leans forward onto his knees and raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

And Danny grins a shark-like thing, straightening back his shoulders with a burning sort of smug pride and all the sharpness of broken glass left in Crime Alley. "I told him being Robin gave me magic, and then I punched him."

Dick Grayson's smile widens, splitting into showing teeth as he leans back into his seat. Danny isn't sure why he's so delighted - but Nightwing looks incredibly amused, and he suddenly remembers that the Robin himself was there in front of him.

Danny's face burns anew and his arms fold themselves in front of him once again.

"I don't think I ever caught your name, Robin." Dick Grayson goes, his voice thick with laughter, and Nightwing steps off to the side as Batman and Bruce Wayne walk over to join them both. They're just close enough that Danny can see Bruce Wayne raise an eyebrow at them both.

"It's Jason." Danny says before he can think about it, and barely stops himself from frowning at himself for the slip. He amends himself, glancing over at Batman and Bruce as they get closer. "But everyone calls me Danny."

Dick Grayson's head recoils slightly, and he looks a little surprised. "Why Danny?" He asks.

"Why Dick?" He shoots back, and Bruce and Dick both smile at him, with Dick Grayson shrugging with an expression that looks like 'you've got a point.'

In the end, the three of them - yes, three - get sent to this world's Wayne Manor, and Danny is bewildered by that decision to include himself -- he's not a Wayne. Why not just send him to the Fentons?

Batman tells him that the Fentons don't exist in this world, and Danny falls silent. "Oh." He says quietly, a pit growing in his stomach with an ill-kind of dread. He can't keep Batman's gaze, looking away with unease.

No Fentons in this world. No Fentons. Where was he then, in the grand scheme of things? Where was he in this world? What happened to Jason Todd? Was he even alive? He can't keep the worry off his face, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks up, Dick Grayson squeezes him gently.

Dick Grayson is steadily beginning to remind him of his sister.

-

They end up driving back in the Batmobile. It's such a shock to Danny that he momentarily forgets the lack of Fentons. He makes a laugh sound, actually, and immediately he covers his hand with his mouth and stares at the car -- tank? with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Jason?" Dick says, and hearing his name being spoken feels like someone touched him with a livewire. It's weird, it's foreign - he hates, in some way, that it's foreign - and it's so nice. Yes, that's me.

He drops his hand immediately. "Sorry." He says, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks, "I -uh, was just surprised."

"It's not every day someone sees the Batmobile." Dick agrees. Nightwing has his back to them but Danny swears he sees his shoulders shaking a little.

"Yeah," Danny nods slowly, dragging his eyes over the batmobile as Batman opens the driver's side and gets in. He thinks for a moment, of what he should say next - whether to admit that he's seen it before, or to pretend that he's seeing it for the first time. Snd as Nightwing opens the door for him, Bruce, and Dick, he chooses the funnier option; "The last time I saw it, I was stealing its tires."

To his surprise and unsurprise, Danny only gets two pairs of eyes on him. Nightwing gets into the passenger seat as both Bruce and Dick turn their gaze onto him; Dick's eyes big like they were going to bulge out of his head.

"You what!?"

So Danny tells an amazed Dick Grayson that he hit Batman with a tire iron after he stole his tires - something he is very proud about and also incredibly embarrassed about when he retells what happened in the backseat of the batmobile, with Batman and Nightwing listening in from the front seat.

(Bruce Wayne doesn't ever tell Dick shit, he's going to lord this over Bruce's head the moment they are alone.)

"Please tell me this didn't happen in this world." Danny groans behind his palms as he sinks into his seat. Dick Grayson is killing himself laughing on his left, and he saw Bruce Wayne stifling a smile before he obscured his vision with his hands.

Much to his luck, its Batman himself who speaks next, (Danny was being mostly rhetorical). "It did." He says, and his voice sounds like the rumble of the earth before a stampede. It will never not throw Danny off every time he hears it. "It takes quite a lot of spunk to steal the tires off the batmobile."

He can't believe it. Batman is making fun of him. Fucking, Batman.

He wants to die with embarrassment. He groans even louder as Dick Grayson's laughter crescendoes. Danny risks a peak through his fingers, he doesn't know whether to regret it or not because he can just barely see Batman smirk very faintly from his position in the middle.

(His world axis tilts five degree leftways seeing it; like someone dunked a bucket of ice water on him.)

"He ended up being adopted by the Bruce Wayne of this world."

Danny's hands drop with his jaw into his lap. Dick Grayson on his left chokes on his laughter and careens into a coughing fit. Bruce Wayne on his right chokes on air, and quickly recovers himself with a cough behind a closed fist.

"What?" Danny croaks.

-

Apparently, Bruce Wayne's family is much larger in this world than it is in his. Danny can barely wrap his head around the idea that he ends up adopted by the man, but now he has to learn that Wayne had several children in this world?

He's still not wrapped his head around it when the three of them wind up at Wayne Manor, finally, or even when he's standing in front of him himself. For his effort, Bruce Wayne does a good job at looking unruffled by it.

God, he's weird. Danny's starting to quite like it, actually. How human of him.

He still can't wrap his head around it when he meets the rest of Bruce Wayne's children, all of whom are already aware of the three of them. Danny thinks that someone from the Justice League might've alerted them before they got here.

It makes sense, he supposes.

It helps that they are just as weirded out as he is. A boy named Tim Drake sees him for the first time and blurts out; "Oh wow, you're tiny." In a tone like he's just seen a two-headed snake burst out of the ground.

Danny is still offended. He's still growing. It's not his fault he spent twelve years of his life malnourished. "I'm gonna be taller than you," he tells him seriously, "and when I do I'm gonna kick your ass."

Tim snorts at him.

The other Bruce Wayne -- Mr. Wayne's -- youngest looks at him up and down with a face of carefully controlled judgement. His name is Damian, he's Bruce Wayne's only biological son. Danny can't believe that there's only one.

If anything, Bruce Wayne himself looks surprised too.

"Todd, yes?" Damian says, his green eyes narrowed at him.

Danny feels like the specimen under his parents' microscope, he feels like he's standing on a platform that's being slowly spun by scientists. He looks over at Bruce Wayne in confusion, and then back at Damian. "I- yes?"

Damian Wayne nods, and then leaves.

Danny does not once see himself. That is unsettling in and of itself - surely Jason Todd would have been told about another version of himself in this world, wouldn't he? How old is he here? An adult, probably. Danny doesn't know if he wants to see him. What does he look like when he's grown up? He pulls his Robin jacket around him a little tighter, like a cocoon, like a shield.

"It's weird to hear them call me Jason Todd." He says aloud to himself, and it leaves a weight behind in his chest that shouldn't hurt the way it does. It shouldn't be weird to be called your name. It shouldn't cobweb up your throat to hear your name being said. It was his name. It was his.

-

Danny acclimates to the manor slowly. The house is big, massive. He's never been in a house so large before, he feels like a stray cat being taken in for the first time, again. He and Bruce and Dick Grayson are all given their own separate rooms - one of many inside this mansion - and the sheer size of his bedroom is bigger than his living room and kitchen combined.

it's daunting. Danny sits outside on the balcony and stares at the stars he can see - Wayne Manor is far enough away from Gotham that its light pollution doesn't obscure the sky here like it did in the heart of it.

Danny finds the constellations he can find and wishes he had his books with him. He finds the library the next day and buries himself in the back, curling up into a comfy armchair next and inhaling each book he can get his hands on.

Tim Drake wanders past him at some point, Danny would have missed him if it weren't for the fact that Drake stared at him strangely when he saw him. He walks away when he realizes Danny was staring back.

It's a rinse and repeat for the next few days. Danny doesn't go to meals, he sneaks food from the kitchen afterwards, and then buries himself in hundreds of books in the library.

Dick Grayson, the one from his world, goes and finds him three days later. Danny's eyes hurt with strain by then, but he is furiously halfway through a Jane Austen novel when Dick sits down across from him.

"Have you been here all day?" Dick asks, he drapes himself across the side of his chair, contorting himself into a position that Danny doesn't think is comfortable when he looks up at him.

Not that he looks up at him long - he hums absently and goes back to reading. Frowning when he realizes he lost his place on the page.

Dick Grayson raises an eyebrow, "Have you at least eaten anything?"

Danny hums. No, he hasn't, and he hadn't thought about eating all day. Until now that is, his frown ever deepening as his stomach pangs with a deep hunger.

"That's not healthy."

"Mhm."

"Are you going to eat something?"

"Mhhh."

And this gets Dick to frown. He straightens himself up, propping onto his elbows to stare at Danny. "Jason." He says strongly. And it's that that gets Danny to finally look up from his page, jumping like he'd again been poked with a live wire as he stares at Dick with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Put the book down." Dick orders, gesturing towards the side table next to Danny with a nod. "And come eat something." There's very little room for argument in his voice, he sounds like Jazz when she's trying to parent him, but instead he actually sounds authoritative. Not bossy.

Danny still frowns at him. "You're not the boss of me." He says, sinking back into his chair with a thumb bookmarking his page.

Dick gives him a look and makes a decisive noise, swaggling his head side to side while he does. "I'm pretty sure that for as long as we're here, me and B actually are the boss of you."

He's never really liked authority figures, not ones that tried to boss him around, that is. Danny doubles down, his lips curling into a shadow of a scowl. "Just because you're my brother in another world doesn't mean you can act like it."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't want to go eat."

"It's not good for you to skip meals."

"Quit talking like Jazz."

"Danny."

Danny sinks his teeth into his lip and scowls darkly at him, shrinking into the back of his armchair in hopes that it'll swallow him whole. The idea of going into that large fucking dining room fills him with a dread that makes him completely forget his appetite.

"Your fucking- dining room is- it's too big." He grits out, finally closing his book and hugging it tightly to his chest.

Dick blinks at him. "What?"

"You heard me! It's too big. This whole place is too big. It's- what do you even do with this much space? I don't know how this- other me ever lived here."

Dick Grayson surprises him, and his expression softens. "Oh," he says, "I get it."

"You do?" The tension bleeds slowly out of Danny's shoulders

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved in with Bruce. I lived with the circus for most of my life, but I slept in a trailer." He says. And he talks more.

The end result of their conversation ends with Dick Grayson offering to let Danny sit across or next to him during mealtimes, and that he can talk to him if he starts getting uneasy. But he can't keep skipping meals - it was making them all worried.

Danny agrees, and Dick takes him down to the kitchens for food.

"They look at me weirdly too." He grumbles as they leave the library, Danny's book returned to the shelf where it belonged. When Dick looks at him curiously, he scrunches his nose up. "The - your other siblings. They look at me like I'm- I'm someone else. S'weird."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, "You are someone else."

Dany shrugs, staring at the ground with a heavy frown. "I don't know."

-

Danny seeks out Dick more after that. And vice versa. Dick reminds Danny of Jazz, and he latches onto the familiarity like a leech. If Dick is bothered by it, he doesn't show it, whether he's talking to his other world's self, to the Bruce's, or to one of the other Wayne kids.

Damian Wayne seems particularly keen to seek him out, Danny finds. He thinks it means that they're close in this world, and that Damian wants to see more of what a young Dick is like. That's what he would do, at least.

He takes up on Dick's offer of seating near him during dinner, and finds an open spot across from him. Unless he has something to show him, then he sits next to him.

("You can call me Jason." He tells him one day when they're in the Wayne's massive, fuck-off gym and they're both climbing over the jungle gym. Dick's showing him how to be more flexible. It's the most Danny's worked out ever, he likes the burn it gives him.

Dick looks at him in surprise, "Really?" he's doing a handstand on the bars and Danny's more than a little jealous at his balance.

"Yeah, dipshit," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll even let you call me Jay, it's my nickname."

Dick happily takes him up on that offer, and much to Danny's embarrassment, starts calling him Jaybird. All because of his stupid Robin jacket.)

Danny has yet to meet his other self still, it's scaring him a little. Where was he? And matter of fact, how long until he could go back to his home dimension? The three of them hadn't gotten any updates since they arrived.

Speaking of, he was starting to talk to Bruce more, it was just... strange. Even stranger than talking to Dick. Bruce Wayne in another life would have been his adoptive father, Danny can't wrap his head around it for the life of him.

Whatever did Bruce Wayne see in Jason Todd that made him worth adopting? He's too afraid of the answer to ask. They start talking more after they run into each other late at night. Danny had been hit with a bout of insomnia and was going to the library.

He ran into Bruce on the way. He was just.. staring, out the window, with a faraway look in his eye. He didn't even look startled to see Danny standing there.

Danny asks him if he wants to go to the library with him. It was out of panic. He isn't expecting Bruce Wayne to agree, and they walk there in suffocating silence. Danny keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye.

("You're staring?" Bruce doesn't sound upset, Danny jumps anyway.

"Yeah, sorry." his voice sounds stilted, "it's just..." his jaw wires itself shut for a spell, "...you looked like you were about to disappear."

"Ah.")

When they reach the library, Danny leads Bruce Wayne into the science section and takes out books upon books about stars. He leads him over to the armchair and fire and they both sit down on the ground.

"When I lived in Gotham I would stargaze." Danny says, it's the first thing he can think of. Bruce Wayne looks at him quizzically. "Well, I would try to. The sky's too polluted for that. Mostly I would just watch the skyline and try and spot Batman and Robin, was the same thing."

That cracks a smile out of Bruce. It's a small one, barely there. "I hardly think the two are comparable."

Danny is still serious. "Not to me."

He goes on, talking about how after he was adopted he got his hands on every star book he could find. He loves english and he loves to read, but something about the stars drew him in like a song. He rambles about every star fact he knows with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne surprises him by telling him facts he didn't know. Danny soaks it up like a sponge, listening intently to him speak. And when they run out of star books to talk about, Danny tells Bruce that it was his turn to find something for them to talk about.

Bruce Wayne smiles again at him, a sly little thing like Danny's challenged him, and gets up. He comes back with a stack of film books, and they spend the next few hours going through them. Bruce Wayne rattles off every single movie fun fact he knows, and there is so much that he knows.

Danny is in awe, and moves to press against Bruce's side to see the stuff he points at in his books.

"You're smarter than people give you credit for." He says at some point, when his eyes hurt from being open for too long and his head leans against Bruce's arm for support. It follows with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tries and fails to stifle.

"Thank you, Danny." Bruce says, his voice soft and soothing and not helping with Danny's weighing exhaustion. His eyes drift, and then jerk open. "Do you want to go back to your room? You look tired, chum."

He bites back a smile at the nickname, and fails to keep it bitten. "No, no, I'm awake." He mumbles, shaking his head slowly. "I wanna hear-" he yawns again, "-hear you talking."

Danny swears he can hear the smile in Bruce's voice as he speaks; "Alright. Now, where was I?"

In the end, Danny falls asleep on the floor of the library next to Bruce Wayne. He doesn't even realize it until he wakes up the next morning. But it's not to worry, Bruce Wayne fell asleep too, an arm thrown around Danny protectively like he was his own kid.

This becomes a thing for them soon enough. When neither of them can sleep, they go to the library and talk and talk about whatever comes to mind.

There comes the dreaded night after they've finished whatever book they were looking at when Bruce, the little shit, turns to Danny and goes; "You never mentioned what happened after you hit Batman with a tire iron."

Danny groans, big and dramatic, burying his head in his arms, and ignores the low chuckle. "I thought he was gonna chase me down for sure." He complains, his voice muffled by his arms.

"Why did you hit him with a tire iron?"

The look Bruce gets is one of pure disbelief. "If Mothman suddenly showed up behind you while you were taking the wheels off his ride, you'd hit him too!"

"Last time I checked, Mothman isn't real." Bruce told him amusedly, and Danny flops over onto his back to stare him down. His arms sprawl out like a starfish, intentionally hitting Bruce in the shoulder.

"You don't know that, Batman's a cryptid and he's real."

Bruce roars with laughter, and Danny preens like a bird.

That next morning when Bruce passes by him for breakfast, he reaches over and ruffles his hair. It's the same thing he does for Dick every morning. It's the first of many, and it gets many stares from the surrounding family.

Bruce has a newspaper tucked under his arm, and when he sits down Danny stands up and skedaddles over to him, leaning over the side of his chair to peer at the paper.

"Any cryptids spotted, Buzz?" He asks, getting a startled laugh out of Bruce, who looks up at him.

"Buzz?"

"Well, yeah," and Danny states it as matter-of-fact. He gestures his head at Dick Grayson. "Dick calls you 'B', and B is for bees, and I can't just call you Bees, that's dumb. So; Buzz."

He grins triumphantly when Bruce laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking imperceptibly. "I know," he tilts his head up proudly, "I'm a genius."

Now he's actually laughing, dropping his head into one of his hands and trying to quiet himself as much as possible. Danny is positively beaming, ignoring the stares of the other Waynes as he flounces back to his seat just as the other Mister Wayne enters the room.

-

When Jason Daniel Fenton Todd meets Jason Todd for the first time, they both just stare at each other.

Danny recognizes himself immediately in the library, and he freezes up. His tongue ties to the roof of his mouth, and he's unsure of what to say.

He doesn't need to say anything at all, because when Jason Todd looks up and they lock eyes, they both just stare. And stare. Jason Todd is a large, hulk of a man, built like a brick shithouse, with a tired, traumatized look in his eyes and a white streak in his black curls. The same black curls that Danny himself has.

He has no idea what to say. Or if he should turn back around and leave.

Jason Todd sighs at him, "I know they told me you and another world's Bruce and Dickie were here," he says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. Even moreso when he mutters half-heartedly, "-but I was hoping I wouldn't run into you."

Danny feels small next to him. He doesn't know why. "Sorry." He says lamely, his one foot skips back, "I can leave if you want." It's unlike him to be meek, he thinks. Not after years of Gotham living and dealing with the likes of Dash and his Jerk Jocks.

But this also isn't the streets, and this isn't other kids being dicks. Jason Todd shakes his head, and gestures with one large arm for Danny to come over. "You don't need to do that, you were coming to read, right?"

He nods, and tentatively makes his way over. When Jason looks at him, he sees him cast his eyes over his Robin jacket - he wears it everyday. Danny sees him narrow his eyes, just slightly. But he says nothing.

It's... a strange conversation. Interaction. Jason Todd doesn't talk to him much, and if he does it's stilted and awkward, like he doesn't know how to treat him. Like he's holding him at arm's length.

Jason's getting tired of being treated like a ghost.

They talk about their books. They compare lives. Jason Todd was picked up a few days after he stole the wheels of the batmobile. He wasn't an orphan, he lived with his mom and his stepdad before he lived with Bruce. They both like to read, only Danny has an interest in the stars.

("What do your adoptive parents do?" Jason Todd asks him, one arm slung over the back of the armchair, he looks relaxed. He looks tense. Danny feels like he's back in Crime Alley again.

"They're 'ectologists'." He says, making air quotes over the word. He rolls his eyes, "Ghost hunters. They study the dead and all things afterlife."

Jason Todd makes a dry laugh huff, a sarcastic half-smile on his face. He doesn't explain why he does, Danny doesn't ask why. It doesn't seem like his business.)

Danny wants to ask him where he got that white streak in his hair. It doesn't feel right. It feels like his parents' lab, and that isn't right. Nothing ever feels like his parents' lab.

Jason Todd leaves first after giving him a few book recommendations. Danny isn't sure how to rate the experience. Being in Jason Todd's presence was like standing in a liminal space. An empty parking lot at night. When he leaves it feels like much the same thing.

He struggles to read his books afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of being haunted.

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ BAKUGOU KATSUKI ; — bakugou hates everything about valentine’s day & nothing could change that. unfortunately for him, nothing is your middle name.

࿄ ! warnings — none. super cute fluff. / note. p2 is here :} enjoy <3

“i hate valentine’s day.”

bakugou and kirishima storm through the streets of tokyo, donning their hero uniforms and watching the public. kirishima rolls his eyes and tightly grabs the shoulder of his friend before he can shake him off in disgust.

“hate is a strong word, bakubro. you dislike valentine’s day. and i don’t believe that for a second. you just haven’t find the right one to love valentine’s with,” kirishima contends as he looks up at the billboards brandished with the latest advertisements going on and on about the latest swarovski bracelet and “the best flowers to get any woman to love you.”

“suckers like you are the reason why that is stupid day is such a big deal,” bakugou grumbles. “you’re gonna celebrate a made up day-” “it’s not made up!” “made up day to bait you into spending all your money on dumb shit. it’s useless and you’re dumb.”

kirishima laughs at bakugou’s cynicism and shakes his head. “like i said, you just haven’t find the right one! no offence, but taking romance advice from you would be like taking advice from denki.” bakugou shoots kirishima a pointed look and he puts his hands up in a surrendered pose.

“i’m just saying, while i buy flowers and a necklace for a lovely lady of mine, you can wallow in your pity party against the most romantic day of the year. that’s the best thing you can do for a girl.” bakugou groans outwardly and turns to look at his friend.

“is this a patrol or a reason for ya to go on and on about your new girlfriend? cos’ it seems like we ain’t scoping for villains and i’m just an ear to hear about how you get your dick wet.”

kirishima’s face curls at bakugou’s crude language and he shoves the blonde somewhat playfully. “firstly, my relationship with my girl is more than that. and secondly, it wouldn’t be manly of me to talk about my sex life.” bakugou scoffs at this.

“so instead you’ll subject me to ya boring love stories? hard pass.”

at this point, both the guys had reached their agency: being so caught up in their conversation about love and whatnot meant they subconsciously arrived at the huge, vast building.

“‘m sure dunceface and pinky will want to hear all about how you spent 15,000 yen on a fucking necklace but i don’t. have i already told you how stupid that was, by the way?”

kirishima sighs and opens the door, “that’s probably the only thing you’ve inputted into this conversation.”

the boys walk into the entrance and the reception is donned with flowers and glitter and pink hearts alike. the display left a sickening taste in bakugou’s mouth. there’s no way he would’ve co-signed something as ugly as this. it was definitely mina or denki or even deku-

“hey you guys! how do you like the look of the downstairs? i figured it’s not as valentine’s-esque as i would’ve liked but the glitter and the tendrils are pink and they’re heart shaped so i think it makes up for the other…” you gesture to the other parts of the decor that cover the entirely of the ground floor, “parts!”

kirishima looks at bakugou tentatively through his peripheral vision and bakugou’s eyebrows are so far raised, they’ve disappeared into the wheat strands adoring his hairline.

“i like it a lot, y/n! i can really feel the loving energy here,” exclaims kirishima and you smile and clap your hands at that.

“that’s so good to hear! some of the others said that it was perfect but didn’t know if you guys would like it as much…” you trail off and look at bakugou. he’s thankful that his mask covers up the movement of his eyes because he couldn’t have hated something more. the sickening colour of fuschia and pale pink messed with his feng shui more than he let on at this moment. if you were dunceface, he would’ve punched you up at this moment. heck, if you were pinky, he would’ve pulled on your ear and chastised you for not telling him first. if you were literally anybody else, you would’ve had an earful.

but you were you.

“i think it looks good,” bakugou hums and he nods before walking away to the elevators at the end of the vast room. you turn to see his moving body and you look at kirishima again in confusion.

“is he okay? are you sure he actually likes it?” you ask kirishima slowly and kirishima waves his hands at you.

“trust me, if he didn’t like it, he would’ve said something. you know bakugou doesn’t beat around the bush.” you smile in relief at that and kirishima quickly says bye to join bakugou in the closing lift.

“hey! wait up, bakugou!” kirishima makes the lift and is immediately welcomed by floating daisies and roses. bakugou stands staring straight out the doors of the elevator, not a lick of emotion on his face.

“so, uh, what was that?” asks kirishima after a lick of silence. bakugou scoffs, “i dunno what you’re talking about.”

kiri notices the tips of bakugou’s ears are red and he ponders on commenting on it before deciding he would prefer life.

“well, if i were you, i would get y/n a gift. but that’s just me though,” whistles the red haired man and bakugou’s eye twitches slightly and he rubs a hand across his face.

“fuck you and stop looking at me like that,” bakugou grumbles as kirishima nods with a knowing look on his face.

“…i heard through the grapevine that y/n really likes tulips and snapdragons - but you didn’t hear it from me!” mentions kirishima and as soon as those elevator doors open, bakugou storms out of there in a flurry, leaving his friend behind.

back in his office, bakugou sits at his desk and runs his fingers through the various decorations on his desk. it was the complete opposite of what his office usually looked like and to him, the runes of pink and red and white were ruining his feng shui. he picks up a card that’s situated on the edge of his desk and he doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s from you.

“dear ka bakugou,

i know the colours and the showiness might get too much for you so here’s a small gift from me before the day of festivities :) i.e. thank you for being a good sport!

love, y/n”

a gift card for his favourite watch brand sat in between the panels of the sickeningly glittery card.

when kirishima came to grab bakugou for lunch, he didn’t bring up the numerous tabs of florists and “gifts for girls you like” on the blond’s computer. and he definitely didn’t bring up the check of 135,000 yen addressed as “y/n’s gift” sitting amongst layers of paperwork.

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[worryfornaught]

Widobrave / Imodna, part 1

(part 2 here)

[arcielee]

Hazy Shades of Spring

Summary: A professor runs into one of her students.  Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader  Word Count: 3483 Warnings: Nothing too spicy, so please don’t report. ♥ There will be a part 2 though for the smut.  Author's Note: This is for the poll you all voted for. I hope you enjoy and a huge thank you to @sapphire-writes for your read over/feedback, your modern Aemond has definitely set the bar (for me anyway).  Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​

It was the fourth walk-by from your waitress when you decided to request your bill and just accept that you, in fact, had been stood up. 

You were single and freshly thirty and dating had seemingly become a monstrous thing to attempt. You kept your humor with dating apps, but you also held a mild regret that curled in your abdomen that you ended things with Cregan; as amicable a break-up as it was, you were beginning to believe that complacency might have been the best option. 

Now you only had yourself to blame because you finally caved to the incessant needling of your colleague, Johanna Lannister, when she cornered you, again, and pressed her suggestion of a blind date with her husband’s brother. 

“It’s his twin brother,” she added to her attempt to make her point. “So you know he’s handsome…”

Your nose involuntarily scrunched with her closing statement, but you decided to set aside your judgment and agreed to it, if anything to shut her up.

Numbers were exchanged and you texted back and forth a bit; he was amiable enough with some wit to him, though not enough to laugh out loud, but it was enough to agree to meet for dinner. The semester had ended and you had submitted your grades, allowing you several weeks of freedom before the spring semester would begin. 

He suggested and seemed adamant about the new upscale restaurant that opened up downtown, which was an old theatre that had been purchased and repurposed for fine dining. When you arrived, its renovation was breathtaking: the inside arched upwards and there was a new mural of brilliant colors on the ceiling, with marble columns that led to a grand staircase and red carpeting that was a walkway over the polished floors. 

You knew it would be ritzy and opted for a black, flitted dress that complimented your figure and cut off just above your knees, with tights that showed a definitive black seam centering the backside of your legs and a heel with a clasp. You removed your cardigan before you approached the hostess, checking your phone to see the text, running late, be there soon.

Your grip tightened on the phone, with a fleeting moment to retreat homeward but you had put effort into your look tonight and you ignored the call of comfort for a baggy shirt and sweats. Instead, you get a table and order a glass of red wine while you wait. 

The time rolled away and your glass neared empty; you checked your phone to see that the courtesy text you sent to see if he was still alive had been left on read. It sends a bolt of vexation in your chest and you finish the wine; you were nettled by the inconsideration being shown by the damn Lannister twin.

An annoyed sigh leaves you and you can feel the pitied look of your waitress. “We do have a bar upstairs,” she offers with a small smile. “It isn’t as crowded as down here.” 

Fuck it. You tip her well and decide to climb the grandiose staircase, to make most of your night out as well as escape the music and murmur of the dinner crowd. The lighting was not as harsh and you seated yourself at the end of the bar, ordering a second glass of wine and retrieving a small notepad you have tucked into your purse. “Do you have a pen?” You asked the bartender and he is polite enough to retrieve you one. 

You allow the new scenery and your new muse, the feeling of absolute annoyance, to help create something for your editor; lost in your scribble and half a glass later, you are interrupted with a question.

“Professor?” 

Your hand stilled on the glass stem, your grip so tight you would think it would crack under the  pressure. 

Living centrally downtown did mean you would often run into students, present and sometimes past. You knew you were not as old and dusty like some of the other professors, but you kept your reservation with social interactions, giving a tight smile when they acknowledged you and looked for a segue out of any pleasantries they attempted to exchange. 

It wasn’t that you did not care for them, it’s just that you did not want to be reminded of your occupation outside of your working hours. 

This voice was familiar, with a distinct, low hum from the chest.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He was one of the top students at the university; he was never late with assignments, would always push for extra credit, and would meet any opinion with his own educated intellection, which often led to heated debates in business law. 

In the beginning, you struggled with your prejudice when he entered your classroom; you noted his gait and composure, how he held himself with an eerie elegance as opposed to his brother and his frat boy persona. Aegon had been a handful, often showing up under the influence of something and once making a crude pass when he asked about extra credit. 

You halted the attempt immediately and pushed him from your office; the thought of fraternizing with a student never crossed your mind.

That was until you had Aemond.

His family was known in King’s Landing, their family empire owning most of everything and their standing revered, with a hand in everything within city limits. Aegon only had passed your class, begrudgingly by you, due to the family’s repeated and generous donations to the university, though he hardly deserved the lowest grade you gave him. 

It was why you were not surprised when Aemond followed the same academic route, as it was expected for him to get a business degree of some sort and contribute. He had a different drive than his brother, he was present and moved with a determination, some unforeseen drive that pushed him and it gave him an almost arrogant air. 

The interactions you shared throughout the semester was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor; his voice was low and commanding, with a genuineness to his tone. He was never inappropriate and you found you actually enjoyed the interactions shared. 

He is also so very handsome, you cannot help but admit to yourself, your cheeks flushed when you turned to see him standing and watching you. 

Despite the scar that marred his face, a childhood accident was all he shared with you, his mien was still breathtaking. It was apparent he came from old money with the sapphire stone chosen to replace his missing eye and you could still see the gash that cut through from above his brow into the sharp contours of his face. His lips were curled, his head with a slight tilt as he peered at you. Tonight, he wore dark, fitted slacks and button up shirt, with a cashmere sweater and dress jacket. His silver chain peaked underneath his collar and his long, silver hair was not knotted back in his usual low, messy bun, but instead was draped over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, hello, Aemond, how nice to run into you,” you are quick to tuck the notepad back into your purse. “What brings you out tonight?” 

He always had this damnable, perpetual smirk that played at his lips, like he is aware of the effect he has on you. Aemond moved to take the seat next to you and you notice how the bartender is quick to serve him a drink. “My father insisted I help my uncle with the grand opening,” he explained, touching the glass but not drinking it. “I am shadowing the ordeal.” 

Of course they own this restaurant, your cheeks burning with the realization, but before you could excuse yourself, he instead asks, “You look lovely tonight. What brings you here?” He looks around, “Were you meeting with someone?” 

You fidget with your glass, clearing your throat. “Um, I was supposed to meet for a date and…” you faltered on the lie prepared on your lips and instead admitted, “I was stood up.” 

His expression is unreadable and he shrugs. “This seems to happen to the best of us,” and he finally lifts his glass to you. “Cheers to the best.” 

You give a small smile and the cheers allow you to finish your drink. Aemond gestures for a refill, but you push to stand. “Thank you, but I should probably leave. You are a student, I’m your professor…” 

“The semester is over,” his voice is low, his expression almost amused and you note how his eye takes in your form when you stand up. You pull your cardigan on, but it does little to cover your black dress and you burn from his steady gaze. “I’m hardly a student, except for a few filler courses this spring, but then I will be done. And besides, I already turned in my paper and you, actually, already submitted my grade.” 

“Oh, did I?” Of course I fucking did. 

Aemond hummed. “Yes, in fact. I appreciate the good score.”

The bartender rests the new glass in front of you and you lift it, “Well, it was well earned. And cheers, then, to the semester ending and good grades.”

The soft plink of glass and you see his perpetual smirk playing on his lips again. “You do look lovely tonight and I am obligated to be here. Enjoy your glass of wine and keep me company until it’s finished.” 

Since you had not eaten and were on your third glass of wine, it makes you agreeable to accept his company; you know your cheeks are rosy as you are swept up into conversation with him. Aemond always had a wit that would make you laugh, or maybe it was the wine, but either way you found you were enjoying yourself. 

With your third glass almost gone, your eyes catch sight of the cigarette case he placed on the bartop; the embossed design glinted under the lighting. “It’s a family insignia,” he explains, pushing it towards you. 

You pick it up, your finger trailing the dragon design. “This is in the mural in the lobby,” you muss and he nods. There is a satisfying click when you open it and the waft of cinnamon reaches your nose, which crinkles with your smile. “Clove cigarettes?” You cannot help but giggle with the discovery. 

He narrows his gaze on you, but his lips are still curled upwards as he leans over to take it from your hands. “It is my guilty pleasure, a treat when the semester ends,” he closes it. 

“We all deserve a guilty pleasure,” you agree, your attention falling to the empty glass in front of you. “I will have to ask for one, though,” you gestured towards the case. “I feel I need to indulge just a bit more, on this night in particular.” 

Aemond stands up and pulls your chair back, his hand offered to you so you can find your balance on your heels. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice that even with your heel, he is taller still. 

He is gentle to take your hand in his own, his other hand on your lower back to guide you as you weave through the few patrons and staff. You eventually slip through a threshold that leads out to a secluded balcony that is decorated with lights, giving a golden hue. 

With the approach of spring, the night air is crisp and you wrap your arms around yourself and your thin cardigan. “Oh, this view,” you cannot help but smile, despite your shiver. 

Aemond hums his agreement, pulling off his dress jacket and handing it to you. You try to decline, but he insists, “I run warm. It’s a family trait.” 

You pull it on, engulfed in the fine fabric and his scent, a mixture of clean laundry with an expensive cologne. He walked towards the ornate balustrade that stems around the balcony and leaned his elbows on top; you followed him, the soft clicks of your heels on the stone and rested on his visible side, peering out towards King’s Landing. 

He pulled out the case and retrieved a black clove cigarette, lighting it and passing it to you, smoke pouring from his smile as your fingertips touch to take it. The drag is a mixture of the best and worst feeling; you allow your exhale to snake over your features and lick your lips to taste the cinnamon on them. “I haven’t had one of these,” you blush again. “It has been a while, but thank you, this is just what I wanted.” 

You watch him pull another and balance it between his lips. Wordless, you tuck yours into the corner of your mouth and place your hands to cup the flame as he lights it. With his exhale, he says, “Thank you.” 

The silence allows a moment to enjoy the city bustle below, but the sound of him clearing his throat brings you back to the balcony. “What about you?” You tilt your head to look at him, your brow quirked and he clarifies, “I had answered your questions and shared about my interests outside of my degree, but what about you and your passions?” 

You take another drag to mull over your reply. “Perhaps teaching is my passion,” you reply, your brow raised at him. 

He hums a moment. “I don’t think so,” his voice is so low that you need to turn to hear him, facing him and leaning one elbow on the bannister. His brow is cocked and his perpetual smirk playing on his lips. “I saw passion when you were focused on your notebook earlier, you had a glow with your penning.” Aemond blows the smoke above his head, “You do not have that same expression with your lectures.” 

You turn away and focus straight ahead, hoping the city lights would wash away the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks. He makes almost an aha noise and steps closer towards you, peering at you. “I am correct about your passion outside of your teaching,” his tone is teasing.

“Well, yes,” your mind is buzzing from the wine, the cigarette amplifying it ever-so-slightly. He graduates after the spring, you reason and then decide to share, “I enjoy writing.”

This confession breaks the levy and your passion spills as you babble about your love for science fiction and how your interests were piqued by the classics like Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut, plus his pseudonym. Then you stop, your hand covering your mouth. “Sorry, I am rambling,” you blush again. 

“It’s cute,” he encourages. “Please, continue.” 

You sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to add. Science fiction does not have the same audience  it once did and it definitely isn’t what sells as far as digital books,” you finish with a grim smile. “What sells then?”

You focus your eyes on him and cannot stop the fit of giggles that spill from your lips; he peers at you, his cheeks dimpling with a pursed smile of his own. “Smut, mostly,” you confess and he chuckles. “It is all,” you wave your hand flippantly, “porn with plot and I happen to have a knack for it. Plus, I am very fond of the residual income from my sales,” you finish your cigarette. 

“A knack for it?” His tone is still low and he flicks his own cigarette over the edge. “Like, the ability to incorporate it into any situation…?” 

“I mean, within reason,” you are unable to hold his gaze, feeling almost childish in his large jacket, your fingertips playing with the button stance. “It depends on the ratio of porn to plot, really. It kind of comes down to a science with the method.” 

“Oh?” He sounds amused and shifts himself, edging closer still, his gaze still locked on your face. “Enlighten me.” 

“Well,” you hem for your words, your wine-addled brain unable to stop them from leaving your mouth. “Obviously, as a writer, you wish to set the scene for your reader, the build-up to the moment, but you also don’t want clutter it so much when they are obviously looking for one thing-” 

Your words are stopped by the soft press of his lips to your own, his hands covering your hold on his jacket and bringing you against his chest. Your eyes widen for a moment before you relax against him, enjoying his taste, the mixture of clove cinnamon, smoke, and whatever whiskey he had at the bar.  

His large hands move to your hips, pulling you closer with a soft squeeze and you moan into the kiss, your fingers curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Aemond presses against you and your back against the bannister; you can feel him through his dress slacks, your own body betraying you by the warmth pooling between your thighs. 

“Wait, wait,” you break the kiss, your eyes wide again and looking him over.

The pupil of his eye is blown, almost black with his stare, and his lips curl upwards. “We should do this somewhere else,” he suggests, his tone velvet. “Take me home?”

You bite your bottom lip with your pregnant pause before nodding. You feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to meet with his gaze. “I require verbal consent,” his tone still teasing you. 

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks are red, and his usual stoic expression brightens slightly. He takes your hand into his and you follow, Aemond pulling his phone and texting, his grasp tight as he helps you down the stairs. You avoid the looks of the staff and follow him to exit the restaurant. 

Out front is some black luxury car idling and Aemond moved to open the door for you, helping you seat yourself before closing the door and walking to the other side. Your eyes burn into the back of the driver’s seat, who turns and offers a smile, asking for your address before he closes the partition. 

You can feel the shift in the back seat as Aemond sits next to you, his expression unreadable once again. A beat of silence follows as the car begins to drive and only then does your liquid courage take its hold. You reach to pull him towards you and his mouth finds yours. His lips are so soft, so warm against your own, his tongue moving into your mouth and yours meeting with his languid movements to continue to taste him. 

He pulls you to straddle his lap, your dress bunching around your hips and his large palms are warm as they grab into the softness of your thighs, pulling you slow to grind against the growing bulge of his pants. A soft moan spills from your lips with the pressure and his mouth falls to your chest, his tongue following your clavicle and closing on the junction of your shoulder to your neck. You mewl when you feel his teeth bite into you, moving your hips against him which elicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat. 

You had forgotten how much fun kissing could be, the intimacy of hands pawing with purpose and the soft pants from the passion. The car stops and when you realize it is parked in front of your apartment building; you break the kiss and fall into your seat, your hands moving to righten your skirt. 

Another beat of silence follows and he finally says, “Is this your place?” His voice is gentle. 

You nod your head yes, you mind whirring with what had unfolded this evening and your eyes falling to his hands; you watched his slender fingers slowly drum the leather seat between before moving to palm your hand, his thumb gentle to run the length of your knuckles and back. “Nothing more needs to happen,” he offered you an escape. “But could I ask for a kiss goodnight?”

Your eyes lock onto his, your tongue wetting your lips and leaning to find his mouth once more. His lips fit so perfect against your own, his tongue trailing your bottom lip with a soft nip before he pulls back. 

You open the car door and climb out, hearing him shift in his seat to lean forward. “Goodnight, professor-”

But you turn on your heel, leaning over and well aware of your cleavage in this little black dress you wore tonight. “Aemond,” your eyes rest on his face, your cheeks growing warm once again. “Would you like to come up?” 

With the familiar curl of his lips, he tells the driver to go home. He pulled himself from his seat and reached again for your hand. Your cheeks burn with the feeling of how your hand fits in his own and you lead him inside. 

[unformula1]

dear oscar (OP81 x LS2)

dear oscar (OP81 x LS2)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ synopsis: Logan writes a letter to help him manage his feelings, it does everything BUT manage feelings. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ pairing: logan sargeant x oscar piastri w/c: 892 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a/n: this is day FOUR (lando's number) of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!! some angst today!! might make this a series very much inspired from https://archiveofourown.org/works/54754315 masterlist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ taglist: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan crushes the sheet of paper and throws it into the pile of already crushed papers. He puts down the pen and cracks his fingers, again.

He’s been at this for hours and he hates it knowing he’s terrible at expressing himself and Oscar’s probably not going to even look at this. 

Logan takes a deep breath once again and picks up his pen.

Dear Oscar,

I’m not very good at expressing my feelings but I’ll try my best.

I’ve missed you lately and I miss all our late night conversations, my nights feel empty without them. I miss our friendship and the very long conversations we had. 

When you asked me how I was doing and I said “it’s been alright.” That was a blatant lie. I’ve been doing absolutely horrible. I haven’t seen a good day in months and every morning I ask myself why I’m doing this to myself, I ask if everything I left behind was worth it. Should I have given up?

 I’m glad you’re doing well and winning trophies, I’ve never been happier for you. Remember when your rookie year was being compared to Hamilton’s? That was amazing. 

Great, now he’s gone off track again, absolutely perfect. Logan’s pen left the paper again and he contemplated crushing this one up. He eventually decided against it and his pen tip touched the paper again.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to write anymore but he doesn’t care. He just wants to let his feelings out.

I hate how we don’t talk anymore. I hate how life has to pull its strings on us. I hate how we walk past each other as if we never knew each other. I’ve been trying my hardest, I really have.

I want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice again. 

I’ve been making wishes on every shooting star I’ve seen and been throwing in a penny for every wishing well I’ve come across, just wishing you were my friend again, wishing that I could go back in time and relive those moments in PREMA.

I didn’t treasure those times enough.

Every single time I see any McLaren video, I stop and stare, imagining that it could’ve been you and I. Believe me, I love how you and Lando have developed one of the closest bonds ever and trust me, I think Alex is a perfect teammate. 

But I just wish that we had another chance and I wouldn’t fuck it up this time. I really wish I did.

Every single time Lando calls you “Osc”, it makes me shiver just knowing that I could never be half the person Lando was. I do everything and risk it all just trying to be more like Lando or just someone who you would bother to look at

His mind flashes back to every single time he and Oscar have done anything together, watch movies, do stupid promotional videos, even sad times came back and made him wish he took those moments better.

He tears up slightly, but wipes his tears away before they spill onto the paper. Lando’s voice saying “Osc” rings in his head like an annoying bell which kills him slightly every time it repeats. 

Osc.

Osc.

Osc.

He slams his hand into the table, causing everything to jolt, even getting startled by his own actions. Logan isn’t even on Lando’s level, not even a quarter of the way there.

Lando’s better in every way, definitely much better teammate than Logan would’ve been.

His tears resurface but he doesn’t wipe them away this time, he lets them trickle down his cheek, cling on to his skin at his chin and finally drop down onto the paper, causing a stain.

More tears cause stains on the bottom part of the paper before Logan wipes them all away.

Please…

I miss you Oscar.

Regards Love

Logan

He places the pen down and looks at the letter, which has tear stains, but Logan couldn’t care less. He puts the letter down and folds it neatly in half, slotting it into a brown envelope. He seals the envelope tight, wrinkling the paper from pressing too hardly. 

He takes his pen up again and the tip floats above the paper.

He takes a few seconds before writing.

To: Oscar Piastri

His throat stings from crying. He didn’t even cry for that long but it hurts him. His own words repeat in his head like a knife twisting into his body.

He opens up Oscar’s chat on his phone, his last message being left on Seen.

3 weeks ago Great race :)

He hasn’t even given Oscar a message for the Australian Grand Prix but Logan couldn’t care less.

His fingers hover over his keyboard.

Can we meet sometime soon?

He hesitates about sending it.

Osc.

Osc.

Osc.

Osc.

He turns off his phone and takes a deep breath. 

He sits on his couch and leans back. The thoughts endlessly flying around in his head, like phantoms of his past haunting him again.

He closes his eyes and keeps them shut, imagining whatever makes him feel happy. 

Oscar.

Oscar.

Oscar.

Osc.

The tears squeeze their way past his eyelids and slide down his cheek. It’s a devastating feeling. 

He covers his head with a pillow and keeps his eyes tightly shut, crying himself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ there will be a part 2 (hopefully) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[esther-dot]

Beauty and the Beast

Tokens of Life (give me) 9k WIP by @ihaveastorminme

Jon thought of his mother's family often. But he never heard a whisper from them. Not once. Until the day the northern wind howled through the ancestral halls of the dragon Queens, bringing with it snow and wolves’ cries at its tail. Five hundred different deities in that hall, and nobody whispered when she walked in, tall and forbidding, the skirts of her dress swirling about her like mist and snow glittering unmelted in her flame hair. She looked at him... and everything changed.

No Rose Without a Thorn 24k

Ten years ago, the Others were defeated, the Starks took back the North, the Targaryens reclaimed the Iron Throne, and the Old Gods transformed Sansa Stark into a dread and dangerous beast. Now, winter is coming, the beast remains, and the family would really like Sansa to be a full time human again.

The Beast, the Beauty, and the Bastard 3k

It is a reworking of Disney's Beauty and the Beast, but with a bit of a twist. Hope you enjoy!

Certain As the Sun 22k, incomplete

Sansa is bright, beautiful, and out of place in her little town. After her father is captured in a forgotten castle, she moves to take his place with the cursed prince.

Gifset by @dcbicki and Gifset by @yenstarkofrivia

Rapunzel

From Tower to Tower 10k incomplete

Locked away in a tower for eighteen years by a witch claiming to be her Mother, long-haired Sansa seeks freedom and a chance to regain her crown as Princess of the kingdom. But the tower is high as she has no means to get down, aside from her incredibly long hair, and no guarantee of safety in the outside world she has been warned about. One night, when the witch is out, and a thief who climbs the tower seeking refuge happens upon her, she stuns herself by taking a chance and asking him to help her escape. Assuring him that she will have all charges against him dropped when he returns her to her rightful parents, she embarks on a series of first discoveries with her new bandit friend Jon.

I'll not be climbin' up, I'll only be calling good morning 13k @violetcoloredglasses

Princess Sansa, the rightful queen, has been trapped in a tower by her usurping step-mother for nigh on three years now. Between the benevolent interference of a local woods-witch, the seemingly random appearance of a dashing young man on a horse, and a magical book that Sansa uses to turn a man into a crow, she may have found a way to change her stars.

flower shaped heart 25k, incomplete @missfaber

Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King's Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets. corresponding moodboard

Let Down Your Red Hair .6k

A Jonsa Rapunzel story told in verse. With her father beheaded and her brother marching against the king, the last thing Sansa expects is for her hair to never stop growing. She is soon locked away in the tallest tower of the Red Keep, withdrawn from court as the War of the Five Kings rages on. Elsewhere, rumors of her magical hair have spread to the Wildlings, who see her fiery strands as their last hope against the coming winter.

Tangled edit by @kitten1618x, Tangled edit by @queen-sans-in-the-north, Tangled edit by @sardoniyx

Tangled gifset by @dcbicki

Sleeping Beauty

La Belle au bois dormant 4k

When The North celebrates the birth of Lady Sansa, all the realm is invited to celebrate with them. Each Lady of a Great House bestows a gift upon the little lady, including Cersei Lannister, whose presence at the celebration is both unexpected and unnerving.

Once upon a Dream 1k by @azulaahai

Sansa is under a curse - fallen into a magical sleep, she, according to the prophecy, can only be awoken by a kiss from a dragon. Arya rides south to ask for help from the dragon king Aegon, but the king’s grumpy half brother Jon might prove to be an obstacle.

Visions are Seldom All They Seem 14k

Sansa Stark is sure her life is a great song. She's a beautiful princess. She's been cursed. And the only way it will be broken is to sleep for a hundred years and be awoken by true love's kiss, given by a king's son. She's more then happy to prick her finger if it means getting her happily ever after with a handsome prince all the sooner. But a hundred years is a long time. To be fair to Sansa, Jon did not realize how long it would be either.

Sleeping Beauty Gifset

East of the Sun and West of the Moon

you are my sun, my moon (and all of my stars) 133k

When the white wolf came, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to give him his eldest daughter. Eddard Stark had grown up on legends of wolves, on the stories of bargains made by the First Men, on the knowledge of the price that he and his family might one day be forced to pay.  His father had explained the reason their house had taken a wolf as its heraldry and “Winter is Coming” as its motto, a reminder of a promise to honor, a recognition of a debt owed that would need, one day, to be paid. Ned had breathed a sigh of relief when his sister’s twentieth winter arrived and the beast had not. And he had watched the dawn sky for the first signs of the snow that would mark that his daughter, too, might also be spared, might escape the fate that had been handed down by their ancestors. But no man could be so lucky.  Sansa, too, had been born with the North in her blood, had been raised on the stories of white wolves, had lived her life with the knowledge that one might come for her.

this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty 22k by @dialux

“I fell,” Sansa says softly. “I flew.” [When a strange, hooded man appears out of nowhere, demanding a woman in return for keeping the Others and dead out of Westeros, Sansa goes with him. It’s the best and worst decision of her life.]

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6

[sc00tb00t]

pool day ¦¦ bucky barnes !

bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

smutmas masterlist - - bucky barnes masterlist

words ;; 1.0k

contains ;; jealousy, swimming, marking, degrading, established relationship, explicit sexual content, explicit language 

warnings ;; sorry for all the talk abt feet. its sorta based off me and the stuff i say is true abt me

short summary ;; bucky wanted everyone to know who you belonged to.

a/n ;; i want to go swimming, i'm tired of the cold :/ but i like christmas. also there will be a part two but after smutmas is over.

𐬻𖤐𖤐𐬻

“okay! three, two, one!” you count down, steve goes underwater and you get on his shoulders. it is hilarious watching tony and natasha trying to attempt the same, tony's grip continues to slip off her thighs everytime he comes out of the water. “tony!” natasha yells as she falls into the water for the third time. once shes comes back up, she declares, “one last time, if you drop me, i'm not playing anymore.”

she pushes him under the water, gets on tonys shoulders and grabs his head. he comes up, she stays on for the first time. “wooo!” I applaud them, “now to knock you down. sam countdown, please” you look over to the other man in the pool, “alright, three!,” your get steve to move a bit closer, “two!” 

“get ready to lose.” 

“you wish.”

“one!” it doesn't take you long before you knock natasha off tony's shoulders, dunking her into the pool. while celebrating, still on steves shoulders, you feel hands against you, suddenly pushing you in the pool. feeling the chlorine water rushing up your nose, you come up, gasping for air. 

hearing someone laughing, you immediately know, it was her. “nat! come here!” you yell, wiping your eyes. 

finally catching her, you push her underwater. the second she comes back, you splash her with water then make your get away. little did you know that everyone who was out there was watching this unfold. that included tony, steve, sam, bucky, wanda and thor. 

𐬻𖤐𖤐𐬻

“my head hurts,” walking inside with a towel wrapped around my chest, shivering, “god, why is it so cold in here.” you have slides on but your feet are still freezing, if your feet are cold, your whole body is.

“well, you head probably hurts because you swallowed to much pool water, nasty.” steve is walking right behind you, barely cold, “its cold to you because you just got out of the warm water. i swear i thought you knew this.” you snap your head towards him, sticking up your middle finger. 

𐬻𖤐𖤐𐬻

“holy shit, its cold.” you complain before hopping in the shower. the hot water feels amazing, burning on your feet, actually kinda hurting. drowning your hair in the fresh water, you blindly grab your shampoo bottle. 

fingers massaging your scalp feel amazing, you dont wanna take too long though. so you hurry up with the shower. once you finish, take a minute longer to just bathe in the water. turning off the shower you reach out from the curtains to grab your towel, then stepping out once wrapped. 

while changing you switch your playlist. finishing changing, you clean your ears, put product in your hair, and wash your face. walking out of the room, you get surprised with bucky sitting on the chair in the corner of your bedroom. “bucky, hey.” 

he doesn't say anything as he stands up, walking towards you. “babe?” he continues not to say a single word as he kisses you. immediately he swipes his tongue against your bottle lip, requesting entrance and you allow it.

pulling back from the kiss, bucky starts to move his head down, kissing along your jaw, his hands gripping your waist tightly. “bucky, are you okay?” not responding again, getting to a spot on your neck and sucking into his mouth, somewhat soothing over it with his tongue after.

“you're such an attention whore” he says abruptly, scaring you. “what are you talking about?” your voice shakes a bit, but then his hand flexes on your hips in a very recognizable way and you realize it. ‘oh shit’ his right hand detaches from your hip and tugs the bottom of your shirt away from your body. 

getting the signal, you lift your arms up, allowing him to slide it up and off you, moving his mouth off you for second for him to immediately start attacking again. “can we move this to the bed, my legs hurt.” its not a lie, swimming always drains you.

letting you move back and lie down on the bed, he crawls over your small stature. “you were all over steve, it was pissing me off.” bucky's lips land on your collarbone, sucking a dark mark into the skin there. “such a slut, they all need to know who you belong to.” the thought makes an easy moan leave your lips. 

it was true, technically you were all over steve, but its cause we were playing a game. he's attractive but you would never, ever cheat on bucky or break up with him but to get his best friend. before you even started talking to bucky, you did think about steve. ways friends shouldn't think about each other to say the least. 

moving his head towards the valley of your breasts, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. he kissing the side of one of your tits and continues moving down, leaving a couple more marks on the way down. once he gets to your stomach, you know you're done for.

his fingers gliding against the soft skin of your sides, his lips running over the expanse of your stomach. he lightly bites your side but hard enough to leave a mark. “such a slut.” once he sucks, you don't even know how many marks into your stomach he leans back and admires his work. 

when you look down, you can tell he has a boner but before you can say anything he gets up from the bed without saying anything, kissing you then he just leaves. you're not really complaining, you're tired. doing nothing but pulling your blanket over your body, you pass out, not worrying one bit about all the hickeys on your body.

---------------------------------------------

taglist

@wheatmouthed-crimeboi @buckssstuff @thinmint2 @mcugeekposts @sunshinemunchkin @dannyramirezwife

[thecrypticshyguy]

Heyyyy

So we all know @t1ckity-t0ck s Political Marriage au right

Welllll

I wrote something for it actually (and drew something for it, it's old so don't mind some flaws and changes in character designs)! A minific if you will- without further adu lemme show it to yall

UnFair

Ludwig bit the bottom of his lip, furrowing his brow as frustration gnawed at him. He was tired and felt terrible. He felt used, worst of all.

Years of preparation, everything was going so well, everything was ready to be handed off to him in a few years tops, but no. It just wasn’t that simple, was it? Some kingdom he's never heard of comes from nowhere, asserting themselves, and now he's forced into a loveless marriage. It made him utterly bitter. It made his cold blood boil that he was being used as a mere pawn for a political marriage he had no ability to object. They could’ve chosen any of his siblings, any that could’ve been better off, but they didn’t. They chose him of all people. He was told it was for a good cause, for resources, for armies, for "peace" so that they didn’t kill each other. He couldn’t care less for that little sky kingdom.

He was supposed to be the ruler of darkland after Bowser retired. He wasn't supposed to be a house husband for some soft little parakoopa.

It wasn’t fair he thought, not fair in the slightest. Years were thrown away in an instant, and he felt utterly robbed of what he could’ve had. But, he couldn’t do anything about it. So in what little retaliation he had, he sulked alone in his study.

And as he sulked about his unfair situation, his hands danced over the keys of a piano, the tune he played being somber as he mulled over the raging storm in his mind.

He made a habit of playing an instrument whenever he was stressed, letting his frustration out by running his fingers down on ivory keys of a piano, pipe organ, or some other. Anything he could get his claws on, it didn't matter if he could play it or not. He played until his claws were sore, or until he felt better, the former usually being the case.

It created melodies he could write down and save for later. Melancholic and discontented melodies that perfectly put together how he felt, even if his mind was far from the music.

Though he used his piano to air out his grievances, it had seen years of wear and tear. Sometimes it comes all boiling over, and every once in a while he can't help himself. In his mind it all crumbles down so quickly that his fingers can't keep up with his thoughts as they fly from one frustration to the next. From what he could do, what he couldn’t do, pinballing him to memories of him and his father’s first meeting, to them practicing magic and the mishaps that went along with it. Such fond and detested memories he held close suddenly all crashed down.

It all builds and builds, becoming one string of notes he knew all too well. He couldn't help but slam his fists into the instrument, creating a familiar sour and deep note to his otherwise masterpiece, and then another, and more until the sound coming from the piano felt more like a cry for help from the poor instrument. It became erratic, mashing together notes both high and low forté until he felt better. But he didn’t, and so his claws curled tighter, banged harder, almost assaulting the poor instrument before he felt sweat drip onto his brow. Only then, out of breath, did he stop.

Hunched over the piano, breathing heavily in ragged and bitter breaths, his claws digging into the ivory. He stayed there, hoping he didn’t break his most prized possession. He thankfully never did when he had these sudden and ridiculous fits. Ludwig knew it was childish, he knew he shouldn’t do this with how mature he portrayed himself to be, but everything felt too much, and this was his only solution. He had made it abundantly clear how he felt about the arrangement, but to show someone how really hurt he was? That's a matter he'll keep in private.

But.. he hated when his thoughts ran rampant like that. He couldn't stop them, couldn't keep a grip on them like he should, like he knew how to. It embarrassed him. It made him feel utterly miserable and bitter. Bitter, angry, frustrated, every other word he could throw at the wall to describe how he felt. He stayed like this for a moment before his eyes turned and he squinted, staring at a dim reflection of himself in the polished dark blue fallboard.

He looked terrible. His dark blue hair was more unruly than usual, mixed with fast movement and sweat had made it look greatly tossed around. His collar had become unbuttoned and falling off his shoulders, and he only just now realized the heart shaped cravat he wore was uncomfortably warm against his scales. He only now noticed the bags under his eyes as well.

He sneered at the sight, fumbling to re-button his collar but giving up shortly after with a tired scoff. Looking down at the piano he cherished, Ludwig felt how sore his claws were from his immature fit.

And yet, he still played. He breathed, pulling himself together, and put his melancholy once again into a somber sonet.

It was all he could do, really. He couldn’t talk his way out of this, no matter how much he argued or fought his father tooth and nail to convince him this was a poor political decision. Marrying some parakoopa he didn't even know, all to satisfy his father's swollen ego, convincing himself it was for a peace they easily could've had as soon as they arrived. Again, it frustrated him.

So he mindlessly continued. He played until he felt his forearms become sore from use, and his eyes blinking closed. He stopped for a moment and stayed still, breathing heavily and slowly, sleepily even.

The thump of his hands on the keys made a dark tone that rang out for a few seconds. The study brings an ominous echo to the final note of his erratic and ridiculous lament and then there was finally silence.

What seemed like only moments later, a knock came from his door, soft and almost muted, but the echo brought it to his attention.

Ludwig shifted his eyes toward the door, and in the doorway, there she was.

"Oh.. It's you."

[popponn]

sakura, places, and farewells. [yae miko x f!reader]

a.notes: part 1 of this. could be read as a standalone.

“Where are you going today?” Yae Miko asked, teasing with a lilt of melancholy as she saw you stepped towards the torii gate.

You halted your steps, your hand gripped the only belonging you carried with you—a katana, its broken blade hidden inside its sheath. Your head nearly turned towards the woman who stood behind you, but in an act of cowardice, you stopped midway. “Somewhere. I don’t know yet. I couldn’t stand it here.”

Miko hummed absentmindedly. Without seeing her, you could imagine her figure leaning to the pillars, her head looking upwards gazing upon the falling petals. Just like always, unchanging and brazen, yet still carrying an irreplaceable loneliness with her. “I see,” Miko said along with a long sigh. “Is it because of Ei?”

You stayed silent for a moment. You dared not to answer nor to imagine your old friend’s face. Once again, you chose to not meet the truth, “I wonder. Perhaps it’s just a mere wanderlust, a mindless choice that I chose to take in a wistful manner.”

A laugh resounded upon your respond. “Is that so?” Miko cackled, yet somehow remain graceful. It remained for a while, before softly, slowly, her laughter ceased. “Should I wait for you to come home, then?”

“…please don’t,” you said, unable to give her a promise. “I don’t… exactly know when I will return.”

Or if I will return.

Those words hung in the air, unsaid yet present.

A silence descent upon the two of you. Perhaps it was cruel of you to leave Miko alone despite everything. Once again, you let her lose another companion in her long life.

A part of you expected her to finally walk away. The sounds of her steps going away from you, letting you go without any farewell nor any sadness left. It would be better like that perhaps, as you are merely a coward who chose your own selfishness over her and Inazuma.

Yet, what cut the stillness you held as a shield was a gentle sound of a wind. The Guuji of the Narukami Shrine put her hand beside you before you knew it, then turned you to meet her gaze with an enigmatic smile.

A goodbye and a hope twinkled under her eyes as she slipped an unopened sheet of fortune to your hand, no longer intertwined with the hilt of of your blade but with her fingers. “You do understand hearing that only will make me wait for your return more, right?” Miko laughed, as if today was just another day for her. That today, you would came to her side and chatter senselessly, sharing joy and troubles alike.

“Miko…” you wished to avert your gaze. A futile attempt, perhaps, as it was Miko who held your hand tightly. A wordless attempt to greet another separation with rapture.

“Take this as my well wishes,” Miko said, finality lacing her voice. “I will be here until you came. What came after that…”

Her words trailed off, her fingers letting go of your hand. She took a step full of a fox’s mischief, then bid you one last glance—fond and longing, but accepting.

“I suppose, we will find out when the time comes.”

You gazed at her, enchanted yet again. A few beat passed, then you gave her a loving smile. “I suppose. Then, see you, Miko.”

Miko chuckled as the two of your turned away from each other.

“See you too, Dearest.”

[cynthiav06]

It's only in Percy Jackson Fandom where shipping anything other than the main couple seemingly warrants death sentence.

Every other fandom explores so many other ships as shipping between characters helps in finding out how far the depth of their relationship might go.

Personally, I have always loved the idea of what Perachel could have been if Uncle Rick had actually tried. Imagine:

Part 1

Percy staying up thinking about this mortal he accidentally ran his sword through; she looked furious and confused and long after its over he is left wondering if that's how his mother felt when she met his father. He wonders it ceaselessly at times.

Rachel living in fear of everything she sees, plagued by dreams and visions, and this guy who ran her through with a literal sword calling her a mortal and surprised she can even see the sword just straight up leaves, taking all the answers with him. Long after it's happened, all she's left with is a canvas filled with the sketches of a sea-green eyed guy.

Then fate connects them yet again because Percy needs her. It starts with his need to fulfill the quest and her need for answers, but the awe Percy must have felt at Rachel's courage through the whole quest despite the incessant quips from Annabeth. He is sorry then that he has dragged someone like her to her death and if that weren't enough they run into the Titan King and he knows that maybe he has doomed them all and Rachel, mortal and unreliable according to Annabeth , throws a hairbrush at the literal actual Kronos himself.

On the flip side, Rachel knows for sure that whatever happens with her visions she will always dream of the sea green eyed hero. The images are everywhere. Him fighting, him negotiating, leading, saving them so she draws and draws and hopes it stops.

It has been noted somewhere in the Fandom once that the only reason Rachel was attracted to Percy was because he introduced her to a whole new world as if that isn't reason enough, as if they need a reason. As if it's not happened before with The Sea God and the Queen among mortals.

It doesn't stop for either of them cause now Rachel knows there's a prophecy hanging over Percy's head, and Percy knows she will see its outcome. So they talk of anything but this, whatever they can because neither of them wants to see how it ends, for the world and for them.

Long before Blackjack crashes his hooves on Paul's Prius, he knows it's coming; the end of the world, and it's far too late to look back. He leaves Rachel there because he is never taking her on a mission again, Morpheus knows he has enough nightmares of something happening to her.

Rachel watches him leave as a prickling at the back of her head tells her one of them isn't returning and no matter how wrong it is, she wishes against all odds that it won't be him.

After that, Rachel has only her visions to keep her company. She has started seeing someone's past , it's not his, but if she tries hard enough, she sees him once or twice. She commits the visions to memory, immortalizing them in art.

Percy doesn't speak to her for a good while after that, not because he doesn't want to, he would do anything to speak to her instead of doing this but his life's already forfeit so he might as well save the world. But he doesn't need to speak to her; they talk best in their visions. When of present, they are always of her. He understands why he sees them, for it's necessary to know what she sees, for she can't tell him, but he's glad for the excuse of it. He gets to see her, and he stays sane.

Yup, she's certifiably insane when she gets in a helicopter to see him, but he needs to know.

He was quite prepared for it, his death and her possibly becoming the Oracle later on. He knew it would happen. He is glad in some part of him that he would die long before it comes to fruition, that he would die in a world where they were together.

It would be their shared tragedy, them fulfilling their destinies as he escapes the divine while she ties herself to them.

Rachel had prepared for the same. She could give up over men , she was certain she would never think of them again after Perseus Jackson dies; it would be her eternal mourning and if someone asks she might tell them that the Spirit of Delphi lost her favored hero to her own prophecy.

But Fate's far too cruel.

Rachel is euphoric. He won't die, HE WON'T DIE. He's NOT the hero. The implications don't set in until she is facing him in the Throne room of Olympus. She says the things she doesn't even mean so she can soften the blow. She sees the break in him in his eyes as they share a last glance instead of a last kiss.

It clicks for him after Luke dies a hero. The bittersweet pang of triumph and loss. Blackjack is gone, and she's taken him. He isn't nearly as furious over that as he is about what she is to do.

He doesn't know if the curse is broken for sure, and he definitely doesn't want her to be the test run. Does she not know visions of her ending up like May Castellan are what breaks him in his worst nightmares.

He is the one who sees her take the oath, as she breaks what's left of them. A moment before all things come crashing down, she looks at him, and he looks back. The Oracle of Delphi and The Savior of Olympus have roles to play and loving the other isn't written in fates or destiny but they share one last vision of a perfect kiss as they resign themselves to their fate for the rest of their life; Their destinies forever entwined but never joined.

....Part 2 pending

(Also going to write headcanons of just perachel things and there are many so wait up)

[lostgirl1428]

You know what?

Here have these. I giffed the ENTIRE movie.

[crowfromfoggyforest]

Rumbelle x Is/Not by Margaret Atwood

(aka part 1 of me turning my Rumbelle poetry analysis ramblings into something remotely interesting)

[ploxpoke]

Crazy in Love Ch 1.

No use of y/n, reader is only referred to as you and is going to be g/n.

No smut for this first chapter, bc I'm still feeling out how I want this to go. Mention of substance use but no usage, slight violence

______________________________________________________________

You had just gotten a frantic call from Yuji's phone and you assumed the worst. Your heart sank to your feet when you heard the words ‘Yuji’s in trouble.’ It was like the wind was knocked right out of your chest and the grip you had on your phone tightened. You tried to ask who was on the phone but you were just talked over. All you were told was directions and that your help was needed to save Yuji.

 So, of course you dropped everything and left immediately. Once you had gotten there you had initially wondered why Yuji would be at a school instead of a hospital or doctors office, and why you were needed to help him but you didn't question if further as a man with white hair and a blindfold greeted you and had you follow him.

 "I honestly didn't expect you to show up” He says with an almost smug grin “but thank you for it” He starts to walk towards one of the buildings around the school grounds, talking as he walked “ My name is Satoru Gojo, I am one of Itadori’s teachers, and as much as I hate to admit it, I need your help.” Gojo went on to vaguely explain that all you needed to do was talk to Itadori, and you frowned. You gave him a curious look and almost objected but you didn’t. Instead you asked “How is that going to help? You said this was urgent, shouldn’t he be in the hospital?”

Gojo just laughed and shook his head “This is something doctors can’t help with unfortunately. I just need you to talk to him, give him an anchor. Itadori really is lucky to have known you as long as he has. It makes you a perfect candidate. "  Gojo led you down a hall. He greeted several other students and walked towards a door with several seals on it. He paused for a moment before looking at you "I can’t go in with you but I should warn you, you won’t be seeing your Itadori. Just be careful and if anything goes south yell for me.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and looks down at you “You’re his last hope and our last ditch effort to save him.” Gojo’s tone had shifted to a darker, more serious one and it made you worry even more.

You turn slowly to the door and slowly open it, entering with caution. When you enter the room, you feel a chill run up your body and you sense a dark aura. You take deep, stressed breaths as you look around "Yuji? Are you here?" You say in a forced calm tone. You look around and can’t see more than a few feet in front of you. Your breath hitches as you realize you’ll have to enter fully to find Itadori and your calm demeanor falters for a second before you force it back.

 As you step further into the dark room you look around and you see movement in the darkness. You feel a sense of dread creeping up your spine but you press on. You slowly walk further into the room when you hear a noise from behind you and before you have the chance to turn around, something tackles you to the ground. When you regain your bearings you realize the thing that had pushed you down was in fact Itadori and you let out a small sigh of relief.

You look up at your friend that you love so much, and you hit him hard across the face. You glare up at him yelling "What the hell is wrong with you? Get off" Little did you know, that was not currently Yuji Itadori, but Ryomen Sukuna. The king of curses looked down at you with a disgusted expression. He raises a fist, is about to end you when his body slumps forward, landing on you.

Itadori regains control of his body and just lays limply on top of you. You look at him with wide eyes unsure of what to do. When he finally sits up you push him off you and start to yell at him “You fucking jerk! What the hell is wrong with you! I was worried that you were hurt or dying and you pull this? Is this some sort of joke!?” You continue to yell at Itadori until you see him looking really dazed. You crouch down next to him and nudge him.  When he looks up at you, you tilt your head and mumble “Are you okay? I was worried…” Itadori nods slightly and  leans his head on you before quietly giving a half-assed “I’ll tell you later”

Sukuna watches from within Itadori, seeing and hearing all he does. Sukuna recognizes you, the way you look, the way you sound, and your soul. The stark resemblance and the strike of familiarity he got when he looked at you made him feel emotions he’d forgotten he had. He knew you, even if it wasn't the you in front of him. The you he had known was a shrine maiden he’d taken a liking to and became obsessed with when he was still human. You were his once, and he wanted you back after all these hundreds of years. Sukuna decided then and there you were going to be his again and he’d manage to convince his young vessel one way or another to help in his conquest of you.

Itadori gives you a sorry look “Are you okay?”

“Am I alright? he asks!?” you give him an incredulous look and glare at him “What the hell is wrong with you!” you yell at him, clearly scared “What the fuck happened?” 

Yuji looks genuinely guilty and winces at your reaction, understanding why you're so angry and afraid. His voice is soft and apologetic as he tries to explain "I’m not sure how to explain it to you..." He takes a deep breath and explains who Sukuna is and how he ended up as his vessel. “I know I sound crazy but I need you to trust me, I swear I’m telling you the truth” He pleads with you and reaches out to you only for you to pull away from him with a fearful expression.

Sukuna watches from inside Yuji's mind, and begins his manipulation of his vessel. He starts to whisper dark, disturbing, and lustful words about you to Itadori, who ignores them to the best of his ability. Sukuna sees the conflict in your eyes and can’t help but laugh. He knows you’ll be his sooner rather than later and it amuses him that you think you have any choice.

"L-Look, I just need you to trust me-" Itadori says as he, again, tries to reach for you

“No! I will not look anything!” you stand up and back away from him “Are you on something? What reason should I believe there’s some fucking demon-curse thing in your mind!” You stand up and start to get even more scared and angry “And even if I did believe you, what could I even do to help?” You say in a broken voice and Itadori’s expression falls as he realizes how crazy he must sound.

Itadori’s voice is soft and pleading as he speaks "Please, just hear me out. I promise I’m not on anything and I’m not lying to you.. All I want is for us to talk, I want you to understand that’s all” He puts his hands up in a surrendering motion, as he takes a small step towards you. “I just need you to listen to me, I swear-”

“No I won’t listen! I should leave right now.” You almost scream at him, hands shaking “I don't want to hear anything you have to say right now!” Your voice breaks and you stare down at the ground. You take deep, shallow breaths and you sigh deeply. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me it’s the truth” Yuji holds his hand out to you and keeps eye contact with you. “It is the truth. Crazy as it sounds, I swear it is”

(No clue on what I'm going to do next but I'll figure it out. If anyone has any suggestions I'll gladly take them. I'll eventually get to smut but idk how to do that transition)

[4seasonsofart]

A True Warrior

(Thors x Healer Reader)

Gender neutral but the word wife is used in accordance to the reader. Typical misogynistic themes of olden times.... Thors before he became a true warrior so settle down—that's why he seems out of character.

Steel meets steel, flesh on flesh, and blood of blood scattered on the ancient grounds of god's. The battleground wages on despite any protests from the heavens. The gods are too far away to warn their creations. The Earth is too far away from the paradise they crave.

The sunlight is blocked by the violent crowd of clouds that thunder in support of the fighting below. One after another, soldiers fall to the ground like rag dolls. They crumple under the weight of the indomitable Jomsvikings. They move as not individual people but as a force of nature.

Two young and promising fighters that emit a dark and vicious bloodlust tear through the field like lions on lamb. One is a blonde that stands at a staggering seven feet seven high with two twin battle axes and hazel eyes that scream for a need for battle. The other is like a silent predator that cuts through flesh with his steel borne of others blood. His eyes are empty and lifeless, the brown dulled and mixed with the crimson red of his enemies. His black hair strands are pulled back to keep them out of his face as he searches. He is stalking. He is ready. He wants to find them. No... needs.

He was promised a wife, and that wife he shall have. To have his own future bride killed in a battle such as this would be a great shame. He would never allow such shame to fall on the shoulders of the great Jomsviking chieftain. Sigvaldi, the man who has given him someone to be able to pass on his legacy to. That is something that can never be repaid, but through the service of his battles.

His sword cuts through another lamb of sacrifice as he searches for what he was promised. He looks through the thicket of soldiers and spots the one he was looking for. He moves quickly, almost like a shadow. The enemy soldiers scream in terror and pray that being cut down by him means a chance at Vahalla. His blonde comrade joins him, Thorkell the Tall; he seems giddy to just be in a war.

He comes upon a figure a lot smaller than he, one that has fresh bruises on their body and bandages in their hands, as they patch up a foreign soldier. Thors waves off Thorkell, and he begrudgingly listens. He stalks off back into the heart of the battlefield like a child, just deprived of a toy. Thorkell occasionally glances back at Thors and the child of Sigvaldi, a strange light in his eyes as he does. Although it disappears as soon as it comes, he goes back to his slaughter.

Thors sticks his sword through the heart of the foreign soldier while his future bride stares in horror. His brows furrow as his passive gaze turns into a demonic glare. He takes his sword out of the soldier's corpse with ease. He points his sword at your throat.

"You are the child of Sigvaldi? What is the meaning of this madness? I should cut you down right now for acting like such a disgrace on the battlefield." He states in an enraged manner as his pale complexion slightly tints with exasperation.

He watches as your expression of shock turns into irritation as you so disrepectably stand against him. In less time than it takes to blink, Thors is holding your wrist within his grasp. His grasp is so tight that your bones must be getting ground into dust. You do your best not to wince as you immediately regret your rash action.

"I am your future husband, and you choose to try to slap me? First, the disrespect to battle, and now the disrespect to me." He holds back any violence against his future partner as he releases the grasp on your wrist and slices another soldier's neck.

"I am a healer! You just killed my patient! A man, woman, child, or gender non-conforming person deserves to be healed and treated with respect!" You shriek out angrily as tears spring from your glistening eyes and heavy heart.

"The enemy deserves death." Thor states in a passive tone as his calloused fingers dig into the handle of his sword. "You do as well if you are helping those we war against." No trace of emotion is heard in his voice. It is as if Odin created him from an ancient rock—unmoveable and uncaring.

You shake your head heavily as you realize who he is: Thors, the Troll of Jom. Your father is making you wed against your will. If he tells your father that you have been sneaking off the battlefield, you will be greatly punished. Still, this man, the one with no emotion in his eyes—how is he to care for you?

"What enemy?" You asked through cracked vocal inflections as you watched the battle around you. Savages seek each other's blood. Families and lives are being torn apart by the mere strings of fate that hold them together. The mothers and children will no longer have husbands or fathers. The shield maidens may never see their lovers again. "All I see is innocent blood being spilt."

"You are foolish—not fit to be the child of such a highly esteemed chieftain. If you are to be married to me, I expect the submission that is seen between a master and a slave."

"How dare you—" Before another word is able to leave your mouth, a sharp blow comes to your head. An angry shout is heard as the heat of the battle is so close to you that it is practically breathing on you. You feel a certain fuzziness rise in your veins.

The impossibly gentle touch that only a mother would be able to provide is wrapped around your body. You cuddle into the new sensation as the throbbing of your head slowly dulls. Your body relaxes, and all sounds but the faint crackling of a fire can be heard. A soft thump next to you is felt as your shoulder is brutally shaken.

"Up." Thors grating voice commands.

A mellow whine escapes your throat as your peace is broken and your consciousness slowly returns. You bring your hand up to your head swiftly as a yelp leaves your chapped lips. Your fingers ghost the bandages wrapping around your head as your entire right arm is littered with violet-blue splotches of bruised artistry. You blink the rest of the weariness from your eyes as your gaze settles on your room. The gentle lull of the fireplace, the mountain of furs you always wrap yourself in while sleeping, and the enigmatic way the wood wraps around the walls of the cabin to create this space.

Your eyes land on the slightly discontented but mostly hardened expression on your future husband's features. You avert your eyes out of instinct. It felt as if he was trying to see not just the inside of your soul but also the insides of your mind.

You scan the new cloth laid upon you while in your slumber: your regular shift dress was placed on you with new embroidery and a soft white color. Wrapping around your head is a crown of flowers with soft golden hues. A wedding arm band sits on your left arm with intricate runes only the most talented of craftsmen could make.

"We were married in your slumber. Now, as I said, up." Thors commands again. As if you were some tamed wolf that he expected to obey his every whimsy.

"I could divorce you and kill you if I wanted. It's in the Viking code." You blurt out hastily as the panic rises from your stomach into your aching throat.

Thors stands up without a sound as that same piercing glare enters your heart again. "Then do it." He states in a haughty tone as he releases his sword from its constraints. "Disgrace both of our families and end my bloodline if you so wish."

He drops his most prized possession in your lap as he makes no move against you. A single moment passes as his eyes keep their dull demeanor. His courage and hardened expression do not lighten in the slightest as your exhausted arms wield the sword. You tenderly lean the tip of the sword against his veiny neck as he slightly tenses.

Your anger wavers as your febleness takes root within you. You release the sword as it carelessly clatters onto the ground around you. You refuse to meet his callous gaze as your eyes drift towards the fallen piece of metal. The thing that has helped him slay so many. The thing that has caused an unknown amount of pain and strife.

"I can't."

"I know." A single moment passes, and then another. He seems to have lost interest in you as he turns around and begins walking off. "That's why you will never truly be my wife. You're weak."

Somewhere far away, the Norns mourn over your fate. The heavens cast their pity upon the husband for whom you have been fated. His steps are like stabs into your already fragile heart. That's the day it stopped beating.

For: @bjornslove and @atruewarrior

[vertexlex]

A comic about Balan's looks. Glad we cleared that up.

Part 2

[unformula1]

happy birthday (LS2 x OP81)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ synopsis: happy birthday oscar piastri. ur amazing. lovely lovely oscar!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ pairing: Logan Sargeant and Oscar Piastri (Loscar) w/c: 688 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a/n: it’s oscar piastri day!! there’s a lot of logical flaws in this story but who cares right. day 13 of Loscar posts until we get a LOSCAR PODIUM also remind me to write a part 2 to this on the 31st of December okay  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oscar stares at his lock screen, his stare is blank and unreadable. He watches the multiple notifications slide in all wishing him happy birthday in one way or another. He swipes them away after briefly reading the first few words.

He looks back up at the clock again, 10am. He sighs and looks back down at his phone as it fades to black. He turns it on again, still staring at the empty lock screen.

He starts floating into a daze.

His phone rings, which snaps him out of his trance. It’s Lando. 

He picks up the phone

“Hey.” He says, trying his best to sound excited. Well, he is but he’s more excited for something else.

“Hello Oscar Piastri.” Lando says, clearly sensing Oscar’s lack of excitement, “Clearly someone hasn’t texted in yet.” Lando scoffs softly but Oscar can hear it.

“Shut up.” Oscar says, rolling his eyes, “I’m not expecting his text, we haven’t talked in a while okay.”

“Really?” Lando pushes.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. Very sure.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re still waiting for Logan’s little happy birthday!” Lando says it in a childish sound.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” 

“No.”

“Okay once you’re done waffling on about it, Logan’s here… like outside the McLaren garage.” Lando says, which piques Oscar’s attention.

“Why are you there so early?” Oscar says, diverting the subject of the conversation.

“Needed to talk.”

“Liar.”

Oscar says as Lando hangs up.

He tuts and gets up, throwing on his coat and walking out. He briskly walks to the track, which isn’t that far.

Oscar anxiously walks into the paddock, his eyes darting around to find Logan. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. Maybe it was because he had the looming thought that Logan would never wish him happy birthday again, which wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it wasn’t Logan but it was and it meant everything.

Logan and Oscar were the closest of friends before all of this. Logan wished Oscar happy birthday every single year at 12 midnight sharp but ever since last year he hasn’t.

Last year, Logan wished Oscar at a random time in the day which disappointed Oscar a little by not receiving a message at 12 midnight.

However, this year Logan hasn’t even wished Oscar a happy birthday probably because they were nearing the final thread of their friendship. It suddenly dawned on Oscar that he would never get another “happy birthday!” from Logan if he didn’t do anything now.

He panics.

He fucked up real bad didn’t he.

He forgot to wish Logan a happy birthday last year and now Logan probably thought that meant the end of their friendship.

God he was stupid.

He beat himself up over forgetting to wish him and regretted everything.

He swiftly finds the McLaren garage but no Logan, he quickly wipes his disappointment and walks into the garage. His entire team is there to wish him a happy birthday and that made him feel slightly better. He smiles widely for the camera and blows out the candles. 

Lando makes some snarky remark which causes Oscar to chuckle stupidly again.

It takes them a few minutes to wrap everything up but when they do, Oscar takes out his phone and the message lingering there makes his face light up.

Logan: happy birthday oscar!! come outside please

Oscar shuts his phone off, being so excited he forgets to respond to the message. He darts past his team and pushes the garage door open and right there is Logan Hunter Sargeant.

“Happy Birthday Oscar.” Logan says, presenting Oscar a soft toy of a koala.

Oscar’s smile widens even more and he feels like he’s stupid smiling right now but he couldn’t care less.

He hugs the koala tight and snuggles it before running up to Logan and hugging him.

“Thank you.” Oscar says as he tightly grips onto Logan.

“Happiest of birthdays Oscar.”

“I promise I’ll never forget yours again.” Oscar says as he hugs Logan tighter.

“Are we still talking about this? I told you it’s alright.”

“No it’s not. It isn’t.”

“Whatever.” Logan chuckles.