#cage clockwork voice of hope

[kaito-module-of-the-day]

Today's KAITO module of the day is:

Cage -Clockwork Voice of Hope- by Youno!

[separatist-apologist]

Hey MB<3 I just keep rereading your fics over and over and they hit everytime (like seriously they itch every scratch in my brain), but just wondering, do u have any elucien fics on your tbr rn, or recent ones that you recommend? I'm mostly looking for canon compliant bc that is crack to me but im not too picky, just looking for recs!

I ANSWERED THE WRONG ASK god kill me right now

You're so sweet. Sorry it took me so long to write this- I wanted to put together a good mix. I hope you like them- these are just one's I've read, there are more on @elucienweekofficials list of multi-chapter fics set in canon, too!

This is long so I put it beneath a cut. I tried to mix on-going fics with completed fics and not recommend the same ones I always do. If anyone finds this list helpful, be better than me and leave a review

I Believe The Word You're Looking For Is Friends by @kingofsummer93

Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are haunted by ghosts of their past, unable to move forward, unsure where they belong.

Together they come to an agreement. He'll teach her everything he knows about Prythian. He'll take her anywhere she wants to go.

In return, maybe she can just stop slapping him so much.

All You Have Is Your Fire by @clockwork-ashes

'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Elain goes to the Autumn Court demanding an audience with the High Lord to save the mate she can barely stand to be in the same room with. She ends up having to stay much longer than she bargained for.

What If I Told You I'm Back by climbingmountains

Come one, come all, it's happening again…Elain and Azriel have been married for ten years. Koschei is defeated, their family is at peace. And if she feels a hollow ache of something every once in a while, that’s just the price one pays for love and duty.

Until she comes home one day to the news that her husband has a mating bond of his own.

OR: I listened to nothing but The Tortured Poets Department for over a month and had a lot of angst to release.

Mockingbird by @avabrynne

After Lucien reluctantly agrees to meet with Eris, he’s shocked when his brother reveals his biggest secret: he has eight-year-old twin daughters. Unwilling to entrust them to anyone else and with Beron's gaze on him more intense than ever, Eris has Lucien swear to protect the girls and take them with him.

When it becomes clear they can’t stay in the human lands even when glamoured to look human, Lucien turns to the Night Court. While it’s easier to handle outbursts of young magic there, Lucien needs help. Enter Elain, who bonded quickly with the twins after their arrival. On top of everything else, Lucien and Elain start to navigate their bond while also finding out a few more secrets, like who Lucien’s actual father is. It's an Autumn and Day Court family drama Elucien and ErisxOC fic!

ACOWAR (Eluciens edition) by @crazy-ache

One moment. All it takes is one singular moment to change the trajectory of fate. Following the events of Hybern, everything changes when Lucien instinctively grabs his mate—Elain Archeron—and brings her back to the Spring Court with Feyre and Tamlin.

In the midst of war and ruin, Elain and Lucien will have to face the bond that connects them together if they hope to survive the unintended consequences. To do so, they’ll have to prevail through games of deceit, powerful forces of magic, and deadly enemies. And hope their hearts survive the journey.

A retelling of A Court of Wings and Ruin (ACOWAR) and a Canon Divergent AU.

A Court of Ash and Sunlight by aturner1205

“I know you’d rather not get help from me. I know you’ve rejected our mating bond and I’ve accepted that. But I still want to make sure you’re safe.”

Her heart twisted in its cage, filling her whole body with icy tears that would not spill.

Tell him. He deserves to know the truth. Tell him.

And because this time the voice inside was hers, because it was strong and clear and right, she did.

“I haven’t rejected the mating bond with you, Lucien,” she said quietly, her chest pounding so loud she could hardly hear the words. “But I think I damaged it, because—because I’ve never felt it.”

The Scenic Route by @bonecarversbestie

Elain grows discontent with her role in the Night Court as she grapples with grief for her human life and powers that she does not fully understand. One evening she accidentally winnows to Lucien's doorstep and he agrees to take her back to Velaris via the scenic route.

Can I Be Close To You by @temperedink

Elain and Lucien have been feeling out their tentative new relationship for a while, and Elain is getting antsy about the slow pace she's set for them. But maybe it's time to take things to the next level.

Set a few years post-ACOSF.

Oceans Apart (Never) by angryramen

Living in the Day-Court with her mate seemed like a damning at first. But slowly Elain started to enjoy Lucien’s company. They conversed together in the Day-Court gardens and slowly became friends. He even promised to charter a ship to take her to the continent, somewhere she’d always wanted to go. But when the time comes to say goodbye…

The Heirs of Fall and Flame by arosebetweenthorns

Eris Vanserra has always been a complicated male. Born as the first son to a tyrant of a High Lord, he was raised on cruelty, learning never to reveal weaknesses. But as Eris' allegiances to his father's court are questioned, his loyalties forming with those across borders, he realises enemies in his own court - especially his father - may be too difficult for him to keep at bay, especially when he inadvertently sets his father's sights onto his youngest brother. Then there's Rhysand's Inner Circle to contend with - one particular shadowsinger that Eris can't seem to avoid... but does he even want to? --- Lucien Vanserra always thought his suffering at the Autumn Court's hands was behind him. But when his father shows a vested interest in him years after banishing him, it's clear he will have to fight to keep the fragile peace he's built himself. All Lucien wants is to be with Elain and begin a life of his own, but when Elain's life is threatened by his father, Lucien learns just how much he has to learn before life can truly begin.

This is a direct continuation of the events of ACOSF. Joint POV of Eris and Lucien.

A Court of Breaking by @aldbooks

A year after the events of A Breaking, Elain feels a tug on the bond and realizes her estranged mate is in danger. Lucien, now returned to the Night Court, wonders if he might have been too hasty in his decision to leave, and if there might still be a chance for him with his mate

Summer Heat by @zenkindoflove

Lucien nodded his head, looking for any cue that he was dismissed. “Got it. Keep everyone in line and try not to make an ass of myself in front of my mate. I’ll see what I can do.”

Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years.

Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance.

Post-ACOSF, Elucien, Eris x OC, Multi-chapter.

Healer In The Night by @infinitefolklore

Lucien has been away on the continent on a mission. No one has heard from him in over two months. Elain is worried. On a dark and stromy night, he shows up bloody on her doorstep. Elain nurses him back to health.

The Luck Of The Draw by @sad-scarred-sassy

Elain Archeron is determined to end her unwanted mating bond with Lucien Vanserra. She has resigned herself to a loveless life, convinced she will never be able to experience true love without the fabricated weight of an assigned mate.

Her plans take a sharp turn when her mate arrives with a proposition to accompany him on a mission to a foreign court. When no one else believes her capable of succeeding Elain decides to prove to herself and others that she is not as hopeless as everyone else thought.

Only this will mean she will have to face him, and with that all that she has sworn off, battling between not knowing where the mating bond's influence ends and where her true feelings begin.

[dottieisdotting]

Let them see- Chishiya Shuntaro

requested?: no

pairing(s): shuntarō chishiya x afab!virgin!reader +Niragi

genre: smut

warning(s):, smut, piv sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it bubs), praise, slight threesome,,exhibitionism, voyerism,multiple orgasms, oral (f&m recieving), nipple play, not proof read, fluffy towards the end, not proof read, lmk if i missed anything

summary: Reader is a virgin, and Chishiya teaches them to give a blow job and takes her virginity

word count: 2.56k

a/n: a smut for Chishiya bc why not? hope ya'll had a lovely day/morning/night/evening/afternoon love yas all, mwah

It was the end of witch hunt and many people had died.

 Of course it was a hearts game, a game that messes with the mind. It was a horrible game, Niragi had made it his target to kill you or Chishiya you couldn't let that happen so you got a ‘few’ cuts and bruises saving and helping people away from Aguni’s team. 

You all got back to partying like nothing happened, it was like clockwork for those games at the beach. A game occurs,you all play it and then get back to fucking,drinking,dancing. This wasn't the case for you this time. Being all cut up and bruised you had no choice other than to haul your ass back to your room to clean your cuts.

You get to your designated room and go to the drawers pulling out a small emergency first aid kit as you dabbed isopropyl alcohol on a cotton pad and cleaned your stomach cuts so they wouldn't get infected. You shut your eyes in pain and bit your lip to keep unwanted pained whimpers from coming from your mouth.

Leaned up against the bathtub,shirtless and pants down to your hips,you clean your stomach unaware that Chishiya nonchalantly walked into your room,seeing you in this state his eyes widened a little before returning to his normal cat eyes. His hands in his normal place,his jacket pockets. Not to mention how lowly zipped his jacket was.

Chishiya stared at you in the position,feeling himself get a little hotter. ”Uh” he cleared his throat ”hey,do you need any help?”  you jump,startled at a sudden voice. You look up and see Chishiya, the same Chishiya that saved you on your first game by pulling you into a room away from the horse head just as they raised their gun at you.

You nod as he walks closer,removing his hands from his pockets and getting another cotton pad and soaking it with isopropyl alcohol and removing the other before putting the new one over it. You couldn't help it as a small whimper of pain left your mouth. Chishiya at first side eyed you but realised it was painful for you. He took your hand and kissed your knuckles softly.

This had you completely baffled because Chishiya hated anything to do with physical contact according to Kuina and other players 

You had always had this little innocent crush on Chishiya, Kuina knew it but kept it a secret. She also kept another secret. A huge secret for you, you were still a virgin. There was nothing wrong with being one but with your ripe old age of 18 and with today’s society,still having your v-card when you were 18 was considered weird. 

After cleaning and wrapping your wound,Chishiya helped you to the bed and told you to rest and make sure everything healed.

A couple of days had passed and you were all healed so you left your room going down to the pool in your bikini. You need to catch a tan before the sun disappears for the day. Of course Kuina and Chishiya were down there, huddled together like penguins until Kuina spots you and drags Chishiya over so you all could talk

The day has gone by quickly now the sun sets as you walk up to your room only to see Chishiya waiting for you at your door ”oh,Chishiya can i he-” your sentence was cut short when his lips latched onto yours in a heated kiss. You kiss back, turning your body around so he has you caged between him and the door. 

You break the kiss for air,your chest heaves as you can feel yourself becoming flustered, thighs subtly rubbing together for some sort of friction. His eyes scan your body, and he needs you badly 

You didn't know what this feeling was but it was strong,you bent down to pick your key up and Chishiya placed his hands on your head ”stay down there,sweets”  you sat back on your knees,kneeling before him. 

Your eyes were level with his semi-hard on. Your doe eyes looking up through your eyelashes “C'mon sweets, you gonna suck me off?”  Your face flushes red as your arousal gets worse. How could you tell him you had never done it before?

You pause and look up at him nervously ”Aw poor baby, you don't know how to?” . You shake your head,shyly as he strokes the side of your face ”it's okay,I'll teach you so you take my dick perfectly” 

You swallow and reach for his swimming shorts. He guides your hand over his cock making you palm him,he lowly moans ”Shiya wait till we get-” He shakes his head ”keep going,Sweets” you palm him a bit more making more little noises come from his throat 

”Take them off,Sweets. I'll guide you” your hands,shaking, reach up for his shorts,untying them and pulling them down his legs. His cock springs free from its confinement. It was long,thick and red-tipped and pre-cum around it. You look at it and take your hand wrapping it around his cock and pumping it a couple times. 

Chishiya sucks in a breath as you do that. ”sweets, open your mouth f’me. You're gonna take me down your lovely little throat” you nod as you can't speak any words. You open your mouth as Chishiya carefully guides his dick into it.

”breathe through your nose like a good girl” he tells you as his cock goes down your throat. Your throat contracts as you struggle. He notices and pulls out of your mouth,petting your head. 

You catch your breath ”m’ready now,ready for you,Shiya” he smiles and carefully,once again, slides his cock into your mouth. You struggle to breath and remember what Chishiya said. Breathe in and out of your nose as his cock sits in your tiny throat 

He groans as he feels your throat contracting around his cock. Chishiya’s hand goes to your head,holding the back of it as he keeps your warm mouth around his cock. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to relax. 

“You're gonna start to move now,sweets. Nice and slow. Move that pretty little mouth all over my dick like a good girl” 

All you could do was whine as he guided your head slowly up and down his cock. You slowly get better at it and Chishiya was proud of you. He let go of your head as you decided to focus on the tip. Sucking it and licking it making Chishiya moan and groan. 

“Such a good girl aren't you? Learning how to suck cock perfectly f’me” he closes his eyes and leans against the wall next to your open room. You were so immersed in sucking Chishiya off you forgot you were outside in the hallway but that didn't matter now

You moan around his tip,your hands coming up to cup his balls and gently squeeze them. Chishiya’s eyes shot open and he whined “god,fucking christ” he felt his upcoming orgasm harder than ever as you took him back down your throat again. His hands hold your head on his dick as he comes with a moan and subtle whimper of your name. 

Once he’d finished coming he slowly lifted your head off his dick but not before you could kiss his tip. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up to Chishiya and see a small smile on his face

“Such a good girl,perfect little cockslut and all for me. Right? You'll only use your mouth for me,nobody else.” you nod and swallow his cum obediently 

You stayed on your knees until Chishiya told you to stand up. He places both hands on your cheeks as he kisses you with intensity. Eyes closed,hands in his hair and moaning into his mouth felt good,like a weird confidence boost on your behalf

He pushes you against the wall,his hand now wandering your body. One hand cups your tit and the other cups your pussy as you feel him smirk against your lips because of how wet you were. You whimper “Shiya,please” 

He smirks once more,you look up and see those wondrous cat eyes of his. Chishiya kneels before you and kisses your thighs. You rest against the wall as Chishiya slides your bikini bottoms down and lifts your right leg over his shoulder.

Nothing could have prepared you for Chishiya’s tongue. It was fast and skilled,constantly attacking your clit making you moan loud and arch your back off the wall. Your hands are tangled in his blonde locks. He pace does not slow as his fingers move to your clit and his tongue to your dripping entrance

Your thighs slightly tremble as he slips one finger into your tight virgin hole. “Jesus”  you exclaim as you immediately clench around one digit as he smirks. He then sucks your clit between his lips,the sucks were harsh, ravishing you like a starved man in the desert. He never let a single drop of your arousal go to waste. You subconsciously push Chishiya’s head closer to your heat wanting to chase your release as it edged closer,coil tightening “Shiya,m’close. So close”

 You clench again as the coil snaps and your hips jerk up, rolling into Chishiya’s face. He slips in another finger as you ride out your first orgasm but instead of stopping, Chishiya continues as he hears the elevator doors open and Niragi walks out of them. Your eyes widen but Chishiya’s tongue and fingers never falter as Niragi walks closer to you he licks his lips like a predator stalking its prey. Your body squirms as you look up to Niragi. You cry out as another finger enters you. You felt stuffed and you still hadn’t had Chishiya’s cock yet. You feel a hand cupping your tit just to realise it was Niragi’s. He squeezes it before removing his hand just to rip off your bikini top,covering your boobs. The cold air of the hallway is already making your nipples peak. Chishiya guides you through your 2nd orgasm as Niragi pinches your left nipple as his pierced tongue circles your right before sucking on it

“Fuck,fuck.” you cry out as your back lifts from the wall and you try to push Chishiya’s head away with one hand as the other one goes to Niragi’s head. You had tear streaks running down your face from 2 intense orgasms back to back. I could feel Niragi smirk against my tit as he rolls it between his fingers before he switches.

“You're such a good girl, handling it so well for us,sweets” you give a lazy smile before a whine as Niragi slightly bites your boob and Chishiya lowers your leg from his shoulder and holds your waist to steady your slightly shaken legs “ragi,Shiya,so good” you babble out as your chest heaves 

Niragi pulls away from your boobs and kisses your lips intensely before walking away,assuming to sort out his tent in his pants.

You were spun around so you were pressed up against the wall,legs spread and cunt on display for Chishiya’s eyes only

Chishiya’s cock was hard once more,red tip angry and leaking pre-cum if it was up to you, you'd be on your knees once more,giving him the head he deserves but he had other plans,plans to take that sweet well treasured virginity away from you out in the open for anyone to see. 

You push your hips backwards wanting something but Chishiya slips his tip in then out,tapping it on your clit a couple times to hear the lewd noise of your slick and your soaking,perfect puffy pussy. “oh,Chishiya please,i want your cock,please”

He listens to your plea and slowly but surely slides his length into your tight sopping pussy. He groans as you clench “shh,shh relax. I've got you. You're sucking me in so well for your first time” you whimper at the praise coming from this man’s mouth as he shallowly thrusts as you whimper in pain for a few seconds. He puts one hand on your hip and the other on your stomach to hold you steady “deep breaths for me, gorgeous girl. It’ll only hurt for a few seconds more” 

You nod and follow his instructions of deep breaths as he slid out to push back in, still careful and weary of you as it was still your first time. “move,Chishiya” you give him the signal as he pulls out and pushes back into your cunt with a little bit more force making him groan quietly

He puts his hands on your hips and starts to move your body over his cock. You put your hands on the wall to steady yourself as your hips move by themselves. Chishiya meets your hips halfway dragging his cock into and out of your walls at a good pace

You had your eyes closed as Chishiya slips a hand down to your sweet bundle of nerves and draws light figure 8’s making you involuntarily clench and moan. Chishiya moves his hips faster drawing your third orgasm close to snapping and washing over your tired body.

”Chishiya,shiya m’close” he moans quietly letting the sound of your arse on his thighs echo down the hallway and all around. ”Shiya,please please. I’m gonna cum”  you cry out, tears falling down your cheeks,arms and legs shaking as tingles course through your body. You constantly babble out ”please” 

 Chishiya leans over and whispers in your ear ”go on then,be a good girl and come all over my cock,sweets” You continuously clench around him as euphoria washed over you entirely. Your hips jerk and move but Chishiya holds them in place as he continues with his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier, falling in and out of rhythm as he chases his own release.

“I’m gonna cum, sweets. Fill you up nice and full” he groans and grips your hips hard enough to practically bruise them.

Chishiya slows his hips, giving shallow thrusts until your pussy was full of his cum. He whimpers your name quietly as your pussy contracts onto his cock “God,you feel too good,sweets too damn good for me” he says breathlessly

Your legs were weak and arms were ready to give out and let you slump to the floor. Dried tears sit on your face and your thighs a wet mess as Chishiya pulls out.

You whine as the overstimulation hits you and you almost crumble to the floor before Chishiya catches you “careful” he warns you as you nod. 

Chishiya grabs his swimming shorts and your bikini before throwing them inside your room, not caring to cover himself up because he’s just had sex in the hallway

You on the other hand were struggling,knees shaky,cum leaking from your pussy and energy drained, Chishiya helps you into your room and into the bathroom,telling you to pee because girly doesn’t want no STI tonight

Whilst you pee he starts to run a bath for you,putting bubbles,bath salts and lighting candles too for you. He lifts you into the bath and climbs into the bath behind you, arms going around your waist as you half submerge yourself into the water. 

Chishiya slowly massages your thighs and hips leaving small chaste kisses on your neck and jaw. You yawn and relax into the rare affection Chishiya gives anyone.

You were glad it was Chishiya and not Niragi although it was a surprise seeing him but you got something out of it; you were no longer an adult virgin 

[abyssguard]

piapro characters - cage -clockwork voice of hope- hatsune miku acrylic stand (eterno récit) illustrated by sheep field

[thebluemango]

Nothing To Be Sorry For

Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Whumptober 2022Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning

Jason still gets nightmares from their time in captivity. He goes to the manor to make sure Dick is still alive and hears some things he needed to hear.

A follow up to Day 6 "Was it a Crowbar?"

Whumptober 2022

            Jason wakes up with a shout. There’re droplets of sweat pooling at the base of his neck, and his breath is coming out in hitched gasps.  Flashes of a nightmare are still fresh in his mind.  It’s been almost a month; Jason’s bruises had long since healed, and Dick was on a steady path to healing. Still, every night since they had been rescued Jason has found himself ripped from sleep by a nightmare.

            In some, Dick would be dead, hanging from his wrists in that dingy basement with his eyes holding an empty gaze.  Other nights, instead of the metal baseball bat that nearly pulverized his brother, it was a crowbar.  In place of a collapsed rib cage would be long ugly gashes made by the beak of the tool. 

            No matter hypothetical the situation, Jason woke up in a puddle of his own sweat.  Tonight was no different than any of the others, so just like clockwork, Jason threw his blankets to the side and swung his legs off the edge of the bed.

            He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, letting out a long sigh.  He really had been trying to avoid the stalker tendencies.

            The week that he had stayed vigil by Dick’s bedside, his anxiety would be soothed quickly by the steady rise and fall of Dick’s chest.  He would sit and match his own breaths with Dick’s until he didn’t feel lightheaded anymore.  But the first night Dick had convinced him to sleep in a bed, Jason was back within three hours of his departure, pushing back his panic with slow breaths.

            Jason tried hard to not be creepy about it, he really did. He would quietly let himself in the room through the window then plant himself in the plush armchair in the corner of the room until he could breathe again before leaving. Okay, so creepy—Sue him.

            Tonight, when Jason had pushed the window open and looked to the bed, ready to let out a breath of relief. Except this time, his blood ran cold, and he stopped breathing for a moment all together.  It took everything in Jason not to accidentally let go of the windowsill and fall backwards when his eyes laid on the empty bed.

            Jason dropped into the bedroom silently. He walked quickly to the empty bed and pressed his bare hand against the spot where Dick should’ve been.  Cold.  That meant hopes of Dick getting up to use the bathroom were null. Jason pushed down his panic as much as he could while he made his way to the bedroom door. The door was cracked open an inch and there was light shining from the hallway.  Jason’s mind was fuzzy as he followed the maze of the manor hallways, just turning wherever the lights were on, until he made it to the main level.  He found himself standing just outside of the kitchen when he heard voices.

            “Bruce, I’ve already told you a million times. It’s okay. What more do I need to say?” The sound of Dick’s voice was like music to his ears.  He finally could let out the breath that had been stuck in his throat.  Jason had half a mind to storm in and ask Dick why he wasn’t in bed at this time of the night but opted instead to press himself against the wall and listen.

            “Chum, I love you so much. You know that right?” Bruce’s slurred words screamed alcohol, Jason’s eyebrows shot up and he pressed himself closer.  Bruce doesn’t usually drink.

            Jason could almost hear Dick roll his eyes as he groaned, “Bruce, I know! I told you; you made the right choice.”

            “There was no right choice!  I shouldn’t have picked at all.”

            There was a clink of glass on a marble countertop, “That’s enough bourbon for you—You’re a mess.”  Then there was a long sigh, “He would’ve killed me and Jason if you didn’t choose. He said that.”

            “He—” Hiccup. “He might not have. He might have just chosen himself.”

            There’s a beat of silence and then Dick’s voice is low and serious, “Maybe, but then he could’ve picked Jason.”

            Jason’s heartbeat loudly in his ears.  He had been beating himself up for the better part of a month, wishing he could go back and take his brother’s place.  Jason knew deep in his heart that Bruce wished the same. But he wanted to hear him say it. He wanted to hear Bruce admit that he too wishes it had been Jason and not Dick.

            However, instead of the big admission Jason was waiting for, a long and wet sob rang through the quiet kitchen. The first cry is followed by more cries that could easily be described as wails.

            Jason’s ears are ringing but he still hears and Dick shuffles slowly around the kitchen. He wants to peak to see what’s going on but stays still in favor of staying hidden. Dealing with crying, drunk Bruce is the last thing that Jason wants to do.

            “Jason’s been through so much... After what happened with Joker, I didn’t want to—” Bruce croaks.  “I— I couldn’t—”

            Dick cuts him off, “I would never want you too, B. I know that nothing I say is going to make you feel better. It might have been just me getting my ass beat but it was traumatic for all of us. Take however long you need to feel okay. But, Bruce, I’m never not going to be grateful that you didn’t pick Jason. I forgive you. I still love you. You don’t have to carry this burden.”

            There’s a sniffle and then a hiccup, “He said that you’d say that. I knew you would say that, too.”

            “He would forgive you, too, if he were in my place. I had the easy job, Bruce.” Jason can hear a chair slide across the tile floor. “You need to go to sleep. You’re going to be hung over. Damian is going to freak out if you pass out at the table. Do you need help?”

            He hears a signature grunt from Bruce and then the sound of bare feet landing on the marble tiles, “I’m okay, Chum… I’m… I’m still really sorry.”

            “Alright, alright, I forgive you. Now bed.”

            It’s then that Jason peaks around the corner, watching as Bruce stumbles out of the kitchen through the opposite entrance. His gaze drifts from the hallway over to where Dick is sitting on a dining room chair.

            “Oh, hey, Jay.” Dick’s lips turn up into a genuine smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here until later, it’s only two.”

            Dick’s wearing an oversized grey tee shirt and plaid pajama pants.  His left leg has a black walking boot while his right is wrapped in a blue fiberglass cast.  The pajama pants cover the top of the cast, but Jason can see black sharpie artwork covering the bottom before disappearing under the plaid fabric.  There’s an equally well decorated cast that traveled from Dick’s hand all the way up to his bicep on his left arm and then a black fabric wrist brace on his left.  Jason’s gaze flickers to Dick’s face where the soft smile still sits, next to nearly healed sutures and yellowing skin where a bruise had been. 

            “You knew I was coming?” Jason chokes out.

            Dick nods seriously, “I figured you would, you have been every night.”

            Jason’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

            The older man’s head tilts in confusion, “Don’t be sorry.  I get it, Jay. I get the nightmares too.”

            Jason’s eyes find the floor quickly and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “Of course, you went through something horrific. I didn’t come here to whine to you. You had it way worse than—”

            “Sit down, Jay.” Dick’s words are firm, and he nudges out the chair that Bruce had just been sitting in. “C’mere.”

            Jason complies silently and without making eye contact.  He felt guilt licking at his chest as he collapsed into the heavy wooden chair. Who was Jason to be seeking comfort from the man who took a gruesome beating for him?

            “Look at me, Jason.” Jason’s eyes drifted up to look at Dick, it took everything he had not to look away when they caught sight of the stitches that were lined across his cheek bone. Then Dick snaps his fingers in front of his face, “Hey, none of that.”

            “Look, Dick, I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just come to check that you’re okay. I didn’t realize I was waking you up. I won’t—I won’t do it again.”  Jason’s voice cracked as he forced out the lie.  He would probably do it again, just from further away.

            “Jason, what you went through was traumatic.  You don’t need to sneak in the window to see me, you didn’t before, and you definitely don’t now.  I can’t imagine how hard it was to be in your position, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” Jason searches Dick’s features for any sign that he’s being insincere but finds nothing.  Dick’s blue eyes are bleeding with understanding, the look makes Jason want to spill his guts.  So, he does.

            “I—I thought you were dead.” Dick just listens, so Jason continues. “When Tim uncuffed me, I saw you laid out on a stretcher. The medics couldn’t find a pulse. I thought you’d been beaten to death… Like me.” Jason sniffles and rubs at his wet eyes with his sleeve.  “Bruce should have chosen me, and I can’t figure out why he didn’t.”

            Dick’s eyebrows are pointing down into a frown, “I know this may be hard to believe, but you are not the low value human that you think you are. The choice that B had to make was impossible, there was no right or better choice.  Don’t think so lowly of yourself that you can’t fathom that our dad would opt for you not to get beaten to death for a second time.”

            Jason’s breath hitched and he felt a sob trying to crawl out of his throat, “I’m sorry, Dick.”

            Dick leans forward, cast and all, to collect Jason into his arms, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Jay Bird.”

            A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his cheek, “Why did he pick you?”

            Dick’s breath hitches, as if he’s asked himself the same question. He buries his nose into Jason’s dark hair, “I don’t know, Jason, I don’t even think he really knows. But I’m grateful he did.”

            Jason lets the sleep deprivation and guilt wash over him in a wave and the tears come quickly. Within thirty seconds, the sobs are coming out of his mouth, and he’s made a snotty mess on the front of Dick’s tee shirt. 

            Despite his injuries, Dick manages to coax the younger man back to his room. He leads Jason to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room and pulls back the blankets.

            Jason shakes his head, “I can’t sleep here, you need to rest.”

            Dick collapses in the bed next to him, reaching to the nightstand to pull out the television remote, “We’re both sleeping here. You go first, I’ll wake you up if you start to look uncomfortable.” 

            “Dick—”

            “Remember what I said about you not being a low value human? You deserve sleep, Jay Bird. So, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and then you can watch me. Win-win.”

            Jason wants to argue but the warmth of Dick’s body mixed with the warm sheets and the soft mattress make his eyelids dangerously heavy.

            “This is really crossing the threshold of co-dependency.” He grumbles, relaxing back into the pillows.

            Dick just hums as he clicks through the channels, “Sleep, Little Wing.”

[batwritings]

DreamXD Voice Kink

After that George lore video, I couldn't not do something. Enjoy!~

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

“You look scared darling,” coos the deity behind you. You’ve settled yourself for the evening in DreamXD’s lap and ever since he’s been taking advantage of the one thing he knew drove you nuts; his voice. From the wispy echoes to his deep growls when he questions your loyalty, it gets under your skin.

“‘M not scared,” you respond, crossing your arms and gently grind against his hips. It wasn’t what you were intending but it did get the ball rolling.

“Hmm,” he hums, distortions filling the air. “Maybe...horny then? You do seem to be pretty restless as I’m talking.” Clawed handles grip gently but firmly at your waist as you squirm again. “Are you getting turned on by just my voice pet?”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth at this. There was no way in hell he should’ve known that. Damn mind reading powers. “I’m not--”

“D̸̝̔̍o̶̢͙͉̓̄̒͜n̶̡̧͍͔̱̱̣̍͋̍͌̆̒̓͠'̸̢͇̘̫̥͎̖͆̈́̈̕͜͝ẗ̴̬͎́ ̷̨̛̣͇̘̠͉̫̂̈͑͛̚͠t̴̨̪̠͇͘̚r̸̦̝̪͙̳̪͌̇̄̿y̷̲̑̑̅̂͠͝ ̶̧̥̳̱̎͋̍̋̈̚̕t̴̹͍̲͖̑ǒ̸̲͇̙͚̪͕͓̹́̉͛͐̎̋ ̴̯̰̱͓̪̲̀̌͂̍̉̅͘͠ͅl̴͈͈̯̈́̚ḯ̶̖̺̬̲̟͑̓͑́̿͒̚ȩ̵̯̮̹̻̓͆͝ ̸̭̐̑̅̇̇͋̏t̵̳̥̖̽̾͆̋͐͛̀̂ỏ̶̰͔̈́̔́̒̂ ̵̡̞̲̈͑͑̊̓̂̋m̸̛͇̖͎̺̈͗̆̃̄̈͠e̶̢͇͎͒ ̴̡̡̺̗͚͓̮͗̈́͛̑̎͘͜ņ̶̡̟̹͉̼̌̔̓͗o̴̬̻͋̄͝w̵̮̩̳͛͛.̶͈͚͙̟̱̒͜ ̴̘͓̜̯̲̉̈́͑̐” the god growls, interrupting you with a tighter grip on your hips.

“Y̸͉̱̖̒ó̵̱̈́̊͝͝ų̶͈̖͔̹̣̭̍̿̋ ̷̛͔̪̘̮̇̌̈́̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅk̷͉̙̬̗̟̤̠͍̓͌̆ṅ̶̩͊̅͛̉͌̓͠o̶͔̬͓̝̻̟̒̋͋̃̕ẃ̴̡̮͔̤̙͖̒̏͆ͅ ̶̦̫̓̔͒̇̒ḧ̷̨̖̗͎́́́͛̕o̸̜͔̰̤̲͂͗͑͜w̵̢̠̺͐̒̋͛̑͗͝ ̶̨̼̠̮͌̄m̵̫͙̞͈̣̼̓̑͘̕u̴͖͉̙̱̺͈͔̓̔̍̀̐͋̕c̸̢͇̺̤̃h̸̠̤̉̒̃̐̈́̓̀ ̸̩͖͕̩͈̫͚͛͛̃̊̍͜͠Í̷̠̘̦̺͓͉͉̎ ̴͙͚̝͖̬̯̾͊h̶̨̍̈́̓͜ͅȧ̸̺́͛͘t̶͕̻̆̇ȩ̶̟̩͔̭̦̪̊̈̊̏̈́ ̸͖̺̎̋̽͠l̴͕̥̮͈̲͙̟̔̉̉̓̎̚i̷̢̻̜͌á̷̡̫̜͕͈̺͜r̸͖͚͙̋͑̓͒s̷͉̩̞̋͂̕̚ ̴̣̦̇̊̎̊̿͊͠ḓ̴̖̅̓̄à̸̯ṛ̴̖̤̯͈̟͑̽͛l̷̞̠̭͔̝͈̂̕ï̷͑͋͐̓͝͠ͅǹ̷̖͉̮̥͛̐͆͑̀g̶̛̥̻͕͕̱͌̍͛̒̊̾͝.̷̧̨̛̯̭̅̄̑̃̿ ̷̧̹̟̙̥͇̲́̋̇̑ͅ”

A shudder runs down your spine at his dark, distorted voice. “Fine, fine!” you grumble. “Yes, your voice is hot XD. Happy?”

The god lets out a huffy laugh. “I am. Thank you for not lying to me,” he purrs, leaning up just behind your ear. “Think I can get you off just like this? Just talking to you? Hmm?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he grinds his hips up against you. It was painfully obvious how much your shifting and vulnerability was getting to him, his hardening length now pressed firmly against your ass. “You’re gonna try anyway, aren’t you?” you mutter, trying to hide your blush with your hands.

DreamXD chuckles again, slowly grinding harder against you. “I won’t try my pet,” he hums. “I’ll do it. I’ll let my voice bring you to your highest highs just by talking dirty to you.” You whine a little, letting yourself grind back onto him. “That’s right, getting yourself off on just a little grinding and some naughty words. What a needy little slut you are darling.”

You bite your lip just enough to where it hurts, adding to the stimulation. You can feel one of DreamXD’s hands crawling it’s way up your shirt to run his claws down your torso, leaving bright red marks in their wake. “Letting me talk and just barely touch you to your orgasm? My horny little human,” he coos, starting to pant a little against the shell of your ear.

He doesn’t miss the fact that your hips have picked up their pace, mostly of your unconscious effort. “Aw are you close darling?” he purrs, slowing his ministrations and earning a whine from you. “Oh come on now. You can be just a bit more patient. Though you have been a good little thing, haven’t you?” You groan, trying to find more friction. Your lack of a verbal response frustrates DreamXD however. A clawed hand presses against your throat, pulling you back flush against him. “A̸͆͜n̷͈͒̀̿͝ͅs̷̲̺͎̫̐͂͘w̵̰̦̺͍̿ȩ̸͓̌r̶͙͖̩̘͐̑͠ ̷̧̰̞̘͛m̸̭̜̘̈́e̵͙̬̙̓͆̒ ̶̹͚̠͛̈́͘p̷̗̞͕̘͒͂̎ȇ̵͔͖͛̽̅͜t̸̢̙͎̹͒,̶̥͍̤̭͝͠ ̷̼̆͐̒o̵̢̪̰̞͊̕͠ř̴̤ ̶͓̾͂ȳ̷̘̹̇͝o̸̯͐̾̍̔͜u̷̬̪̿ ̶̩͑w̴̰͑̌̀ō̶̢̼̰̍̎͘n̶̻̻̍͜'̵̝͎̐̈́ṱ̵̮͗ͅ ̶̗͔̥̘̈́̋͠͝b̴̢̫̬̍̈́͝ȩ̴̢͚̘͆̀ ̵̞̹̓c̸̜͙̈̿̈́͘o̷̩͗m̵̫̑̐͠i̵̼̇̌͐͐n̵̫̥̺̫͋̆͝g̵̡͕͉͗̐͑̚ ̵̞̝̤̲̎̋́̏â̷̞͕͎̒͝t̷̖͙̮͐̂̾͆ ̷̯̩͍͙̿̉̍a̵̡̡͓͆l̵̢̛̞͕̈̾l̷̓͌̇ͅ ̵̡̤̝̅ṱ̴̍o̴̧̓͐n̷̝͈͎̍̌ͅï̴̡̘̒̚̚g̴̠̺̺̦̀̔ḩ̷̢̦̪̄́̓t̴̡̢͎̋.̸̜̯̰̃͋”

You whine again, louder at the prospect of not getting your release when you were so damn close. “Yes, yes I’ve been so good,” you cry, still rocking your hips. “Please XD, please just let me come!”

A shuffling sound is heard before surprisingly soft lips press a kiss to the space beneath your ear. “Good job darling,” the deity praises, beginning to roughly rut his hips against yours again. “You’ve done so well my needy little thing. Do you want to come?”

“Mhmm!” you cry, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. “Please!”

DreamXD chuckles, the darkest you’ve heard it in a long while. “Alright my needy whore,” he hums. “C̸̩͙͒̔o̸̰͖̽͋m̷̯͙̓ě̸̬ ̶̧͠f̴̹̑ỏ̶̙̏r̸͈̀ ̷̱͙͋m̵̪̆ȩ̸̩͑̊ ̸͎̓̓t̴͖̼̓ḣ̶̢͉̊e̴̟̠͐ṉ̸͋̏.”

Like clockwork, the damn breaks as you fall through your orgasm. The god behind you ruts against you through it, holding you steady and singing your praise. Finally you flop back against his chest as you start to come down from your high.

Before long your god chuckles again, causing you to look up and meet his bright green eyes. “Oh pet, I hope that wasn’t the only one you had for me tonight,” In a blur of motion, you’re pinned down with DreamXD’s body caging you in. “Because personally, Ī̵͇’̸͔̞̇̔m̵̨̍ ̴̠̥̓̾j̷͙͗̀u̶̻̕͠s̸̮͉̔t̶̠̑ ̷̜̍g̷̖̈́̈́ͅe̷͇͈͑t̷̩̓ͅṫ̸̻̾i̵̬̦͑̌ǹ̶̬̊g̸̠̽ ̶͈̱̉̚ś̴̲̅t̷̻̔͊a̴̤̗̓̅r̴̪̾ẗ̸̲́e̷̘̎̈́d̸̨̈̚.”

[cordria]

Fixing Mistakes - DP

Danny groaned and curled up in a ball, very suddenly awake. His head hurt, his leg sparkled sharp and painful, and he felt oddly sticky. “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he hissed, a few swear words working their way through his teeth as he kicked his brain into trying to think through what was going on.

His eyes crept open, studying his surroundings. Dark. Quiet. Bars.

Bars?

His eyes opened just a touch more, turning his head. Bars on all sides. He was in a cage.

Memory flooded back into his brain - of the school bell ringing, of walking through the park with Sam, of cold rushing down his back, of an unfortunately successful ambush by the ghost world’s most annoying hunter. “Damn it, Skulker,” he whispered.

Having determined himself to be alone in the room full of cages, Danny sat up and slowly pushed fingers through his hair, searching for the source of the pain. It was from right over his left ear, a dull throbbing that was definitely sore, but no blood. Head trauma. Something that would heal with time, nothing to be done about it for now. 

He turned his attention to his leg, noting with a frown all the glowing blood smeared across the bottom of the cage. He poked and prodded at his leg, locating the worst of the damage: a huge slash down the side of his right leg. Almost as long as his fingers could spread, it was already mostly sealed over - thank Clockwork for not being knocked out until he was in ghost form. In human form, the blood loss would have killed him. 

The fact that a slash that big was almost sealed over made him wrinkle his nose. That had to have taken hours and hours. Perhaps overnight. He’d been out a long time.

He sighed. “I was having such a good day, too.” 

Although the cage wasn’t big enough to stand up in, he tried putting his foot on the ground and putting weight on his leg. Would he be able to stand once he’d gotten out of the cage? The pain sharpened, making him gasp and collapse. “Nope, nope, nope,” he whispered. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, don’t do that again.”

Blood started to ooze from the gash again. He’d broken open the scab. 

With a scowl, he pushed and pulled himself, maneuvering until he was leaning up against the door. From the fizzy feeling against his skin, knew they wouldn’t be something he could phase through. He’d have to find a different way out. He reached a hand out through the bars to pull at the padlock, studying it. It was the same type of padlock Skulker always used for locking his cages closed. The tiniest of smiles curled the corner of Danny’s lips. 

It wasn’t quite true that ghosts couldn’t learn. Skulker had learned new hunting techniques over the last eighteen months. Skulker had learned to keep Danny in human-proof cages. But ghosts learned so very slowly, and struggled with putting together facts they couldn’t see. Skulker knew Danny could get out of his cages - but, never having witnessed Danny perform the feat, couldn’t figure out how. And so he kept doing the same thing over and over.

Danny squirmed and moved around, digging a little box out of one of his pockets. Sam had gotten it for him for Christmas last year, along with lessons as to how to use it. Lock-picking was a skill Danny had assumed would be difficult, but it turned out to be hilariously easy, if a bit time consuming. Danny made sure he kept the kit with him.

It took longer than he’d hoped to open the lock. The pain from his leg kept distracting him and the hit he’d taken to his head was making it hard to focus. But he eventually placed all four of the tumblers, gave them a twist, and the lock fell open. 

He grinned, short and sharp, and worked the lock back through the rings on the cage, catching it before it could hit the ground. “Screw you, Skulker,” he whispered, pushing open the cage door and floating himself out, putting the lock into his pocket. He was careful to keep his leg from hitting the ground - even the smallest movements sent sharp shards into his mind. “I’m keeping this as a souvenir.”

Just before he was going to leave, Danny heard a sound from the corner. He tensed, instantly assuming Skulker had been hiding. The glow around Danny kicked up a notch with his anxiety, and he twisted around.

Nothing?

His hands came back down, letting the tenseness fade away. He floated forwards a few steps, noticing a cage far into the darkest corner of the room. There was the faintest glow coming from inside - it was almost like the afterglow of looking at a bright light for a moment too long. Too faint to be a ghost in any reasonable shape. “Hello?” he whispered.

“Mind if I borrow your lock pick set? I lost mine.”

Danny hesitated. The voice was very… human? And didn’t sound at all in pain or sick. The scratchy voice was also not bothering to whisper. “Who are you?” Danny asked, floating closer.

“I’m me, obviously.”

“Helpful,” Danny muttered, drawing up just close enough that if something were to lunge and reach through the cage, it wouldn’t be able to grab him. An odd scent tinged the air, making Danny’s nose wrinkle. He held up a hand, palm towards the thing in the cage, and upped the power flowing through his hand. The glow kicked up and, like a flashlight, illuminated the contents of the cage.

It was a human male, raising a hand to block his eyes from the glow. Red-orange hair raggedly pulled back into a ponytail and a beard that looked hacked short with a knife. Perhaps in his twenties, skinny and tall, and dressed in layers of rags. He had a cloak-looking blanket wrapped around him, and calloused feet wrapped in cloth that left his toes hanging out. Dried, reddish-colored flowers dangled everywhere from his clothes. Danny blinked at the man, startled. “You’re human.”

Teeth glittered as the man smiled - an easy, pleasant smile. At least two of the teeth were missing. “Mostly, anyways.” The scar-covered hand lowered. Eyes that were too bright and green to belong to a human peered at him, blinking against the light. “Lock picks? I’d like to get out of here before the hunter comes back.”

“Skulker’s annoying with his cages,” Danny agreed, lowering his hand and the light. His brain wasn’t working quite right. This… human?... was something like him? ...How? “What happened?” 

“I was just a tad too slow. Lock?”

Danny glanced over his shoulder, noted the still-quiet room, and settled his body gently back down at the ground. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning from the pain. Then he opened up the little box of picks and started to work on the lock. It was easier from this side, where he could see what he was doing.

“How did it come to be that a ghost knows how to pick a lock?” the human asked.

“This ghost gets hunted a lot. Not the first time I’ve seen the inside of Skulker’s cages,” Danny muttered. “Friend got me the lock pick set.”

“A human lock pit set.”

Danny hummed. “And how did it come to be a human in the ghost zone?” There was a soft click. He twisted and yanked the lock off.Danny floated back up in the air, fighting a wince of pain, and nodded. 

“Very long story. Too long for telling inside this lair.” The human pulled himself out of the cage, unwinding his long limbs and stretching upright. From this close, Danny could see the young man was incredibly lean and tall. Too thin. Too tall. Even though Danny was floating, the man’s head was on level with his. Something was off with this human, and it made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck raise. 

This close, Danny could see the dried flowers hanging around his neck were blood blossoms. Before Danny could float backwards and out of the way, the man reached out and clapped Danny on the shoulder, still with that same easy grin. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Do you…” Danny hesitated, thinking about the fact that the man was a human and they were on a floating island haunted by a hunting ghost, “need a lift? Like, to get somewhere?”

“Away from here would be nice.” The human’s smile faded just a bit. He was studying Danny. “I’m not a flyer. I’d appreciate a lift to… anywhere, really, that’s not right here.”

Danny held out his hand. “You got a name, human?”

The man grabbed his wrist, his fingers burning hot against Danny’s cold skin. “Flynn.”

The feel of the blood blossoms tingled down his arm, an interesting counterpoint to the drums beating against his brain and the stabbing pain in his leg. Danny lifted the human off the ground and took the shortcut through the window, back out into the glowing green of the ghost zone. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. I’m Danny.”

[supimjustwriting]

Hopelessly in Love

Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

Summary: Y/N was a simple civilian. Another face in the crowd. Yet something about them just clicked with him. Their charming smile, kind eyes, the hope they have for the world.  Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, right? 

Oh how wrong you were….

Warning: General Yandere Themes, implied kidnapping, OOC Scara (?)

“Hopeless? crooked laughter escaped the figure. “Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove.” His tone grew darker with each endearing pet name. “Don’t you see you’re the one caged here?”

Little things add up. They always do. Flashing a smile at a stranger, offering a helping hand, insisting to help despite being rejected. Everything would’ve been fine if you ignored that feeling of guilt in your gut. He’s a fatui harbinger. He doesn’t even need your help. Why take the risk? 

Yet he looked so helpless. Borderlining pathetic when your eyes landed upon his bruised body in one of the many alleyways of Liyue. Little did you know that you would soon match with the ‘helpless’ victim.

~

Like clockwork, every Monday morning a gift nested itself at your door. Always from an ‘anonymous’ sender. Though the burning feeling in your chest is enough to warn, tell you who the gifter was. 

Today an intricate floral barrette nested upon your welcome mat, being cradled in a lavender box, lined with royal purple silk. The delicate hair piece was adorned with what you guess was glass cherry blossoms. Similar to the flowering branches you’d see in Inazuma travel guides. Only to be attached to a note that simply read; To: My Delicate Flower.

Admiration, gratitude, acknowledgement. Those were the innocent reasons you gave yourself. He simply didn’t know how to properly express his feelings to you. It couldn’t be love. Even if it was. It should fade away quickly. After all, he most likely fell in love with your actions. Not you, right? Continuing to feed yourself these lies. You scurry back into your home, ignoring the growing static in the air.

~

It ate away at him daily. At first he denied it. There’s no universe in which he would fall for such a weakling. Let alone someone who looked down upon him with such naivete. Yet those doe like eyes drew him in, maybe opposites attract after all.

“Sir?” “Did I give you permission to speak? Can’t you see I was busy?” Each word seemed to gather the lingering static in the air, slowly gathering upon his fingertips. Before he could strike, a simple string of words stopped his rage causing it to go static. “She’s caught Childe’s attention.”

~

“One red bean bun to go please ~! Chimed a playful voice announcing their arrival, stealing the welcome bell’s job. “I think we harmonized that time. What do you think?”

Rolling your eyes, you ceremoniously stuff the sweet treat into his mouth. While taking his mora with your free hand.

“Keep the change, sweet. Think of it as a gift from me to you. After all, having me around must scare off the more skittish of patrons,” the silver tongue male reasoned, grinning from ear to ear as you sheepishly smiled back.

“You and I both know how that’ll affect the business if others catch wind. As you said before ‘the walls have ears’. So, be a good child and keep the change,” you chirped, slipping the excess coins into his pocket.

“All work and no play makes for a boring life. I’d hate for you to resemble a certain coworker of mine.”

As if summoned by the Archons themselves a familiar navy haired male entered the quaint bakery. The usual scowl that painted his lips softened upon seeing his sakura blossom. Only to sour once more at the living headache. With the soft sound of geta blanketing the once warm atmosphere. A small storm loomed above.

“Speak of the devil! Y/N, I’ve told you of Scaramouche, right? Oh yes ~!” A lump made home in your throat as you caught the glint in your ‘friend’s’ eye. “This little lady actually saved our dear Scara. Didn’t ya, Y/N? Truly a being too pure for this world,” he mocked softly, wiping a fake tear.

“Indeed. It’d be quite a shame if something were to happen to them.” Scaramouche stated simply, fighting back his grimace at Childe’s obvious bait. 

Any patrons who dared stayed despite the single fatui member, now since fled with the newcomers aura.

“Azuki beans..”

“That’s their native name. It’s quite troublesome to get exports from Inazuma but it’s worth it in the end! I wouldn’t be able to make half of my selection otherwise,” wearing your best customer service smile, you spill out your sales pitch.

Did Scaramouche smile? Not going unnoticed by the younger harbinger, Childe’s Cheshire grin was quickly stopped with a tug of his ear. 

“My apologies for the sudden intrusion but I was simply here to pick up the walking menace. Though I’ll be sure to make time to visit. It’d be a shame if I never got to try any of your baking after all,” with a boyish chuckle, he and Childe left your safe haven.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just visiting an old friend. Why does my dear superior care so much? The mighty Scaramouche didn’t fall in love, did he?” The navy haired male scoffed at the thought, his cheeks ghosting a shade of pink. “As if. They’re nothing but a distraction. If anything someone should teach them their place,” Scaramouche clicked his tongue with eyes glued forward. Though Childe’s amused grin just fueled his growing agitation.

~

That’s why you were in the position you are now.

Silky ribbon bit and dug into your precious skin. Decorating your canvas with shades of purple, blue, and grey. Each movement voluntary or not simply helped tie the scene together with your captor playing the part of the centrepiece.

“You’re nothing but a hopeless cause. No one will love you if you’re like this,” choked sobs escape your lips, body flinching as Scaramouche cradled your chin within his palm.

“Hopeless?” Crooked laughter escaped the short male. “You think I’m hopeless? Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove. Don’t you see that you’re the one caged here?” Pulling you into a suffocating kiss, he gingerly wiped your tears with his thumb. “You saved me that day. I’m simply returning the favour. Chin up princess. I’m sure you’ll be happier with me.”

[ldouble]

Can’t Help It | Antonio Dawson x Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: You never expected flowers to be delivered to you. You weren’t one for girlish things, for goodness sake you were a cop who liked strapping a gun more so than clicking into heels. With this, it’s a pleasant surprise when you are delivered flowers not once, not twice, but three times in the span of a week. For Antonio, your partner and the guy who definitely did not have feelings for you, its more suspicious.

You stare at empty board, the lack of thumbtacked pictures a rare sight. This was the Intelligence Unit. There was always a case. Sometimes you thought the crimes rolled in like such clockwork you could have a TV show.

Wednesday. 9 PM Central.

With the clear board, you were sure to get cancelled.

You didn’t want anything up there. The first piece of evidence or any sort of lead usually meant someone was dead. You didn’t wish that at all.

The sight just made you uneasy.

Work wasn’t supposed to be mundane. You were supposed to be constantly thinking. Gears shifting as you tried to catch up with whatever or whoever you were after.

Drug cartels. Sex trafficking. Gang related violence.

It made its way to this board. And you sure as hell always found your way back to it.

The sound of a phone brought you back. The rough voice of your partner cueing in that your team was up to bat.

You looked to Antonio, your arms crossed, half your mind still on the blank panel, for answers.

Even fewer leads sat with him, his face stone cold and unreadable. That was weird. After working together for years, literally saving each others lives (after nearly losing each other one or twice) you could always read Dawson. His quiet demeanor was easy for you to pick up on, you yourself one to speak without words. You thought the time spent wordlessly communicating - either over beers at Molly’s or the barrel of your gun prior to a riot - would help you figure out who was on the other end of the phone.

His eyes met yours, a low ‘mhm’ escaping his lips before he let the receiver clack gently against its holder. “Delivery for you.”

“Screw up your address-”

Ruzek called after you, your last names barely heard as you skipped down the steps to meet whoever was at the cage entrance.

“Didn’t order anything.” You called before lowering your voice. “Especially nothing I’d get sent here.”

Your mind wandered to the Wine of the Month club you just subscribed to, and for a second you started believing Adam that you really had fumbled the address. But upon opening the cage door to see a patrolmen standing with your package, you knew you definitely didn’t mess up.

You told the officer just that, laughing at the sick joke it was. Sergeant Platt was having none of it, yelling up at you (without so much as lifting her gaze from her desk), “Take the goddamn flowers.”

So you did. You awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the goddamn flowers.

The goddamn flowers that had you sneezing upon arriving back in the bullpen.

A low whistle from Kevin was heard despite the allergy response. You didn’t know which one had caught the attention of the entire squad. Honestly, you didn’t know which was worse.

“Nobody give me that look.” You spat, concluding it was neither whistle nor wheeze that had everyone curious. Rather it was you, dressed in dark jeans and an ever darker long sleeved shirt, holding a budding bouquet of bright yellow-

“Are those sunflowers?” Jay asked, leaning closer to take a look.

“Yes.” You huffed, setting down the gift like it was a bomb. That’s what it felt like. Like any second something was going to go off. 3....2...

“Who got you flowers?!?” Adam buzzed, jumping up to peer at the present.

“No one.” You quickly said, hating this. Hating the attention. The attention brought on by some stupid-

“Nice greenery.” Voight said from his classic perch of leaning against the door of his office.

At the sight of your boss you gulped. You were chummy enough with him but knew even he wouldn’t appreciate a dispute over something as stupid as this.

So you took a breath, smiled, and agreed with him. “Yeah, nice.” You peered at the object in question...just like you would a suspect.

Jay called you out on it, coming to look at it beside you. He hip checked you. “Whose it from?”

“Great question.”

“There’s usually a card someone.”

You looked over your shoulder at Antonio whose attention now seemed completely enthralled with his computer. You knew for a fact there was nothing on there of importance. if there was, he wouldn’t be asking about flowers. Flowers you never would have gotten because you wouldn’t be here but rather out on the case that filled that goddamn blank board.

“You a frequent customer of ‘Ode a la Rose’, Dawson?” Ruzek asked, coming up on the other side to look at the business ribbon tied to the vase.

“No.” You titled your head at your partner who quickly avoided eye contact after looking up for a mere second. He clicked away, his mouse suddenly much louder to you. “But I know a bouqet of flowers when I see one.”

That had you rolling your eyes back to the problem at hand.

You really didn’t know where to start, that is until Voight walked right up and plucked the paper envelope from between the....blooms? Was that they were called?

Reading your mind Jay and Ruzek leaned in at the same time, whispering, “Buds.” in your ears.

You sighed, watching them return to their desks before opening up the letter.

You don’t know why you needed a breath but you did. It was all so bizarre. Remembering your boss’ words, the very ones you had agreed with, you concluded it to be nice. Nothing less and nothing more.

The card certified that, its blankness leaving the mystery solved.

“What’s it say?” Kevin asked from across the aisle as you sat down in your chair.

“Nada.” You replied, tossing into the bin at your feet.

“Yeah, right.” Antonio said, standing up and crossing the room. When he went to dive through the can beneath your desk you rolled away, the invasion of space surprising.

What was more surprising, the look of jealousy you swore you saw on his face.

Again, your guess was confirmed when Jay asked if Antonio was jealous somebody else was congratulating me on a case well solved before he could.

You didn’t like what Jay said but it was better than clutching onto a defensive statement with no proof. You were a detective. Couldn’t argue with evidence. And Antonio storming over to dig through trash...pretty convincing.

“I told you, I’ll take a free beer over flowers any day.” Your hand graced your partners arm. It stole his attention from the empty paper he was analyzing, his eyes finding yours for a moment. The way they raced across your face, taking you in like someone he was saving, crushed you.

More than that, it terrified you. Because it seemed to terrify Antonio.

You sneakily took the note from his hand, shaking your head with a light laugh. You were hoping he didn’t notice how forced it was because you really couldn’t sit here one more second with him looking at you like that. Worrying you. Terrifying you.

“It’s all good. Probably just some appreciation for your girl.”

You had stood at this point, reaching around to dump the flowers but your hand was caught. Antonio met your gaze, his tongue quickly wetting his lips in thought. A million things went through his head before he plucked the note from you.

“Keep em. Till I get you that beer.”

You watched him walk away, your eyes tearing away when you heard Adam cracking another joke about how sunflowers resembled your bubbly personality. When you slapped his head in warning you chanced another glance at your partner.

Sauntering down the hall a flash of white caught your eyes.

The once pristine note, white as day, was now crumbled in his hand. You watched it soar into a nearby trashcan, hitting the rim and bouncing onto the floor. The slam of the cage, announcing the exit of your partner, couldn’t even take your eyes away.

----

Molly’s atmosphere would always put you in a good mood. There was nothing like sitting with your colleagues, amongst the other servicemen and women of Chicago, after a long day. 

You hadn’t even made it to the bar when Otis called your name, waving you over.

Leaving Ruzek and Kevin to chat it up with some of the Firehouse 51 guys, you made your way through the throngs of people.

“What’s up?” You asked over the cheers of a home run being hit.

“You tell me.” The fireman said, a suggestive tone on his lips.

You turned to your coworkers, now joining you, shrugging your shoulders. Their equally confusing looks send you repeating the action back at him. Even then, its hard to force up your arms in chagrin when theres an icy feeling down your back.

The Russian fireman rolled his eyes before disappearing below the bar. Your head tipped forward to follow only to bounce back at his sudden reappearance. Its not his dark curly hair that scares you, but rahter the bright array of...flowers.

He placed it on the counter with a thud. Identical in nearly every way to the vase gifted to you two days ago, the only difference is that the blossoms have grown. Double the amount of stems sit in the square jar.

The aroma of spring met your nose despite the smells of the bar. Mixed with beer and greasy food, your lunch is prepared to make a reappearance.

But its the sight of Antonio, followed closely by Jay, that sends the meal back down. You have to gulp it down again when he gets closer, the look of anger directed towards the flowers, terrifying you once again.

“You got to be kidding.” Jay mumbled, tracing over the business seal.

“When did you get these?”

“Who delivered them?”

“What’d they say?”

The men around you fire out questions but none of them register. You’re always one to investigate but never before had you been so involved. Never before had you been the lead.

You liked the board empty. You’d take a clear slate and nothing to do over thumbtacking your own picture up any day.

Especially today.

Antonio tried to find your eyes, silently communicate among the raising volume of the bar, but you ignored them. There’s something to be said. But you don’t have the words.

The message envelope does.

You ripped through the flowers, tossing stems and wrecking the beauty of the gift, until you find what you’re looking for.

A gasp escaped your lips once you’ve read it, your head following to hang low.

“What’s it say?” Someone asked. You didn’t catch who, the neatly typed and printed words consuming everything in you.

Someone grabbed it but you release the words into the air before they can be read again.

If you could’ve stopped them you would. No one else should have had to read those chilling words. No one except you.

And your detective friends.

“I scent you this.” You looked up at Antonio, his brows furrowed as they came up from the note. “Can’t wait to watch you wilt.”

“We’ve got a gardener on our hands.”

Your head slowly turned to Otis, innocent and unknowing Otis, who thought it all to be a cute little love note.

You told him it wasn’t.

“More like a weed killer.” A faux smile found your lips right before your eyes found the door, your feet following quickly.

The hot summer air was less of an escape than you’d have hoped. Still, you pushed on, farther from the bar and the noise and the people and everything.

Your arm was caught just before a passing car took you out, sucking you back into the real world.

Antonio’s eyes, the fullest of concern you’d ever seen them, sent you pushing him back. You’d take reality but not from him. Not right now.

“You can’t just leave.”

“Let my pedals fall, won’t you, Dawson?”

“No.” His hands found my arms, my bare skin burning. There was no anger in his action. If anything you were producing the heat, frustrated beyond belief.

Antonio saw it, squeezing gently to bring you back. You couldn’t the strain breath that you released.

“He’s in my head.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“Women don’t send flowers.” You deadpanned. You took a step back upon seeing the rest of your coworkers stirring a few feet away. They held a respectable distance but some things just needed to be said - partner to partner.

And boy were some things about to be said.

Cops had no on and off switch. Their minds were always in investigation mode. You were your lead, your evidence, your victim, your everything.

And you felt like you couldn’t even breathe at the moment.

“Just let me go home.”

“Not with some guy-”

“He’s in my head, man.” The crack in your voice scared you but you pressed down the fear, going straight up to your partner. Chest to chest you tapped a finger on his temple. “He’s in my head and I can’t help it.”

“You’re in his and I can’t help that.” Antonio huffed.

You didn’t know who was more upset with the situation - you or him.

But that’s what partners were for. To have your back. Even when you didn’t have your own.

The thought of Antonio guarding you, unattended and unfocused, had you shaking your head.

It wasn’t right. None of this was.

You told him just that. To which he tried whispering your last name not as your partner but as your friend. You could tell by the way he said your first name...something he never did.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Save your detective work for the office.” A choked laugh escaped you as you slipped by him, heading towards Kevin. “Something tells me this is just poor planning on some gardener’s part.”

The flower puns had been over ages ago. They never really had a place at all.

But again....desperate times, desperate measures. Dark humor was your desperation.

You plucked the flowers from Adam’s arms, meeting his eyes with a nod.

You heard Jay say your name but it was no use. If Antonio couldn’t get through to you, it’d take Voight. And your boss never frequented this establishment at this hour.

Like you would hear him over the buzzing. You wanted to believe a bee was enjoying your unexpected gift but you knew that wasn’t true. The only thing ringing was your heart, beating faster than ever before.

You turned on your heel, only dropping your “I’ve Got It All Together” smile when you threatened them not to follow you. It wasn’t until you got home did it all fall apart, the vase crashing to the ground. The only reason you didn’t hear it was because of Antonio’s voice in your head.

“I can’t help that.”

He meant it like he couldn’t help but worry.

But combined with the concern he radiated, you thought your suspicions to be true.

He couldn’t help. No one could.

----

Your hand hurt from clutching your gun in your sleep.

At the thought of how pathetic that was, you flexed your fingers before shaking them out to study the card.

The wording, the gift, everything, really nothing, made sense.

You had racked your brain for cases that it could connect to. It wasn’t uncommon to be tracked down by former...clients.

Your job was to put people in jail. Jail wasn’t always a life long sentence. Finding you, the person who’d put them there, could possibly be a life long commitment.

The knock of your door made you freeze. You weren’t able to pinpoint a crime that could lead to threats in the form of flowers but you were able to recognize that knock anywhere.

A confirmation through the peephole had you standing with your hand on your hip as Antonio walked into your apartment.

He rambled on and on, jumping between the points of the mysterious flower deliveries and how there was no way you were going to let him stop from figuring this out. On a tangent about your lack of respect to the Senior Detective of the unit (a title he only used when he wanted authority) you wrapped your arms around him.

Suddenly your outburst against the second in command didn’t matter, his own arms looping around your lower back.

“You look like shit for having slept in your car outside my place.”

His chuckle vibrated through you - the sound the most pleasant thing you had heard since entering Molly’s over 12 hours ago. Since then it had been your partner yelling at you and the eery silence of your apartment.

Neither were a match for Antonio’s laugh.

Which, speaking of, quickly died out as he gave you a once over. You could hear the quip on the tip of his tongue, how the bags under your eyes made him think you spent the night in the passenger seat, but it never came.

All that stayed was the worry in his eyes. You wiped your hands over them, forcing them closed. “Don’t look at me like that.” You whispered.

Without moving he replied, “When this is fixed, I’ll stop.”

“Then keep them closed.” You headed toward the couch, heaving a sigh and setting your head on the wall. “I can’t figure it out.”

“What do you think I’m here for?” You felt the couch dip beside you, the weight shifting as Antonio looked over the files sprawled on your coffee table. After a moment you joined him, your eyes quickly glazing over at the papers you’d practically memorized.

“Had he sent some blood or common drug I would’ve pinned him.” You waved a hand over the evidence. “I’ve got nothing.”

“You have to, or else you wouldn’t know who he was.”

“Antonio, I don’t-”

“You do.” He interrupted, a hand finding your knee. He’s quick to remove it, clearing his throat and referencing the table again. “We’re cops. We know more than we think.”

You sighed, wanting to agree but not seeing enough evidence to do so.

Flowers. Scents. Spring.

You were linking the whole ordeal to cotton candy (somehow) when someone else knocked on the door. You didn’t even bother standing, knowing Antonio (who had been on watch all night) wouldn’t let you answer it.

So you weren’t surprised at all when he returned, the rest of the squad entering.

“Still picking petals?” Kevin asked.

“He kills you, he kills you not.”

Adam’s joke impressed no one, his hands flying up defensively. “We not in the mood for jokes or what?”

“We’re not.” Voight’s voice run out strong. It both reassured you and frightened you. This all was so odd. How everyone was here. Except the guy tracking you down.

“No jokes when one of our own is on the line.”

“Line.” You mumbled, the word sticking with you.

“What is it?” Jay asked, crouching down in front of you. It was his classic, “witness remembers something” action, which you didn’t appreciate. There was no time to blow him off, tell him you weren’t a victim in this, because you were just getting somewhere.

Antonio caught on, shoving Jay away for you.

You didn’t even need to say thanks, silently communicating it without as so much as a look.

“What did you say Adam?” You stood, heading towards your bookcase.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to repeat-”

“Say it again.” You insisted turning from the shelf for a mere moment to give him a look. “Please.” You said, your tone lighter.

“He kills you, he kills you not?” He mused, avoiding eye contact with Voight.

“That’s a bad line, man.” You heard Kevin say under his breathe.

“Exactly.” You excited, grabbing the book you were looking for.

“Exactly what?” Antonio came up beside you, his eeys darting between the page and your face. You said nothing - out loud or silently - which he impatiently couldn’t wait for. “Exactly what?”

“Exactly this.” You pointed to the page. “He loves me, he loves me not.”

Confusion and what appeared to be fear raced across Antonio’s face. Jay asked if you could fill him in before you got a chance to question your partner’s response to your revelation.

“It’s a line.”

“We know.” Voight said.

“A line from a case.” You went on to say, heading back toward the table. “There was a guy at the University of Chicago, posed as an English major, sucked girls with the whole ‘I’ll read you poetry’ thing.”

Papers were flying everywhere and Kevin was trying to keep them in order, that is till Antonio started digging with you.

“I know this one. He brought girls in and then,”

“Raped and murdered them. Leaving nothing but a note that said,”

“He loves me, he loves me NOT,” Voight answered, remembered. the case he handed over to you and Antonio.

“He definitely did not.” You stood, file in hand. “He left that line and-”

“A flower.”

You looked up to Antonio, his gaze pointed at the pile of what was your second bouquet, sitting in the dustpan where you left it when you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it out.

His eyes found yours after a moment and you couldn’t help but smile. You had solved it.

Of course, you had solved it three years ago.

Jay reminded you of that point when he took a look at the report.

“The clues he’s leaving aren’t keeping him too well hidden. Why send the cop who put you away flowers?” Kevin spectated.

“Paid in cash.” Adam added, rubbing his chin in thought. “Might want a chase.”

“Who leaves a calling card like that and wants a chase?” Voight pondered.

“He’s not the one being chased.” You said, the room quieting from the many guesses being vocalized. “I am.”

The knock of the door piqued everyone’s interest, each head whipping towards it. Then you all looked at each other. No one else who needed to be here wasn’t.

Antonio connected those dots first, undoing his gun from its holster and walking towards the door.

It was no point for him to ask who was there. You already knew.

You just made it to see the delivery boy, eyes wide as Antonio pointed the barrel at him.

You took the smallest of steps forward, further intimating the boy and causing the vase to drop. Triple the size of the first one, flowers spewed everywhere, a white card sliding across the floor to your feet.

You bent down, opened it and read it silently. When you looked back up at Antonio you couldn’t help the words that escaped.

“He’s not asking to be found. He’s already picked me out from the bunch.”

----

I wanna smell you. Just you. You don’t bloom, you lose it all.

The last part of the note didn’t need to be repeated in your head. Not when you were there right at that moment.

Lurie Garden looked beautiful on the Spring Saturday. Lavender wafted through the air and all colors spread through the field. The Bean was barely visible over the high walls. If you stood in the penny fountain you wouldn’t have been able to see 20 feet into the greenery. Not with the spurts of bushes that traveled higher and higher the further into the season.

3 Pm was peak time. Little kids ran around, parents following quickly. You had spotted more than one older couple, walking through the fields to literally smell the roses.

Like on every other OP, you thought of if you’d get there. Make it through this.

Good cops were good people. And no good person walked into a dangerous situation without playing with the idea that they wouldn’t see the light of the next day.

Your eyes found the sun, beating down on you. When you couldn’t take it any longer your refocused, finding the very couple that sparked your philosophical train fo thought. A green ring formed around them from the light exposure. They looked angelic. Happy. Perfect.

“Everything looks perfect.”

You toed the gravel, Ruzek’s voice loud and clear in your ear piece. No one had said much the last 15 minutes you spent waiting for your guest.

Mark Cameron, ever the ‘fake’ student, was running late for class.

Only you would be penalized, though, if you slipped up.

The kid, no college graduate, was still smart. When you’d busted him he had a barely alive girl in his arms. When unarming you he called out every weapon.

Hence your lack of protection right now.

No gun. No knife. You didn’t even have the pin you wore for highly specialized ops, its edge sharper than any pocketknife you could’ve snuck into your pant leg.

“You’re going to be fine.”

You turned halfway before stopping yourself. Antonio’s voice hadn’t come form your ear piece but rather behind you. Posing as a fellow garden goer, he stood the other way, admiring the monkshood you just looked at (15 minutes had given you plenty of time to read up on the plants. That and you needed something to do other than wait).

He was effortless when it came to undercover ops. So it took everything in you not to tell him he was blowing it. Cameron could show up any second. Antonio knew this. Never one to break protocol it wasn’t right to see him doing just that.

“Let’s hope.” You breathed, bending down to smell.

“He’s not in your head. I can’t help you if you’re in yours.”

You didn’t respond - not knowing what to say as well as gettin interrupted by COMMS.

“Cameron just entered the North East corner.”

Kevin went on giving description - jean jacket, information packet in hand, etc. - but you didn’t care.

You remembered that sweet couple without a care in the world and you needed to see Antonio once more. You needed to believe him he’d help. You needed your partner.

“Thought you might need this, honey.”

Cameron’s voice was icy in your ear. You fought the urge to grimace, instead smiling up at him and accepting the garden sheet he was extending to you.

“Thanks. Was dying to know what smelled so bad.”

“So you say.” He whispered directly into your ear piece. “What do they think?”

Jay mumbling something foulw as cut off as Cameron picked apart the tech. You couldn’t help but slam your ear into your shoulder, his touch radiating goosebumps off of you. The exposed movement was worth it when you caught no sight of Antonio - who had thankfully cleared the area.

There was no one in your row. No one you could really see either with the sloped ground and the high stalks of greenery.

You hoped your team had you. You knew they did. It was just hard to believe when you didn’t have yourself.

Cameron had found you. Found a way into your work and your bar and your home. More than that, he found his way into your head. And Antonio would never admit it but Cameron got into his too.

Partners. Had each other’s backs but also had each others brains.

You hoped Antonio’s wasn’t as corrupted as your felt right now.

“I told you to come alone.”

The stomp of his foot on the ear piece emitted a high pitched frequency just loud enough for you to catch.

Your lips formed a straight line as you told yourself not to panic. Something about you being the target made this op different. You cared about victims more than you did yourself - evident in the way you put your life on the line.

But this...this focus on you, on your friends, made breaking up a drug cartel seem like heaven.

Being here, with Cameron, even in a beautiful field of flowers, was actual hell.

“You know, I’d make some cruel joke about no flower growing alone but I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Cameron pretended to weigh the options. Coming to a decision a sick smile grazed his face before his hand found your hip. It hurt, a pressure point being hit, but you didn’t let it show.

“Good choice. Makes you love you a bit more.”

His eyes wandered to the flower I was still gripping, its orange petals crumpling with the tense hold I had on it. His own hands found one near by, picked it and brought it up to my nose. His brows raised, asking me to pluck a petal. I did as told just as he said, “Or love you not.”

“Sir!”

You spun around to the voice, only having his hand grip into you harder at the sight of a park ranger approaching.

“You can’t pick the flowers, sir.”

“My fault!” Cameron chuckled, his neck settling on your shoulder. Again, he put more force than necessary, your collarbone taking the brunt of it. “My girlfriend here wanted to see if I still loved her not. You know the rhyme.”

The ranger gave a tight smile, clearly weary. She shook off the feeling, going back into work mode. “I’m going to have to write you a warning.”

“Ma’am-”

You attempt at reconciliation was lost as Cameron pressed his hand and neck harder into you - equal points of pain rolling through. He was all bone and it hurt like hell.

“That won’t be necessary,” He leaned forward, bringing you with him. “Jan.”

“Sir, it’s policy of the park not to-”

“It’s-”

This was going all sorts of wrong.

No ear piece. This ranger. A much more aggriavted Cameron than you wanted.

Maybe this was it. Your final chance to smell the roses.

“You need to leave, now.” Th ranger said, summoning the most authority she could in her voice. Cop or not you could see her wavering.

You could also see a crowd forming. Nothing interested tourists quite like a public conflict.

“I said, no.”

“Sir!”

The ranger stepped forward, clutching what you assumed was a baton.

Cameron, ever one to see something for more dangerous than it was, though it a gun, and was quick to pull his own out.

Where else could it go than up against your head.

He held a firm choke hold, tossing you around as you showed the neely joined audience exactly what you had. It was all it took for your team to come out, their own guns blazing.

Screams. People running. Dust picking up.

You wished for the smallest deliver of flowers. No mess. No note.

This was so much worse.

You stayed strong, though. You knew there was more coming.

“All so protective of your girl when a guy sends some roses, huh?” Cameron asked Kevin and Ruzek, whipping you around to talk to both of them.

“Put the gun down.”

“Let her go.”

Now you understood why no hostage felt safe in this moment. Guns pointed at you. Words their first line of defense.

This wasn’t help, you wanted to tell Antonio. This was a placeholder for help.

“Yeah, right.” Cameron snarled. His nose inhaled your scalp, posseviley claiming you. “She smells like mine.”

Threats were repeated. Voight and Al and Jay appeared. All who was missing was your partner.

And without your partner you weren’t you.

You closed your eyes, hating this. Hating this because it wasn’t right. Antonio should be here. Having your back. Helping.

So you did what any cop would do. You proved you were than just your partner or your team or your badge.

You opened your eyes, now facing the fountain just a few rows ahead. In it you barely saw your reflection. if the image of you being held wasn’t enough to spark something, the shadowy person just past you was.

In one swift moment you hit Cameron’s instep, freed your hand, twisted his shooting hand, which caused him to fire into the fields, and threw him over your back, made him hit the ground and had you pinning him down.

The next thing you knew there was a gun, another one, pointed mere inches from his face. You didn’t need to look up the leather jacket arm to know who it was. So you didn’t. Not until Kevin stood Cameron up and Ruzek handcuffed him.

That’s when you turned to Antonio. Fell into his arms. Breathed the scent of the flowers for the first time.

He whispered encouragement to you, assuring you were fine, saying how horrible that guy would suffer.

None of it mattered. All that mattered was him. You were ready to say that after you pulled back to look at him when his eyes found the ground. With you still firmly held in his arms he reached down, a cheap connivence store bouquet of flowers in his hands.

You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escape you

“Thought this might be better than the beer. Ya know, for catching the guy.”

You accepted the gift that had fallen out of Cameron’s grasp, tilting your head. “Yeah, but you helped.”

Antonio shrugged, forcing the flowers out of your hand as he brought you closer.

“I can’t help it.”

The End.

[afictionalwhore]

Oh Baby!

A/N: this was something sweet inspired by some of my babies at the daycare but then at 1 am, it turned into something completely different. I’ll try to make a part two out of the original idea. I struggled hard with a title. Titles are the worst

TW: mentions of kidnapping, soft yandere, smut, pregnancy

2.4K words

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Ever since Keigo kidnapped married you, he had kept you tucked away in your new home, a cozy cabin up the side of a secluded, lesser known mountain. You lived so high up in such a densely forested area that only Hawks could find you, completely cut off from the outside world. He never had to worry about you leaving, one woman with a common healing quirk that would do nothing to help in navigating down the mountain. The locals, inhabitants of a small village at the foot of your mountain, believed the woods to be enchanted, so Keigo had to worry less about a villager managing to stumble their way into your backyard.  

It wasn't so bad. Keigo made sure you were never bored. For when he wasn't home for you to tend to his needs, Keigo kept your home well stocked with books. It was the first thing he had shown you in your new home: your personal library. A whole room of the quaint house, your favorites, a whole shelf dedicated to just literary classics, as well as everything on your "to read" list. There was never a shortage of cookbooks. He was so excited that his large wings were flapping as though he were a young puppy wagging their tail, the giant scarlet curtain nearly knocking a shelf down on you.

"I hope you like it." Keigo looked at you, his eyes shining like an innocent puppy. "As much as I love you, I can't be with you all day. Someone has to keep food on the table." He chuckled while keeping a tight grip on your waist, and looking down at you expectantly.

"Oh. Thank you," you replied, your voice small, but loud enough for Keigo to hear. The hold on your waist loosened, and Keigo resumed his tour of your new home.

Of course, there was no TV, lest you stumble upon the news. While he's at it, no newspaper either. You didn't need those to know what was going on outside. It was a scary world out there, full of villains who wouldn't hesitate to snatch you up and use your healing quirk for their own. You were perfectly safe here with him. 

It took some time, but eventually you had come around and loved Keigo back. You were always curled up on the couch, book in hand, waiting for him to come home. As soon as he was in the doorway, you'd make your way to him, like clockwork, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek while helping him shrug off his heavy coat. Your voice was still small and hesitant around him, as though you were afraid of him. This irritated him, as Keigo didn't understand what could make you so jumpy still. He had never raised a hand against you. The two of you would have dinner, usually having to reheat whatever you had made because Keigo often worked overtime. Keigo was so happy you were making use of the cookbooks he gave you. 

You were turning out to be the perfect wife. Keigo was certain you loved him just as much as he loved you, or as close as someone could come to that level of love. He didn't believe anyone could match the way he felt about you. You were even going to have a kid together, a testament of your love. 

When you first announced your pregnancy to him, Keigo was ecstatic. He had come home that day, exhausted and overworked, excited to be welcomed home by his little wife. His stomach growled as he landed in your front yard, and he wondered what you decided to cook up for him. He noticed you'd gotten experimental in your cooking, always asking how things tasted. You were so cute when you had him guess whatever secret ingredient you added. 

When you weren’t at the door to greet him with open arms and a kiss, Keigo was disappointed in you. You were doing so well. He shook off his coat and stretched his wings, taking up the better half of your living room. You weren't nestled in the couch, engrossed in a book, as you sometimes were too distracted in your literary world to realize he had come home.

"Baby," Keigo called out, his voice echoing against the wooden walls of your homely cabin. "I'm home. I know it's a lot later than usual."

 Keigo figured you must have gone to bed already. He could forgive you for not staying up for him, he thought it was rather cute, though next time, he wished you'd fall asleep on the couch. 

When he entered your shared bedroom, Keigo saw you curled up on the bed, your back facing the doorway. You trembled—or was it a shiver? You must be cold without his body heat beside you. Keigo was his own heating unit.  

“Baby bird,” Keigo took a step into the room. “I’m home."

No response from you.

Another step.

"Can I get a kiss?”

You shivered again.

Keigo had taken off his uniform as he was making his way towards you and the bed. Now in just his boxers, Keigo heaved himself on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to sink slightly. He laid on his side to spoon you, wrapping a large, warm arm around your center. At this distance, Keigo heard it: your small sniffles. You weren't asleep; you were crying.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Keigo asked, worry sickening him. "Did ya miss me that much?" He tried to joke, more for his sake than yours.

After no response from you, save for a few more sniffles, Keigo asked once again what was wrong, a little more urgently. His racing thoughts of you leaving, of you not loving him, were sending him into a panic.

You mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? I couldn't hear you." Keigo struggled to hang on to his cool.

You mumbled yet again, causing Keigo's growing panic and frustration with you to snap. He clamored over you, swinging his legs so that you were caged underneath him, his hands at either side of your head. Golden eyes locked onto your watery ones, staring you down.

“(y/n),” Keigo said firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

"I'm pregnant" you spat at him, frustrated at the fact itself and having to repeat it three times. The more you said it felt like the final pat of a shovel packing the dirt above your grave. You wiped away a tear before turning and shoving your face in your pillow. 

“Oh baby.” Keigo was almost at loss for words. He had been anticipating this moment—stocking the bathroom cabinet with pregnancy tests the moment you arrived—yet in it, he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to say. He took your face in his hands and turned your head to look at him.

“Are you for real?”

“What would I gain from lying?” You attempted to make your words hit him like poisonous darts, but your quaking voice only managed to soften him.

“I love you so much,” Keigo dipped his head down to give you a chaste kiss, softer than his usual greedy ones, as though he were afraid of breaking you. Your eyes shut instinctively.

“This is so exciting, (y/n). You have no idea how happy I am."

A kiss to your cheek. 

 "I love you."

A kiss to your other cheek.

"I love you."

Keigo rose up on his hands and knees again.

"I promise to be the best father to our child."

You felt something splash on your cheek. You slowly opened your eyes again to see Keigo crying above you. 

"I love you, too," your voice small and shaky as you looked up at Keigo, knowing he would just continue to stare at you and cry until you said it back.

Keigo beamed down at you before dipping down for another kiss, this one a little rougher, more passionate is how Keigo would describe it.  His warm mouth worked against yours, his lips chapped slightly from the harsh wind on his rushed flight home. 

You thought Keigo would deepen the kiss, expecting to feel his impatient tongue poking between your lips and licking your bottom lip. Instead Keigo pulled away and sat back on your legs, the bottom half of his own legs tucking your legs under him. He studied your body, eyes trailing down your form, stopping briefly at your stomach. 

Keigo bent down again, lips now hungrily, but gently, pecking at your neck. He pulled your shirt off, delighted by your lack of bra underneath, before making his way down your chest to pepper your body with kisses. Between each small kiss, Keigo whispered "I love you" against your body.

His large hands came up to cup your breasts, careful not to squeeze too hard lest he hurt you. Usually Keigo would give them more attention, but that wasn't his main focus for tonight. He hummed as he kissed between them, flicking your nipples lightly. You couldn't suppress a small moan.

Spurred by your shy noises of pleasure, Keigo continued to move down your body. When he reached your lower abdomen, right below your belly button, Keigo's whispers of "I love you" grew more frantic, as though he was trying to tell the baby that was forming in you that he loved them.

When Keigo finally reached between your legs, he planted sweet kisses on the insides of your thighs while dragging your panties down. He tossed them to the side and lifted your legs onto his shoulders before nestling down. Keigo's face between your legs was hit with your heat. He inhaled your sweet scent, and his honeyed eyes looked up to meet yours.

"I love you, (y/n)," he stated before dipping down to lap at your puffy folds.

Keigo was excited, as any man in his position would be. As much as he wanted to pound into your until your voice hoarse from your cries and screams of his name, his main goal tonight was to make you feel good while being as gentle with you as possible. He was terrified of hurting his child in you because of his lack of self-control.

His tongue flicked at your clit, continuing to hold your gaze until your head rolled back with a low groan. Your hands found themselves tangling into his tousled golden hair, your back arching in attempt to push yourself into his mouth. Keigo chuckled against your swollen clit, the vibrations causing you to cry out and tug on his golden locks.

This spurred him on more. Keigo pushed a rough finger into you before hooking it and dragging slowly out of you, drawing a sweet moan of his name to fall out of your lips. This repeated motion combined with his sucking and lapping at your clit caused you to climb higher to your orgasm.

“Keigo, please,” you begged, seeking relief from the coiling in your gut.

Keigo hummed again against your clit, eliciting the same sweet moan and tug from you as before. He took his chance to slip another finger into you, curling both fingers against your spongy spot before dragging them down your walls.

"Keigo, I'm so close," you whined.

"Then come, baby bird." That was all you needed for the band to snap. Moans of his name and incoherent phrases tumbling out of your pretty lips.

While you were climbing down from your orgasm, Keigo found the time to remove his boxers.

Keigo sat down back down on the mattress, settling beside your shaking form with his back to the headboard. His own need was now too painful to ignore. Not wanting to put any unnecessary pressure on your stomach, Keigo pulled you up and into his lap, your entrance, slick with your own cum and his spit, hovered over his weeping cock, close enough for the heat radiating out of you to tease him. 

“I love you.” Keigo held eye contact with you as he sank you down on his cock, his large hands holding your hips. Once you were fully seated on him, Keigo leaned back against the headboard. He gave a few shallow thrusts to test what you (and the baby) could handle.

Keigo settled on a steady, but gentle rhythm. You splayed your hands on his broad chest as he bounced you on his cock. Despite the gentleness and the shallowness of Keigo's thrusts and your bouncing, you were quickly climbing your way to a second orgasm. Already sensitive from your first, Keigo's cockhead managed to nudge against your sweet spot with every roll of his hips.

"Keigo, I'm close." you cried, hiding your face in his neck. One of his hands left your hip to allow his thumb to roll your sensitive bud, causing your walls to tighten and convulse around him.

"Me too, baby." Keigo said, breathless. "I'm so close. So close. Come with me, baby."

With a strained groan, Keigo's thumb on your clit sped up, causing the heat that had once again built up within you to break. You scratched desperately at Keigo's back, hiding your face into the crook of his neck. Your hot walls clamped down on him, the final push Keigo needed to fall off the edge himself.

With chants of "I love you", Keigo began to hump his cum into you before stilling, his hips flush against yours, head tilted back and back arching off the headboard.

Once you had both come back to earth, Keigo laid you onto your back before pulling out his softening dick from you and rolling off you onto his side, white cum leaking out of you. 

"Not that this really matters anymore now," Keigo couldn't help the chuckle that left him. With the pad of his index finger, he pushed his now cooled cum into you. 

At that statement, the fog of your two orgasms lifted, and the realization of your situation set in; you could never leave now. You let out a choked sob as Keigo rested a hand on your stomach before pulling you into him and wrapping a large, red wing over the two of you like a personal cocoon. Nuzzling his face into your neck, facial hair tickling the crook, Keigo gave you soft kisses and gentle words of praise, chalking up your soft sobs to the hormones adjusting your body to his child.

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

--

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

[bubblegumbeech]

A Mother Fury

Day three Ectoberhaunt: Mutant vs Cryptid

AO3

“Look, I’m telling you, no way she’s real,” Danny said, making another mark on the map. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to make a normal map of the ghost zone the way a human might. With measurements and cartography, but after discovering the infini-map and exactly why every other map he’d made was always wrong, he’d gone to Clockwork for help.

He was given a rough crash course into ghost mapping and its difficulties and was now tasked with trying to map an unfamiliar area for practice. It was more difficult than he had hoped. 

“Why not?” Sam asked, she and Tucker were riding spectre-scooters beside him, carrying extra tools and supplies in case they needed them and a homing medalian in case they got horribly lost and needed to get back home. It was kind of the ghost equivalent of a compass, with Clockwork’s lair as it’s true north. 

Tucker took Danny’s side in the argument. “Because it doesn’t make sense! The Mother of Fury? What would she even be? Some kind of Dragon Queen? We’ve already met the Dragon Queen.”

“That’s not what Sam said, Tucker. She’s talking about the Mother of the Furies. Like from Greek myth. And the reason she doesn’t exist,” he looked up from his map to glare at Sam, “is because there’s only three and they’re sisters. The ‘Mother’ is the ghost equivalent of the Lochness monster”

Sam rolled her eyes. “There’s only three sisters in the Oresteia trilogy. The original myth didn��t number them and there’s plenty of art with four of them. Besides, the truth behind Pandora got confused right?”

“Where did you even hear about her?” Tucker asked. 

With a huff, Sam crossed her arms. “I heard it from my girls and ghouls club during poetry night.” 

“Don’t recite the poem-“

“I’ll recite the poem!” 

Danny chuckled, he didn’t mind listening to Sam’s poetry recital skills. She really went all out, pulling her theatre and speech making experience to good use. And also her voice was pleasant to listen to in general. Besides, Tucker getting annoyed was almost a bonus. 

 "Oh Mother of Fury

I ask for a boon

So that I may curry

A favor, this tune

Is a vow, a promise I make

So if I shall falter and vengeance you take

I’ll have no regrets in life or in death 

I’ll sing you this song with my final breath

My children I care for watch over them please

My sisters and brothers look after with ease

My mother and father keep sight of them too

Take care of them all and I swear this to you 

I’ll keep every Oath, fulfill every Vow

That’s what I promise and this poem is how"

 “… so a prayer for protection?” Tucker asked, having listened intently. 

“Apparently if you invoke it, it's the next best thing to a Stygian frailty. You can never break a vow or promise again or the Mother of the Furies and her children will hunt you down.” 

"Idk Sam, I'm with Danny. No way that's real. It's probably just one of those things that makes ghosts feel safer." Tucker shook his head. "I'm not about to believe a weird poem about something's existence."

Sam threw her notebook at him. "The Fright Knight had a weird poem! And the Ancients exist! We met a ghost who can control time, how is the Mother of Vengeance less probable!?"

Danny slowed down, there was something in the distance that didn’t quite fit. It looked off kilter but in a different way from the usual off kilter descriptions of the Zone. He marked it on the map and saw it bleed into the paper, disappearing as quickly as he’d drawn it on.

That wasn’t a good sign. 

Tucker was still talking. “Well yeah but we know the Ancients are real because they sealed Pariah Dark and we know he’s real because he attacked Amity Park and has a giant castle smack dab in the middle of the Zone-“

“Guys,” Danny interrupted, “do you see that?”

Sam and Tucker both finally looked up, away from their ongoing argument. 

Sam gasped, “It’s a bird cage.”

“A really big bird cage.” Tucker agreed.

There was a song, Danny heard, that rang softly in his ears. It built in volume and strength the closer they got until Danny could hear it clearly. 

It was a call for help.

They had to go in. 

He flew closer. “Wait, Danny!” Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “It could be a siren trap.”

“What?” Danny whipped his head back, “that doesn’t matter, whoever is in there needs help.” 

Tucker shook his head, “nah man, she’s right. Could be one of those Venus flytrap situations that tries to lure you in with your obsession.”

“Remember the garden?” Sam said and Danny had to concede the point. The garden had been a paradise of mortal realm plants and the trio was excited to explore the implications behind their existence there. 

Clockwork had to drag them out.

“Okay, this time we’ll be cautious.” Danny looked up at the cage again, it was easier to see the details from this close. The bars were a soft, tarnished looking silver that was almost white. They twisted around each other weaving in and out and forming what Danny realized was almost a web-like design. He couldn’t see anything beyond the bars.

“Here’s the plan,” Sam said grabbing the Fenton Fisher from the side car of her speeder. “Danny goes in his ghost form so whoever or whatever set the trap doesn’t get suspicious. If anything, and I mean anything Danny, goes wrong? You turn human and we drag you out with the Fenton fisher.” 

He looked dubiously at the length of ecto-enhanced fishing line before sighing and lifting his arms so she could tie it around his waist. “I’ll be right out, you both stay here.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tucker said slapping a tracker onto Danny’s hazmat suit. “Just don’t die again okay?”

“Sure Tuck.”

 Once the preparations were made Danny went towards the singing, letting it draw him towards what looked like an entrance. Except, there was a lock on it. 

A very large one. 

He gave it a tug, but it didn’t so much budge. Looking around for anything that might try to ambush him first, or any smaller ghosts that might be affected, he let his power go a little, building it up in his hands just like Pandora taught him to. Once he was confident he grabbed the lock to pull it open, but instead it grabbed hold of his energy and drew it out of him, like a fish caught on a hook. Danny couldn’t pull his hands away so the only thing he could do was transform, giving himself away. 

The pulling stopped, but nothing else happened. No loud sirens declaring him like Walker’s prison might, no powerful ghosts lurking in the shadows. 

He let out a sigh of relief. The lock went easily under his hands in this form and Danny had to chuckle at how nice it was that the Ghost Zone seemed to be really inadequately prepared for Halfas like him. 

The door creaked when it opened. And it only opened a couple of inches before it just wouldn’t budge anymore. Danny gave up and transformed back so he could manipulate his form enough to slip through. 

Inside was a castle.

No.

Inside was a very specific castle. Pariah’s keep as Danny had literally never seen it. The brick was a dusty softer red, and while the plants and weeds had grown and taken over, they looked as if they’d been tended to, at least minimally. And there was a twisting branch of Thistely that settled into the shape of a birds nest. 

Danny was starting to get idea that a bird might be in here.

A sword was at his neck. 

“Halt, who dares tread into the domain of stories and songs?” A woman’s voice said, deep and melodic. It didn’t sound anything like the song that had lead him here.

He raised his hands in the more or less universal sign of surrender and said “sorry, didn’t mean to barge in ma’am. I just wanted to make sure no one was trapped in here?”

The sword lowered. “Trapped?” She asked, bemused. 

Danny chanced turning around to get a look at his accosted. She was one of the prettier ghosts he’d seen. Her colors were all washed out, leaving soft pastels in place. Her arms though, looked like they were covered in swan feathers, at least the parts of her arms he could see. The cape clasped high on her neck looked like it might have been made from the very same feathers, except woven delicately into cloth. 

She was also clearly dangerous, the power behind her eyes nothing to take lightly. And her fingers sharpened into long black claws that Danny had no doubt carved through their fair share of ghost flesh. 

“Yes ma’am. It’s a bird cage so-“ he was just going to explain his reasoning, having come to the conclusion that this was likely the other ghost’s lair and he was trespassing, when her expression shut off entirely. 

“This is the King’s Keep.” She said, her voice dangerously steady.

Danny nodded, “yeah it uh, looks just like Pariah’s-“

“Pariah Dark?” The woman asked, “He built a mimicry of my brother’s castle?”

Her expression showed severe distaste, and while Danny couldn’t exactly blame her, it didn’t help his danger sense that she seemed to know the former king personally. 

“Your Brother?” Danny asked, trying to subtly look around. He couldn’t see any pastel bird men, but it didn’t hurt to keep an eye out. “Is this his lair?”

“As long as he is King his keep is here,” she answered. Oh great, yet another weird king in some back water place. 

“King of what? The feather lands?” Danny mumbled under his breath.

The sword returned to under his chin and he froze. He had to stop accidentally insulting people.

“King of Ghosts little Half-Dead. It would do you well not to mock him.”

But Danny’s fear parted to make way for confusion. With a sword at his neck Danny said, “But that’s Pariah Dark?”

The woman’s eyes flashed a deep purple and she struck, Danny’s training with Pandora and Clockwork’s teachings were the only thing that allowed him to keep his head. 

He shot an ectoblast but the woman easily caught it on the edge of her sword, twisting around and sending it right back at him. It was probably the most elegant way Danny had ever been attacked and he had to force himself to move, to not get distracted as he ducked and weaved, dodging each of her attacks. 

“Why are you attacking me? Do you hate Pariah that much??” He dodged what looked like a handful of feathers, sharpened on every edge. This lady was mad, question was why.

“My brother would not lose to that lout. How dare you imply-“

“Wait I’m not implying anything! You’re brother would probably win for sure,” he said, and then under his breath, “especially if he’s anything like you.”

The attacks stilled. “What are you saying?”

Danny didn’t let down his guard, but he didn’t attack either. She looked wary, a trace of uncertainty and tension underneath her fierce exterior. “All I know,” he said, carefully, “is that Pariah Dark was called the King of Ghosts and that he was sealed into an eternal sleep in a sarcophagus in Pariah’s Keep. I don’t know who was king before that, but he’s been asleep for at least a few thousand years.”

Her brow twitched. “But that… that isn’t right.”

She flickered, and Danny froze, that wasn’t a good sign. That was an Obsession based break down sign. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked. 

“I just saw him…” her eyes flashed. “You said this was a bird cage.”

He nodded.

Her gaze darkened. “I see. Someone thought to play with me. A mistake. Stay here, I will return.”

Danny didn’t even have the chance to argue before she was folding into herself, and flew off as a bird. 

He followed.

Honestly she should have expected that, what teenager listens to someone they just met? She was fast though, and it was hard to keep up as she flew higher and higher into what looked like the endless open abyss of the Ghost Zone.

The bird twisted and shooting from the feathers was once more the woman’s more human form took shape as she kept flying her hand reaching in front of her. She grabbed empty nothing, except- it clearly was something because what was once a clear view of the Ghost Zone crumbled like fabric and was shredded into pieces by sharp claws, revealing the thick bars of the cage. 

She growled and Danny took a second to find what she was looking at. It was the top of the cage, the center of the spider’s web with delicately detailed runes etched into each bar.

“Misery Vex,” the woman sneered, “I should have known.” 

Danny rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. This looked above his pay grade. Then again, after beating Pariah Dark and fighting half the Ancients there wasn’t much that qualified really. Wait. Wasnt Misery Vex am Ancient? Did they make a habit of trapping random ghosts in complicated ways? 

The woman was pacing angrily, at least, the ghostly equivalent of pacing. “There’s no way to know how long I’ve been here, anything could have happened to him,” she muttered, “especially if that joke Pariah was made king at some point. Was this because of our fight? No, it couldn’t have been.”

“Ma’am?” He said, gently tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. Her eyes were a bright lilac, and Danny saw that she was in some type of mania. What even was her obsession?

“Oh, right. I’ll get us out of here, just step back.”

“Wait I can-“ once again not waiting for an answer, she made her move. Grabbing two of the thicker and more intricate bars in her hands she pulled them apart with what looked like impressive physical strength. But even when she let go, the force did not mitigate. Instead they acted as if gravity itself were pulling them apart. 

Danny watched amazed as the very same force worked its way over the entire cage and it ripped itself apart into scrap metal, the figment of the castle inside fading away along with the enticing sirens song. 

“Wow.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you for showing me the truth. It may have been eons again before I realized. She had trapped me in a mimicry, a nasty curse. Be sure not to befell it yourself.”

“Right, will do. Uh…” he hesitated but the woman didn’t seem to have any frustration or anger for him, only for her absent captor and the time she must have missed. “Can I get your name?”

She looked surprised at that. “A bold request. But I suppose I owe you something. I am Erinyen, though you may call me Erin. Call upon me shall you need a promise kept or vengeance taken.” 

And then she flew away. 

Danny nodded, he helped. He did what he needed to and he didn’t even need to do most of the work.

He turned to tell his friends the good news only to see two equally gobsmacked expressions.

“What?” he said, a little defensively. 

Sam recovered first. “You found her!”

“Found her?”

“The Mother of the Furies!” Tucker said, waving a pdf, “what the hell dude! I thought you were on my side!” 

“I was!” Danny defended. How was he supposed to know?

[abyssguard]

piapro characters - cage -clockwork voice of hope- kagamine rin acrylic stand (eterno récit) illustrated by sheep field

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

(submission) The Undertow

(tws for temporary death, drowning, and separation)

    The tide washes out.

    False opens her eyes to a brand-new world, filled with life and color. Around her, a coral reef stretches as far as she can see. Fish dart between the branches of the reef and through the pitted rocks underfoot.

    What’s odd, though, is that she’s stuck.

    Something, she thinks, is very wrong. She glances down at her body, which is wrapped in the rough branches of some sort of calciferous red growth, and as much as she struggles, she can’t move, the surface rubbing against her skin.

    Behind her, she hears a frenzied splashing. She can’t turn around all the way, so she shouts to whatever’s behind her.

    “Get away from me!” she yells. If it’s a drowned, maybe she can scare it away. If it’s something worse...well. She wasn’t expecting a death this early in the season, but it had to happen at some point.

    Luckily, it’s just a human that calls back. 

    “False? Where are we?” asks Stress, her distinctive voice putting False back at ease. What passes for ease when you’re stuck in a coral reef, anyways.

    “I...don’t know,” False says, enunciating each syllable with careful precision, considering the options. “This is glitched, I suppose.”

    False can almost see Stress’s face brighten. “Oh, shame. Well, our dear admin will have it fixed in no time, then.”

    “Yeah, I’ll send him a message. Maybe he can teleport us out real quick.” She sighs. “We’re going to have to restart the world, probably. That’s annoying.” Taking out her communicator, which is only slightly waterlogged, she swipes it open and types out a quick chat to Xisuma. 

<FalseSymmetry> o/ 

<FalseSymmetry> x we’re stuck in coral. tp please?

    The two women wait. Five minutes.

    “Might as well start trying to get out of here!” Stress says, her voice a note cheerier than usual. It’s forced.

    False snaps out of her thoughts. “Sure.” She takes her fist and slams it down on their colorful prison. “Oof, that hurt,” she says, peering down at the spot where it made contact. “And barely a dent!”

    “Guess we better get working, then,” replies Stress, who’s trying her best not to sound too downhearted.

    They do. It’s not going great when Stress notices a bit of a change in their environment. “Falsie...do you think it’s possible the water might be getting the teensiest bit higher?”

    False nods grimly. “Yep.”

    Stress grimaces. “Oh boy. And Xisuma still hasn’t replied?”

    “Nope.”

    “Ah.”

    A moment passes in a nervous silence while the duo continue to chip away at the coral.

    “You don’t think he’s ignoring us, do you?” Stress says, a small quaver creeping its way into her quiet words.

    “Of course not. He’s probably just...busy.” False stops and cocks her head. “You know. I bet if our spawn is glitched, other peoples’ might be as well.”

    “That makes sense, I suppose.”

    A small wave washes over them. When they reemerge, coughing from the salty water, they find that Stress can no longer keep her chest above the ocean.

    “This isn’t going to be a pleasant way to die, is it?” asks Stress, hands bleeding from the abrasive reef. 

    False shakes her head. “No. It isn’t.”

        The ocean is not a kind place. It never pretended to be. The two Hermits just happened to be in its way, and that was not the ocean’s fault. 

    The tide rolls in, just as False’s hand finds Stress’s.

    The tide washes out.

    Their newly-respawned heads break the surface of the water, gasping for air. This time, they’re face-to-face, and the coral is yellow. False wonders if it’s slightly softer than the previous kind, or if she’s just imagining it. Either way. Small blessings.

     Their eyes meet, and they pick up where they left off, only a touch sore. They don’t talk much this time around, except for Stress’s question about the message to Xisuma. And yes, False double-checked it was to the right person. She sends it again in the main chat.

 <FalseSymmetry> anyone there lol?

    Silence. On all fronts. Stress is making good progress on this new coral, until they both have to stop to fight an inquisitive drowned. Not an easy feat, but they manage, though the duo lose more hearts than False would like.

    Stress manages to get a leg free and starts kicking with renewed vigor, until she’s finally out. The water is lapping at their mouths now, as Stress frantically tugs at False’s cage.

    “C’mon,” Stress mutters. “We’re almost there…”

    A wave knocks them both underwater, and by the time Stress resurfaces, further away from False, the blond Hermit is completely submerged. 

    Stress thinks that she has never swum faster in her life as she races toward False, hoping against hope that there’s somehow still time to save her.

    She dives down to False, who is wriggling around frantically. She tugs against the coral, but she knows it’s too late. False lets out a scream, bubbles escaping to the surface, but points to Stress’s left. She’s confused, but she looks anyways--and the trident from the dead drowned is sitting placidly on a piece of sponge, unseen by both of them until now.

    Stress pushes off the battered coral, so close to breaking, but too far, all at the same time. She scoops up the trident and swims back to False, who’s starting to slow, eyes rolling up in the back of her head. With a mighty swipe, she clears the rest of the prison, and drags the unconscious False to the shore.

    Stress retches, the ocean coming out of her lungs in short bursts as she collapses on the warm sand. Next to her, False lies prone. She doesn’t know what to do. Should she put her on her side? Wait, isn’t that for drunk people?

    Hopefully, False will sort it out on her own. Hopefully. In the meantime, Stress realizes that the sun is setting. She needs to get them in a shelter, ASAP. There’s no time for even wood--she just digs out a small hole in a nearby hillside, and, breathing heavily, brings False’s body into it. It just barely fits both of them, but she’s grateful to have it.

    Stress can’t even think about dying again, if it means having to get out of that ocean. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to; False stirs to wakefulness sometime in the middle of the night, greeted with a motley chorus of zombie groans and drowned gurgles, plus a few others that neither of them want to try to name.

    They huddle together in the small chamber, wet dirt and cold stone stealing precious body heat. When morning comes, they stay there for a little while. Neither one wants to be the first one out, but eventually False stands up, the joints in her spine cracking like fireworks. She peeks her head out, but there seems to be no imminent danger at the moment, so she cautiously ventures onto the beach from their escape. A spider lies perched in a small tree nearby, but she leaves it be. As she looks out over the glimmering water, alight with the sun’s first rays, she sees the broken branches of the coral that trapped her and Stress, waves gently carrying away the scattered shards. She watches them for a second, and as she does, the tide washes out.

    The tide rolls in.

    They’re so careful. Neither one of them wants to go back to the awful enclosure of stony coral and risk having to repeat the experience. Monsters are run away from, shelters are dotted around the map like flowers, and their armor has never been more prized. The duo have awful luck mining, though. They barely get enough for decent gear, but Stress reminds False that they’re lucky. Judging by the death messages that scroll through the chat like clockwork, not everyone has been as fortunate as them. And at least they have each other.

    Or they did, before Stress falls into a soft bed of bone-chilling powder snow, along with a few creeper friends.

    False doesn’t ever want to see that same look on Stress’s face ever again. It’s imprinted into her mind now, a mix of surprise and awful resignation.

    She types out a frantic message on her communicator. It doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked for weeks now. She knows it doesn’t work, and Stress does as well. But it doesn’t stop her from imagining where her only companion is right now, sending her chat after chat, begging her to come help her escape from the watery grave.

    False considers respawning. Back where Stress is. She could help her then.

    False would consider herself a practical person at heart, but she has never before been in a situation like this. Hermitcraft has never had a situation like this. She considers her options, falling back against the rough trunk of an oak tree, leaves raining down on her impassive face.

<StressMonster101> drowned.

    She’s taking too much time. There’s no more room for error. Only action. Rustling through her pack, stuffed to the brim now with the remains of Stress’s inventory, she realizes that she has to find a way to get these items back to Stress. If she manages to escape on her own, they can meet up halfway there, and if she doesn’t, then False will have her work cut out for her. 

    It’s a backtrack of nearly two weeks. False does it in four days, not stopping to rest. She wishes desperately for a saddle, but when she happens upon a meadow full of horses, she grabs the nearest one, swinging herself upward onto the back of a very unwilling participant. False doesn’t care. The horse accustoms itself to her surprisingly quickly, and though False’s legs ache from the non-stop bareback ride, she knows she’ll get to Stress sooner with it. Turns out, golden apples can make a horse go through the night.

    She names the horse Salvation. Sal, for short.

    The journey gives her brain too much time to think, so she doesn’t, just hangs on to the death messages in the chat. It’s gruesome, but they reassure her that Stress is even still in this horrible world. 

    Sometimes, there’ll be a lull in the terrible rhythm, but those never last for long.

    During a quick break, she gets bored and puts a braid in Sal’s mane, then uses a few of the nearby flowers to decorate it. She doesn’t realize until she re-mounts him that they’re alliums.

    The tide washes out.

    When False finally arrives at their old beach, she nearly cries in relief. Instead, she screams out Stress’s name as she jumps off of Sal’s back. Stumbling into the waves, she repeats her cry, voice already starting to go hoarse.

    “Stress! I’m here!” False shouts. “Stress!”

    She’s up to her neck now and there’s no sign of her. Maybe she made it out. Maybe False would believe that if she hadn’t just seen her death message on her communicator.

    False treads water, weaving between the elaborate natural structures that make up the reef. She’s almost about to give up when she hears a weak cough, and rounds the corner to find an emaciated Stress, hanging from the coral wrapping her body like an exoskeleton.

    “Stress, Stress, I’m here,” says False, wrapping her arms around the other Hermit’s body as tears start to stream down her face. “Oh my g-d. We need to get you out of here.”

    Stress looks up at her, the first sign of movement she’s shown since False laid eyes on the woman. “You came for me,” she whispers. “You really came.” Her eyes flutter shut.

   The tide rolls in.

    Stress wakes to a gently crying False, who’s sitting beside her on the beach. Attempting a smile, she nudges the other Hermit. “Doing alright?”

    False smiles at her. “Never better.”

    She lets out a whistle. “Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong, but you managed to get here quite quickly, if you came all the way from where I left?”

    “Sure did.”

    “How?”

    “Well, meet Sal,” False says, pointing towards the forest behind them. “He was a big help.”

    Stress squeals, and she thinks she can almost feel her eyes getting bigger. “Are those flowers?” She hobbles over to the horse, latching onto his neck. “I love him!” 

    False laughs, and Stress thinks she’s never been gladder to hear someone do so.

    “But seriously, though.” False pauses for a second. “I think he’s going to be pretty important if we’re heading towards spawn.”

    Stress nods. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan. Bound to be a bigger concentration of Hermits there, right?”

    “Exactly. Listen, this time we’re going to be super careful about beds. I’ll make sure we upgrade our armor as much as possible. I’ll do better--”

    Stress puts a finger up to False’s lips, startling her into silence. “Nope. You did the best you absolutely could. I will have absolutely no self-blaming on this road trip.”

    “Road trip?” False asks, nose crinkling.

    “Absolutely.” Stress responds. “This is Hermitcraft! We’re here to have fun and make friends. And I see only one direction for that.”

    “To spawn, then!” False laughs, mounting Sal and hauling Stress up after her. 

    “To spawn!”

    The ocean watches the two ride off with mild interest. They’ll be back, after all. Sooner or later, they’ll always be back. No one can leave for long. But for now, it has other...friends to take care of, and the tide, as always, washes out.

[five-rivers]

Isolation

BIG ANGST ahead.  Don’t let the fluffy start fool you.  The core of the idea behind this is actually from @agent-jaselin.  :)

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.

.

Yesterday had been perfect. Danny had woken up on time, feeling rested. His mother had made pancakes for breakfast. No ghosts attacked. His homework was already done. He had been able to spend a lot of time with his friends and family. The weather during the day had been good, and the night had been ideal for stargazing. It was great. Wonderful.

This morning had also been good, nice and slow and soft. Danny felt more at peace than he had for a long time.

It was with a light heart and a broad smile that he left his house to go meet up with Sam and Tucker in the park. He actually skipped a bit as he walked down the sidewalk.

He caught sight of Sam and Tucker waiting near the park entrance and waved. They waved back. He picked up his pace, breaking into a jog and-

His foot didn't hit the pavement. It fell, and kept falling, and he fell after it, into a green-tinted void. He turned around just in time to see the natural portal close after him.

He groaned, then smiled wryly. Of course, he couldn't have two good days in a row. What was he thinking?

Well, this wasn't the first time a natural portal had decided to eat him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. At least exploring the Ghost Zone was always interesting. His smile perked up a little. Silver linings. Jazz would be proud.

He went ghost and looked around, trying to see if he could spot any familiar landmarks. His smile twisted into disappointment as he realized that there were no landmarks. At all. Just green, as far as his eyes could see.

Alright, maybe this wouldn't be interesting. Great.

All directions being equal... He started flying.

.

Lacking clock, sun, or stars, telling time was just about impossible. Still, Danny felt certain that he had been flying at nearly full speed for hours, and nothing about his surroundings had changed.

He was beginning to become concerned. What if the portal had dumped him into the Ghost Zone's equivalent of outer space? What if he was just getting farther in, farther away from home? What if he was going in circles?

Well, at least he could do something about the last one. He formed an ectoblast in his hand and coated it with ice, making himself a little ghost lantern. It would take days to burn itself out. He'd make one of these every few minutes as a sort of bread crumb trail. Then he'd at least know if he was crossing his own trail.

He let the ghost lantern go and kept flying.

.

Danny thought it might have been a day. Maybe even longer.

The ectoenergy here was plentiful, the ectoplasm thick, more than enough to sustain him, so long as he stayed in ghost form, but he still got tired, still needed sleep. He was beginning to feel like he usually did when he stayed up for more than twenty-four hours, but the utter blandness of his surroundings, the boredom, might have been contributing to that feeling.

Danny didn't know it was possible to be this scared and this bored at the same time. The emptiness of the place was wearing at his mind.

.

Falling asleep floating out in the open was, in Danny's opinion, a bad idea. He made a tiny island and igloo out of ice for himself. It wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever slept, even after he molded the ice to fit his body, but it honestly wasn't the worst, either.

.

He was no longer sure how long it had been since the portal deposited him in this place, but it felt like forever. Time didn't mean much here.

He was still leaving behind ghost lanterns, but now he was decorating them, just to have something to do other than fly. Starbursts were the main shape he was making, as well as ones with his name on them, just in case.

Just in case what, he wasn't sure. In case someone he knew ran across them, maybe?

That would be nice.

.

Danny had slept three more times since he fell through. There was no change in scenery. He had a new strategy: shouting.

His hope was that someone would hear him and come and investigate. Heck, he would settle for something coming and investigating.

He shouted for help. That he was lost.

He was so lonely.

.

Danny's shouts had turned into names. Not that he really thought that the people he was calling for were listening. It was just something different to do.

He would admit that he carried on conversations with them. And why not? There was no one here to hear him.

Maybe Clockwork could hear him. But Clockwork wasn't answering.

.

The one-sided (and rather annoyed) conversations with Clockwork had turned into begging. A lot of begging. And crying. That, too.

But maybe Clockwork couldn't hear him. What was time, in a place like this?

Nothing.

He didn't bother to make and ice house for himself. He fell asleep floating, weeping, in the void.

(He wanted somebody to save him.)

.

When he woke up, thin strands of something were all over his body. They were like spider silk, and extremely fragile. He brushed them away.

They were the first new thing he had seen in... he didn't know how long. It could have been weeks or months. His sleep schedule was too erratic to do any good. But they unnerved him. It couldn't have been a ghost that made them, he would have felt them come close.

It had to be something from the environment, and it couldn't be healthy.

He resolved to sleep inside from now on.

.

His evil future self had been able to make portals. So why not Danny?

He had no idea what he was doing.

.

This had to be what hell was like. Or at least purgatory. What did he do to deserve this?

.

Danny started talking again. This time, it wasn't to call for help, but simply to remember how to talk. How to carry on a conversation.

He pretended to be talking to Sam, to Tucker, to Jazz, to Jack and Maddie, to Mr. Lancer, even to Dash. His eternal flight took on a daydream-like quality. He imagined conversations with the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost. He congratulated them on the birth of their child. He had a conversation with Ember about her latest album, he was so excited to hear it...

He started talking to Clockwork again. Clockwork was the only one who could even possibly hear him.

Please, please, he just wanted to go home. He would do anything.

Why was Clockwork doing this? What had Danny done?

What was Danny going to do?

He just wanted to go home.

Please.

.

Danny decided to take the day off. It had been... It had been a long time. He was tired, and a creeping thought in the back of his head mused that, maybe, the reason no one had found him yet was because he wasn't making himself available to be found.

He built himself a house of ice. No. A castle. It was grand and beautiful, the spires tall, the dungeons deep. Fine sculptures and murals lined the walls. The halls were lit by intricate chandeliers.

He lived there for a while, and left it floating as he flew away.

.

'Howling mad' is not as fun as it sounds.

.

Danny turned over the memory of his last day on Earth over and over again in his mind. In retrospect, it was almost too good. It was like a farewell. A last gift. A goodbye.

He held on to it, tightly, anyway. He could go back to that. He could.

It was something to live for.

.

It had been a long time.

.

Danny didn't notice at first when his memories began to blur around the edges. They weren't important ones. Trivial things. Who sat where in math class. Which day of the week it had been when he first fell through. The order of the shops on main street.

But then he started forgetting names. That was unacceptable.

He started his litany again. He would not forget. He refused.

.

He had hope. He did. He had hope. He had hope. He had...

.

He was forgetting. The nothing- it did that. He made himself another house of ice, this one a perfect replica of Fentonworks, except for the colors. He made statues of his friends and family. He made constellations out of ghost lanterns, so that if he laid on the roof it almost seemed like he was looking at the night sky.

They weren't right. None of it was right. He left, quickly.

.

Every time he slept, he woke covered with silk. He no longer cared.

He thought about going human, about how long it would take to starve to death. Could he starve to death, even in human form?

He doubted it. He was going to be trapped here, forever.

A cage without bars or walls... He was sure Mr. Lancer had mentioned a poem or a saying like that once. He should have paid more attention in class.

.

He fantasized about getting hit by the boo-merang. He no longer had any hope of actually being rescued, but it would be nice to know that they had tried. That someone had looked for him. That someone had missed him.

He missed them so much. Even Dash and Vlad.

If he could just see someone, anyone... He'd even take Pariah Dark. He'd take Spectra.

.

Raging against the heavens was almost cathartic.

Almost.

It reminded him that no one was raging back. There was no answer to his insults, to his curses.

It would be a long time until he spoke again.

.

Danny drifted to a halt, slowly. All this time, flying in one direction, and still there was no change in scenery. He looked back over his shoulder. His last two lanterns were just barely in sight. Normally, he'd be making another one.

Normally. He sighed.

Since when had this become normal? How long had he been doing this?

Long enough for all his memories to fade around the edges. Long enough to lose all but the faintest ember of hope.

He tilted his head up- insofar as 'up' had any meaning in this void. He coughed, clearing his throat. "Clockwork," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from disuse, "please. Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, and I'll do anything to make it up, just, please. Please. Let me go home. Just- Even for a minute. Please."

There was no answer. The lantern that formed between Danny's hands was misshapen and small. He let it tumble carelessly from his fingers.

He kept flying.

He did not speak again.

.

The silk that grew while he slept was getting thicker. He suspected, but didn't know, that he was sleeping for longer, too.

.

The lantern he made was huge and beautiful, a beacon that would be visible for miles and miles, even through the gloom and mists of this void. Smaller lanterns, practice runs, orbited it slowly in a mockery of a solar system. This lantern was going to be his last one.

He wasn't going to fly any more after this. He was going to go to sleep and hope that he wouldn't wake up. Not until someone found him.

Into the side of the beacon, he built a little cranny, a dark, secure place, and imbued it with enough purpose to give it the illusion of gravity. Somewhere a ghost wouldn't mind sleeping away the years.

He crawled in with a sigh. As he closed his eyes, he tried to think of his family. If he was lucky, maybe he would dream of them.

.

He woke, briefly, to the sensation of being touched. His eyes sprang open, a wild hope blooming in his chest.

It died almost immediately.

The thing brushing against him wasn't a loving hand or a curious ghost. It was that odd, silky residue. The strands were thicker than he had seen before, and if he had any willpower left after all this time, he would have wondered if he could have woven it into something. He'd tried before, with thinner strands, but had been unsuccessful. There had been many things he had done to stave off the boredom.

As it was, he simply went to sleep again.

.

Nightmares were better than being awake. Nightmares held the chance that he'd see people again, even if they were fake. Even so, that particular nightmare, seeing his friends and family die like that, was enough to jostle him awake.

Instead of green, the color that greeted his tired eyes was a dull, soft, silver. He shifted, trying to get a better look at it. Whatever it was, it was too close to his face for his eyes to easily focus on it.

Oh, it was the silk. Apparently, it had grown enough to cocoon him.

Alright, then.

His friends, his family, and his teacher... What was his teacher's name again...?

.

Wakefulness again. His brain buzzed with fatigue and confusion. He felt weak. Perhaps the long time he had spent in ghost form was finally catching up to him.

Whatever 'ghost form' meant. Was there another?

Green light, more than could be accounted for by his eyes, reflected off the walls of his cocoon. His eyes moved slowly, looking for the source. He found it in ectoplasm dripping off his body. No, from his body. He was melting, destabilizing, his ectoplasm pooling at the bottom of the cocoon.

Oh, well. Whatever. He had the vague impression that someone he once knew would have scolded him for the attitude, but he couldn't quite recall who.

Speaking of which, hadn't he known someone who destabilized? He couldn't remember.

There had been other people, once. He knew that. It would have been nice, to see them one last time. Or the other thing. The other thing he liked. What were they? Right. The stars. It would have been nice to see the stars. He had made some stars before, out in the void, but he couldn't see them from here.

Gooey eyelids slipped closed over his eyes.

.

It wasn't fair, that he should still exist enough to wake up as a puddle of ectoplasm. He didn't stay awake long.

.

There were sounds. He forced his eyes open. Eyes. He had eyes again. His hands came up to touch them. Hands. A body. He had a body again.

Again?

What had he had before? He didn't remember. He didn't remember anything.

Where was he? It was small and grey. He touched a silky wall. What was that sound? It was rhythmic and regular, like a heartbeat. What was a heartbeat? He put a hand over his chest. Should he have a heartbeat?

His hands... They were as dark as night. He could see stars in them, nebulae. They seemed to blend with the fabric of his sleeves, which continued the pattern. Was that normal?

On contemplation, he decided that he wanted the sound. He wanted to go to it. He rolled over in his cocoon, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. Was it bigger than before? Before what?

Here. He knocked against the side of the cocoon before digging into it with his claws. Layers upon layers of silk fell away as he tore at the side of the cocoon. He kept having to stop, to rest. He was sure he had been sleeping for a long time, but even this little bit of work felt like a marathon.

Finally, he pierced the surface. The sound became clearer. A beam of light from outside fell through the hole. He redoubled his efforts, pushing and pulling and clawing. A tear large enough for him to slip through opened up, and he sprawled out of the cocoon onto a hard surface.

A pair of hands- Not his!- picked him up and set him on his feet. A person, a man, half-floated, half-knelt in front of him. He wore a long purple robe, his skin was blue, and his eyes were red. As he watched, the man's form warped, becoming older. Behind the man floated other people.

They weren't outside. They were in a... a room. That was the word. A room.

The sound was coming from all over in the room and also from the man.

"Greetings to you, youngest of Ancients, Master of Space," said the man, gravely, his voice deep. "We congratulate you on your completion of your trial, your becoming, and welcome you to our council."

None of these words made sense. He tilted his head in confusion.

"I am Clockwork, Master of Time, eldest of Ancients."

Clockwork. He knew that name. He knew-

He took two small steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Clockwork, and fell against the older ghost.

.

Clockwork stayed crouching and held the small ghost that had once been Daniel Fenton until he went limp in his arms. With a small sigh, he straightened, adjusting his grip on the child, who shifted unconsciously.

"I must admit," said Pandora, drifting forward, "I had not expected his appearance to change so much. And yet... so little." She teased a strand of silver-green hair away from the little ghost's head. "He looks younger. Is he still half human?"

Clockwork nodded. "It will take time and care before that part of him can heal, however." His lips twisted as he looked down at the child curled against his chest.

"You did the right thing," said Pandora, voice pitched low. "Had he been anywhere else when he started coming into his power, the Observants would have found him and destroyed him."

Clockwork did not acknowledge the statement. He turned towards the other Ancients, who drifted closer, curious. It had been a long time since their family had welcomed a new member, and never a child.

"What shall we call him?" asked Nocturne, Master of Dreams, subtly comparing his stars to the child's.

"I think," said Clockwork, "that he will like 'Cosmic.'"