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gyllenhaalstories · 3 years

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

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cixthotshit · 3 years

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A Cup of Rose Americano

Pairing: Bae Jinyoung x Original Female Character|Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Poor Girl/Rich Boy, Coffee Shop/Gangster AU (IDEK how I got here, just go with it)

Summary: There's more than meets the eye with every person, including Bae Jinyoung, the world's finest barista at Personal Barista Cafe

Word count: 4.7k

Rating/Warnings: Mature / Explicit Sexual Content: Porn With Some Plot, Kissing, Mirror Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie

Author’s Note: I wanted to write a fluffy Coffee Shop AU but NGL something else has been preoccupying my mind and the world building to this fic kind of went off the rails and transformed into a completely different story. Enjoy this smut, readers! I really want to explore this world a lot more but IDK if I can commit to anything beyond this RN. So please, please enjoy this! Sorry in advance for mistakes! I don't always catch everything when I proofread.

I always appreciate some feedback on my writings!

"Really, it'll be a...new coffee experience," Hyeon assured Sandy. She handed Sandy a green card. It felt like an expensive platinum credit card, the card made of metal, feeling heavy and cold in her hand. "All you have to do is fill out a survey after you get your free coffee. Once you make it inside, hand the card over to your barista."

"Aren't you supposed to find actual volunteers?" Sandy asked, looking at the shiny card. The only thing on the card was the name of the new test cafe, PB Cafe.

“Trust me,” Hyeon said with a grin. “You’ve never had coffee like this. This is free, too. You’re going to say no to free coffee? And I swear, this is really me saying it, their coffee is really good.”

“Fine, thanks for the free coffee.”

“Enjoy!” Hyeon turned her back to Sandy, most likely scanning for potential test subjects for her new marketing event. Being her best friend, Sandy was always her first test subject. She didn’t know if Hyeon’s bosses approved of her taking advantage of all the free stuff she was receiving.

Sandy walked over to a shop that was setup at the southwest corner of a 3 story building. The walls were white and the windows were covered by white curtains. “PB Cafe” was written in black on the front door, though there were no door handles. Standing in front of the door, Sandy noticed a black square pad beside the right side of the door. She pressed the green card to the black pad and jumped slightly as the glass door slid open. A short piano tune played, sounding old but familiar, reminding her of old Hollywood movies from the mid-20th Century.

Tentatively, she stepped in. Walking past the white curtains, she found herself inside a small room. At the back end of the room was a small bar with one wooden chair in front of it. It only took her 4 steps to reach the chair, so she pulled it out and sat down. The wall behind the bar slid down to the floor and a broad shouldered man walked out from what looked like a bright white light before the wall slid back up behind him.

Too shocked to react, Sandy set the green card down onto the smooth marble countertop. Her eyes couldn’t leave the face of her barista. He was very handsome and his small grin softened his masculine exterior. Wordlessly, he took the green card and placed it in the front left pocket of his black apron.

“Welcome to Personal Barista Cafe,” he said in a soft, sultry voice. “My name is Bae Jinyoung, your Personal Barista today. How shall I address you?”

“Uh, just call me Sandy, I don’t like formalities much.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sandy. If you don’t like formalities feel free to call me BaeJin or BaeBae.” She gave a soft chuckle and threw her hand over her mouth, feeling her cheeks warm up. Such a sultry man telling her to call him something as cute as BaeBae tickled her. “Is this your first drink with PB Cafe?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I don’t know anything about this cafe, except that you have good coffee.”

“A Personal Barista will make you a personalized drink,” he explained, pulling out a menu form. “Whatever you order, I will make it in front of you. If you want to know how I prepare your drink, please let me know and I will explain as I go. If you want small talk instead, I enjoy a small conversation as I prepare you a drink. If you want silence, for any reason, please don’t feel pressured to speak if you don’t want to.”

“Can I get an Americano?” she asked, after glancing at the long list of coffee drinks. The menu was simple and elegant, the writings were in cursive but the paper was black and the ink white. She liked the seemingly simple attention to detail. “How long have you been a barista, BaeJin?”

“Almost a year,” he replied. He poured fresh ground coffee into a metal contraption with a long neck. She pressed her lips together as her eyes were fixed on his skilled, large hands. He was using a device to compact the coffee grounds.

“Do you enjoy being a barista?”

“I do. It allows me to be creative. My regular job is stressful.”

He put the coffee grounds into the machine and pressed a few buttons. She watched him place a small white espresso mug under the spout of the machine. He grabbed a large white mug of coffee, and looked at her with a soft grin.

“This is your side hustle?” she asked. PB Cafe seemed like it paid well.

“Most people have more than one job these days,” he replied.

“That’s true,” she replied. “I have a day job and a night job.”

“What are your jobs?”

“I’m interning at a law firm, helping a paralegal out. I’m hoping to get my private investigator’s license soon.”

“You want to be a private investigator?” he asked.

“I want to be a lawyer,” she answered, “but having a private investigator’s license helps me pick up skills. Research is the true gift of being a good lawyer.”

“Research. You must be very smart and hard working.”

“You are sweet,” she said, resting an elbow onto the counter, leaning forward. “I wish my smarts and hard work were enough to give me success. I’m lacking in luck lately.” His eyes drifted away from the espresso machine and looked into her eyes. She felt her cheeks turn hot, realizing she had overshared. It’d been a sad thought, too. “I feel very lucky right now.”

“Sandy, I don’t mean to make assumptions about people but if I were to guess you are someone with expensive tastes,” he said. He pulled out two small brown glass bottles from a drawer. “But, you settle for less.”

“I..” she breathed out.

She should have been insulted, but her barista BaeJin was right. Sandy had always been envious of people who could afford designer things or had the means to go on extravagant vacations, but all of that had always been a dream. The closest she got was free shit from Hyeon. A drink from PB Cafe was likely three times that of a drink from Starbucks, and Sandy could only afford Starbucks for special occasions.

“Why are you saying this?”

“I want to make you a drink in which you will appreciate,” he replied, pulling out a single stemmed pink rose from under the counter, and handed it to her. She felt her cheeks flush with heat as she accepted it. “Refined, seemingly ostentatious, but simple and hopefully, delicious.”

He poured hot water from a glass kettle into the mug. She felt her cheeks turn hot again as he reached over and plucked a single petal from the rose she held. He tilted a single drop of liquid from one of the brown bottles onto the petal.

“Rose water,” he said to her as he locked eyes with her for a second. He placed the rose petal into the mug, letting it float in the hot water. He poured the espresso into the mug of water, and took a spoon to scoop out the wilted petal, tossing it away before handing the drink to her.

She gave it a sip, and shut her eyes, a smile on her lips. Using a flower as aromatic as a rose was difficult to pull off in cuisine. Oftentimes the rose aroma was too overpowering, reminding one’s nose of perfume instead of food. Baejin’s Rose Americano, though, was the perfect balance of a good cup of coffee elevated with some elegance, refined by the subtlest hint of a rose’s sweet scent. The warm breath she exhaled after a hot sip of Americano filled her senses with flowery comfort.

“This is the most...beautiful cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted,” she replied, setting the mug down when she was half finished. “It tastes...beautiful.”

He gave a small chuckle, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile any wider than she already was. He was incredibly cute, grinning in reaction to her compliment. How could a man exude the amount of sensuality like BaeJin yet be so cute that she wanted to squish him like a marshmallow?

“You like it?” he asked.

“I do,” she replied. “I didn’t know a cup of Americano could be improved. Thank you for this cup of coffee. You’re a gifted barista.”

“Thank you. I would love to make you another drink.”

“I’ll try to come back one day,” she said earnestly.

She sipped her drink and glanced at her phone. Thanking her talented, handsome (and cute) barista BaeJin one last time, Sandy finished her drink and sprinted out of the odd, surreal cafe. She had to get ready for work. Smelling the pink rose in her hand, Sandy smiled to herself. Who knew her barista would be the first man to give her a rose?

“Diamond! Malibu was accidentally double booked,” Danielle called out into the dressing room. “Can you give a lap dance in the Blue Champagne Room before going home?”

“Wait,” Sandy said, holding the gold hoop earring she’d just taken off her left earlobe, “I’m not going to chase Malibu for the flat fee. The last time I covered for her, not only did her John not tip me but I had to chase her for 4 days before she gave me the cash.”

“I have a hard time chasing her down, too,” Danielle said with a heavy sigh, handing her purple vape pen to Sandy to hold. She dug into her pink and purple Bedazzled fanny pack, and fished out a few bills. She handed a bag of clothing to Sandy. “Let me know if this John is handsy or out of line. He’s a new customer. You have five minutes, babe. Fix your makeup.”

Handing the vape pen back to her boss, Sandy put the cash into her purse before shutting and locking the drawer to her vanity. She put her earring back on and retouched her eye makeup and lipstick. Her locks of hair looked good as she combed her fingers through her hair, looking into the mirror before getting up to change.

Sandy hadn’t exactly planned on becoming a stripper, but during her freshman year in college, she took a class on feminist studies, specifically on sex work. What started out as a learning experience in respecting sex work, and educating herself on the legal struggles of sex workers’ rights, Sandy soon found herself stripping as a means of extra income. She herself was in need of money, and recognized her beauty was valued enough that she could make capital from it.

Having walked out on her dysfunctional family as soon as she turned 18, Sandy had been hustling on her own for years. She was still working towards a career in law, but in the meantime, she was balancing between her day job as an unpaid intern at a shitty law firm and her night job as a stripper at a club called Blue Paradise. Giving lap dances were only nice when she received good tips, but they didn’t happen often enough. All she wanted was a good tip.

Pulling out the outfit Danielle handed to her, she took off her clothes and put on her new outfit. She wore a neon pink G-string bikini bottom with her matching lace bra under a black pencil skirt and a white costume button up office dress shirt. She put on a loose blue tie around her neck, and put on a pair of thick black framed glasses, matching it with her black leather knee high boots. Apparently, this new customer had a librarian kink.

Walking down the hall, toward the other side of the back of the club, she entered the room with the blue door at the end of the hall. The Champagne Rooms, where customers received their private lap dances, were color coded. The Blue Room was where the clients with specific kinks went.

Opening the door, Sandy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and looked up to see her John seated on the black couch. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow over his body, making it hard for her to make out his face. She blinked, and closed her mouth, realizing that her customer was her barista from PB Cafe, BaeJin. It had been days since she had her cup of Rose Americano.

He was wearing a loosely worn grey sweater with black denim jeans. She didn’t think it was possible but he looked more handsome than she last remembered. Perhaps, with her body so close to his, knowing that he was there for devious reasons, her face flushed and her nipples hardened as heat rushed through her body from head to toe.

“BaeJin!” she said, forgetting her sexy librarian character.

“Don’t move,” he said, looking alarmed. She stood completely still, one hand on the door handle. “You’re a stripper, Sandy?”

“You...you remember me?” He nodded. “Stripping is helping me pay for my law degree.” She licked her lips and tilted her head, pushing her chest forward slightly. “I can give you what you want.”

“I can’t do this,” he replied, crossing his left leg over his right. His eyes left her, and diverted to the ground. Her ego was bruised. Not only did she need the money, but her vanity made her feel upset that he didn’t want a lap dance from her. “I should go.”

“I have to try to keep you here,” she said shyly, pressing her back against the door. “If I don’t, that means I’m not good at my job.”

“How long should we be in here for you to be considered good at your job?” he asked, his eyes returning to meet her gaze.

“You don’t want a lap dance? Am I not cute? My tits too small?”

He gave a chuckle, and looked away when his eyes moved to her chest as she talked.

“You’re very cute,” he replied, “but that’s the problem. As a barista, I don’t date customers. Since you didn’t actually pay for your drink, I thought it’d be OK to ask you out if I ever saw you again. But if I pay for this lap dance, I wouldn’t want to ask you out. It’s not fair for me to proposition you while you’re working.”

“You’ve been thinking hard about me?” Her cheeks felt hot and goosebumps formed on her arms. “Would you accept my invitation if I asked you out after this? I’m actually supposed to be off work by now, but this is my last job tonight. If I don’t give you a lap dance, we didn’t cross any lines, right?”

He nodded, and she gave a nervous chuckle.

“You said that being a barista was your side hustle,” she said, noticing the expensive watch and ring on his left hand. Sex workers had to know street codes to keep themselves safe, and watches and rings were how gang members communicated their loyalties and rankings. “What’s your main job? You said it’s stressful.”

His right hand wrapped around his platinum watch, the case of the watch encrusted with diamonds. The C9 Gang was a wealthy gang with origins in Tokyo, Japan, platinum was their calling card. BaeJin’s gold band emerald ring sat on his middle finger, indicating he was a made man of high rank. Sandy was impressed; BaeJin had acclimated to a high status in a gang at a young age.

“How long have you been working here, Sandy?” he asked in response.

“Diamond,” she answered, her grip remaining firm on the door. “My stage name is Diamond.”

“Sandy...Diamond,” he said with a grin. He stood, and she took a deep inhale of breath as he took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, his left arm wrapping around her waist as his hand gripped onto her wrist. Her hold on the door handle loosened. “You are the diamond in the rough in Blue Paradise. You still want to invite me out on a date?”

She took a gulp of breath, staring deeply into his dark brown eyes. He licked his lips and her eyes drifted to his mouth. Giving the most gentle nod of her head, she said, “Yes.”

“I drive a blue Ferrari F60 America,” he said as the tip of his nose touched hers.

“I don’t know anything about cars,” she replied, shutting her eyes. His breath was warm, making it hard for her to breathe. He chuckled and she felt his head rest onto her shoulder.

She opened her eyes when she felt a hand touch her chin.

“I drive a blue car,” he said, his eyes drifting down her face to her lips. His thumb ran across her bottom lip gently, sending heat deep into her groin. Her stomach ached at the touch. “It’ll be the most expensive looking car you’ll see when you walk outside.” He looked directly into her eyes again. “I’m a dangerous man, Sandy...Diamond. I have to ask you one more time, do you want to keep talking to me?”

She chewed on the inside of her left cheek nervously, and furrowed her eyebrows. Given how close she was to getting the paid job as a paralegal at Johnston’s &Partners, Sandy was one step closer to her dreams of becoming a lawyer. Would it be ethical to date a gangster?

“Will you take me home or will we be going to your place?” she answered. Life was too short not to take risks.

Upon his request, she left work wearing her costume. BaeJin’s description of having the most expensive looking car was accurate. The navy blue car shone brighter than any other car, and the curves of the body created an elegant design to the car. He’d opened the passenger door for her. She realized her skirt barely covered her ass as the cold leather from the seat hit the back of her thighs.

He drove them up a curvy hill to get to his expensive mansion, placed behind a small forest. It sat atop of a mountainous hill, overlooking the bright lights of the city far below. BaeJin was a man of very high rank by the looks of his home. It was large and designed with multiple floor to ceiling windows. Sandy took a soft gulp of air as her mouth felt dry.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said when he led her into his home, the hallway lined with expensively framed paintings. The jade vase that held 3 white lilies beside the coat hanger looked like it was worth more than everything she owned, including the small amount of cash she had in her bank account.

BaeJin’s home aesthetic was minimalist, though each room had a piece of furniture that popped out, like the jade vase in the front entrance. In his bedroom, he had a rose gold encrusted full length mirror sitting at the foot of his bed. It was shameless, but did not surprise her. Their eyes locked as BaeJin sat down at the foot of the bed. Their fingers intertwined when she reached her left hand out to his outstretched right hand.

“I spent a week trying not to think about you,” he said, pulling her easily onto his lap. His free hand wrapped around her waist. “The closest thing to you was trying to get a stripper to dress up like a sexy librarian.”

“Aren’t you lucky?” she said, squeezing his hand. “You went to Blue Paradise wanting a fantasy. Instead, you left with your fantasy.”

His hand released hers and she felt his hand between her legs, sliding up against her slit. Shutting her eyes she gave a soft moan, surprised at his swift movement.

“You deserve the best in life,” he said into her ear before grazing his teeth gently against her neck. “Don’t ever settle for less.”

He kissed her, his lips warm and firm. His tongue parted her lips and she gave a soft hum. She pushed his tongue out of her mouth, appreciating the taste of floral green tea from him. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to her. He tasted better than the beautiful cup of Rose Americano.

With a clouded head, she helped him pull his sweater off as he aggressively pulled her top off of her, the cheap buttons popping loudly as they flew into the air. Her skirt failed to exist when he ripped the zipper and tore the fabric apart with his bare hands.

“Are you going to rip me apart?” she asked breathlessly when his fingers found their way under her bra, fondling her erect nipple. She gave a soft moan and he grinned as he pinched her sensitive bud.

“I’ll be as hard or soft as you want,” he assured her. The pad of his thumb grazed against her nipple. Her back shivered as a sharp heat rode up her back.

“I like a bit of both,” she said, her cheeks hot. It felt like a dream to have BaeJin telling her he would do as she wanted. “You ruined my skirt.”

“The cheap costume skirt?” he asked, his hand returning to rubbing her slit. “You don’t have to settle, remember?” She shut her eyes, her hand grabbing his arm as two of his fingers pressed against her clit. “I like you best without clothes anyway.” The heat intensified as his fingers moved down lower, moistening her panties with the slick heat coming out of her pussy. Her back shook again as his fingers moved up against her slit, and then back down. “Your voice is lovely.”

She moaned as she rested her head against his chest, his fingers continually creating more heat between her legs. One finger slipped under her panties, pulling the fabric away from her wet cunt. The back of his knuckle pressed against the engorged bud of her clit, and she mewled as he rubbed up and down against her.

“BaeBae,” she could only speak with a shaky breath, “BaeBae, I’m going to come.”

Her hips thrust haphazardly against his knuckle as a small flash of heat washed over her, goosebumps forming up the back of her neck. Her orgasm disappeared as soon as it came and she breathed through her mouth. Her pussy felt wet as her slick heat dripped out of her.

“I was just playing with you,” he said with an amused smile, his eyes locked onto the mess between her legs, including his wet fingers. He spread her juices onto her folds, and moved the pads of his index and middle fingers to draw small circles onto her clit. She mewled, shutting her eyes, as her hips rutted against the motions of his fingers. “But with you this wet, I can fuck you right now.”

“BaeBae,” she breathed out, opening her eyes.

Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at him. Wordlessly, she stood as their hands began removing each other’s clothes off. His expensive jewelry remained on as he pulled her back to his front, making her stand between his legs. His hand went between her legs and he massaged the inside of her thigh. She hummed a soft moan, enjoying the way his hand relaxed her muscles.

Both of his hands wrapped around her waist, and his lips kissed her neck. He requested she trust him, and one hand reached down to her right knee and had her stretch her leg out to rest over his. As his other hand went to her left knee, she understood what he was doing. He wanted a full view of her pussy so she sat on his lap with her legs hooked over his.

“Ready to put this to use?” he asked, his hands kneading her hips. His reflection from the mirror was staring at her. She saw the cheeks of her flushed face turn a bright red, and she tilted her head down to look away from the mirror. The blood coursing through her chest up to her head clouded her vision. “Look at us.”

His right hand cupped her face, and she felt his wrist press up against the front of her neck. The pulse from his wrist beat rapidly against the pulse on her neck, and she struggled to breathe as her eyes locked onto his from the reflection in the mirror. Hot blood rushed to her groin and her hips jerked forward, out of her control. His left arm wrapped around her waist had her firmly in his hold, so all she could do was wiggle in his lap. Feeling the muscles of his thighs flex under her made her buttocks tighten, her body anticipating his cock.

“If you let me take you raw,” he said softly against her ear, his eyes locked with hers through the reflection of the mirror, “that’ll make you mine.”

His hold on her face was gone as his hand grabbed his cock. He rubbed his hard cock against her slit. She bit her bottom lip as his heat caused more juices to pool out of her cunt. It made her nerves shake, itching her skin in unbearable heat. He blinked, and his eyebrows furrowed as she opened her mouth to breathe loudly.

“I’m yours,” she said clearly. He groaned as he pushed the tip of his cock into her entrance. “Give me everything, BaeJin.” Pleasure blinded her vision as she saw nothing but white and gold flecks of stars. She gave a loud gulp when she felt his hand grip onto her chin again, his wrist pressing against her throat. Her grip on his arms tightened as she held onto him for leverage. His cock pushed in deeper, and the walls of her pussy trembled as heat filled her body in overwhelming waves. “I’m yours.”

His lips were on her neck and when her vision cleared all her eyes could focus was on the way his cock was fucking her pussy. He started with shallow pushes, the rhythm steady as she bounced on his lap. She came and she gave a gentle mewl, blurting out his name as her walls squeezed his cock. A gentle chuckle escaped her lips as she saw him shut his eyes tight.

“You’re so easy to please,” he said as he pushed in deep. She gave a loud groan as he pulled out roughly before pushing in fast, going in balls deep. He started a steady, deep rhythm and she cried as she was filled with undiluted pleasure.

“You fuck so good,” she moaned, her hand reaching back to grab his hair. He sucked on her neck, leaving a red mark before he kissed her shoulder. “BaeJin, fuck me. I’m gonna - I’m - I’m gonna come.”

His grip around her waist tightened as he pushed faster into her, and they bent forward together as he came into her in deep pushes. Her fingers dug into his skin as she shut her eyes, taking in the sensation of his hot seed filling up her insides.

“Come,” he panted out heavily as she felt him withdraw from her. She whimpered as she felt his middle finger push into her come-filled cunt. His thumb rubbed up against her clit, making her nerves dance in hot waves. She cried out a soft orgasm as she came again. She breathed heavily as she rested against his body.

“We barely know each other,” she said after a while. She didn’t know how long they sat together, staring at their reflection before she finally spoke.

“We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other,” he said, running a hand up and down her thigh, sending heat up and down her back. “You are mine now.”

He pulled her off his lap, and they laid in bed together. A shiver went down her back as he kissed her shoulder. They were facing each other, her left leg locked between his muscular thighs.

Giving a laugh, she watched him grab her wrist. He kissed the inside of her wrist before kissing the inside of her elbow. She shut her eyes as she felt his lips on her shoulder. Every kiss sent a vibrating heat under her skin. His mouth sucked on her neck and she grabbed onto the back of his hair as his teeth grazed against her skin. The muscles in her stomach tightened. The world ceased to exist as BaeJin’s embrace consumed her.

#cix smut #cix #baejin imagines #bae jinyoung #bae jinyoung x reader #baejin x reader #cix baejin smut #baebae #cix baejin #bae jinyoung x fem oc #baejin x fem oc #coffee shop au #gangster au #fluff #smut #bae jinyoung smut #no beta read #cixthotshit

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an-sceal · 3 years

Text

Sleeping Sickness (Cobra Kai Fic)

Unfinished and abandoned, but going through this I can see seeds of each of the other stories/series I've written since then. This was written before I'd seen all of season 2, and any of season 3. I ultimately binned it because in my headcanon there's no way Johnny would have let Kreese be around his students if he'd at ALL recognized what he went through as abuse.

CW: vague mentions of child abuse, child s**ual abuse, s**ual assault

Johnny

He doesn’t remember the drive from his apartment- had he been at his apartment? Didn’t he come from the dojo? That’s not unusual, the autopilot, but moreso than it used to be. He hasn’t gotten behind the wheel loaded in months. Buzzed, which, yaddayadda, but not blind drunk. For a second he doesn’t know where he is, and then LaRusso’s perfect fucking life swims into focus and he groans.

Leaning against his steering wheel hurts too much, pulls things in places he can’t think about right now. Johnny opens his door and stumbles out of his car, winding up on his hands and knees when he can’t swing the low exit with anything approaching grace. LaRusso’s driveway has a crack in it, unavoidable in earthquake country, but it’s incongruous with the shadow of perfection cast by LaRusso’s house.

Johnny shouldn’t be here, but he doesn’t know how to leave.

You can leave anytime you want, Mr. Lawrence. I’m not keeping you here.

“Fuck you, old man.” Johnny pulls himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair. His clothes feel constricting, seams digging in, buttons chafing his skin, but they’re holding him in, keeping the world at least that much farther away from him.

Johnny stands on the front step and tries to make himself knock. Or he thinks he does.

He doesn’t remember.

Daniel

He and Amanda are sitting together on the couch in their pajamas, about to turn off the news and head to bed when both their phones ding with a motion alert from the front door camera. Daniel glances across the living room toward the foyer and sees that the light has come on over the front step. He goes to check it out, expecting to chase the Shermans corgi out of the bushes again, and finds Johnny Lawrence standing two feet from his front door.

Johnny’s hands are clenched into fists. Daniel would take it as a threat, but Johnny’s eyes aren’t tracking him, aren’t assessing a place to strike. He narrows his own, but the only thing he can smell is the wisteria and night blooming jasmine that climbs the trellis over their entry way.

He waits for Johnny to say something. And waits. He’s about to shut the door and go to bed when Amanda speaks. “Would you like to come in, Johnny?”

Daniel glances sideways at her, but she’s not looking at him, not even to scold him for his lacking manners. She’s got a pinch between her eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He backs away from the door to make room, but nothing happens. He waves a hand into the house. Same. He glances at Amanda, and the tightness around her eyes has become a small frown. Daniel clears his throat softly.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

He doesn’t get an answer, but as Johnny brushes past him on the way into the house he can smell beer. At this point the man is probably 5% alcohol by volume whether he’s been drinking or not. There’s nothing sharp to the smell, nothing fresh or hinting at a brown bag with an empty bottle on this lawn.

Amanda has already led their guest into the living room by the time he’s done locking the door again. He takes a seat beside her on the sofa, Johnny at an angle on the loveseat across from them.

They wait again. Daniel is already thrumming with the low-grade buzz of whatever it is that gets under his skin every time he sees Johnny Lawrence, and in the late night silence it’s easy to pretend it’s annoyance.

“Are you going to say--”

Amanda puts her hand on his knee, just as Johnny cuts him off.

“Would you take my kids if I close the dojo?” Johnny’s voice is wrecked. He sounds like he’s been smoking a pack a day for 40 years, or come down with strep throat and tried to gargle it away with battery acid.

Daniel’s jaw clicks shut. He… What now?

“That sounds painful. Let me get you some water, at least.” Amanda slips away toward the kitchen, placing a hand lightly on Johnny’s shoulder as she goes. Johnny flinches.

Daniel meets his thousand-yard stare with suspicion, still trying to nail down what flavour of wasted this might be. Maybe it’s drugs, but he can almost imagine the denial, the pitch Johnny’s voice would take on. “I’m a drunk, asshole, not a junkie.”

“They need someone--” Johnny breaks off into a small coughing fit, grimacing, and Daniel is starting to wonder if he’s got consumption or something. That, or maybe he’s high, and this is all a scruffy blonde hallucination.

“They’ve got you,” he allows, because he’s too tired to make it sound like an insult.

Something changes in Johnny’s face, under the obvious bruising and around his bloodshot eyes. He gets sharper, somehow, more in focus. His breath stutters, jaw clenching before he winces and squeezes his eyelids closed. He shifts on the sofa, obviously trying to adjust to whatever injury he’s currently favouring, and that same wreck of a voice is so much more at home now, so in keeping with the defensive way he holds himself.

“Can’t do it. Need someone to keep them safe from Kreese.”

They aren’t friends or anything, but Daniel knows enough to see how much it costs Johnny to be there, to ask that, to admit to wanting any help at all. He suspects if it wasn’t for his kids, Johnny would slink off into the hills like a coyote.

Where the hell did Amanda go, anyway?

Johnny’s gaze has dropped to his own hands, and Daniel follows it. A few of his knuckles are bloodied, and one finger is darkly bruised. There’s something under his fingernails, but it could be anything. Daniel tells himself that firmly. It could be anything. It’s blood.

“He’ll hurt them,” Johnny rasps, his large hands working over each other without a care for the obvious injuries.

It’s only because Daniel is staring at Johnny’s hands that he notices the fine tremors rippling through his whole body.

Johnny

He knows he’s fucked up by coming here, to Daniel with his permanent and well-earned grudge. To Lady LaRusso and her sharp-eyed sympathy. He knows. They’re going to see through him, realize his failure and fix it, and then he’ll leave.

Nausea cramps at his stomach again when Amanda comes back from the kitchen and hands him a mug of tea. What is it with fucking tea? This stuff smells like weak ginger ale and grass, and Johnny has to press his other hand over his mouth to make sure he swallows back the bile that rises in his throat. His throat feels…

It feels like nothing. It’s all nothing. He can get through this.

The mug is hot, and it feels good against the finger he thinks might be dislocated, maybe broken. The tea scalds his skin when he shakes a little too obviously, and someone takes it away. Someone is talking to him. Someone is asking him things he doesn’t know the answers to. Is he okay? Fuck yeah, he’s awesome- it’s the rest of the world that sucks. Is he hurt? Nothing hurts because everything hurts, and anyway he can’t draw a deep enough breath to explain that.

People are talking to him, blue eyes, brown, and he just needs it to be nothing again, so he covers his face with his hands and tries to block it out. But that’s for pussies anyway, and nothing happened.

“Hey, hey, stop that.” LaRusso’s wrapping a hand around his wrist, gently, but not the gentle of something delicate. Gently, because he thinks Johnny is dangerous, a cornered animal about to bite. Which he is. He’s biting his hand, making a noise, Jesus fuck, what kind of man makes that noise?

The renewed taste of blood in his mouth is such a welcome relief that it almost calms the monster caught halfway between his gut and his throat, trying to claw its way out of his chest.

There’s a firm hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Amanda is sitting on the coffee table in front of him, directing his face so all he can see hers when she puts both her hands on his cheeks and makes everything go still for a second.

Daniel, Daniel fuckin LaRusso, who once kicked him in the face and ruined (saved maybe) his life, sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. And he fucking lets him.

Amanda presses against the sides of his face again, steady and trying to make him look at her. He does, for a second, before he gets fascinated by her earring and looks there instead.

“We’ll do yes or no for now, okay?”

He nods, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Is one of your students in trouble right now?”

They think he’d be here, if one of his kids was-- Johnny shakes his head.

“Do you need a doctor?”

Fucking people and their health insurance, like you can just go see a doctor any time you want. If he’s still pissing blood next week he’ll do a drop in at the Planned Parenthood and pretend he thinks he’s got VD.

His throat tightens at the thought, then his stomach, and he tries to tell them he’s going to puke. He must manage something, verbal or not. LaRusso shoves some fancy ass decorative bowl under his face, and Johnny drools into it like a dog who ate grass. His body wars- stomach wanting to expel, throat too swollen to allow it, and his lungs and ribs caught somewhere between, stabbing him with every hitching attempt to get a handle on himself.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” The last thing he should want are hands on him. He should be fighting. He should be, but he’s already lost tonight. He’s lost.

Johnny throws up in Daniel LaRusso’s stupid bowl, on his stupid couch, in his stupid house. Daniel’s stupid warm hand is on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulders. Daniel’s beautiful wife is petting his hair. He thinks he maybe got blood on her robe.

The last heave feels like it tears something in his abdomen, and he welcomes the fresh, white-hot pain. It doesn’t erase the rest, but he’s a body built for endurance. This, at least is something real to live through, not some pansy panic attack.

After a minute the bowl disappears, and he swallows the noise he makes when the warmth at his side goes with it. Amanda holds the mug up for him to drink from, and he doesn’t even take it from her, just swallows and pretends it’s not the second most disgusting thing he’s had in his mouth tonight.

Her attention is all on setting the mug on the table next to her when Johnny manages to grind out what he came here for. “It was just supposed to be me. But he’ll pick favorites again.”

The clear-eyed horror on her face is instant, and he wants to apologize, to make her understand that it was supposed to be safe. That it’s his fault Kreese did those things, his fault he let it happen, his fault he was weak and needy and made a grown man want him those ways. Johnny is the problem. His kids were never supposed to be involved.

Amanda tries to touch his face again, but he jerks away. He’d let her before, but now he realizes she might have rested her fingers on the filth smeared all over him, that he brought that here, to them, these people who owe him nothing and don’t even really like him. He’s a carrier, a plague rat. And all he can do is try to keep Miguel and the rest of them safe from the disease that’s been in him since the first time his sensei told him he was good and he knew he’d do anything to keep feeling that way.

“Is he still…” She always has the right words, but she’s clearly at a loss for how to ask someone who punches everything that pisses him off if he’s such a pussy that an old man is giving him the bad touch.

The numb reality settles over him, so much colder than before. He hit his knees like he was 14 again, swallowed John Kreese’s poison like a willing little bitch. “He swore it was just me, that he’d never-- that I’d always made him-- They weren’t part of it. I did what he wanted.”

The sound of glass shattering against LaRusso’s million dollar tile floor doesn’t even make him flinch.

Daniel

Daniel sweeps up the glass carefully, watching the upstairs hallway to make sure neither of the kids comes down. By the time he’s got everything in the trash, he’s pretty sure he didn’t wake them. From the kitchen, he can see Johnny hunched miserably on the loveseat, and Amanda perched next to him, one hand on his shoulder. She’s speaking, but he can’t hear what she’s saying.

He’s surprised he can hear anything at all, when the rush of blood to his head is still pounding in his ears. His mind is spinning a million scenarios, each more disturbing than the last, and it’s fucking him up on a fundamental level that his grounding point is the knowledge that Johnny goddamn Lawrence would probably throw himself in front of a bullet to protect one of his students. Daniel doesn’t understand how that can co-exist with the way he allowed Kreese into his dojo, even supervised.

Don’t you, though? He might be three decades older, and Terry Silver hasn’t emerged from the shadows to twist him up again, but the knowledge that a mentor could use you against your own better judgement isn’t all that hard to recall. For the millionth time, he wishes he could talk to Mr. Miyagi.

Then again, Mr. Miyagi wasn’t some kind of mystic. He was just an old man who’d seen a lot more pain and life than Daniel. The single most important thing Mr. Miyagi had given him was kindness in the face of his own anger and self-doubt. It wasn’t an ancient karate secret-- it was just compassion. Humanity.

At the end of the day, sharing that with Johnny couldn’t be that hard, could it?

#cobra kai fanfic #unfinished/abandoned #cw: past child abuse #cw: assault #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #amanda larusso

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ayamari-no-goshi · 4 years

Text

Verboten 2 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 2

“I’m honestly surprised your parents allowed you on this trip, Danny,” his friend Sam mentioned as they and their other friend, Tucker, packed their bags onto the bus.

The now seventeen year old Danny shrugged as he focused on trying to make sure his bag wouldn’t be squished in the luggage compartment of the bus during the trip. He brought a foldable telescope with him in case he had a chance to stargaze, and he didn’t want it to get broken.

His school, Casper High, had some sort of deal with one of the local National Parks. The school was allowed to camp at the park at a reduced rate as long as the students helped the Forest Rangers with some minor tasks. Both parties considered it a win-win situation as the Park Service received some extra hands, and the school was able to pride itself on the survival and conservational experiences its students received. Technically, the trip was voluntary for seniors, but the teachers indirectly pressured the students to participate.

“To be honest, I’m more surprised they convinced Tucker to go,” Danny eventually replied after he was satisfied with the location of his bag.

“You’re telling me!” Tucker whined as he waited for his two friends while he fiddled with his PDA. “My mother actually threatened to stop making her meatloaf for me if I didn’t go! They said, “It would be good for me”. Can you believe that?”

“I think a little bit of hiking do you some good.” Sam poked him in the stomach for emphasis.

As Tucker shouted in protest, Danny and Sam exchanged a glance. Tucker did not like the outdoors, and he was very vocal about it. His world primary consisted of technology, and while it was amazing what he could do with his handheld and twenty minutes, his physical prowess was lacking.

“But seriously, Danny,” Tucker injected after he finally fended off Sam, “how did you convince your parents to let you come?”

Danny shrugged as he headed towards the door of the bus. Shouts from the teachers made it clear they would be boarding soon. “It seems like the school board managed to somehow convince them. All I know is that they had a meeting with them to raise concerns and to tell them I wasn’t going to go, but they came back stating it was fine. It must have been one heck of a persuasive argument.”

“That’s because my mother was involved.” The boys glanced over to see Sam angrily kick a rock out of the way. Her parents were often a taboo topic. “I thought I told you she was on the school board. I don’t know the full details of it, but I know she was preparing counterarguments to objections.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents are so gung ho about this trip. You’d think they’d consider camping beneath them.”

“It’s because of the prestige. They can brag that their daughter and their daughter’s school has ties to a government agency.”

While Danny raised an eyebrow, he admitted it seemed petty enough of a reason. Sam’s parents were very wealthy and liked to show off their wealth, much to their daughter’s dismay. They often argued with her regarding her appearance, music tastes, friends, after school activities, and other issues as they believed their daughter’s choices reflected poorly on them. However, they were usually fine with their daughter’s activism regarding conservation and animal rights as long as she didn’t go too far with it, such as the time she tried to stage a break out at the local zoo.

Their conversation ended as the boarding began. The three somehow managed to get the back of the bus, which allowed them to continue to talk without interruption. Most of the other students tended to avoid their group. They didn’t know why until one of the band members, Mikey, once asked Tucker how he put up with being so close to Danny. Confused, Tucker asked him to elaborate.

According to Mikey, a lot of the other students felt unnerved by Danny. As polite and quiet as he tended to be, there was something odd about him that no one was directly able to pinpoint. Mikey said he thought it could have been his eyes, citing how at times it almost seemed like Danny saw the world in a slightly different way than the rest of them. Tucker just laughed it off and explained that Danny had a traumatic event as a child so he often seemed unusually reserved. Mikey seemed to accept that answer, and afterwards, at least some of the students involved with the band were more open towards Danny.

The Fentons moved to Amity Park two years after Danny’s disappearance, so the majority of the student body was unaware of the event. If he was honest, Danny would never have told Sam and Tucker what happened, but his parents’ eccentricities forced the issue.

When his parent’s found out about Sam’s activism the first time she and Tucker visited their house, they made her swear she would not take their son into the woods with her. When he was finally allowed to take them to his room after Sam promised she wouldn’t, he hesitantly explained why they were so intense. His friends were very understanding, though they were just as puzzled about the entire thing as he was. Tucker even offered to hack into the old case file if Danny ever decided to look into it.

Sam did mention that it did help explain why they sometimes caught him staring off into space. She figured he was probably traumatized by something he couldn’t quite remember. Danny mentioned his sister once told him something similar, but he honestly didn’t remember anything that happened.

What he never admitted to his friends was that he knew why he sometimes seemed distant. Ever since his disappearance, he sometimes saw figures out of the corner of his periphery. Usually, he thought it was another person, but when he tried to check, whatever it was had disappeared. More recently, however, the figures seemed to let him glimpse them for a second or two. He could never make out anything other than the vague shape as a person. Since no one else seemed to notice them, he figured it was some weird sort of paranoia due to a repressed memory.

….

About a half hour after they left, Danny received a voicemail from his parents. He had forgotten he had put it on silent, but there was no way he could call them back while he was on the bus since Mr. Lancer was the chaperone for his bus, and that man was a stickler for the rules. Instead, he made a mental note to call them back as soon as he had permission as he clicked the play button.

His mother’s voice sounded absolutely frantic. “Daniel, you call me as soon as you get this! I don’t know what came over us, but we never should have let you go without some sort of protection. I should have never have let you go. If the teachers won’t let you call us, jest remember to never be the last or first in line, and never, under any circumstances, go anywhere alone. And, this is important Danny, if anyone you don’t know offers you food, don’t take it.” His dad could faintly be heard in the background talking about some sort of weaponry he made.

“And here I thought only my mom could sound like that. What was that about?” Sam asked. Her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t going to let it drop until he had an answer.

“I think my parents finally realized I was going into the woods,” he replied as he put his phone away.

“I thought you said they were fine with you going,” Tucker chimed in while he rummaged through his back for a snack.

Danny didn’t immediately answer. He glanced away for a moment before finally he decided to open up about something which had been bugging him. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but my parents almost seemed like they were in a daze after that school meeting. They were so adamant I was not going to be allowed to go on that trip, and then they just changed their minds and stopped voicing their concerns. It was so weird that I actually called Jazz.”

It was true. He had called his sister at collage because of how out of character it was. While Jazz understood his concern, she reassured him one of the teachers or other parents managed to ease their concerns, and/or they realized some of their worries were silly and unfounded. He tried to tell her there was something more to it as she couldn’t physically see how off they were, but she just told him he was being paranoid and to enjoy himself.

Tucker whistled. “It must have been weird for you to do that.” Both Sam and Tucker knew full well how Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton tended to overanalyze almost everything. As a result, Danny often tried to avoid asking her questions regarding why a person would act in a certain way. The resulting explanation was often too lengthy to be interesting.

“As weird as that is, do you really think anyone in Amity would do something like drug or hypnotize your parents?” Sam argued.

“I… I don’t really know. Look, I never told you guys this,” Danny sighed as he steeled himself, “but, there has been a second incident prior to us moving. Our old house had a wooded area behind it. It wasn’t dense or anything, and you could see in it for like a half mile… but, according to my parents, and Jazz confirmed it, I went missing again for several hours in those woods. I don’t remember saying this, but they said I mentioned something about my playmate from the forest in Arkansas payed me a visit. There’s been an unspoken worry that this guy is following us for some reason.”

Neither of his friends said anything for a while until Sam spoke up. “That’s really messed up, but do you really think that’s the case? How would this person be able to find you? Do you even know what he or she looks like?”

He shook his head. “You know my parents are big names in fringe science. It’s possible he found us that way. I know that it’s really unlikely… It… It’s just… it was too weird, you know? With how my parents go on and on about other dimensions and being spirited away, them just suddenly changing their minds went against everything they believe.”

“Don’t worry, Danny. You’re with us and a bunch of other students. We’ll keep an eye on you.”

“And if something does happen, Sam can chase off the bad guy with those boots of hers. Ow!” Tucker glared at Sam as he rubbed his shin. “That was a compliment.”

She just snickered which caused the two to start bickering. The familiarity of it helped ease some of Danny’s worries. He knew he was just being paranoid, and that it was very unlikely anyone did something to his parents. It was just that he couldn’t shake off his uneasy feeling.

….

Their camp ground was in the Cuyahoga Valley region which was on the outskirts of the Allegheny plateau. The hills in the area were rolling due to the plateau and ancient glacial activity, but they were nowhere near as large as the ones found closer to the mountains in the next state over. Like many forests in the plateau, it was surprisingly old and dense.

Danny was unsettled by it. The hardwood trees blocked out a large percentage of the sun which cast permanent shadows on the area. Not only was it unlikely he would be able to stargaze, he kept thinking he saw something peek out from behind the trees. Chalking it up to paranoia, he decided to focus on the interior of the bus until they reached their destination. He didn’t need to freak out this early in the trip.

Due to the amount of students, the school split them into groups of about thirty and split them around the park. His group was sent to a series of cabins near one of the ranger stations. There were five or six assigned to each cabin. Thankfully for Danny, Tucker was also assigned to the same cabin.

After Mr. Lancer told them some general rules, they were told they had an hour to settle in before they would met up for lunch. The unpacking was fairly uneventful, though Danny was dismayed to learn some of the football players would be in his cabin. Most of them tended to leave him alone, but the one, Dash, liked to bully him. It was strange since he was the only person aside from Sam and Tucker who would come anywhere near him. Thankfully, other than a warning to keep his weirdness to himself, the football players decided to ignore him and Tucker.

He unpacked fairly quickly, so he decided he had enough time to try to contact his parents. Stepping outside, he tried to make a phone call. Someone picked up on the other end, but the signal must have been poor as the call was extremely choppy. After several minutes of trying to figure out what she was saying, he told her he would ask the Rangers if they had a land line he’d be able to use before he ended the call. He frowned as he checked the bars on his phone. There signal was strong enough that the call shouldn’t have been that choppy, but it was a cheaper phone since he had a bad habit of breaking them, so that could have been the reason.

They ate lunch at a mess hall in the camp complex. It was a fairly modest meal, but the beef and gravy was surprisingly good. Danny mused it was probably because his parents often experimented with cooking which often created strange results. He was also surprised that there was a vegetarian option available for Sam, but the school must have called ahead to let them know.

When they were finishing up, Mr. Lancer announced that one of the Rangers had an announcement. Danny glanced over to see a stern man, possibly in his late thirties, move towards the front of the room. He was fit and weathered, but every once in a while, there was a haunted look in his eyes.

The ranger, Rusty, gave the group a rundown of the general rules. He then paused for a moment before he spoke again. “This is unprecedented, but we are going to need your help for a search for a missing person.” Murmurs of excitement ran through the students. “This is a serious matter, and I request you pay attention. We have our search and rescue people and volunteers out right now looking for a twenty-two year old male. He is Caucasian and was last seen in a red jacket and blue jeans. He goes by Aiden.”

“Because you are not properly trained,” Rusty continued, “I only ask that you walk along the nearby trails for a couple hours in groups of two or more. Each group will be given a walkie-talkie. If you see or hear anything strange, call it into us. Don’t go off the trails. We don’t need more people getting lost today.” He fell silent and seemed to argue with himself for a moment before adding, “If you hear what sounds like screaming, particularly a woman screaming, call it in immediately. Large cats sometimes make that kind of sounds, and we definitely have Bobcats around. Luckily, they tend to avoid people, but we do like to know when we have signs of them.”

Twenty minutes later, the teens separated into their groups. Each group was provided a map, compass, and walkie-talkie. Rusty took them to a large map posted outside the Ranger station and explained a little about the area. The trails he wanted them to take circled the surrounding area and were well marked. Before he let them go, he again warned them to report anything off, but did try to reassure them by letting them know other rangers would be regularly sweeping the area.

“Well, isn’t this a reassuring start to our trip,” Tucker sarcastically mentioned as he tried to figure out the map.

“It can’t be helped,” Sam told him as she ripped the map out of his hands and corrected it before handing it back to him. “They must be desperate if they’re asking students to help.”

“Hey, I’m not used to replying on handheld maps.”

“You could try bringing it up on GPS,” Danny mentioned as they headed towards the one trail.

“That’s a great idea!” Tucker fiddled with his PDA for a moment before turning back to his friend. “Are you okay, dude? You sound a little off.”

“Oh, I guess this would hit a little too close to home,” Sam mentioned as she examined his expression.

Danny sighed as he glanced away from her. “Kind of. Even though I don’t remember it, I was in this exact same situation before. I hope they find the guy, at least for his family’s sake.”

The trio fell silent as they began their walk on one of the easy trails. They didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, though Tucker complained starting about halfway through the hike. Sam tried to distract them by identifying some of the local flora, but it only worked for so long.

By the time they made it back to camp, it was almost dinner time. Danny was glad to be back around the group. Although he never mentioned anything to his friends, he felt as if he was being watched the entire time. The trees seemed oppressive at times, and he was honestly surprised he didn’t have a panic attack while they were on the trail.

After dinner, he asked Rusty if there was a phone he would be able to use. Rusty told him that he would have to wait until the morning because they needed the line for the search. Danny understood and thanked the man.

Before he had a chance to head back to his cabin, Rusty called out to him, “While you’re here, make sure you never go off on your own.”

“I know. I mean, my parents drilled that into me for years,” Danny admitted with a shrug.

Rusty examined him closely before stepping closer and whispering, “You’ve witnessed something strange in the past. I can tell by the look in your eyes and how tense you are. In any heavily wooded area, the more open you are to the unusual, the more likely it might show up again.” He walked off without another word. Unnerved, Danny returned to his cabin and waited for his friend.

Tucker still wanted to complain about the amount of walking they did when he returned to the room, which prompted a discussion regarding how in the world Sam was able to enjoy things like that. Danny was about to bring up what the ranger told him when the football players burst into the room. Normally, Danny would just ignore them, but this time, he was intrigued by their excited whispers.

“Hey dweebs,” Dash addressed them, much to Danny and Tucker’s surprise, “did you hear what happened?” An evil grin appeared on his face when they told him they didn’t. “Kwan overheard the rangers talking earlier. You know that guy they were looking for?”

“Yeah,” Danny answered, “Did they find him?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t alive.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me. They’re saying he’s dead.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- End of chapter notes :

The Cuyahoga (Ky-ah-HOE-ga) Valley is a real place. I chose it for some very specific reasons. 1) The forests in that area are extremely large 2) I’m fairly familiar with the landscape and weather as I grew up in another part of the Allegheny plateau 3) The parks in that area are a bit unusual as you have a mix of privately owned and government owned areas which I’m using to my design as there’s more leeway with what they can and can’t build in those areas 4) some old towns have been “swallowed” by the national park including one famous “helltown”

The Allegheny (Al-ah-gain-ie) plateau is one part of the Appalachian Mountains, which are said to be the oldest mountains in the world. You don’t really have the high peaks or rock terrain associated with other ranges since they’re so worn, but there are a lot of hills, valleys, creeks, and streams. There are also a lot of coal mines since it’s a coal rich area. What’s also very strange about the plateau is that you can be in a town or suburbs, but within 15-20 minutes, you can be on the outskirts of a deep forest. There are also some swamps and marshy areas within the plateau as well.

Also, a lot of the names for natural landmarks in the Allegheny plateau originate from the tribes who originally settled there. There are even some burial mounds in the Cuyahoga area.

#so i heard you like folklore #danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom au #dp #dp au #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #supernatural #sam manson #tucker foley #maddie fenton #jack fenton #vlad plasmius #folklore #sooooooooo much folklore #Verboten

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makemeabeliever · 4 years

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He moves slowly, deliberately, giving him time to move away. When he doesn’t, he gingerly sweeps a few of the droplets away with the pad of his thumb before pressing his mouth to Johnny’s jaw, catching the tears that seem to deteriorate and melt away at the warm embrace of his lips.

Daniel and Johnny talk it out. aka, the Daniel Apologizes fic that everybody wants, including an emotionally fucked up Johnny Lawrence. Really proud of this one! Very dialogue heavy,

#cobra kai #lawrusso #johnny lawrence #fanfic

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sextonsharpwinhalstead · 4 years

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Finally caught up on Med...

I have to say they are still on their bullshit but for the first time in I don’t know how many seasons the show feels like it’s moving towards something big as in the finale would be huge.

Every single character feels like they have some kind of growth or that they are moving towards something bigger, there’s definitely a momentum that I can’t quite put my finger on. There are so many moving parts and stories and for the first time since season 1 I actually feel some of the familial/friendly feels that they used to have.

Maggie has a real story, and we got backstory about a baby girl she gave up for adoption when she was a teenager who she has decided to actively look for! And how did we find this out? I wish that I could say it was something she disclosed to Natalie but it was to Sharon. This still backs up what I’ve said in the past that they aren’t as close as the show tells us they are (Maggie + Natalie). When Maggie needs to open up and get vulnerable it’s with Sharon, Will, or some of the nurses like April and Monique. But it’s not a shit on Natalie moment, she asks and offers to be there for Maggie more than we’ve seen in a while. I just wonder why Maggie doesn’t open up to her...like really open up.

Speaking of opening up I really like that all of the doctors are seeing Daniel, it allows for a lot of missing interpersonal communication that has been severely lacking in past seasons. I also love that issues like Ethan’s PTSD haven’t been forgotten. Daniel’s sessions with the characters feels more organic this season, the conversations aren’t written off a cliff and he always follows up and touches on issues that they spoke about in the past. It may seem small but it’s big thing for Med to keep the continuity going.

Sharon was MIA for the first few episodes but having her back once again feels organic, her story doesn’t feel shoehorned even though I’m sure some see it as “a lot” it feels right. I hope that there is a resolution with her son going forward and she isn’t caught in the middle much longer with his ambitions and her duty to the hospital.

Daniel’s custody battle is wild to me considering that I’m still in the middle of writing “Let Me Re-Introduce Myself” and I have him losing custody there too. Albeit for different reasons lol. I’m not a huge fan of Anna, I hope that Daniel gets a chance to be a good dad to her, with maybe a Robin sighting somewhere in the mix.

The show has managed to discuss and incorporate Owen more than they have in the last three seasons and I think that’s really cool. Natalie gets to be a mom and I think that’s needed for her character’s growth. I’m still really annoyed that they wrote her taking all these huge risks with her career last season just to have her leaning on Crockett every two seconds. That’s one of my biggest gripes with their writing of her. When she was closer and even in a relationship with Will it was the same. They were always on cases together and she was always getting a second opinion i.e second guessing herself. I don’t like that for the ONLY female doctor on the show. They are the only thing that feels sequestered and like the “old Med.”

The Crockett-Natalie relationship to me is manufactured chemistry which is this case for almost all the ships on the show. They write what they want, because screen tests are not a thing anymore. I like that he finally has someone to open up to and he has a place to finally be vulnerable. I don’t think any of this is meant to last. If this is the season for continuity than we cannot forget that Crockett watched Phillip slip a ring on Natalie’s finger and didn’t say shit...that will always be a yuck spot for me.

Manstead is DEAD in the water right now. But the Crockett-Natalie ship feels like Jeff and Natalie. She is like “yeah sure....maybe” I just don’t buy it for longevity. Crockett is going to end up hurt before she finds her way back to Will. And speaking of Will...

Will is criming every episode. Like the way this dude is head-on backsliding into the illegal nonsense, from giving/taking bribes to unblinding the study and then lying to Virani about it...this is building into something really awful guys. And also, what in the world is going on with the Virani-Will-Ethan weirdness. I think Virani is fond of Will maybe even a little attracted to him but she is flustered around Ethan. I don’t know if he is ready to move on but when he does, I could definitely see her going out with him. What’s odd is that the show after like two seasons finally has Will working with April and with the proximity to Ethan and Virani and all the clashing Will and Ethan have had this season...I don’t know where this is going...nowhere good though.

Ethan is a the best fit for Chief. I’m so grateful that we still see Lanik, I can’t get on board with them calling him Jim...that is a white guy manning the grill at some random neighborhood barbeque. I’d rather them call him James. Anyway we all saw the drill sergeant coming a mile away. I knew he was going to be crazy. I didn’t expect him to be stupid. He had gallbladder surgery and then came to work? C’mon dude. However, I feel like that was Ethan’s second biggest misstep the first was hiring Dr. Archer. Guys, he gives me DARK vibes. Like, Gwen and Jimmy, and Ava, and even Cornelius NEVER had the creep-factor that this guy has. There is something malevolent and downright violent about him. I don’t know if it’s the actor or just his portrayal of the character but I feel like at his most benign he would sue the hospital for wrongful termination, cause lets face it he is not going to make it at Med, or he is going to do something that is really awful. I could be wrong and maybe I’m channeling that feeling into a fic but I got my eye on that one.

And last but not least, April. I worried that she wasn’t going to get much to do and would go back to being a supportive character this season. When she isn’t in a ship she is completely ignored. But they haven’t been so terrible with her. I do feel like they could’ve written something a little bit more articulate about why the Covid-Unit was so important to her. Like we as an audience know April is empathetic but I wanted to hear what that felt like for her, maybe tie back into some of the things she’s given up for this job. I absolutely did not miss her saying that she felt like she was apart of something bigger and that “Ethan took that from me.” It felt like what she was saying had some double meaning, Ethan ending the engagement and ending their relationship as well as her saying he was his own worst enemy felt oddly therapeutic and somewhat foreshadowing of what’s to come. It’s clear that they still have feelings for each other. I just hoped for once that there had been a little more attention given to why she felt such a huge purpose from that work. I’m glad that she is helping with the trial. I have more Sexstead gif opportunities than ever before! Did anyone notice that scene was in the promo pics between her and Will and where she’s crying were deleted? I really want to know what happened, because those tears look like a patient she was closed to died or she was falling apart at the idea of not being apart of the trial anymore.

All the same this season isn’t that bad. What I’m not crazy about I can tolerate and for once I’m curious to see what they are going to do going forward.

#ethan choi #sharon goodwin #maggie lockwood #april sexton #crockett marcel #natalie manning #will halstead #daniel charles #chicago med

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glam-apollo · 4 years

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Title: Mr. Yellow Dies

Fandom: Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

Summary: When Jane Oliver approaches Dirk Gently's Holistic Agency about a murder she thinks might have happened years ago without any clues, evidence, or even a victim, the agency quickly agrees to take the case. Dirk, Farah, and Todd find themselves at the Oliver family's Halloween party while investigating and have to participate in the family's Halloween tradition: the murder mystery party game. Will solving this fictional murder help them uncover anything about the real crime they're investigating, or is just a distraction from the actual case? And who died, anyways?

Written for the Halloween @dghdabigbang! @browneyes-asiandragon made some lovely artwork accompanying the story so please go check it out! It’s really amazing!

I’ve included the fic on here but you can also read it on ao3 if preferred.

Mr. Yellow Dies

Knock! Knock! Knockity-Knock!

There was a pause before the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from inside the house. The front door creaked open. The man opening the front door was tall, well-built, with dark hair that flopped nicely over his forehead. He smiled at the trio that stood on his doorstep but his eyes betrayed confusion. "Can I help you? You seem a bit old for trick or treating."

Todd Brotzman looked at the man standing next to him out of the corner of his eyes. What were the three of them doing there? They certainly were an odd trio--Holmes, Watson, and a Care Bear, all a good fifteen years too old to be ringing doorbells asking for candy. What was his plan? He'd been vague as ever on the way over, assuring Todd that it was a party, a party for the case, and everyone loved parties, now, didn't they? So come along!

The whole ordeal had started with a simple statement. “I’ve been invited to a party twice,” Dirk Gently announced to his friends proudly in their agency’s office. “And, as much as I’d like to think this shows I’ve come far in my social standing, I’m afraid there will be no possible way for me to attend this party twice at the same time.”

"Two invites?" Farah Black said. “You got two invites to the Olivers' Halloween party?”

“Indeed I did, Farah!” Dirk said.

Todd set down the files he had been sifting thru. “How’d you manage that?”

“My natural charms and talents, of course,” Dirk said, pretending to be offended. “Geez, Todd.”

"What’s the plan, then? I don’t want to sit around, waiting for a report of two party-crashers getting shot." Farah pursed her lip. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Todd said. “I’ll stay back.”

"Au, contraire!" Dirk said. "Farah will be accepting my invitation from Jane. I will be going with my invite from Lenny. And Todd will be going as my date."

"Right, okay," Farah shrugged.

"What?" Todd said.

That had been five days ago. Since then it had been a flurry of finding costumes, Dirk obsessively dragging Todd and Farah into any Halloween themed store he could find, arguing he hardly ever went to parties, much less costume parties, so they should indulge him. Todd secretly thought that it was very likely Dirk had a long streak of elaborate costume parties from his days back in England, but he held his tongue. Seeing Dirk delighted by styrofoam coffins and confused by slutty fireman costumes was worth keeping his own suspicions withheld.

In the end, Dirk had somehow managed to convince Todd that a Sherlock-Watson duo costume was a good idea. “You see,” he pointed out, “no one would suspect actual detectives to dress as detectives for Halloween! That would be absurd.” Todd agreed that, yes, it would be absurd. Dirk bought him a bowler hat anyways.

Farah had been quietly indecisive about her costume all month. Todd hadn’t been sure what she’d go as--she’d shown interest in a variety of things, from a champion scuba diver she said was a childhood hero to the main character of the action novels she’d been obsessively reading during downtime in the office. In the end, she ended up with a Care Bears onesie Tina had lent her after, from what Todd understood, a very long phone call about how stressful Halloween was and a subsequent long drive to Bergsberg on the 30th.

Back at the front door, Dirk smiled at the man questioning them. The man was quite handsome, with a square jaw and tough cheekbones. Almost too classically handsome, Todd thought to himself. But it worked with his costume--some variation on Dracula--which became apparent when he opened his mouth and showed off his tiny fangs.

"Max Oliver?" Dirk asked confidently.

"Yes," the man said, eyebrows raised, fangs revealed in the O his mouth formed. "And you are?"

"Dirk Gently," he said, pushing the front of his deerstalker cap out of his face. "I was invited by Lenny. This is my date, Todd, and this is the lovely Farah Black, who was invited by Jane."

"I've never seen any of you before in my life," Max admitted. "I didn't know guests could invite guests, either."

"It would be a bit awkward to send Todd home now, wouldn't it?" Dirk said pointedly.

"Dirk," Todd groaned.

"No, I mean, I didn't realize Lenny could invite guests," Max said, shaking his head. "Although, I suppose he's never really been one to follow our family's ideals."

"Is that so!" Dirk said, giving his friends a pointed look.

Max nodded. "It isn't my place, of course, but I consider him an outsider to our family." Max stared up and down at the three of them, as if to make a point that they were even more outsiders than Lenny. After a beat, he sighed and opened the door for them. "You might as well come in. I’ll at least give Mother the final call on you three."

Dirk smiled and gave his companions a thumbs up before walking into the house after Max. Todd and Farah followed, Todd already regretting his itchy costume, Farah already regretting her lack of weaponry.

Max led them into a lounge where five other people sat around in couches and chairs, chatting quietly to themselves. Todd only recognized one of them--Jane Oliver, their client. She was the reason they were here in the first place, the reason the case had been opened. She was small both in size and presence, the youngest of the three Oliver siblings, still in her teens. She was wearing a mostly plain, long red dress, which Todd assumed must be some sort of Princess--Princess Bride? Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? He hadn't the slightest clue.

Jane was sitting next to an older woman, presumably her mother, the infamous Cordelia Oliver. Cordelia was the owner of the local community theater and a force to be reckoned with. She had lost some of her dazzle with the passing of her husband, Jules. Jules Oliver had been her partner in the theater, her partner in their home, her partner on the stage. Losing him meant she had lost love. Yet none of her fierceness faded; if anything, it grew into a strong and steady resentment towards the world and life itself.

Dirk smiled at two men sitting on the couch opposite Cordelia and Jane. "Lenny! Daniel!" he said. Daniel Oliver was the middle child of the family. College-aged and somewhat unmotivated, he was a stand out in his family of determined extroverts. His boyfriend, Lenny Anderson, seemed to represent everything the rest of the family couldn't stand about Daniel and worse. His lazy nature, lack of care for anything, inability to make and hold commitments annoyed the Olivers on the best of days. Lenny couldn’t keep a job, stay on a major, anything. At least he made Daniel happy.

Max flocked to a woman standing alone by the bookshelf. Adrianna Waye. She was the star in most of the local theater productions and Max's fiancé. She was gorgeous, elegant, and, by all accounts, extremely unpleasant to be around. Cordelia loved her.

Farah and Dirk had been doing most of the research on the family, while Todd had been going back and tracing old case files, trying to find a crime or a missing person or an unsolved murder that would otherwise connect with the case. He hadn't found anything, not anything they could confirm at least. Todd reflected on how this had all started. Jane Oliver had stumbled into the agency one day, clutching a yellowed composition notebook and trembling a bit, explaining that she had seen a crime, a murder, as a child. She had blacked it out and forgotten it until now, but going back through her diaries, she had found her recounting of the crime. It was dark, she explained, so she couldn't really tell them who or what. She thought it was a man--or maybe a boy. It was someone with a small build, and they were attacking another person brutally. She couldn't remember what happened after that, just terror, sheer terror.

They had a murder to solve. With no evidence of the murder having actually happened besides a child's diary. No suspects, no victims, nothing. Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency gladly took the case.

The crime had taken place in the backyard of this family property, Halloween ten years ago, when Jane was only six. At least, she said, according to her diary. Her memories of that Halloween were all jumbled--something about her family, lots of yelling, some sort of dispute. And the crime, the attack that she could only remember that she forgot.

"Max?" Cordelia asked. "Who are our other new guests?"

"I don't know, Mother," Max answered evenly. "Why don't you ask Lenny? Or Jane?"

Cordelia narrowed her eyes and focused her gaze on Lenny. "Leonard?"

"Geezy, m'am," Lenny sighed. "I invited Dirk here as a plus one."

"You're already a plus one!" she shrieked. "And what about these other two?"

"Todd is my plus-one!" Dirk chirped.

"A plus one can't invite another plus one who invites his own plus one!"

"Ah," Dirk said quickly, "but wouldn't me having invited my own plus one make us our own set of guests?"

"Daniel, do you know these men?" Cordelia demanded.

"A bit," Daniel said without looking up from his phone.

"And what about this woman? Who the hell is she?"

"Ah," Jane said softly. "Mother, I invited her." After Dirk had determined who was accepting what invitation, they had reached out to Jane to tell her about Farah, not wanting there to be any mix up. They had decided on a brief backstory and that was that.

"Who is she?" Cordelia demanded.

"She's a school tutor. She tutors me and some of my friends in the library," Jane answered evenly. Todd wondered if they should at all be concerned about what ease and grace their client was able to lie through their teeth. But really, he thought, that was what they were all doing. They had no reason to be at that party.

Cordelia Oliver knew that.

She was a queen surveying her kingdom, and she was not pleased with what she saw. Todd felt himself holding his breath, ready to be kicked out at any second. To his surprise, she sighed, deciding this battle was not worth fighting today. "Fine," she said. "You can stay. You're lucky the party kit I bought comes with extra characters."

"Party Kit?" Todd said, feeling any ounce of relief of not being kicked out dissipate.

The Olivers had a tradition, a tradition that went back for at least the last eight years, maybe more. They would every Halloween have a murder mystery themed party. They would purchase a "party kit," either from an online retailer, or, some years when they felt particularly excited, commissioned from a friend. The kit would give each guest at the party a character and a few clues. In the course of three rounds they would develop their characters, discover and investigate a "murder," and have the murderer finally revealed in the third and final round. It was truly perfect for a family of actors, though as the kids grew up and her husband passed away, it was something Cordelia clung onto more than anyone else. The schitick was getting old. But she wouldn't let go.

Cordelia started passing out envelopes with character names on them. "You all know how the game goes," she said, a stage voice taking over, complete with pause for dramatic effect. "Tonight, one of us will die. Tonight, one of us will kill. Tonight, we will all solve a murder." Jane looked white as a sheet hearing her mother's words and looked to Dirk. Dirk smiled back at her reassuredly.

"We have a few extra guests tonight," Cordelia continued, handing an envelope to Adrianna and another one to Max. "Let us hope they survive the night."

"God, Mother," Daniel said, continuing to focus on Candy Crush rather than the manila envelope he'd been slipped. "There's no need to be so melodramatic."

Cordelia paused and looked at him with stony eyes. "Tonight," she said, "we are all actors. Whether we like it or not." Lenny smiled at his boyfriend encouragingly, reminding him it wouldn't be too bad. Daniel glared back at him. He knew this tradition far too well and was not pleased to put on a performance for his mother’s sake.

"Great!" Dirk said, happily accepting his envelope. "So, how does the game work exactly?"

"There are three rounds," Max said, walking away from the wall to behind the sofa his mother sat at. "Round one, we all open our envelope and look at our character and the clues we are given. We mingle as the characters, deciding whether or not we want to share our clues with the others."

"Round two!" Cordelia jut in. "Someone will have instructions telling them they will 'die.' After their 'death' occurs we will have another round in which to mingle and see if we can discover which of us might've had the motive to 'kill.'"

"I feel as though we've grown out of this, mother," Daniel said. "It's just glorified Mafia. When will you give it up already?"

"I find it very fun, Daniel," Cordelia snapped. "It's the least you could do for your poor mother."

Daniel sighed.

"And what about the third round?" Farah asked lightly.

"Third round, we open this envelope," Cordelia said, holding up an envelope that. Unlike the manila ones she had handed out, was a deep red. "It has the answers in it. Then we will find out who was right and who was wrong and who was the killer."

"What a dreadful and yet surprisingly delightful game!" Dirk enthused. Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him.

"Quite," she said. "Now, let the games begin."

Everyone began opening their envelopes. Todd ripped the top off of his, wondering how this was in any way going to help them solve the case. Had Dirk known they were going to play this game? He gave Farah a look, who seemed just as lost as him. She shrugged and went back to reviewing the papers from in her envelope.

Todd reviewed his envelope. He was playing as a character called “Mr. Red,” an older gentleman who was a banker. The only clues he was given was that he suspected Mr. Yellow, one of his bank’s employees, of fraud, and that his character saw Madame Orange and Mrs. Indigo discussing something in hushed voices on his way home from work one day. Todd grimaced. They were really about to play live-action Clue.

"Todd." Todd jumped up in surprise as Dirk slipped up next to him. "You know I'm not one for a classical approach," Dirk said, keeping his voice hushed, "but I must admit this situation compels oneself to do some very non-holistic detecting."

"Wouldn't the fact that the situation has arisen at all make it holistic?" Todd pointed out.

"Ah! Great assisting, Todd, or should I say," Dirk looked down at Todd's papers and then back up at him with a pleasant smile, "Mr. Red."

"You're excited for this, aren't you?"

"Quite! But seriously, Todd. Please consider trying to use this as an opportunity to ask key questions that seem like they're about the game but are actually about our investigation."

"Dirk, we still barely have any idea of what we're investigating," Todd sighed.

"Having time set aside to mingle and interrogate should help then!" he replied before disappearing into the room.

"Let round one," announced Cordelia Oliver, "begin!"

Todd sighed, feeling out of his depth. He looked around the room, seeing that people had already begun to talk quietly and exchange clues amongst themselves. The one person left by themselves besides Todd at this point was Daniel Oliver.

Todd sat down next to him. "Sherlock abandoned you, ey, Watson?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow but looking otherwise completely disinterested in the appearance of a new person in his vicinity.

Todd laughed nervously. "Dirk? Ah. Well. He's playing the game, same as all of us." He swallowed. "So... what's your character?"

"Mr. Maroon," Daniel said with a slight roll of his eyes.

"I'm Mr. Red," Todd said.

"Practically the same names," Daniel complained. "I know there aren't that many colors in the rainbow, but they could've come up with a better theme. Colors? Mysteries? Incredibly overdone, if you ask me."

"You'd know better than myself," Todd said.

Daniel snorted. "I know far too well. Do you want my clues?"

"Sure," Todd said. "Are you just supposed to give them to people like that?"

"Not if you want the game to be harder," Daniel said. "But I'd rather this be done as quickly as possible. So my character doesn't trust Mr. Yellow or Mrs. Grey."

"I also suspect Mr. Yellow," Todd admitted.

"And it's supposed to be a mystery." Daniel shook his head.

"You've done a lot of these, then?" Todd said.

"Every year. Since what feels like forever. Mother has gotten persistently more annoying about it since Dad died." Daniel looked resentful. "She can't let go of it."

"That must be hard for your family," Todd said.

"Maybe for them," Daniel replied evenly. "I'm glad he's dead."

“Oh.” Todd said. "You don't feel like you're one of them, then?"

"No. I don't want to act. I don't want to be the center of attention. All of them are hardworking attention whores. I truly feel like this tradition is the pinnacle of that. It makes me feel sick."

Todd felt his stomach curl in an uncomfortable way. "You should be careful," he said.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "What, are you going to impart some wise-wisdom on me? I don't care. I don't even know you."

"You're right," Todd said, trying to ignore the feeling that he needed to get Daniel off of the track he was on, lest he fall into the same self-destructive hole of lies that Todd did when he was his age.

"I'm sure you think I'm ungrateful and selfish. But they're cruel to me. And they don't like Lenny either."

"No?"

"No. They hate him even more than me. If I'm a black sheep, he's an entirely different animal to them."

"Five more minutes of round one!" Cordelia shouted from across the room.

Todd stood up from the couch awkwardly. "I should talk to some more people," he said. "Nice to see you, Mr. Maroon."

Daniel rolled his eyes.

Todd wandered around the room, trying to find someone else to talk to, and eventually ended up tapping the shoulder of Adriana Waye, who had been standing by herself in the corner of the room. She flinched and then turned around, her bright green eyes first looking a bit surprised and then totally disengaged.

"I'm Ms. Grey," she said. "I'm Madame Orange’s maid, working for her and her daughter, Mrs. Indigo, and her son-in-law, Mr. Yellow. And you?"

"I'm Mr. Red," he replied. "Uh... I'm a banker."

"The bank owner?" she said quickly. "The man who owns the bank Mr. Yellow works at?"

"I think so," he said.

"Hmm," she said, and Todd got a very distinct feeling that she did not like him at all, although he could not tell if the impression came from her acting or real judgement she was imparting on him.

"I, uh... I think Mr. Yellow is committing bank fraud," Todd said lamely, looking at his notes.

"Would you kill him if he was?" she said, her blue eyes hard and intense.

"What?" Todd said, shrinking back.

"In the game,” she said, her gaze softening slightly. “Obviously.”

"Oh," Todd said. "Wouldn't it be strange for me to suspect myself? I mean, wouldn't that kind of defeat the point?" He paused. "And we don't know Mr. Yellow is going to be the one to die, yet!"

Adrianna looked across the room at Max. "Mr. Yellow is certainly going to be the one to die," she said. "You’ll see."

"How do you know?"

"It's the way these games always work," she said. "God, who invited you again? Have you really never done this before?" Todd shook his head and Adrianna looked exasperated. "Cordelia should've kicked you out."

Todd didn't have a good argument for that. He coughed nervously, feeling weirdly squeamish looking at her dark grey eyes. "So what are your clues?"

She looked absolutely done with him. "You cannot ask me for my clues as yourself. You need to discuss the situation with Ms. Grey as Mr. Red."

"I guess I misunderstood," he said. "You really enjoy the acting part of this, huh?"

"It's a good thing I do," she said. "I'm our theater's biggest star for a reason."

"Cordelia likes you a lot, then?"

Adrianna shrugged. "She likes me. And she loves Max. And Max loves me. It all works out."

"One minute left!" Cordelia shouted.

Adrianna looked irritated. "I really spent some of my time talking with you, huh?" she said, stalking off before Todd could answer.

Todd slouched, taking a deep breath, looking around the room before making eye contact with Farah and meeting her across the room. "I'm Dr. Violet," Farah explained. "I’m Madame Orange’s physician. And you?"

"Mr. Red," he said. "They seem like an awfully happy family, don't they?"

"Mr. Yellow and Mrs. Indigo? Or the Olivers?"

"The latter. Although the former might be true, too, I'm having a hard time keeping up."

She nodded. "Fictionally and factually miserable in both cases. I have a good feeling about our case, though."

"Yeah?"

"I was talking to Jane. She's sweet, you know? And I think we're very close to cracking the case."

"She didn't do it, though. Right?"

"Oh--no. No. But I think someone here did."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel incredibly comfortable being a party crasher here."

"That's the end of round one!" Cordelia shouted.

Dirk noticed Farah and Todd talking together and walked over to them enthusiastically. "Well!" he announced. "I'm not sure what I just learned, but I definitely learned something, which will definitely help solve one, if not two, cases! It's true one has a bit more importance to it, but I'd like to think that in solving our fictional case we'll solve--"

Dirk was cut off by a loud scream from across the room. Max Oliver let out another large cry, holding his hand to his chest, before having his knees buckle underneath him, falling down on his knees, letting out a final sob before collapsing on the floor.

"Oh my god," Farah said.

Cordelia walked over to where her son lay sprawled across the floor and then looked up across the others in the room. "A murder," she said. "Has been committed. Mr. Yellow is dead." Adrianna gave Todd a pointed looking from across the room, her hazel eyes piercing. Todd looked away.

"How ghastly," Dirk said with some enthusiasm. "What a wonderful performance."

Max sat up from his place on the floor and beamed. "Thank you," he said, fangs sticking out.

"Now, for round two," Cordelia announced. "Max will not be able to participate. You must talk amongst yourselves and try to discover which one of you is the killer. We will have ten minutes. Let round two... begin!"

"Alright," Todd said. "I suppose we should get back to mingling..." He looked over to see Dirk's eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. "Dirk?"

"Todd," he said quietly. "Farah. I have the strangest feeling the case of Mr. Yellow is much more tied to our case than we'd thought."

"How so?" Farah asked.

"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Let us try and discover who killed Mr. Yellow. And perhaps that will reveal it to us."

The three nodded and scattered across the room.

Todd found himself in the unfortunate position of being under the immediate scrutiny of Cordelia Oliver.

"I," she announced, "am Madame Orange. I'm afraid we've never had the chance of meeting before."

"Mr. Red," he said shortly. "Banker, Mr. Yellow's boss, I think."

"Ah, yes," she said, face sorrow clouding his face. "My son-in-law’s employer. Isn’t it tragic what has happened to Mr. Yellow?"

Actors, Todd thought, are insane.

"Right," Todd said. "Erm, do you have any idea who... killed him?"

His willingness to play along seemed to please Cordelia. She raised an eyebrow playfully. "I have some idea," she said. "He had a few enemies. I heard," she leaned in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "he owed some people money. Would you know anything about that? As the banker?"

"Oh," Todd said, trying to remember if he did. "Uh, no. I don't think I knew that. Although I..." he paused, grabbing his notes and looking them over. "I suspected him of committing some sort of fraud."

"Hmm!" she said. "Fraud at the bank isn't a good look for you. Do you think that could stir yourself to kill?"

"Uh--no?" Todd frowned. "I guess I don't know. Am I supposed to defend myself?"

Cordelia seemed disappointed at his breaking character. "It's up to you," she said tightly. "But if you've killed someone, we'll find out in the end, when we open the envelope with the answers to the case."

"Oh," he said. "Well--I guess I don't think Mr. Red, er, me, did it." He paused a beat. "And... why didn't you do it?" he asked, knowing giving Cordelia an excuse to talk should lighten her up.

"Mr. Yellow was my daughter Indigo’s husband! I loved him as if he were my own son. I wouldn’t lay a hand on him unless he did something to hurt my daughter.”

"But what if he did?” Todd pointed out. He looked at his notes. “I saw you discussing something with Mrs. Indigo the day before his death. That doesn’t look particularly good for you, Madame Orange."

"You don't look unsuspicious yourself, Mr. Red. Although I don't think you killed Mr. Yellow."

"No?"

"No. You don't have it in you."

Cordelia turned on her heel and went away to talk to someone else, and Todd felt weirdly stung by her harsh assessment of his fictional banker self.

He wandered across the room, trying to find someone to talk to. He walked past Max and Adrianna who were talking in hushed tones in a language that didn't sound familiar to him. He decided not to interrupt them and turned around, nearly running into Jane Oliver.

"Oh dear," she said. "I am very sorry, Mr. Todd."

"It's okay!" he reassured her. "And tonight, I'm Mr. Red."

She nodded. "I'm Mrs. Indigo." She sighed. "I'm Mr. Yellow's wife, apparently. A bit awkward, I think, for several reasons."

Todd smiled. "Fair enough. I am--or was?--his employer at the bank. I suspected him of fraud. Would you know anything about that?"

"The only way Mr. Yellow was ever a fraud or a phoney was in real life, Mr. Red," she sighed, playing into her character lightly. "I do believe he was having the most awful affair with Mrs. Grey."

"I suppose that made your character--you, I mean--pretty upset."

"Yes." She sighed. "I think it's likely I did it. Or--Mr.s Grey’s husband, Mr. Maroon."

"It's kind of funny suspecting yourself."

"I think it makes the most sense," she said evenly, then in a lower voice, "thank you, by the way. Dirk said you and Farah have been invaluable in helping with..." She looked around. "...with a case."

Had he been helpful? Had any of them been helpful? Todd felt as though he was getting nowhere, stuck in a sludge of clues and names and characters and confusing bits in the middle. He wasn't sure he had done anything effective to help Jane Oliver. He thought about denying her claim, telling her to take it back, telling her that her impression wasn't true. But he swallowed it in his throat. Be nice, Todd.

"You're welcome," he said. "We're trying our best. To solve..." he paused, and added, feeling kind of silly, "...Mr. Yellow's murder." That made the girl laugh, which pleased him.

"Speaking of Dirk," Adrianna said, "here comes Mr. Green." Dirk approached the two of them, grinning brightly.

"Todd! Jane!" he addressed them both with enthusiasm. "I've got half a mind that this is going somewhere!"

"I sure hope so," Todd said.

"I'm glad you think that," Jane said with her shy smile. "I think I'm going to go try to talk to Adrianna." She made a face. "Tell me what you find, later?" she asked Dirk.

"Of course," he promised, waving at her as she made her way across the room. "Todd!" he turned to Todd, his deerstalker hat flopping in front of his eyes. He pushed up the rim. "I think I've found out my motive for killing Mr. Yellow!"

"That's great, Dirk, but.... what? Do you think your character killed him?"

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "I'm Mr. Green, by the way, if I hadn't mentioned it to you. And I don't think it's awfully likely I am the killer, but I love my brother Mr. Maroon a lot, and his wife Mrs. Grey cheated on him with her employer Mr. Yellow!" Dirk sounded enthralled. "The way this game is played is absolutely fascinating, wouldn't you say? I think we should definitely buy one of these for the office during holidays."

"Dirk," Todd said, "there are three of us who work in the office. And... Mona sometimes. I don't think that's enough people."

Dirk frowned. "I guess not."

"Do you have any idea who actually killed Mr. Yellow? Or... about the other thing?"

"No," Dirk admitted. "Well, maybe. There's so many different threads in this game. And it's not exactly... how I do detecting. I think you or Farah would have a better idea, quite honestly. I’ve had a very fun time getting into character and developing Mr. Green, though. I wasn't given much, so I gave him a new profession! I've decided he works for the secret--"

"Dirk," Todd cut him off. "We need to focus. Right?"

Dirk looked a bit put out. "Can't hurt to have a bit of fun, too."

Todd backtracked. "Sure, of course, but I think we're running out of time to investigate--"

"End of round three!" Cordelia announced loudly. The chattering continued. "End! Of round three!" she holler. This time, a hush fell across the room.

"Everyone," she said, her voice commanding the space, "let's gather round in a circle and discuss our theories of who killed Mr. Yellow." She stood behind where Max sat on the couch and put her hands on his shoulders protectively. The party goers made their way to the couches and chairs situated in a nice circle around the coffee table. Once everyone had settled down, Cordelia smiled, although she continued to stand behind Max instead of sitting in the circle herself.

"If someone can say who killed Mr. Yellow and why, with certain accuracy, they win the game." Cordelia held up a bright magenta envelope. "Once everyone has given their input, we'll open the envelope and see who was really the killer. If you are accused of being the murderer, you may defend yourself if you think someone else has done it. Now who would like to start?"

Todd felt Dirk beside him tense in excitement. He wondered if this did have any connection to the case they were here to solve, or if it was a red herring, a detour that would eventually lead them somewhere completely different in order to actually solve the case.

"I'll start," said Adrianna. "I think Mrs. Indigo did it."

Jane frowned. “My character? I guess I don’t think it’s entirely impossible I did…”

“You found out Mr. Yellow was hiding some things from you,” Adrianna said. “Including his affair… with me, Mrs. Grey. So you killed him.”

“Jane?” Cordelia asked. “Do you have someone else you think could’ve done it?”

“I think Mr. Maroon would’ve had half a motive, for the same reason as I.”

“Leave me out of it,” Daniel groaned. “I think it was… uh…” He looked around the room, seemingly trying to pick someone else to become the scrutiny of the conversation. “Madame Orange. She found out Yellow cheated on her daughter.” He shrugged. “She’d be as mad as anyone else.”

Cordelia pursed her lips. “That’s assuming I even knew about the affair. Perhaps I didn't even know until he died! How would you know?”

“Everyone wanted to kill Mr. Yellow,” Dirk muttered to Todd.

“Madame Orange was angry after her check up with Dr. Violet before the murder happened,” Farah pointed out. “Although she didn’t say why. It could’ve been about the affair.”

“Everyone wanted to kill Mr. Yellow!” Dirk said again, sounding surprised. Todd looked at him and he grinned back.

“I was upset because my gardener, Mr. Turquoise, had quit in a huff.”

“You fired me!” Lenny butted in. Todd realized he’d barely spoken to half of the people playing the game, feeling suddenly like he’d shown up for a test he hadn’t studied for. “And I certainly didn’t kill Mr. Yellow!”

“Alright,” said Cordelia. “But I deny that I did. I still find Mr. Maroon awfully suspicious.”

Daniel glowered at his mother. “If you won’t admit it, I’ll accuse someone else. Like….” He looked around the room. “...my brother. Mr. Green.”

Dirk smiled. “It could have been me,” he said. “I love my brother, Mr. Maroon. I found out Mr. Yellow was having an affair with his wife. And I felt this was an affront to my family. But I think we are focused much too narrowly on the what and the why. In fact,” he said. “I think we are far too focused on this game.”

“Too focused on the game?” Lenny said. “Isn’t that the point of the final round?”

“The point of the final round,” Dirk said confidently, “is to find out who killed Mr. Yellow and Max Oliver.”

“Oh,” Todd said softly. Dirk had solved it.

“I am Mr. Yellow,” Max said.

"Exactly! So the question we have to answer," Dirk continued, "is who killed Max Oliver. I, of course, have my own theories, but I would like to share last. Mrs. Cordelia. I still find you a bit suspect. Why don't you tell us again why you aren't the killer?"

Cordelia stiffened in offense. "Why am I not the killer? You must be kidding me! I just went over this. I wouldn’t hurt my own son!"

"Ah, but perhaps Max wasn't the child you wanted. And neither was Daniel. And neither was Jane. You wanted a child who was a star, Mrs. Oliver. And you knew you'd never get that if you didn't intervene yourself."

Adrianna narrowed her eyes. "He knows this is a game, right? We aren’t our characters."

Dirk's eyes lit up. "Ah! And Adrianna Waye. What an interesting piece of this puzzle you are."

Adrianna shifted uncomfortably. "Don’t even bother accusing me of killing him. I was the one who was having an affair with him. I was one of his only allies. It wouldn’t make sense."

"No, you're right," Dirk agreed. "It wouldn’t make sense. Besides that, a lady such as yourself seems unlikely to get her hands dirty with murder." He paused. "She'd make someone else do it."

Adrianna turned to Max and laughed. "What is he talking about? This isn't connected to the game at all."

"You know what it's about--"

"Ah!" Farah cut in. "I have a theory. Did Lenny's character actually do it? Mr. Turquoise was Madame Orange’s gardener, so maybe he saw something at the house, like the affair. Blackmail gone wrong type situation."

Dirk nodded. "Lenny seems a bit suspicious, doesn't he?" He looped around the living room, ending behind Lenny's chair. "Lenny, what do you have to say to that?"

"I don't know,” Lenny said. “I don't think my character ever actually interacted Max, though, did he?"

"Exactly," Dirk said. "Lenny is too much of an outsider. He might not like Max, but there was no reason he would want to kill him. He wasn't even present at the crime scene. Now, Daniel, however..."

"Wouldn't it be my luck to pick the character who's the killer three years in a row?" Daniel sulked, shooting his mother a look.

"Of course Daniel could have been jealous of Max. Jealous of how his mother adored him and doted on him. But... that doesn't explain why he would kill him." Dirk turned to Jane. "Do you understand what I'm getting at, Miss Jane?"

Jane's eyes widened. "But I still don't understand! Who--who did I see die on that night?"

“Who did you see die on what night?” Cordelia turned to her daughter, her eyes narrowed. “Jane, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Sorry, mother,” Jane whispered softly. “But yes. Ten years ago, I saw a murder.” Dirk gave Farah a small nod and Farah quietly moved to block the one door that led out of the study. Todd moved towards the window, having a strong feeling that any possible exit was soon going to quickly need to be blocked. Jane continued, “These people have been trying to help me solve the murder, mother. But… But I don’t know who did it, or who even died…” She trailed off, looking small and lost in her big velvet chair.

“You’re detectives?” Cordelia demanded.

"Indeed,” Dirk said. “Quite a good disguise, right? Now, Jane, the person you saw being murdered on that night was your brother, Max."

"But that's absurd!" Cordelia burst out. "Max is right here!" Max stood behind his mother, his expression stony.

"That," Dirk pointed to Max, "is certainly someone going by the name Max and living his life as if he were Max Oliver. But that is not your biological son, Max Oliver. He was killed on this day, ten years ago, in your back garden."

"Don't be absurd," Max cut in, his voice cold and stiff. "You've been talking nonsense all night."

"Have you ever," Dirk said, "met an actor who was so incredible that sometimes you didn't even know they were acting?" Todd got the very distinct feeling Dirk was thinking of Mona. "I have. And I will tell you this much. When someone who is talented enough chooses to not be found, they won't be."

"You're crazy," Max said. "You have no proof."

"Alright," Dirk said. "Maybe I'm wrong. Then answer me this. How come you and Adrianna talk in a language no one has ever heard when you think you're alone?"

"What?"

“Oh!” Todd cut in. "And is that why Adrianna’s eye color shifts so dramatically? I wasn’t imagining that?"

"People's eye color can shift--"

"Not from light blue to deep brown they can't,” Dirk said, nodding at Todd.

Max snorted. "Just because you're dressed as a detective doesn't mean you can say whatever you'd like and expect it to go over."

"Alright," Dirk said. "Let me read from this journal," Dirk said, reaching into his trenchcoat and pulling out a copy of Jane's diary that they had photocopied and brought along. Todd hadn't realized Dirk’s intentions in bringing the copy along--but he wasn’t sure Dirk had known until this exact moment, either.

"’October 31st, 2008,’" Dirk read aloud. "’Dear Diary, Today I saw something very frightening. It was during the Halloween party, I went out in the back garden to get a bit of fresh air and because everyone was very loud. When I was out there, I thought I heard someone screaming. I thought maybe it was one of my brothers, and so I ran. I saw a figure in the dark standing over someone else, but when I got to where I saw their silhouettes across the garden, they were gone. I saw something I thought could've been blood or beer or water but it was too dark to see. I'll go and see if it's still there tomorrow. I don't know what I saw. I went inside and told mama and papa about it. Papa joked that I'd seen a ghost on Halloween. I don't know. Love, Jane.’"

"I know who Jane saw that night," said Dirk. He pointed at Max. "She saw you. And she saw her brother, Max."

"I am her brother Max," Max replied evenly.

"Oh please," Dirk said. "Will you give that up already? You may live as Maxwell Oliver but you were at least not born that way. You weren't born in this town, or, quite frankly, even this planet."

"What're you going to do about it?" Adrianna said, rising to her feet.

"Adrianna," Max snapped. "Sit down."

"I'm going to..." Dirk said confidently, and then stopped. "Well, I hadn't really thought of that."

“It’s true,” Jane said softly. Cordelia had stepped away from Max and was now standing behind her daughter. She placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder, looking tense. Jane looked up at Cordelia. “It’s true, mother. It was Max I saw on that night. It must’ve been…”

Max frowned. “Are you really going to believe this, Mother? Believe all this slander about your favorite son?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been so good to you… an absolute star, in fact. Don’t tell me you believe some sort of alien-murder plot thought up by a stranger over the word of your own son?”

Cordelia Oliver's eyes clouded over. "I'm not sure, Max."

"I cannot believe this," Max said. Adrianna fidgeted in her chair uncomfortably. "Do you know everything I've given for this family? Everything me and Adrianna have given for you, Mother?"

"What are you?" Dirk asked curiously. "You must be something quite interesting. And..." He paused, his nose bunched up. "...and either undetectable or fifteen years new to this planet."

"We were undetectable," Adrianna said.

"Adrianna!" Max barked. "Will you shut up?"

"Oh, give it up, Max," she said irritably. "He's caught us in our game. Might as well admit it." She turned to Dirk. "You wouldn't really believe it if we were from a different planet."

"I certainly would," he said. "I've come across a fair few extraterrestrials in my time. I don't suppose you communicate through music on your planet?"

"What?" she snapped. "No. Don't be stupid. You were right, we communicate in our own language. And these weren't our original forms." Max glared at her, his lips pursed in determined silence. "But there's no way for you to prove that, you know? That's the best thing about what we are."

"Oh god," Cordelia said, holding her hand over her mouth.

"And what is that?" Dirk asked.

"Can't pronounce it in your language. In fact, you numbskulls hardly have the language to describe it. Leech? Reincarnate? Phoenix?" Adrianna seemed almost pleased by this, as if the fact that she was somewhat undefinable was a final act of rebellion against whatever separated her from them. "The point is," she said, "we take on different forms over our lives. We essentially could live forever--as long as we kill before our vessel dies. When that happens, we take on the form of whatever we last killed."

"Woah," Dirk said.

"What happens to the body?" Farah said, eyeing Max and Adrianna nervously while still guarding the door.

"We become the body," Adrianna said as though it were obvious. "The last vessel we occupied turns to dust once we leave it for good, once there's no use for it anymore."

"And you killed Max and took his body," Jane said softly, looking Max straight in the eyes. Max frowned and looked away.

"What--what now?" Daniel asked nervously, looking between Max and Adrianna. The room was filled with a tense air.

Max sighed, breaking the silence. "This is truly awful," he said, his tone almost bored, "I never wanted it to come to this, and I am very sorry. I did love you, Mother," he said to Cordelia. "Unfortunately..." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling something small and metallic out, "...the two of us will have to kill all of you now that you've discovered our secret."

Max Oliver had a gun. The room broke out into hectic noise. Cordelia screamed, Daniel let out a large stream of profanities, Todd started to argue with Max, and Dirk shouted something about everyone needing to talk this out, please, and not have so much killing all the time. Everyone was on their feet in a few seconds. Todd and Farah exchanged a look, guarding the door and window respectively, not sure if they should run or stand their guard. The only person who remained sitting was Max Oliver.

"No one move!" he barked. "Shut up!" And he was pointing the gun, and the room quickly fell silent. "You see," he said. "You all have made this so hard for me and my dear EtTew0si." He stood up from where he sat and went to the bookshelf, grabbing a candlestick. He handed it to Adrianna who smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

"Now who's first?" Max said, sounding almost bored. Todd gave a sideways glance to Farah and mouthed the word "gun." She shook her head, mouthing back a long sentence. He had forgotten he couldn't read lips.

"Oh Jane," Max said. "Why not you? This whole dilemma is your fault, now, isn't it?"

"It's not my fault," Jane said, trembling but holding her voice steady. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't hurt Max."

Max pursed his lips, ignoring her comment. "Come here, and we'll make this quick and painless," he said.

"No," she said, holding her ground.

Adrianna shoved her forward from behind, pushing her with the end of the candlestick. "Do what he says!" she said.

Jane opened her mouth to make a retort but decided against it. She looked back at the other people in the room, staring hopelessly.

"My dear sister," Max said, pointing the gun at her head. Adrianna stayed behind her, holding the candlestick up. "I am sorry it had to come to this."

"No, you're not," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

"You're right," he laughed. "I'm not."

The next few seconds were a whirlwind. Farah leapt up from her place by the door to in front of Max, grabbing Jane out of the line of fire as Max pulled the trigger. Adrianna, not realizing what had happened before it was too late, didn't dodge and instead was hit squarely in the head with the bullet Max had fired. Adrianna barely had a second to let out a cry of pain before her body turned to dust, drifting down to the floor, lifeless. Max whirled around, still holding his gun, pointing it at Farah and Jane where they sat on the floor.

"You think you're real smart, huh?" he demanded. "What--"

A bang fired in the room.

Max stopped talking.

Max stopped breathing.

Max fell over onto the floor, fading into a pile of dust.

Across the room, Cordelia Oliver held up her pearl handled pocket purse pistol, smoke still drifting off the tip of the weapon, tears streaking her face.

The next week, Jane Oliver visited Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective agency. She knocked lightly before walking into the office. "Hello!" she said.

"Jane Oliver!" Dirk said, his entire face lighting up. He jumped up from his desk. "How are you doing?"

She smiled sadly. "This whole ordeal has been a lot for my family... but I think we are better for it. We've all been trying to understand, of course. But it's brought us closer too."

"I'm glad to hear that," Farah smiled, looking up from her desk. "Thank you for visiting, Jane."

Jane nodded. "I’m to give you these." She passed two envelopes to Dirk.

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"For the case," she said softly.

"Ms. Jane, I was under the distinct impression that we were not taking payment from you," he said. He passed the envelopes back to her. "In fact, I insist on it. I don't want to take money from you."

She laughed. "It's not from me. It's from my mother. She's going through a lot, as we all are, but she's extremely grateful to you guys." She shrugged. "She didn't actually tell me what was in those. Just to deliver it to you three."

"Well, thank you," Dirk said, surprised, taking the envelopes back from her.

"Yes!" she said. "And thank you guys... for everything. The truth is hard, but I'm glad I know it. And..." she turned to Farah, "thank you for saving my life."

Farah smiled awkwardly. "I mean, yes. Of course. That is... yes. You're welcome."

She beamed at them. "I'll be sure to recommend you guys, although I don't know how many other sixteen year olds have use of a detective agency."

Dirk smiled. "Thank you Jane."

She nodded once more. "Goodbye!" They waved and wished her well and then she was on her way.

"I wonder what Cordelia sent," Todd said.

"Let us see!" Dirk said. “This first envelope is addressed to ‘Dirk Gently & Co.’ Fancy!” He tore the envelope open, pulling it out and looking it over. His eyes widened.

"What?" Farah said.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I don't think we'll have to worry about agency finances for a while," Dirk said, eyes wide. He passed Farah the check from inside the card.

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh-kay!” she said. “Well. We should definitely send a thank you note.”

“She wrote a note, too,” Dirk said. He read aloud, “‘Dear Dirk and Company, I never did like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. However, the three of you I found quite tolerable. To think I would’ve lived with and loved an imposter my whole life if not for your agency. Much thanks. Sincerely, Cordelia Oliver.’”

“I guess she’s got a heart under her mean exterior after all,” Todd said.

“‘P.S.,’” Dirk read. “‘I am assuming you will be quiet about the disappearance of my ‘son’ Max. I hope this check more than manages that.’”

“Oh,” Todd said, and Farah laughed.

“Well!” Dirk said, setting down the card. He smiled at his two friends. “I think that’s another case solved with arguable efficiency.”

“What’s the other envelope?” asked Todd.

“I don’t know…” Dirk looked at it. “She wrote something on the front... ‘I couldn’t be bothered to open this after what happened. but I thought one of you care want to know more than I. Sincerely, Cordelia.’”

“Oh!” Farah said. “It’s the envelope from the game--the one that has the killer in it.”

“I didn’t even realize we never revealed the fake killer,” Todd said.

“I did,” said Farah. “Open it?”

Dirk nodded, pushing a pencil thru the top, ungracefully breaking the seal. He popped the envelope open and looked inside before pulling out a tiny slip of paper.

“Oh God,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Of bloody course it had to be.”

Farah raised her eyebrows and he passed her the paper. She looked at it and frowned. “Crazy coincidence, that’s all.”

“Let me see that,” Todd grabbed the paper.

“Farah, nothing ever ends up being mere ‘coincidence’ with me,” Dirk said pointedly. “Ever.”

“Alright, that’s weird,” Todd said, tossing the paper back onto the desk in front of Dirk. The three of them started at the paper for a moment, saying nothing.

“I say we break early for lunch,” Farah broke the silence. “My treat.”

“Avoidance,” Todd said. “I like it.”

“Burgers?” Dirk chimed in. “I love it.”

The three of them stood up and cleared out of the office, turning off the lights and locking the doors to the office. In the now quiet office lay the small slip of tangerine paper on a desk. It read, in plain cursive, Madame Orange is the killer.

End

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #case fic #dghda #dghda halloween mini bang 2020 #fanfiction #dirk gently fanfiction #my art

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darks-ink · 4 years

Text

Parasite

Prompt: Plasmius is an evil ghost that has possessed Vlad since his accident. Vlad fights back as much as he can – silently apologizing to overshadowed businessmen while they share a mind, diverting malicious attention away from Jack and Maddie, and holding back against Danny long enough for him to learn Plasmius’ weaknesses – but he won’t be able to on much longer Prompt by: @sapphireswimming Word count: 4,056 Genre: Angst with happy ending

Content warning: possession, loss of control, powerlessness, self-sacrifice, dark themes

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

Plasmius, Vlad was sure, was the world’s punishment for any and all bad thoughts he had ever had. It was the harshest wake-up call imaginable… and unimaginable. Because, honestly, who could ever believe such a thing?

With the power of hindsight, Vlad had come to know, and acknowledge, that he’d been an awful human being. In college, he had constantly shunned Jack’s kindness, every attempt at friendship despite Vlad’s prickly responses. And Maddie… Oh, Maddie. He had refused to accept her interest in Jack, sure that he just had to convince her that Vlad was the better choice.

He’d been toxic, from top to bottom. That, Vlad was sure of.

It was not all that surprising, then, that this flaw of personality drew in equally toxic ghosts. Or, one ghost, specifically. A type of spectral parasite, which latched onto Vlad during the accident with the Proto Portal.

Vlad had not been in a good place, back then. He’d been in pain, horribly mutilated. Had been going through an experience no one else knew of, could sympathize or help with.

And all of that had been so much, that Vlad honestly hadn’t even realize that part of it wasn’t his newfound part ghost nature. Part of it had been a parasite, possessing him.

It had started slow. Had whispered bad thoughts into Vlad’s ear, its core pressed against Vlad’s until they were impossible to tell apart.

Had they ever truly been separate? Vlad didn’t know. Maybe not. Maybe he had only ever become half-ghost because a full ghost had possessed him.

Because that was what this was. Possession. Most people think that there is no difference between overshadowing and possession, but there is. It was just that most ghosts wouldn’t lower themselves to possession. There was no point to it, really, for most ghosts. It would allow them a foothold in the human world, yes, but it came with severe weakening. With a constant struggle to overpower the human they mingled with.

Plasmius had gotten lucky. He’d gotten his claws on Vlad just when he’d been sick, and weak, and ecto-contaminated.

And Plasmius had dug his talons in until Vlad couldn’t throw the ghost off anymore. Plasmius had integrated himself so neatly into Vlad’s very anatomy that removing him would surely kill the both of them.

The ghost had waited until Vlad was at his weakest, most inclined to listen to the venomous thoughts in his head, and then lunged. Had hard-handedly torn the steering wheel out of Vlad’s hands, pushing him into the crevices of his own mind, his own body.

At first, Vlad had let him. Plasmius wasn’t held back by any of Vlad’s weakness, his sickness, his lack of control. Plasmius wielded their ghost powers like an expert—because he was, really, an expert. Plasmius settled the ectoplasm and the flesh into their right forms, into a perfect mixture of the two, until their body was no longer wracked by sickness.

Plasmius dreamt of the things that Vlad wanted. Of getting riches, of getting revenge on those who hurt them, of getting the love they deserve.

Sometimes, Vlad wondered if he had influenced Plasmius right back. If he had carved the ghost’s mind into the same patterns as his own. Most times, however, he decided it didn’t matter. They had long surpassed the part where Vlad could influence Plasmius.

Freed from the hold of the hospital, of their sickness and weakness, Vlad had rejoiced. With Plasmius’ help, even his skin cleared up, scars fading away like nothing had ever even happened.

He’d asked, foolishly, what he could do for Plasmius to repay him for services rendered.

And Plasmius had laughed, in their shared mind space. Had cackled, sharp and vicious and unkind in every way.

“You won’t do anything, anymore,” Plasmius had told him. And after that, Vlad couldn’t remember anything.

The memories got muddled, then. Plasmius had torn control away from Vlad entirely. The only things he knew was what the ghost had accidentally slipped through into their shared space.

It was something about the way the ghost was constructed, Vlad thought. He could have his thoughts to his own, and speak to Plasmius only when he wanted to, but the ghost could not. All of Plasmius’ thoughts were direct, and easy to read.

They were the only thing Vlad knew, most of the time. He had no input from his body, from their shared body. Nothing from outside. Nothing but Plasmius’ thoughts.

So, over the years, Vlad had had a lot of time to think, and to reflect. To realize his many mistakes. To vow to do better.

Occasionally, Vlad was joined in the mind space by another mind. The first time it had startled him, but he knew what had caused it. Plasmius desired money, because money was power in the human world. But Plasmius was no businessman, had no financial smarts.

Instead, the ghost used the thing he did know: his ghostly abilities. Plasmius overshadowed businessman after businessman, forcing them to give their possessions, their riches and businesses, to Vlad. Or, more accurately, to Plasmius in Vlad’s body.

And, every time Plasmius overshadowed someone, the poor soul would gain temporary access to their mind space.

At first, Vlad apologized to every person Plasmius overshadowed. The businessmen, especially, he silently apologized to. Silently, because he didn’t want to draw Plasmius’ anger, his ire. The ghost probably couldn’t do him any harm, but the same could not be said of the people he overshadowed.

Later on, after Vlad realized what Plasmius was planning for their future, he started asking people to stop them. To stop him. He apologized first, of course, but then pressed on to point fingers at Plasmius. Begged people to please, please, inform authorities of Vlad Masters, dangerous half-ghost.

Plasmius had to be stopped, even if that came as the cost of Vlad’s life.

Nothing ever came of it. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what to change so he could just convince someone.

Vlad Masters became a rich man. The proud owner of a Wisconsin mansion, decked out liberally in green and gold and Packers memorabilia. Plasmius, apparently, had decided that the Packers were an interest they shared.

Plasmius’ eyes started wandering back to the rest of his list of goals. Of acquiring Maddie’s love, of doing away with Jack.

And Vlad… Vlad thought back of all the scared businessmen that Plasmius had hurt. Of Maddie’s lovely smiles, and of Jack’s overly jubilant attempts at friendship.

He steered Plasmius away. To the best of his abilities, of course. He threw up distractions, made suggestions for Plasmius to pursue.

Two decades, he made it last. Two decades of holding off Plasmius, before the ghost finally decided it was time to chase down Jack and Maddie.

Twenty years was a long life, Vlad had consoled himself. And he peeked in on Plasmius’ vicious plans, and suggested, meekly, a college reunion.

The invites were sent out in Vlad’s name, of course. Two of them went to a little town by the name of Amity Park, addressed to Jack and Maddie Fenton. Plasmius had been beyond anger, but Vlad…

Vlad was glad. He was happy that those two had found support and love in each other. That they hadn’t been driven apart by his own accident.

Plasmius was still gunning for Jack, Vlad knew. Was sending all matter of ghosts after the man, yet none of them had succeeded. The few that dared to return to the mansion explained that another ghost had stopped them.

This, Vlad realized, was driving Plasmius crazy. The ghost decided, apparently, that he would just do the job himself.

See, Vlad had steered Plasmius towards a college reunion in the hopes that the ghost wouldn’t be crazy enough to murder Jack Fenton with so many witnesses. Now, he had started to worry that that might not be the case.

He had still been busy wondering if Jack and Maddie had held onto their interest in ghost hunting when Plasmius got agitated all over again. The ghost that had thwarted Plasmius’ attempts at killing Jack in Amity had come along.

Danny Phantom. The half-ghost son of Jack and Maddie Fenton.

Plasmius had tacked another goal onto his to-do list. To kill Jack, to acquire Maddie’s love, and to destroy Danny.

“Why not recruit him?” Vlad had asked, foolishly. “Isn’t he like us/you?”

This, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say. Plasmius had gotten even more agitated.

As it turned out, little Danny Fenton-Phantom was an actual half-ghost. They were a thing of legend, something that no one thought could exist. Plasmius had designed their shared body with this in mind. No one would be able to tell that Vlad was possessed, because they would be unaware of what was normal for a half-ghost like them.

Danny, however, would know. Or would lead others to know.

So the boy had to be destroyed, lest anyone else figure out what was wrong with Vlad.

And Vlad had looked at this teenager, this boy barely fourteen years old, and prayed for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

He had started pushing. Prodding Plasmius into lashing out, into making more and more vicious plans, in revealing his hand. And, simultaneously, in coaxing Danny to find their weaknesses. Steering the boy into knowing what Plasmius could do, and how to take him down.

Danny had to know that Vlad Masters—Vlad Plasmius, apparently—was trying to kill him. All Vlad needed for him was to get too fed up, go too far.

To end it. Before Plasmius could do worse.

---

Plasmius had another plan to take out Danny. Daniel, the ghost insisted on calling him. Plasmius had never been very good at respecting other people’s desires.

Vlad no longer wondered where that came from, either.

But his strength was waning. His ability to influence Plasmius lessened and lessened.

Which is why they were in the Fentons’ lab, now. They were fighting, Vlad thought, but he had no way to really know. Plasmius had locked him out of his own body twenty years ago, and had never let up.

So when Vlad suddenly thudded against a hard floor, cold against his bare hands, staring up at a blue face with blank red eyes and fangs, well.

He might’ve screamed.

A bolt of green knocked the ghost away from him, and it—he, something in Vlad’s mind told him this was Plasmius—snarled.

“Oh no you don’t!” a youthful voice yelled. Vlad didn’t look at the source, too busy taking in the ghost that had inhabited his body for all those years.

Pallid blue skin, only visible on the face and part of the neck. The eyes were entirely red, with no way to distinguish sclera from iris from pupil. Black hair, swept strangely in the shape of horns, and a matching black goatee. Pointed ears, and overlong fangs, which the ghost bared at either Vlad or whoever had yelled.

The clothing was a strange mix of vampire-like and lab clothes. Mostly white, the shirt tunic-like but with a tight shiny collar and gloves. A big cape, though, flaring out and red on the inside.

Plasmius snarled again, and Vlad could see, now, that his fingers were sharp like claws.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” the voice behind Vlad decided, and another bolt of green blasted against Plasmius.

Naturally, this only riled the ghost up more. He pushed himself up, lunging forward at Vlad.

A blue vortex caught him before he made it all the way, and the ghost was sucked up. Vlad followed the stream, repressing his surprise at the fact that his body let him, and saw…

Well, it must be Danny Fenton-Phantom. Just a boy, dressed in a black jumpsuit that reminded Vlad of the ones Jack always liked so much. Messy hair, an unnatural white, and glowing green eyes.

“Seriously, Vlad, what’s wrong with this guy?” Danny asked him, shaking the device that Plasmius had been sucked into. “I thought that taking you through the Ghost Catcher would help me understand you better, but this just made me more confused.”

Vlad blinked at him. “The… huh?”

“The Ghost Catcher,” Danny repeated, like that was the only part that could’ve confused Vlad. He gestured next to him, at a giant dreamcatcher-like invention. Its net glowed an eerie ectoplasmic green.

Yeah, that looked like something Jack might put together.

“What did… How did…?”

“You are seriously out of it,” Danny commented, frowning at him. “Your ghost half was all snarly, so I figured you were the smart half, but now I’m starting to doubt that.”

Danny had separated them, somehow. For twenty years, Vlad had thought that that would be impossible. From the moment Plasmius rewrote his body to be half human and half ghost, he thought it would’ve killed them both.

“How?” he asked again. He had to know. Could they destroy Plasmius, did he have the time—the strength—to do it himself?

“The Ghost Catcher.” Danny shook his head, watched as Vlad pushed himself into a sitting position. “It takes all the ectoplasm out of your system. When I went through it I got two distinct personalities, so I figured I would try it with you, but…”

Danny trailed off, then shrugged. “You’re not as mean as before, though, so I guess your feral half took that.”

“It was always his to begin with,” Vlad scoffed. He tried standing up, but wobbled precariously. Danny caught him by the arm before he fell, though.

“Well, yeah, I guess most of your anger came from the accident that made you a half-ghost, but—”

“No,” Vlad interrupted him. “The accident didn’t make me half-ghost. He did.”

Danny rolled his eyes, dropping Vlad’s arm. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You always blame my dad for it.”

“That’s not what I was saying at all.” Vlad shook his head, but let his eyes wander back to the… what did Danny call it? The Ghost Catcher? “The accident with the Proto Portal didn’t make me half-ghost either. Not directly, at least. I’ve got myself to blame at least as much as your parents.”

“Oh, uh.” Danny blinked at him, apparently surprised at the admission. “I mean, I guess that the Portal gave you Ecto Acne, and then that made you—”

“Plasmius made me half-ghost.” Vlad tore his eyes off of the miraculous invention, back towards Danny. Back towards the device in his hand that held Plasmius. “We need to destroy him, before he gets out.”

“Woah, woah.” Danny held up his hands. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it? I mean, my two halves didn’t like each other that much either, but—”

“You don’t get it, Danny!” Vlad snapped. His heart thumped in his chest, blood roaring through his ears. Sensations he’d missed for twenty years while Plasmius paraded his body around. “You’re a real half-ghost. I never was. I was human, and Plasmius was the ghost who possessed me. Why do you think he wanted you gone so badly?”

The boy stared at him, so still that Vlad wondered if he still had to breathe in his ghost form.

“You… called me Danny,” he finally said, quietly.

Vlad resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air. “Yes,” he snapped, then stamped down his anger as well. He could be angry later, when Plasmius was gone for good.

“Yes,” he repeated, more calmly. “I’ve been referring to you as Danny the whole time, since you’ve said that that was your name. I… I have had a lot of time to think. To realize the mistakes I’ve made in my life.” To repent, he thought, but didn’t say. To realize that he’d been so terrible that no one saw the difference between him and Plasmius.

“I… I don’t know if you can live without your ghost half,” Danny said, eventually, reluctantly. “If you’ve been half-ghost for twenty years, like Plasmius always said…”

“I don’t care. If I die… so be it.” Vlad ran a hand through his hair, startled to find it tied back into a ponytail. At least Plasmius had kept their hair long, he supposed. “He has been puppeteering my body for twenty years, Danny. The only things I knew for twenty years were his thoughts, and his thoughts only. I had no control, could only make suggestions, and he’s been getting harder and harder to influence as time moved on.”

“That’s why he always held back.” Danny’s eyes grew wide. “I wondered about that. Why you—he, whatever—never used the full power of twenty years of experience. You held him back.”

Vlad nodded. “I wanted you to figure out his weaknesses. To grow strong enough to… to put an end to it.”

“You wanted me to kill you. Both of you,” Danny realized, his voice dropping.

“It would’ve been a bad thing to put on you,” Vlad agreed. “But the alternative would’ve been worse. Plasmius… he couldn’t be stopped. For twenty years, I derailed him into focusing on wealth, on acquiring power, but he finally set himself on his original goals. He would’ve killed Jack, would’ve found a way, no matter how despicable, to make Maddie his own. When he found you, a real half-ghost, he added your destruction to your list. And once he had achieved all those goals?” Vlad scoffed. “It would’ve been awful. Plasmius has no compassion, no caring.”

“So you wanted me to kill you? To put blood on the hands of a fourteen year old?”

“Better to hurt one teenager than to kill dozens. Or more, perhaps.” Vlad shook his head. “Even if it was the wrong thing to do, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve found a solution to split him off without shedding any blood. Now we just need to destroy him, permanently.”

Danny’s hands tightened around the tube-like device. “I— I can’t. I’m not gonna kill some ghost just based on— I can’t just kill some ghost.”

“Then give me some kind of invention from your parents and I’ll do it myself.” Vlad drew back his shoulders. “He needs to be gone, Danny. I’ve lost twenty years of my life to him. He has hurt countless people, and would hurt far more. Will hurt many more, if you let him out.”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t let that happen. He can stay in the Thermos.”

“Sooner or later he’ll break out of that,” Vlad insisted. He couldn’t… couldn’t risk that. Never again. “Or someone will release him.”

“I’ll bury it.” Danny met Vlad’s gaze. Stubborn to no end. Not very surprising, Vlad supposed, knowing the boy’s parents. Both Jack and Maddie were not known for giving up.

“It’ll get dug up.” Vlad stared at Danny, tried to will him into understanding. “Danny. I know you don’t like this. It’s a cruel thing to ask of a boy your age. To ask of anyone, really. Give me the… the Thermos, and your parents and I can take care of it. They’re still ghost hunters, aren’t they?”

“I…” He bit his lip, looking down at the Thermos in his hands. “I… I don’t think that that’s a good idea. They think that all ghosts are like that. This will just be— be proof that I don’t want them to have. They’ll think that all half-ghosts are like that.”

“That I’m like that” went unsaid, but Vlad heard it anyway.

“They don’t have to know that Plasmius possessed me all this time,” Vlad insisted. He needed the ghost destroyed. It had to happen, no matter what. “I just need him gone, Danny. I need to know that he will never hurt anyone ever again.”

“I just… I can’t let that happen.” Danny shook his head, slowly moving his arm until the Thermos clipped onto his belt. “He’ll add to my parents’ proof of how bad ghosts are, and even if I let you three deal with him… What’s stopping him from just possessing you again? Or one of my parents?”

Danny shook his head again, the movement sharper, jerkier. “I… I’ve dealt with bad ghosts like him before. That one, I left locked in a Thermos at Clockwork’s tower. I’ll do that with Plasmius too.”

“In the Ghost Zone?” It was not ideal, but… the Thermos would not decay in the Zone, and no ghost would be crazy enough to mess with such a device. And even if Plasmius broke out, it would take forever for him to get back.

“Yeah. Is that a good compromise?”

Vlad nodded, reluctantly. “As good as we’ll get, I think.” He paused, looking around the lab. “Excuse me for asking another thing of you, Danny, but… I’m afraid that I have no explanation for your parents as to why I’m in their lab.”

“Right, yeah.” He shot Vlad a suspicious look. “This isn’t a plot to steal the Thermos from me, is it?”

“I promise to you, it is not.” He placed a hand against his chest and realized, belatedly, that he was wearing a suit. Since when did he wear suits? What was Plasmius thinking? “Bind my hands if you must.”

“Alright, no need to go so far.” Danny rolled his eyes, walking closer to Vlad. “If I get you to the street, will you manage from there?”

Vlad patted his pocket, feeling a hard shape. He took it out to reveal…

“You have a phone, good.” Danny nodded. “You can call for a cab and take your private plane back to Wisconsin, or however you got here. How did you get here?”

“Bold of you to presume I know.” Vlad sighed, placing the phone back into his pocket. “I might just… take a walk, first. It has been a long time since I could.”

Danny threw him a heavy look. “Yeah. Of course. I won’t stop you.”

“And I…” Vlad paused. “I would like to reacquaint myself with your parents. I know that, between my behavior in my youth, and Plasmius’ behavior in more recent times, I don’t deserve that, but… I have learned my lesson a long time ago.”

This, Danny needed time to process. “You’re… not after my mom anymore?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Vlad assured him. “When Plasmius sent out the invites, I caught wind of their marriage. I was… very glad. It was wrong of me to ever continue to pursue Maddie, when she clearly had no interest in me.”

“Then you’re welcome back, I guess.” Danny reached for him, and Vlad let him. Let the boy wrap his cool hands around Vlad’s arms. “I’ll let Jazz know not to get too harsh on you, but I can’t do anything for my mom.”

“Ah. Yes, a Maddie scorned is a Maddie to fear.” Vlad nodded understandingly. “Jack… Jack, I am sorry to say, I never appreciated as I should’ve. I would be glad to accept his offer of friendship this time around.”

Danny lifted him with ease, like gravity suddenly stopped having an effect on Vlad. “Yes, I… I am sure that Dad would love that. And if you try, Mom will see that, too. It’ll be…”

“I’ll do my best,” Vlad promised, after Danny had remained silent.

The boy nodded, then lifted up further. Phased them straight through the ceiling, which led them into the upstairs living room, and then through the wall. Carried Vlad a little further, until they were out of sight from the house.

“I’ll let you wander around first, then.” Danny put him down, surprisingly gently. “Come by whenever you’re ready, Vladdie.”

Vlad smiled back at Danny, feeling something warm and hopeful bloom in his chest. “I will, my boy. And… thank you. For your help with all this. For allowing me to finally be my own person, away from Plasmius. I didn’t— didn’t think it would ever happen.”

“Glad to be of service, then.” Danny bowed, deep, but rose with a smile on his face. “I’ll get this Thermos hidden away somewhere where no one will find it for the next eternity. Have a nice day, Vlad!”

“Yes, you too, Danny Phantom.” Vlad felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. Danny waved, then promptly disappeared from sight.

Vlad waited for another moment. Felt the mild wind breeze past him, tug on his long hair and his suit jacket.

It was good to be alive.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #phic phight 20 #danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #danny fenton #dark writes #me? living up to my name? writing angst? shocking

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crystallinecrimsonmoth · 4 years

Link

Why hello, guess who’s back? That’s right, peeps, after a 3-month hiatus, I have returned to make all your Cegan dreams come true!

Enjoy Chapter 35 - I hope to finish this fic in the next six weeks :3

Tags: @carl-sweet-serial-killer @cegan-and-starker20 @carlnegan (welcome back, crew)

Chapter 35

The little girl Carl had found slept in his arms the whole way back to the Sanctuary, leaving Daniel to drive the car and Adriana to keep her gun in hand in case there were any problems on the road. Carl had settled her onto his lap as soon as they got in the back seat, not wanting either of them to get hurt in the front if the worst happened and the car crashed. She had tucked her face into his neck, quite content about napping in his hold.

‘I’m surprised how quiet she is after all that screaming she did at the house.’ Adriana smiled at the sight of the toddler resting silently on Carl’s lap, making him smile and run a hand over the girl’s blonde curls.

‘She tired herself out, I guess.’

‘What happened between you and Negan?’

Carl shook his head, doing his best not to disturb the kid and looking over at his friend.

‘Nothing important.’ He lied, not particularly wanting to address the bruises beginning to form in fingerprints on his neck.

Adriana didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t want to talk, looking away from him and out of the window to check for walkers. When she didn’t spot any immediate danger, she spoke up again.

‘Will he be helping carry the crib upstairs or should I get Oliver and Rory on the radio to help?’

‘Get those two. Negan can fuck off for all I care right now- ow!’ Carl complained when she smacked him on the side of the head.

‘What was that for?!’

‘Your kid is awake and you’re swearing in front of her.’ The young woman scolded, gesturing to the set of bright blue eyes staring up at Carl’s face.

The teen grumbled internally, refraining from hitting Adriana back as payment since he didn’t want to make the little girl in his grip upset. He gave her a gentle smile, brushing her fringe away from her eyes and poking her nose, not sure why her lack of voice put him at such unease. Usually he liked the quiet.

‘Did you have a nice nap?’ He hummed at the girl but once again he got no response.

Keeping the smile on his face since it seemed to keep her calm, Carl kissed her forehead, giving a wave to the guards who opened the gates for the car. Brie and Cara waved back to him from their position, both frowning in confusion at the sight of a blonde toddler on their leader’s knee and the crib strapped to the roof of the car before they walked over to help unload whatever was in there.

Cara’s eyes brightened significantly at the sight of the little girl and she approached Carl as soon as he got out with the kid still quiet as a mouse on his hip.

‘Who’s this?’

‘She doesn’t have a name yet; I’m calling her Little Fox until I’ve thought of something.’ He responded, shifting his arms a bit so he could hold her closer and smiling when she reached for his hair again.

Cara nodded at his reply, stroking the toddler’s head with a gentle touch, and smiling brighter when she looked up at her.

‘You found her out there? Where the hell was she?’

‘Living with her mum in a boarded-up house. The mum got bit though, I was lucky to find her. She would have starved to death in that crib.’ Carl frowned, kissing her cheek while her small hands played with his hair, entranced by the brown waves.

They stood there for a moment while other Saviours took the supplies allocated to their division of the Sanctuary, taking in the warmth of the sun and the quiet babbling noises the little girl on Carl’s hip made, before Adriana called them both to the car.

‘We can carry this up now.’

‘I’ll take one end. Rory! Get your arse over here and help me with this thing!’ Cara yelled to her fellow guard who nodded, jogging over to help get the crib down from the roof.

‘Take it up to mine and Negan’s room. I’ll go in front so he doesn’t murder you for coming in uninvited.’ The Queen sighed, giving the kid a grin before making his way into the main factory.

Cara and Rory followed close behind with the giant mahogany crib, carefully manoeuvring it up the flights of stairs until they reached the top floor where the leaders’ bedroom was. Carl opened the door ahead of them, walking in without acknowledging Negan who was perched on the edge of their bed, clearly getting ready to talk to his husband as he stood up at the sight of him.

‘Carl,’ He started but the teen cut him off by turning to Cara and Rory, opening the door wider for them so they could carry in the crib.

‘Put it on my side of the bed so I can get to her during the night.’ He told his friends with a smile that disappeared when Negan spoke again.

‘Where the fuck did you get a crib?’

‘I don’t know, Negan, I’m holding a toddler right now so maybe you should be able to figure it out from that.’ Carl replied in a blunt tone, bouncing the girl up and down gently in his grip.

Negan gave him a sharp glare in response, watching him interact with the kid and sitting down on the bed again.

‘She likes your hair.’ He hummed, observing as the toddler gripped at Carl’s hair, causing the teen to wince just a little at how tight she held it.

He did his best not to show his pain, not wanting to alarm her, before setting her down inside her crib with her fox plushie.

‘I’ll be back in a minute, little fox, you stay in there cosy and safe.’ He tapped her nose then turned to Negan, stripping off his jacket.

‘Watch her just now. I need to go to the toilet.’ Carl told him in a stern voice before disappearing through the door to go to the bathroom.

The older man watched him leave, still feeling the anger radiating off of his husband when he looked in his eyes. He hated that he’d managed to upset him about his sister, but he was glad that he had gotten home safe. The addition of the toddler came as a shock at first though the sight of Carl being gentle and parental with her made his heart melt, making him wonder if his opinion on having kids was softening. Maybe they’d adopt the little girl staring up at him with big blue eyes.

Negan smiled at the kid, getting up from the bed and crouching in front of her crib to face her at eye level.

‘Hi Sweet-cheeks. Can you speak yet?’ He spoke to her in a soft tone, not wanting to frighten the little girl with his rugged appearance and scruffy stubble.

He was half convinced that he had blood on him somewhere and was traumatising the precious thing.

When there was no response to his question, he tilted his head, reaching a hand through the gap in the crib and pointing to her toy.

‘That’s your favourite toy, huh? You’re gripping it awfully hard.’ He smiled, trying to look kind rather than frightening like he so often did to their enemies.

He acted like he did around his students, soft spoken and gentle so as to give himself a better reputation with the newest generation of Saviours. The toddler stared back at him with blank eyes, so the man tried a brighter smile instead of speaking.

That caused her to reach out with one hand to grab at his. Grinning wider, Negan grabbed her hand back before standing up and lifting the little girl out of her crib.

‘Aren’t you just the most beautiful princess, huh?’ He hummed, holding her close and chuckling when she touched his stubbled cheek with one of her little hands.

Sitting down again so that he was leaning against the headboard of his and Carl’s bed on his side, he held her close in his lap, supporting her back and petting her hair with a gentle touch.

‘What should we call you, huh? What’s my husband been calling you?’ He cooed, catching her head against his chest when she started falling asleep again.

Negan sighed, stroking his fingers through the toddler’s curls and leaning his head back against the wall while he watched her sleep. Glancing over at her crib, he gazed at the white plastic flowers stuck to it, frowning as he thought to himself.

‘What’s that flower called? Jasmine… little Jasmine.’ He whispered to himself, smiling at the three-year-old who was still tucked into his neck, breathing softly in her sleep.

Shutting his eyes after that, he heaved out a sigh, falling asleep slowly at the same time as Carl came back into the room, a small green blanket hanging from his grip. The sight of Negan with the little girl made his heart ache – he knew they’d be keeping the toddler with them from now on.

Draping the blanket over Jasmine’s small body gently, he sat on the other side of the bed, leaning into Negan’s shoulder. The scent of dirt and whiskey with a little bit of blood put him at ease, lulling him to sleep until his and Negan’s earlier argument disappeared from his mind completely.

#cegan #carl/negan #carl x negan #future serial killer #cegan fanfic

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

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Chapter 12 - Intriguing Intruders and Intruding Intrigues

Ah, yes. Welcome to chapter 2. No, you didn't read that wrong. This begins with the second scene I've ever written for this AU. We've come a long way since back then, especially considering that it was only a little under two months ago and this fic has since taken over my life. Also, thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing! Now enough of me rambling, here's the chapter:

Summary: Jaskier's liege lord comes to Lettenhove and our beloved ex-bard is struggling to keep it together.

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"Where is he?" Jaskier panted, wincing at how his side ached after sprinting up a flight of stairs. He used to be able to hold his own against a witcher on a horse, for Melitele's sake, what had happened to all that stamina?

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, I don't know," Marta answered, her eyes widened in panic. "I've been lookin' for 'im for the past hour. He's nowhere to be found."

"Shit," he cursed, startling the surrounding servants. "Fuck!" he cursed again, just because the first one hadn't been enough to actually voice his frustration. He kicked the wall and howled in pain. "Fucking shit! Start over," he ordered. "I want that damned witcher and I want him now! Marta!"

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Is my cousin presentable yet?"

"No, m'lord."

"Then see to it that she is. You have half an hour; the green dress, if you will."

He turned on the heel and raced down the stairs again, cursing quietly. He shouldn't be surprised, really, that Geralt chose today of all days to all but disappear from Lettenhove. 'That's not fair,' he reminded himself, 'you didn't know eith-'

"Fuck!" His foot slipped on the slippery stairs and he would've taken a tumble down the stairs hadn't he collided with a bulk of muscle.

"Careful, my lord," Geralt said, and held him firmly by the shoulders. "Else a twisted ankle will be the least of your worries."

"Geralt!" Jaskier started a futile attempt to wiggle out of his grasp. "Where have you been, you donkey?"

"Training your horse, my lord," he replied, making no move to let go of him. Instead he calmly looked around, taking in the bustling servants. "What's going on?" He pulled him closer to the wall, to let two men hauling a heavyweight chest pass through. "Are you preparing for war?"

'If only.' He scoffed and smacked at Geralt’s hands. "No. Witcher, you need to leave."

"What?" That finally made him soften his grasp, though he did not lift his hands, nor did he move from where they were crammed onto the same step. "Why?"

Jaskier passed a trembling hand through his hair. It was sweaty already, not a good way to start the day when- "There are guests on their way," he explained as calmly as he could. "I don't know which of my imbecile neighbours chose this exact time for a visit, but there's nothing I can do about it now."

"And why do I-" His hand shot out and caught a young lad by the elbow. "Are those my swords?" he growled menacingly. The poor boy looked as if he might piss himself.

"Yes, I- Geralt!" He tried prying the butcher's hand away without too much success. "Let go of him this instant, you're frightening him!" The witcher complied slowly. "Stop glowering, they are acting on my orders. And you, run along now, and hurry up for Melitele's sake!"

The lad took off again and Geralt crossed his arms and glared. "Why?" he asked again. "Where's he going with them?"

"To your new rooms in the North Wing. Ci- Cousin Fiona is also moving, she'll be living with my sisters." He waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off before he could even start to speak. "It wouldn't make sense otherwise. I wouldn't leave her with you when Józia and Janka are there to take care of her. And as my best friend it's only natural for you to be accommodated close to my quarters."

The witcher frowned, still not convinced. "Why do I have to leave then?"

"Because I do not know who is paying me a visit and what intentions they bear. No-one will look twice at dear Cousin Fiona, but you-"

"My lord, there you are," Jakub came to a halt a few steps below them.

"What?" Jaskier snapped.

"Your visitors. They're bearing the banner of Hangfelt."

Fear gripped him like an icy hand, choking the air from his lungs. "Fuck." He'd known this was inevitable, but still- "Go, Jakub, inform the kitchens right away. I will not be accused of lacking hospitality." He manservant bowed curtly and hurried away.Jaskier turned to follow him.

Geralt caught him by the shoulder again. "What's so important about Hangfelt?"

Jaskier winced. "That's my liege. You need to leave, now."

He frowned. "I don't understand-"

Jaskier was beginning to lose his patience. 'Gods above and below, he's been roaming this continent for almost a century. Should be more than enough time to get a basic grasp on petty politics,' he thought. He almost told him so, too. Almost. "That's not important right now," he hissed and tried to push him away, "we're running out of time."

The witcher didn't seem overly impressed by this display of his measly human strength. "Please, my lord, let me try-"

"You don't need to understand!" he snapped, and Geralt visibly recoiled. If nothing else, it did soothe Jaskier's temper a bit. Wiping his sweaty hands on his breeches, he tried to explain: "My liege, Geralt. Lettenhove is his castle. If he suspects something, anything-" He took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he continued: "If he demands that I hand you over, I won't be able to refuse. I won't be able to protect you from him, do you understand?"

Geralt paled visibly. "Fiona-"

"She'll be fine, she's family. Protected by my name and castle peace and all that. No-one can lay a finger on her without my leave. The Count is not a bad man, he won’t hurt us and break the law: we’re protected by King Vizimir’s peace. But you are not. So, witcher," he straightened himself, "you need to go."

He set his jaw and the grip on his shoulder tightened. "My lord."

"Take your swords and a cloak, and for Melitele's love, stay out of sight. Of his guards, and his men, and most importantly himself. I'll come find you in the woods once all of this is over. Alone. Do not come seek me if there is another person with me." He faltered, taking in Geralt's squared shoulders, his kind eyes, his attentive expression. "I-" Suddenly, the urge to exchange the grip on his shoulder for a tight embrace to calm his fluttering heart became very hard to fight.

"My lord?" Geralt's voice startled him from his trance. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he answered curtly and bit down hard on his tongue, to shake those ridiculous thoughts. "I have places to be, witcher, and so do you. Unhand me and leave."

Very slowly and very reluctantly Geralt did as he was told and freed Jaskier from his grasp. He allowed himself to wonder, only for a moment, if Geralt might have felt overcome by the same sort of sentimentality.

'No,' he told himself decidedly as he sprinted down the stairs of his tower, 'do not think about that. You're Jaskier the Bard, not Jaskier the Fool, Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove. If Geralt had no affection to spare before, he surely won't have any now.'

In the courtyard, what appeared to be the entirety of his staff was bustling around, all doing their best to make the castle presentable for its rightful owner.

There weren't a lot of orders for Jaskier to give, they all knew what they were doing. The air was filled with the rich smells of half a hundred different delicacies to flatter Lord Hangfelt's noble palate, and servants hauled casks of wine and ale alike that would surely not even see the first snow. Wiktor was making space in the stables for at least a dozen horses more, as Jakub was berating some chambermaid for one reason or another. It was a good thing Jaskier had already warned them that his visit was rather imminent after his return from the disastrous parlay. That way they weren't completely unprepared.

Still, he winced at the memory. The meeting hadn't been dangerous or anything, gods forbid, he'd never have brought Ciri if there had been so much as the slightest sliver of the chance. It had even been fun, truth be told, until the Baron had begged a word in private with him. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the whole affair.

"Why?" Jaskier had asked cheerfully, "Are you afraid to get your ass handed to you by a little child again?"

Daniel of Dergetten had frowned at that but not dignified it with a response. Not until he had sent Ciri ahead, at least. Then his old childhood friend had leaned close and hissed: "What on earth are you playing at, Julian?"

"Me?" he had laughed. "Nothing, dear friend. I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"What happened to your sharp wits? Fucked them away on the Path? I thought the man who graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt would know better than to believe himself the only one capable of thinking around here."

"Speak plainly."

"Sheltering a witcher in Lettenhove, Jaskier?" he had mocked. "Beneath a mantle of protection that is not even yours to give? Aleksander hasn't forgiven you for your last insolence, yet. What was the year again? 1252? This impertinence might just be enough of an insult for him to finally set you aside. Unless-"

"That's quite enough, Dergetten," he had bristled.

The bastard had only smiled. "Is it, Pankratz? I know where my loyalties lie, as does the Count. Do you?" The memory of his smile choked the air from his lungs. 'Foolish,' he told himself, 'you're a foolish man, Julian Alfred Pankratz, to think you can hide a secret such as this from your liege.' Which meant, there was only one thing he could do.

It was true that Count Aleksander Milas had been lenient in the past when it came to Jaskier's particularities that distinguished him from the rest of his peers. He quite liked his songs, had even encouraged him to tutor his son - which Jaskier had firmly declined - and he hadn't given him too much of a hard time for his prolonged absence from Lettenhove. Upon his return his liege had only laughed, not cruelly, when he had knelt at feet to beg his forgiveness for his negligence. And when his father had died, not two days later a servant had summoned him to Hangfelt to swear his fealty — despite Jaskier's protests that his sister Janina would be much better suited for the title.

"Nonsense," Lord Hangfelt had answered, "how could I accept her oath when the rightful heir is right here?"

So, he had sworn, and Hangfelt had promised a visit once the mourning period was over. He was only off by three days, probably spurred on by Daniel of Dergetten's dutiful report, the little traitor. As a consequence, though, Jaskier was still dressed all in black, as were his sisters. Ciri's green dress was an almost offending speck of colour when she stepped out into the courtyard.

"There you are," Jaskier exclaimed and strode over to her to put an arm around her shoulders. "Come, you'll stand at my left side."

She nodded and together they crossed over where Janina and Józefa were already waiting. The four of them surely made a pretty image, he thought, all of them with their pale skin, dark hair and bright eyes. 'Ciri fits right in,' he noticed, satisfied with the illusion he'd conjured.

Waiting like this, prettily lined up for their lord to inspect like cattle on a market's day, was torture of the cruelest kind. The urge to fidget hadn't been this strong in him since before he'd left. Images of memories long forgotten flooded his mind, the five Pankratz siblings diligently queueing before their father's high chair to receive his judgement after a day of deeds and misdeeds. It had always been him who had misbehaved most, if wandering off in his mind and quietly humming as he worked could be counted as misbehaviour. It had also always been him to step forward to take the blame and consequences for whatever crime his sisters had committed. It hadn't been his fault more often than not. 'My responsibility to bear nonetheless.'

When he finally found the strength to abandon those hurtful memories he bowed down to Ciri. "You'll have to curtsy," he informed the princess quietly.

"I know," she replied, barely moving her lips. Absentmindedly he wondered how many stiff ceremonies she had already suffered through. 'Surely too many,' he determined. 'Even one is one too much.' "I've seen it many times."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "You do know how, don't you?"

She grew rigid under his touch. "Of course!" she repeated. "I've seen it many times!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. It was Jakub who saved him from the embarrassment of having to explain to a princess how to bend her stiff royal knees. "They're here, my lord," his servant told him quietly.

"Good," he answered. It wasn't good at all. Still, he shouted: "Open the gates!" He heard Jakub repeat his order, and then Marin, too, and then the large winches sprung into motion and opened the heavy oaken gates for the Count and his companions.

As soon as the winches stopped moving, a party of roughly fifteen riders poured into the courtyard. A standard bearer came first, then the Count himself, along with his son and heir, the spitting image of his father. Well, if one ignored the fact that his father was in his forties, overweight, and balding, and not a strapping lad of fourteen years- 'Oh, fuck no, you won't,' he thought and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened.

Behind them followed some brothers or cousins or friends Jaskier couldn't quite remember from his youth, half a dozen guards, and- He nearly cursed out loud when he saw there was a woman riding with them. 'Hangfelt, you bastard.'

To his deepest regret he had to postpone his harangue, though, because Aleksander Milas, the Count of Hangfelt was already dismounting and it was time for their act to begin.

Jaskier stepped forward to greet him with a smile as if he was an old friend and not his garroter. "My liege," he said and bowed with a flourish, "Lettenhove is yours."

"Pankratz!" Hangfelt laughed and displayed his crow's feet for everyone to see. "How good to see you again!" He pulled him into a tight hug that made it difficult to breathe. "How have you been?"

"Fine, my lord," he gritted out and did his best to make a sad face, "as much as the circumstances allow it. Though we are still very heartbroken for the passing of our father."

"And I expect no less, my loyal servant. Which is why I postponed this visit as long as I could. I would not want to disturb your grief."

"You could never, my lord," he answered but the Count had already moved on to his sisters, who were still curtsying deeply. Jaskier nudged Ciri with his elbow to get her to do the same.

"My dear Lady Goldfurt," he said as he beckoned Janina to rise. "I see you still enjoy your brother's hospitality. Is your husband's town so unappealing?"

"Not at all, my lord," her voice and smile were icy, "I am only here to help my brother settle in. He has been away for so long; he hardly knew his way around the castle upon his return."

That made Lord Hangfelt laugh. "Is that true? Have you forgotten all about your home while away on your little adventures?"

"Hardly, my lord," Jaskier forced himself to say. "But it is good to have familiar faces surrounding me."

He nodded. "And what pretty faces those are. Lady Józefa!" He kissed her on both cheeks and Jaskier found himself admiring her self-control. She didn't even flinch from his slobbery mouth. "Has your brother still not found you a husband, Madam?"

"Alas, he has not," she answered jovially, truly an accomplished actress. "Though I trust he will soon correct that mistake. Come spring, perhaps?"

"Sooner still, I hope. I would love a spring wedding. Speaking of weddings, you do remember my sister, Pankratz? The Lady Alina Milas."

The lady in question dismounted her own horse and came over to them. She was Aleksander Milas' step-sister, almost two decades younger than her brother, and the heiress to a rich estate. And his betrothed, whom he had stood up one beautiful autumn evening in 1252 on their wedding day. 'Shit,' he thought and bowed to kiss her hand. This day was growing worse by the minute. He didn't let that show, though. "How could I not? Is it me, Lady Alina, or have you grown thrice as beautiful since our last meeting?"

"Surely I have," she answered coldly. "I was six years old when you last saw me. Though not for lack of opportunities, I remind you."

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Hangfelt just laughed again. "Look at you, Pankratz! She hasn't forgiven you, yet. Well, maybe it is not too late. You are still unmarried, I've heard."

"I am. Though let us not talk of such a joyous occasion yet. You see, my sisters'-" He halted for just a moment, shooting them an apologetic glance. "- delicate nature is still rather frail after our father's death. I wouldn't want to disturb their mourning with festivities."

Lord Hangfelt pouted, which looked ridiculous on a man of his age and size. "You speak of mourning, yet still you have invited guests to your house. I think we haven't been introduced yet?"

"My cousin, the Honourable Fiona Nowak. I met her three years ago in Verden and, after I heard the war had left her orphaned, I had her brought to Lettenhove. It has lessened our grief greatly to have her with us."

Ciri rose from her curtsy and let the Count kiss her knuckles. She obviously had learned self-control from Józefa, for her face didn't so much as twitch. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, Madam."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," she answered and Jaskier could feel the whole courtyard hold its breath, "it was not your sword that slew my mother."

Hangfelt blinked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I see the family resemblance now! A steel-tongued brat for our silver-tongued lordling. Have you given up your verses and songs yet?"

"Almost, your Lordship," he answered with a forced smile, "there is only one person in the world who might move me to a ballad these days."

"A lover?" he teased.

'If only.' "An old friend."

He frowned. "Not the witcher, I hope."

Jaskier forced himself to smile. "Precisely him."

"Speaking of steel and silver and ballads, then, where is he? Has he left so soon again?"

"Not at all, my lord. Though, he left before sunrise this morning. He does not like to spend the days in company, especially not while he is mourning."

"Mourning?" one of the members of Aleksander Milas' party called. "Are you quite sure he can even feel?" Roman, he remembered the brat was called, the Count's youngest brother and just out of his swaddling clothes when Jaskier had left.

'I am, you prick, and I am quite sure with such a comment you'd have angered him enough for him to gut you for me. He can feel just fine.' He pitied that he couldn't say that to his liege's brother. Instead, he opted for: "I believe he thinks himself guilty for the death of Princess Cirilla."

"Ah," the Count said and dropped his voice compassionately. "I've heard the tales. They say she was raped by half a hundred men before the bastards killed her."

His eyes grew wide and his grip on Ciri's shoulder tightened. "My lord, not in front of the child, if you please," he said just as quietly. "She's gone through so much already."

"Of course." He straightened himself. "Speaking of children, have you met my son, yet, Pankratz? Aleksander, Lord Retton."

"I'm afraid I have not." Jaskier bowed again, when the lad stepped forward, looking very out of place with his gangly limbs, too large ears and peach fuzz on his upper lip. 'Gods, and I went to Oxenfurt at that age!' he recalled. Twenty years later, the thought of sending a child to that place filled him with terror. He was glad that the boy could not see the grimace on his face. "At your service, my lord."

"Rise, Lord Lettenhove," he said with a thin voice. 'Gods, he's nervous,' Jaskier thought with amusement. "You, uh, have a beautiful castle."

'What pretty lines he has learned.' He had a hard time not smirking when he answered: "I am pleased to hear that. Are you looking for a new keep for yourself, my lord?"

The lad frowned deeply, obviously not understanding the jape. "Not at all."

"No? Are you then making plans for the future, my lord?"

Helplessly and quite confused Aleksander the Younger looked up at his father, who in turn had a hard time to keep from laughing. "Enough of the teasing, Pankratz," he chided softly. To his son he said: "I told you to guard your tongue with that one. Twisting the words in your mouth is his easiest exercise."

"I would never, your Lordship," Jaskier said quickly, smiling openly now.

"Now, don't add lies to the never-ending list of your sins. We're hungry and we're cold, so keep your mouth shut and lead us to your hall and serve us your best wine. We've deserved it."

Jaskier bowed again. "It would be my pleasure." He turned to his former betrothed. "Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour of accompanying you?"

She scowled and for a moment he feared she might decline, but then she took his offered arm. After a glowering stare of her elder brother she even dignified his formal phrases with equally stilted responses as the Count led the way to the hall as if he owned the place. 'Which he does,' Jaskier reminded himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Aleksander the Younger stumbled over his words to ask Ciri to walk with him, who graciously accepted and giggled stupidly. Then, as she took his arm she made a barbed comment that the boy did not understand but that made Janina gasp in thinly-veiled horror. He couldn't quite rid himself of pride welling up at that, despite the curtain lecture that surely waited for him once the Count left.

In the hall Jaskier hurried to pull the lord's chair back for the Count and tried to ignore the jealousy seeing him at the head end of his table, his heir at his right-hand side. 'You never wanted the stupid title anyways,' he told himself, 'so there's no reason for jealousy now.'

He himself sat down at his liege's left, with Lady Alina at his side. Opposite to them was Ciri next to Aleksander who looked just as miserable as Jaskier felt. As soon as the other guests had resolved their brief argument about who got to sit next to Józefa and had all settled into their seats, the food was brought out.

It was a lot, much more than needed to feed such a small party and Jaskier felt a little bad for wasting it. But that was the way things were and he could do nothing about it. So he had his guests’ plates and cups filled and kept full, maybe a bit too much so. Roman Milas was drunk before the hour was up.

After lunch the Count got up. "I'll be going on a hunt," he declared, "and you will come with me."

Jaskier's head snapped around. "Excuse me?" he answered with a frail voice.

"I believe you understood me quite well. We're going hunting, Pankratz."

'What for?' he wanted to ask but didn't dare to. It was late in autumn already, there were no hunts this late. Besides, there were no hounds in Lettenhove and they hadn't brought any with them either. 'We're not hunting for game, then,' he thought grimly and fought the urge to divest himself of his lunch again. "Of course," he answered instead. "My pleasure."

He left Ciri and Alina with his sisters and led the Count and his friends outside again, praying to all the gods he knew. He prayed that Geralt had finally learned how to listen to a fucking order. He had no idea what his liege could want with the witcher — and he had no desire to find out either.

It took all his carefully composed self-restrain not to let the anxiety that roared within him rise to the surface. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. He has to be.’ Instead he tried to busy himself with what he did best: telling stories. Joyously he japed and jested, and he would’ve jigged to, were his feet not planted firmly in his stirrups.

Aleksander the Elder called for all the raunchy stories of his time in Oxenfurt and he gladly delivered. And when he and his friends doubled over in their saddles with laughter, Aleksander the Younger appeared at his side, shyly asking whether he could tell him about the Academy. The boy wasn’t stupid, Jaskier soon discovered to his surprise, on the contrary. ‘He’s just young,’ he realised, ‘and it can’t be easy to find your voice with a father as loud as his.’

Still, the worry in his chest did not subside and he kept looking to the sky, where the sun inched towards the horizon far too slowly for his liking. Apparently, the Gods had heard his prayer, for they returned some hours later with empty hands and empty stomachs. Dinner was hastily brought out for the hungry hunters and after that the nobles retreated to the fireplace room in the East Wing.

Hangfelt claimed Jaskier's armchair and Aleksander Geralt's, so Jaskier was left standing awkwardly for a moment before begrudgingly retreating to the divan where Alina sat. Like that he was forced to continue the polite conversation, that quickly turned into the dullest interaction of his entire life, until she mercifully begged her brother's leave to retreat for the night.

“You may go,” the Count conceded. “Aleksander, go with her.”

“Father,” he whined pathetically, “you promised I could stay.”

“I promised you could stay the evening,” he growled. “The evening’s over, which means that women and children are going to bed.”

Jaskier hid his smirk and jerked his head in the direction of his sisters and Ciri. The princess was on her feet already and floated over to their guests. “Lord Retton,” she curtsied quickly, “Lady Alina, might you grant me the honour to show you to your rooms?”

Aleksander the Younger frowned and Jaskier smiled proudly. There was no way the young lord could politely refuse such an offer and he damn well knew it. So, he and Lady Alina went with Ciri and his sisters, and left Jaskier alone with Hangfelt and his men.

That finally gave Jaskier the opportunity to talk to the Count himself. "Lord Hangfelt," he said quietly, "might I talk to you in private?"

He scowled but nodded graciously, and allowed Jaskier to lead him to his study. "A drink, my lord?"

"Gladly," he answered as he sat down in Jaskier's chair by the window.

Jaskier poured two goblets of his best liquor — he'd need the courage — and brought them over to his lord. "Your witcher hasn't returned," he remarked as he accepted the drink; their cups clinked together, "and yet it is already dark. He's not very well trained."

"He's not an animal," Jaskier exclaimed indignantly before he could stop himself, "nor is he a prisoner. He may come and go as he likes."

"Not a very grateful guest, then, if he doesn't even come to greet his host's lord."

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to think of a witty response. He wasn't fast enough though, for Hangfelt continued: "Hm. So, that cousin of yours... She does look an awful lot like you."

Jaskier tensed. 'Shit, I should have shut that rumour down as soon as it left Janina's lying lips.' "I suppose she does," he answered diplomatically.

That made the Count smile brightly. "Well?"

He hesitated. "Well... what, my lord?"

"Are you going to legitimise her?"

"Oh." Truth be told he hadn't even thought of that. He cursed silently. Well, maybe- "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, decide quickly, then. I like you, Pankratz. And as luck would have it, the betrothed of my dear Aleksander passed away from a fever a few months ago. I haven't decided on another match, yet."

For a few short moments Jaskier was stunned into silence, convinced that his ears had to be betraying him. 'Why would the Count want to bind me to his family tree?' Before he had even the chance to gather a clear thought his mouth blurted out: "What would you get out of it?"

Lord Hangfelt laughed. "Ever the clever man. Why, I would get Lettenhove back for a start.”

“Well, my lord, if you want it back, why not just take it?” He forced himself to smile. “You know just as well as I do that doing so is completely within your rights.”

“What, and just throw you out?” He shook his head. “No, Pankratz, I don’t think I’m keen on aggravating you anytime soon. Or your sisters, that is. I can’t afford a feud with neither Goldfurt nor Kerton. Not to speak of his Majesty’s uncle, who is so very fond of your Jolanta. And, judging by your reputation, you’d just flee to Oxenfurt and write a horrible cycle of smear poems that would ruin my reputation beyond measure, but not before seducing at least three of my siblings and my mother.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye. “Is that an accurate assessment?”

Jaskier quickly hid his smile. “I believe so, my lord.”

“I know four things about you. First, you were endowed by the gods with a vivid imagination and a silver tongue. I know about the games you play and it’s folly not to fear you. You could be more lethal than your witcher still. Secondly, you’re too clever for your own good. You graduated two terms early, summa cum laude, with begrudging recommendation letters from all your professors. While simultaneously managing to climb the steps of the Academy to the rooms above the vice-chancellor’s office. Don’t give me that look, Pankratz, I did my research. Thirdly, you know how to survive. You did that for sixteen years while trailing behind a witcher like a lost puppy and fucking your way through nigh every marital bed of the Continent. That’s rather impressive. And lastly, you are filthy rich. In fact, you’re the richest vassal I got and I know that you know how to become richer still. Is that about right?”

He nodded slowly. “Colour me impressed, my lord,” he answered, “I believe you’re seeing right through me.”

“Good.” A smile spread on his face. “So, Pankratz, I have to retract my earlier words. I do not want Lettenhove back. I want you. For good. And I want you to put that clever little brain of yours to good use. I think we can go far, you and I.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, why don’t you tell me why you actually wanted to speak to me and we work out a trade?”

“A trade, huh?” he repeated quietly. That was a much better bartering position than he’d imagined himself to be in. “It is true that there is something I wanted to ask of you, though does it not require Fiona to wed your Aleksander.”

“Why ever not, Pankratz? I took you for an opportunist! Wouldn't you like your grandson to be a Count?"

Jaskier's head was spinning as the whole extent of the offer became apparent. He should, he guessed. As a Viscount, that was. He should be delighted with the opportunity to get Goldfurt within reach. If Ciri truly were his daughter, he probably would have agreed without thinking twice about it.

But she wasn't. She was Ciri, sweet little Ciri, who had suffered so much already, who slept with stuffed animals and clung to his lips with whatever story he told; brave little Ciri, who'd be just as deadly with a blade as her father once she was grown. He couldn't barter her away. Never. Not even to- "She's only ten years old," he said quietly. "I don't want to take that kind of decision quite yet."

Lord Hangfelt snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. She’s more than old enough for a betrothal. Alina was scarcely ten months old when our fathers brokered the engagement."

'And what grief that betrothal brought,' he thought bitterly. ‘My bride was not even old enough to agree to an engagement when I could already be married.’ Another reason why he had chosen to hide in Oxenfurt for four years, though not before his father had forced his hand to sign the damned thing. "Allow me a bit more time to think about it. Please, my lord. I only just got her. Seven years I didn't even know of her existence. Don't take her from me just now. I can offer you something else in its stead."

"Tell me about your demand and we can see about that payment. How bad is it? Treason? Spying? Did you kill someone? Not a member of the court, I hope, I can't help you there."

"None of that, my lord, you'll be glad to hear. It's…” He wet his lips nervously. "Five generations ago my ancestors were granted this keep for their loyal services to your family. They have kept their peace, collected their taxes, furthered their interest. I have done nothing less. These ancient walls have protected those who bore my name ever since. Refugees were among them, and traitors, too, yet with your blessing no foe dared disturb the peace of this keep."

"Yes, as it is tradition."

Jaskier closed his eyes and swallowed his pride. 'Geralt could do it,' he told himself. 'And if the stoic witcher can, so can I.' Slowly, he went to his knees. "My liege, I am asking your leave to extend the Castle Peace that protects me and mine to Geralt of Rivia, as well."

"So, that's why he's not here." The Count of Hangfelt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I thought as much, but gods above and below, Pankratz, you are beside yourself with fear. He's a witcher, he will be alright! What are you so afraid of?"

'Why don't you tell me?' he thought angrily. 'You're the one who's been searching for him for the better part of the afternoon.' But right now was the time for humility and humiliation, not anger. "Might I be allowed to finish my plea, my lord?" he asked, his eyes firmly lowered onto the carpet.

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Well, then, wordsmith, talk away."

"The Witcher Geralt of Rivia is my dearest friend, whom I have known for almost half of my life. I love him like I would a brother. He arrived on my doorstep tattered and torn from the war that divides our beloved Continent, with bloodhounds on his heels. They turned around as soon as Lettenhove came in sight, but I do not know if they will stop without knocking a second time. It is not only Nilfgaard who calls for his head, but other factions, too, closer to my borders than I would like. I would like to protect him from these threats and any that might follow."

"You're asking for a lot, Pankratz, you know that," Aleksander Milas said quietly.

"I do, my liege."

"And how do you intend to pay for that?”

He swallowed. "I-" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, but it did not help the dryness of his mouth. 'It's for Geralt,' he reminded himself, 'for Geralt and Ciri.' With a firmer voice than he would have thought possible, he said: "I accept, my lord. I will become a part of your family and help you with your ambitions. If your sister would still take me after the insults I have bestowed upon her."

"Hm," the Count said. “That’s a lot you offer for a bit of protection for your witcher.”

“It is,” he agreed quietly. “You said it yourself, four sixteen years I trailed after him like a lost puppy. He is very dear to me.” After a small pause he added: “Though I certainly wouldn’t be disinclined to another holding or two in exchange for my service.”

"Fine," the Count conceded after a moment of consideration. "Wed Alina if you're so fond of her, then. I'll draw up the contract."

Jaskier clenched his teeth. 'Shit.' That meant that there would be at least half a dozen clauses in it that he wouldn't like. Maybe if he talked to Geralt- No. He wouldn’t do that to them. He bowed his head instead. "I would be honoured," he answered.

The Count held out his hand and Jaskier took it with numb fingers to kiss the signet ring. "Belleteyn is a wonderful date for a wedding."

"I am inclined to agree, my liege."

"Get up now, liegeman, and go fetch your witcher. He'll have nothing to worry about from me tonight. And tomorrow he can swear to you and he will be safe."

"I am grateful for your generosity," he answered honestly.

"I'm certain you are. Now, stop frowning, this is a joyous day."

It was an order, but Jaskier couldn't find it in himself to follow it. 'A joyous occasion?' he asked himself. 'I sold my hand in marriage to shield Ciri from the same fate, and for what? To protect the man, I have loved for half my life with whom I can't lead a conversation that lasts longer than five minutes. Pray tell me, my lord, what is joyous about that?'

#My writing #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cirilla of cintra #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt/jaskier #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH

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catgirlthecrazy · 4 years

Text

To Love and To Cherish

After being extremely mean to Jon and Martin in my last fic, I had to make it up to them with 2,000 words of domestic softness (and a side helping of character development)

AO3

Summary: What if the Scottish Honeymoon lasted through retirement?

***

Martin was washing dishes when the fog rolled in. He didn't notice it right away. He was bent over the kitchen sink and didn't see much beyond the plates and soapy water. It wasn't until Martin straightened to work a kink out of his back that he saw the soft white curtains of vapor drifting across the yard. And Jon was down in the village at the moment, and hadn't said when he planned to come home.

When he'd first come to Scotland for years ago, that had been enough to send him into a panic attack. Slumped against the kitchen counter, knees hugged to his chest, sweating and struggling to breathe for god knew how long until Jon came home and found him like that. He'd held Martin's hand, softly rubbing circles in his palm. Come on Martin, breathe with me, he'd said, voice soft and steady as a highland cow. Breathe in to a count of ten.

Decades had passed since then. Somewhat less since his last real panic attack. Martin knew now, with a rock solid certainty, that Jon would come back. He knew he had friends waiting for him.

Still. Martin Blackwood might not be Lonely anymore, but that didn't mean the scars couldn't ache in the wrong weather. He stared out the window into the fog, hands still dripping with suds. He could remember the day when that fog had filled his eyes and lungs and heart and mind. When he'd been certain that no one in the world cared if he lived or died, and that he would spend the rest of eternity with that numbing fog. Without even the mercy of death to look forward to.

Martin closed his eyes and breathed in. One. Two. He thought of Sophie and Rasheed, who ran the chemist's shop down in the village and invited them to dinner every once a week. Three. Four. Their children, Maryam and Noah, who Martin had known since they came home from the hospital and were now graduated from university. Five. Six. Robin and Daniel, who ran the pub that Jon and Martin went to every Wednesday, and had done so ever since taking it over from Robin's father ten years ago. Seven. Eight. Georgie and Melanie, who hosted Christmas every year down in London. Nine. Ten. Daisy and Basira, who came up to visit for two weeks every summer. Now hold.

Jon. Who woke up beside him every morning. Who could go on and on about the strangest things. Whose brusque demeanor hid a surprising depth of kindness that still delighted Martin even to this day. Who'd plunged himself into that cold and numbing fog to save Martin, and pulled him out again with love. Who'd given up his own sight for a life with Martin, away from eyes and fear. Martin breathed out to another count of ten. He opened his eyes, and the fog was just fog. Just water vapor brought about by a closeness of air temperature and dew point. He went back to washing dishes.

Some time later, something meowed at his feet. Martin looked down and smiled. "Hello Percy," he said to the regal ball of fluff twining itself around his ankles. Percy looked up and meowed again.

"Don't give me that. It's not dinner time for another hour."

Percy gave him a withering look and meowed again, as if to say You are most certainly mistaken. Your clocks must be running slow.

"I think you'll find it's your clock that needs winding, not mine."

Another plaintive meow. You must make an exception! Can you not see how I am malnourished and dying?

"Not falling for that one either."

Percy gave him a look of pure pleading, and mewed.

"That won't work on me. Jon's the cat person, not me."

Percy's expression grew more plaintive. He mewed pitifully. Martin turned back to his dishwashing before he could give into weakness.

Percy's full name was Sergeant Major Percival Pike. The naming of cats was one thing Jon and Martin had never really been able to see eye to eye on. One day many years ago, Jon had come home with a stray kitten and informed Martin that they were calling her The Commandant. Martin hadn't had the heart to argue at the time. Jon had been so adorably besotted with the tiny thing, how could he tell him no? But Martin always felt a little ridiculous calling such a squeaky little fuzzball by such a weighty title. So he'd nicknamed her Manda, and called her that until she passed away from old age in front of the fireplace. Jon had only lightly teased him for it, and Manda didn't seem to mind answering to two different names.

When they adopted their second cat, three years after rescuing Manda, Jon had wanted to name him Lord Chancellor. This time, Martin put his foot down.

Please Jon, can't we give the cat a normal name?

Jon scoffed. What self respecting cat would accept a normal name?

You think a cat's going to care if it's called Whiskers? Or Mittens? Or Fluffy?

Yes, and their owners should be hanged for lack of creativity.

In the end, they compromised, and the cat was dubbed Lord Chancellor Reginald Roberts III. Martin called him Reggie. And so it continued for every subsequent cat they owned, down to their current pair. In addition to the Sergeant Major aka Percy, they were also graced with the presence of Brigadier General Eleanor Evans, aka Ellie. People who didn't know them well sometimes assumed they actually had four cats instead of two.

The scraping of a white cane on concrete announced Jon coming up the front walk. Percy alerted to the sound and trotted over to the front door to wait. A moment later Jon came in, Ellie following closely on his heels like a mother shepherding a slow kitten. She did that often these days. There had been a time some years ago when Jon had been clipped by a drunk driver while walking up the lane, fallen into a ditch, and broken his leg. Ellie had found him on her daily ramble outside, then gone home to Martin and refused to stop screeching until he followed her to see what the problem was. She had appointed herself Jon's official outdoor chaperone ever since. Jon didn't put up with overprotectiveness from humans, but apparently he could tolerate it in cats just fine.

"Sophie and Rasheed say hello," Jon said. He shuffled over to the counter and set down two bags. One had the logo of the chemist's shop, containing the month's assorted prescriptions (arthritis medications for Jon, blood pressure and thyroid medications for Martin). The other had a container of something thick and brown and spicy-smelling. "They insisted on giving us some of their leftover curry, so I think we're having that tonight, unless you have any objections."

Martin smiled. Percy leaned his front paws on the counter walls and meowed insistently, as if to say Yes, that is clearly meant for me, please serve it up straight away. "Sounds better than omelettes. I'll go put on some rice." He leaned in to kiss Jon on the cheek.

***

The curry was excellent. Rich and warm and exactly as spicy as Jon liked it. After dinner found him and Martin on the couch, Jon leaning sleepily into Martin's shoulder. The fabric of Martin's sweater was soft against Jon's cheek, and it smelled faintly of lavender scented soap. Somewhere close by, the Sergeant Major was purring like a well oiled car engine. No doubt he was using Martin's lap as his own personal heated cat bed. Good taste in laps, that cat.

"Let's see, where did we leave off," Martin said. Jon heard the distinctive paper scrape of flipping pages. Real paper books were something of a rarity these days, but Martin wouldn't hear of replacing his collection with more convenient electronic versions. Jon couldn't afford to be as picky. Paper books were satisfying to hold, but they didn't come with built in text-to-speech software. Except when Martin owned those books, then they sort of did.

"Ah, here we are." Martin cleared his throat.

"Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days—

to travel home and see the dawn of my return.

And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea,

I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure."

Martin read in a calm, gentle voice. A slight shift in the cushions told him the Brigadier General was settling herself down above them on top of the couch. Aloof, but still part of things. With care, Jon reached up, found her chin, and offered scritches. The Brigadier General graciously accepted. What a picture they must make.

Jon didn't actually know what Martin looked like anymore. That was a statement that was true on a couple of different levels. Jon's mental image of Martin was still of a smiling, round-faced man with freckles in his late twenties. Jon knew Martin couldn't look like that anymore. His skin was dry and papery, his arms soft and flabby his hair thin and wispy and bald on top. And that was before considering the visual changes that other people (including Martin) commented on, like white hair and liver spots. Jon tried to overlay those facts onto his mental image of Martin, like a police artist trying to age up a photo of a long-missing person. But Jon would never know how closely that image matched the real thing.

On a deeper level though, Jon wasn't even sure if his image of young Martin was still accurate anymore. He'd made a point of memorizing every feature of Martin's face the day he'd decided to take his own sight. Every night for weeks after that, he'd conjured up the image in his mind, gone over every single detail with a mental microscope. He'd hoped that by sheer repetition Martin's face would wear a groove on his memory that could not be wiped away. But memory didn't work like that. Like an image that had been through the photocopier too many times, each act of recall changed the memory, altering and embellishing it until it was a caricature of its original form.

Once, that would have horrified Jon. He'd already had Sasha's face stolen from him, and no amount of terrible eldritch knowing power had been able to retrieve that knowledge for him. The thought of losing Martin's face? That had kept him up nights in a cold sweat. But if the decades since had taught him anything, it was this: the Not Them might have stolen Sasha's face from him, but it had also stolen every other part of her. Her voice, her laugh, even her manner. Jon still had every other part of Martin, waking up beside him each morning.

Jon awoke to gentle shaking. "Jon? Jon, you'll get a crick in your back if you fall asleep like that."

Jon grumbled and sat up. His spine screeched at him for forcing it back into a normal alignment. He grimaced. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine. You want to go to bed? Or I could make Percy let you have my lap."

Half past nine. In his younger days that barely counted as night. One of the lesser known adjustments of old age was the way it had completely obliterated his night owl tendencies. Jon considered Martin's offer. One last nap on his beloved's lap before moving to bed? "Tempting. But I think if I stay much longer I'll stick to it permanently."

With some considerable effort, Jon levered himself out of the couch. He offered a hand to help Martin up, which he readily took. "C'mere a minute," Martin said, tugging Jon gently back before Jon could turn towards the bedroom. Martin placed a hand under Jon's chin and tilted it up slightly. The gesture was both invitation and request, codified through decades of habit together. If the answer was no, Jon just needed to pull away, and that would be that.

Instead, Jon leaned in. There was the subtle but unmistakeable crackle of electricity that came before their lips met. Martin pressed his mouth into Jon's with a somewhat surprising level of intensity. Had something happened while he'd been out that day? Well, if it had, Martin would tell him. Or he wouldn't, if he didn't want to. Either way, it wasn't something Jon needed to know. Jon reached up to caress one cheek. It was dry and cracked, but covered in a soft peach fuzz he'd always been fond of. His other hand stretched around Martin's back, still soft and warm and huggable as an overlarge teddy bear. Jon might not know what Martin looked like anymore. But he didn't need to.

#jonmartin #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fanfic #i will handwave as much canon as I have to to give these boys the soft ending they deserve

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