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zhongrin · 11 months

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the art of breathing normally

— or, the ways you make him breathless so effortlessly

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, diluc, al haitham, wanderer, kaveh, kaeya

◇ tags ◇ fluff, angst, comfort, spoiler/hint of al haitham's character story 5

◇ a/n ◇ yes the title is taken from that one chapter title in “for better or worse” webtoon hehe i love dillon and cedric so much they’re cute

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli finds it hard to breathe (in a good way) when you wrap yourself around him in one way or another. you can drape your arms around his waist, nuzzle yourself against his side, or even jump up to koala-hug him (although he will still scold you lightly as he drops everything in his arms in favor to support you - he just doesn’t want you to get hurt.)

but his favorite has to be when you lace your fingers between his own (preferably gloveless) ones, before tightly squeezing, a pressure not enough to hurt but strong enough to leave tingles upon his skin, making the geo markings along his arms pulse and blink in happiness.

he just loves to be reminded and reassured that you’re here. you’re right here in front of him and you are here to stay. you’re here for him with your tender love and warm smile. and you’ll always be here, etched permanently in his heart, the most unyielding stone eroded in remembrance of your beautiful soul.

it was a spontaneous decision on your part when you slip into bed with al haitham and offered to read his book for him out loud instead tonight. he ponders over it for a bit and decides to relent, wanting to know what is it that made you so hooked on hearing him read his books audibly on normal days. your voice fills his senses as he settles onto his pillow, and his lips tug on the corners as you stumble upon difficult terms you’ve never heard before. he decides to show you mercy by telling you the correct pronunciation, and you thank him before continuing, as cheerful as ever, unashamed of your lack of knowledge - it’s one of the things he adores about you, he thinks. this happens several times, and as he relaxes, your lover found his gaze magnetically straying towards you, examining your features as you read.

al haitham’s lungs seizes momentarily when your words falter as you sensed his stare, a patient smile full of such love and adoration blooming on your expression like the freshest bloom of the padisarahs in the garden. a memory lost to time resurfaces in his mind, and he feels himself reliving the hazy scene behind his closed eyelids. he can’t explain it but it feels familiar and nostalgic, yet it’s also foreign and different. when he feels your hand worriedly caressing the stray tear on his cheek, he could only smiles and thinks to himself -

ah. so this is what a peaceful life feels like.

childe’s breath stutters when you kiss his nose or his eyelids. there’s something so adorable and intimate about those two specific places. like a forgotten childhood memory and the intricate vulnerability of allowing himself to be cherished and loved, to know that you won’t ever harm him despite him having his guard down. surprisingly, ajax doesn’t need a lavish display of love despite his repetitively showy endeavors in telling the whole world that you’re his. he’s already content with your soft giggles and tender touches, hidden behind doors and under the blankets in the cold starless sky of snezhnayan winters.

as the trained warrior that he is, he can last a good few minutes underwater, yet one simple kiss from you effectively diminishes his lung capacity, making him gasp and gulp for air, like a fish out of water. he can run for miles and keep his regular breathing pattern, yet a single notion of your well-being put in harm’s way makes his chest constrict and his breath fall into disarray. you’re the bane of his existence and the deity of salvation in his life.

you steal his breath away and with it, a piece of his cracked heart.

as cliche and boring as it was, kaveh’s breath escapes from his lungs whenever you visibly express yourself near him. he’s an empath to the core and he absolutely adores receiving the waves of your emotions like he’s some sentient radio transceiver who’s so attuned to your channel.

you could smile and he would follow, his chest constricting with incomprehensible joy as he drinks the light of happiness like a withered plant that hasn't seen sunlight in days. he loves to listen to your cheerful voice, like your own devoted transcriber, ready to commit your words and etch them into his soft and overwhelmingly big heart.

you could cry and he would bawl with you while holding you close, his lungs seizing with thorny vines that wrap and threaten to crush them to mush with each pearl of tears falling down the puffiness of your eyes. somehow the sight hits him harder than when the realization of his father not coming back hit him, or that time his mother told him she was going to move to fontaine and remarry - oh, it’s so much worse, because he’s holding his entire world in his arms, and he resonates with your bleeding heart.

kaeya would never admit to it but you would notice that his breath hitches whenever you yank his shirt to kiss him. he can try to deny it all he wants, but he finds your assertiveness hot - there’s just something about having you reaffirming how much you can affect him.

it used to irk him, actually - no one should have so much power over him. his life is already crumbling enough as it is, why would he want someone to shake it all up and potentially make it all crash down? and yet, throughout your relationship, he sees you fix the cracks, changes the rusted nails out, and solidifies his foundation. you’re so patient, your touch firm and gentle, and with each fissure healed he finds himself laughing breathlessly… and he lets go of his inhibitions. you can steal his marred heart away, and take his breaths too while you’re at it.

diluc finds his breathing spectacularly failing when your finger brushes against his nape as you help him tie his hair into a high ponytail. he still does not understand why you prefer this hairstyle, but he understands fully that the lack of air in his voice when you worriedly ask if you’ve tugged on his hair too hard is, in actuality, caused by how he wishes he could spend the rest of his life with you. to be with you, just like this, tranquil mornings full of domesticity and love, a replica of the little bits of memories he remembers of his late parents when they thought he was still asleep.

he’s so in love with you, he burns brighter in your presence, and he doesn’t even care if it uses up all the oxygen in his lungs; for he is sure his love for you is an eternal flame not born from the borrowed power of the gods, but from the deepest part of his heart.

wanderer has no need for these two specific atoms chemically bound to form an oxygen molecule that these weak humans seem to need lest they keel over and asphyxiate. and yet he still feels something compressing itself into an ever-consuming black hole within his hollow chest whenever you touch his white wooden skin with the most tender of touches as if he was something to be cherished. as if he was worthy of your presence. as if he was human. as if you truly love him.

ridiculous, he hisses and slaps your hand away every single time. his throat clogs and his lips purse, his vocal chord failing to enunciate how foolish you are, and the feeling got worse when he sees you merely chuckle at his ‘prickliness’.

you touch him again with the same hands five minutes later, and he struggles to squash the urge to smile.

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lomlhwa · 9 months

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the silent sea (p.sh)

pairing: siren!seonghwa x marine biologist!reader

preview: strange things have started happening around your boat. you've been out at sea alone for a few weeks, studying whales. but recently, things on your boat have started disappearing and animals have started dying. you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched by someone. or something.

tags/warnings: fem reader, monster cock seonghwa, scales everywhere (i mean everywhere), biting (he has sharp teeth and they do pierce your skin), belly bulge kink, degrading, sadomasochism, he eats a chunk of your leg (it's not fatal), unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, impregnation

trigger warnings: blood, cannibalism(?), a whole lot of dead animals, it's pretty much not consented cause um siren song

wc: 2.1k

song recs for this fic: bye bye bye by wei, tank by nmixx

a/n: when i posted my yeosang siren fic forever ago, someone asked for a less violent version with seonghwa. so here it is. still slightly violent but you don't die this time <3 (please note that i made up some things about sirens to make the story better. there's a lot of variation in the story of sirens so please don't take my word for anything.)

you wake up to the waves crashing on the side of your boat just as you had for the past two weeks. when you got your marine biology degree, you didn’t realize how lonely you’d get at sea. you go to grab your binoculars and look out into the open sea, only to find that they’re missing. you search for a few minutes before deciding to just use your backup pair.

you hold the binoculars to your eyes and peer out into the never ending water. you see a few fish and the large shadow of one of the whales you’ve been following. it’s a beautiful female blue whale. tracking her size and interactions with other blue whales has been your task for the past few weeks.

you walk to the other side of the boat to see if you can spot your male blue whale. when you look through your binoculars, you see something floating in the water. you squint, trying to make out what it is. you’re horrified to find that the water around it is red and it’s clearly a dead animal.

you put on your full diving suit and get into the water, worried about what had happened. you tether yourself to your boat before swimming over. you come to find that it’s a dolphin. you roll it over to find strange bite marks. they’re much too small to fit any of its natural predators. the bites look more like the bite size of a human. you run your finger over one of them, finding that a couple of the teeth sink deeper than others, indicating sharper and longer teeth.

you leave the dolphin where it is, knowing that there’s other wildlife that will use it for nutrition. you climb back into your boat and detach from the rope you’d used to not float too far. you grab your journal to note down your findings.

the rest of your day is pretty typical. you spot your male blue whale later on in the day, monitoring his interactions with your female. nothing else seemed out of place but the incident with the dolphin never left your mind. what had killed it?

the next morning, you wake up, prepared for more research. when you walk to the side of the boat, you scream. 4 more dolphins have been killed overnight. the closest one smacks against your boat with every crash of waves. you use the net from your boat to catch it and bring it on board so you can examine it.

you find that this dolphin has the same bite marks as the one from yesterday. you assume the other 3 are in the same condition. horrified, you try to figure out what could be doing this. it can’t be a shark, their bites are much bigger than this one. it can’t be any of the fish because their bites are too small.

bewildered, you put the dead dolphin back in the water, leaving it for food as you had done with the previous one. you look out into the vast waters, wishing you could spot something else out of the ordinary that might explain all of this.

while you’re standing on the right side of the boat, you get a sudden chill that feels like you have eyes on you. you feel like you’re being watched with malintent. you turn around abruptly, only to find that there’s nothing there. you walk over to that side and lean over to see if there’s something hiding. nothing. unnerved, you go to note down the sudden death of these dolphins.

tonight, you decide not to sleep. you need to find out what is causing these animal deaths. what sort of monster is killing full grown adult dolphins with a bite so small? you keep a small flashlight on you and wander around the open space of your boat. you keep the light off so you don’t scare whatever is lurking in the sea. you’ll only turn it on if you hear something.

for a few dark hours, you hear nothing but the usual sounds of the ocean. crashing waves, whale songs and the wind. but then, you hear the flap of what sounds like a fin. you think for a moment that it might just be a fish, but the contact it makes with the water sounds too big to be a fish but too small to be a whale.

you rush to click on your flashlight and manage to catch a glimpse of an unusual tail-looking fin. it’s bright orange and highly bioluminescent. it doesn’t look like it belongs to any of the known animals of this ecosystem; at least not to the ones you know of. it appears a couple more times before disappearing. you can see it glowing under the water for a few meters before disappearing into the night completely.

the next morning, you hope and pray that no more animals have died since you went to bed. you stayed up as late as you could but you did need to sleep. unfortunately, your worst nightmare has appeared. one of your whales is dead. one of your huge blue whales has fallen victim to this unknown creature. this feels like it’s getting revenge on you for spotting it.

you scream and collapse to the floor, staring at your whale floating on the surface of the water. the water surrounding it is dark red. you can see that he’s missing chunks of blubber from his back and sides. “leave my animals alone!” you yell out into the vast sea, wishing that whatever was doing this would hear you.

you feel that same feeling of being watched again. the thing is listening to you. you can just feel it. “stop killing the animals, they never did anything to you! if you want my attention, just show yourself!” you yell again.

you hear the water splash before hearing and feeling something crash onto the floor of the boat. fear shoots up your spine, every part of you urging you not to turn around. are you really about to face the thing that’s been tormenting you and the ocean? yeah, you are.

you turn around and you’re faced with a beautiful man standing across the deck from you. his arms are crossed and his dark eyes pierce yours. you know that he was the one causing the feeling of being watched but there’s no way he could kill a whale. matter of fact, there’s no way he could be all the way out here without a ship.

“you’re really fucking annoying. all that screaming these past couple mornings has been piercing my ear drums,” he finally speaks. he tilts his head and smacks the side of it, forcing water out of his ears.

“are you what’s been eating the dolphins? and my whale?” you ask, getting up off the ground. you gesture to your very dead whale behind you. the man nods, shrugging. “i’m not really a fan of the taste of whale but i knew it would set you off, so i killed it,” he picks at his teeth as if he has food stuck in there. “your scream made it worth it.”

“what kind of sadistic fuck are you?” you stare at him, completely horrified at what he just said to you. he laughs at you. finding joy in your displeasure. “what, sea creatures can’t have a little fun anymore?” he walks closer to you, waving his hands in the air as if he’s offended.

“you don’t look like a sea creature,” you make a confused face at him. he doesn’t have gills or fins or anything that would really scream ‘sea creature.’ he rolls his eyes, rolling up his sleeves. he reveals bright orange scales that go all the way up his arms. they seem to match the color of the strange tail you saw last night. he grins with terrifyingly sharp teething, seemingly sensing that you’re putting the pieces together.

“what… what are you?” you say, subconsciously taking a step back to go back to a safer distance. “well, let’s list my features and see if you can figure it out with that stupid brain of yours,” he bares his teeth at you. “scales, mermaid-like tail and sharp teeth. take a guess little miss marine biologist.”

that’s impossible. what he’s describing is fictional. merely folklore. “siren,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. he clasps his hands together in excitement. “ding ding ding! look at your feeble brain go,” his smile has sinister undertones and a new rush of fear surges through you.

“now, i’m here for one thing and one thing only,” he plops down onto the ground, crossing his legs. “see, sirens can only reproduce with a human, not other sirens. and you, being out here all alone, are the perfect candidate,” your face contorts into minor disgust. “no,” you retort.

“i think you’re misunderstanding. i’m not asking,” he says before he shakes his head at you. he opens his mouth and a beautiful song fills your ears. it is haunting and echo-y in your head. you feel yourself being drawn to him instantly. you’re unable to move at your own free will.

your legs carry you to him on their own accord. despite his mouth closing, the song continues to possess you. you halt in front of him, your body completely limp. you’re only being held up by the powers of his siren song.

he removes your clothes with an inhuman ferocity. your body is laid down on the ground, completely stripped. he hovers above you having removed his own clothes as well. you come to find that the orange scales cover his whole body. you strain your eyes to look further down his body and find your eyes meeting what was hiding under his pants. it’s basically the size of your forearm. you can already tell it’s gonna hurt.

he spreads your legs and gets between them, lining his length up with your hole. you want to fight and close your legs, but you’re completely immobilized. he shoves his whole member into you at full force. it hurts so much you see stars. the stretch is enough to make tears sting your eyes.

“shhh, good whores can take cock with no warm up,” he caresses your face with a gentleness you had yet to see from him. “you’re gonna be my good cum dump and do what i make you.” he lets you adjust for a few moments before pulling all the way out and slamming back in. screams beg to leave your throat but you’re unable to release them.

he pounds into you with animalistic speed. his only focus is on breeding you. that’s the only reason he’s been tormenting you. he’s using your body for continuing his own bloodline.

out of nowhere he pulls out of you, his high clearly creeping up on him. something in his demeanor changes as he leans down to one of your legs. without warning, he bites a chunk out of your thigh, chewing and swallowing it in front of you.

“need more stamina to fill you up like the good whore you are,” he says as he wipes your blood off his lips. he shoves back into you before leaning down and digging his teeth into your shoulder. he doesn’t rip any skin off but he leaves a few deep bites.

his hips stutter and his sharp nails dig into your hips. he pumps you full of his seed. it’s so much that it streams out of you as he continues to thrust into you. “gotta make sure you’re gonna get pregnant. otherwise i’ll have to follow you home for more than claiming my child,” he whispers in your ear.

he pulls out of you, cum spilling out from inside you and pooling under you. he puts his clothes back on and sighs, staring at you. “your pregnancy will be fast with a siren baby. maybe, 3 weeks? don’t go back to shore until after you give birth or i’ll gut you like i gutted that whale.” with that, he jumps back into the sea.

you lay there in shock of what just happened. you finally regain control of your limbs and you stand up. you grab tissues to clean yourself up. you put your clothes back on and sit on your bed, wondering how the hell you just lived through that.

before you know it, 3 weeks has passed and you give birth to a beautiful baby boy. he takes after his father with his orange scales. as promised, the siren returns to claim the child. “perfect,” he says, taking the child from you and heading for the water.

“wait!” you yell. he turns around, looking at you puzzled. “what’s your name? that’s the least you could tell me after i just had your kid.” he smiles at you and jumps into the water. you rush to the side of the boat and he pokes his head above the water.

“seonghwa.”

#lomlhwa #ateez #atz #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez smut #atz smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut

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utilitycaster · 1 year

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look, I know polls are silly and fun and so I want you to understand writing this rant is silly and fun for me but EMON? Emon is the Critical Role Entry for Most Place of All Time? I must call bullshit. And so:

Friends, fellow critters, and people who have me blocked but hate read my blog each morning over breakfast: Emon is not even the Most Place on the Material Plane. It is not even the Most Place in Tal'Dorei. Hell, it's not even the Most Place on the fucking Bladeshimmer Shoreline, which includes a destroyed city now overtaken by bandits, and a cave system that hosts both a rift to the Far Realm and a different rock than residuum that can make a different magical drug than suude. Emon is if you took the aggressively mid vibes of Washington, DC and transplanted them to the inconvenient location and city of refuge for flaky people who avoid gluten for non-medical reasons of Los Angeles. The second Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III invents the motorcar that sumbitch is going to have traffic bad enough to summon Tharizdun. Also there's a literal pit of fire that's been burning for 30 years that both hasn't been adequately addressed but also doesn't really seem that interesting. Like oh a bunch of dragons destroyed your city? Big deal. Draconia got so fucked up it doesn't exist anymore, and at least Westruun has some fucking charm. At least Pike and Grog actually lived there, whereas Vox Machina got a house in Emon and proceeded to spend their time literally anywhere else.

Here is a brief list of places on the planet of Exandria in the Material Plane - not even across Critical Role's main campaigns/EXU, which includes such non-Exandrian places as "living city of people who mind-melded and escaped to the Astral Sea during a century-plus-long war of the gods"; "Ligament Manor"; "Ryn's groovy pied-a-feu, man I wonder what made the scorch marks on that furniture, anyway", and "THE MOON THAT IS ACTUALLY AN PRISON FOR A THING THAT EATS GODS AND IS POSSIBLY HATCHING" - that are more of a place than Emon:

Jrusar: 5 spires no waiting, sweet cable car system, city almost entirely destabilized by goo creatures as part of an overly complicated plot to blow up the aforementioned moon

Bassuras: (literally "garbagetown") Run by Mad Max gangs and everyone is cool with it; regular sandstorms; one of those gangs apparently sits atop a hive mind and NO ONE has examined this (except for them)?)

Whitestone: has a tree planted by one god over a buried temple to another god that was corrupted in the name of a third, shittier god; overrun by zombies but it's fine now; streetlights and two bears that are allowed to do whatever the fuck they want.

Yios: The canal system of Venice meets the colleges per capita of Boston meets the orcs from your fantasies, also there's some kind of kitchen-based organized crime ring so intricate it could be its own campaign (so, also like Boston).

Vasselheim: literally no one understands what the fuck its government system is. Old as balls. Temples everywhere! Temples full of trees. Temples full of blood! Temples full of an old guy who will kick your ass. A sphinx that regulates the monster hunter mini-game. Presumably the giant titan full of the ancient cannibal dwarf city is like, still there, as a new fixture, since I don't see how they're moving that.

The arctic: where teleportation doesn't work, there's a river of lava in the middle of the snow, ancient ruins full of snow globes full of actual people, and the Chaos Bisexual Emerald - and that's just a smattering of what Eiselcross has to offer.

Since this is about space and not time we can toss Aeor and Avalir too, since they once were places, and while we're at it whatever the fuck is going on with the Shattered Teeth and its permanent fog cloud and fish dream cult and capitalist shipwrecked merchants.

And, of course, any arbitrary square millimeter of Wildemount, frankly, has more Mostness than the entirety of Emon could muster under absolutely ideal conditions. But for the sake of one place per region, let's hand it to Rosohna (city of eternal night for practical purposes, built over the Evil God Headquarters); Uthodurn (underground! Giant goats! Elves and dwarves, living together, mass hysteria!); Hupperdook (steampunk gnome party city); Nicodranas (Fjord, Jester, Veth, Marion, and Yussa literally all live there at once; plumbing used to be courtesy of an imprisoned marid...but watch out); and Blightshore (Blightshore).

In conclusion: Emon is boring, nominating it was a mistake, there are literally sealed gods in other parts of the world and also way better taverns, good night, and what the fuck.

#critical role #long post

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llondonfog · 6 months

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MILK & HONEY. + dazzling fic art by @suntails <3 (also available on ao3)

“It will be alright, darling boy, I promise— everything will be alright.”

There’s no response, but Lilia doesn’t mind. His son has always been the quiet, thoughtful sort. Humming faint snatches of a lullaby long forgotten, he threads a hand through the boy’s moonlit strands, apathetic to the copper rust smears left behind. The child’s bangs have grown, he notes idly, fussing with the strands that have fallen over the boy’s face. Lilia ought to cut them soon.

“There will be time for that later,” he finishes his thought out loud, bending forward to press his lips benevolently to his son’s cool forehead— a blessing, Lilia thinks privately with a smile, examining the faint crimson outline of his lips against that pale skin. Blood of the father, blood of the son; sacrament and all that.

“But for now, my dear,” he gently strokes the backs of stained claws against the side of his boy’s face, leaving a virginal blush behind on a bloodless cheek. “It is time for you to wake up.”

Silver is five years old and held at knifepoint when he first meets his father.

There is a man holding his small arms behind his back, another grasping at his feet, while a third laughs grimly down at his rapidly watering eyes and traces the blade delicately against his temple.

“You’ve been a burden on our village for far too long, brat,” he sneers while Silver’s rabbit heart beats fast and panicked within his heaving chest. “No mother, no father, cared for out of the kindness of our hearts, and you have the nerve to go about stealing our scraps to feed the animals?”

They’re hungry too! Silver wants to cry out, if opening his mouth wouldn’t drag the blade against his hairline. And they’re his friends, when no one else would be.

The man, unfortunately, is right.

He has no family to speak of; an abandoned babe with odd-colored eyes, silkspun hair, and a debilitating tendency to sleep without cause like the dead themselves that had everyone in the village whispering fearful tales of curses and changelings. It didn’t help that the spring of his arrival had marked the beginning of a painful famine that would relentlessly grip the decaying land, crops failing out of a barren and cracked landscape as rivers began to bleed thin and dry. Changeling or not, it hardly took much time at all for any sympathetic feeling towards the foundling child to metamorphosize into bitter resentment at an extra mouth to feed when their own fevered children were crying out for more. Was it any wonder that he had turned to the few remaining woodland creatures for comfort, saving meager portions of his already miniscule meal to share in gratitude for their simple acceptance and affection?

The man with the knife doesn’t wait for any answering explanation, merely smacks the blade pointedly against his cheek with a cruel, hungry gleam in those dead fish eyes, and the other two holding him still trade malicious grins.

“It’s only fair that you pay for what you stole,” the man continues, almost kind and patient in his rationale— (I didn’t steal! Silver wants to shout, mouth dry and empty with fear. I only ever gave them food from my portion!)— and he hums with a terrifying softness at the way Silver’s frightened gaze tracks the knife’s every teasing glide about his forehead and his limbs tremble in their brutish hold. “Oh, not with your life— not at first, anyways. We’re going to scalp you; I can only imagine the price your pretty hair will fetch when we tell the traders that it's woven out of pure silver. It’s a start for what you owe us all for taking care of your worthless and lazy hide for the past five years, and then—”

He pauses as if for some grand operatic effect, savoring the way the tears helplessly gather and bubble at the edge of Silver’s lashes with a wicked smile.

“Then, we’ll kill you and plate you tonight as dinner. I think there’s enough to go around for the rest of the village, don’t you?”

Two things happen: First, Silver bursts into tears. Second, a dark shape drops from the trees above and latches onto the man’s throat, tearing it open in one fluid movement and soaking the entire scene, Silver included, in a hot spray of blood.

The entire woodland clearing erupts into chaotic, frenzied screaming. The other two men violently shove him forward in a futile attempt to use him as a shield and escape, and he falls numbly to the ground, limbs frozen in place out of dumb shock as shadows leap effortlessly over his head. The knife that had been so sinister just moments ago lies dull and dirtied in the forest floor by the now nearly headless corpse, and in the dim reflection of its blade, Silver can make out the similar gruesome demise of his other captors. The shrieking fearful sounds are silenced just as abruptly as they began; in less than thirty seconds, the forest has returned to its quiet, sedative self, at peace with the justice that has been served.

Who . . ?

Quiet, gentle footsteps sound from behind him, their stride unhurried and at ease as they round his quivering, prostrate frame, and something hysterically yells in his mind that it’s poor manners to not at least look his rescuer in the eyes.

“Hello, child,” the angel (for surely that must be, he fell from the heavens, did he not?) smiles down at him through dripping fangs.

Silver stares up through blood-splattered lashes at his savior and wonders if this is what it’s like to be stricken with love.

The vampire takes him home.

He laughs uproariously when Silver so shyly and seriously wonders aloud if he was truly an angel, with hands as kind and gentle as the spring sun upon the muddy bruises and dried wounds from the knife split across his face.

He laughs at a lot of things that Silver says. It’s uncannily loud and booming for such a small man, but Silver instantly decides that he likes it.

The vampire explains that he is, well, a vampire. He even lets Silver curiously brush tiny fingers over his fangs once they’ve been cleaned of blood and gristle, smiling down at him all the while without a trace of malice that he’s grown so used to seeing.

He tells Silver that his name is Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge. It’s a difficult name, a weighty name for Silver’s tongue to pronounce, but he rolls it softly in his mouth to savor it all the same, marveling at how much it feels like royalty.

Lilia explains to him by the light of the fire that he’s lived for a very long time, that he’s enjoyed a life rich beyond anyone’s comprehension from all of the sights he’s seen and the wonders he’s traveled. But no creature is immortal, not even vampires, as long-lived as they may be— the years are heavier now, they ache and sting at his bones as if he’d soaked them in baptismal water. And in his many travels, he had so happened to stumble upon this empty cottage tucked away and abandoned inside this quiet, peaceful forest—

(“Like me,” Silver whispers solemnly. “Is that so?” says Lilia, summer-cherry eyes brilliant against the flames.)

—and so he had thought, what a nice place to relax and rest his weary soul, a place for him to enjoy a rare moment of serenity before the next grand adventure swept him back out to sea.

“How silly of me at my age to think that I could anticipate the future,” Lilia brushes his hand gently through Silver’s tangled hair, the knots easily coming undone from a mere sweep of his fingertips. Silver can’t quite recall how and when he had made his way onto the vampire’s lap, only that he is leaning his head adoringly against the man’s chest, staring up at him with bated breath.

“I didn’t expect to have to rescue my newest venture!”

There’s no need to discuss it after that: Lilia never asks him to leave, and Silver never thinks to do so.

It’s idyllic. Lilia feeds him, clothes him, lets him play with the forest animals for as long as he wishes. They take care of the little cottage together— Silver discovers a patch of land in the back that at one point might have been a sad attempt at a garden, but under the patient toil of the two of them, burgeons into life with all manner of flowers and vegetables. Lilia teaches him how to darn his socks and how to properly use a whetstone. He tucks Silver into the small bed alongside him and paints visions of faraway worlds upon the thin wooden walls, a better storyteller than any traveling bard that had come to the village before.

When Silver calls him ‘Father’ for the first time, he doesn’t laugh.

In return, Silver doesn’t complain when he helps Lilia mop up any traces of blood from the traveler he’s feasted upon for the night.

His father is not a monster, this Silver knows as truly as the sun travels through the sky. The weary men and women who wander across their little abode are treated with nothing but kindness— a warm seat by the fire, a fresh meal to eat, and a soft place to rest their heads. All that his father asks of them is to spare what little coin and wares that they are able to part with, a strange gleam in his eyes and a sincere smile on his face.

Without fail, the strangers comply. They always do.

And in the morning, if they’re a little more woozy than when they laid down to sleep, Silver reassures them that the small satchel of strong-smelling herbs and wrapped provisions for the road will do them a world of good. Together, father and son stand in the doorway of their humble home, hands raised in gestures of well wishes and farewell, as good hosts ought to do. Their visitors stumble down the chrysanthemum and lycoris-lined pathway back to the welcoming arms of the forest, and Silver flexes his toes in his new shoes while his father indulgently twirls his latest trinket around his fingertips, admiring the glint of it in the pale sunlight.

(“Not all vampires are as kind as I am, child,” his father explains to him as he tucks a sheathed blade into the drawer of their nightstand, under the pressed and faded flowers that Silver had brought for him over time. “There are those who would see longevity as the means to power instead of the humbling blessing that it truly is. There are those who have let their years sour their minds like fermented wine, who have only steeped in cruelty instead of basking in the innocence that still exists in this world. And I would not have you defenseless inside our own home.”

Silver looks at the dull sheen of the knife and thinks back to the cold sting of one flayed against his cheek, and he wonders if those who lurk in the shadows of the night are truly the ones he ought to fear.)

The years pass in this necessary fashion, seasons tumbling and turning over themselves with a prevailing peace that Silver had once believed could only exist in storybooks. He outgrows his sleeves faster than travelers pass by, and it isn’t long before he finds himself a whole head and a half taller than the vampire. His father laughs at his shaggy bangs, proclaiming Silver to be more sheep than boy, and attacks his hair with all the ferocity of a mad barber. The lasting effect leaves something to be desired and Silver could swear that the bluebirds by their window are chortling to themselves instead of singing.

His father ruffles his sharp nails through the butchered mess of Silver’s hair and laughs again, proclaiming them to be matching lopsided twins, and Silver is unable to imagine a moment that he’s ever been happier.

What a shame it is then, that all good things cannot last.

The summer of Silver’s sixteenth year is a cruel, unforgiving one.

The August sun swelters the earth with a breathless heat, insidious like none before. It is relentless in its seething anger to drive the woodland creatures to the deepest burrows in search of shade, the birds to practically droop like molten taffy in their water bowls, and his father to haunt the shadows of their home, face flushed and eyes feverish in a way that no cool rag could soothe.

There could be no greater pain in Silver’s heart than this: the wilt in his father’s proud spine, the light tremors that seize his clever fingertips. He hovers over the vampire like a fretting maid, hands wringing uselessly as nothing short of the obvious will soothe his father’s condition, and travelers have been few and far between. Lilia conjures up smiles for him and swears that he’ll be alright, it’s simply a harsher season than before, and Silver cannot help but get the distinct feeling that he’s being placated. Even worse, it mostly works, the lonely and frightened child from the woods who sleeps deep in his soul comforted by that unsinkable paternal reassurance.

Still, Silver is unable to completely shake the feeling that something is amiss.

Lately, his rest at night has been disturbed. He wakes to the faint sounds of ruptured inhales so very close to his ear, of something in the clear throes of distress, with choked noises of desperately sought after air as if the deprived creature was suffocating. The noises are so frightening, so animalistic in nature that Silver can only think to associate them with his beloved woodland creatures, and yet when he hurries to his bedroom window and peers outside with his heart in his throat to find the poor animal that had been mauled by a predator— there is nothing but the silent gleam of moonlight, shining down upon his deflated flower beds.

His father merely purses his lips in worry when Silver brings these odd instances to him, and wonders aloud if these are queasy dreams brought on by the heat; with little else to explain, Silver’s inclined to believe him.

But these events are pushed out of his mind when salvation finally approaches one late afternoon in the weary figure of a man, clinging to the reins of a stumbling horse, at the end of their pathway.

His father must have sensed the newcomer’s presence too, for Lilia is at the door before Silver can even call for him, ever the gracious host and smiling beatifically at their wayward traveler as if Silver hadn’t needed to shake his shoulders thrice in mounting worry to wake him that very morning. The man eagerly accepts the offer of nightly shelter, passing the reins of his horse to Silver to tie to a post in the welcome shade of a nearby tree, and Silver watches over its broad shoulder as he gently rubs the creature down. His father, ever the effortless conversationalist even at the height of his malady, needs no reins with which to lead the man into the cool, womb-like darkness of their home, and Silver feels a rush of palpable relief at the familiarity of the old song and dance— perhaps at last, his father might finally take a turn for the better.

The next morning, Silver checks on his father first and smiles to see the vampire snoring away in what must have been his first blissful sleep in weeks, bedsheets haphazardly tangled about him in an ocean of white. With practiced motions, he leans down to straighten the blankets fondly around the slumbering figure, only to wrinkle his nose at the sharp scent of iron heavy on his father’s breath. After such a dry spell, the bitter tang scratches at his senses, and he can’t help but take a glance into their tiny living room where their guest yawns and shuffles in his borrowed blankets.

Perhaps a breakfast with a healthy side of dark, leafy greens was in order.

Morning is a quiet and simple affair— his father is sleeping in for once it seems, and Silver makes efficient work out of the early meal for their guest who must have had a rough night of tossing and turning judging by his wrinkled clothes and constant, belly-deep yawns. Silver even offers for the man to stay a while longer if he isn’t fit yet for travel, but their guest insists (rather strongly for his exhausted nature) that he could not impose on their goodwill much longer. With a mental shrug, Silver bows his head and allows the man privacy to retrieve his things, heading outside with the intent to bring the waiting horse to its owner.

Only, the horse is nowhere to be seen.

Silver’s heart falters in his chest, and he turns to their departing guest with a litany of apologies on his lips, for he had been so sure of tying the creature up safely for the night, but the man waves him off with an unsteady hand and a smile that keeps attempting to slip from his face as if greased, proclaiming that he had no need for what had been such an aging beast. He could continue his travels alone, and Silver can only watch and uneasily curl his fingers into his palms as the man cuts a wavering figure back down their pathway despite his bewildered protests.

(“We ought to warn those who stop by that there may be a bear in the woods,” he tells his father later, the vampire having woken long past their traveler’s departure. “The noises I’ve been hearing and now the horse’s disappearance. . . someone could get hurt.”

His father doesn’t seem too concerned with Silver’s hypothesis, and he supposes that’s simply how one behaves after centuries of besting mortality. Still, he resolves to be more cautious in his time spent outdoors.)

The man’s arrival marks a turning point in the summer, the blistering dog days giving way to the cooler promise of autumn. It also marks a turning point in his father’s health, one that Silver is initially so incredibly grateful for as the vampire seems to perk up and become the very picture of rosy, energetic grace. The weakened figure of mere weeks prior haunts the corridors of his mind, and Silver finds himself making excuses as his father welcomes the oddly increasing number of strangers who have found themselves down their homely path with open arms and glittering eyes above a wide, gleaming smile. It had simply been a veritable drought of company, and his father, gregarious as he was, was in his element now, thriving off the attention almost as much as the blood that came with it.

And perhaps that is what itched at his nerves most of all. It was one thing to suddenly play house with the travelers that seemed to constantly appear on their doorstep—

(Silver had questioned them, a discomforting notion to learn that not only had they been told of the cottage’s existence by those who staggered off in the mornings, but almost fervently urged to visit.)

—but never before had he witnessed his father drink in such abandon. With such a slow, but steady, trickle of visitors, his father may have sampled another’s blood once or twice a month at most, always cautious enough to not take too much. His father is not a monster, and his kindness exceeds that of all the humanity that Silver had known in his short life— this he tells himself as he averts his gaze from the still-clotting punctures, glistening and accusatory over rumpled shirts.

His father is not a monster, and he still tells himself this as he stumbles out of his bedroom one cold winter’s night, awoken once more to that strange, garbled collection of sound. His father is not a monster, because it simply could not be his father crouched before him on the floor of their living room, an all too still and silent figure splayed out beneath him like a rag doll. He surely must be dreaming, as those muffled, wet noises pause in their desperate slurping and enlarged fangs draw up and away from a ruined shoulder, dripping in a dark, glutinous substance. His father is not a monster, because the creature hunched in the shadows of a dying fire looks nothing like the angel who had rescued him in the forest all those years ago— whatever this, this thing is, slavering wildly over a face locked in a euphoric death mask, it is not his dearest father.

They behold each other in the scant space of a fragile moment, a bewildered gaze still frozen before the onslaught of horror could possibly sink in opposite that of unmoored feral hunger. Silver thinks back to the knife hidden beneath the drawer of his nightstand, cloaked in dust and dried flowers and the somber protection of a father’s love. He thinks back to the incredible speed that had disposed of the men who had intended to kill him on such a similar frigid night, a speed unmatched to the naked eye.

The vampire utters his name like a prayer, smeared tenderly in lamb’s blood.

His father is not a monster.

Silver opens his arms, and waits for his angel to carry him home.

In response to the delicate graze of his father’s gore-drenched claws against his youthful face, the boy’s eyes flutter open at last. Lilia does not seem to notice the vibrancy that has vanished from them, leaving behind the dull haze of a mist-choked morn where once the dawn light soared; perhaps he simply does not care. “Oh, Silver,” he breathes in reverence, the miraculous wonder of a father witnessing his child’s (re)birth for the first time, and he throws his arms around the boy’s stiff shoulders. There is no response, but that is to be expected when one is missing a greater third of their tattered and torn esophagus, the mutilated remains of which are strewn across the floor or smeared over Lilia’s mouth. “My darling boy, my precious son, how perfect you are at last.”

Silver trembles in his arms like a newborn fawn, and Lilia coos reassurances to him, helps his boy to his feet and steadies his legs as he leads him over to where their meal now lay in a crumpled and tangled heap. It is always cumbersome, the first feeding, and Lilia had no one to guide him through the carnal, mindless greed of his own— no such fate shall befall his son. He will share with him the abundance of milk and honey, lift it to his frozen lips where those new, budding fangs peek innocently above, and watch with boundless pride as new life, a near eternal life, is bestowed upon the one timeless treasure he has coveted in over six hundred stolen centuries.

Later, they will bury the body together, sink the flesh deep within the garden where the others take their rest, a cluster of pearly white bones only disturbed by an odd set of larger, equine-shaped ones. Later still, when a young man approaches their home in the evening gloom to seek shelter on the long, arduous journey to his grandfather, Silver will greet him. He will smile enchantingly over his new high-necked shirt and take his hand, drawing him deep into the clutches of their wonderful little home, deep into the blessed darkness where his father waits. The table will stay barren, the bed unmade— there is no more need for pretense between the two of them. Not now, and not ever.

Lilia can see it all. And with pleasure, he smiles.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fic #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #diasomnia #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #happy belated halloween :)#everyone say thank you catriona for bringing my wild visions to life beyond anything i could possibly imagine <3 #lettie writes #art for lettie

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ladyloveandjustice · 3 months

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My Favorite New Manga and Graphic Novels I Read in 2023

It's time to take a look at the comics and manga I read this year! I read a whopping 78 manga and graphic novels in all. Here's a link to my Goodreads year in books (the manga is at the beginning, the novels start with Siren Queen) and my storygraph wrap up.

I also read 36 novels! If you want to see my favorites, check out my reviews here!

And finally, I've got the continuing manga series I've enjoyed this year here, so check that post out too!

The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen

This is a tale about a first-generation Vietnamese-American boy struggling with coming out to his mother. He connects with his mother through fairytales-- she uses them to express her journey as an immigrant, and he uses them to explore his queerness and identity as a Vietnamese kid growing up in America. It's an absolutely gorgeous book full of Trung Le Nguyen's signature stunning art. The fantastical, ethereal fairy tales are weaved beautifully into the lives of the characters. The book explores how fairy tales can form connection, can express culture, can tap deeply into something real and true, and can offer tragedy and catharsis. The protagonist uses fairy tales to write his own story, and the ending is lovely and moving.

Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles by Mark Russell and Mike Feehan

You may know Mark Russell from his darker, socially aware re-imagining of the Flintstones, which made quite a splash on Tumblr with this post. Well, I had pleasure of meeting him at a local convention, and I finally got his comic re-imagining of Snagglepuss, also of Hanna-Barbera. He re-imagines the titular pink puma as a closeted gay playwright in the 50's dealing with McCarthyism. It's as wild as it sounds,but also really digs into the politics of the time, the struggle of standing against oppression and how art fights through suppression and censorship. It's tragic, hopeful, poignant and full of historical references. I enjoyed it ! Definitely be cautious if you're deeply disturbed by homophobia and suicide.

The Summer Hikaru Died by Mokumokuren

A story about a teenage boy, Yoshiki, who realizes that his best friend and crush Hikaru has died and been replaced by a strange eldritch being who is imitating him. But, missing his loved one and desperate to cling to any piece of him, Yoshiki decides to keep on having a relationship with this mysterious entity. This book's horror is visceral and sublime, especially the bizarre, creepy, beautiful body horror involving the being who replaced Hikaru. It's an exploration of anxieties involving grief, relationships, and sexuality that hits just right, and the atmosphere layered with dread is top notch. I love me some messed up relationships and unknowable queer monsters, and this book delivers.

Chainsaw Man, Look Back and Goodbye Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto

Chainsaw Man needs no introduction, but I did end up really enjoying the story of the doggy-devil boy hunting other devils. It got so tragic and intense at the end, with lots of great surreal horror imagery and darkly funny moments. I'm impressed it went so hard, though the random powers that kept piling up made what was happening hard to follow at times, especially in fights. I'm also enjoying the current weird arc starring a class-A disaster girl and the demon sharing her body.

Look Back

I really do enjoy how Fuijimoto writes messy pre-teen/teenage girls. They ring so true. The manga follows the fraught friendship between two girls as they create manga, exploring the struggle of art mixing with real relationships, and how someone keeps creating after tragedy. It's a little hard to follow at times (especially since I have to differentiate the leads based on hairstyle), but it's a good read.

Goodbye Eri

Probably my least favorite of the three, but it's a fun read- a weird ride that examines the thin line between fiction and reality in art and makes good use of Fujimoto's cinephile background and signature gaslight gatekeep girlboss characters.

Is Love the Answer? by Uta Isaki

The story follows a teenage girl, Chika, who has always struggled with not being attracted to anyone. When Chika enters college, she meets queer people all across the spectrum of asexuality, and starts exploring her own identity. As an ace, this is the best story about asexuality that I've read. It was a nuanced look at asexuality and queerness and all the variations. Chika's journey and how she found her community was moving and poignant. It's a honest, moving look at relationships and identity, and how complicated and hard to define both of those things can be. I loved the moments of Chika imagining herself as an alien to explore and cope, and how she bonded with people through magical girl shows and other geekery. My favorite new manga of the year, it really connected with me!

The Girl that Can’t Get a Girlfriend by Mieri Hiranishi

Oh girl, I've been there. This is a fun autobiographical comic about a butch4butch lesbian's struggles finding a partner in a word that favors butch/femme, and it's just an honest look at the messiness of loneliness and relationships. I also appreciate that crushing on Haruka in Sailor Moon and becoming a HaruMichi stan was the beginning the author's queer awakening because uh...same! She has taste, and is truly relatable.

Qualia the Purple: The Complete Manga Collection by Hisamitsu Ueo and Shirou Tsunashima

See my review of the light novel here for my general thoughts on the story, since it's adapted pretty faithfully. I do think the manga is overall the best experience though, because the illustrations break up the detailed explanations of quantum mechanics a bit, and it includes a bit of extra content that fleshes things out, especially withthe ending.

The Single Life: 60 year old lesbian who is single and living alone by Akiko Morishima

Just like it says on the tin, this focuses on a 60-year-old single lesbian. And definitely the shortest thing on here, since only one 30 page chapter is out. It's a grounded story about a woman looking back on her journey to finding her identity, touching on sexism in the workplace and other challenges. It paints a portrait of a proudly gay elder who's still perfectly content being single and feels fulfilled by the life she had rather than regretting past relationships. I definitely want to see more.

Daemons of the Shadow Realm by Hiromu Arakawa

Arakawa's latest, the story is about a boy who lives in a small village with his little sister is imprisoned and has to carry out a mysterious duty...but then the village is attacked, supernatural daemons awaken, and everything he knows might be wrong. I'm enjoying this fun romp so far! It delivers an really nice plot twist right out the gate (and an excellent subversion of the usual shonen "must-protect-my-saintly-sister" narratives). It boasts Arakawa's usual fun cast and interesting world (and cool ladies). There's some slight tone and pacing issues in the first part- there's so much time spent explaining mechanics the lead doesn't really get to react to his life turning upside down. But it starts smoothing out by the second volume. I'm excited to see what's next!

Superman: Space Age by Mark Russell and Michael Allred

This is a retelling of Superman set throughout the late fifties to early eighties that has Superman interact with the political and social upheaval of the time and question his own role in things. It explored the Superman mythos through a lot of cool new angles, and has a good Lois (why yes she would break Watergate) which is how I always measure a Superman adaptation. My one complaint is, while I liked some of the things it did with Batman, the ending with the Joker was pretty weak. The ending of the overall comic will also be bizarre for anyone not uses to how weird comics can get, but I think I dug it.

#DRCL by Shin'ichi Sakamoto

A manga retelling of Dracula that focuses on Mina as the protagonist and imagines the characters at an English prep school. It adds a lot of diversity to the characters and has exquisite, evocative art. I'm curious where it will go and what it intends to do with all it's changes (especially Lucy), because right now it's mostly vibes and creepiness and the direction isn't clear.

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

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Old Bones | Chapter Ten

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): referenced abusive relationship, PTSD/trauma themes, alcohol use, mild language, very mild suggestive content

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: not proofread, enjoy your dinner y'all <3

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Breathless

“You have any idea what this is about?” Simon shifts the gear into the park, looking over at you with furrowed brows.

The truth was, you had no idea. All you knew was the police found Cal’s body, and you were asked to come here. Nothing more than that.

Simon didn’t take much pleasure in the summon slipped into your mail slot, either. Driving several hours at the crack of dawn to make it to the legal office on time, which of course you’d insisted wasn’t necessary.

You shook your head, giving a sigh of contempt. “No, I don’t.”

He didn’t have to give you the lecture, to not mention his involvement, to go along with whatever bogus story the detectives had come up with. It only took them a day to find him, and then within eighteen hours, you’re here—standing outside a corporate building with legal documents in your hand.

One minute, you broke down in front of Simon, spewing about how much you hated him, and then the next, you’re back in his truck for several hours at a time, all before the sun even rose completely.

No sleep, just nail-biting tension in the hours leading up to this moment. Not to mention, how bumpy things had gotten between you two since his death.

This meeting could be very good, or very bad, and you weren’t so sure you knew the difference between the two anymore. Perhaps Cal, even in death, organized a legal loophole for you to deal with after his death—nothing would shock you anymore, especially involving him.

The tall building was eerily similar to the office where it all went down; corporate chic and bland, only instead of being abandoned, it was bustling with suits and blazers. Lawyers and clients, detectives, mind-numbing coffee conversation bounced off the navy blue walls.

You’d never felt more out of place, despite wearing the most business-casual outfit you could find in your limited wardrobe. Outdressed and outnumbered; never a good combination, especially for someone with a mountain of secrets.

If they knew about Simon or all the carnage, you would’ve been in cuffs and read your Miranda rights, surely. However, no amount of logic could sway the nausea simmering in your gut.

The first person you see inside; a bubbly receptionist way too happy to be working there, especially in contrast to all the hardened corporate faces her co-workers maintained. “How can I help you?”

That beam on her face drops slightly when her eyes wander to your neckline, the half-healed bruises still visible on your skin, then the small cuts on your face you had no desire to cover. She nods to herself as if when seeing those marks, she knew who you were without asking for your name.

“You’ll be on floor twenty, room 3B.” She fishes through her drawers and then pulls out a slip of paper for you—your pass to the upper floors. Well, in examining the document, she guessed correctly when she saw your scars—it was indeed your information on the sheet.

With each ding of the elevator, you watched the small screen displaying each floor number as it increased. Finally, it reached twenty, then the doors whirred open.

It was louder up here than before, several offices and cubicles with appointments of legal counsel proceeding as you stepped out. Your feet carried you to section B, and then you followed the labels until you reached the room with 3B displayed on its metal plaque.

There were no viewing windows, leaving you no clue about the meeting you were walking into. It could be a group of lawyers, or even detectives, for all you knew.

With a few knocks and a small muffled voice behind the door, you open it. At the crowded desk sits a lawyer about your age, deep in concentration as she scribbles. Compared to the suits downstairs, she’s dressed much more vibrantly.

“You must be…” She raises her eyes, giving the same look as the receptionist when she saw your marks. You slide the paper across her desk, ignoring the feelings of humiliation plaguing you. Her freshly done nails fumble with the edge of the paper, reading your name, though she clearly had no need to verify.

“Is anyone going to tell me why I’m here?” You mutter with impatience, digging your fingertips into the strap of your bag.

“You might want to sit down first, as a precaution.” Her tone is light, but firm, like she’s been through this a hundred times with her clients. Your snappiness didn’t phase her a bit.

Now, the nerves had nearly become too much. The atmosphere of the place was bad enough, how cagey the paperwork was, and now, sitting down across from a lawyer.

She draws a line with her fingers, from the name on your sheet, to her stack of folders, until she finds your file. The flimsy cardstock cover wooshes as she opens it, then pulls out a muted green slip. When giving it your first glance, it takes a few moments before you figure out what it is—a check.

All of Cal’s assets are addressed to you.

Next, she lays out a few real estate sheets—estimates on his home, adding a small fortune to the number on the check.

“I’m sure it’s a shock.” To you, her voice is muffled as if it's coming through a wall, and there’s a loud ring filling your ears. Then, it was her rambling about legalities, his death, and your rights, all of which went right through you without a second of thought.

It was tunnel vision, blurring around the edges. From anxiety consuming you one second, to now a wave of awe. You peered down at the number stamped on there, how it must be a typo. More than enough to keep you comfortable, but not enough to run free forever. Still, it had to be wrong, right? After such a series of bad luck, things like this didn’t happen to you, right?

“Miss?” Her hand reaches across the desk, pushing the check further to you, brows knitted in concern.

You shake your head, eyes dry from your unblinking stare of revelation. “I don’t understand. This is all mine? But, Cal sued me, and I… I left him.”

“You left him because you feared for your safety, am I right?” She points a brief finger at your neck, the cruel reminder those marks still give you daily, even here. “You were still legally married, this money’s yours, ma’am.” She says it with a smile of pity, brows still contorted slightly.

You palm the glass table, holding the flimsy slip in your hands now as if touching it would make you actually believe her.

Her words wait until you’ve made eye contact again. “In the eyes of the law, you’re entitled to his assets, even after death. He didn’t have any arrangements in place, and you were merely the first one listed.” She skims through your folder once more, sliding some legal paperwork your way, along with a pen.

“Keep it, spend it, donate it, burn it. It’s up to you.”

—

The second you buckled yourself in, Simon pulled out of the spot and drove in silence, only giving brief scans your way throughout. His iron grip on the steering wheel was typical, but the staring was not, at least not when driving.

You hadn’t come out in handcuffs, or with a police escort home, so things couldn’t have gone terribly wrong—at least by his standards. But you were quiet and more distant than usual.

“Mind tellin’ me what that was about?” He stops at a light, only flicking his gaze to traffic every few seconds. Without the distraction of the traffic, playing cold shoulder with him was much more difficult.

You scoff at the question, not at him, then speak with cynical sharpness. “Well, my husband’s dead.”

Your joke did little to lighten the mood, only prompting him to shift his hips in the seat awkwardly, then stare harder. “Robbery gone wrong, I guess. Found on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, pockets empty, too.” The words are coated with irony, and you can only wonder how Simon managed to stage the scene so well—though, that was one thing you truly didn’t want to be privy to.

“Hm.” He nods, foot laying on the gas the second the light turns green.

For someone so good at hiding his feelings, he did little of it now. He was acting stiff and thorny, unlike his usual self entirely.

The ride goes silent again; past the cityscape, past the backroads and highways, even when the next town was several miles away. Currently, it was a dirt road stretching straight for eternity, and there were very few other cars. Until you looked at the small screen on his dash, you hadn’t realized just how long things had gone quiet between you two—clearly, it was so long that you would be home again in an hour.

“It was a check. His assets.” You finally speak, parting the tension between the two of you. For once, it wasn’t a disgruntled tension, only a hesitant, wordless one.

For several seconds, the gravel crunching under the tires fills your ears. Then, Simon turns his head for the first time in hours, cocking it, “enough to get you out of here for good?”

“What? Are you eager to get rid of me?” You cocked a brow. It was as if so much tragedy, so much of it had caused your snarkiness to come out. Of course, directed at the most humorless man on the planet, nonetheless.

He snarled under his breath and shook his head, disgruntled at how he set himself up for that one. If only he had the power of words on his side, he would say so much at once—and probably too much. It was a blessing and a curse at the moment, considering the setting, everything in the past, and the building of the future as his tires covered the miles back home.

All interactions hushed again, as the mind-numbing ride resumed.

The miles on each sign you passed decreased, soon becoming single digits instead of doubles. Now, with all these assets in your possession, and a home to sell, it seemed your options were both limitless and petrifying.

Would it be smarter to find a more upscale apartment, to stay in the city you still know?

Should you return to the home where it all began, and risk more harm to your fresh wounds?

Or, perhaps, you could take a page out of Simon’s book; live a life of misery, tormented by your own thoughts, only making it to the next day with a bottle to tie you over.

—

One thing you knew, or really, the only thing you knew was how much thinking you had to do. Just what you needed after going to hell and back—more time alone with your thoughts. But you weren’t truly alone, because Simon hadn’t left your side. Not since the night you told him to stay, not since you broke down in front of him.

“You gonna stop stirrin’ that thing?”

His monotone voice snapped you out of it, gazing down at your hand, aggressively stirring the drink in your hands; the way the metal scraped against the porcelain mug was like nails on a chalkboard. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed it when you were stuck in your mind.

You took the spoon out, no longer wanting the drink you made a point of grabbing when you arrived back home. You slid the mug across the table, the steaming cup of caffeine now in front of his spot. But he didn’t touch it, only gave it a small deprecating look—no different than his usual attitude.

In truth, it was the paperwork and the check on the surface that you were staring at, trying to make a mental decision without the pressure of actually rereading those numbers.

Some people would be ecstatic, with so much money at their disposal. But it wasn’t like that, not a lottery win, it was only more pressure.

What you were supposed to do—that was literally still on the table, just like the reason he was still here—unbeknownst to you. It’s not like you were going to ask Simon, that would only complicate things further. Besides, even you knew deep down you weren’t in any state to be left alone. Perhaps the graceless feelings and tension would be just a little less if your company was anyone else.

There was no one else, though.

“You’re starin’ again.”

Your head shakes away the trance again, seeing his head cocked with confusion, still the steaming cup is untouched. “Was I?”

“Sorry, I’m just—” You draw in a quick breath, lungs, and body both unsteady from the crushing weight of the meeting this morning. Just how everything worked out this way, it had to be a miracle. Perhaps, fate, even.

“I know.”

The fabric around his eyes wrinkles slightly, as do his eyes when they squint. At first glance, he looks displeased. But they have that softness to them again, like the night he saw those photos, and most like the night on the rooftop—when things between you were still fresh and untouched.

You didn’t need to finish your sentence. His gift was observance, noticing each small cue and quirk, and it seemed he was miles ahead of you before your lips could draw a response. Still, he stayed; enraged, distraught, grieving, screaming, even through your fugue state of speechlessness.

Your fingers combed through your locks, riddled with small cuts and mended scars, a tense grip causing white knuckles and a searing scalp. By now, your forehead had met the table, almost in a dramatic way, “you don’t need to stay with me, pity me. I’m an adult.”

“I see that.” He says and would chuckle at the sight of your grump if the circumstances weren’t so serious.

“And I’m not pitying you. I would never do that.” His last sentence wasn’t one of empathy, it was reality. Support, protection? All potent qualities of his. Pity, charity? None, whatsoever. One sure thing about him, he wasn’t going to pretend to be something he’s not.

You propped your face up with your elbow resting on the table, and a fatigued cheek smushed against your palm. Why was he still here? “Good. I don’t need it.”

“You need something, or you’re gonna put a hole in that shotty drywall,” he began, rising to his feet with a small grunt, “am I correct?” It wasn’t a question, just like his first sentence was an experienced observation—one he had seen within himself many times.

There is a clinking of glass, and then a scape against the table, before the bottle hits your arm, halting the force of its smooth slide across the wooden table. You give a disgusted look, but it was true, you needed something.

“Whiskey isn’t the solution… But I’m going to drink it.” You twist off the metal cap, smacking it onto the table with the whole force of your troubling convictions. It had been months since you had a drink, let alone straight from a bottle.

Perhaps, it was Simon’s only way of bonding without verging on feelings territory—a line neither of you needed to cross again.

You toss back a quick sip, sliding the bottle back to him. The burn of it coats your throat, down your esophagus, and through your stomach, sticking there as it simmered. It made your face contort, but the smoothness of the amber liquid was easily addictive.

Simon lifts his shirt and wipes the tip off the bottle, ridding it of your careless salvia, before turning away to take a small sip of it, an arm raised to lift a small bit of his mask. When he turns again, it slides back your way once more.

You agreed to a shot, not a drunken seesaw with him.

But here you were, taking another sip of it. This time, the wrinkle of disgust was a little less strong, and the potent taste of it had dulled when your taste buds numb to it.

Your nerves did diminish a bit, the longer the alcohol sat with you. “Well, you were onto something, I’ll give credit where it's due.”

“Don’t need credit.” He lets out a loud sigh, despite his tolerance to the substance.

You scoffed at his answer, coating your tongue with a bigger chug this time. Might as well, right? “Do you have an off switch, or are you always a wet blanket?”

To your surprise, it’s not a defensive comment or a snarl coming from his clothed lips. Instead, he chuckles—genuinely, void of his usual sarcasm—well, half of it, at least.

“Good one, I’ll remember that.” You had no doubts about that statement, and it would probably come to bite you in the ass later, much like every other thing you’ve said.

“At least when you’re buzzed you have a sense of humor.” Through the fabric of his mask, there is a smug brow cocked.

For the first time, bouncing off the other didn’t mean a conflict of half-empty comforts, it was a wholehearted conversation. A human one; a small aspect of life you had been missing so dearly, but without noticing the need for it.

A hand rested on his clothes thigh, legs spread wide in the dining chair as you both returned the bottle once you were done. Each time, he repeats his routine of turning away to take a sip—a habit that surprised you very little, in actuality, not at all. His privacy was one thing he never lost, despite all that you had been through at his side.

The stoic man with a mask treated you more authentically, more humanlike, than the one with no crooked teeth and a thousand material things to buy you.

The wounding irony of it made you nauseous, made you want to pound your fists into concrete.

This drinking game persisted for several minutes, and neither of you showed any intention of pacing yourselves. Simon, of course, was relatively unfazed by the substance, only speaking a little sluggish and reeking of it from across the table. You had gone off the deep end, with little restraint in holding yourself back. You had nothing binding you to sobriety, no job or husband, no worry of how to pay your rent—most significantly, your own personal guard was right here, with no sign of leaving.

There was only a shot left, more or less, when you slid the bottle back to him for the last time. He raised it, finishing it off until it was nothing more than a hollow glass vase.

“I’m… gonna get you a tea. This is my fault.” He muttered, a slightly widened look when he saw your current state.

You weren’t babbling like an idiot, or slurring like a drunken nuisance—your face was in your hands, a somber expression written on your face as you whispered to yourself, depressing phrases he couldn’t quite pick up on.

He hadn’t anticipated drunken clarity paired with depressed thoughts. What he wanted was less tension in your shoulders, an ease in your troubles, not the urge to find the roof and jump off.

On the bright side, for Simon at least? You hadn’t spewed yet, you were too occupied clawing at your insides for that.

“I’ll get it.” You snapped at him, legs moving a little slower than usual. But you had made it to the counter regardless, a hovering, offended hand shoving him out of the way. You swirled your finger, groaning under your breath when you had to find the effort to grab the items needed.

Simon placed a hand on his hip, leaning against the counter as he watched your odd mannerisms. Eyes reddened, hands twitching as you clumsily began boiling the water. To be frank, he was baffled that you could read the knobs on the stove.

You did it, eyes half open as you impatiently waited for the audible bubbling, and soon the loud whistle of the kettle to give you a migraine, surely. “You have a scar on your neck. Hm.” You pointed to it, but didn’t touch it—you weren’t that foolish, and you still had a desire to have your hands tomorrow.

He nodded and rubbed his thumb against it; the scar that showed when he wore t-shirts, stretching from his collarbone all the way to his chin, a once nasty laceration he got during knife combat, several years ago.

You truly hadn’t noticed it before, at least in its full magnitude.

There was a story there, one you didn’t want to know about. In truth, you only commented on it to pass the waiting time, not because your clouded mind told you to.

His fingers found the bottom of his mask, lifting it until the fabric rolled up to his bottom lip, the rest of his face still hidden. “See? A nasty bastard when it was fresh.” He figured, what the hell; you were in no position to hold this against him tomorrow.

You tilted your head, seeing that it deepend in the middle like that was the part the blade went deepest, then tapered off into a light indent when the slice finished. It wasn’t red or brown, it was scarred enough to match his pale flesh.

“Can I?”

No, you could not.

Nonetheless, he did nothing to stop the hand from reaching out to feel the mark. He wanted to close his eyes when he felt his muscles tense, how gently your fingers traced the scar. But they remained open, watching for any jerks in your movement—he couldn’t help it, his defensive instincts on high alert.

Your touch wasn’t predatory, nor invasive, despite his inner voice screaming at him to clench around your wrist, to squeeze it tight until you never did this again.

That self-protective part of him, he could contain, because it was foolish.

He couldn’t contain the way this made him feel, for the same reason, because it was foolish.

You could feel the tenseness of his shoulders, the small inhale when the pads of your fingers made contact with his neck, and most of all when they landed near his lips.

“Sorry.” You removed the hand, putting it back on your side.

But, he wasn’t irked, that much you could tell. In actuality, it was all you could pay attention to currently—him.

“Your water’s boiling.” The kettle hissed not a second after his words finished, forcing your attention to the stove. You found the knob and twisted it off, cutting the heat before your jumpiness caused a nasty scar of your own.

To reach the cleanest mug, you reached past him, head almost in the crook of his elbow. His height was an advantage, nearly an archway for you where the space of his arm opened enough for you. You grabbed it with haste, fighting every urge to run out of the room and bellow into the nearest cushion.

Waiting for the tea to turn was yet another opportunity for deafening silence. You set the mug aside after placing the bag of tea leaves in. For the liquid to have any effect, you needed it strong, so you were smacked in the face with another several minutes of staring.

It didn’t have to be like this, but it was, whether you were sober or inebriated did nothing to change that.

You had leaned down over the counter, face in your hands with regret. “I didn’t mean to push you. So you know, Simon.” You murmured against the wood countertop, left with little urge to lift your head and face him again.

What was once boldness and depressing clarity, was now pity on yourself and your actions—the one thing you so vehemently didn’t want from him.

“You’re…” He trailed off, lips tightening under his mask. “It’s nothing, ‘s alright.” It pained him to explain what had happened away, because it wasn’t nothing, to him. He still felt he needed permission from some unknown force to feel these basic things—attachment and touch.

“It’s not nothing.” You finally lift your head, picking up the steaming mug that wasn’t done yet. Your brows had contorted, and the reddened eyes had turned glossy. “I shouldn’t have pried like that. I’m sorry.”

Your past was talking for you, that dooming feeling of punishment for slipping up, for committing the crime of being yourself. Once met with a blow or insult, now met with a gentle touch to your shoulder, urging you to set down the cup.

“Let’s drop it, alright? I said it was nothing.” His tone was firm, but he wasn’t upset. His hand hovered again when you only gripped the porcelain mug tighter, looking into his eyes for proof of sincerity.

Simon felt he couldn’t be any more sincere than he was right now, in his own way. “How about you sit down somewhere… Please?” As much as he wanted to remain firm, he couldn’t. It wasn’t your fault for dipping into old habits out of distress, as much as it wasn’t his.

“I don’t want to sit.” You wanted to step back from him, distance your body from the potential harm of another brooding man, though he didn’t have an ounce of that in him—for you, at least. “This is what I didn’t want, for you to be upset with me.”

Your fretting look made his body ache, how convinced you were of repercussions coming your way in the form of his own two fists.

“Do I look upset with you?” He questioned rhetorically, reaching for the mug again. “Just… Find somewhere to sit this out, before someone gets hurt.” It came out worse than he wanted it to, wide open to your wounded analysis.

Once a worried expression, had dropped into a compliant look, the pound of your heart overtook any urge to retort or argue. That wasn’t how he meant it, it couldn’t be. If you weren’t inebriated, could you have believed that?

You turned on your heels, eyes darting toward the dining table feet away, white-knuckling the mug of tea to soothe this all-too-familiar feeling stabbing you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says from behind you, now a concerned looming figure, “if you want to stand, you can stand. If you want to talk, then talk.” He placed a hand on your tensed shoulder, but it barely made contact, in dread that his touch would make matters worse.

A stray tear floated from your eye down your cheek, and you wiped it quickly before turning around, finding him close and hovering. “This is pathetic, isn’t it?” You chuckled snidely at your own pain, but there was little humor he could find in your own struggles.

“Crying in front of you again, seems to be a pattern when we’re together.” You sniffled, thumb finding the corner of your eye to smear away more tears.

His hand lifted off, but remained outstretched in a tense fashion like the appendage itself was unsure of the next step. “Drink your tea, and… relax.” Even his voice hesitated, a worrying stare on the shaking mug, daring to spill from your unpredictable hold.

You couldn’t bring yourself to drink it, not right now. Not when he was in this position again, just like when he had hovered over you after the argument, or when he pulled your head into his chest. Your focus was limited right now, as was your ability to regulate your being. The tender look in his eyes wasn’t helping, nor were his exposed lips, chapped and tension-filled.

“I’m so sorry, Simon.” You let out a sharp breath. “This isn’t your burden.” Your words mirrored that of the night you sobbed in his chest, before the meeting you had this morning set off this domino effect of emotions, landing you here.

It seemed he had forgotten his mouth was exposed because you could see the frown on his face. You shouldn’t be the one giving the apology, the only one that should be was in a morgue, unclaimed but still mourned by the woman in front of him.

One of his hands found the side of your cheek, resting a light palm on it for you to nuzzle. The other reached for the mug, the sheer size of his hand overtaking yours in an instant. He was supposed to take it from you, to help you find a comfortable seat, hell, to tuck you in for the night. But he didn’t. He had only restricted you, your cries like a knife in his side, twisting with each one.

Instead, he had leaned down, finding his chin on your shoulder for a few seconds, then your faces were inches apart, both sets of eyes squinting from their own troubles. Then, they met each other, heavy breathing escaping each of you as the other mouth stifled any rejections.

The trend of letting you cry it out prevailed, but it was different this time. So different, his fingers were clammy and his stomach turned. It was wrong, so wrong he would bludgend himself if he could.

The mug he was holding had slipped, sending it shattering to the ground. You jerked in his grip, eyes wandering to the tea spilled on the ground, but the firm hold he now hand on either side of your face prevented a recoil. The most agonizing part of it for you wasn’t the kiss you didn’t want, it was how you wanted this act of intimacy.

His mouth was agape now, hot breath against your chin, his own saliva dribbling down your chin, and you didn’t want to go anywhere. The act resumed again, this time with more force, your back finding the counter with some force, fingertips digging into your cheeks ever so slightly.

It didn’t hurt, it only urged you further into this.

The kiss wasn’t a placeholder for deeper intimacy, he meant every bit of it—up until his emotional walls rebuilt themselves. What the hell was he doing? Right here, right now, of all places?

From each side of your face, his hands now found your arms, yanking you away from this. “No.” Simon hissed, nails digging into your flesh to keep you from returning it anymore.

You couldn’t figure out which party those words were meant for—a scold for himself, for initiating this kiss, or you, for being vulnerable enough to kiss him back.

Still, your eyes were glossed and pouring, and even more now that the entire relationship would be altered permanently from here on. Maybe it was your fault, you thought, using physical intimacy to make up for spats, yet another habit Cal had embedded in you.

Simon wanted to apologize, so badly. But he couldn’t, no matter how shameful his gaze was now. His fingers found the rolled-up fabric of his mask, yanking it downward until his mouth was concealed again.

He couldn’t find those two words—the ones you had just said to him before the kiss. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of you, fingers finding the shards on the tile and scooping them up without care for his skin, despite how deeply they pinched it.

Your thumb found your saturated lips, wiping away the evidence.

“I’m… going to bed.” You murmured, more to yourself than him. The smell of alcohol on your breath only acted as a reminder, as would the hangover tomorrow morning. With hesitance, you whipped around his kneeled position and exited the kitchen, eyes still wide with shock. Your stumbling feet carried you all the way to bed, a slow crawl until you could cover yourself completely with the duvet, like a cocoon of denial.

When forced into solitude with your racing thoughts, there was one dim light at the end of this tunnel.

You came to a decision about those papers, one that would land you far away from this chaos.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch @warm-milk-with-honey @xheera @kiamewrites @01trickster10 @m0chac0ffee @tizylish @midwesternwitchery @ramadiiiisme

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley angst

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raaorqtpbpdy · 4 months

Text

Bothersome Bonds (DP x DC)

For @ghostbsuter for the BatPham secret santa exchange, with an illustration also by me. (Posting here on tumblr late since it was supposed to be anonymous for a little while)

You can also read it on AO3

[No applicable warnings]

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Jason had woken up on a cold, concrete floor with no idea how he'd gotten there. He didn't exactly keep count of specific bullshit like that, but if he were to hazard a guess, he'd say it was probably the fourth or fifth time at least. And it was always concerning.

His joints groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He'd slept in worse places, but a concrete floor made for a less than ideal bed, to put it lightly, and his back was killing him. The soreness in his body was the first thing he noticed as he started to take stock of the situation.

The second thing Jason noticed was a heavy cuff around his left wrist—one half of a pair of strange-looking handcuffs that didn't appear to have any sort of lock or even hinge to open them. The other half of the handcuffs was attached to... he didn't really know.

Well, no. He knew that it was a young man—probably about the same age as Jason himself, close to six feet tall, if not a few inches taller, but built like a beanpole, with messy black hair—still unconscious. What Jason didn't know was who exactly this random-ass dude was, or why they were handcuffed together.

Or where they were.

Or... how they'd ended up there.

Come to think of it, the last thing Jason remembered was stepping out of his apartment to do his rounds of Crime Alley around 9pm. He wasn't wearing his Red Hood uniform now, though, and when he felt around his body, he discovered that all his weapons were gone, even the little ones he kept hidden in his civvies.

His wristwatch showed 1:55, and it was still ticking, which meant it had been at least five hours since then, unless someone had messed with it for some reason. He had a strong sense that it had been a lot longer, but no memory of any of the time that had passed.

No matter how much he concentrated, or tried to dig up the memories of what series of events had led him to this situation, he kept coming up blank. Heat started to build in his chest as frustration rose, but for some reason it felt... different, compared to the kind of anger he was used to, quieter, almost muted, and less overwhelming.

He shrugged it off and tried to examine the room he was currently in.

It was basically a big cement box. The walls and floors were covered in water stains and scrape marks. The way the floor sloped suggested this place was at least partially underground, but there were windows along one wall near the ten foot ceiling, so it wasn't completely subterranean.

Jason guessed this place was probably some kind of cell, maybe even an interrogation room... maybe even a torture room. But there were no chains hanging from the ceiling, or rack of weapons, or anything. It was empty except for himself and the unconscious stranger next to him. For now.

The one thing Jason didn't see, though he twisted around and craned his neck looking for one, was a door.

The guy he was handcuffed to stirred, and Jason waited for him to wake up, but instead, he just rolled over, tugging on the handcuffs and pulling Jason closer to him in the process, and kept on sleeping.

Great. Real helpful.

Jason rolled his eyes and fished around in his pocket for any kind of tool that might help him get out of these cuffs. He didn't find anything.

Even if he had, there was no lock to pick. No keypad to try and guess a combination. Not even a chain to try and break with brute strength. The cuffs were held together with a glowing green cord that didn't even strain in the slightest when Jason tried as hard as he could to break it. Since he didn't know what it was made of, he didn't know what signs of strain would even look like.

He looked down at the softly snoring guy beside him. He was actually pretty nice-looking. His skin was smooth, if pale, his jawline sharp, his nose strong, his ears slightly pointed, a bit like an elf. Looking closely, though, the guy had some serious eye-bags. Jason wouldn't be surprised if this was the most sleep he'd gotten in weeks. Too bad he was the only one Jason could ask about this situation.

"Hey!" Jason shouted, roughly shaking him by the shoulders. "Wake up sleeping beauty!"

"Aww, you think I'm beautiful?" mumbled the guy, still clearly half-asleep, even as he wriggled up into a sitting position with a wide yawn that revealed sharper-than-normal canines.

"Are you familiar with a little thing called sarcasm?" Jason said, despite the fact that he had literally just been thinking about how attractive this guy was. He didn't need to know that, whoever he was.

"Too familiar, if you ask my sister." Ice-blue eyes blinked open and fixed Jason with a blank look. "Who're you?" Those eyes widened and looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time with shock. "Where is this?"

"I dunno," Jason said. "I was hoping you would."

"That I would know what?" the other asked. "Who you are or where this is? Do you not remember your name? I remember mine. It's Danny."

"I'm Jason," he said. "Obviously, I meant the second thing."

God, Jason took back everything he thought about his looks, this dude was already annoying enough to cancel them out.

"So does that mean you don't know where we are either? Do you know how we got here? Did we get kidnapped or something? The last thing I remember is leaving work and after that... I got nothing."

"God, shut up," Jason growled. "I regret waking you up already."

"These are kinda like Skulker's," the stranger said, ignoring Jason and examining the shackles that tied the two of them together. He laughed. "Man, I'm kinda gettin' déjà vu. You wouldn't happen to secretly be a heavily armed vigilante with a red costume hellbent on destroying me, would you?"

Jason froze. "What?" he demanded.

The response was a chuckle and a shake of his head. "Don't worry about it—private joke."

Jason dragged a hand down his face with a groan. "Why couldn't I have woken up handcuffed to fuckin', I don't know, Roy or something instead of an obnoxious total stranger."

"Again, Danny. We've met already."

"When?"

"Like two minutes ago," Danny said, brows furrowing in frustration. "Nice to know you were paying attention, Jason. See, I remember your name."

"Whatever," Jason said gruffly, rising to his feet, and ignoring the way Danny winced as he got dragged up after him. "We need to find a way out of here."

"Worked that out all by yourself, Sherlock?" Danny scoffed, twisting the shackle around his right wrist to give them both a little more space.

Now that they were both standing, Jason could see that Danny was a good three inches taller than him, and his irritation towards him grew.

"I don't think we're gonna get outta these cuffs without a key-card or a saw," Danny said.

"Key card?"

"I mean, I assume." He shrugged. "No keyhole, no number pad, no fancy lock, just a flat metal surface and an EPC cord."

"What's an EPC cord?"

"Don't worry about it," Danny said again, and Jason sneered.

"Fine," he said. "Let's start with getting out of this room. I don't see any doors, do you?"

"No, but there could be secret passages or something." Danny looked around again, remarkably unconcerned by this whole situation, for a civilian. "I see windows. They're kinda high up, but if we can get to them somehow, maybe they're big enough for us to get through."

"At the very least, if we can see out, we might get a better idea of where we are."

With minimal tugging on the shackles that bound them together, the two of them walked over to the wall. The windows were much too high for either of them to reach alone.

"Get on my shoulders," Jason commanded.

"Uh... are you sure about that?"

"Well I'm sure as hell not getting on your narrow shoulders, Jack Sprat," he scoffed. "I'm pretty sturdy, I'm sure I can handle you."

"No, I mean... our cuffs are on opposite hands," Danny pointed out.

"So what?"

"So, if I get on your shoulders, we're gonna have to face... different directions. Our arms won't be able to reach that far across while I'm getting up," he said, then hastily added, "on your shoulders," as if Jason might think he was talking about something else.

"Whatever, man, we need to know what's outside, so climb the fuck on and stop wasting my time." Jason stood with his back toward the wall and squatted to give Danny easier access to his shoulders.

Danny hesitated for a few seconds until Jason used his uncuffed hand to pat his shoulder impatiently.

"Okay... if you're sure about this."

Carefully, he slid one leg between Jason's head and their manacled hands, and then hefted the other over until his knees were hooked over Jason's shoulders.

And Jason, now with a face-full of Danny's crotch, finally caught on to the reason for Danny's hesitance. He turned his face into the slightly less objectionable position of being buried in Danny's thigh and leaned his head away as much as he could, trying not to blush and failing miserably. Both hands reached up to hold onto Danny's thighs for stability as he carefully stood up.

Even sitting on Jason's shoulders, Danny had to use his free hand to pull himself up a little further to see through the window.

"Do you see anything?"

"It's definitely outdoors," Danny responded. "It's dark so it must be night right now. I don't see any people, either, but I don't have a great angle. Looks almost like a military base." He looked down at Jason questioningly. "Did we get kidnapped by the military?"

"How should I know? Last thing I remember is leaving my apartment to go... uh... grocery shopping," he covered quickly.

Come to think of it, Jason really did need to go grocery shopping. He was getting low on a lot of things and it wasn't smart to have a safe-house less than fully stocked. Plus, some of his canned goods were getting close to the expiration date, so he should really donate them before then, even if expiration dates were mostly bogus, he felt better when food got eaten before them. Safer. He really didn't want to get E. coli again, like that time when he was a kid. Once was more than enough.

On the bright side, though, thinking about foodborne illnesses was helping Jason fight off his blush. Silver-linings.

"Can you climb out through the window?" he asked.

Three loud bonks echoed in the concrete room.

"Outlook not so good," Danny replied. "Shatterproof, and a solid inch thick, and I'm at a terrible angle to try and break it, even if I could. Judging by the water stains, it leaks around the edges, but it's not loose enough to just pry it out without tools. Looks like the windows aren't an option, unless you have a crowbar on you."

Jason grimaced. "No."

"I guess we gotta look for another way out of here," Danny said. "Let me down."

Jason slowly knelt down so he could carefully extricate himself from his perch.

"The two of us got in here somehow, so there must be some way to get out," Danny continued, dragging Jason by the handcuff to another wall and feeling around for... secret passages or something? Jason didn't know.

"Unless this is a Cask of Amontillado kind of situation."

"What's that?" Danny asked. "Some kinda booze?"

"No, it's..." Jason paused, considering. "Well... actually, yes, but I was referring to the short story by Edgar Allan Poe."

"Oh, the raven guy! Yeah, my goth friend loves him. Personally I'm not much of a reader. Too busy, y'know."

Jason pulled a face. "Poor excuse," he said. "Anyway, what I meant is that they might have walled us in while we were unconscious."

"You think?" Danny asked, taking his hand off the wall. "Isn't that too convoluted? I mean if they had us in this room, unconscious, why not just shoot us, or stab us, or even strangle us? There are so many much simpler and easier ways to kill someone. Why go through the trouble of walling us in?"

"You have a point," Jason admitted. "Plus, if there was no way to escape, why bother handcuffing us together? If we're dealing with the kind of people who can knock us out and erase our memories, then there has to be some reason for them keeping us alive."

"What if this is a test?" Danny asked. "Like an escape room or something?"

"Somehow, I don't think that's likely," Jason disagreed. "If they wanted us to escape, they'd have left a note or something, or some kind of tool. I don't see anything written on the walls, so at least we know it's not the Riddler's doing. My guess is, whoever put us in here is just saving us for later."

"You think so?"

Danny went back to feeling around the flat wall resolutely.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a secret door!" he said. "If they plan to come get us later then there has to be an exit somewhere."

"It could be a door that only opens from the other side," Jason pointed out. "Plus, we don't know if they cuffed us before or after putting us in here. It's possible the exit is too small for two people cuffed together."

"Why are you being such a downer?" Danny complained.

"I'm just trying to cover all our bases."

"If that were the case, you'd be pointing out bases we can actually cover!" barked Danny, taking a step back from the wall to turn and glare at Jason. "If it's a one way door, or a passage two small for the both of us, there's nothing we can actually do about that. We should be focusing on the possibilities we can do something about."

Jason clenched his teeth and scowled. Normally this would be about where he started to lose his temper, but remarkably, he was still under control. As much as this guy was getting under his skin, Jason somehow managed to keep his cool. He wasn't going to tell Danny he was right... but he was right. And, if only in his own mind, Jason could acknowledge that without blowing up at someone.

"If there's a secret door, you should be looking for it where there are seams in the concrete," Jason said instead. "They'd make it easier to hide."

Instantly, Danny's eyes darted across the walls before landing on the nearest seam. At least he actually listened.

"Hey!" Jason yelped as Danny dragged him to it. What a hyperactive guy. "Ugh. You'll also want to look for scrape marks that could indicate a door swinging or sliding open, although those could be on the opposite side. And there's also a chance—if there's a secret door at all—that it could be on the floor or ceiling, like a trapdoor, or a hidden elevator."

"Got it."

"And if they weren't planning for us to slowly suffocate and die down here, then there's probably an air vent, too, although I doubt they'd make it big enough to crawl through."

Danny scoffed. "Especially for you, Mr. broad-shouldered muscle guy," he said.

There was an awkward pause before he added, "That was supposed to be an insult. You're big and probably heavy, was what I was going for. It's not my fault you're obviously buff."

"I'm big?" Jason raised an eyebrow. "Look who's talking, stretch."

"Hey, I'm not that tall!" replied Danny, indignantly. "My sister is taller. And my dad is like seven feet, so compared to that, six-three is basically average."

"Jesus Christ, how tall's your sister? What, is she an Amazon or something?"

"She's six foot five, and no, she's not an Amazon, she's a brain surgeon—well, going to be. She's still in medical school, but she graduates this year."

"What did your parents feed you two?"

For some reason, that particular question seemed to strike a nerve, and Danny shifted, visibly uncomfortable.

"Can we just focus on finding a way out? Please?"

"Fine, sure," Jason relented. "Somebody's sensitive."

Danny ignored him and kept dragging him along to the next seam in the wall.

"Look," Jason pointed to the floor. There was a tiny white scrape mark at the bottom of the seam.

"Scrape mark!" Danny noted. "This could be it."

"If it is, it'll open outward. But there's no guarantee we can force it open from this side, and we have no idea what's on the other side."

"If there are guards or something, we'll have to be ready for a fight," Danny agreed.

"Our only shot at opening it—if it actually is a secret door and not a coincidence—is gonna be slamming our full body weight into it," Jason said. "We need to concentrate as much of the force as we can right on the edge. Think you can handle it?"

"Sure I can," Danny agreed, positioning himself to body-slam the wall.

For a bare moment, Jason considered just standing still and watching Danny slam himself full-force into a concrete wall. It would definitely be good for a laugh. But them being tied together meant that Jason would probably just fall on his face. And on the off-chance it was a secret door, he would rather die again that have to hear this particular pain-in-the-ass say 'I told you so'.

"Ready?" Danny asked.

Reluctantly, Jason positioned himself and nodded.

"On three. One. Two. Three!"

the two of them took a running start and slammed into the wall as hard as they could. Even with the meaty parts of his body absorbing most of the impact, Jason still grunted in pain. Surprisingly, Danny didn't even seem to flinch.

More surprisingly, the concrete shifted. Putting their whole weight into it, the pair of them pushed as hard as they could. There was a quiet scraping sound as it dragged across the floor. Soon enough, though, the hidden door was open, and they were standing on the other side.

"I can't believe there was actually a hidden door," Jason remarked as it slowly fell closed behind them. "Honestly, I was just humoring you."

"Hey!" Danny sounded surprised and a little upset.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Now we have to get out of this room," Jason put his free hand on his hip and looked unimpressed.

The room they were in now was much smaller than the room they had been in before. Thankfully, there were no guards inside. The ceiling was the same height as the room they'd just left—even if the room itself was smaller—with a single florescent light and an air vent that looked like it might be big enough for them. There was also a door and a window with blinds opposite the secret door they'd come through.

On this side of the secret door was a keypad and retinal scanner.

Now that he was seeing this side, Jason felt sure that the two of them should not have been able to force the door open from the other side with brute strength. Either he was a lot stronger than he thought he was... or Danny was a lot stronger than he gave him credit for. He side-eyed the taller man suspiciously.

"At least this room has a door," Danny said. Jason easily followed as he stepped over to look through the window. He spread the blinds with his fingers, and almost instantly let them fall shut again.

"What is it?"

"White suit," Danny said. He looked as if he was holding his breath, muscles stiff and jaw clenched.

"What does that mean?" Jason asked.

Danny looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head and visibly forcing himself to relax. "Nothing," he said finally. "Just a weird fashion choice."

Jason narrowed his eyes, wondering why Danny would lie when his reaction had obviously been about more than just his fashion choices. Danny kept talking before Jason could press, though, so Jason decided to let it slide for the time being.

"Anyway, I was wondering how long it would take before we ran into a guard," Danny said. "It's just the one, though, and he has headphones on playing music so loud I can hear it through the window. That's probably why he didn't hear us up to now. I'm sure we can take him."

"I'd rather not tip them off to our escape if we can avoid it," Jason disagreed. He jerked his head upward, indicating the air vent. "I'm pretty sure that vent will hold us. You think we can get up there?"

Danny examined it with a thoughtful look. It was definitely too high for him to reach just by sitting on Jason's shoulders like before, but it was worth a shot if it meant getting out of here without anyone realizing they were gone.

"How much do you weigh?" Danny asked.

"About 225," Jason answered.

"Damn, okay," Danny said. "Yeah, I can get up there, but we'd better hope that vent is really strong."

"You can?"

"Yeah." Danny grabbed Jason by the shoulders and carefully positioned him right under the vent. "Stand here, and hold as still as you can."

With that, Danny tightened his grip, jumped off the floor, and kicked off the wall behind him, so he was doing a hand-stand on Jason's shoulders, his knees bent. He quickly straitened his knees, kicking the vent cover out.

Jason reached out his uncuffed hand to catch it as it fell to the ground. Even with headphones on, the guard would have heard it clatter. Although... he should have heard the crash, too. Damn, he must have had his volume maxed out. He was likely to ruin his hearing that way.

Danny wriggled is way up into the vent, and then reached down to pull Jason up after him. It was awkward, and took both of their combined strength, but they managed to get Jason up there.

"Wow, you really are sturdy," Danny remarked at a whisper. "You didn't even sway or anything."

"You're really not that heavy," Jason said. "That was... kind of impressive, though, I'll admit. You're stronger than I expected."

"Ha, thanks."

The two of them were on their stomachs, their faces just inches away from each other in a dark, dusty vent. Jason cleared his throat.

"We should get moving," he said. "You go backward. The vent probably gets smaller toward the room we were trapped in."

"Got it."

Danny began awkwardly shimmying backward through the vent with Jason following closely. Thanks to their shackles, they couldn't put much breathing room between them. A few times, they nearly knocked their foreheads together.

Jason was grateful for the darkness. There was no way Danny could see how red his face was.

God, when was this uncomfortable foray through the vents going to be over? The quarters were way too close. Jason could smell Danny's lemony-fresh lip balm. And he was very deliberately having no thoughts about that.

Suddenly, Danny stopped, and Jason once more narrowly avoided slamming their faces together by accident. There was a soft tapping sound coming from behind Danny.

"This is either a dead end behind me, or another grate," he said.

"Well, which one is it?"

"Shhh!"

Jason scowled, but was silent, letting Danny listen for whatever he needed to hear to decide what the answer was.

"I'm pretty sure I hear crickets," he said finally. "So it's a grate... probably. I'm gonna try and kick it out and see what happens."

Danny squirmed a little farther back, lining himself up, giving his feet as much room as possible so he could kick the grate with maximum force.

Then there was a loud clang and a quiet thud of metal on dirt.

"Yup, grate," Danny said, working his way back out of the opening.

Finally, they were outside, and what a relief it was to be more than three inches away from Danny's face.

"What was that?" they heard someone say from around the corner.

"Shit," Jason whispered.

He grabbed the vent cover in one hand and Danny's hand in the other and hurried as quietly as he could. Hopefully, if there wasn't a dented vent cover laying there, they would think nothing was amiss. The dirt was dry and shifty, so it probably wouldn't leave clear footprints, especially if they were running. At least... he hoped it wouldn't.

When he was pretty sure no one had followed them, he stopped in a narrow path between the back of a building and a chain-link fence and chucked the vent cover over to the other side.

"You know, we're handcuffed together," Danny pointed out. "You don't have to hold my hand."

Jason immediately dropped Danny's hand like it had burned him. "I didn't mean to. I was trying to act fast."

"Sure you were."

"Shut up," Jason hissed. "Listen, I don't think we're in Gotham anymore."

"You're right," Danny agreed. "If there was a base like this in Gotham city limits, I would know about it. So where do you think we are?"

"I don't know, but the more pressing question is: how do we get out of here when we don't know where we are or which way we're going?"

Danny gestured for Jason to follow and led the way to the edge of the building, very carefully peering around the corner. "There, you see that big warehouse looking building with the curved roof?" he asked, pointing it out.

Jason looked around the corner and easily spotted it. "Yeah. That's an aircraft hangar, right?"

"Bingo," Danny said.

Jason grinned. He didn't know planes very well, but if there was a helicopter in there, he could fly them home. It would be loud, though, so once he got the engine going, he'd have to act fast.

"We should skirt around the edges, less risk of running into someone," Jason said.

Danny nodded in agreement.

Quickly and quietly, the two of them made their way along the chain-link fence, sprinting across the gaps between buildings, until they reached the back door of the aircraft hangar.

"Locked," Jason sneered. "Help me find a big rock."

"Or..." Danny said, pulling Jason closer by the handcuff. He wrapped the cord around the door handle in a weird and very particular way, then pulled as hard as he could.

The handle came out completely. They could hear the clatter on the other side of the door as the opposite side fell to the floor. Then Danny reached in to pull out the latch. He held it up with a victorious smirk.

Jason blinked in shock as the door swung open all on its own. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, pushing past Danny. He refused to be impressed by something as simple as opening a door... even if it was kind of impressive.

They couldn't risk turning any lights on, meaning they had to check each aircraft one-by one, but none of these shadowy silhouettes looked like a helicopter. And upon closer inspection, none of them looked like regular planes either.

"What are these? Experimental crafts?" Jason asked. "I can't fly any of these."

Danny snorted. "You thought you were gonna fly them?" he asked.

Jason could feel his frustration growing again. He finally realized why it felt different though. No matter how much Danny got on his nerves, it was only regular frustration and anger. The Lazarus Pit inside him stayed still and silent. It had been silent the whole time. Was it this place? Or was it something weird about Danny himself.

"Oh, and you think you're gonna fly a fuckin' experimental stealth bomber or hyper-sonic jet?" Jason scoffed.

"Uh... yeah," Danny said obviously. "I mean, I'm a test pilot for Wayne Enterprises' aeronautics and space division. It's kinda what I do."

"... oh."

"We should go with a stealth jet," Danny said, pulling Jason over to a plane they'd passed earlier, one which was painted pitch black. "That way they'll have a harder time tracking us once they realize we're gone."

"I agree, but as soon as that hangar door opens, we're gonna have guards on our asses," Jason pointed out.

"Right. I'll see if one of these jets has vertical takeoff capabilities so we don't have to get to a runway."

After examining all the stealth planes in the hangar, the best they could find was one with near-vertical takeoff capabilities. It would have to be enough. Danny deactivated the tracker so their captors wouldn't be able to follow, and then prepared for them to take off. The engine was nearly silent as he taxied the small jet in front of the hangar door.

The next problem was that, to open the hangar door, someone would have to stand there and hold down the door button.

"We could tape it down," Danny suggested.

"With what fucking tape?" Jason shot back.

"How are you at knot tying?"

"We don't have rope or string either, genius."

"I can tear a strip of fabric off my shirt," Danny said, frowning in irritation. "Why are you always shooting down my ideas?"

Jason wanted to argue—mostly because Danny just generally made him want to argue, but he wanted to get out of here more. "Fine, yes, I'm good at knot tying. That'll probably—possibly, potentially work. Maybe."

"Why can't you admit that I had a good idea?"

"Because you're a pain in the ass."

"Oh, and you're not?" Danny shot back, rolling his eyes.

He lifted up the bottom of his shirt to tear the hem off with his teeth, and Jason was surprised to see lean muscle and toned abs—though perhaps he shouldn't have been, considering how strong Danny had already proven to be, despite how skinny he looked. Even more surprising, and definitely more noteworthy, however, was the large, Y shaped scar spanning Danny's entire torso.

Jason bit back a gasp as his hand slowly reached up to his own chest, his fingers landing on the intersection of a scar just like that.

Danny was like him.

Danny had died and come back, like Jason had. Was that why the pit was so quiet around him? Was that why Jason felt so inexplicably antagonistic?

"Here." Danny held out a strip of white fabric for Jason to take, apparently not noticing that he was still staring.

Jason took it, but didn't start tying yet. He couldn't stop thinking about it. About Danny.

"How did you get that scar?" Jason asked. He couldn't help himself.

Danny's eyes widened. "What scar?"

"The fucking Y-incision scar across your torso! What the hell do you mean 'what scar'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Danny said, though the way he shifted his weight and averted his eyes suggested that he knew exactly what Jason was talking about. "Can you just tie down the button so we can get out of here?"

"Fine," Jason relented through gritted teeth. They'd have plenty of time to talk on the plane.

He tightly wrapped the fabric until the button pushed down and tied it securely. Once that was done, and the door was steadily rising, the two of them sprinted toward the jet in lockstep.

By the time the got to the jet and took their seats in the cockpit, the door was only halfway open.

An alarm was sounding outside, and guards had already arrived. There were dozens of them, men in white suits forming a solid line across the entire entryway. They took aim with futuristic-looking laser weapons, but unfortunately for them, it seemed their jet was laser-proof.

As one, Danny and Jason turned to each other.

"How cool are you with just running these guys over?" they asked one another in unison.

Danny laughed and started flipping switches. "Guess that answers that question," he said cheerfully. "If they value their lives they'll move."

Maybe Danny wasn't so bad after all.

Jason watched in awe. He could barely recognize any of the controls. They looked like nothing he'd seen before, and he couldn't even guess the purpose of half of them, but Danny took to them with practiced ease. Jason just let his arm be pulled across the cockpit by their manacles without resistance.

In no time the jet was moving, and those white-suited guards held steady until the last possible second before diving out of the way. Jason had no idea how Danny timed it so perfectly, but as soon as they cleared the hangar, they started lifting off into the sky.

"Jason, see that switch there?" Danny pointed to a blue switch on Jason's side of that dashboard. "That should be the landing gear. Flip it!"

Jason did so quickly, and they felt a slight shift as the landing gear collapsed into the underside of the plane just in time to avoid clipping the building across. Danny sighed with relief.

"Oh thank the Ancients," he said. "I was only about sixty percent sure that was the landing gear."

"Wait, have you been guessing at all the controls?"

"Most of 'em," Danny admitted with a shrug. "I'm a test pilot for experimental planes and rockets and stuff. I've flown countless different crafts, all with slightly different controls, but they're all variations on the same standard. Like, see these blue buttons next to the screen. One is global positioning, one is radar, one is proximity cameras. Do I know which is which? Of course not. I've never flown this model before. But I know they're all there."

Jason pressed each of the three buttons. The top was radar, the center was proximity cameras, and the bottom was GPS, just like Danny had guessed.

"Looks like we're over the Midwest, flying east," Jason observed.

Danny looked down at the screen and adjusted his heading to a slightly more southerly direction.

"Where are we gonna land exactly?" Jason asked.

"I was thinking the airport," Danny said. "They have air traffic control there, so we can minimize the risk of crashing. We should have plenty of fuel. I just hope the weather's not against us. It was supposed to snow, last I checked. Hopefully it won't be too bad."

For a short while, silence fell over them. Judging by their speed, the flight was going to be about an hour and a half, as long as the weather was fair. As much as two hours if they got caught in the snow. Without an approved route from the FAA, they had to fly at a lower altitude to avoid other crafts.

"So, when did you die?" Jason asked, hoping the shock of the sudden question might trick Danny into answering.

Danny just sighed. "How'd you know?"

"Well, the autopsy scar was kinda of a dead giveaway," Jason said.

Danny cracked a smile. "Right, autopsy."

"Plus... I don't know how to describe it, but I can kind of just... sense death on you. Did you get brought back in a Lazarus Pit too?"

"What's a Lazarus Pit?" Danny asked. "And what do you mean 'too'? Have you died before?"

"You didn't pick up on it? I thought it would be mutual."

"Well, you never set off my ghost sense or anything, so how would I know that? Now what's a Lazarus Pit."

"Some magic water or some shit that can heal wounds and bring the dead back to life," Jason said. "You never actually answered my original question though. When did you die? And how did you come back, if it wasn't a Lazarus Pit?"

"Oh, when I was fourteen," Danny said. "There was... it's complicated. Basically I died and was brought back to life at the same time? Something like that."

"Sounds intense."

"You have no idea," Danny shook his head. "What about you?"

"I was fifteen," Jason replied. "Joker." Danny winced. "I don't actually know how I came back either. I wasn't really lucid for a long time. It wasn't until I got thrown in a Lazarus Pit that I could remembered who I was."

"Yikes."

"That about sums it up, yeah."

Jason couldn't exactly pin-point when, but at some point between waking up in that cold, empty room, and flying in a stolen jet toward home, Danny had gone from a pure, unadulterated annoyance, to... a fond annoyance? Maybe even, almost, a friend? He had a nice laugh. Pretty eyes. And he was smarter than Jason had wanted to give him credit for, a quick-thinker.

Oh.

Oh no.

"Motherfucker," Jason cursed under his breath. He wasn't seriously becoming attracted to this idiot. No way.

"What?" Danny asked.

"Don't worry about it," Jason said. "So uh... how'd you start working for Wayne Enterprises?" Jason hoped that the reminder that this guy worked for Bruce would be enough of a turn-off to quash this thing before it really got rolling.

"I always wanted to be an astronaut, so after I got my pilot certification, I applied to every aeronautics and space facility in the country, and of the places that accepted my application, Wayne Enterprises paid the best."

"Shame about having to work for Bruce Wayne, though," Jason said. "That guy's an idiot."

"I've never actually met him," Danny said. "Any time he comes in to check up on everything, I make myself scarce. I don't exactly have the best track record with billionaires."

"And what the hell does that mean?"

"My godfather is a Billionaire," he started to explain. "He was friends with my parents in college. Shady as fuck, obsessed with my mom, tried to kill my dad several times so he could marry her and adopt me. Never mentioned my older sister for some reason. All-in-all, he was a major fruit loop, so I'm not pressing my luck with another billionaire who already has a substantial track record of adoptions. Nuh-uh. No way."

Jason snorted. Damn, that didn't work. He only liked Danny more now.

"What about you?" Danny asked. "What do you do for a living?"

"Uhh..." Jason tried to think of a suitable lie, since he couldn't exactly say he was a crime lord. "I... work... in Crime Alley."

"Are you a criminal?"

"What?"

"Well, you did say you work some place called Crime Alley," Danny pointed out reasonably. "And you're being very vague about the actual nature of that work. So I can only assume that you're a criminal. That or Crime Alley is the name of a sex shop or something. I could see that."

"No, Crime Alley is a neighborhood in Gotham," Jason said. "You haven't heard of it?"

"Maybe... in passing." Danny shrugged. "I've only lived in Gotham for about a year and a half. Anyway, if you are a criminal, I don't want to know. Plausible deniability is the name of the game, and I will not be responsible for saving your soul or whatever. I don't do that shit anymore."

Didn't seem to care if Jason was a criminal, or have any interest in 'fixing' him. Somehow, Danny was checking all the boxes.

"Anymore?"

"Don't worry about it."

"You know, you're kind of a weirdo," Jason said, and damn if that didn't make him even more attractive.

"I'm aware."

The conversation lulled once more, and Jason became more aware of his left hand hanging between them by the handcuffs while Danny kept both hands on the steering. It was starting to get pretty uncomfortable.

"Isn't there autopilot or something?" he asked. "My arm is getting tired."

"Is there autopilot at two-thirds cruising altitude, with no flight plan, and no approval from the FAA to be in the sky at all?" Danny said. "Hmm, let me think. Yeah, no."

"Right... well, I know a guy who can get these things off us. I'm calling him as soon as we get back to Gotham."

"And Ancients it can't be soon enough," Danny said. "Also, not gonna ask why you know a guy who can remove handcuffs."

"I know a lot of guys who can remove handcuffs." Jason shrugged. "Hell, if there was an actual lock on these, I could've removed 'em myself. Even without a lock, Dick could've slipped 'em by dislocating his thumb. It looks freaky as hell when he does it, though."

"Dick?" Danny turned to him momentarily to raise an eyebrow. "Is that his name or do you just hate the guy?"

"Both."

"Who willingly goes by Dick these days? And why?"

"Fuck if I know."

As the flight went on, the conversation waxed and waned. With what ended up being nearly two hours to fill, the two talked about many things: their homes, their hobbies. Danny talked about his sister the brain surgeon for a bit, but neither was particularly eager to talk about their families.

Conversation turned to banter, which turned to blatant flirting, and by the time they reached Gotham airspace, Jason was pretty sure he had the cute, undead test pilot in the bag.

"Air traffic control tower this is... uh... I don't know," Danny said. "We're an undesignated experimental craft, requesting permission to land preferably sooner rather than later, because we're low on fuel."

"This is air traffic control to undesignated aircraft, about how much longer can you stay airborne?"

"I estimate fifteen minutes at the most," Danny replied. "This thing burns through fuel a lot faster than I was expecting."

"Standby."

Soon enough they were on the ground. Then they had to try to explain to the airport employees why they were handcuffed together and flying an unregistered aircraft. It took a while, but Danny and Jason both, as it turned out, were quite proficient liars, and managed to get away without too much trouble, somehow.

They took a cab to the Bowery where Jason's locksmith sawed them out of the cuffs, and from there, they were able to go their separate ways. But Jason didn't want to part ways without knowing if he'd ever see Danny again.

"So uh..." he started to say while they hesitated on the sidewalk. "Can... can I walk you home?"

"I live all the way down in Tricorner," Danny said. "It's a bit far to walk."

"Okay, then how about you walk me home and I'll give you a ride in the morning?"

"Alright, smooth-talker." Danny smiled and held out his hand, and Jason took it with a smile of his own. "I'm in."

#dpxdc #fic #things i wrote #things i drew #crack treated seriously #dead on main ship #gift fic #handcuffed together

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whisperthatruns · 3 months

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V. There was a moment in this poem when I walked into and out of a riddle with the swift indifference of a swinging silver pendulum, when I could have slipped my tongue like a wet key into the air's warm door. Do you remember the bird and how she sort of came out of a banana? I felt weird about that. But at the moment I saw it, clear and bright and physical as a papier-mâché mobile of the sun and its adorers. There is a word living inside the word "breathing," like a caged bird covered by thick muslin. It's smaller than the shape my mouth makes to say it--- quicker, like pointing to the night sky, and saying only "never mind, you missed it."

Sarah Matthes, from “To Examine the Marks in Fishes,” Town Crier (Persea Books, 2021)

#sarah matthes #to examine the marks in fishes #town crier #poetry

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astarionslittlejuicebox · 5 months

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The Promise of Eternity (Part 2)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 1246

Imagine Series List

Side Notes:

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

Breakfast time was a busy time for everyone in the castle. The chefs were busy preparing a large feast for the Lord of the castle and his exquisite taste buds. For the last two hundred years, Astarion has indulged and refined his taste for mortal foods, and the ever-rotating kitchen staff struggles to keep up with his desires. This morning, the chefs had prepared a feast of danish hens, caviar, fish, eggs in various styles, and other luxuries that only the nobility could afford in Toril. As I walked around the long dark wooden table that stood proudly in the center of an exquisitely decorated dining hall, I observed those who were hustling and bustling about the dining hall. Humans, elves, tieflings, and other people of all sorts of races rushed about to ensure that the breakfast buffet on the table would match the vampire lord’s meticulous standards. The silverware was polished and then examined before it was repolished several times until the silverware was finally deemed satisfactory.

I took note of the facial expressions of the servants as they all appeared to be frantic in their preparations. I was searching for any signs of deception or discontent with their tasks as servants placed two sets of plates on the table, one at each end of the table where an intricately designed chair sat proudly. One of the chairs belonged to the vampire lord himself, and the other belonged to his most beloved. I fondly glanced over at the chair I had sat in so many times over the last two centuries. Before I could reminisce on fonder days, a familiar voice agitated my drow ears.

“This fork is not shiny enough for the Master!” The voice sounded like the person only spoke from their nose—an impressive talent—but the voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the ears of those who heard it. The tiefling made her way hastily to the seat I had been staring at, with two puncture marks still lazily bleeding on her neck. Upon noticing me looking at her, she narrowed her eyes and gave me a snide look. “Look away, spawn, or I’ll tell your master that you’re bothering me.” She let out a laugh that reminded me of a pack of gnolls, but I turned my attention elsewhere as I left the room. On my way out, I almost collided into the pale elf himself, Astarion. He didn’t even spare a glance at me before I was shoved out the way and into the wall. I caught myself before smoothing out my dress and continuing my path towards my bedchambers. I could hear the ridiculous hyena laugh echo through the hallways until I had gotten several more feet away. Several of the spawn had given me sorrowful expressions as I passed, but I merely smiled at them as I took longer strides. Pity was etched onto every one of their faces, and I could not bear the weight of it on my shoulders. Besides, someone in this castle had broken a rule, and I was tasked to find whomever had done so.

Arriving at my bedchambers, I hastily opened and shut the door behind me before my handmaiden, Kristiana, greeted me. Kristiana was a spawn without a vampire master who Astarion and I had taken in under our wings one hundred fifty years ago. She was a short human female with big brown eyes, golden brown hair, and a soft smile. She was totally devoted to serving me hand and foot.

“Good morning, Mistress, was the sunrise beautiful this morning?” She asked as she walked into the large dressing room attached to the bedroom. “What are we thinking of wearing today? A nice autumn themed dress or shall we wear something more comfortable today?” I slipped off my gown and handed it to her through the door. Before I walked towards the warm bath she had drawn me. I sunk into the heated water and my muscles relaxed into the hot water. Kristiana walked over and poured water on my hair and brushed the knots out before she proceeded to wash my hair.

“We are going to put on something more comfortable for today. After I am dressed, please take the day to rest and relax. You’ve been working so hard lately, and you deserve a break.” Kristiana’s hands paused in my hair.

“Are you sure, Mistress? You know there are still plenty of duties for me—“ I waved my hand to stop her.

“I am absolutely sure. I can handle myself. Besides, I have business in town, and I am perfectly capable of handling myself.” I gave her a smile, which she graciously returned.

“If you are sure, I shall take you up on that offer.” She then continued delicately washing my hair while I washed my body. The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air in my room as dirt and grime was washed away from my body. Once I was rinsed, I stood up and wrapped a soft towel around my body as Kristiana laid out a plain black shirt and black trousers for me, I put on a pair of black leather boots to finish my outfit then smiled at Kristiana. I sat in front of the mirror, even though I couldn’t see my reflection, as Kristiana stood behind me and ran a brush through my hair.

“Just throw my hair into my usual bun and we shall call it a day.” I saw her nod her head in the mirror before her skillful hands went to work twisting my hair into a beautiful bun. She placed small black pins into my hair to hold it in place before she pulled out two strands to frame my face. She took a step back to admire her work before she smiled at me.

“All done, Mistress, and you look as beautiful as you always do.” I gave her a small smile.

“Thank you Kristiana. You always do such a wonderful job. You are dismissed until tomorrow.” Kristiana gave a timid bow before she walked out of my bedchambers. I took a moment to sit in the complete silence of the empty room and thought about how my morning had started. My eyes watered with the familiar sting of tears as I recalled the small glimmer of how things used to be with Astarion, but the moment quickly dissipated the moment she walked into the room.

I sighed heavily as I looked out the window, reminiscing on the days when Astarion and I were on the same page, wanting the same things, and speaking the same language. You will be my most beloved spawn, my right hand, my dark consort. I felt a single tear escape from my eye as his honeyed words rang through my head once again. Together you and I will be the most powerful people in the world. A few more tears slid down my face and collected onto my trousers. I had foolishly thought my little star had meant those words he had spoken, and I believe he truly did at one point in time. I wiped the tears that escaped my eyes before I straightened my posture. Regardless of how I thought he felt, he did entrust me with the task of finding whoever had stolen his blood. I grabbed my cloak and left my bedchambers as I set out to head towards my next destination: the library of Baldur’s Gate.

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #imagine #the promise of eternity

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flowersandbigteeth · 4 months

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Meeting your changeling BF: pt 8

General Plot: You arrive in Darkbell and meet the king

Word Count: 3.5K

Changeling (Clark) x f nymph reader

TW: yandere behavior, sfw fluff, magic

Previous parts and more nsfw monsters here

The troubling thoughts were scrubbed from your mind when you reached the gates of Darkbell. They were massive, rising up several stories and made of some gleaming white metal.

“Amazing, hm? The gates of Darkbell have never been breached. The citizens have lived safely inside for centuries.” Clark said, pulling your horse to the side where there was a smaller entrance with a night elf guard.

“State your business,” he barked, not at all friendly.

Clark opened his jacket and pulled out some document.

“I’ve been sent by the Mage’s Chamber to answer your request,” he said.

The night elf examined the document carefully, then looked at you, his glowing violet eyes skeptical.

“What about her? Doesn’t say anything in here about a nymph,” he said.

Clark sighed and rolled his eyes.

“For Goddess’s sake,” he grumbled. “No one is trying to break into your bloody cave. She’s my wife! Why else do you think I’m carrying around a nymph?”

He pulled out the two little booklets the administrator had given you to mark your marriage and showed them to the elf. The guard didn’t seem the least bit moved by Clark’s tirade, but handed his documents back and waved you through.

“Proceed straight to the castle,” he said as you passed.

Clark mocked him in silence when you were out of his view.

“Be nice,” you said, smacking him lightly on his arm.

“You are too sweet, my love,” he said, nuzzling your ear.

You gasped at your first vision of Darkbell. Clark’s description did not do it justice. The city was stunning. The homes and businesses were cut directly into a shimmering blue stone, flecked with sparkles that looked like stars. Gravity defying aquaducts wound around the buildings delivering water in sparkling waterfalls to various ponds and wells tucked in walled gardens. The paths were lined with blocks of the same gleaming white metal as the gates. There weren’t just glowing mushrooms, there were bioluminescent vines and flowers climbing every vertical surface and clusters of gently pulsing fungus crowded the corners.

Night elves moved elegantly through the neighborhoods, their skin a similar blue to the buildings but their eyes glowing a rainbow of colors– blue, green, pink, and violet. The cave was relatively dim, but you could still see quite well with tall illuminated fungus growing along the avenue like street lamps.

At the far end of the massive expanse that was the city, a lovely sparkling castle sat at the top of hundreds of stairs. It appeared to be carved from blue and purple crystals that were hundreds of feet tall. Even more crystals arranged almost like stonehenge circled the main building. As you approached, your eyes followed two of the aquaducts emptying into a wide river that bisected the city. It was clear and still as glass with massive white fish with no eyes gracefully swirling their long fins below the smooth surface.

“How pretty,” you breathed, your eyes eating it up like candy.

“It is a little pretty,” he agreed, guiding your horse along the widest road towards the castle.

You had to dismount in front of another surly guard at the base of the castle.

“King Khelvan is expecting you,” he said, carefully examining all of our documents again. “Proceed.”

“The king,” you whispered as Clark took your hand to lead you up the staircase. “I’ve never met a king before! What do I do?”

He chuckled.

“Just let me talk with him,” he assured you. “Be polite and bow when you approach, that’s all. Don’t be hurt if he’s a little rude, all these elves are cold to outsiders.”

You were expecting an old King with lots of wrinkles and maybe a long beard, but that wasn’t who was sitting on the throne. The night elf was incredibly handsome and appeared to be close your your age with oddly familiar glowing green eyes. A sweep of long blue hair fell over wide, strong shoulders. He was dressed in a robe that looked to be woven from silver thread only accentuated his graceful features. A single silver circlet rested on his head.

To either side of you, what must have been his court, peered at the two of you, whispering amongst themselves.

“Greetings your Magesty,” Clark said with a practiced flourish as he bowed.

The king’s eyes met yours for a moment and while Clark was looking down, he winked at you! The edge of his lip lifted just slightly as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks burned and since you were standing there staring, Clark grabbed your wrist and pulled you down with him.

“Rise Mage and state your business,” the king said, his tone neutral though his voice was very smooth and deep.

“I’m Clark Septos and this is my lovely wife (Y/N). We arrived to answer your request for an investigation,” Clark said. “You wrote there was a wraith haunting your halls, causing trouble. The Mage’s Chamber humbly offers my services to hopefully find some solution.”

The king rose from his seat and glided down the set of stairs that separated the two of you from the throne. He circled the both of you, taking your measure.

“A changeling and a nymph,” he hummed. “What an interesting match.”

“I’m very fortunate,” Clark said, smiling at you warmly. “The goddess blessed me with a wife as sweet as she is beautiful.”

“Hm,” he said, then turned and walked down a side hall. “Let’s discuss the matter in my library.”

You stuck close to Clark as you followed him. The inside of the castle was just as beautiful as the outside. Everything from the chairs to the shelves was carved from faceted crystal.

He led you into a smaller room with a massive, sparkling desk and took his seat behind it, gesturing for the two of you to take the ones on the opposite side.

“As my request explained,” he started as soon as you were settled. “There’s a wraith on the loose. I’m not sure who conjured it or why, but it seems to have some vindictive mission. Things and people have gone missing, relics destroyed, and no matter what spells we cast they simply aren’t strong enough to excorcise the creature. I assure you, we would not have summoned you had we been able to handle the situation ourselves.”

Clark pulled out a small notebook to write notes.

“Does it speak or communicate?” he asked.

King Khelvan nodded.

“It goes on about some betrayal that occurred,” he said. “I have no idea what injustice they refer to. I’ve searched the library and asked the elders, but no one can come up with anything.”

“When and where does it tend to appear?”

Khelvan thought for a moment.

“It seems to like hanging around the Queen’s chambers. I, of course, have yet to choose a Queen so they are unoccupied, but maids and guards maintain the rooms. There are also many artifacts and heirlooms there that will become the property of the Queen when she is crowned,” he explained. “It’s her items that disappear. It took a scrying mirror, a painting, and a fan that has been passed through generations. There may have been other things I have yet to notice.”

“What was the painting of?” Clark asked.

“A princess,” he said.

“What princess?”

“No one of note.”

“Hmm,” Clark hummed. “I’ll have to investigate the area to find out more.”

“Yes, of course,” Khelvan responded with a tip of his head, then his glowing eyes flicked to you. “I can keep your wife company while you work. This wraith is much too dangerous for a fair nymph. My guards will escort you to the Queen’s halls.”

Clark frowned deeply and seemed to be wrestling with the idea in his head, but finally caution won out.

“Yes,” he admitted. “It would be unwise to risk (Y/N)’s safety with a wraith I’ve yet to see.”

“But-” you started and he shook his head, shushing you.

“You’ll be safe here,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

You were nervous about him leaving, but he gave you a comforting kiss on the forehead before he joined the guards standing outside.

“Would you like a glass of wine to ease your nerves?” Khelvan asked.

You didn’t really drink, but you didn’t want to be rude, either so you nodded.

He poured you some rich, red liquid from a decanter and placed the silver goblet in your hand.

“How did you come to be the wife of a changeling mage?” he asked as he retook his seat. “Most nymphs stay in the old wood. I’ve only met one other that busied herself with our affairs.”

“It’s kind of a complicated story,” you admitted. “But I adore Clark. He’s been my anchor and my protector through a very confusing time.”

“I’m sure he would guard such a treasure fiercely,” he mused, smiling at you.

You found yourself getting lost in his eyes. They were an intense chartreuse, like sun filtering through the leaves of summer trees.

“Have we met before, you majesty?” you asked.

You knew it was a silly question, you’d only been in this world a few days, but he seemed so familiar.

He didn’t answer, likely because it was obviously foolish, taking a sip of his drink.

“Does he treat you well, provide for you?” he asked, instead.

“Oh yes, we have a pretty house in Leotolas and a garden. He’s given me some gold to buy what I need,” you said. “He’s an excellent provider.”

“Leotolas is lovely,” he hummed. “But it can’t compare to Darkbell, can it?”

You blushed. Darkbell was beautiful, but you wouldn’t compare the two. Of course, you’d never admit that as he was the king.

“Darkbell is amazing,” you said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth framed by pointy canines.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said.

He stood, crossing the room and lifting your hand.

“Has your mage taught you any magic?” he asked and you weren’t sure how to answer.

“Well not him exactly,” you admitted, “but his boss taught me how to access my own magic.”

He nodded, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

“Can I teach you a spell?” he asked. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Oh yes! That’d be wonderful!” you gasped. “What kind of spell?”

“This spell is very special. It let’s you glimpse a memory of the person you touch,” he explained.

Suddenly you were standing in your old bedroom looking in the mirror. You were putting on earrings, singing some song, and dancing around as you dressed. You looked at your phone and there was a picture of a guy you used to know with the message.

“Is this good for a date? I have no idea how to dress! Help!”

“Looks good!” you typed. “You look handsome in anything you wear!”

You remembered this moment. It was right before you went on a date with your first boyfriend. Looking around, you found Khelvan standing next you.

“Ah, so you are a traveler. Pretty outfit,” he said winking, then glanced around your room. “What an interesting world you lived in.”

He looked at the phone in your hand.

“What fascinating magic,” he hummed.

You felt something like a rush of wind and you were back in his library.

“How did you do that?” you gasped and he chuckled.

“I’m going to teach you,” he said. “First you have to reach out to the goddess of time and ask for a trade. One memory of their’s for one of your own. That’s the reason you can’t use the spell too often, you’d lose lots of memories. It doesn’t have to be a special memory, just one you have a very clear vision of.

The goddess’s name is Edenta. Focus on her name and try to draw the memory you are willing to trade to your mind. Once you have them in your thoughts, touch your subject and ask for the memory you’d like to see. You have to be relatively specific or she will show you whatever is closest to what you asked for. You can experiment on me.”

You blinked at him.

“You’re sure you’re okay with me digging around in your memories?” you asked and he laughed.

“I can help you choose one if you like,” he offered.

“Yes, I don’t want to see anything too private,” you admitted and he gave you a soft look.

“So considerate and kind,” he murmured. “What about…? My first date, since I saw yours?”

Your eyes widened.

“Kings date?” you asked, making him laugh harder.

“It was arranged by my father, but yes,” he said. “Come on now, quit stalling. Close your eyes.”

You took a deep breath and did as Khelvan had asked. The moment your mind formed the goddess’s name, it felt like the air got cooler and the glowing shape of a woman appeared in your mind’s eye. It was impossible to focus on her directly, she seemed to be shifting between forms before your eyes.

“Greetings nymph, why have you summoned me?” she asked, her voice many different voices all at once.

“I wish to trade a memory for a memory,” you said, your words echoing in the space inside your head.

“What have you to offer me?” she asked and you focused your thoughts on an unpleasant memory you’d rather forget.

It was when that boyfriend dumped you for your friend. You felt Edenta’s derision.

“You offer such a miserable memory,” she huffed, “but it will pay the price. What do you wish to see?”

“Khelvan’s first date,” you said and the moment the words were expressed she disappeared.

Khelvan had never put down your hand, so you didn’t have to do anything else. You were suddenly in the very court where you’d been introduced. Khelvan was much younger and an older man, who looked very similar was standing with his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t want to do this, father,” he grumbled, but his dad smacked the back of his head, causing him to stumble forward.

“Don’t be rude to Tria, her family has traveled far to organize this match,” he snapped.

You looked behind you to find the girl he was rejecting. She was a beautiful night elf, dressed in an elaborate gold gown. She looked no more pleased to be standing before him.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking a few steps forward to give Tria a stiff bow. “Greetings Tria of Anore.”

She returned one just as stiff.

“I’m in your hands, Khelvan of Darkbell,” she muttered.

The moment was so awkward you wished to be anywhere else and blinked, finding yourself in the library again. You looked up at Khelvan, amazed it had worked.

“Did I do it?” you asked and he nodded.

“Yes, you completed the spell perfectly. Apologies my first date was not as pleasant as yours,” he said and you shook your head.

“Things are very different for you, you’re a king,” you said, pulling your hand away.

“They were,” he said, leaning against his desk. “But now that I am king, I can make my own choices as to who I make my Queen.”

“Why haven’t you found one yet?” you asked, then your ears burned at your stupidity. “Oh…ah…I’m sorry, you’re majesty, that was rude of me. I shouldn’t question your decisions.”

He shrugged and smiled at you.

“Perhaps I have found her,” he said. “I only need to woo her. Hopefully, more successfully than Tria.”

You offered him a genuine smile, at that.

“That’s wonderful,” you said. “I wish for your happiness.”

“Come,” he said, rising and holding out his arm for you. “Let me show you the garden. There’s no reason to stay cooped up in this dusty library while your changeling does his work.”

You were sure Clark wouldn’t like you hanging on another man’s elbow, but Khelvan was the king and you didn’t want to offend him. So, you looped your arm around his and followed him through the castle.

The garden was stunning. There were crystal fountains with sculptures that looked like they were made from ice. Flowers and fruit trees filled the space with color and sang to you a sweet song.

“It’s amazing flowers bloom in the darkness like this,” you commented, your hand hovering over a bloom.

“You can touch it,” he said, but you shook your head, standing.

“Trust me,” you laughed. “I’m still getting used to my magic. You don’t want to have to hack back the vines I create when I touch plants.”

He chuckled, tipping his head in thanks for your honesty.

“I’m very curious about your old world,” he said, waving you to a bench in front of a fountain shaped the like white fish you’d seen spitting water.

You shrugged.

“It was noisy, dirty, and generally…unpleasant,” you said. “There was not magic like here. There was science that made our conveniences, but every convenience had a cost.”

He nodded, thoughtfully.

“All magic has a cost, as well,” he commented.

You thought about this for a moment.

“Yes,” you agreed. “Channeling the whisperer can be…painful, but I’m working on it.”

While you sat in the garden, Khelvan spoke to you about the history of Darkbell and a few humorous stories about his childhood.

An hour later, Clark returned with his escorts. When he saw you sitting together he frowned, tugging you away from Khelvan and giving you a kiss.

“I missed you love, did you miss me?” he asked, trying to sound easy but you could tell he was annoyed.

“Of course I missed you. I always miss you when you are away,” you beamed, “His majesty has been telling me about the history of Darkbell. It’s very interesting.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat and glared at Khelvan.

“What are your impressions?” Khelvan asked, unmoved by Clark’s hostility. “Did you find the wraith?”

“Yes,” he said tightly. “From what I could garner your wraith is royalty. I tried to speak with it, using my methods to draw out its story. It has some vendetta, perhaps about the girl in the portrait. It’s bitter and vicious! Its presence is very concerning as I believe it will continue its activities as its goal is retribution for what it lost.”

Khelvan frowned.

“Can it be excorcised?” he asked.

Clark frowned.

“Possibly,” he said. “There is a method that we use for such creatures, but though it is well practiced it’s never a guarantee. Wraiths fueled by hate and revenge tend to be tricky. These feelings are strong and fuel dangerous magic.”

“What materials would you require to try?” Khelvan asked.

“A bottle imbued with magic,” he replied. “Wraiths like these cannot be killed, only contained. I will need to trap it and then the Mage’s Chamber will insist I return with it, as it can become a powerful weapon to the owner of the bottle.”

The King frowned, but Clark continued.

“You will have to trust the the Mage’s Chamber doesn’t use these creatures as weapons. They merely join our collection where they can be monitored. We don’t hoard weapons for nefarious purposes, as a practice we attempt to avoid political conflicts. We do a service to Ilirion, keeping them out of dangerous hands.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “Would you be able to go through with the exorcism in the coming days?”

Clark nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “There is some preparation but it won’t take much time.”

Khelvan nodded.

“Then my guards will escort you…and your lovely wife to guest chambers,” he said. “Please ask them for anything you may need and they will procure it for you.”

His eyes flicked to you.

“Don’t forget what I taught you,” he said, his gaze intense. “You may find it useful.”

Clark grimaced and pulled you under his arm as the guards led you to another part of the castle.

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phenomenalgirl9 · 6 months

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Soulbound: Xu Minghao x Reader

Summary: In a world where lucky people found soulmates. Xu Minghao rushed into your life breaking your walls and showing you the strength of the red string of fate.

A/n: This was inspired by this reel by @/joshuu.woah on Instagram. Also, Happiest Birthday to this baby love he has brought me joy, comfort and helped me be unapologetically myself. Thank you for lighting up my work!

W/c: 1.5k(-ish)

Genre: Soulmate au, fluff, a pinch of angst if you squint.

Warning: none (i think)

Rating: U

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The red string of fate… soulmates, bonding, was never much of Your interest.

Well, ever since your father walked out on your mother and you for a different woman, his actual soulmate. He left you both to fend for yourself, never even turning back.

You and your friends Seungkwan and Chan were struggling just as much as you were to not be thrown down by the crowd. "Next station Gangnam" the mechanical voice said and you three sighed, just a few more minutes and you'll be free. The three of you maneuvered through the crowd to get to the gate just in time as you left the train. "Boochan all okay?" You asked but the two were nowhere to be found. You fished into your pockets only to remember that you had let Chan put your phone into his pocket when the crowd was getting dense as yours were filled with random stuff. "Oh shit" you cursed and started to look around in hope to be able to see traces of either of the two. "Ouch" you rubbed your shoulder some tall blonde dude collided with you.

"Y/n!" You heard Seungkwan's voice and followed it. "Kwanna! Channie!" You said and the two rushed towards you as soon as they saw you. "Thank God you're not dead or lost" Seungkwan said and you smacked him.

You walked through the streets of Gangnam looking through Naver maps in order to reach the shop ypu were searching.

"Y/n? Why do you keep itching your wrist?" Chan suddenly asked when you realized you were exactly doing that for a long time. You pulled down your sleeve to examine the area and exclaimed "OH GOD! OH GOD!"

"What? Did you get a rash or some-" Seungkwan stopped mid-sentence. "OH MY GOD" Chan exclaimed, as he looked at this new Yellow heart on your wrist.

"When did this happen?" They both asked in sync. "I don't know, it surely wasn't there before we got on the train, I don't rem-" and your eyes went wide "that guy bumped into me on the platform" you said. "You met your soulmate! Y/n" Seungkwan said "Look! It changes color!" He added and you noticed the heart turn red.

"Oh my god, what's going on?! And this keeps itching" you said. "Y/n, what did the guy look like?" Chan asked, scanning the passersby. "Look like? Oh I didn't see his face. Just that he was tall, quite tall and blonde" you said.

"Look around Y/n you described a huge crowd! Tall and blonde?!" Seungkwan whined. "I didn't know he was going to-" you stopped, it still feels difficult to say "Whatever, lets go" you said, brushing it off, well it's not like you knew you this random person could turn out to be your… uh soulmate. So you only remember the very basic features and his saddle bag, colorful and stylish.

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

2 Days Later

“Why are you even still looking?” Y/n said with a frustrating sigh. “Y/n, It’s your soulmate. Aren’t you a tad bit anxious” Seungkwan asked. “We literally seem more excited than you are” Chan retorted. You shook your head and stood up, “I have class” you said, the mark suddenly started itching again “Uhhg! Stupid universe” you cursed as you walked away.

You failed to see this passing tall blonde guy that passed right beside you, also itching his wrist. However, Chan noticed him and elbowed Seungkwan, just like he did whenever he saw ANY ‘Tall Blonde Guy’. “Not every tall blonde guy is-” Seungkwan stopped, “He is itching his wrist” the two looked at each other.

You sat in the class as your eyes drifted towards the mark. It has been bluish since the morning, but it's turning yellow slowly. You wondered what he must be doing to change these colors. BooChan thinks this depends on his mood, that's a probable explanation. Before you knew it the color turned yellow and something within you yearned, to know what moods signified these colors, you wondered what his face would be like, how it would shine under the sunlight. Before you knew the classes were over and you headed towards the cafe to get some studying done cause you had to wait for Boochan.

You made your way towards the cafe, busy itching the pulsing mark on your wrist that suddenly decided to irritate you, you didn't see where you were going and you collided with someone.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see which way I was going" you said, still not looking up, but you stopped when your eyes landed on the bag that the person infront of you was carrying, it looked so familiar. You felt the itching and pulsing as you slowly looked up at this tall guy who was blonde. His eyes equally shocked, his expression mirroring yours.

"It's… you" he whispered. Your eyes went wide in realisation and you did the first thing that came to your mind, you bolted.

"Wait" The guy screamed, too stunned to speak or react. A very shocked Chan was seen running in the same direction as you as an out of breath Seungkwan stopped infront of the (very) shocked guy. "What-happened?" He asked. "She bolted" he finally piped out, a "who are you?" Followed it. "I'm her best friend, the other running guy too. Boo Seungkwan" he introduced himself. "Xu Minghao" he replied tring his best to smile "I can't help but ask, does she hate me or something?".

Seungkwan felt sorry for the clueless boy and replied "she's just overwhelmed, don't worry, she'll come along" he said. Minghao glanced at his soul-bonding mark on his wrist, its blue. "She's sad" he whispered with a frown. "You know the meaning of the colors?" Seungkwan asked in shock and Minghao nodded, telling Seungkwan how much he researched ever since he got his mark. "It itches when ever were close by, I think the itching stopped when we touched for the second time" he added surprised at the level of research the guy has done.

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Next Day

"Remember what I said?" Seungkwan asked and you nodded. Yes, the two managed to calm you and convince you to come him. Well, he did deserve a chance you had questioned yourself.

You entered the cafe that Seungkwan had told the guy who you now knew to be Minghao to meet you at. You peeked and found the tuft of blonde hair sitting. You entered and walked to him after taking a (big) breath.

"Hey" you said in a soft voice. Minghao looked up with his (pretty) eyes and gave a smile, one that warmed you too and you couldn't help but mirror it.

"I'm so sorry for yesterday, I shouldn't have run like that" you said as you took the seat. He assured you that he's seen worse reactions than that and you decided to belive him. You got to know Minghao was actually from China and he was majoring in performing arts here, he was also part of a popular dance crew. You told him about yourself and you talked about your friends. Turned out you both knew Seokmin, the campus sunshine. You looked at your mark to find it yellow, it must be the color of joy cause the mark on his wrist was the same color.

"You get angry quite often?" You ask in the middle of his story as an inference. "You're asking based on the story of the soul-bonding mark mood color? It shows red often?" He asked and you laughed. "I seen it flash red for various lengths of times, but also the story" you confirmed. To this Minghao told you how he meditates often to manage his anger and his friends always tease him too much. You didn't know how but spending time with him, talking, laughing felt different, like it felt relieving. You didn't know if it's you or the soulmate bond but you felt like you could trust him.

So, before parting, when he offered a hug, you accepted it. His smell intoxicating your senses and his arms felt like your anchor. You felt like nothing could harm you. It felt like, home.

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"Hey" Minghao said as he smiled warmly at you. "Hey Hao" you said and he handed you your preffered coffee order. "You knew?" You asked abd he nodded. Of course your soulmate knew you weren't having he best day since it's been blue since morning. So he rushed to get you some coffee. He intertwined his hand with yours and said "how about we go out after classes?"

"I'd like that" you said.

Falling for Xu Minghao wasn't a decision it was a process, a smooth one. You don't know if it was the red string that pulled you to him or its just because its him. But you fell more and for that smile, his judgy glares, his sassy comments. The way he kisses you as if you're the only one he's ever wanted and then proves it with his actions. Made you know, the universe isn't that dumb, cause it brought your Hao, to you.

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coopigeoncoo · 1 year

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The Whole Dang Zoo

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

Mentions: Female Reader, humor, fluff, nicknames, pet names, traditionally female animal nicknames, traditionally insulting animal nicknames, implied sex offscreen.

Summary: It wasn't hard for Todoroki Shouto to start using pet names. What was difficult was figuring out when he should stop.

"A rat, Todoroki? You called your girlfriend a rat?" Mina screeched in disbelief.

"They're actually very intelligent and clean animals."

Continue reading below, or follow the link to Ao3!

Back during his early days at UA, Shouto had to learn to navigate a great many new things: friendships, rivalries, and the beguiling labyrinth of unspoken social conventions involved with human interaction.

Shouto liked to think that he learned from his mistakes and adapted quickly. He no longer heated leftover fish in the communal microwave and only needed an occasional reminder that people found it intimidating and not a sign of intense interest when he maintained eye contact for extended periods of time without blinking.

But some situations proved more difficult for him to navigate than others because he simply did not have the appropriate context to frame them with. So when fliers appeared on the bulletin board by the front door of Heights Alliance advertising two different events happening at the same time, he simply chose the one that appealed to him more; a relaxing movie night in over a round of laser tag at a local arcade.

Shouto hadn’t even considered the possibility that these events had been organized with strict gender boundaries in mind because using any attendance criteria other than interest seemed wildly illogical. So when he appeared in the doorway of dorm lounge that weekend, clad in his comfiest pajamas and bearing a small caddy of his usual hair products as the flier requested, there was only a brief moment of shocked confusion on the girls part before they cheered loudly and guided him over to a huge nest of blankets on the floor.

Hagakure shared her lip mask with him, Ashido painted his toenails a stunning Prussian Blue, and Yaoyorozu had generously lent him use of her head so he could follow along with Uraraka's instructions on how to make a reverse fishtail braid. He'd had an incredibly lovely evening with the girls and had unknowingly chosen his side of the class gender divide. His unwitting decision was validated hours later when the rest of the Class A boys returned to Heights Alliance sopping wet and sporting a wide variety of injuries, from Bakugou's split lip to Kaminari's incredibly swollen double black eyes. Shouto watched them shuffle miserably, many sporting pronounced limps and moaning in pain while he snuggled down deeper into a fuzzy sherpa throw and sipped contentedly on a cup of lavender tea.

Sero broke away from the pack and stumbled into the kitchen, pulling a can of milk tea from the fridge before trudging towards Shouto, his wet socks squelching inside of his house slippers with every step. He held the can out to Shouto's left side with a pleading grin.

"Can you heat this up for me, man? It's been a long night."

Shouto took the can and steadily increased the temperature of his palm, gently heating the tea up and returning the can to Sero, who thanked him profusely before collapsing onto the couch with a groan. Sero popped the top of the can open and took a fortifying sip before rolling up the legs of his sweatpants, revealing large welts running up both of his legs.

"You look terrible," Shouto stated blandly. "What even happened tonight?"

"Well, uh- we thought it would be funny to throw Bakugou into a river," Sero laughed nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And in our defense, it was! What happened after was way less amusing though."

"Oh? What happened after?"

"Bakugou made us regret throwing him into a river."

"Ah," Shouto said, examining a particularly wicked looking bite mark under Sero's knee. "That would do it."

From then on, Shouto was 'one of the girls' and joined them for their regularly scheduled activities. Shopping trips, smoothie runs, cookie decorating classes, Survivalist Training, volunteer dog walking, and plenty of movie nights on the days they were too tired to venture out into the city.

As the years passed and their responsibilities as Heroes increased they still did their best carve out time to meet up once a month when their schedules allowed. Sometimes only two or three of them would be available, but tonight was one of the rare nights when the stars had shifted into an auspicious arrangement (Shouto was unsure exactly about what celestial positioning that was, but Mina would likely explain it to him if he asked) and Shouto found himself once again reunited with all the Class A girls in Jiro's apartment.

Toru had been the last to arrive, toting along a large bag stuffed full of DVDs she had picked up at a rental shop near the station.

"Sorry I'm late!" She called, pulling out the DVDs and laying them down on the coffee table for everyone to peruse as they filtered in from the kitchen with drinks and snacks. "The station was crazy packed and I had to wait forever for an open car to show up!"

"Oh yeah, they shuffled everyone over from the circle line because of damage from a villain attack during rush hour," Ochako mused, tapping the cover of a romantic comedy excitedly with her finger. "This one, I think. I've wanted to see it for ages and missed it when it was in theaters!"

"That was when we got shipped over to New Zealand for the summer, right?" Tsuyu asked, snagging the DVD with her tongue so she could read the plot synopsis on the back cover. "Hmm. Looks fine to me. The run time isn't too long so I wouldn't be late getting home. What do you think, Shouto?"

Without sparing a glance at the cover, Shouto simply nods his acquiescence. "What we watch doesn't matter to me. I'm just here for the company," he said, ladling up mulled wine into a mug from the pot simmering on the stovetop.

Jiro groaned miserably as she plopped down into an overstuffed armchair. "I tried watching a Rom Com with Denki and he just made farting noises anytime someone's butt was on screen. Shouto just stands in my kitchen and talks about how the best part of watching a movie is my presence and I just- ugh!" Jiro screeches, solidly punching a throw pillow. "It's. Not. Fair! It should be illegal to be so sweet, Shouto!"

Toru paused, a handful of popcorn floating forgotten as she pulled out her phone. "Jiro is right. I have to report this crime on Hero Net. I'm sorry, Shouto. You're going to be a wanted man now," she tsked sadly, typing on her phone one handed.

Shouto furrowed his brow. "I wasn't wanted before? Then what was that "Most Desirable Man" award all about?"

Jiro decided to stop punching the throw pillow and opted for screaming into it instead.

Ochako shook her head, laughing. "Your girlfriend is so lucky, Shouto!"

"You think so? I worry sometimes," he sighed, rounding the back of the couch and taking his traditional spot on the right side of the couch with his warm side facing in for when one of the girls inevitably sought to warm up their chilled feet against him.

"Really?" Tsuyu prodded, sitting down next to Shouto. "What about?"

"Well, she's my first girlfriend. I just worry that maybe I'm not doing all the things she's expecting me to do?"

"Do you go down on her?" Mina asked as she popped the DVD into the player.

"Often," Shouto nodded. "And with gusto."

"Good man," Momo said, patting his shoulder firmly as she passed by on her way back to the kitchen to refill her mug.

"Pft, don't worry then! She's fine," Mina assured him, dropping onto the ground by Ochako's feet.

"Sometimes I wish that I had more experience. Maybe if I had dated someone else before her then I wouldn't be so worried about accidentally ruining everything," Shouto sighed.

“First relationships are definitely rough,” Ochako agreed. “But it’s not like you’re going in alone, we’re all here to give you advice if you need it!”

“Maybe they are,” Tsuyu mused. “But don’t ask for my advice. I’m a disaster in relationships. But I will take you out drinking if you break up though.”

“That’s a horrible offer and I hope I never have to take you up on it.”

Tsuyu shrugged and sipped her wine. “Eh, it’s there if you need it.”

“Ignore her!” Jiro shouted, her face flushing increasingly as her mug emptied.

“Yeah!” Ochako agreed. “Oh! Maybe you’ll get some ideas from watching the movie- like vicarious experience!”

“Do you think that would work?” Shouto asked, critically examining the smiling couple freeze-framed on the DVD menu.

Ochako shrugged. “We won’t know if we don’t try. Momo, hit play!”

By halfway through the movie everyone was well into their cups; laughing too hard at the trite one-liners and swooning every time the main couple made intense, unblinking eye contact with each other.

“When I do that people complain I’m intimidating them,” Shouto grumbled.

“It’s different when you're in love,” Momo sighed.

“Shh!” Mina hissed at them. “The best part is coming up!”

Everyone leaned in towards the screen, rapt with attention, as the couple drew close together, their lips a hair's breadth from touching.

‘Who could have predicted that the accidental fire at your pie factory would lead us here?’ The woman sighed dreamily, staring up into her co-star’s face.

‘It’s funny that it took losing all those desserts for me to discover something even sweeter,’ The man said, running a perfectly manicured hand across her cheek.

“That isn’t funny at all. People could have died in that fire,” Shouto chided.

“Shh!” Mina shushed him again.

‘You think I’m sweet, do you?’ The woman giggled.

‘I do. Why don’t you come over here and give me some of that sugar, Kitten?’

Shouto hadn’t been expecting the high-pitched squeals that the girls let out in cacophonous unison and was quite startled by their vocal response.

“Are you all okay?”

“Yes,” Toru sobbed. “It’s just- the pet names.”

“The…pet names?” Shouto asked, befuddled.

“The names you call people when you’re in love,” Momo explained.

“When used correctly, pet names can trigger deep emotional and physical responses,” Tsuyu clarified.

“Like ‘Kitten’?” Shouto questioned, his voice caressing the new term gently.

Jiro screamed into her misery pillow once again while Mina patted her leg comfortingly.

“Yeah,” Mina sighed. “Just like ‘Kitten’.”

The radio played softly in the background while you ran an impatient finger down your phone screen, desperately scrolling in an attempt to figure out where exactly the unnecessary backstory ended and the recipe actually began. Distracted on two fronts, you didn’t realize you were no longer alone in your apartment until two arms wound themselves around your waist, pulling you backwards and away from the kitchen counter with a firm tug.

“Woah!” you say, startled as your back impacts Shouto’s chest. “Hello, there! I didn’t realize you’d come in! I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

“A few of the girls have to be at work first thing in the morning, so we finished up earlier than we normally do.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I know it’s hard for you all to coordinate everyone’s schedules.”

Shouto hummed in agreement, dropping his head down into the juncture of your neck, his lips barely hovering above the surface of your skin.

“Speaking of schedules, how’s the rest of your night looking?”

You spare a glance towards the counter where a handful of ingredients for dinner are waiting for you to chop and measure. “Well, I was going to cook dinner, but I haven’t started yet.”

“So, you have some time?” he whispered huskily, pressing his lips gently onto your shoulder.

Giggling, you reach a hand back and thread it through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe I do. You have a specific activity in mind?”

“Nothing in particular,” he said, hand wandering under your shirt to stroke the soft skin of your belly. “Just wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend. Is that okay with you, Kitten?”

“Oh, yes,” you gasp, breath catching at the whispered endearment. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

Grinning madly, Shouto swept you up into his arms and carried you down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Sunlight was just beginning to creep in through the cracks between your curtains and the wall when you felt Shouto's lips press gently against your forehead once, twice, three times with a devastating softness that tickled your skin.

"Shou?" You mumbled, using clumsy fists to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Mmkay," you agree readily, already snuggling back into your pillow.

"I'll see you later, Duckling," Shouto whispered sweetly, closing the bedroom door behind him with a gentle click.

"...Duckling? Wha' happened to Kitten?" You muse briefly before the creeping fingers of sleep on the edges of your consciousness drag you back into their grasp.

That Saturday you're out shopping at a flea market on the weird side of town when you saw it; an obviously unlicensed Endeavor figure with a hilariously misprinted face. His wobbly oval eyeballs stared off into wildly different directions and his lip color was offset enough that it looked like he was sticking his tongue out in distaste. You snap a picture of it and immediately text it to Shouto, moving to pocket your phone when it begins to ring loudly.

"Hello?" You greet, pressing the phone into your shoulder with your ear as you spin the Endeavor figure around in your hand, snorting when you realize that the body was actually recycled from an All Might figure and painted over with Endeavor's costume colors.

"I don't care how much that figure is. Buy it."

"Aren't you supposed to be patrolling right now?" You laugh, raising a hand to flag down the vendor before fishing around in your purse for your pocket book.

"I'm with Denki right now and he agrees that this is much more important. Hold on-," shuffling filters in from Shouto's end as he moves the phone around. "Denki says to give you his regards and to buy as many of those Endeavor figures as they have."

"Tell Chargebolt I say 'Hello'. And there's just the one figure, I'm afraid."

"Damn. Well, that's okay. It'll make a great gift for Natsuo."

The sudden sound of screeching tires fills your ear and you distantly hear Chargebolt yelling Shouto's name.

"I have to go now, duty calls. I'll talk to you later, Mongoose," Shouto says quickly, ending with a wet smooching sound before he hangs up.

You stare at the screen of your phone dumbly, Shouto's profile image smiling gently at you from his contact page.

"'Mongoose'?" You utter, completely baffled by the nickname as you clutch the dopey Endeavor figure tightly to your chest and wander distractedly to the next market table.

Your coworker sat across from you in the restaurant booth, rolling utensils up into napkins and sealing them with little paper rings while you worked on wiping down a large stack of sticky laminated menus.

"Okay, 'Duckling' was sweet, but I agree that being called 'Mongoose' is a little odd," she agreed, dropping her completed napkin rolls into the plastic bin beside her.

"Right? But those aren't even the weirdest ones! Just in the last week I've been a puffin, an armadillo, a fruit bat, and a chinchilla!"

"Chinchillas are cute," your coworker pointed out, rubbing at a water spot on a spoon with a spare napkin.

"Yeah, I didn't mind that one," you agree, spraying cleaner onto a menu. Your cell phone, stowed safely in the pocket of your apron, buzzed sharply as a new text rolled in. Bypassing your lock screen, you quickly examine the new message before groaning loudly and flipping the phone around for your coworker to see.

'Look, it's you!' The message from Shouto proclaimed right above an attached picture of a droopy-faced blobfish.

"Huh. I think I'm starting to get a little offended on your behalf."

The part-time worker, a somber and unexcitable teenager, was sweeping close to your table and you beckon her over. She pulls out her left earbud as she approaches your table, leaning heavily onto the broom at her side.

"What do you make of this," you ask, holding the phone up in front of her face. "I need a second opinion."

She examined the message carefully before leveling you with a serious stare.

"I think that Todoroki Shouto could call me the meanest, nastiest, names under the sun and I would still write him a thank-you card and take him to meet my Grandma the next day."

You and your coworker pause, considering her words.

"She's right," your coworker nodded, resuming her utensil rolling.

"Oh, yeah." you agreed, responding to the blobfish picture with a shower of emoji hearts. "One-hundred percent. Thanks for your perspective!"

The part time girl nods before stepping back towards her dust pile, pushing her earbud back into place.

"Anytime."

It had been a couple of months since Shouto had been able to make it to Girls Night, having been caught up repeatedly testifying in a long running criminal trial. It was a smaller gathering this time, just him, Mina, Ochako, and Momo crammed around a small Cafe table with flights of coffee lined up in front of them.

Mina sipped from a particularly dark brew, cringing at the bitter notes and quickly pushing it in front of Ochako for her to dispose of. Ochako smiled gleefully, picking up the relinquished mug and adding it to her collection of beverages.

"I'm so glad that you were able to join us tonight, Shouto," Momo said, spooning a helping of sugar into one of her cups of light-roast. "You've been so busy these past few weeks we've barely heard from you at all."

"I know," Shouto sighed. "Work has been crazy and I've been spending all my free time over at Emu's apartment."

Ochako choked on her coffee, coughing wetly as Mina thumped soundly on her back with a flat hand.

"Ah, 'Emu'?" Momo inquired with wide eyes.

"My girlfriend," Shouto replied, picking up the next cup of coffee to try.

"You- you're calling her Emu?" Ochako sputtered, still hacking into her arm.

"It's kinda' cute," Mina said, tapping her cheek thoughtfully. "Unusual, but cute. I mean, it's not like he's calling her Whale or Pig, right?"

The girls all laughed while Shouto shifted uneasily in his chair.

"What's wrong with Whale or Pig?" Shouto asked with a tight voice.

"Well, calling someone a whale implies that you think that they're overweight. And calling someone pig means that you find them disgusting."

Shouto's eyes widened and he made a pitiful whining sound deep in his throat.

"Oh, Shouto! Please tell me you didn't-" Momo begged.

"I did," he groaned miserably, dropping his head down into his hands.

"You can't just call your girlfriend random animals! There's precedent for choosing appropriate pet names!" Mina shouted, aghast at Shouto's unwitting faux pas.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? I thought you just picked whatever animals you thought were cute!"

"You think whales are cute?" Ochako questioned.

"They have very soulful eyes!" Shouto shouted defensively, pulling out his phone and navigating to the past month's texts, pushing the device into Momo's hands.

"Read through here and tell me how badly I've messed up," Shouto begged.

"I'm sure it isn't that bad," Momo said comfortingly, scrolling down through the chat log and sharply wincing.

"What? What is it?" Mina called out.

"Ah- he called her a Cow. And a Rat."

"A rat, Todoroki? You called your girlfriend a rat?" Mina screeched in disbelief.

"They're actually very intelligent and clean animals!"

"Oh, God," Ochako moaned into her hands, mortified on your behalf.

Shouto whined pitifully and dropped his head onto the table with a loud thunk, barely missing a steaming mug of Arabica blend while the girls patted his arms and cooed comforting assurances as he wallowed.

Pulled from the bathroom by thundering knocks on your apartment door, you peer cautiously through the peephole before undoing the security chain and multiple deadbolts that had been securing your apartment for the night.

"Shouto? What are you doing here?" You ask with concern as you gesture for him to come inside. He was in a state of absolute disarray; his hair messed uncontrollably and panting for breath.

"Here," he wheezed breathlessly, pushing a half-wilted bouquet of hydrangeas and daisies into your arms. "I'm sorry they aren't better. The only place open this late was the convenience store by the laundromat and these were the only flowers they had."

Cradling the sickly bouquet delicately in your arms, you raise a hand to Shouto's face, cradling his cheek gently.

"They're lovely, Shouto. Thank you for thinking of me. But you didn't come by my apartment this late just to give me flowers, did you?"

Shouto clutched your hand to his cheek as he shook his head. "No, I didn't." He took in a deep, shuddering breath as he gazed at you desperately. "It has recently been brought to my attention that I have made a grave error in regards to how I address you."

"How you address- Oh! Is this about all the nicknames you've been giving me?"

He closes his eyes, wincing deeply as he nods. "I didn't realize that some animal names held derogatory connotations. I ran over here as soon as I realized how unintentionally cruel I've been. I couldn't stand the thought of you going a single minute longer thinking that I didn't cherish and appreciate everything about you."

"Oh, Shouto," you laugh. "Thank you for the apology, but I figured all that out pretty early on."

"You did?"

Humming in agreement, you press yourself into Shouto's embrace, resting your head against his sharply jutting clavicle. "You don't have a malicious bone in your body, Todoroki Shouto. It was pretty obvious that you were being sweet. Strange, but definitely sweet."

He sagged against you, awash with relief.

"Thank goodness," he sighed, pressing kisses to the crown of your head as he looped his arms around you. "I was so worried you were going to leave me."

"Please, it will take more than a few mildly insulting animal names to get rid of me."

He snorted into your hair. "I'm sorry I called you a Cow. And a Pig. And a Rat. And a Whale."

"Hey now, whales have very soulful eyes."

"Thank you!" Todoroki exclaimed. "That's what I was trying to tell the girls!"

Giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck and draw him backwards towards the couch.

"Speaking of the girls," he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a folded sheet of paper. "They helped me come up with this list of triple vetted, pre-approved, pet names that I can use."

You take the list from his hand, opening it up and scanning the contents before balling it up and tossing it over your shoulder.

"Hey," Shouto protested. "We worked hard on that list!"

"And I appreciate that effort, I truly do. But I don't want my nickname to come from Uraraka or Ashido. I want my name to come from you."

"Yeah?" Shouto beamed, letting you pull him down onto the couch so you were both lying together, him hovering above you while you discarded the bouquet with a gentle toss onto the coffee table.

"Uh-huh. Think about it; there are probably thousands of Kittens and Bunnies in Musutafu. But I'm willing to wager that I'm the only Blobfish."

"You're definitely my only Blobfish," Shouto laughed, pushing your cheeks together so your face was squished and puffy just like your animal namesake.

"Schtooop!" You sputter out from your smushed up fish lips, laughing.

"Not until I've kissed these irresistible Blobfish lips," Shouto said, sucking in his cheeks and making a fish face of his own as he lowered his mouth towards yours, your distorted lips slotting together bizarrely. He pulls back with an exaggeratedly wet smack, finally releasing your face back into your control.

"Oh, that was awful," you lament, swiping at the saliva smeared across your face from your sloppy fish kiss with the hem of your shirt.

"Yeah," Shouto agreed, wiping at his own face with his shirt cuff. "That was really bad. Let's never do that again."

"Agreed."

He pulled you close, running a tender finger down the slope of your nose, tapping the tip playfully. "You're still my beautiful Blobfish though."

"Whatever you say, my wonderful Walrus."

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x you #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x you #shouto x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #pigeoncoos🕊#bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n

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