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queenimmadolla · 1 year ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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yanderes-galore · 9 months ago

Note

Maybe Yandere Luffy and yandere Sanji working together to stalk female reader , which makes reader more on edge , if you want to go even darker you can do I’ll love to see what you come up with ^^

Oh no... If Sanji doesn't view Luffy as a rival, he's encouraging him.... Luffy's pairing is ambiguous, but Sanji is definitely romantic. Sorry it's vague/general, idk if you wanted it to take place at a specific plot point or not.

Obviously, read the trigger warnings, this primarily just focuses on the two stalking a member of their crew more than anything else.

Yandere! Luffy + Sanji Sharing a Darling

Pairing: Romantic (Sanji, Luffy)/Platonic (Luffy) - Sharing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Stalking (Obviously), Manipulation, The two enable each other, Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Stealing, Blood, Murder, Dubious relationship/companionship

I feel what would make the most sense is if you are also part of the crew.

That way the two are nearly always watching you and aren't going to lose you on some island during their journey.

Now, Sanji's obsession is expected.

That man, for the life of him, can't stay away from a pretty woman.

His obsession is the most obvious.

Sanji is the one who's constantly flirting with you and most likely had an interest in you first.

He does seem like an obsession at first sight kind of guy.

While he does obsess over every woman... You're the one he notices something more intense with.

Which makes him follow you around and stare.

That alone makes you nervous.

Even Nami, who has been trying to say he does that with women sometimes, starts to notice Sanji's behavior as strange.

Luffy is... well... a vague case.

He isn't really known for displaying over the top romantic attraction (far as I know).

It's really hard to tell with him.

Although, it's possible he's just looking out for his friend... and might have a crush on you.

You are a cute girl on the crew, after all....

In terms of how sharing would go, I imagine Sanji would at first feel threatened.

Sanji, due to him watching you himself, no doubt notices Luffy doing it.

Luffy doesn't even think of what he's doing as anything bad.

It's like admiring something/someone cool to him.

To Luffy, watching you isn't perverted.

To Sanji, it most likely is.

Sanji may get into fights with Luffy when he catches him, smacking him lightly and scolding him for watching a woman like that.

Only for Luffy to point out that Sanji's doing the same thing... which makes Sanji wonder how obvious he is.

There would be tension at first, although it's mostly one-sided.

Sanji just doesn't like the idea of competition since you're the one girl he feels a specific way towards.

Although things may mellow out over time when he realizes Luffy isn't deliberately trying to steal you.

He just cares for you too.

Which may make Sanji trust him more....

Although, if Luffy does have a crush on you, over time Sanji may give in and teach Luffy how to "properly" court a woman.

Although Sanji has points where he's still jealous... I don't think he likes sharing much but he can't really sway Luffy's intentions.

It would work better if Luffy was platonic and Sanji was romantic.

Regardless of their intentions, them stalking you would put you off.

Luffy seems innocent.

Him watching you just seems like a captain being overprotective of members of their crew.

Although... Sanji's intentions are more intense.

Sanji wants to be a gentleman.

But he can't help but "borrow" a few items from your quarters when you aren't looking.

The cook may even pass one or two to his captain.

Luffy doesn't quite understand.

He doesn't really like Sanji stealing your stuff... yet he also doesn't mind a trinket just to keep.

The two when sharing may act like bodyguards.

Although Sanji is the one that would immediately be on his knees if you asked.

Luffy probably comments on the fact Sanji is desperate... which may cause a fight.

You aren't really sure how to get them to stop.

Luffy is fine for the most part....

He just seems curious, even if the staring is uncomfortable.

Sanji is probably the one that's most unnerving.

To make it dark, he's the one who would steal clothing from you and cling to you the most.

Meanwhile, Luffy is the one who continues to reassure you he's harmless.

He just loves you, a lot, he'd never hurt you.

Yet it doesn't make you feel better when you notice your quarters have been pillaged.

Nami and any other girl on the crew no doubt appear concerned about the behavior Sanji and Luffy display towards you.

In terms of how violent the two can be, I'm reminded of when Nami first joined the pirates.

When Nami cried due to Arlong? The entire crew jumped in....

Sanji and Luffy already watch you like a hawk.

If you were hurt, emotionally, mentally, physically... whoever did it is probably not living.

Luffy is already quite protective.

Plus, Sanji's protective, possessive, and has a temper.

To make it dark as you said, they'd both collectively beat someone to a pulp... a bloody and unrecognizable mess.

Although, if the perpetrator was a woman, Sanji would hold back.

Not sure about Luffy, though...

You're important to both of them.

The two would make quite the duo if Luffy was platonic and Sanji was romantic.

In fact, if Luffy was purely platonic, he'd probably encourage Sanji to be with you.

Which makes you even more scared.

It doesn't matter if they mean well or not.

You've seen the blood on their clothes.

You've seen the glares they've given people when you enter new areas.

Their behavior terrifies you.

But it's not like you can do anything about it, right...?

It's not like they'll ever let you leave the crew without dragging you back into it.

#yandere one piece #yandere luffy #yandere monkey d luffy #yandere sanji #yandere vinsmoke sanji

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exquisink · 3 months ago

Text

When The Daylight's Gone, Ch2 - Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Fem!Sorcerer Reader

warnings. nothing in particular in this chapter, except for a brief mention of masturbation. but heed the tags on AO3. This chapter has been already posted there but I forgot to cross-post. Whoops.

wc. almost 11K this chapter, lmao.

Adjusting to life at Jujutsu Tech may not have been the smoothest ride for you, but everyone has been kind, considerate, and helpful with you; everyone has been ready to help and practically at your beck and call. Especially Gojo-sama. You’re not oblivious to how much he seems to be interested in helping you feel part of the organization—or whatever you’d call this (it’s definitely not truly a school)—and you let him know that his efforts don’t go unnoticed, which seems to change something in him every time you do. It’s almost as if he doesn’t get enough gratitude for all of the effort he puts into making a change around here. While his colleagues don’t seem all that impressed with him for a myriad of reasons removed from his role, you find that you think of him as more and more compelling of a person.

You notice it in his little mannerisms around his students, in particular. He and Kento Nanami share a common goal: they want to protect those flames within the students, they want to protect their youth and allow them room to just be kids. You have a feeling that in the world of jujutsu, you are forced to grow up far too quickly as you are thrust into some of the most gruesome situations that most people honestly cannot fathom experiencing themselves. It’s why you have removed yourself from hunting curses, much like Ijichi-sama. It’s not something you can stomach. Having the curse of seeing spirits is something you already wish you didn’t have, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find a way to help others. That’s the whole reason you’ve taken this job in the first place.

But Gojo-sama…it absolutely doesn’t take a genius to see that the way he acts around others is a mask. It’s painfully obvious the more you hang around him, the more you observe from the sidelines, and you wonder if somewhere in all of that haughty, obnoxious, condescending as fuck facade of his that he wishes someone else had done the same for him. Maybe back in his days as a student here, he hasn’t had someone to shield him from the horrors of the world and he’s witnessed them far too early in his life.

“So! I think the students are going to enjoy a quick trip to Shinjuku!” Gojo suggests, drawing your attention back to the present as he leans so far back into his office chair that it begins to creak against the wooden floor. His hands clasp together as he continues to speak. “And while Nanami is off babysitting them, that means I have a lot more free time to spend with y—I mean you guys!”

Shoko shakes her head. “I can’t guarantee I’ll have my schedule freed up for your sake, Satoru.”

“Not even if drinks are on me?” Gojo-sama offers with a little smirk playing on his lips. Now you’re the one shaking your head, a hint of a twinkle in your eyes. They may be authority figures in their own rights, but they all have their own vices, you suppose. They probably don’t expect to be the greatest role models to the students, and perhaps these are behaviors or habits of theirs they keep shielded from the impressionable youth as much as possible.

“Yes, not even after that,” Shoko deadpans, her expression serious. That’s a sign to take to heart, and Gojo backs off. Smart move. “I need to cut back.”

“Such a shame,” Gojo pouts, before grinning wide at you as Shoko takes her leave. With that fucking devastatingly beautiful smile of his that seems to just hide so much deep-seated loneliness that you can’t believe people are outright refusing his offers. Oh, curse you and your tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt (even if they have continually shown you reasons not to, but right now Gojo doesn’t appear to fit that description). “Guess that just leaves you and me.”

“So it does,” you reply with a lazy smile. The last thing anyone wants to feel like is an obligation, and you don’t want to make anyone feel like that; you’ve known what that’s like with past friendships yourself. Honestly, you still aren’t sure why you’re making a point in accompanying him. But you also feel like it’s just basic decency as a person. As a participant in the human experience overall, if you must go so far as to say so.

No one wants to be lonely, not even a guy as boisterous and annoying as Satoru Gojo. (Even if you don’t personally find him as such like the others do.) With a life like his, that seems to keep him on some higher plane of existence as everyone else around him, that must keep him feeling isolated from everyone else. That doesn’t feel good no matter how much someone likes being powerful.

There is a thought that keeps popping up in your mind with each exchange you share with Satoru Gojo.

Is his status all that is cracked up to be for him?

Is he lonelier than he would ever admit to anyone in his life? Even to you–or anyone else in his life he ever considered close to his heart?

Doesn’t he wish he could drop the act and show people who he really is, or is he already so accustomed to the icy cold backhanded slap of rejection that he may as well play into the role jujutsu society imposed on him?

There’s so much more you want to know about Satoru Gojo, but you don’t know if you’re jumping into things too quickly. It’s already been a few months, but you still feel out of the loop in a lot of aspects. The more you get acquainted with everything and everyone around you, you find the less you truly understand or truly know much of anything. When Ijichi takes you under his wing for training, you’re not sure how to utilize your own cursed energy–what little you believe you have of it. But Ijichi reminds you–that you are more powerful than you think you are–after all Gojo insists that you might be better off labeled as Grade 2 or Grade 1 with the potential your cursed technique has.

Should you take his words to heart, though? Better not to let it get to your ego (however little you have).

“Hey,” Gojo waves his hand in front of your face. “You kind of zoned out for a little bit there–everything good?”

“Oh!” You blink owlishly; you have been lost in your mind a lot lately huh? “Yeah! I”m okay. So what are we doing now?”

“I wanted to ask if you’ve seen any progress with your cursed technique,” Gojo replies like he’s been reading your mind, but you doubt that’s how the Six Eyes technique of his works. Maybe it’s just a hunch or a feeling he’s got and he just happens to be right about what you’ve been drifting off into thought about in that small pocket of time.

“Er…don’t you ever check in with Ijichi-san?” you inquire in a wobbly tone. You honestly have not been keeping as much track of your progress as you should have been… you didn’t expect to be quizzed on it like this so soon but then again…maybe you should have.

“Of course I do!” Gojo scoffs, “I just can’t hear your perspective? I want to know what you think and you forget I’m here to help you out too if you’re not sure what you’re doing.”

You shake your head. “I really have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with any of this! All I can do right now is create veils, and that’s as far as it goes right now.”

“Hey! That’s still progress,” Gojo insists with a thumbs up. “I mean, did you have any exposure to anything related to jujutsu before all of this?”

Another shake of your head. Nope. You’re pretty much fresh meat in regards to any of this, and from what you understand, sorcerers themselves are extremely rare breeds of humanity. You are stunned to see how small the classes in both Tokyo and Kyoto are.

“See?” Gojo beams at you so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It may be slow progress, but it’s still progress.”

You laugh at that bit. “You actually sound like a real teacher, Gojo-sama.”

“Come on, you know I told you that you don’t have to call me that,” he counters, “We may be working together, but we’re friends too, remember?”

You bite into your cheek as you chew on a proper response.

“Are you not my superior?” you point out not in an accusatory way, but isn’t it not too intimate to do something like that? After all, it’s already feeling too intimate for you to be calling Ijichi ‘Ijichi’ or ‘Ijichi-san,’ but he’s also insisting on disregarding formalities. Maybe you are too much of a stickler for the traditions, but it’s mostly out of respect for everyone here. After all they have gone through experiences and trials and tribulations you have yet to experience yourself. You have so much to learn from all of them.

“I mean, yeah! But that doesn’t mean you have to get all formal. You’re not with Shoko!” he reflects for a moment, then adds: “Or Ijichi or Nanami!”

“Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll work on it, Gojo.”

“Oh, come on. I”m working so hard to make you comfortable around here.”

“I’m just trying to respect your authority, Gojo,” you counter with a smile. Gojo just stares at you for a few moments before surrendering.

“Fine, fine. I’m just saying. It’s not necessary, you know? You’re not a student or anything either. At least, you’re not mine .”

“But I am still learning a thing or two from you and Ijichi,” you remark, “And Principal Yaga especially.”

“Still, since you’re so new to all of this, don’t expect anything to happen overnight, you know? Not everyone can be me, I guess,” he scoffs again, rubbing his nose and you find yourself rolling your eyes in jest. Yeah, there it is. That (honestly warranted) self-confidence.

Most everyone around him finds it obnoxious, but you can’t help but find it refreshing. A lot of people are afraid of keeping that flame burning inside them, but he isn’t. People always want to play small to make others comfortable but he’s not interested in that, not necessarily in the way someone expects.

Satoru Gojo is an instructor, first and foremost, and the goal of an instructor is to mold his students to become stronger, faster, and better versions of themselves–in fact he has stated on several occasions to you that he wants them all to surpass him. Because one day he’s not going to be here just like anyone else, and since he’s also not shy about droning on and on about how he wants to reset and reshape jujutsu society as it stands now, he channels all of his energy into this one singular goal.

You can’t help but admire him for that kind of dedication, that kind of passion. You are curious what made him choose this kind of path because if you had to be honest with yourself, Gojo doesn’t seem the teaching or Sensei type. Far too lax, far too easy going and goofy. But maybe the students need a personality like that. Still, he deserves something where he can really let loose and not lose so much sleep over. (Yes, you have caught wind about his wild sleep schedule that would put most soldiers to shame.)

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Sensei ,” you tease with a little smirk twitching on your lips as he appears aghast at that address. Just pouting like some petulant child who’s just been denied his favorite snack. “So seriously, since it’s just us, what’s the plan for today? I don’t have much going on, so you better make this worth my time.”

Of course you mean it in jest. You don’t plan to bail on him, not when you’ve already made it a point to yourself that you aren’t going to leave him hanging. Even everyone else has made some remark about how ‘brave’ you’re being just enduring extra time with Gojo, but you don’t view it that way at all. You might be the odd one out here, but thus far you just don’t get it.

The big deal, you mean.

He finally speaks up again.

“Come on, seriously? I’m going to have to beat Gojo or Sensei out of your system. You’re a student in a way, sure, but like I just told you, you’re not my student, you know?”

You hide your smirk into your palm. “Whatever you say…”

In spite of himself, he’s smiling at your antics, and that’s really your only goal. Just like he gives everyone else a hard time all on purpose, you’re returning that energy, and the good news is that he doesn’t seem to mind it all that much. That’s progress more than anything, right? Here you are, doing a better job at adjusting to your new environment than you expected to be doing, and he’s honestly made this new life a lot easier for you too–even if he doesn’t know it just yet.

Actually, why not change that right now?

“Gojo, I um…” you start a bit tentatively before you break into a fit of giggles again at his melodrama. “Seriously, thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that as he adjusts his blindfold. “What for?”

“Making me feel like part of the group,” you answer, “You work really hard to make sure I don’t feel left behind, and I just appreciate it. That’s all.”

He looks at you like he’s in a bit of a daze before shaking himself out of his stupor. He probably doesn’t get recognized for his efforts enough; teachers are an underappreciated profession in every aspect of life, it seems like, even in the world of jujutsu.

“It’s kind of, you know, basic human decency and all,” he reasons, but somehow he keeps an even tone with an underlying layer of playfulness. “Plus that’s kind of my job too, or at least part of it.”

”So what?” you challenge him, but you don’t mean to in a negative way. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be recognized for something like that.”

”For doing the bare minimum?” he nearly scoffs at that notion, but you do catch him smiling a little, which is the goal here. “All right, whatever you say, Princess.”

”Princess?” you repeat, your lips curling into a little bit of a pout. This time it’s you raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I gave off that vibe.”

”A vibe of…?” he beckons you to finish that statement for him.

”Spoiled rotten?” you try to fill in the blanks with the first thing that pops in your mind and he once again looks aghast that that is the first thing you would even consider! “Bratty? Mean?”

”No! You don’t act like that at all,” he counters, a hand over his heart as you feel his eyes scanning you through his blindfold. “You give Pretty Princess vibes, though.”

”Pretty Princess, huh?” Is he just trying to flatter you or wiggle his way out of something else?

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “You’re pretty. I thought you’re aware of that fact.”

”Am I?” Your gaze flits to your feet as they shift, his words settling in. He does sound genuine. You have to admit—you don’t get called that often, or at all as far as you remember.

”You are,” he insists, poking your cheek, brushing the tip of his finger along your skin. “You should really believe that a little more, you know? Being humble is so out these days.”

”Of course Satoru Gojo would say something like that,” you snark back with a roll of your eyes. “But that is sweet.”

”Well yeah, I’m Satoru fucking Gojo, and what I say is definitely law,” he retorts with a playful smile twitching on his lips again.

“Weren’t we supposed to be doing something?” you remind him after a beat of silence, and Gojo hums in thought after he mulls over what you might have meant by that.

“If you want, I could help you train today. Ijichi’s working with Itadori and Nanami right now with something…” he trails off, “Unless you’d rather do something fun instead, like I could show you some of my favorite places with all of the best sweets in the world!”

”I think we should train first, Sensei ,” you reply, “I’ve been slacking and I want to make sure I can make my veils actually last long enough.”

”Oh for fuck’s sake, I told you—I’m not your Sensei at least.”

”Uh huh,” you quip, “But you know what, you’re right, you’re not my Sensei because people might assume you’re trying to fraternize with a student because you just admitted you think I’m pretty.”

”Or I was just merely making an obvious statement,” he insists, “You just happen to have a hard time believing that you are with the way you carry yourself. Easy to tell when someone doesn’t know who they are or what they want, you know?”

“Oh, and I suppose then that means you’re an expert at that kind of thing?” you probe while batting your eyelashes.

Gojo nods, “Of course! That’s my whole role in society after all.”

“Is it?” You scoot in closer to him, ignoring the way your heart is racing beneath your breasts as your nose barely brushes against his. His Infinity is down with you, and his skin does feel so soft just from that. “Then enlighten me, Gojo. Is this going to help me perfect my cursed technique if I have a better sense of identity or of my desires in life?”

“Well yeah,” Gojo starts, but you do catch him faltering slightly, likely from the sudden proximity. “I mean, knowing who you are and what sets you off is a major key in harnessing your cursed energy. I mean, cursed energy is all about keeping your emotions in check. Cursed energy is primarily negative energy so learning how to channel that energy into something against a spirit is important. And you know, low self esteem counts as negativity and that can cause curses to spawn. I mean, didn’t you hear about Okkatsu and how he cursed a normal girl because he didn’t want her to die? Curses can come from both sorcerers and non sorcerers. Until Okkatsu, all we knew was that curse spirits are often a manifestation of non sorcerer cursed energy…”

You nod along as he rambles on. “Uh huh. So how does someone go about managing their negative feelings then?”

“Well, I remember helping Itadori out by having him watch a bunch of terribly boring or annoying movies,” he explains as taps his finger against his chin. “We could do that but I think you need something a little more advanced than that. Like I mean you already seem to have a good handle on your emotions since you’re spending all of this time with me and you seem more charmed than irked by my presence.”

”Why would I be irked by your presence?” you interject, “I didn’t give off that vibe to you, did I?”

“I may be the world’s strongest sorcerer but that doesn’t earn me brownie points in popularity,” he admits, but he’s acting like it doesn’t affect him when it likely definitely does. “Even Megumi gets easily ticked off at me and I’m raising the kid.”

You huff at that. “I mean, you know what they say, Gojo. You could be the juiciest peach, and there’ll still be someone who doesn’t like peaches. So who cares!”

”And Megumi definitely doesn’t like peaches,” he snorts with a shake of his head.

”Oh, please. Don’t say that!” you retort with a playful shove to his shoulder. “He adores you. Kind of like how he behaves like he’s annoyed by Itadori all the time but he didn’t want him to die for a reason.”

“A fair point, m’lady.”

“First Princess, and now m’lady?” you tease, “Come on, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Alright, alright!” Gojo surrenders while clasping his hands together. “Okay, so are we training or what?”

“Of course,” you reply, “Just tell me where we can start and then as a reward for staying consistent, we can go grab all of those sweets you keep talking to me about, because now I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Gojo laughs, “Deal.”

It’s not outright obvious to anyone or even you at first, but Gojo has been tagging along with you wherever you went like an over excited little puppy dog. He behaves more like your guard dog in much more public areas though. You don’t mind his constant shadow at first, thinking it as a nice refreshing change of pace after spending most of your time in solitude. It can either be comforting or it can be suffocating. But you don’t find Gojo suffocating, not like how everyone else seems to.

And maybe he has taken that to heart, which is another thing about him you don’t find yourself minding. Clearly, he just hasn’t been used to someone actually actively wanting to be around him after who knows how long since you waltzed into Satoru Gojo’s world and maybe a part of you finds it flattering that he enjoys your company so much.

“Hey,” Gojo stops you while you’re strolling side by side down a street with many jewelry, makeup, or designer clothing stores down the strip. “Didn’t you say you needed to restock on some makeup?”

A record breaks in your mind. Say what now? He actually listens to your mindless ramblings? Why are you so shocked every time someone pays attention to you, especially someone as esteemed as Satoru Gojo? Moreover, why are you still gawking at him like he’s just sprouted three extra heads?

You blink once at him. Then twice. You glance up at the store he’s stopped you for and your breath hitches. A Sephora, huh? Is he sure about this? What is he even thinking about, splurging so much money on you like it’s not a big deal to him? Your eyes scan the rows upon rows of various brands you have only watched Youtube influencers review and can only dream of owning yourself. The Dior row is especially calling out to you like a siren in the Dead Sea.

This is so dangerous… you pout, gaze flitting between Gojo and the entrance to the store. Your gaze lingers on the Dior aisle once more. You long for some of those lip oils. Or their blushes even if a lot of influencers have admitted they suck for their price points…

“Yeah, but…” you trail off, frowning as you peek through the windows, fearing for the total costs if you actually do follow up on his offer. “Their stuff is usually out of my budget.”

A brief silence stretches over the two of you. You’re about to turn but he stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you glance up at him through your lashes.

“Don’t sweat it. I got it,” he offers with a small smirk, pushing the door open for you and your feet stop you just short of entering the store.

“Seriously,”—he places an arm on your shoulder—“I got it.”

“I can’t pay you back,” you reply, biting on your lip.

“You don’t have to. Come on,” he declares as he grabs your wrist, yanking you inside. The dozens of stares falling on the two of you make your heart flutter but it’s probably not you they’re really paying attention to. In fact you’re absolutely positive it’s probably because of Gojo. He’s a show stopper in a lot of ways. Maybe they’re gawking at how tall or handsome he is, how shock snow white his hair is. Wondering what shade his eyes are beneath his blindfold that he wears all the time.

Wondering what he’s doing with a puny little thing like you in a cosmetics store. Maybe they’re all wondering if you’re a couple and he’s just your sweet patient boyfriend humoring your love for cosmetics.

As if you can ever be with someone as untouchable as Satoru Gojo. You can only dream of being with someone like him, someone so otherworldly and ethereal and practically regarded as some kind of Messiah.

Gojo stands close to you, and you observe him. It’s hard to figure out what anyone’s thinking without seeing their eyes. You wonder how his Six Eyes must be unbearable for him a lot of the time that he has to wear a blindfold.

As if he senses you staring, he peels his blindfold back and hums as if lost in thought.

“I think you talked about loving lipstick the most, right? What brand do you like to wear? Gucci? YSL?” he inquires idly while lifting his blindfold; he scans the aisles before walking toward one of the more expensive luxury brands you can never hope to afford a first time around already. You grab his elbow and stop him in place, and he peers down at you, those blue eyes appearing to admit a kind of glow.

“I can’t afford to wear any of those!” you protest, flabbergasted, “Can we just stick to the mid-range priced items? You really don’t have to buy me anything!”

“You can now! So name the brand and we’ll look at it, yeah?” he retaliates with a goofy grin that is convincing enough to let him win you entirely over. This is not something you can easily accept from anyone! Not even him! Especially not him! It feels all kinds of wrong to you if you can’t return the favor in any way and you know you can’t. He knows you can’t either and he’s doing this anyway all because he wants to. There is no hint of obligation or feeling like he has to repay you for spending so much time with him.

You almost want to shrivel up and die in that very moment, but he’s being kind of pushy and you don’t really know why. It’s not like you can’t go get makeup at some affordable drugstore, and he can just pay for those, something you can easily return the favor for with enough time.

You’re not all that picky. And you know one taste of luxury is going to have you hooked for life . There’s no going back.

Although, like you have been fantasizing about already, you have been dying for anything from Tom Ford or YSL or Dior…

You drag out a sigh as you weigh out your options.

“You’re not going to let me get out of here until I let you buy me things, aren’t you?” you inquire in a flat tone.

Gojo’s still grinning ridiculously and you kind of hate how cute he looks getting all giddy at the prospect of spoiling a friend just because.

“Now you’re getting it! So seriously, what are we feeling?” he asks again, that stupid grin of his unmoving.

Yet you find it more endearing than annoying like everyone else seems to…

“Slow down,” you reply. He relaxes his grip on your wrist and you release it. You don’t miss that unreadable expression flashing in a nanosecond. “There have been some shades I’ve been needing. But we are not going overboard here. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answers almost robotically with a mock salute. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You lead him to one of the Dior aisles where a classic red lip shade catches your eye. You have two defaults, and you don’t need too much makeup: a flattering red lip for an occasion and a flattering nude shade for everyday is really all you’re going to need in this department. Then you know you need the rest—new foundation, new concealer, mascara, etc. etc.

And since Gojo is being so pushy you may as well take advantage of the opportunity. Even if does feel all kinds of wrong in your soul you know he’s not letting you get off that easily. So you decide to reframe it this way: you’re really only allowing this because Gojo’s resolve about this isn’t going to budge.

“Oh! This shade is gorgeous,” you muse out loud as you pry one of the tester red lipsticks and grab one of the free lip applicators to test the color on your lips. You glance around for a mirror and find one just down the aisle, pouting your lips into it as you assess the shade you chose. You hum in thought.

Then you turn to Gojo, who’s keeping a fair distance but watching your every move.

“Do you like it?” you inquire, pointing to the shade painting your lips.

“It’s nice,” he replies, “Totally evens out, um, your complexion!”

You giggle into your hand. He’s trying , which is better than most men who have ever walked into your life. Most of them think makeup is fake or stupid or pointless or just plain lying. Then in the same breath claim they like a natural girl but most of them don’t understand what a natural girl looks like.

Gojo seems a smidge less ignorant about that kind of thing though. Just a smidge.

“C’mere,” you declare as you gesture with a come hither motion. He obliges, and you have to prop yourself up on your tippy toes just to reach his cheek, where you smack your lips against. A bold move, perhaps, but he deserves it for all of this generosity he apparently isn’t known for at all amongst his colleagues.

“How ‘bout now?” you ask with a sultry purr, fluttering your lashes. Which both definitely feel naked. You love mascara. They definitely need a good mascara… something both lengthening and volumizing, perhaps? You haven’t been exploring much in that regard…

“It’s perfect ,” he purrs smoothly, not skipping a beat. He doesn’t even bother wiping off the stain and it’s not like you two are an item or something. You just want to give something back. “Aren’t you going to try more shades?”

You deflate, flushing a little at that as you twiddle your fingers. Oh, he sounds a little too interested now. Should you back off?

You pull back. Absently you run your tongue around your teeth as you eye your reflection. Oh wow, this shade kind of makes your teeth look way whiter so you’re definitely snagging it. This really is so dangerous and it’s not fair hat Gojo is making you go through with committing such a sin. Grabbing a basket and tossing the tube of lipstick into it while swiping a makeup remover wipe from a nearby dispenser and cleaning the color off. Gojo snags the basket out of your hands.

“Hey!” you protest again with another pout of your lips. There’s some blotches of leftover lipstick you missed but Gojo can’t help but find it cute. Almost a complete idea of what those pretty lips of yours might look like when he’s the one kissing the color off and not some damn makeup remover.

“I got it,” he insists, keeping the shopping basket just out of your reach. “You enjoy more shopping, alright?”

Your eyes begin to twinkle and you don’t notice that Gojo’s heart must have skipped a beat in that moment.

“Can we window shop at the designer stores here too?” you beg him eagerly, eyes sparkling like a child winning a plush toy in a claw machine.

“Yeah,” he breathes in reply, composing himself. “Anything.”

You’re not paying attention to him now as you’re already sprinting to check out the mascaras you’ve seen online and can only dream of owning yourself. This is already more power you can ever hope to have!

You snag the one you hear is best for your kind of lashes.

But you find yourself scattering around all of the aisles but don’t buy that many things out of common decency. Even if someone like Gojo comes from a lot of money, it isn’t right. You just can’t help it though. He’s given you a taste already and you wish you could buy with your own money but that’s not a reality for you. You are going to allow yourself to indulge just this one time and then never again. As nice of a gesture it is from Gojo, you have not been raised a leech, and you’re not going to take advantage of someone’s generosity like that. So you give yourself an item limit but that doesn’t stop you from trying all of the samples of makeup and swatching the colors, asking for Gojo’s opinions and he tries to seem interested which is the nicest thing he could do for you.

All while you’re browsing, Gojo hangs back just to observe you. Admiring how lost you get in such a simple hobby to him and probably to everyone else.

You just don’t realize how much he is truly paying attention to you. How much he wants to know more and more about you. Your likes. Your dislikes. What makes your eyes keep shining like that like they are here.

Snapping discrete photos of the things you eye with longing but don’t toss into the basket for future reference.

You test another lipstick shade in another brand aisle, then test it on Gojo’s cheek like you did before. A classic nude shade is something every girl needs, you tell him, and that’s all for the lipsticks.

Once you grab all of your essentials you don’t even dare to so much glance at the receipt and neither does Gojo. Tossing it into the trash as soon as you both walk out.

“So you don’t try to return anything out of guilt,” he explains with a little wink. “So, you still want to check out those designer stores?”

“Yes! Can we go to Chanel?” You clasp your hands together, doing your best to contain the fact that you may be a little too excited.

“Of course,” Gojo replies easily once again, “Anything.”

“I’m not buying anything! I just want to look,” you remind him as your hands rest on your hips, chin slightly raised. “You got me enough.”

You gesture to the bag he’s clutching with that huge hand of his, you can’t help but point out to yourself. And dang, you never have noticed before how long his fingers actually are…

He follows your gaze, before glancing back at you and you catch onto what is a bit of a judgy stare in that he’s such a fucking nepo baby way.

“There’s not even 10 items in here!” he argues with a fret.

“Yeah but you forget my budget isn’t usually made for these items. You got me enough. Way more than enough,” you assure him, “Trust me. Let it go, Gojo. I let you buy me stuff already.”

“Fine, fine, waving the little white flag,” he quips while wagging a finger. “Now come on, we still have a whole day since that mission was cut short for us and the students.”

“Alright, alright. Bossy,” you tease while flashing him a little smile and then planting another kiss on his cheek. Where this time he leans in completely prepared for. “Thank you, Gojo. You really didn’t have to. But this isn’t happening again.”

“Fine,” he relents, sagging his shoulders; he’s saying so to your face at least. You don’t know what he’s plotting behind that blindfold. But you choose to take his words at face value to spare him some dignity.

You beam at him again, grabbing his free hand and leading him to the closest designer store. The same cycle continues. Your eyes twinkle like brilliant little galaxies upon the endless choices but you know you can’t really have them and you emphasized to Gojo again as you waltzed into the store together that you won’t let him buy anything more for you.

But you still let yourself loose! Putting on a little fashion show for him. You grab an item you wish you could have for yourself. This piece feels vintage and soft, delicately crafted and sophisticated like everything else in these stores. You strike a few poses in front of a tall mirror and Gojo just watches idly on the sidelines as you enjoy yourself. Sometimes still capturing little snippets of you unguarded and you haven’t the slightest clue as you’re living out what you can only define as your dream life. These might make beautiful candids in his office or somewhere more private in his estate, but you have no idea he’s thinking that right then. You’re too busy having the time of your life. Grinning madly like you’re alight and carefree and you look absolutely stunning.

And you don’t know that it’s absolutely killing him . It’s maddening, how well you flaunt yourself like this, like you’re dangling yourself in front of him, all his for the taking.

You don’t know how he wants to bend you over and blow your back out in the middle of this fucking store, in the middle of the mall, in the back parking lot, or the parking deck. Anywhere. Everywhere. But you’re not his yet, but you’re dangling yourself in front of him like a tempting sin and he can’t take it.

Not his mind, his body, his heart, his soul, and definitely not his aching cock straining through his boxers.

It doesn’t seem like you notice either as you stride up to him, stars in your eyes as you show him another bag before putting it back.

“Are we going to the other stores? Are you getting bored?” you ask, looking very much like you’re bouncing off the walls. Much like him when he’s consumed way too much sugar.

“Of course. Anything,” he replies immediately repeating the same damn line but not before glancing away. “I have to take a quick trip to the washroom first. Do you want to grab a bite to eat too?”

You nod, following him out. You take the bag he was holding and wait for him by the restrooms.

Thank God, you’re out of his line of sight for the moment. And the stalls are empty. Doubly thank God . No one has to watch someone as esteemed as Satoru Goio (not that the mortal world would know anything at all about someone like him) fist a few just because he can’t control himself. What is he, some kind of hormonal schoolboy? What the fuck! He’s got more class than this!

Resorting to something like this…

It’s unbecoming. So very unbecoming of a man known to be the strongest in this physical and metaphysical world.

He can be quiet about all of this, even still. He just…

He just needs to take care of this before he loses his fucking mind and takes you for himself.

(Maybe he might have already been plotting how to do that. To shield you from a world who only looks at you one way and no other way.)

On some occasions, Shoko joins you and Gojo when he wants a little company. Shoko has said before that she considers him dear even if she playfully declares he’s trash like any other man. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t make time for him, though. Especially when there’s alcohol involved and she doesn’t have to worry about paying those ridiculously expensive tabs.

You have gotten used to going out with them on work nights (which is honestly every night with Gojo, at least), and you have come to realize his expectations each time. This time you have gotten some pointers on how to make yourself a bit more put together with these transitions from Shoko and you can’t be more grateful. You haven’t delved into the world of beauty all that much before this, mostly because you’ve had no reason to and you only stuck to the bare basics, but now you have a bit more of a social life than you once had.

And maybe you want to catch Gojo’s eye in another way and not just in terms of your potential as a sorcerer.

You glance over your shoulder, frowning as you take note that Gojo has yet to pop out into the front schoolyard where you planned to meet together before driving off. The nighttime air is crisp but a bit nippy; you’re scrunching your nose each time you feel a feathery light gust of wind tickle your face, and the thick layer of foundation you beat all over your face to death with a beauty sponge isn’t doing you many favors in the world of uncomfortable sensory feelings. A part of you wants to claw your face off because you’re not used to full glam looks, even if this is a softer glam look. You prefer the light every day getup, ‘no makeup makeup’ or whatever these trendy girls call it, you wish you were as cool and trendy as they are but you feel like you fall behind on what’s cool all the time.

You twist back around while admiring Shoko with stars in your eyes. God, you have so much inner work to do yourself! She seems to know everything about how to bring out your best self and she embodies an absolute goddess in your eyes. She’s an ethereal presence. Her chestnut brown hair flowing down to her buttocks, her slim figure and her heart shaped face are all downright enviable. She can have anyone she wants, and she probably knows it too.

Man, what you’d give for confidence like hers. Gojo does have a point from before–a negative self image is no good and can interfere with your progress as a sorcerer yourself. Even if you’re not all that interested in power scaling, you still want to be able to protect the students and yourself when the situation calls for it.

Shoko calls your name, and you snap back to reality, blinking owlishly as she lights herself another cigarette to burn through–how many of those has she had in one day already? Is she one of those types to smoke entire packs within a night or a whole 24 hours? It’s not like they’re actually going to kill her or anything from what you understand about reverse cursed technique, but that doesn’t mean destroying your body over and over just for the shits and giggles.

“Why do you go hang out with Gojo without another thought?” Shoko asks you out of the blue as you grow increasingly impatient waiting for Gojo to get here–he’s probably working on wrapping up some things for future missions this week or something–and you purse your lips as you shrug off her question.

“Everyone needs a friend,” you decide is your simple response. Shoko stares blankly at you but you remain firm in your answer. You don’t believe it needs any further elaboration. And technically, it really shouldn’t. You’re just not that kind of girl. The kind to just take advantage of someone just because you can get away with it. There’s nothing “in it” for you at all. Stripping away all of your layers, you’re truly just a simple girl at your core.

But for some reason, Shoko doesn’t buy that answer right away.

“Really? Are you absolutely sure about that? Is there something in it for you?” she prods, and of course you’re right on the money of her being unsure, but her tone isn’t accusatory or anything—she’s just trying to seek an understanding of your motives and truthfully you have none. Nothing outright malicious or self-motivating, anyway, like she likely suspects. “Don’t get me wrong. Satoru’s a dear friend of mine but he usually bribes me with drinks or the nicer cigarettes when I’m not particularly interested in doing something with him involved.”

“No,” you declare, once again, with full confidence, swiping a pocket mirror from your clutch and pouting your lips, touching up on your lipstick which has already smudged off a bit. It’s a nude shade that complements your features; you’re still a student when it comes to these things but the tips Shoko has offered you for a more “office appropriate” look has helped plenty. Besides, Gojo has bought you all of those nice luxury brands that are typically so out of your budget; why not put them to daily use like you should so they don’t go to waste and expire because you’re too afraid to use such nice things?

You recall all of those suggestions of hers—a medium-buildable coverage skin tint, a natural, luminary blush, two mascaras that separate, lengthen, thicken, and hold your curls without getting too clumpy or smudge throughout the day. All put together with a soft glam eye shadow look. It’s perfect. The girl’s a fucking genius at this stuff.

“Then why?” Shoko prods again, a little too insistently. You wonder why the fuss. Just like she must wonder why the fuss! Is Gojo that bad of a person to be around because you genuinely haven’t gotten that vibe? If anything else, he’s become a comfort to you. You have been kind of used to being alone too. It doesn’t feel as sad as it sounds, not like how it must feel for Gojo.

You try not to seem a little dejected by the fact that Shoko is suspicious of you. It’s not like she knows you well, though…

“Because it’s like I just said, everyone needs a friend! The kind of friend who doesn’t want anything from them in return, or at least doesn’t expect it,” you continue to her after stashing the tube of lipstick and pocket mirror back into the Chanel clutch you still are absolutely positive Gojo sent you after your last outing together. “He just, I don’t know. He seems kind of… I don’t know. Alone. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“We hardly have the time for our own struggles,” Shoko remarks, turning away with a wistful expression. “Why do you think I smoke so much?”

“Maybe that’s the problem with all of you guys,” you point out, not meaning to try to read people to filth here or anything like that as you’re fluffing your hair a little bit. You’re just starting to see a pattern. Ugh, these fucking flyaways! How does Shoko’s hair always look so perfect even in these conditions? That’s something else to ask advice about from her later… “You guys are too caught up in your own lives to notice what’s going on right in front of you. I’m not saying that to call anyone out; it’s just the way everyone’s wired, anyway. Human nature and stuff. We are too busy worrying about ourselves to worry about everyone else all the time. if we did that then we can’t live our damned lives, and that just can’t do. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to remind the people in your life that you care about them.”

Shoko frowns in response to that, burning through her current cigarette which is already halfway gone. Bits of ashes drop unceremoniously to the ground as she puffs out some smoke, mulling over your words, and something flashes in her eyes, like she’s flipping channels of so many memories in her mind but for some reason you doubt it involves Gojo and probably some other people she considers close to her.

“That’s a fair point, I guess,” she grunts, her eyes flashing again with something–something like grief or regret ? Over what? Do you pry or just keep it to yourself?

“Is there something I’m missing about Gojo?” you finally demand of her, your tone thick with curiosity as ever like you’re trying to debug some kind of code. “You guys all keep rambling on about how he’s this peculiar character and yeah, I’m not denying it but what sorcerer isn’t a little crazy? Don’t you have to be in a profession like this, one where the majority of the population would write off as utter hocus pocus?”

Shoko processes more of your rapid fire questions before shrugging, taking another shot at her cancer stick between her fingers which is nearly gone now. She burns through those like Gojo burns through all those sugary foods he ingests practically every second of every day.

“Spend more time with him and find out,” Shoko answers, probably more flippantly than she intends to sound, flicking more ash off of her cigarette as a wry smile plays on those juicily glossed lips of hers. You almost want to pout at how she seems to have everything figured out for herself–from the way she carries herself to the way she shows up for herself too. Dark sultry eye makeup with a flawless makeup base and when she decks herself out, she decks herself out . You can’t recognize her sometimes outside of work when she’s having too much fun cutting up dead bodies and putting together autopsies or beautifying dead bodies or whatever else she does as a healer “It’s never a dull moment. Love the guy to death, but even I have my limits with him.”

“No one is easy to be around,” you admonish with a sigh. “Not even me. I know my shortcomings or at least the ones I’ve been made aware of thus far. With that kind of logic, you won’t have anyone around you.”

“That’s…also a fair point,” Shoko acknowledges with a nod, more bits of ashes dropping to the concrete below. “I guess I might have some reflecting to do. But you know, I have noticed Gojo becoming a little more relaxed these days. You’re probably why.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggle, hinting at a bit of uncertainty. “I’m just little old me.”

“And that might be someone Gojo needs,” she adds with a little wink, before her gaze flits to your purse. “You still haven’t made a guess on who’s been sending you these expensive gifts? Who else do you know likes to spend money without any regard for how much it is?”

You follow her gaze to the purse before shaking your head in response.

“Well of course I know it’s Gojo,” you admit bashfully as you ponder her other words. Gojo is a perfectly capable man who doesn’t rely on anyone. Surely he doesn’t need someone like you around, right? “No one else around here is made of money like he is. And I doubt someone like Gojo needs someone like me.”

“How can you be so sure?” she teases in a singsong tone. “I’m just saying—he clearly doesn’t hide the fact, either.”

You don’t really know how to respond or react to that. You aren’t going to deny it, not really. Gojo has been a lot more attentive with you than anyone else, and he’s known Shoko since they went to high school right here at Jujutsu Tech together. She has to know so much more about him than even she cares to know about Satoru Gojo and maybe there’s a part of you that wants to badger her for all of the information she might have on him for… reasons .

Hm. Maybe there is something in it for you, but you expect absolutely nothing regardless. You don’t want to be like those people who try to be someone’s friend just to get with them. That’s not really being someone’s friend. That’s being a total weirdo and no one wants to be that guy.

“I should say I also commend you for a character like yours,” Shoko admits after a moment of reflection–maybe she does have to check in with herself too more than you realize. There must be a lot she’s hiding from everyone too. “We don’t see authenticity like that around here these days so it’s probably a breath of fresh air for Satoru too.”

“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are, Miss Ie—I mean, Shoko,” you stammer as a blush rushes to your cheeks.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” she teases, pinching your cheek. “But it has been a while since Satoru has acted like this. Not since…” She holds off on finishing that thought, which again piques your interest but you don’t poke and prod the bear with the stick, and instead she settles with: “Yeah, not since a while.”

Your forehead wrinkles a bit as you ponder her words.

Now you’re only left in the dark much more than you already have been in the world of jujutsu sorcerers. You are still a fledgling yourself, yet right off the bat Gojo determines you should be bumped up to grade 2. Not only that but you learn that Satoru Gojo is something like a quasi-religious figure around here, possessing both the Limitless and Six Eyes cursed techniques which hasn’t been a thing for centuries, apparently. He’s the strongest special grade out there to exist, but he has admitted to you and to the higher ups that there are going to be many who surpass the special grade rank and by extension may surpass him. He expects that of Itadori, Fushiguro, and Okkatsu, in particular, but he hopes for that for the future generations as a whole.

Still, these don’t really fill in many blanks for you. You don’t understand why everyone’s got their reservations over Gojo; if anything, he’s so arrogant and haughty because he can back up his claims and that must grind everyone’s gears. To a certain extent you can understand the frustration everyone has with him, but that can’t be all there is to it. Then again, you have only been on Jujutsu Tech grounds for what, five months or something like that now, tops? You still have so much to see in how he interacts with the others. Other superiors, other colleagues, but with his students, they seem to enjoy his company… (well, at least Itadori seems to; the second years have a few choice words on how to describe him.)

“Did I leave you ladies waiting?” you hear a voice call out to the two of you.

Your head snaps up to find Gojo carrying dozens of bags hooked around all of his slender fingers. You can’t help but giggle at the sight because it reminds you of the times you did the same thing to spare you another trip to the trunk with all of your purchases.

“What’s all this?” you question with a smile. Gojo pauses before answering, as if a little taken aback by a change in you. Probably he’s noticed you put a little more effort to look more business appropriate, actually with a full face of (hopefully passable) makeup…

“You look lovely, I-I mean, as always, of course,” he coughs before he sets all of the bags aside. “And ah, I just tend to splurge a little. Stuff for the school, stuff for the students, stuff for me…”

“That’s sweet of you,” you comment before you cradle the Chanel clutch in both your hands and present it to him. “So does this mean you actually are the one responsible for this?”

Gojo’s face falls for a split second before bouncing back. “Did you not like the color choice? I still have the receipt and I can change it o—!”

—You raise your hand to cut him off.

“I only started using these because I have no idea if I should return these to you, but now I do,” you interject with a little chuckle. “If this is your way to thank me for hanging out with you all of those times, I don’t need an incentive for it, Gojo. I’m happy to hang out with you because we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Gojo beams at that. “Of course we are! Just, you know! Don’t worry about the gifts. Use ‘em or don’t—I just like giving gifts, and um, you deserve them, and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Shoko quips, shooting Gojo a look with a little wraggle of those perfectly groomed eyebrows of hers. Gods you’re so jealous of her effortless beauty. “Real suave, Satoru.”

“Like you know how to charm a girl’s pants off,” Satoru shoots back.

“I think we know who gets more pussy between the two of us,” Shoko deadpans.

You can’t help snorting at that. Why do people find this guy so off-putting? It honestly seems like he tries really hard to bring some light into the situation since life as a sorcerer is far from peaceful. If he finds you refreshing, then you find his character just as refreshing right back.

“Girl, yes, show ‘em,” you cackle into your hand. Shoko grins at your words of encouragement and Gojo’s posture slumps at that.

“No more expensive alcohol for you,” he huffs like an insolent toddler, folding his arms over his chest. Shoko doesn’t seem all that bothered, shrugging him off.

“I’ve been meaning to swear off that stuff anyway.” At some point between all of the silly banter she’s tossed the butt of her cigarette away and admits that she’s finished another pack.

“God, you really have to nip that nasty habit in the bud,” Gojo suggests with a sly little grin and a cock of his head. Shoko rolls her eyes.

“Cry me a river. We all have our thing. Mine’s smoking. Yours is sweets. One step at a time or whatever,” she answers, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Are you two ready to go?”

“Where do you plan to keep all of those bags?” you query, and Gojo’s eyebrows flash.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies after considering your question. “Let me do that real quick, actually.”

Gojo strolls off with those items and returns just moments later with a thumbs up. Shoko has a look on her face that you almost want to call her out on but you decide to hold your tongue for the time being. You tap your foot on the earth beneath you as Gojo shuffles back to the two of you after storing away all of those various ‘goods’ he’s stocked up on that you can’t help but be a little curious about. Gojo tosses you a little grin and you find yourself grinning back, and as soon as that happens you can feel Shoko’s scrutiny seep deeper and deeper into your soul and you are absolutely tempted to call her out on it until Gojo speaks up.

“Okay, now I’m ready to go!” Gojo announces, his gaze fixing on you, which Shoko definitely takes into account as she’s still assessing you with that fucking look in her eyes that says ‘ nothing in it for you, huh? ’ “I was just kidding about the no expensive alcohol part, Shoko.”

“I figured,” Shoko chuckles, “Now stop eye fucking her and let’s go.”

You hide your face as it reddens an even darker shade, if that’s even possible at thai point.

“I-I was not!” Gojo blubbers and Shoko cackles back at his face as his posture slumps a bit again. Even if you're suppressing the urge to bust up laughing at his reaction, mostly because you do not expect it, acting like he’s been caught red handed doing something completely unforgivable.

“Uh-huh,” Shoko scoffs as she saunters off with the two of you following close behind her.

You catch Gojo sneaking a few glances at you. You don’t seem to mind that at all and are actually feeling your heart soar to the heavens. But you notice something else. Him inching a pinky toward yours. You try to bite back a little hint of a grin but fail, so you initiate, curling yours around his and you can hear the faintest sound of a contented sigh escape his lips.

Shoko’s back is still to the both of you, her hips flouncing as she walks like she has no care for the world what the two of you do. You hope you’re not giving her the impression that she’s the third wheel because it’s not like the two of you are together or anything like that. As far as you know. You have already written off the possibility of you and Gojo ever being a thing. He’s so far out of your reach but he seems happy being all touchy with you like he is your boyfriend and for some reason you don’t have an issue with that.

Well of course you don’t have an issue with that. This is the closest you’re ever going to get, and that’s perfectly all fine and good with you. Besides, you have reminded yourself that you’re not in it for yourself. Gojo is happy to have found some kind of comfort in you, and that’s your goal.

“Sheesh, Shoko’s too eager to get absolutely shitfaced on all that beer,” Gojo leans in and whispers into your ear. “But she has the strongest alcohol tolerance I have ever seen. Reverse cursed technique is pretty dang awesome once you get the hang of it, but it’s easier said than done. Took me forever to figure out how to use it.”

”Are you gossiping about me back there, Satoru?” Shoko accuses as she tosses her head over her shoulder.

“No ma’am,” he vows, “Just giving her the 411 on your drinking abilities.”

”So you’re admitting to gossiping, you useless shitstain,” Shoko snorts but she doesn’t seem to take it that seriously. You still aren’t sure what the dynamic is between them, but they do seem closer than everyone else here.

“Oops!” Gojo hollers back at her with a little snicker. “Keep walking those thick ass fucking thighs of yours so we can get to our ride, pissface.”

”Oh, that’s a new one! And you wish you had these thighs, fuckface!” Shoko shouts with her tone laced in sarcasm as they approach the parking deck. She refuses to allow Gojo to ‘warp’ them everywhere. You have yet to experience what that’s like. Having cursed techniques like Gojo’s must come with so many perks like getting to mimic flying and shit. You still are not sure what you can do with your techniques.

Now you’re practically in stitches at their exchanges. They’re riots around each other. Shoko’s not kidding about there never being a dull moment, but why does she say so with it laced with some negative connotations? There must be something you’re missing in this picture but you’re not putting two and two together. All you know is that you enjoy Gojo’s company and Gojo enjoys your company just as much, and just because everyone else keeps their distance doesn’t mean that you have to because you don’t find Gojo burdensome like everyone around you seems to. Maybe there’s something there, something where you have yet to scratch the surface and unravel, but who the hell knows?

As you follow Shoko, you don’t miss Gojo’s hand grazing your pinky now dropping to rest on the small of your back. You peer up at him with curiosity twinkling in your stare; what’s going on in his mind? Why’s he–? Suddenly that sharp prickle of goosebumps scatter across your arms as you catch onto some men staring you down around the block.

Your eyes flit to different areas of the street ahead once you exit Jujutsu Tech grounds; is he trying to make a statement, or something?

“Gojo?” you mutter, as you attempt to shy away from his touch. “No one’s going to try anything, you know?”

His mouth twitches as he glances down at you, slipping his hand away and allowing it to fall back to its side.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, “You never know with men , you know? You can trust me on that one.”

Should you have paid closer attention you may have caught onto the fact that he might be calling himself out there. But you shrug off his behavior as you finally approach where Shoko parked her sedan in one of the parking garages, but Gojo’s still on high alert, scouting any potential threats like you’re easy prey or something.

You just give him one final curious glance before hopping into the backseat, Gojo deciding to join you back there. Shoko starts her car and pulls out of the parking area, not before making some quip to Gojo about something you have no context over, and neither bother to fill you in on the topic. It’s probably not something that concerns you anyway; you’re going to focus on a night out with your friends.

And they are your friends. You’re glad Shoko considers you as one, and that Gojo thinks of you as one. Even if it is still way too intimate to call him Satoru for some reason no matter how much he insists you absolutely can call him that. You really are adjusting to life here a little better than you think, and while the progress may be gradual, you have a feeling it’s just going to get better for you from here.

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in-loving-memory-of · 2 months ago

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Takashi Morinozuka x Reader

Relationship Head Canons (sfw and nsfw)

I haven’t posted one of these in a while cuz I didn’t care and still don’t, but I was going to make some head canons for a different character and saw this unfinished in my notes, so I’m posting it. Enjoy!

sfw

- His love languages are probably acts of service and quality time, so he always enjoys helping you, but he likes generally being in your presence just as much. However, if/when you help him with some menial task, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you, he appreciates it more than he can verbalize. It just makes him feel cherished, since that’s how he shows others he cares for them.

- He’s a quiet guy, and he generally enjoys a quiet setting, so just sitting with you in total silence is very calming for him. He loves to read in the same space as you, watch the stars with you, and have quiet meals with you. He doesn’t need to be constantly entertained, he just wants to be near you.

- He is a genuinely kind-hearted person, but he’s indifferent to most people, so, despite his pretty logical mind, if you don’t like someone, he probably doesn’t either. His loyalty is to you, not them.

- Strangely, I think he is somewhat prone to jealousy. He’s obviously a protective guy, and I think he’s also pretty possessive. He doesn’t make his jealousy known, though. He just reverts to silence to process his feelings on his own. (I think this is a problem of his, generally, considering his lack of sharing his feelings throughout the show/manga. It’s definitely something you have to help him work on.) If you pick up on his jealousy, he definitely denies it. He doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t trust you. He just needs some reassurance that you love him and wouldn’t leave him for someone else.

- He wants to cuddle all the time, pretty much any time you’re alone. He just loves being close to you/feeling you near him. He’s definitely more of a big spoon guy, but enjoys it either way. He loves having your head on his chest or lap. If you fall asleep on him, he’ll be absolutely lovestruck

_____________________________________________

nsfw

- Sex is just about the most intimate thing you can do with someone, and Takashi loves it for that reason. Yes, obviously it feels nice, but the intimacy is much more important to him than the physical aspect.

- He is naturally pretty slow and gentle for that reason. He can definitely be rougher if you’d like, but you would definitely have to voice that desire.

- He’s an eye contact guy. He loves to watch your face/eyes while you have sex, which is why he prefers positions that allow him to do that.

- Oral sex would be interesting, in the beginning, just because I doubt he’s had much experience going down on anybody, and he doesn’t ever want to feel like he’s forcing to to blow him if you don’t enjoy it. If you do, though, he warms up to it very quickly. He also, obviously, gets better at pleasing you as you guys continue to explore sex with one another (as is the case with just about everything sexual lmao).

- He has a breeding kink. That’s all.

- Nah, I’ll go into specifics.

- He loves finishing inside you. He loves the idea of getting you pregnant. He loves it even more if you’re into it.

- The idea of knocking you up is such a turn-on for him. It’s so intimate and special. The idea of getting you pregnant is closely tied to the idea of spending his life with you, so it just feels very romantic to him.

- He would definitely be more vocal than normal in bed, especially when he’s close. I can imagine him saying something like “You’d make such a good mother, you know that?”

- Obviously not everything is related to his breeding kink, though.

- He’s a very sincere and loving person, so his language in an intimate setting would be more thoughtful and affirming; things like:

- “Just relax, let me take care of you,” “That’s it. You’re doing so well,” “You’re so beautiful like this,” “Good, let me hear you,” “Breathe, sweetheart,” “God, I love you.”

- He’s very loving and gentle, and that remains the same during and after the act. He’s not going to fuck you and then just leave you alone. He wants to hold you and make sure you’re feeling emotionally and physically comfortable.

#ohshc #ouran high school host club #takashi morinozuka #takashi morinozuka x reader #mori senpai #takashi morinozuka headcanons #headcanons #takashi headcanons #mori x reader #ohshc mori #morinozuka #mori #mori headcanons

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rawrmoona · 3 months ago

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How would Sprout and Dandy react if they saw their daughter's twisted form?

That's sorta of an important part of the story of the au that I'm still working, but I had draw a concept once again with inspo of my friend's ramblings.

Before anything else, some context: The main characters, the handlers, and of course, Delilah and Arthur are already familiar with Dandy’s twisted form. It’s something they’ve had under control for a while. Dandy knows how to manage it, and overall, the accident that led to Garden View’s closure never actually happened—though, in the storyline I wrote for the original story, that accident wasn't even Dandy's fault.

That being said, since Mochi shares a similar composition to Dandy, Delilah took an interest in keeping a close watch on her. She wanted to observe her behavior, to see if there was any potential for instability, like what Dandy experienced in the beginning. However, Mochi was completely normal—she never had any issues to begin with. But due to the tests and examinations she was subjected to, she ended up undergoing a twisting of her own.

Dandy was completely caught off guard when he found his daughter in that state. He never expected to see her like that—let alone locked away by Delilah while she and Arthur figured out what to do or how to reverse it, because they panicked with Mochi's unstable and violent state, but also terrified. Luckily, Dandy suspected something was off and managed to find her. Just his presence alone was enough to calm her down, but she was still deeply shaken.

After that, he focused on helping her to turn back. If he could do it, then surely she could too, right? And yes, she could—but it would take time for it to work, and of course a lot of doubt came to his mind as he imagined what could be of her if he didn't reversed what had been done to her. Meanwhile, Sprout had no idea what was happening to their daughter, and Dandy didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him the truth… at least, not yet.

If anyone’s wondering how Sprout would react—honestly? He’d be terrified, heartbroken. And after that, he’d probably be furious once he found out Delilah was responsible. Given his anger issues and impulsive nature, Dandy definitely wouldn’t want to tell him anything until things were fully under control.

In any case, after everything, Dandy ends up holding a grudge against Delilah. I’ll probably go into more detail in a future post, but one thing’s for sure—my Dandy isn’t letting her walk away from this without a confrontation!

#dandys world #dandy's world fanart #dw sprout #send asks #moonaart #dw dandy #flowerberry #fanchild au #fanchild

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 2 years ago

Note

thanks for replying, i really appreciate it :D! my request has to do with jim hawkins and reader who’s the daughter of delbert doppler and is very shy around him, i’m ok with the plot being anything, thank you!

A/N: I started writing this a while ago but for some reason I just couldn't settle on a format OR a plot. But I decided to clear out my drafts and coming across this with a fresh mind definitely helped smooth things along. I settled for headcannons, along with a lot of other descriptions just to get a feel on the relationship Jim has with the reader. Mid write into this and a NSFW version smacked my writer brain so I’ll probably write that if it’s interesting enough to read too. This is set before the movie! I am SO sorry for such a long wait, I really hope you enjoy!

Jim Hawkins x Fem! Doppler daughter reader!

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, Jim being a trouble maker, good girl x bad boy trope, sneaky jim >>>

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

PINNING!

Jim had noticed you for quite some time before it came to actually making a move on you

He knew you were shy, you were shy with everyone, but with him it seemed you just tried to disappear right into yourself

He didn't really understand why, so he went to his mom about it

Her answer? She probably likes you

Well that was a first

He doubted it at first, and unconsciously started doing things to test this theory. To see if you really did like him

But the more he tried not to like you too, the more he did

He knew Delbert was gonna kill him if he found out Jim liked his daughter

but what else was he supposed to do? he couldn’t ignore you, not when he loved the reaction of you getting so shy on him

He asks you out late at night, Delbert is talking to his mother and he thinks it’s the perfect time

He sneaks in through one of the open windows of the small house, the soft sound of music in the background comforting to him

He sees you standing in the kitchen, drying a the last few dishes with a small smile on your face

“Hey Y/n.” Jim says in your ear, and you jump

“J-Jim! Don’t do that, you scared me.” She says, a hand on her chest to calm her breathing

“Sorry sorry, you’re easy to scare.” He says, before he sees your eyes looking at the hand he has tucked behind his back

“What do you have?” You ask quietly, and he smiles at the blush that creeps up onto your face

“Look, Y/n, I-“ He pauses, nervous. “I know I’m probably the last person you’d want to ask you this but, I really like you.” He says, pulling out a few flowers from behind him holding it between the two of you. “I really want to take you out. If you’d let me, of course.” He says, his head dipping a bit. He might get in trouble a lot but he still respects you

“Jim, I’d love too.” You say, you’re quiet and shy about it, leaning into your shoulder with a smile. He grins wide and hands you the flowers, watching as you go to put them in a vase.

DATING HIM:

He drags you out with him sometimes, and most of the time you stop him from getting in trouble

Even after you two start dating you still get so shy on him

He actually likes it, and he teases you for it a TON

He’ll purposely get your attention by taking things from you just to get you flustered

His mother loves you >>>

#jim hawkins #jim hawkins x reader #disney x reader #treasure planet #treasure planet x reader #x reader #delbert doppler

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yourlovelywriter · 3 months ago

Text

Bewitched by you? (Pt 5)

Sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been livin life crazy style.

But luckily for you guys I have two chapters ready!

—————————————

By the time we returned to the hotel, the streets had emptied, and the town had folded into its quiet nighttime rhythm. The warm glow of lanterns flickered against the wet cobblestones, and the air was thick with the scent of rain, though none had fallen yet.

Inside, the room felt smaller than it had this morning.

I kicked off my shoes, stretching out on the bed, exhausted but restless. Across the room, Lilia moved with her usual ease, draping her coat over the chair, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse.

“So,” I said, watching her, “what’s the plan for the reading?”

She barely looked up as she reached into her bag. “Postponed.”

I frowned. “Postponed?”

“She prefers to wait until tomorrow.” Lilia pulled out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards between her fingers with slow, deliberate precision.

I sat up. “Wait—seriously? After we drove all this way?”

Lilia smirked. “She’s particular about timing.”

I exhaled, trying to shake the irritation creeping in. Maybe it wasn’t that strange, but something about the way she said it—so effortlessly, so final—made me pause.

Still, arguing with Lilia never got anyone anywhere.

“So we’re just… stuck in this hotel for the night?”

Lilia glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. “Disappointed?”

I scoffed. “I just wasn’t expecting to waste a whole day.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Then let’s not waste it.”

I arched a brow. “And what do you suggest?”

She tapped a single finger against the deck. “Let me read for you.”

I hesitated.

I had seen her do this countless times for strangers, peeling back their questions and uncertainties like layers of fabric, exposing whatever lay underneath.

But this was different.

This was me.

Lilia must have sensed my hesitation, because her smirk softened into something quieter. “It doesn’t have to be serious,” she said. “Just a little fun.”

Somehow, I doubted that.

But still, I reached forward, running my fingertips lightly over the fanned-out cards before finally choosing one.

Lilia turned it over.

Her smirk faded.

For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the card as if she were seeing something she didn’t quite expect.

I glanced down.

The Lovers.

My pulse stuttered.

I wasn’t an expert in tarot, but I knew enough.

The Lovers wasn’t just about romance. It was about choices. About the pull between two forces, about the inevitability of something—or someone—that couldn’t be ignored.

Lilia was quiet, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the card. When she finally spoke, her voice was smoother than usual, controlled. “Interesting.”

I swallowed. “What does it mean?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me. “That depends.”

“On what?”

A pause. Then, her lips curved into something unreadable. “Who it’s about.”

Something flickered in her gaze then—something guarded.

And suddenly, I realized what she was thinking.

She thought this was about someone else.

I watched the subtle shift in her posture, the way she held herself just a fraction tighter, her usual ease sharpening into something quieter, more restrained.

I almost laughed.

Of course she didn’t realize. Of course she thought I was in love with someone else. She probably assumed it was Amy—assumed that seeing my ex had stirred something in me.

The idea of it made my skin itch.

I opened my mouth to correct her—to tell her that she was the only person who had been on my mind for weeks—but something stopped me.

Because what would she do if she knew?

Lilia never let people close. She was all mystery, all sharp wit and teasing smirks, always dancing just at the edge of something but never stepping over the line. If I said it outright—if I gave her the answer she wasn’t asking for—what would she do?

I exhaled, forcing a small shrug. “I don’t know.”

Lilia arched a brow. “You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “I guess I’ll have to think about it.”

For the briefest second, something flickered across her face.

Disappointment?

Frustration?

It was gone before I could be sure.

She gave a small, knowing hum, setting the card down between us. “Well,” she murmured, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, she leaned back against the pillows, as if the conversation was already over.

But I saw the way her fingers lingered against the fabric of the bedspread. I saw the way she avoided my gaze, how she reached for the deck again but didn’t shuffle it, as if her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

As if she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.

Outside, the storm finally broke, raindrops tapping softly against the window.

Neither of us moved.

And neither of us said what we were really thinking.

———————————————————————

Heh, I have come up with a plan. It’s going to involve jealousy. I’m plotting.

Anywho. Just wait guys!

#lilia calderu #fanfic #agatha all along #lilia calderu x reader #patti lupone #Patti lupone step on me #jealousy

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thebibutterflyao3 · 3 months ago

Text

"Traditional"

@pandalilymicrofics - 727 words

Series Beginning

part fourteen - part fifteen - part sixteen

Lily wrapped her arms around Dora and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. This was the hardest part of her recovery, forcing her mind to slow down and acknowledge the present. For so long, she only looked ahead to anticipate disasters before they came, to prepare for the worst. Living in the moment required intent and effort, but was usually worth it. How else would she hold onto the image of Dora curled up against her like a bunny in a burrow, safe and warm?

I miss this far more than anything else. Cuddling in the afterglow is disturbingly underrated.

“I can hear you thinking. Give it a rest, Lily.”

Amused by the mild reprimand, Lily peered down at her with her best professional smile and said, “I’m trying to decide when it’s appropriate to ask for feedback. In the interest of improvement, would you say you were satisfied? On a traditional scale of 1-10? Or do you have constructive criticism to offer?”

Dora huffed out a weak laugh, her warm breath tickling Lily’s collarbone. “Oh, not you too. First Dorcas, now this. Would you like me to leave a Google review?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Lily teased, giggling as she pretended to search the bed behind her. “I’m sure I have a QR code for you to scan somewhere.”

“Big tits and jokes, lucky me,” Dora said, grinning wryly. She grabbed Lily’s arm and insisted on being cuddled properly. “Just hold me for a while, you twit.”

There was an unspoken plea in Dora’s voice that sounded a lot like let me pretend that I can have this. Unsure if that was a good sign or not, Lily acquiesced. If that meant another round in the morning or a proper date in the future, she would happily agree. If it was any deeper than that, Lily doubted it had anything to do with her personally. As much as she prided herself on being able to read people — thank you, trauma — she hadn’t seen any sign of Dora’s interest in her until the drinks started flowing. Which was fine, honestly.

Lily didn’t know how much of herself she had left to give, anyway. Her ex-husbands had depleted her youth, and the few dates she’d managed to set-up since her latest divorce were little more than glorified hook-ups. Is it too late to start over at 39? To find “the one?” It was an ongoing thought that flitted in and out of her mind when someone new and interesting struck her fancy. Regardless if she pursued the person or not, the query presented itself for consideration.

Annoyed by her mind's meandering, Lily dismissed all of it outright. If she expected to find happiness, she couldn’t let her past define her future. She didn’t put in the time and energy to pursue therapy just to allow insecurities to take control all over again. If she found the right person, who loved her just as she was, brilliant! If not, Lily was prepared to make her own happiness.

“You’re staring,” Dora mumbled sleepily.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Lily admitted. She brushed her thumb over Dora’s cheek and smiled. “It still feels like my dreams.”

“Alcohol will do that.”

Dismissing the cranky reply, Lily whispered, “Stay the night, will you? I’ll worry if you leave here half-tipsy in an unfamiliar area.”

Dora grumbled something incoherent, then sighed. “Yeah, alright.”

Satisfied, Lily settled into a comfortable position and closed her eyes. She could hardly blame the woman for wanting to sleep, after all. They’d had their fair share – probably more than their share – of drinks tonight. If Dora didn’t want to talk, she would take a hint and shut up. At least, for now.

The longer she laid there, the more determined Lily was to see where this could go. This wasn't a misguided attempt to date via an app and Dora wasn't exactly a stranger, more like a friend of a friend. Dorcas may as well have set them up, in a matter of speaking.

In the morning, when the haze of a night out was gone, everything would be clearer for both of them. Lily decided right then and there that when she woke up, she’d bring Dora a coffee and ask for a date. No ambiguity, no games. She’d know one way or another if she had a shot right up front.

I think this, whatever this is, could be more. How often do dreams come to life?

#pandalily #pandalily microfic #pandolily #pandora lovegood x lily evans #lily x pandora #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #lily evans #pandalily microfics

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revserrayyu · 3 days ago

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3.3 Amphoreus thoughts [part 3]

***Spoiler warning*** for everything after the huge lie until the very end of this patch’s story. Do look away if you haven’t finish it yet. There’s not much else to say expect this sad, crazy train just keeps on going at full speed.

You know what? I wish for it too. I’d love to see March and Hyacine interact. I have no doubt that our girl would absolutely love little Ica too and take hundreds of photos after hugging the poor thing to death. But also, aw, Dan Heng talking about March. Poor guy probably misses her tons.

Hyacine truly is so strong, emotionally. From healing Krateros despite him killing her family, to declaring Aglaea’s death and this whole journey with her up in the sky. She’s got a heart of gold. Thankfully we still have her at the end of all this too.. just really far away from us.

Speaking of distant people, our king has returned at just the right moment. Castorice made an effort too. Not physically, but like, with her otherworldly shadows holding Flame Reaver in place. Hey, every little bit helps against this monster.

For fuck sakes, stop opening century gates! Y’all are running dangerous low on power enough already! Let’s not make it any worse!

It better not be goodbye forever you absolutely perfect and handsome as hell man. It hurts losing our Amphoreus buddies but we’ve only known them for a short while. We’ve been on this journey together since the very start so you bet I’ll sob uncontrollably if anything terrible happens to you!

Gosh, I truly hope. Separate timeline, stuck in an endless cycle, or whatever kind of wild time travel theory they have cooking. One of them better be right so we can revive everyone we lost, along with those Chrysos Heirs we have yet to actually meet!

Bro the way he transformed so darn quick.. it literally took a second and here he is in all his glory. Of course I was hoping for a big, dramatic cutscene of him doing so, but I’ll take whatever DHIL scenes we can get. It’s been far too long since we saw him get serious and no, I’m not counting that false dream in Penacony.

So sweet of him and a true Trailblazer ‘til the end, but for real, let’s do all of that without the sacrificing yourself part, yeah? I think we would all appreciate that greatly.

Our fourth wall break responses never fail to make the tense situation feel a bit lighter. Even though Aquila is no longer a threat in the sky, I have a hard time believing we’ll be able to leave this planet so easily. Or any time soon for that matter. We gotta stick around here until 3.7.

Belobog and Penacony mention! Strange how the Xianzhou wasn’t brought up, but if it’s Dan Heng telling the stories, then I’m sure he’s got some memories he doesn’t wanna relive. Either that, or the whole story revolving around that place is nowhere close to being done. I’m sure we’ll keep finding reasons to return there, either on the Luofu or perhaps the other ships for a change. Yes I’m side-eyeing the Yaoqing hard. So what?

Another round of applause for our favorite trickster please! For carrying out the world’s greatest lie and for passing her trail with the same cunning wits as always. Both such hard truths to believe, so it’s completely valid that Phainon is rendered speechless.

No need to say such depressing facts out loud. I’m positive I’m not gonna get over it anytime soon.

Congrats on being this world’s protagonist, Phainon. Isn’t it great to be in the spotlight all the time? To witness all the heartbreak? We know the feeling all too well.

Well.. I’m certain that’s the one spot that Mydei told Phainon about being his weakness, so, that’s grand. Flame Reaver’s true identity couldn’t be any clearer by now, though I’m insanely interested to see how they ended up this way.

First Anaxa, now Cipher. Both dropping dead before their banners are even released. Tragic indeed. If anything, I feel even more tempted to pull for her now after completing the story and testing her out in my Feixiao team during the new event with Giovanni was nice too.

Just once.. I wanna see DHIL in action for more than a couple seconds. I know I just said I’m happy to take whatever scenes we can get of him, but I’d love it if we get more than what’s shown in the version trailers at least! We were teased back in Penacony, and now here. Sigh.. hopefully next patch we’ll finally get some epic moments of our man, as long as he stays alive.

I guess this means we lost Tribbie too, hm? I know it was Trinnon that was chatting with Phainon earlier about the gates and their power, but Tribbie took over Trianne’s job after they had passed, if I’m remembering correctly. The doll makes it clear but Tribbie also opened up the last gate for us to escape into too.

Ma’am, why do you always appear at the end of every patch? Yeah it’ll be jarring to cut to a scene with Herta in the middle of anything else, but it feels like it’s becoming a habit. Is “saving the best for last” a phrase you like to apply to yourself?

Please tell us more! Trapped where? And how?? As Mem? Cyrene? Someone else we dunno yet? And.. how exactly did Black Swan tell Herta? Did she visit the Express? Or vice versa? So many questions, so little time with our progress bar at 95% apparently.

Yup, never trusted you before and sure as heck ain’t gonna trust you now. Standing by and watching all this chaos unfold just so he could take control when things become the most fragile is a new kind of low. No power or respect there at all.

Um, sir.. your name? May I ask what exactly happened to it? It’s almost as ominous as our favorite emanator’s red text. Also, giving big props to Joshua for all his moments this patch. Phainon went on a seriously emotional rollercoaster and he conveyed each scene perfectly.

As much as I wanted to learn more about her, I’m not a fan that she showed up like this, right here, right now. Getting the obvious question out of the way first, which is.. isn’t she supposed to be dead? And wasn’t Cyrene killed by Flame Reaver? Or at least by a similar looking weapon? And if the secret identity of Flame Reaver is who we think it is and that person is literally here then how on earth is any of this happening if Phainon already has trauma of losing her once already? What kind of wacky timeline are we in right now?? Perhaps I’m thinking too much into it. Maybe she’s not even real and this is his imagination or a memory. I don’t know. But I’m worried. Extremely.

Walking around the place after everything is said and done didn’t make the pain disappear. It made all the emotions come rushing back.

So there we go. All of 3.3. I do remember that we also got messages from Pom-Pom, Welt & Himeko too, but none of our replies managed to send, so at least communication with the outside is getting a little better that we can see what they’re up to at least? Sorta? Anyways, this has probably been my favorite Amphoreus story patch so far. Crazy to think we’ve reached the halfway point already, but I’m very much looking forward to see how this “heartwarming” story fixes this broken world.

#honkai star rail #hyacine #mydei #tribbie #dan heng #imbibitor lunae #phainon #cipher #the herta #cyrene #gameplay #revs rambles

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britcision · 1 year ago

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AND NOW: Part Two! One might think I would look at the fic at some point and check what chapter we’re on, but I will not! Mostly for “but that takes effort” reasons but also because by the time I get back here I WILL have forgotten!

Part One of this chapter:

First Chapter:

———————

Well You Did Get Down On One Knee (part 2)

Tucker, Conner, and Tim had actually gotten through another round of Spiderheck in between the rabid buzzing of Tim and Tucker’s phones.

Conner had the good sense to mute his and toss it behind the couch… after sharing the “good news” of Timblr with the Young Justice chat. Without which his phone probably wouldn’t have been buzzing at all.

He regretted nothing, despite Tim’s alternate pouting and threats. Tucker was pretty impressed, and pretty sure that it wasn’t just for the guy’s good looks this time.

Finally, after the fourth time Tim’s ringtone changed itself and blasted at full volume (making Tucker completely drop his controller), the Black tech gave up, sighing heartily and dropping his head into his hands.

Not least to hide the sudden wicked grin on his face as an idea struck. Because yeah, sure, he could help Tim try and unhack fucking Oracle on the sly, or… they could remove the distraction another way.

(Tucker wasn’t a thousand percent ungrateful for the distraction; he was pretty sure even without the merry buzzing of his social life burning down around him he’d have had a hard time concentrating on the game.

It just plain wasn’t fair; Conner was too fucking hot, and so earnest, and excited when he was doing well! All the little shouts and exclamations, the broad grins, Tucker was really beginning to doubt his own demisexual nature.

Although, to be fair, it wasn’t like he actually wanted to… interact while Conner was being cuter than Cujo with a rubber bone. Just. It was hard to think about anything else when he could be appreciating all… that instead.

At least while Tim’s ass was being blown off by at least three separate group chats, Tucker’s floundering was less embarrassing.)

Tim gave him a consoling pat on the back while Conner whooped in victory, probably trying to comfort Tucker in the loss. Tucker let him for a moment, running a couple quick calculations in his head.

Because yeah, he’d never got around to asking Danny to ecto infuse any of the Waynes’ tech; not the batcomputer nor the gaming consoles, but. Well. They’d played for hours the last two nights, and it wasn’t like Tucker had never gotten his hands through a console’s innards.

It had to count as knowing the device, right?

And it wasn’t like it was that hard, doing it for just three people. For just one game.

Looking up at the other two, he gave them both a slightly shyer grin.

“So, like… I know we’re having a good time and all,” he began, and Tim groaned theatrically as he was interrupted yet again by his ringtone.

“I’m about to ask Superboy to toss this thing into space,” he grumbled, glowering at his phone.

Conner reached innocently towards it and Tim snatched it back up immediately. Tucker settled back once it was safe too, grinning sheepishly even if it wasn’t his bluff Conner called.

Conner tipped him a wink and Tucker had to clear his throat and give his head a quick shake to clear his blush.

“Right… yeah, uh, anyway. What if I had a better way to get us away from distractions?” He asked as innocently as he could, staring at the screen instead of that far too attractive face.

He could still see the other two sit up from the corner of his eye, both looking interested.

“We’re not allowed to game in the Bat Cave,” Tim said quickly, with a resigned air that said the question had come up before… and enough disappointment that they’d probably done it and been caught.

Which, yeah, thinking of the size of the screen in the cave, Tucker suddenly really wanted to try that too.

Already banned though. And he and Danny were already on thin enough ice with Batman as it was.

Reluctantly dismissing the thought, he returned his attention to the present moment, grin spreading as he turned to face Tim directly.

(Tim was safe. Tim was, objectively, a very handsome young man and Tucker could appreciate that in a distant way, but being pretty was just so much less interesting that almost anything else about Tim.

Tucker could worship him through a distant computer screen, so the pretty blue eyes weren’t much of a distraction. Looking at Tim face to face was really cool, but Tucker would be more tongue tied watching him code.)

“Sure, but you remember I told you about my technopathy? I can interface with machines I know really well,” he added for Conner’s benefit, accidentally looking over in time to preen as his face lit up with interest.

Tim, for some reason, stifled a snicker.

“Yeah, you mentioned. And that it was a little more complicated, but go on,” he prodded, and Conner shot him a look that Tucker was gonna have to ask questions about.

Later. Once he was done showing off a little. And, probably, getting his ass kicked at Spiderheck.

Tucker Foley was a master of video game controls, sure, and that sorta helped, as did “knowing you’ve been thrust into a video game”. He just didn’t delude himself into thinking it’d be enough to counter the actual literal battle training of superheroes.

But hey, maybe having all those extra legs would fuck them both up for long enough that he’d win a few rounds.

“Well I think you might’ve already noticed, but I know this game really well.”

Danny was doing his best to keep a cheerful face on things, especially the weird shit.

It had been a while since he’d had a nasty new halfa surprise of his own crop up (although he didn’t dare hope he’d had his last; that would surely bring something on), but he still remembered how it felt.

How overwhelming, how hollow and intimidating the world could be when you were learning that you really knew almost nothing about yourself. That at any time, your body could do something totally out of your control.

Something you might not be able to handle.

He’d felt the fear in Jason, deep and bright and smothered a second later, but not before Danny felt it.

At least he could be here for the other guy; he wasn’t going to be going into the whole mess alone. Danny would make sure of that. Understandable as his reservations about reliving his death were, they would face it together, and he had to hope that might help.

Possibly with Jazz too, when it was actually time for that first transformation. Danny hadn’t even really started coping with dying when he’d first changed, and he’d been dead less than a minute; it had almost been part of the rebirth process. By the time he’d had to do it for a fight, he already knew what would happen.

For Jason… well, it had been a while, and even Danny could see he’d not done much more than paper over the cracks with bad ecto induced rage and carry on.

He was trying not to let Jason see how much he worried, but had a feeling it didn’t matter. Jason was plenty worried already.

Good news was… well, there wasn’t much good news. It was going to suck, no matter what, and if they didn’t do it in controlled conditions it’d be fucking awful.

But they did have some controlled conditions, and better yet? Probably wouldn’t be a problem for at least a couple more days.

As little as Danny wanted to talk about the whole… mess that was Jason’s death, Jason himself was all about the detailed planning. Back ups of back ups and all that.

It probably came with the Batman training.

(The mad compartmentalising totally did. Danny had spent enough time with Bruce in one single car ride to be sure about that.)

For the moment, he gave Jason as much support he could; contact, a reassuring aura, and a smile whenever he could, and absolutely no oogling of his mostly naked body while they were doing the checkup.

(Jason had mentioned a pit-related growth spurt last time, and this close Danny could see that the scars all over him were interspersed with stretch marks. Now that he actually looked the difference was super obvious; the different colour, the creasing where they indented the skin.

Danny definitely wasn’t thinking of licking them to see if he could feel the texture.

Or running his fingers over bared skin, which was admittedly less intimate than the licking thoughts he totally wasn’t having, but also seemed kinda more a betrayal. Because Jason wouldn’t question Danny touching him, but Danny would have Nefarious Motives.

Of. Textures.

But it was totally fine because he wasn’t having any of those thoughts at all.)

He just wished he knew what had caused that sudden panic attack Jason had earlier; it had come almost from nowhere, a wave of black and crushing dread that froze Danny’s already-iced core. It filled the room, filled his lungs, and would have cost him everything to not respond.

Part of him had wanted to shove Jason fully inside himself, store the much larger man in the hollow of his chest so that nothing could hurt him.

(And Danny could, technically, kinda do that. Jason didn’t have to be that much bigger than him, at least while Danny was in ghost form. Ghost form was all about self perception and, well, raw power.

Looking like his twink ass self was a deliberate choice, and one he’d never regretted until it meant not curling Jason into the infinite curls of his tail and protecting himself from the universe as a whole.)

Danny was super great at boundaries. Yup. One thousand percent completely normal about them.

But he’d been able to wrap his aura around Jason anyway, because that wasn’t a freakishly massive monster form that would freak him out further. They’d helped him calm down, helped him breathe, and Jason seemed…

Way too fine, frankly, even his aura had cleared, and Danny trusted that about as far as Sam could throw him. Bat-level compartmentalizing, for sure.

That was gonna get real weird when the more emotionally regulated ghost powers kicked in, but Danny was gonna cross his fingers and hope that it made Jason’s transition easier, not infinitely more fucked up. Jazz would be intolerable, for one thing.

Most of the rest of the appointment went well anyway; bar the surprise “Congratulations On Your Soul Bond” news (which he would not be thinking about too hard until he couldn’t possibly avoid it), it was pretty much what they’d expected.

Jason was doing good, Danny was gonna need to work around classes tomorrow maybe for another trip, and there was just the teeniest chance Jason’s fully formed core would manifest like, physically.

Shockwaves had been mentioned. Danny now had questions about how much of his original death light show had been the portal itself opening. Ones that could never be answered, but hey.

If/when Clockwork showed up, Danny was gonna prioritise Jason’s soul contract over his own curiosity for purely friend related reasons.

Danny didn’t like soul contracts of any sort at the best of times, unwritten ones that put a friend into his service? Yeah, maybe he was feeling just a little vindicated that Jason could see what he’d been freaking out about now.

Now that it was too late, but Danny was technically the Ghost King and Clockwork’s boss, so even if he couldn’t fix the whole mess until his coronation, it wasn’t gonna be a problem-problem.

If Clockwork tried to use the contract to push Danny into accepting his coronation more quickly, well, Danny had a real good win streak of fighting ancients in his pocket. And he’d double never get coronated if they spent the rest of eternity playing cat and mouse for Danny to beat Clockwork’s ass, so.

Not that Danny believed Clockwork would, really. The Observants? Abso-fucking-lutely, he’d be swinging before they finished a sentence, but Clockwork genuinely seemed to care.

He pruned the timelines with the ruthless efficiency of a gardener, but always to make the best outcome. The one where the least people got fucked over.

He’d absolutely fuck Danny over in the service of getting that best outcome, but Danny was also pretty sure he’d feel bad about it if he did, and that Clockwork would and had chosen to believe in him over his predicted outcomes more than once.

Danny trusted Clockwork.

Of course, now that he wasn’t trying to hide and actually wanted to see his mentor and regent, the bastard was nowhere to be found.

All jokes about the “Ever-Moving Now” aside, they weren’t directly making for Clockwork’s tower; the only way to find it was with Clockwork’s permission, so Danny didn’t usually bother. As a kid they’d thought they could stumble across it and surprise him, but these days?

Danny knew better. And Clockwork wasn’t exactly subtle; his lair had showed up around the very first metaphorical corner when he wanted Danny to come in once too often. And hadn’t been anywhere to be found when Danny searched, only to show up beside his fucking portal home.

Where it definitely hadn’t been on his way in.

It went where Clockwork wanted it, when he wanted it there. Danny totally wasn’t jealous.

It had been a while since he’d bothered hiding from Danny though; these past couple months, just being in the Zone had netted him an unwanted visit from his regent. Danny was beginning to suspect Clockwork wasn’t actually all that keen on ruling the realms, and was just planning to fob the job off on him.

Which, y’know, fair. Danny wasn’t exactly thrilled with it either. But it was his job as Danny’s mentor to protect him from this shit, right?

Now that Danny actually wanted to see him though, of course he wasn’t around. Which probably wasn’t actually a bad sign, or that he’d done something he didn’t want them to know about.

Clockwork was just a cryptic asshole, and apparently Jason had used up all of his “getting clear answers” cards in their first meeting. If only Danny had ever gotten a single damn one.

There was one other detour Danny wanted to make while in the Realms, but… today didn’t feel like quite the right time. Jason had already had a fucking day of it, and Danny didn’t wanna dump any more on him. Even if Ghost Writer’s library would be a nice trip for Jason, it was something they should talk about first.

And… probably ask Ghost Writer about first too.

If Danny ever remembered to do that.

So they’d thanked Frostbite, gotten Jason a bag of ecto ice chips (Danny wasn’t allowed any, it was totally unfair because he needed an energy boost too! But noooo, his core was “stabilised” and “complete” and he needed to “sleep” and “eat” for energy like a pleb. Unfair!), and agreed to come back as soon as Jason’s core stabilised.

Danny figured he could always come back on his own for a visit to Nocturn. That was gonna be a whole ass emotional mess; Dan was technically in the database Tucker had handed over, but Jason hadn’t mentioned it yet. Danny didn’t know if that meant he didn’t know, or was just being actually tactful.

He wasn’t even sure what he actually wanted to say yet, how to ask for what he wanted, and he should probably do this right. Nocturn hadn’t challenged him again since he’d become king, and had actually been super helpful so far, but… well, the spirit of dreams was proud, powerful, and Danny was pretty sure he helped specifically to have something on Danny. He’d already decided that his main job tonight was to help Jason relax, feel better, and work out if he needed to sicc the Sam-Tucker combo on Bruce Wayne’s social media.

…

Who was he kidding. Of course they’d be setting Sam and Tucker on the guy, as soon as Jason gave the green light.

Jason had never exactly gotten all the way through the explicit details of how Bruce had fucked up this afternoon, beyond just siccing Constantine on Jason, but honestly?

He didn’t have to. Jason had been almost tangibly frustrated from the minute he rolled up to Danny’s dorms, though he was gonna shoot Tucker a thank you for his little “revenge”, since it had cheered the guy up right away.

Danny was totally not considering a little spectral revenge for himself too. Mostly because Batman would probably know all about ghosts by now, and probably had Constantine doing his spectral condom act all over the cave.

But it wasn’t like Bruce liked Danny anyway, so really, what did he have to lose? Not like Jason hadn’t already shown whose side he came out on on this one.

Danny didn’t exactly know what having over protective parents was like, but Jason could not be more clear that he didn’t appreciate Bruce’s interference. There was clearly a lot going on with those two, and while they’d already talked about Jason’s death and technically he had permission…

Well, Danny didn’t wanna push. Ask literally any ghost, dying could leave you with a whole stack of issues. Jason wasn’t even close to the most homicidal Danny had met.

That poisonous rage, though… Danny pushed it from his mind. It didn’t matter, wouldn’t matter, Frostbite said Jason was doing well and Pitty would be out of him soon.

…

Maybe, just maybe Danny was also starting to worry what that might mean, since it sent Jason into a full panic attack and he’d seen what the rage was like when fully under control.

Maybe they’d bump up the schedule on taking care of those Lazarus pits. Get that Obsession dealt with, see if it calmed things down.

Yet another thing Danny would have to talk to Clockwork about, and was his irritatingly omnipresent mentor anywhere to be found? Of course not.

Which probably meant this wasn’t a timeline threatening problem. Yet.

What a comfort.

Which left them flying home through the Zone, and Danny totally wasn’t overthinking literally everything. He was being considerate, quiet, giving Jason time to process everything they’d seen that day.

Maybe himself too. Just a little. But it wasn’t like Jason was hurrying to start a conversation, and they both had a lot on their minds. It was a good, comfortable silence.

They had nearly reached his preferred portal spot too, so today’s quick trip to the Ghost Zone was nearly over, unless Danny actually wanted to go Clockwork-hunting… which, while probably less emotionally fraught, wasn’t likely to go great.

(Realms geography could be more than just hinky; they were infinite after all, so he tended to open portals back out in the same place he’d previously opened a portal from the living world in. It seemed to help, and he didn’t usually wind up in the wrong dimension that way.

Especially if there was a nearby, powerful anchor.

Going searching up and down the whole ass Zone for the Ever Moving Now? Yeah, that’d fuck his portal plans right up.)

Danny could feel a steady building trepidation rising in Jason like the tide, but he had no idea what the hell to do about it. Back there in the world were Bruce and Constantine, and all the problems that kept Jason balanced precariously on a knife edge.

Here in the Realms, all the problems were new and interesting and could almost all be solved by punching, which really suited both of them. Danny would have been tempted to suggest that sidebar to see Ghost Writer, but it was late, he had school in the morning, and his super handy time manipulating mentor was being a dick and wasn’t here.

A couple years ago, he’d have said fuck it and gone on the sidebar anyway, and probably not slept all night to help his friend. And had Jazz harping in his ear about “developing bodies”, “needing his sleep”, and “this is why you haven’t had a growth spurt since you were fourteen”.

Which totally wasn’t a valid argument or at all what had made him start taking care of himself. He just… well, he just actually really fucking liked his classes these days.

Against all the odds, Danny Fenton had gotten into a prestigious college, into an engineering program that actually let him stretch his talents. And take apart old or broken lab equipment from the other buildings for fun and profit.

And if he hadn’t slept the night before, they didn’t let him use the welding torch. Danny was pretty sure Clockwork might be behind that, since they somehow always knew.

Maybe that was how Nocturn was already betraying him… conspiring with Clockwork to make Danny sleep more and absorb his power?

Danny considered that seriously for about half a second before discarding it. Sure, Nocturn was the King of Sleep and an ancient, but he was also a canny motherfucker and not likely to mess up badly enough to accidentally become King of the Infinite Realms too.

For all that he wanted power, fucking no one wanted to deal with the Observants. Danny had practically begged.

It wasn’t like they had to go back to Gotham and then immediately straight to bed though. Just, y’know, something that wouldn’t take hours and hours. There had to be something they could do in the city that wouldn’t keep them up all night, but would keep Bruce Wayne off their asses.

Unless Jason had shit to do. Danny… kinda hadn’t asked. The only plans he’d known about for the day was busting out Waylon, and then the potential trip to Frostbite.

Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to go so late? Maybe Danny should ask?

Maybe Jason was getting sick of him.

Maybe Jason was getting a little too good at reading auras, since that thought barely settled in before he broke the silence.

“What the fuck?”

And alright, that might also have been a coincidence Danny decided, brows furrowing as he looked for what had caught Jason’s attention.

It all looked normal up ahead to him. Bright green zone, a couple purple islands (was that the ghost of a Bat Burger? Maybe they should check this place out more), the haze of black smog that always surrounded…

Ah.

Yeah, they hadn’t really had that conversation yet, though Danny had meant to bring it up on the way home. Riiiight up until all that overthinking started.

Guess that made this introduction time. Sort of put a stop to wondering how to cheer Jason up… although depending on how Jason felt, it might just be a distraction.

Danny pulled to a stop, Jason coming in close before stopping alongside him, just in front like he might need to protect Danny from something.

Or like he overshot the stopping. Could be either, really. But Danny had a feeling it was at least a combo. He and Jason were just too alike, but it looked almost automatic. Vigilante training, and Danny’d bust his ass later about treating him like a civilian.

Jason was the civilian here, and his citizen.

He cleared his throat, wondering how exactly to go about this, since ghosts didn’t have an introduction protocol that wasn’t “throw down”. And spent about half a second wondering if that was actually on the table before deciding against it.

Sure, most ghost introductions involved a friendly punch up, but Lady Gotham had always been a little different. And this wasn’t exactly your standard “new ghost who dis”.

“Right, yeah… we didn’t see her last time we were in the Zone. Jason, this is-”

“You think my own boy wouldn’t know me, Phantom?”

The voice came from all around them, low and dark and smokey sweet like molten chocolate with just a hint of whiskey. Jason stiffened and glared around harder, conscious caution battling with the sudden wave of relief from his core.

She spun herself from the smog of the city, like she always had. A tall, curvaceous woman built to Jack Fenton proportions, easily seven feet tall with dark mahogany skin and pitch black lipstick, perfect black hair coiled tight into an afro about her head. Smoky black makeup lined her eyes and caressed high, generous cheekbones in a line of clouds.

Long black gloves covered her hands and arms, one of which was held across her body, hand cupping the elbow of her other arm while the other held what probably was a full sized orange traffic cone like it was a cigarette holder. It looked wrong clasped in her hand, scale thrown off by her size. A thin plume of white smoke even spiralled from the wider end.

She wore a short flapper dress covered in layers of tassels, each of which flashed with beads of jet all along the length except for the last bead on a scattering of the strands, which were large, blood flecked pearls. Below the end of the skirt, her legs were lost in the spills of black smog surrounding her, though occasionally more flashes of pearl could be seen shifting through the murk.

It was her eyes that captured all of the attention though as she caught and held Jason’s gaze, a sly smile on those black lips. They glowed yellow from lid to lid, each pupil shaped like a bat.

The fight dropped out of Jason instantly, jaw dropping.

And yeah, maybe Danny should have expected that he’d… sort of recognize her? Jason was a Gothamite to the core, had been one of her true defenders since pixie boots were in style… right up until his own death.

And if Danny read that twitch right, it was costing him an effort not to automatically drop to one knee. So apparently that was just wired into him, and not just a Clockwork-thing. Good to know.

Her smile spread, showing sharp white teeth dripping with tar.

“My son,” she purred, her voice filling the air around them and sending almost visible ripples through the ectoplasm of the realms, “it is so good to finally meet you in person.”

In front of Danny, Jason tensed again. Whatever he’d recognized didn’t quite cut through bat-paranoia, apparently.

“Danny, who is this?” He asked cautiously, his voice low and not taking his eyes off the twin bat signals pointed at him.

Lady Gotham sighed heavily, taking a deep pull on her traffic cone and blowing out a billowing plume of smog. She gestured to Danny, who nodded quickly.

Totally not gonna “I told you so” the city spirit for the city he was living in. King or not, he had some manners.

“Jason, Lady Gotham. She’s…” he hesitated, not sure how exactly to phrase it.

Had they talked about city spirits? It felt like they had? But it had been so little time, he wasn’t sure.

Lady Gotham stepped back in smoothly, shooting Jason a laconic smile and spreading her arms.

“I am exactly what it sounds like. The beating heart of the city, born from the well of souls and desperate hopes of those who call it home. Every shadow in the alley, every gargoyle you shelter under, every parapet that caught your grapple and let you fly…”

Jason had stopped breathing, which was alright as long as they were in the Zone but might not be later, his eyes tracking desperately over the ghost before them. Her smile softened, becoming fond, tender, her free hand now reaching out towards him.

“… and you have been mine since the day you were born, Jason Todd.”

Jason was…

Jason was. He didn’t know what he was.

He hadn’t realised just how much noise his heart made thumping until the first time it stopped. Until he’d slammed back to life, heard its drumbeat thudding in his head, every second of every day.

This felt a little like that.

Like a sound he’d been hearing all of his life had gone quiet, and then come roaring back in full swing. It was too much, and not enough, and everything he’d missed in Nanda Parbat and around the world when he’d been training, left with only the thudding of his heart.

The sounds of Gotham. Normal city noises, most of them; the honks and occasional screeches of cars, the buzz of people. And then the screams, gunshots, mad cackling laughter that most cities usually only saw in designated areas.

And underneath it all, a low, throbbing pulse, a hum in the back of his head that meant he was home. That told him where he was, every street corner or shady alleyway.

He could navigate the city blindfolded, knew every gargoyle, every running gutter and rusty grate, listening to that beat. That beat that told him it was his place, the one thing that nothing and no one could ever take away from him, not even all the bullshit with the League of Assassins.

He hadn’t really noticed it going quiet in the Ghost Zone before. Which, y’know, they’d been busy. He’d had a lot on his mind, and… well, it happened any time he left the city.

Going away with the Outsiders, it didn’t matter if they crossed the bay to Metropolis or went to space, Jason knew when he wasn’t in Gotham. Knew when he woke up in a hospital bed whether or not he was home just from that beat.

He’d started thinking it might be the city’s ectoplasm, since Danny was so sure that was why he’d risen before. Might have explained why the Zone was a little different; it was all ectoplasm.

And then he’d looked at this woman made of smog and shadows and smoking a fucking traffic cone, and the beat almost brought him to his knees.

How could he not know her? They danced every night, her hand in his, guiding his guns, his grapple, cupped gently around the back of his neck and showing him where to look. Hiding him from Oracle’s cameras, pointing him at those who attacked the weak like he was the gun himself.

Familiar as his own shadow. Constant as gravity.

And it was that familiarity that pulled at every ounce of Bat training, that unconscious recognition and trust that forced him to doubt.

Hypnotists were the fucking worst. Magic users were all annoying, but Jason would tangle with any of the rest before dealing with a hypnotist. They were worse than Condiment King and Kite Man combined into some ketchup splattered hell kite.

And the more something deeper than the Pit whispered that this wasn’t hypnotism, wasn’t an outside influence, was just the deepest part of himself recognising the deepest part of his home, the harder he fought that feeling.

Until her hand reached for his, and she said his name, and his hand was in hers before he could stop himself.

Contact was… it was a lot.

A barrage of sounds, smells, the backs of every alley flashing through his mind as he was bombarded with memories. Memories? Or was that what was happening now?

Flashes of rooftops, bodies tensed in the shadows, goons working below in blissful ignorance that was about to be shattered. Breaking windows, sprays of bullets or gas or worse, moving and punching and taking down without killing.

He caught sight of Cass for a brief moment, her shape outlined in glowing shadows that definitely weren’t visible to the men running past her hiding place. But of course they weren’t; that was the point.

Cass was the perfect shadow anywhere on Earth, her stealth unparalleled by anything but actual magic, but in Gotham? In Gotham the darkness wrapped her in loving arms, held her close, made sure she was never found.

His baby sister, Gotham’s child even if she’d never been to the city until she was nearly an adult.

More flashes, Dick flying across an alley in Bludhaven (thankfully in his current suit, not the Discowing, which might mean this was the present? Or just that Jason had been seeing him so much more lately that there were just more memories of him like this?), and that made Jason pause.

Bludhaven wasn’t Gotham. That was literally the point. That was why Dick lived there.

And he heard her low chuckle, smoky and soft in his ear.

*Just across the bay, my dear? No, he would have to go so much farther to be free of me, to stop being mine.*

The voice was warm and fond, soft like crushed velvet and so full of affection and pride it tugged at something in Jason’s core.

Something from the little boy who’d watched Robin fly through the air and could barely believe he’d touched the same dream.

Lady Gotham hadn’t moved, her hand still in his in the exact same position, and while he couldn’t see her past the images to know if she’d spoken with mouth or mind he had a feeling he knew. She was in his head, in his heart, and he’d not spoken aloud.

Before Jason would work out how to reply, if he even wanted to reply, his attention was caught by something else in the cascade of images.

A dark spot, not in every scene (at least not that he noticed), but often enough. Something that looked like a shadow, but just a fraction deeper than the rest, a fraction darker, that moved when all the shadows around it were still.

Now that he looked for it he could see it everywhere, the sight of it sending a shiver up his spine that made his hair stand on end. It wasn’t fear; Jason was well acquainted with fear, as little as it bothered him.

This was… tension, anticipation, recognition, the same thing he’d felt when there hadn’t been an Outsiders mission in a while and Roy had decided to hunt him for sport. Something, someone so familiar, with such a strong place in his life, someone he knew was damn capable, setting their sights on him.

(It was always play when Roy did it, a game to keep them both on their toes and get a different kind of training in. Jason didn’t know if Roy ever hunted the others; asking felt like cheating somehow.)

And then suddenly the shadow turned in a different way, its attention locking on to Jason in return and adrenaline shot through him like a bolt of lighting.

It had to be live. Or the shadow knew when someone saw its image. But it had looked back, raising the hair on the back of his neck until it felt like he’d become a Studio Ghibli character, and it was still looking at him.

His hands itched for his guns, the All-Blades, the Fright Gun, and he felt the large, hot hand still holding his tighten for just a second, felt Lady Gotham’s chuckle through his whole body like he was a speaker, and then he was looking at her face again, fond and smiling and larger than life.

“Now now, my sons,” she purred softly, definitely speaking with her mouth this time even if it was just as warm as when he’d heard her in his head, “play nicely.”

Had she been that tall before? She’d been taller than him, certainly, her hand completely enfolding his the way Bruce’s had when Jason had first come off the streets, but now she loomed almost twice as large.

Still holding his hand in hers, only now his was positively dainty, a doll’s hand held by the child who adored it. Her thumb was almost the size of his whole hand, brushing gently over the back.

She could probably snap him in half in an instant.

He’d probably let her.

Her smile spread, reacting to the thought, and her other huge hand came up to gently cup his face, all the pride and love he’d only ever seen from Catherine Todd before.

“My brave little knight…” her eyes closed for a moment and she sucked in a deep breath, her whole body gently expanding as she savoured… something. Then those signal eyes opened and fixed on him, full of lazy satisfaction. “Your belief is so sweet.”

The effect was somewhat spoiled by the traffic cone now pinched effortlessly between two fingers. It hadn’t changed size, which Jason supposed had to be his answer.

She totally wasn’t that big before. And apparently it was his fault? His… belief?

Danny was hovering in the more figurative, mother hen way now (literal not being optional at the moment), and Jason could feel his tension now that he was focused. He’d gotten closer, his aura putting him just behind Jason’s shoulder, but hadn’t gone further.

Not moving between them, which he already had the feeling would have been Danny’s preference after the gala. Jason would tease him about that if he hadn’t already put himself between the stranger and Danny without thinking. At least Danny hadn’t actually done it.

Whether that was because they weren’t in any danger or Danny was waiting for his go ahead didn’t actually matter; Jason couldn’t quite believe either of them would walk away from a fight with Lady Gotham no matter that Danny was the king.

A part of him deeper than the pit knew that she would never fight him. That it was his job to fight for her, to make sure she never dirtied her hands more than the streets already did.

Forcing himself to suck in a breath - and wondering why his lungs ached - Jason gave her hand a hesitant squeeze. Tried not to think about how ludicrously small his hand was tucked into the curl of her fingers.

“Uh… I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…” he paused, words failing him, and wondered how the actual fuck you were supposed to talk to a whole ass city’s soul all at once.

Lady Gotham laughed softly, giving his cheek (and consequently whole damn head) a gentle pat before pulling away, leaning back to sit as if in an invisible chair and regard him.

“But we’ve known each other from the day you were born,” she agreed gently, her voice still heartbreakingly warm.

No one had ever been so open in their love for him. It all but coloured the air in a rosy pink.

And alright, that was probably at least 90% because his family were in constant contest for Most Emotionally Constipated Soul On Earth and Alfred was British, but Jason still had no idea how to handle it. He had her full, undivided attention, which part of him knew he’d never had in the physical city.

She had so many protectors watching over her, even the crankiest parts of Jason couldn’t begrudge her that. He wasn’t exactly sure he was enjoying it now.

“Ask,” she said softly, gently, the word still echoing around them but in a way that suddenly seemed more enclosed. More private. The echo of a bathroom instead of a grand cavern.

Sucking in another deep breath, Jason realized he had about a thousand questions. But he had to start with the most pressing.

“That shadow, what was it? It was… following the others, all of them. And you called it your son?”

She’d called him her son too, and for the first time since he’d died the word didn’t rankle. But that could be the next question.

The smile she gave him was blatantly approving and she waved a hand gently, a patch of smog in her surrounding cloud suddenly taking on a darker, more solid shape. It wasn’t the shadow itself, there was none of the buzzing adrenaline or life in its movements. Just a facsimile.

He still kind of wanted the All-Blades. Just, y’know, for evil testing.

“Yes, your… brother,” Lady Gotham said slowly, rolling the word over her lips as if tasting it. “That is the Curse of Gotham. Older than the city itself, technically, but before more people came it was simply a malevolence on a patch of land.”

She waved a hand, dispelling the temporarily solidified smog easily.

“It was only once the city was founded, then filled with souls and then despair and superstition and belief that he became a true Curse. As you are mine, the rogues are his. Bearing his mark, flying his flag, putting fear and doubt into every soul as they huddle against the chaos and swear to each other that there is a darkness here like no other.”

Somehow, this did not endear Jason to his “brother”. It didn’t please Danny either, who leaned just a little into Jason’s shoulder, a sudden wariness pinging through his aura.

“Wait, so the curse is older than you? Then why are you…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing suddenly as he asked what Jason was pretty sure was the least important question.

Gotham bestowed him with a gentle, somewhat less fond smile too. Favouritism where he was the favourite kinda make Jason’s skin buzz.

“As I said, it was the city which gave him form. Land can hold a myriad of curses, and any city built here would certainly have felt his affects. But belief…” she paused for a moment, lips pursing as she considered her next words.

Yellow eyes flicked back towards Jason, measuring him, and her smile spread into something distinctly self satisfied.

“Belief matters, for the Neverborn. It’s food and drink, our lifeblood, a source of power. And people believed in Gotham long before they made more than jokes about the curse. No one says that Gotham is on cursed land; they speak of Gotham’s Curse. And so he is mine.”

Jason got the distinct impression that while everything was well established now, it had been more touch and go at one point… close enough that having won was still a point of pride. He didn’t even realize he was smiling back.

It was also probably what she’d meant before… when she’d grown. His belief fed her. Which… kinda meant that him thinking they couldn’t possibly win a fight was a self fulfilling prophecy.

Not quite sure if that was funny or worrying, Jason dismissed the thought and refocused. Some curse was still stalking his family after all, and probably him when he went back to the living world.

“So if this Curse owns all the rogues… is he going to try and hurt the others?” He asked cautiously. Because if none of this was new, the Curse had been stalking them all since they put on the cowls.

How many close calls…

No. Jason hadn’t been in Gotham when Joker got him. He’d thought it was the arrogance of youth that had made him feel invulnerable in Gotham as a Robin, but now he knew there really had been hands hovering over him.

Hands that hadn’t dropped him until he’d left the city. Half the world away and all alone, still sure he was invulnerable… right up until he wasn’t.

He only realized his attention had been drifting when he snapped back, a large and achingly gentle thumb brushing his cheek. Now bigger than his head, still smelling of the smog of the city.

Lady Gotham smiled gently, the dark bats in her eyes crinkling.

“He is no danger to you,” she told him softly, focusing on the question that was asked. Not his wandering thoughts, though he got the feeling she knew anyway.

Drawing back, she looked thoughtfully from him to Danny, taking another drag on her traffic cone, apparently thinking. Held the smogs in for a long moment, until she seemed to come to a conclusion and blew out a long stream.

“The Curse makes the rogues; takes those already on the edge of something bad, and pushes them over. Turns the stagnation of despair into frantic, violent action. It is what he is, what he does… a lingering rot land deep, which feeds on the darkness and breeds more in the souls of Gotham’s inhabitants.”

That definitely sounded like something dangerous to Jason, but who was he to interrupt Gotham herself? A sidelong glance made him wonder if she’d caught that thought too; just how well could she read him?

She waved the smouldering traffic cone in his general direction, blanketing him in a wave of almost comforting black smog.

“And yet, you notice, so few of the rogues seek to permanently remove any of your heroes from the board?”

Danny sucked in a sharp breath beside him, Jason’s heart clenched, but before either could protest, Lady Gotham gave a heavy sigh and inclined her head, smile slipping entirely for the first time.

“The Joker is an unfortunate exception. There is… something worse there, deeper, darker, but I will explain later. For now, consider the others. So many who could, so many chances that they could have taken to kill each of you. I would not allow it, of course, yet even those who wish to see Batman permanently defeated rarely even try to end his life. It is not for no reason.”

There was a true solemnity, almost pain in her face as she spoke of the Joker, eyes fixed on Jason and full of sorrow. Yet nothing in her aura, no push of regret-sadness or anything similar. Nothing to affect his own emotions, and Jason had the feeling that that was deliberate.

As if she knew how much he hated being controlled, pushed around. Or she just… didn’t want to do that to him. It was tough to say, but he was also self aware enough to know he was puzzling that out rather than thinking much about her words.

Of course the Joker was something worse than the fucking Curse of Gotham. Naturally. And y’know what else he was?

Not Jason’s fucking problem right now.

Lady Gotham had paused with him, waiting for his acknowledgment apparently, and Jason gave a stiff nod for her to continue. He’d asked the damn question. He needed to focus on the answer.

A gentle incline of her head the only sign she’d seen anything at all, Lady Gotham continued.

“The Curse will not harm your family, and nor do most of the rogues seek to actually remove you, because your family’s activities are integral to powering the Curse,” she said simply, and that snapped any fragments of Jason’s attention firmly back into place as he stiffened.

Danny tensed beside him as well, still hanging back, but it was Jason who spoke. He didn’t need help on this one.

“Wait, what? How the hell are we helping the Curse?!” He demanded, brows furrowing.

If the Curse made the rogues by taking people on the edge and throwing them off, sure, that kinda made sense. Gotham had always been a cesspit of crime, but it used to be at least 85% less brightly spandex coloured before the Bat came along.

Much as Jason didn’t think Bruce took his mission far enough, he could admit that at least the “normal” gang violence had died down significantly. For one thing, most of the old gangs had been driven out by the rogues, or absorbed by converts like Penguin and Black Mask. There wasn’t much space in Gotham these days for just run-of-the-mill crime.

And Jason himself had gouged a chunk out of what was left, which he used to find extremely satisfying… but how would that help the Curse? Unless… the Curse had pushed that darkness in him…

Lady Gotham shook her head, that fond smile curling sadly at her lips as she reached down to gently tip his chin up with a massive finger.

“No, my dear… you are not helping the Curse. He could no longer exist without you,” she explained softly, the dark and dusty smogs building heavily around them. Just seeing them made Jason’s throat itch…

He clenched his jaw shut, focusing on her face instead. Waiting for that to make some fucking sense.

Lady Gotham hummed thoughtfully, holding his chin a moment longer before releasing him, waving a hand vaguely through the smoggy air.

“It is… contrast. There are no shadows without the light, no sweet without bitterness, no… no hope without despair. And no despair without hope.” She seemed pleased with the metaphor, bat signal eyes bright in suddenly building gloom. Which then fixed on him.

“When people lose hope… when they give up on Gotham, accept the awfulness in their lives as mundane, it drains them of their will, their power to believe. If nothing fights the Curse, pushes back on the tides of corruption, then who’s to say there is a curse at all? Just mundane bad governance. Certainly nothing unique about that, in this world.”

A hand cut through thick black clouds and Jason realized abruptly that he’d lost sight of everything but her eyes, shining in the darkness. And then the shadows spiralled in front of him, whipped by her fingers into a familiar black silhouette.

“But the Bats… the birds, all of Gotham’s caped defenders? No other city in the world could fail to be safe under your constant attentions. No other city could take the stream of wealth and charity Bruce Wayne pours into it and be less than utopian. And yet Gotham remains, a far better city than the one you were born in, but still one of the most dangerous places to live in this country.”

The shadowy bat began to glow, lined in a bright golden light, yet somehow it only made the surrounding shadows all the darker. It swished its cape, striking at invisible foes, and the clouds curled in around it.

“What else but a curse could cause this? And what a powerful curse it must be, with a new vigilante showing every month, and still not a dent?”

The blackness around them grew darker still, the bat’s glow suddenly seeming weak and fragile. Jason’s chest lurched, his heart screaming to reach out and catch the faltering figure, pull it close and keep it safe, but he stamped it down.

It wasn’t Bruce in danger. It was just a light-show, a visual demonstration. And it sure as hell didn’t need his protection.

And then a skewer of pure blackness plunged through its heart and the golden glow winked out, leaving them in pitch darkness.

Jason’s heart clenched, a dread chill running down his spine and he spun around, searching for Lady Gotham and her searchlight eyes, but he couldn’t see anything. Not even Danny, who always glowed faintly in his ghost form.

Still, her voice continued, completely calm and unshakeable.

“If the symbol falls… if the Bat is broken, the Curse will gain a great deal of power for a day. Perhaps a generation. And then people will forget, and forget that they believed, and it will wane once again. A much worse loss, now that he knows the power he can have.”

The billowing clouds of darkness pulled back and the glowing green of the Ghost Zone almost made Jason shield his eyes. They hadn’t moved, of course they hadn’t; Danny was still right beside him, his aura a heavy throb of new understanding-exasperated-mildly amuse.

Which… well, yeah, now that he could breathe again Jason could admit it had all been pretty dramatic. If she was his first ghost, he’d have assumed it was just a Gotham thing, but Danny was also a dramatic little shit, so.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jason blew it out slowly, calming the beating of his heart. Lady Gotham looked quite pleased with herself, still sat reclined a little ways away.

It was one hell of a powerpoint, and he was pretty sure he’d got the gist of things. Not that it made any of this make sense, but it was pretty much what he’d expect from magic.

“So… the Curse makes the rogues, to make people think the city is cursed, but it also wants to keep the vigilantes safe…” a phrase from an old book tugged at his mind, and Jason couldn’t resist a slight smile, “because you gain status by the quality of your enemies?”

It startled a short laugh from Danny, quickly stifled as Lady Gotham beamed her approval.

“In essence, yes. The struggle will be unending, because it must be, but we have come to… an understanding of late. Despair and death feed my Curse in the immediate sense, but when both are only to be expected… it’s a paltry meal. There is inevitability, even boredom, when it’s all despair all the time. So now the city has hope, and I prosper.”

Lady Gotham preened, plumping up her perfectly round curls, the same self satisfied smile she’d had when mentioning how she had become the dominant spirit. Maybe the Curse hadn’t quite worked out just how much she got out of their little understanding too. Then she shrugged.

“And the rogues have their little obsessions, their tricks and games, and sometimes there is despair and sometimes there is death. But what matters is that you are there to fight against it, to nobly win the battle…”

“Even if we’ll never win the war,” Jason finished grimly, his mood souring.

Wasn’t that what he’d always told Bruce? That his damn rules, his “No Killing” standard meant that everything else he did was pointless? That just locking people up in the bloody sieve that was Arkham was never going to change anything?

Lady Gotham’s smile softened to something bittersweet and sad, and she nodded gently.

“Gotham city will never know peace, Jason,” she told him gently, and suddenly she was smaller again, scant feet taller than him, and holding out a hand he’d be able to close his own around. “It will never be like any other city. But the only reason I stand at all is because people like you will look at this city, with its soot and its smuts and its people who have nowhere else to go, and decide that it is worth fighting for.”

Those eyes were fixed on him again, black bats on yellow lights, and then suddenly… suddenly the irises were black, and the bats a familiar deep red. It might have been a blink; it might just have been that sharp moment of change.

“There is one way that the war will end,” she told him softly, stepping closer through the void until he could have counted the pearls skittering across her dress, and every jet bead around them, if he could have looked away from her face.

“On the day that those heroes turn away, that all else give up on Gotham and turn their backs. When no one stands against the tide of night and it is dragged down and away into the dark heart of the Cursed land beneath. It is only hope that stands in the way of that end, my Jason Todd… my Robin.”

His brow furrowed and a fleeting smirk dashed across her lips, the faintest flicker of her gaze to Danny beside him, and Jason understood. It wasn’t Robin’s colours in her eyes, no matter what Damian had done to the suit.

Her Red Hood.

But she wouldn’t out him to Danny, not even now.

His gaze fell to her hand again, suddenly bare and dark and open and nails that were a rich, bloody red. His blood, and Bruce’s, and every vigilante, and every citizen, and every rogue that stood, and fought, and died for her. Every life that was ruined or ended, all in this fight that could never be won, only lost.

He met her gaze again, felt the red bat he’d emblazoned across his chest once more pierce his soul.

Because… this was what it really meant, to wear the bat. Not just that he had forgiven Bruce, that they’d reconciled, that he’d rejoined the family. That he wasn’t going to kill unless he had to, and there was no other choice.

No.

He wore the bat because he wasn’t just the Red Hood, a name he’d stolen from the damn clown and carved across the city in blood until people only thought of him when they said it. He wasn’t the crime lord who’d filled a bag with the heads of his rivals’ best lieutenants, took Crime Alley in a bloody fist, and was just another gang leader. Just a bigger, scarier, nastier guy than the people who’d wanted that alley before to strip mine its people and poison its kids.

And sure, being that guy had worked. It kept the worse gangs out. Kept his street kids fed and occupied, and mostly out of jail. Did what all of Bruce’s crusade had never managed to do; he’d cleaned up Crime Alley.

And it hadn’t been enough.

Hadn’t made anyone feel safe; not when all they had was Red Hood’s whim that kept them from going right back to the mess they’d been left in.

The Alley was different too, this last year. He’d always tried, as Hood and Jason. Wanted people to come together, build a community, to feel safe in their home and protect it.

To feel like someone finally, actually cared about them. That someone cared about Crime Alley for its people, not what they could take from them. That they would be defended.

And people had played along, back before he took the bat. They’d come out, cleaned up the street, fixed up some store fronts and made careful conversation, because that was what you did when the man with the big guns said he wanted you to play nice.

And they’d been wary, cautious, watching the Hood like he’d snap at any second no matter what Jay told them. And he’d known they were just… humouring him. Didn’t believe in it. And he’d thought the only way to get them to see was to keep going, keep giving back until they realized he really meant it all.

He’d patrolled since the first day he’d come back, but it had been the day he’d gone out in his modified uniform, the red bat on his chest, that things finally changed.

His working girls and boys didn’t straighten up when he approached. The street kids didn’t run when his shadow passed overhead. People looked up into the night and they smiled, thanked him, reached out to the gang and left little red bat signs in their windows.

With the red helmet and black body armour, he’d been just another thug to fear. And oh, he’d fucking hated it at first, turned his vision to sickly green that all this acceptance only came with B’s goddamn bat on his chest.

When the kids tagged it on walls, dumpsters, taunting threats at the edge of their territory to every other gang in Gotham, they finally had a bat-approved protector.

Never enough that he’d taken the bat off, though, and now he could see what all those little signs really said.

“We have a protector too.”

“Someone will find justice for us.”

And, his personal favourite (love those little Alley bastards), “Our bat’s bigger than yours.”

Bruce had put the shape on the symbol when he became the night and wanted to drive fear into the hearts of criminals instead of the ordinary citizens, but it wasn’t really his. It was Superman’s S, the symbol of the House of El, the symbol of Lady Gotham turned to something humans could see.

The symbol of a protector, a guardian, and uniquely Gotham’s own.

It was all there, in those red on black eyes, in that soft, knowing smile.

“Have you ever backed down from a fight just because you knew you couldn’t win, Jason Todd?” She asked softly, so softly, and he had to smile back.

She’d known him since the day he was born, and there was only one thing he could say to that.

He took her hand.

“Never.”

——————

LISTEN Y’ALL I HAVE BEEN HOLDING THIS LADY GOTHAM REVEAL SO CLOSE TO THE CHEST.

HER DRESS. HER HAIR. HER GODDAMN TRAFFIC CONE! Anyway she’s wonderful and she’s perfect and she will be back next chapter too, but fuck knows when that will be, so! Hopefully a little less time than this last one, but We Shall See.

This chappy will go up on AO3 tomorrow, I usually try and do same day but I gotta be up early Yet Again and I still…. Haven’t done replies on the last one, so 😅

Wish me luck for the next chapter, I have SO MANY things planned and the outline is just sizzling and we are finally out of introductions territory and it’ll be time for the Plot! Ah, my beloved plot, which will hopefully pick up and speed things along a little more in-fic timewise…

Next Chapter:

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf f @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake e @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish h @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof f @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 9 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #chapter 17 part 2 #well you did get down on one knee #AND HE’LL DO IT AGAIN #jason 10000% has a worship kink he really just wants to worship someone #danny meanwhile is just a lil freak and i love that for him

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bitkahuna · 4 months ago

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“Didn’t your cousin Frodo turn sixteen today?”

Bilbo Baggins turned to glance back at one of the hobbits whose name he didn’t really know. The guy was familiar, but Bilbo couldn’t quite place him. “His party was earlier, with the other fauntlings.”

“Who does he stay with, nowadays?”

Bilbo only shrugged. “His aunt Dora.” He was maybe half-sure of the fact. Last he was notified, at least, it was Frodo’s aunt Dora.

“Didn’t work out with his uncle?”

“No, Dudo’s got enough on his hands with Daisy.”

“Well, what about his cousin Posco?”

Bilbo snorted. “Peony was not interested in a little brother.” She was twenty-eight and probably one of the brattiest girls that Bilbo had ever seen. Knowing her kind and level-headed mother, Bilbo was almost shocked the two were related.

“Oh, that Peony’s a monster.”

“Right monster, that one.”

“You’ve got him running errands for you, yea?”

“Yea.” Bilbo gave a nod. He looked around the orchard, knowing there was a small pond somewhere. He made a left turn and the group followed. He could faintly hear frogs. “I leave money and a market list outside my door on Sundays. He goes down and brings me back what I need.”

Rosamunda made a face. “You don’t even talk to him?”

“Not really.” Bilbo then looked around a bit more before he was able to place the sound of the frogs. He led the group towards them. But in that moment of silence, he cracked a smile, remembering something. “He tried to break in last week to try and talk to me.”

“What’d you do?” She asked.

“I hit him with a bug swatter till he crawled back out the window.”

“Poor bastard.” The hobbit, whose name Bilbo didn’t know, began to chuckle. “Think Frodo’ll ever chill out?”

“Eventually.” Bilbo shrugged. “He’s only sixteen.” And his parents only died last year.

“No doubt Dora’s getting sick of him. You know it’s always the same story. You’d think he’d have figured it out by now. If he weren’t such a problem, someone would actually want hi-”

Bilbo punched the hobbit square in the face. He felt something yield under his fist. Some strange squish. “You get my cousin’s name out of your fucking mouth.”

The hobbit staggered back, nursing his bloody nose.

“Bilbo!” Rosamunda gasped in surprise.

He ignored her. “You don’t talk about my cousin like that. You got it?”

The hobbit frantically nodded, tears streaming down his face and blood flowing down his wrist from where he held his nose.

“I- come on. I’ll get you out of here.” Rosamunda said to the injured hobbit, escorting him back to the party.

Bilbo looked at who remained: Primrose, Doderic, and another hobbit whose name he wasn’t sure of. Silence fell over them in the orchard. It was heavy.

But it broke when Primrose flashed him a grin. “Pretty badass, Baggins. Just like your mum.”

Relief washed over him at the approval. He didn’t want to care about their approval. He didn’t want their perception of him to matter. But it did. So he decided to just consider himself lucky and move on.

Making it down to the lake, Doderic and Primrose sat by the pond while the third went off to find somewhere to relieve herself. Bilbo and his friends decided to wait for her before they started smoking, not wanting to have used it all up. Especially since Bilbo was the only one who had brought a pipe.

“Are you sure we can trust it?” Doderic would ask, eyeing the bag. “It’s got dwarf language on it.”

But Bilbo only shrugged, skipping stones across the water. “Weed is weed.” He spoke with a grunt of effort, tossing another stone. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Well … I will if everyone else is.”

“You smelt it, Doddy.” Primrose reminded. “Smells normal.”

“Smells strong.” The concerned hobbit corrected. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“You don’t have to smoke. You can chill.” Bilbo said as he threw another stone. He stretched his arms a bit before undoing his vest, dropping it to the dirt with an unceremonious thud.

“You didn’t have to punch Theod.”

Bilbo looked around, confused by the small voice. Then, he turned indignant at the sharp thud to his head. “What the hell?” His eyes spied movement in an apple tree. “Did you just throw a fucking rock at me?”

“No. It was a rotten apple.”

The hobbit stormed over and grabbed the figure in the tree, yanking them down only to reveal a familiar head of curls. He blinked, his anger awash with confusion. “Shouldn’t you be with your aunt Dora?”

Frodo only shrugged, brushing himself off from where he was yanked out of a tree. He looked up at his older cousin with a small smile. “I had something to do.”

The older scoffed. “Loitering or going to an adults-only party?”

But the younger hobbit only made a face. “No. I saw Lobelia there and left. Didn’t know you lot were coming into the orchard.”

“Does your aunt know where you are?”

“No.”

“Then go home before she thinks you’re missing and tears down half the Shire looking for you!”

Frodo rolled his eyes. “She’s asleep.”

“You shouldn’t bet on that for more than an hour.”

“It’s only been half.”

Bilbo took a deep breath, crossing his arms. “Well, what the hell do you want, then?”

“It’s our birthday.”

“Obviously.”

“Here.”

Bilbo blinked at the opened envelope being jabbed into his torso. He almost seemed to glare at it before taking it from the other. “Did you … what the hell is this?”

“How about you open it instead of asking stupid questions.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, debating on the ethics of punting a child. “Whatever.”

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” He asked as he examined the back of the envelope. ‘To: Dora Baggins’

“Punching Theod.”

“Yea, well.” He flipped it back over, very confused as to why he was being given Dora’s mail. “Nobody should talk about you like that.” Though, from the writing, the letter was old. Very old. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“Her recipe book.”

Bilbo froze for a second, now very unsure of where this was going. But as his stillness dragged on, he was suddenly overcome and immediately ripped the envelope open.

‘Dearest cousin Dora,’

In his mother’s handwriting.

The hobbit stiffened, skimming past the greetings and blinking fast when he saw it. The recipe. His mother’s honey cakes.

“I- how … how did you know about this?” He swallowed.

“Dora said she got a lot of her recipes from family. I was looking through a recipe book she doesn’t use and saw it.” Frodo shrugged. “I know the story and everything. I know you’re sad because other people don’t make them like her … so …” He looked away, seeming less and less sure of himself. “I didn’t realize … until I saw Lobelia … I know it might not be good. I just thought you might want to have it and I know that we aren’t really like, I mean, we’re cousins, and I do your shopping, but I know we aren’t really family, but it’s your thirty-third, and so I wanted to give you something, but I don’t really know what you like, and I don’t think anyone really does, and this was all I c-”

“Don’t.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what he meant when he said that. But as he looked down at his cousin, who couldn’t even look him in the eye, and then over at his mother’s letter, some overwhelming rumble came in his chest. He didn’t know if it was happy, or sad, or entirely numb. But it was something. And some piece of himself slotting back into place.

“Do you want to help?”

“What?” Frodo finally looked up at Bilbo, some mix of upset and fear.

“I- after … on Sunday. After shopping.” He swallowed, shifting where he stood as some strange feeling came over him, and he had entirely no idea what to do with it. “Do you want to help me try to bake them?” He stared at Frodo’s stunned expression before scratching the back of his head. The rumble in his chest turned over to a sharp anxiety. “I-I could, like, make tea or something.” Now, it was he who couldn’t look the other in the eyes. “You don’t have to come in through the window this time.”

Frodo blinked, biting the inside of his cheek. “What if I preferred coming in through the windo-”

“Yes or no, Frodo.”

“Yes!”

———

Chapter 52 of Yavanna, Guide Me on AO3

#bagginshield fic #bagginshield #bamf bilbo baggins #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit bilbo #bilbo and frodo #bilbo

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animeloverskylarmoon · 4 months ago

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Byakuya Kuchiki (Bleach) - Noble Series 1: Our Love - Chapter 5

The moment you all make it to Kisuke’s, you’re not surprised to see Rukia already there. Probably probing for answers.

“Rukia-san!”

You’re grinning and she smiles, then looks over at Byakuya.

“N-Ni-sama!”

He steps inside and Ichigo follows with a grumble. The door closes behind and Kisuke just tips his hat as he ushers everyone into the room. You all take a seat, and he draws his fan with a grin.

“You’re here Kuchiki-san, it must be serious.”

His playful look is typical. You’ve only met the former reaper twice and he always seems to be brewing something. Byakuya doesn’t respond, just folds his hands.

“Do you have information or not?”

Kisuke laughs while waving his fan around.

“Come on, don’t be so stiff. It’s not as dire as you think. We just had a few surprises from some nobles. You know how different their reiatsu is. In the world of the living it tends to draw an audience.”

“Nobles? Like Rurichiyo-san.” Ichigo asks.

“Indeed. It seems they were merely curious, or possibly looking for someone.”

He sends you a careful glance and you straighten in your seat. No one else catches the brief look, but now you’re a bit anxious.

“Does he..does he know..”

That’s impossible.

There’s no way he could.

He starts waving his fan again.

“Whatever the case, they are gone now. The danger is over. The energy should balance out. Can I get you all some tea?”

He stands, and your hands clench at your side. He’s out of the room before anyone truly answers and Ichigo just grumbles.

“Why’d you ask me to come back if you already had it handled?”

Ichigo is clearly annoyed with Kisuke’s constant games.

Your rise.

“I’ll go and help with the tea. Please excuse me Taicho.”

He just gives a nod and you leave the room. When you slide the door close behind you, your eyes lower and you sigh.

“You’re quite clever.”

Your head lifts in surprise. He’s standing there leaning against a wall with a smirk. He presses a finger to his lips when he sees the slightly panicked expression.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Your eyes shake. As unhinged as he is sometimes, you know at least to an extent you can trust Kisuke.

“I’m curious, why all the secrecy? It’s not unheard of for someone of your status to become a reaper.”

Your gaze stays low. It feels foolish to deny any of it. He knows. You can always tell a lie, cover it up. But that won’t do any good.

“For me, free will was never an option. If I wanted to be anything other than a tool, then I had to leave everything behind.”

“So you left, how bold. Fending for yourself must not have been easy, especially given your background.”

You grip your robes.

“It was hell, but I survived. I have no intention of going back.”

Kisuke simple watches.

“There’s no doubt that those guards from earlier were from the same clan. Her reiatsu is similar to theirs, but they couldn’t sense her and she can’t sense them. I’ll keep an eye on this for the time being.”

He works up a smile, stepping closer, he places a hand on the top of your head. You lift your eyes.

“No use crying over spilled milk. You should return to the soul society. I’ll keep an eye out on my side and report back accordingly.” He gives you a pat and you nod a bit hesitant.

“O-Okay.”

He’s still grinning and you manage a sheepish smile.

“T-Thank you Urahara-san.”

He just waves it off.

“No need to thank me. If you’d really like to repay me, maybe you should treat me to dinner? Hmmm?”

You blink curiously.

“Dinner?

His smile grows wider.

“Surely dating is still common in the soul society. It’s been centuries since I’ve been on one. What do you say?”

Your cheeks flush and before you can reply the door behind you slides open harshly. You jolt, turning when you see Byakuya.

“T-Taicho!”

“The tea is taking quite a while.”

His tone sounds a bit cold and Kisuke just smiles.

“Seems I learned something else interesting.”

“Apparently I stepped on a landmine. I’ll get back to the tea.”

He makes a stealthy escape and you’re still a bit flushed and confused by his statement. You turn back to Byakuya in hopes of understanding, but he just looks down at you.

“Taicho?”

You can’t really read his expression.

“It’s time to leave.”

He turns and you stumble behind when he begins walking away.

“W-What about the tea?!”

He was the one who asked for it.

You can’t hope to ever understand him.

#byakuya kuchiki #bleach #soul society #soul reapers #byakuya #kisuke bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #trust #secrets #nobles #byakuya x reader

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aestheticpearl · 1 year ago

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— 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

✧·˚ the few times xanthus and love had some domestic moments together

𝓲.

“so you take the hair and go over and then under, you see?” dontis explains how to do a fishtail braid to you while using himself as a example.

“wow it’s really that simple?” he nods.

“yep it’s best not to over think it, it becomes muscle memory after a while, did you wanna try it for yourself?” you nod excitedly.

“i would love too.”

after a while you feel as though you’ve mastered the braid.

“i like this braid, it’s so simple but it looks so complicated and in turn it’s prettier.”

“i think you’ve perfected the braid now, you’ve been at it for hours and each new braid you make is better then the last.”

just as you finish combing out the braid from dontis’ hair, xanthus walks through the door, no doubt coming back from a fruitless search on some more information about the organization hunting him.

xanthus is clearly exhausted but still walks over to sitting on the couch and places a kiss on your cheek.

“i’ll be in the bedroom read if you need me love.”

you nod and watch him walk quietly to the bedroom. dontis picks up on your concern for him and chimes in.

“i have an idea, why don’t you try out your new braid skills on xanthus hm?”

you practically beam at the idea and thank dontis before quickly leaving to the bedroom. you knock softly on the door before hearing a ‘come in love’ from the other side.

“xanthus could i braid your hair?” you ask as you open the door to him sitting in bed reading a book.

“how many books do you think you’ve read?” you ask focusing on the braid you’re creating with his blonde hair.

“far too many for me to count. love are you sure you want to braid my hair? surely it would be easier to braid dontis’ since his is much longer than mine.”

“you’re probably right and he’d probably make less of a fuss about it.” xanthus looks up from his book, dumbfounded.

“i am not fussy.” he tries to move his head to look at you before you correct his position and he whispers an ‘ow’ as you pull his hair a bit.

“see? fussy.”

xanthus pouts as he hears dontis chuckle from the other room.

“i am not fussy” he mumbles.

you lean down and kiss him gently on the cheek.

“okay you’re not fussy, just pouty.” xanthus grumbles as he lets you continue braiding the short pieces of his hair.

“dontis i think you should let them braid your hair.”

dontis leans against the door frame and smiles.

“who do you think taught them?”

𝓲𝓲.

“what are you doing love?” your fingers light trace over xanthus’ palm lines while you lay in bed with him.

“you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“this one says you’ll live a long life.”

xanthus’ free arm wraps around you to pull you closer to him as he lets you continue reading his palm.

“oh really? what else does it say?” his eyes remain closed as he breathes in your scent before kissing your neck gently.

“does it say you should go to sleep?”

“that’s not how palm reading works you know.” you feel his lips curl into a smile again your skin.

“i know, but you need to get to sleep.” he says before placing a soft kiss on your jawline.

“sleep is so boring, palm reading is so interesting and palm reading a vampire is very interesting, plus i know you like the feeling of my fingers tracing your skin.”

“you little—”

“shit—” you quickly try to scramble away for him but his vampire reflexes are too quick for you and you’re trapped in his arms.

“go to sleep love.”

“do you miss being human?”

the question catches xanthus completely off guard and he has to think about it before he comes up with his answer.

“…yes.” he instinctively pulls you closer to him. “i didn’t before but now that i have you i miss it. i miss the fact i won’t get to grow old with you and that you’ll leave this plane of existence before me and i’ll be left alone.”

his answer stuns you to silence as you let his words sink into your mind. xanthus misses being human because of you. you place your hand over his and give it a light squeeze to reassure him.

“i’m not going anywhere on this plane of existence without you xanthus.”

“i appreciate that love.”

a part of xanthus aches for himself and his love since they’ll never be able to see him grow old. he lays awake most nights wonder if they’re upset at the fact they don’t have a normal partner, that they love a monster. the thought eats away at him constantly and he does his best to repress it, but it’s hard when you can feel what he feels.

“i love you xanthus, i hope you know that i couldn’t ask for a better life partner.”

‘life partner’ what a funny way to describe their relationship.

𝓲𝓲𝓲.

“xanthus how do you even know so much about skincare?”

for the past half hour xanthus and you have been doing skincare to keep the theme of a selfcare day and he has surprised you with knowing much more than you on what and what not to put on your face, he even defined your skin type and the best products for it.

“when you’ve been around as long as i have you pick up on a few things.” he says as he applies a cleanser to your cheeks.

“are the headbands necessary?”

“absolutely, you look adorable— look up for me.”

you sigh and look up so he can apply a cream for your under eyes that seem to grow darker by the day.

“i thought the roles would be reversed for this, you know me telling you what to use on your face.” you say as he finishes smoothing out the product.

“oh please, i don’t age.”

“then how do you—”

“lotion next!”

you smile and shake your head at the quick redirection of the topic.

“i would say with your complexion this will be the best product to use.”

he holds it up to you and you nod in agreement like you have a say in what’s happening. as he applies it you can’t help but stare at the focus on his features, it makes you smile.

“what are you smiling about love?”

“nothing, i just love you.”

xanthus stops his application and kisses you lovingly before pulling away.

“bleh, i think i got some of the toner on your lips and it is not a pleasant taste.”

you lick your lips to see what the fuss is about and you regret it instantly.

“oh bleh that tastes terrible!”

“i told you!”

finally here is some xanthus fluff! i’m not a monster, i love writing fluff but got so many asks for angst so i just did them all at once (YOU GUYS ASKED FOR IT)

this is an apology for what’s to come

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

#pearl’s ❤︎ works #zsakuva #zsakuva audio #zsakuva fan fic #sakuverse #zsakuva headcanons #zsaku #zsakuva xanthus claiborne #xanthus fan fic #xanthus claiborne x love #xanthus claiborne fan fic #xanthus claiborne #zsaku xanthus #xanthus x love #zsakuva xanthus #xanthus fluff

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vpyre · 11 months ago

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New pinned post! Finally!!

Haven’t made one of these in a while, but I’m a good deal more active nowadays so I think it’s a good idea to introduce my blog and stuff. I typically just reblog things, but I do write the occasional fanfic and draw the extremely rare fanart.

I made a little get-to-know-me strawpage thing :3

My Linktree with my etsy, twitter, instagram, tumblr, and ao3 :D

Posts by me are tagged #vpyre’s verbosity, my writing is tagged #my writing, and my art is tagged #my art (most of it is old and kinda shit, but eh whatever). I try to tag different fandoms, so feel free to block tags you aren’t interested in :)

My AO3 page is here. For ease of access, I’ll also individually link all my fics (both the ao3 and tumblr versions) and headcanons in a masterlist here:

Headcanons:

Black Butler HCs

Grelle Sutcliff/switch!fem!Reader smut hcs (June 2024) || Tumblr

Fanfiction:

Ghost Fics

A Quick Taste (August 2024) - gn!Reader/Copia smut fic || Tumblr • AO3

Can You Feel Me Longing for You (forever) (July 2024) - gn!Reader/Copia smut fic || Tumblr • AO3

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait (Oct. 2022) - Dewdrop Ghoul/transmasc!submissive!Reader smut oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

Hannibal Fics

The Taste of Iron (May 2024) - Hannigram smut ficlet || Tumblr • AO3

The Truman Show Fics

all i want is to take care of you (July 2022)- gn!Reader/Truman Burbank smut oneshot || AO3

Five Nights at Freddy’s (and related franchises) Fics

Closer (Feb. 2022) - trans!gn!Reader/transman!Michael Afton smut oneshot || AO3

When In Doubt, Ask Him Out! (Nov. 2021) - transman!Michael Afton/Charlie Emily oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

What Makes a Monster (Nov. 2021) - Felix Kranken & William Afton horror (kinda) oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

If Holding You Will Heal You, I Never Wanna Let You Go (Nov. 2021) - extremely angsty hurt/comfort (cut me some slack here, I was a teenager lmao) nonbinary!Reader/Michael Afton oneshot || Tumblr • AO3

Dress-Up Makes Everything Better! (Nov. 2021) - transman!Michael & Elizabeth Afton cutesy sibling fluff oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

The One You Should Not Have Killed (Nov. 2021) - Cassidy & William Afton horror/angst oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

‘cause everything else is a substitute for your love (Nov. 2021) - gn!Reader/transman!Michael Afton smut fic (two chapters) || Tumblr • AO3

The Wrong Smile (Oct. 2021) - very dark and angsty fic/thinkpiece hybrid thingamajig about the missing children || Tumblr • AO3

Black Butler Fics

No Matter How Tremulous the Flame, the Ice Will Always Melt (May 2021) - Grelle Sutcliff & William T. Spears hurt/comfort oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

Stick Around (Apr. 2021) - Othello & Grelle Sutcliff fluffy-ish oneshot (request) || Tumblr • AO3

The Geek Division (Apr. 2021) - Othello & Grelle Sutcliff slightly angsty/fluffy lighthearted oneshot || Tumblr • AO3

From Above and Below, Face to Face and Behind (March 2021) - Reader/Grelle Sutcliff smut oneshot (my first finished fic ever!) || Tumblr • AO3

I think that about does it! I might add more to this if I think of something later, maybe some old WIPs if anyone is interested in that (I think it’s just some Reader/Astarion stuff I never finished).

Fic requests are currently closed, but you can absolutely still send them; I just probably won’t write unless I really really like it

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vodika-vibes · 2 years ago

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Golden Thread

Summary: 12 years after your parents banished you to the Labyrinth, you finally have a chance at freedom. And Prince Bly is determined to ensure that you get it.

Pairing: Prince!Bly x F!Reader

Word Count: 3912

Warnings: Violence

Tagging: @trixie2023, @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: This was supposed to be a Rapunzel AU, but I apparently wasn't feeling Rapunzel, so this is what was born instead.

Divider by Saradika

When you were a child, your father used to scoop you into his arms and toss you into the air, and you never had to worry about whether or not he would catch you, because he always did.

He would press his face against yours, and press your nose against his, and he would tell you, “Your mother and I loved you so, so much that we just had to raise you as our own!” And you would giggle and hug him.

You never doubted your parents' love for you.

After all, they told you they loved you every day.

And as you got older, your mother would bundle you up onto her lap and braid your hair, and tell you stories of wizards and princesses who were locked in towers. “Ah, my little dove,” She would say in her scratchy voice, “There are only two types of people who live in towers: Wizards and Princesses.” And then she would tickle you and press kisses all over your face, until you were giggling and squealing.

And then you’re ten years old, and your parents don’t take you to the market anymore, and your mother asks, jokingly, how you felt about becoming locked in a tower, and you press your face into her stomach and say, “Mama, I’m neither a wizard nor a princess, towers aren’t for me!”

Your parents moved you into the labyrinth the following week, with your only companion being the half human-half bull child, named Mnemosyne. He’s the same age as you, and has been living in the labyrinth since he was an infant.

You remember, later, raging and screaming at your parents while Nemo keeps you from running into one of the deadly traps that keep him contained. They left you there, in the cold and dark, with only Nemo to keep you company.

That was only 12 years ago now, and you have grown into an adult. You’re perfectly at home in the labyrinth, and you are familiar with the twists and turns as it grows and changes.

“Sister,” Nemo’s voice is low and rumbly, “I found a new passageway.”

“Oh? Did you smell anything interesting?” You ask.

“Fresh food,” He replies, “But also people. Recent people.”

You turn your attention away from your book, “You think other people have entered the labyrinth?” You ask.

Nemo rumbles low in his chest, and your hair stands on end, “If they have, I will kill them.”

Your brother has become violent and dangerous over the years. Not towards you, never towards you, but you know that if anyone else were to enter the labyrinth, Nemo would kill them…and probably eat them.

“There’s no need for such dramatics, brother mine.” You say lightly as you close your book with a snap and set it on the table, “How about I go and check it out, and if we’re lucky I’ll be able to make stew tonight.”

Nemo grumbles, “Hate stew. Not enough meat.”

“Now you’re just fussing to fuss, Nemo.” You scold gently, as you stand from the ratty old couch that Nemo dragged back to your shared quarters years ago. “I’ll be back shortly.”

You leave the shared quarters and head into the labyrinth proper and you sigh. The Labyrinth has changed Nemo, twisting him from an innocent child into something monstrous. He has taken to hovering around you more and more, and the way he looks at you sometimes-

Well…it’s only a matter of time before he kills you.

You head deeper into the labyrinth, twisting and turning down familiar passages, until you find the new one that Nemo told you about. As with every other part of the labyrinth, the stone walls look to have been colored with red clay, though the further down the stone started looking more and more like granite.

You follow the passageway from the labyrinth, into what looks like a massive garden. There are rows and rows of flowers and other decorative plants, but nothing that you could use as food.

You’re disappointed, but not really surprised.

Aside from the ranch where you and Nemo have to negotiate for your weekly allotment of food, none of the other places the labyrinth opens up to have ever led to food.

Still, the feel of sunlight against your skin and warm breeze through your hair is nice enough that you consider just sitting and staying for a time. Anything, really, to get you some space from Nemo.

You walk further into the garden, your fingers trailing lightly over the flowers…it’s been years since you’ve seen flowers that exist solely to be flowers. And they’re not trying to kill you, like that one whole section of labyrinth that is home to man eating plants.

“Oh.” You jump at the sound of a voice from behind you, and for a moment you fear that it’s Nemo. Only the voice isn’t half gravelly enough to be your brother, “I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to be here.”

You spin on your heels, and look up into the face of a man. He’s taller than you, and broader, but then, you’ve never been a particularly big person to begin with, and twelve years living underground has stunted your growth…probably.

He’s handsome, with short cropped black hair and yellow tattoos on his face, “I’m sorry.” You say, your voice hushed, “I’ll leave.”

He scans your face for a moment, and he frowns, “You don’t have to do that. You don’t seem to be hurting anything.” He takes half a step towards you, “My name is Bly, what’s your name?”

You hesitate, and then reply with your name, and he smiles at you warm and broad, and your stomach does a flip.

Bly moves even closer to you, his smile never once wavering, “How did you even get in here? The gate’s locked.”

“Um…well…there’s another entrance.” You admit as you tuck your hair behind your ear, nervous though you’re not sure why.

“Another…?” Bly looks surprised, “Where?”

Even more hesitantly, you point in the direction of the labyrinth entrance, “Over there.”

He turns and stares. Bly stares for long enough that you worry that maybe he doesn’t see the entrance, but you also worry that he does see the entrance to the labyrinth.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Bly asks, turning fully to stare at the entrance.

“Uh…if it’s any consolation, it’s new?”

“It’s not.” Bly replies flatly, “This Labyrinth is your home?”

“Home. Prison.” You shrug, “Sort of the same thing, really.”

He stops and turns to stare at you, “What.” His voice is flat, and that handsome smile is gone.

“Uh…well…my parents decided to lock me in the labyrinth with my brother. Twelve years ago.” You nervously tuck your hair behind your ear again, “So, you know, Home. Prison. Same thing.”

He continues staring at you, and you shift nervously, “Right. Right, okay. So…that stops.”

“I…uh…what?”

Bly smiles kindly and offers you his hand, “Come on. I’ll get you inside, and we can get you proper food and well fitting clothes. And you never have to go back to the labyrinth.”

“I…” You stare at his hand, longing warring with indecision.

Is it really that easy? Can you just…not go back?

Bly waits patiently, a gentle smile on his face. A smile that broadens into a grin as you slowly, hesitantly, take his hand. His hands are calloused, likely from practicing with the sword that sits comfortably on his hip, and this close it’s obvious that Bly is a soldier.

But you don’t feel nervous or even intimidated by him.

You feel safe.

And isn’t that a kick to the gut? When was the last time you felt safe?

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

“Are you alright, sarad?” Bly’s voice is quiet but he makes his footsteps loud as he walks up behind you. The family and staff at the palace learned, the hard way, that you react violently when people sneak up on you.

Though they’re always kind enough to not ask questions, even after that one time you accidentally broke Prince Neyo’s jaw when he snuck up on you.

You’ve been living in the palace for two weeks now, and aside from a few mishaps -sleeping is hard above ground, and you’re so twitchy at times- you’re starting to feel settled.

Starting, but not quite there yet.

“Just thinking,” You reply, belatedly realizing that Bly had asked you a question. Your gaze is locked on the sealed off entrance to the Labyrinth, just barely visible from where you’re leaning against the railing on the balcony.

Bly leans against the railing next to you, “Well, I’m happy to listen, if you want to share?”

You turn your head to look at him, “Why are you so nice to me?” You ask in return.

“Well, because being nice is my default setting,” Bly replies drily, “But also, the first time I saw you, you looked like you needed a friend.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Your gaze drifts back towards the labyrinth.

“Are you homesick?” Bly asks, shifting closer to you so that you can feel the warmth from his body through the thin tunic he’s wearing.

“Not homesick.” You shake your head and absently lean into his warmth, “the labyrinth was never home. But I do feel guilty.”

“About your brother,” Bly replies.

“Yes.” You tremble slightly, “He must be so angry.”

“Hey,” Bly presses his hand against your shoulder, sending warmth right down to your toes, “As soon as the Master Wizard comes up with a way to map the labyrinth, we’ll go and find your brother. I promise.”

“...you don’t understand.” You whisper.

“I know that I’d do anything for my brothers,” His hand slides from your shoulder and up your neck, and then settles against your cheek. Bly gently tilts your head to look him in the eye, “And we’ll do the same thing for yours.”

His thumb lightly brushes against your lips, and you inhale sharply. Bly slowly pulls his hand away from your face, “Sorry,” He whispers.

“It’s okay.” You whisper right back, “what…what if my brother can’t be saved?”

Bly’s hand cups your face again, “Do you trust me?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you sigh and nod once, “Of course. You’re a good man.”

He grins at you, “Then trust me to save your brother.”

You turn to look at him, and you reach out, pressing both of your hands against his face, “Bly…my brother-”

He places his hands on top of yours, and gently pulls them away from his face. And then, with his gaze locked with yours, he presses feather light kisses against your knuckles, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath against your skin, and Bly smiles at you, “Let’s get you back inside, sarad. It won’t be long before we save your brother. I promise it.”

You want to believe him. You do.

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that this is not going to end well. And that it’s only a matter of time before Nemo breaks through the magical barrier holding him back.

And it is holding him back.

You glance at the entrance to the labyrinth, and shiver when you see a pair of malevolent red eyes glaring up at you from behind the barrier, but when you blink the eyes are gone.

Bly drapes his arm over your shoulder, and guides you inside, “Look at you, sarad, you’re shivering. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Two days later, you’re standing in the garden with Bly, the Court Wizard and King Jango, while the old wizard squints at the barrier through irritated eyes.

“You seem troubled,” King Jango notes as he glances at his wizard.

“I am troubled. The barrier has weakened…a lot.”

“So, something has been trying to come through?” Bly asks, “Your brother perhaps.”

“Oh…most assuredly.”

The wizard scowls at you, “Your brother is a magic user?”

“Uh…no. Not at all.”

“Well, no human could get through that barrier without magic-”

“I’m not entirely sure why you all assume my brother is human…” You say quietly, as you take a half step back, behind Bly. “And he’s here.” You add as you point at the barrier.

There’s a loud thump, and then another one. And then the sound of shattering glass as the magic barrier shatters into pieces, and your brother steps into the garden, “Sister-” He bellows.

Bly shoves you behind him, and draws his blade, and you hear heavy footsteps as ARC Knights start pouring into the garden. “Nemo! Stop!” You shout, “They’re not going to-” You release a startled cry as a large hand shoves Bly to the side, flinging him into a tree, “Bly!”

You stumble back as Nemo looms over you, “Sister…” He rumbles out. Nemo reaches out and grabs your arm with a large hand and he jerks you, painfully, to his side, “You left…” He snarls.

“Nemo…I’m sorry.”

“Not…good…enough…”

His other hand wraps around your neck and shoulder, and tightens to the point where you’re quickly gasping for breath. And then there’s pain, blinding pain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of shouting, the men around you trying to rip Nemo off of you…and then the pain flares, and that, paired with the lack of oxygen, causes the world around you to go dark.

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

Bly stares as the creature carts his sarad into the Labyrinth. He’s in too much pain to move, or else he would be on his feet, and chasing after them. “Easy, vod. I have you.” His gaze flickers to the medic, who’s kneeling over him, “Your injuries are severe, but you’ll heal.”

His gaze flickers away from his brother, and to the slender arm laying on the ground. That creature, Nemo, he heard you call it, had ripped your arm off, and then tossed it to the side as though it was nothing.

Bly struggles to sit up, gasping as pain flares from his ribs, “You need to lie still, Bly!” The medic snaps.

“He ripped her arm-”

“We’ll find her,” King Jango interrupted, turning his furious gaze on the Court Wizard, “Well?”

“I attached the magic thread to her,” The Wizard replied grimly, “It’ll remain attached to her even if that creature kills her-”

Bly releases a noise at the thought of you dying, and he tries to lurch up into a sitting position, only to get forcefully shoved back to the ground.

The wizard pauses, and then continues, “The thread cannot be broken, cannot be cut, and will connect from the young lady to this very spot until such time that I break the connection.”

“So we can send someone after her.”

“Indeed.” The Wizard nods, “I suggest that we send Prince Bly.”

“He’s injured.”

“He’ll heal,” The Wizard points out, “And he’s going to go after her with or without your permission.”

King Jango is silent for a moment, and then he nods once, curtly, “Fine. Once he’s healed, we’ll send him into the labyrinth.”

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

How long has it been? You no longer know.

Your head swims and you tremble with pain, and your trembling hand crosses your body to brush against the ragged, and painful, edges where your arm used to be.

You release a silent, shaky, breath.

Your brothe-...no. Not brother, never again brother.

Mnemosyne, the Minotaur, had ripped your arm off as punishment for leaving him.

To his credit, he has been taking care of you. Ensuring that your arm…the remains of your arm…are clean and bandaged. Making sure that you have enough food to not starve. Bringing you fresh water every day.

You’re surprised. You thought, for sure, that the scent of you bleeding would be enough to push him into killing you, but so far, it hasn’t.

You drop your hand onto your lap, the clothes that Bly gave you were stiff with dried blood…Mnemosyne hasn’t bothered to try and replace them, and you wonder if that’s because it’ll be easy for him to track you if you try to run.

Probably.

You wouldn’t have been so harsh in your appraisal of Nemo…but Nemo died the moment he ripped your arm from your body. And no amount of Mnemosyne’s kindness will help you see him as Nemo ever again.

Your gaze drifts to your wrist, specifically the golden thread that connects you with…something. Mnemosyne doesn’t seem to be able to notice it, and has walked through it multiple times since he returned you to the den.

Maybe…maybe if you follow the thread…?

Slowly, painfully, you push to your feet and walk across the den to where the door to the den is. You push the door open and step into the hallway, your eyes easily picking out the glowing thread in the dark halls.

And so…you start walking.

You feel bad. You’re in pain, and you’re too hot and too cold and the world swims around you. That’s probably bad, you remember reading something, once, about infections and fevers…but it’s too hard to think right now.

So you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and you follow the thread.

Before you really realize it, you’re moving slower and slower, and then you slump against the wall and slide to the floor. Mnemosyne is going to find you…and this time he’ll probably kill you.

It’s a shame, really, Bly was going to teach you how to dance. You had been looking forward to it.

The next thing you’re aware of is hands against your face. You blink slowly once. And then again as the world remained out of focus.

“...Bly?” You whisper as the world finally comes into focus, and you see a familiar face.

He heaves a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank the stars. I thought you were…” Bly shakes his head, “Never mind. You were unconscious, sarad.”

“Was I?” You ask quietly.

“You were.” His hands are warm, even though the gloves he is wearing, “Sarad, what were you doing?”

“Was following the thread,” You mumble.

“Good girl,” He breathes out, and you blink up at him, “That thread would have led you right back to Mandalore.” He looks you over, and then frowns, “Let’s get you out of these clothes, and I have some stuff for your arm.”

“Oh. Alright,” You allow him to help you to your feet, and you’re barely able to keep standing as he quickly strips the blood soaked clothes from your bruised body, and replaces them with a clean tunic and pants.

You’re vaguely aware of him unwrapping your arm and placing some sort of ointment and then clean bandages on it, but it’s a hazy awareness. You blink at him, hazily, and he gently cups your face, “You still with me, sarad?”

“I…maybe?”

“That’s alright.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, “I’m going to take care of you, sarad. I promise.” One of his hands slides into your hair, and he gently tugs your head so it’s resting against his chest plate. You shakily wrap your arm around him, and you feel his lips against the top of your head.

“How are…” You grimace, the words fleeing your mind before you can say them, “Mnemosyne?”

Bly pauses, “We’re going to collapse the labyrinth.” He says softly, “There are dozens of my brothers setting explosives throughout the labyrinth as we speak. I just need to get you out.”

“...oh.”

“Are you okay with that?” Bly asks.

You pull your head away from his chest, and look up at him. Slowly you nod, “I think I am.” You whisper.

He smiles at you, warm and gentle, “I’m sorry that we have to kill your brother.”

“...he’s not my brother. Not anymore.” You whisper.

Bly nods and kisses your forehead, feather light, “Come on, sarad. Let’s get you out of here.” He takes your hand and starts leading you back the way you came.

You do your best to keep up, but you’re not surprised at all when he has to switch to carrying you.

You cringe as the sound of a furious bellow fills the labyrinth. All you can do is press your face against Bly’s neck as he follows the golden thread. You lift your head slightly when you hear the sound of lots of men in armor running.

ARC knights, all of them following a different color thread, are heading in the same direction as you and Bly. And before you realize it, you’re back in the garden of Mandalore.

Bly hands you over to the medics, who immediately sit you on a gurney and start fussing over you.

You float somewhere between conscious and unconscious, though you do jolt to awareness at the sound of a massive explosion. You’re not able to do much of anything though, as one of the medics injects something into your arm, and you swiftly drift off to sleep.

The next time you wake up, you’re laying in a soft bed. You’re covered in healing bacta, you can tell because of the smell, and you’re no longer in pain.

You turn your head to the side, and you smile when you see Bly sitting there. He’s absently twirling a hunting knife between his fingers, his gaze locked on your face.

“Sarad!” The knife slides back into a sheath on his thigh as Bly leans in to take your hand, “You’re awake.” He sounds relieved.

“Bly…how long have I-?”

“It’s been three days, you had an infection.” Bly explains, as he folds his hands around yours, “You’re going to have to stay here for a while longer, while they make sure the infection is gone. It…it was pretty hit or miss there, for a while.”

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“Not your fault, baby.” He replies, as he brushes some of your hair off of your face, leaving his hand pressed warmly against your cheek, “How are you feeling?”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, “Mm…I’m not in pain. So I'm just tired, I guess.”

“That’s good. Great, even.” Bly says with a sigh as his fingers begin lightly tracing your features, “Do you want an update on the Labyrinth?”

“Yes please.”

“So the entrance in the garden was completely destroyed,” Bly says after a moment, “But we found another opening just outside the city. As of right now it’s under 24 hour guard, and there are magic drones mapping out the landscape, and trying to determine if Mnemosyne survived.”

“And if he did?” You ask, softly.

“We’ll cross that bridge only if we have to.” Bly insists, “And it won’t be your job.”

“Oh, alright.” You swallow hard, “So what happens now?”

“Now you rest and recover, and then we’re opening an investigation into your parents. They have a lot to answer for, not just for sealing you away, but also for Mnemosyne.” Bly replies, his thumb lightly caresses your cheek, “And, when you’re healed, I’m finally going to teach you how to dance.”

You laugh softly, and favor him with a small smile, “It’s a date then.”

Bly’s face brightens, “The first of many, I hope.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we.” You tease lightly.

He stands and kisses your forehead, “You’ll see, angel. I’ll be the best boyfriend.” Bly kisses your forehead again, “But I’ll let you rest-”

You close your hand around his, “Stay?”

And he grins, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

#star wars #tcw #commander bly x reader #bly x reader #magic and knights au #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #star wars AU

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