#and that thing is just a white phantom prove me wrong

[flufallo]

Me: *tries to live a normal life*

Jacksons diary, the marauders, dead boy detectives: *exist*

Me: well there goes that chance

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Not-So-Common-Sense (Part 22)

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“Ghosts are a sovran people, more than that we’re a sovereign nation,” Hyena boomed, speaking over the assembly as he demanded everyone stop whispering and pay attention to him. He glared at the assembled leaders as he transformed in sparks and flashes, hair turning white and muzzle transforming into a snarling skull until he was fully ghost. “And I am done listening to all of this bullshit, so enough debating. Now explain to the Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms why you have allowed these people to violate my people’s rights and hold me captive.” Danny-No Phantom demanded.

He was glad he didn’t have a heart to be pounding in his chest as with a wave of his hand he created a throne of ice and sat down in it. He pushed his mask up and as it dissolved a circlet of shimmering ice formed around his brow. It wasn’t the official crown, he had yet to take the crown of flame but it was just a bit of showmanship to add to the effect. He needed these people to take him seriously after all. Jason stepped up to stand beside him, and to Danny’s surprise Deadman came down to take the other side, leaving Ellie to perch on the back of his makeshift throne, draping herself comfortably there. Danny settled himself more comfortably and confidently in his chair, and in his new role because whether he was ready or not it was time to act and he had the people who mattered behind him without question.

“Explain to me why we should not go to war.” Danny demanded in a terrifying shadow of his ghostly wail.

“What, no, the ghosts don’t have any sort of leader or structure. They’re completely disorganized,” Agent W insisted. 

“That’s not true,” Deadman said, shaking his head. “Ghosts follow the strong and have always been a monarchy. We haven’t had an active king in centuries, since the last one went mad but it is well known that, when he is ready to, Phantom will be able to claim the throne. He is not lying about his position in the Infinite Realms and many spirits will follow him to war should he command it.”

“Including you?” Batman asked in a tone of mild curiosity that wasn’t fooling anyone that actually knew him. 

“I recognize Phantom’s authority. The only reason I didn’t bow and acknowledge him when he answered the Justice League’s call the first time was that he asked me not to. More importantly many others, including multiple Ancients, recognize his authority and will follow him if he asks even if he is not yet the true king. His threats are not idle.” 

“He should not be making threats at all! This is a diplomatic meeting,” One of the leaders exclaimed indignantly.

“Oh is it?” Danny asked, raising his eyebrows. “Because it sounded like what you were about to do was excuse and pardon their crimes against me and my people and offer them more resources. If that’s not what’s happening and you were about to mete out proper consequences then by all means, carry on and prove me wrong,” Danny said with a ‘go on’ gesture of one hand and leaned back in his chair, looking down his nose at the assembly. 

Silence hung awkward and heavy over the room, which was all the confirmation Danny needed of the bad direction things were starting to go. He tried very hard not to fidget under the eyes of so many people. He knew that he was the prince, he was going to be the king overseeing basically an entire dimension with other monarchs and leaders under him, he was of a higher rank than anyone here! If only he wasn’t still so young, with so much more to learn. Speaking of which...

“How do you people deal with crimes like imprisonment and torture without cause? There are punishments for these things aren’t there?” Danny asked, cocking his head. He’d never paid much attention to politics, and what little he knew about politics didn’t really give him much hope for how this would be handled. 

“Of course there are,” Diana said calmly, once again trying to force the room to move on or get left behind. He really did admire her ability to control the room as much as she did. “Since there is no question of the crimes the Ghost Investigation Ward did commit, the only question is what the consequences will be.” She looked around, but it seemed this time her attempt to nudge the leaders along had failed. 

“With all due respect, ‘Your Majesty’,” Agent W directed at Danny, not even trying to hide her skepticism and contempt of his title. It made Danny bristle and got his hackles up immediately. To her credit, she didn’t flinch under his glowing glare. “It’s not our job to protect your people, we need to protect our own.” 

Danny heard a few murmurs of agreement, he looked down for a moment thinking about that and trying not to bite his lip. He should stay, he should try to argue further and come to a peaceful solution, but he had been doing that for years! He had always just avoided the humans who hunted him, he had barely even defended himself from them for years, and he was done trying to be nice, to play by their rules.  

“Right,” He said, standing up and surveying the collective leaders. “Who agrees with her perspective?” He asked scanning the collective.

There was a moment's hesitation before hands started to raise. He nodded firmly and looked back at Agent W. “Good, you protect your people,” he sneered, “ and I’ll do the same. Red Hood, Phantasm, let’s go,” Danny said and turned away, taking Hood’s hand and pulling him out through the wall, Phantasm followed. When Danny noticed Deadman looking torn, Danny gave him a small smile; “Stay with your team, there should still be one of us in the room. If they come to their senses let me know.”

He left the room through the wall and let invisibility cloak them as he grabbed Phantasm as well and flew straight up into the sky, not so high that Jason would struggle to breath but far enough they’d be guaranteed privacy. He let go of Phantasm since she could float on her own but kept Jason held close so gravity could not reclaim them.

“So, you’re not just giving up,” Jason said casually, “So, you have a plan?”

“Yes I have a plan,” Phantom agreed with a solemn nod. “It’s not my first choice, and I don’t really want to talk about it in case it fails. If it works I’ll let you know, if not you can help me brainstorm a plan B. Okay?” He glanced at the two of them, Jason didn’t hesitate in agreeing, Phantasm looked worried, but she nodded too. “Thank you. Phantasm take Jason please, you two stay put. I need to go… get something, and I have a feeling they’ll be calling us back soon once they see the storm they’ve unleashed on themselves.” He said with a thin smile. 

“Right?” Phantasm said, she still sounded uncertain but she offered Jason her hand, and when he took it she took over keeping gravity at bay. 

Danny smiled and drifted closer, kissing Jason’s helmet softly. “I’ll be back soon, just trust me okay?” He asked, ruffling Ellie’s hair. 

“I always trust you, Cub,” Jason said, sounding tired but fond even through the helmet’s modulators. 

“Just… don’t do anything stupid string-bean,” Ellie sighed. 

“I’ll try pipsqueak,” Danny agreed before speeding away from both of them. 

He needed to find his way back into the Ghost Zone but that wouldn’t be easy but it was far from impossible. There were natural portals opening up somewhere in the galaxy all the time, and Danny could get back in contact with Wulf somehow if he needed to. How he wasn’t sure, but he was on a time crunch so he had better figure it out fast. He didn’t want to leave Ellie and Jason hanging and time was of the essence. He had a feeling he could sense portals if he really tried, other ghosts seemed to know where they were after all! He just needed to get away from any distractions, to where his mind was clearest and his core shone the brightest, and for him that would always be space.

Once he was far enough away that the earth was a frisbee amongst the stars Danny settled into a cross legged position and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath he didn’t need and exhaled slowly, trying to remember what little he knew about meditation and, like, opening one’s third eye. 

“Alright portal, where are you,” He murmured rolling his shoulders, only to jump out of his skin when he heard a crackle and boom right under him. He shot up as he opened his eyes, half expecting an attack only to see a swirling green portal directly under him. “Great, of course,” He sighed, and let himself drop into it. 

The green resolved into the large foyer of the ghost kings palace surrounded by the observants and a few ancients. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Chorused the observants.

“Great, how long have you guys been watching me? Fucking weirdos,” Danny muttered, but he couldn’t stay angry as Frostbite cheered and rushed in to hug him, scooping him up in a bearhug that would have cracked a rib if he had any. Clockwork followed more slowly, moving slowly and leaning on his cane, a thin smile on his elderly lips. 

“It is good to see you, Young One. I'm sorry I know you haven’t had an easy time. I’ve been watching over you but didn’t feel it was possible for me to step in. Despite it all, you’ve done really well,” Clockwork said. He looked nervous, and Danny couldn’t blame him, he couldn’t count the number of times he had cursed Clockwork when things were at their worst, for not intervening to save him, but now…

“It's alright, I made it out and I found a new purpose. I assume if you had saved me I would have just spiralled or something like that?” He asked with a crooked smile that was really more of a grimace. It wasn't really okay, it would never be okay that Danny had lost his family and a part of him would never forgive Clockwork for having had the power to stop it and didn't. But he had also learned there was no point in holding Clockwork to human or present focused morals, he had his reasons and felt justified. Trying to hold Clockwork accountable would be counterproductive and maddening, he did trust Clockwork meant well.

“Something like that,” Clockwork agreed, mirroring Danny’s expression as he reversed into his child form. The expression looked very odd on his child-like face. 

“We've been waiting for you,” the Observants chorused again, apparently impatient with the reunion. “Are you ready to take the crown?”

“Wow hello to you too,” Danny sassed, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous collective of giant eyeballs. “Yes, I'm ready,” Danny agreed, standing straight and holding his head high. He looked sure, even though he really wasn’t, but there was no putting this off any longer. “Release Pariah Dark and I'll be waiting for him in the world of our last battle.”

“That is not how-” 

“I don't care if that's not how it's done, that's how I'm going to do it,” Danny interrupted the Observants. He really hasn't spent much time with them after his first defeat of Pariah and his capture but he was already familiar with the phrase.

“It is tradition to-” they started again and Danny interrupted with a growl. 

“If I'm going to be king, this is a good time to get in the habit of obeying me. Release him, I'm sure he'll want revenge so he can find me in the world of our last confrontation and I'll defeat him properly this time, on my terms,” Danny insisted, bearing his teeth in a snarl. He knew that they weren't pleased, but he didn't care, he didn't plan on his rule to be dictated by trading so they could get used to it. 

The Observants didn't have any mouths but he was sure that if they did they would look like they'd just bitten into a lemon. He'd never really understood why they were like this, Pariah Dark couldn't have been particularly obedient to tradition, but maybe he’d been gone so long they'd forgotten what it was actually like to have a ruler and only had the idealized version from inside their own minds. “As you wish,” they agreed sourly.

“That’s better,” Danny smiled thinly, there was little joy in this situation but he could find some in pissing off these uptight bastards. He nodded to them and looked back at Clockwork, he must know what Danny was planning and Danny was a bit surprised Clockwork didn't seem to have any objections. When he had intervened before it had been to stop Danny going ‘bad’. Maybe this time was different because Danny wasn’t planning to cause the damage himself, just… allow it to happen.

“You will be a good kind Danny,” Clockwork said softly. “Sometimes a leader has to compromise their own values to do what’s best for their people.”

“Ya, I’m not sure that’s what I’m doing Clockwork, those people hurt me worst of all, I think I have some pretty personal motivations,” Danny said bitterly.

“Even so,” Clockwork said with a shrug and a knowing smile that set Danny’s teeth on edge.

“Right,” He grumbled as he turned and walked back through the still open portal before turning and slashing through it from the other side. They would have a hard time opening another in the exact same location, not that Danny was planning on sticking around here, but the less of the universe and the more of Earth Pariah would have to rip through before he found Danny the better. He grinned far too wide and rocketed back towards earth. 

He had done it! Pariah would be right on his heels and that bastard had no respect for human life. He would give the stupid humans something to fear~ By the end of the day they’d be groveling and begging for Danny to save them, and maybe he even would, if they asked very nicely. 

He stopped on a dime next to his fiance and little sister again. They both jumped at his sudden appearance which made Danny laugh, Jason had taken off his helmet and his look of shock was particularly amusing! It was usually so hard to sneak up on the hypervigilant man. Danny reached out to take Jason back from Ellie and settled himself comfortably in Jason's lap while Jason wrapped his arms firmly around Danny's waist so he wouldn't fall. Ellie mimed gagging at the display of affection but didn't say anything. 

“So, what did you do Danny? You weren't gone long enough to have gotten that far. Did it not work out?” Jason asked curiously and Danny gave him an impish smile.

“Oh no, it worked. I'm sure the Justice League will be calling us in just a few minutes once word gets to them about what just entered their dimension.” Even as Danny was talking he felt the change, the wave of dark energy that had just broken through the barrier between worlds. He didn't react, but it made Ellie stumble. 

Danny remembered this dark energy from last time he'd fought Pariah but he had thought that was just because he had been nearby. It was disconcerting to know it could be felt at such a distance by those sensitive enough. Danny was sure he could handle this, but for a moment he was still worried he'd bitten off more than he could chew. 

“Danny, what did you do?” She asked, sounding seriously worried.

“I released Pariah Dark,” he told her plainly, no point being cryptic now since this wasn't exactly a fun surprise. Her look of horror was cold water dumped on the burning coals of his rage and he winced.  “Go back to your team Starlight, keep them safe but don't get yourself in trouble. This is… not going to be pretty,” he told her gently. He wasn't ashamed of what he was doing, not really. But he did worry about how she would feel about him afterwards, especially if one of her friends was hurt in the fall out. 

Jason's phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket as Ellie rushed away from the two of them, back towards Titans tower. Danny watched her go, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t call her back and selfishly try to keep her safe. She and Jason were the ones he loved most but it would be selfish to hold her safely prisoner, especially when Jason's family was bound to be out there too.

“That can't be them already?” Danny asked Jason worriedly, forcing himself to look away from Phantasm’s retreating form to check the notification on Jason’s phone. She was strong and clever, she’d be alright, he needed to have faith in her. 

“It's not, it's an emergency alert. He didn’t waste any time fucking shit up did he?” Jason asked, unlocking his phone and opening social media. It was already starting to flood with half corrupted videos and pictures of Pariah Dark and his army of skeletons. He had landed somewhere in the US by the looks of things, which Danny was glad of, and all the videos were full of screaming and fire. Occasionally he bellowed demands for Danny to show himself, but they were in ghost speak so none of the humans understood what he was asking for. 

“Damn that's one big mother fucker,” Jason whistled. “So that's the mad king?” 

“Yes,” Danny sighed, leaning his head against Jason’s chest. “Now we just see how long it takes for those idiots down there to realize the GIW's weapons are like water guns to him. I'm not going to negotiate with them anymore, but I will accept their surrender and once they've agreed to all my terms I'll deal with him.” 

“Isn’t he coming for you? Why’s he in America?” Jason asked as he kept refreshing his social media feed. 

“He can’t tell where I am, I could find him but I’m less flashy then he is, and I got used to minimizing my ecto-signature to avoid the GIW. Pretty sure he’s hoping that if he causes destruction he’ll smoke me out since last time I fought him it was to protect my town. Not this time, it’s not my job to protect these people anymore, they’ve made it very clear they don’t want me too,” Danny sneered, rolling his eyes.

Jason nodded gravely, and hugged Danny more tightly, he knew this hadn't been an easy choice. Danny nestled in against Jason's chest, his eyes glowing brighter than usual with anger and sorrow. 

“How are you feeling, Moonlight?” Jason asked softly. They had some time as the GIW rushed to arrive on scene and prove how useless they were. “This means that you’re going to be king after this doesn’t it?” 

“I'm not sure how I feel,” Danny sighed, biting his lip for a moment before continuing. “I wish it felt better, more righteous. I wanted revenge but most of the people being hurt had no idea what their government was even doing, and they're suffering for it, so I can't really feel good about it anymore. But I also don't exactly feel bad about it either, you know? And a part of me wishes I did because I tried so hard to be good when I was younger and how little I care now feels like a failure. 

“But then again I guess it was Sam that really insisted I use my powers for good. I was a teenage boy and other than protecting my friends my first instincts were to sneak into the girls locker room, and douse my bully in half spoiled meat. Maybe I was just never that good.” He sighed, hanging his head and trying to swallow down the uncomfortable knot of shame and dread in his stomach. 

“As for being king, I never really wanted to be king, but Clockwork seems to think that’ll just make me a better king, I hope he’s right. And I do think I'm ready, with you, your siblings, and Ellie I finally feel like I have a firm foundation again. Your proposal felt like the last puzzle piece I needed to feel whole, I'm as ready as I'll ever be.” 

“You are good Danny, and you'll be a good king, but even good people have their breaking point. It's their fault they pushed you to yours. The Justice League and the Teen Titans will be on the scene to help evacuate soon and I’m sure it won’t be too long before those idiots down there will realize they’re up shit’s creek and call for help soon.”

[thewalrusespublicist]

see your last ask is literally why i have so much trouble pinpointing what john felt for paul. i mean it’s pretty obvious on paul’s side that he absolutely adored john and thought he was a genius, but in john’s case, there so much extreme contradiction that’s hard to fully read. yes, I don’t doubt that john loved paul in his own way, but he seemed to be so intensely mad at him too. plus the competitive spirit that turned into obsessive spite by the end of it, asking his psychic if paul/linda’s marriage on the rocks, writing nasty things about him in his diaries, saying he died creatively. i grew up with the understanding that john did not like paul’s music at all, just based on what was echoed to me at the time in magazines, friends, etc. and even in my own reading now many years later, in things like may’s book, john often seems annoyed with paul or indifferent, doesn’t want him there. meanwhile paul’s wanting to make music with him again.

Oh god anon, what a thorny question! I’ll try my best though!

Please note this is only my interpretation and could be completely wrong. I only know the man parasocially.

What John felt for Paul at the end of his life is an absolute maze of emotion and I don’t think John could articulate it on most days. But to try and make sense of it I think it comes down to three core issues. First is the abandonment wound which drives most things up to 76’. For reasons we don’t know but can speculate on, John felt abandoned by Paul after the break-up. Paul appears on the infamous abandoners ‘shit-list’ with the rest of John’s family during John’s primal therapy scream vent and his general attitude towards Paul is one of enraged hurt. Now if John was valid for feeling abandoned is … whatever, but the point is he did. For John, abandonment was his greatest fear/ weakness and in his mind, Paul should have known that. The fact that Paul did it anyway (again John’s POV) would have shaken John to the core and it did not help that he had hangers on and … certain individuals if May is to be believed, who were actively encouraging this narrative. Now imagine if your best friend hurt you in a way that cuts you to the bone. You would have an extremely hard time letting them in again. John is spiteful, bitter and fearful to trust Paul again and in most cases normally he would have no problem in cutting his losses and slamming the door. But John doesen’t. It’s John who sends a letter trying to get through to Paul in early 70s, John who makes tentative overtures to work with Paul again and calls him his estranged fiance on stage in front of a crowd, John who sends a picture of him and Paul together in 74’ to Jan Wenner in protest for Lennon Remembers, John who I personally believe made and then wore the ‘I love Paul’ badge. All of this shows intense love and interest. For what it’s worth May was also convinced John loved him. It’s also not true that John hates Paul’s music, he bought Paul's records p consistently and praised a lot of them (we have enough evidence to prove he’s lying when he says he doesen’t). There’s even stories of him weeping over the records, saying that the I love you’s in one of Paul’s songs are for him and showing Sean Paul’s work. John’s behaviour with Paul has always read to me a little bit like a boy pulling a girl's pigtails whilst holding flowers behind his back but now there’s an added fear of getting hurt again and the annoyance that he still wants to give her flowers. In my mind up to 76’ John hated Paul predominantly because of the perceived hurt but also on a core level because of how little control he had over his feelings for Paul. 

The other two factors that kind of go together are John’s mental health and what I’ve just coined as the ‘dual Paul problem.’ I’ve talked with @62 Bugs but essentially I think John with his black-and-white thinking always had two versions of Paul in his mind, one’s his ‘dear one’, his beloved bestie Paul, the other’s this phantom rival whose existence threatened everything John did. As his and Yoko’s paranoia grew, the press pitted them against each other  and the distance meant they couldnt touch base, this phantom spectre of Paul grew out of proportion in John’s mind. It didn't help that Paul, like some evil doppelganger, had managed to procure everything John dreamed of: the house in Scotland, the happy marriage, the load of kids, the commercial solo success. John had blown it all up but it was Paul who reaped the ‘benefits’. And where was John? Sitting isolated and depressed in a flat in an unhappy marriage only able to have the one child with Yoko and whom he struggled to parent. (Linda references this and John’s struggle with writing.)  Paul was no longer just his friend, he was the symbol of everything unattainable in John’s life. I’ve said it before but it’s no coincidence to me that John’s attitude towards Paul brightened when his own life was getting back on track. Also from what we know of Rosen and Green, even in his darkest obsessive pits, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Rosen mentioned in an interview that the Paul references weren’t only negative, a lot of them were just ‘huh, wonder how Paul’s getting along? Heard Paul’s song in my head today, he must be in town etc.’ All of it was obsessive and unhealthy but it wasn’t inherently hatred and anger, just interest in the person who had been key to his being since like 17 years old. Green being Green also has a pretty fun account of John pretending not to care whilst falling apart at the idea of Paul being in trouble. Did this happen? Who knows, but Green used his book as a sort of character study and this was his impression of John’s feelings for Paul. 

So what did he feel for Paul? Everything. And how could he not? From the way they talk about it, their bond feels as primal and essential to them as that of closest kin. John’s rage and lashing out against this bond is almost proof as to how tight it was and how inescapable he found it. I think it was that intertwinedness and connected identity that drove them both crazy and made the feelings of hurt worse. In the same way he loved and resented his mother for leaving him, John loved and resented Paul for doing the same. In the same way he loved and hated himself, so he loved and hated Paul. So yeah, it was messy but no matter how bad it got, my gut tells me that if the roles had reversed in 1980, the pain and damage to John would have been an annihilation on a cellular level.

TLDR: They were crazy bananas. Hope that helps!

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Death by Exposure

Written for the Phic Phight Prompts: At first Danny had been worried sick that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom, but when no one believed him it had sort of become funny. Still, after the anti-ecto act, and the GIW, and his own parents very public very violently vitriolic screeds against ghosts, Danny had to wonder what he'd ever done to Wes that the guy would risk exposing Danny to all that. (from @hpwotters-blog, or at least I think that's you're tumblr.), and Wes Weston wakes up to find an injured Phantom on the fire escape. (from @half-deadmagicperson)

Other prompts that will be included in later chapters but aren't in this one:

With how much time he spends on basketball and his delusional conspiracy theories, no one would ever suspect that Wes Weston has another secret hobby… (from @kadziduo)

And Wes has been spending more and more time around Fenton and Co. lately - hey! he’s only trying to get some much-needed evidence against them, not trying to get all buddy-buddy with them. And anyway, they’re an entirely annoying bunch, so he wholeheartedly blames them for the fact that he’s currently being monologued at by the ghost holding him hostage. (from @a-closet-emo)

Chapter 2: Exposome

AO3 Link

[Warnings for: violence, blood (ectoplasm) and injury, and guns]

Much to Danny's relief, everything continued on more or less as normal. His classmates didn't shoot ecto-blasts him while he walked down the halls, the G.I.W. didn't raid his house to abduct him for experimentation, and no matter what had been said at that presentation, the school's generally positive opinion of Phantom had remained intact, just like Sam had said it would.

The only thing that really changed was that most of the student body started wearing Fenton Wrist Rays to school. Some of the girls customized them by painting them with nail polish or gluing rhinestones to them. One girl even soldered tiny loops onto hers so she could attach charms to it. They were an accessory more than a weapon, now, and Danny found his worry subsiding.

Another thing that didn't change was Wes Weston. "I'm telling you people! Look at this!" He held up a picture of Danny with photoshopped white hair and green eyes. "Tell me he doesn't look like Phantom! You can't!"

"Yeah, and I bet if you photoshopped white hair on a picture of yourself, you'd look like Phantom too," one of the cheerleaders heckled.

"You know, there's a really easy way to prove if he's Phantom or not," an upperclassman pointed out, holding up his wrist to show off the silver bracelet there in demonstration. "These ray things don't hurt humans, right? If you really wanna prove he's Phantom, you can just give him a little zap, and see what happens."

Wes looked at the upperclassman, mouth agape in horror. "I'm not gonna shoot him!" he said, aghast at the very idea. Wes didn't even wear his wrist ray to school, and tended to scoff at the assertion that ghosts were all that dangerous at all. "I wanna prove he's Phantom not put him in the hospital."

"Uh-huh, sure." The junior scoffed and shook his head. "Sounds to me like you just don't want us all to see how wrong actually you are."

"Harmless or not, you know we're not allowed to shoot those things at each other," Sam interrupted harshly. "Unless you want detention, I suggest you put a sock in it. Come on Danny."

He followed her to their usual lunch table with Tucker right behind him. 

"I guess you guys were right about Wes not wanting to hurt me," Danny noted as they took their seats. "He may be an asshole, but it's nice to know he has some standards." Just as Danny was about to take a bite of his sandwich he felt his ghost sense go off and his breath misted in front of him. He put his food down with a deep, deep sigh. "I gotta ghost. If I'm not back by the time class starts, take notes for me, okay?"

"You got it, dude," Tucker said. "Do what you gotta do."

Danny sprinted to the bathroom to transform and then took off to deal with Cujo, who'd apparently decided to terrorize a pick-up game of catch on the football field by chasing the ball and tackling the players. Thankfully, Danny would definitely be able to take care of it before Valerie caught wind, but it gave him a bit of a scare when he got there and saw that one of players had activated their wrist ray and was trying to shoot Cujo.

"Stop that! Don't hurt him!" Danny shouted, firing a warning shot in front of the guy's feet to make him back off. "He's just trying to play with you. He doesn't know any better. Cujo! Come!" Cujo turned to look at Danny and happily trotted over to him, tongue lolling. "Good boy." Danny knelt to scratch Cujo behind the ears.

The little dog hadn't even gotten too excited and grown to the size of a shed, and yet these kids had tried to shoot him anyway. Thank the Ancients that they respected Phantom enough to stop when he told them to.

"Is he... friendly?" asked the guy who'd shot at Cujo, cautiously deactivating his wrist ray.

"Oh yeah," Danny assured. "And he's actually well-trained, too, but if he gets over-excited, well, he becomes a bigger problem. He's still friendly, but he's just a dog, and he doesn't know his own strength sometimes."

"Can I pet him?"

"Sure," Danny said. "He won't mind." The student let Cujo sniff his hand before stroking the dog's head.

"Ha," he was clearly amazed that he was able to do something like this at all, and his mouth fell open in awe. "Woah, he feels so weird, like if water could hold a shape."

"You mean like ice?" scoffed one of the other guys he'd been playing catch with.

"No, man! I can't describe it. You gotta feel it for yourself."

Skeptically, the other guy came closer and did the same as the first, cautiously stroking the dog's fur. Cujo rolled over to let them pet his belly, basking in the attention. "Oh, wow that does feel weird."

"I know, right?!"

"Sorry to cut this short, but I really need to get Cujo out of here before Valerie finds him, because she kind of blames him for ruining her life."

"Why's that?"

"Because he kind of accidentally ruined her life," Danny answered with a shrug scooping the dog up. Cujo wriggled for a moment, getting comfortable in Danny's arms before popping his head up, excited for the flight. The nearby students all said goodbye to both Phantom and Cujo. The two who'd been brave enough to pet him thanked Phantom for that opportunity.

Flying home with the ghost dog in his arms to usher him through the Fenton Portal, Danny grinned with relief, and hope. It seemed like the students of Casper High were more inclined to trust Phantom over the government. Maybe he could even convince them that what they were learning about ghosts was wrong, that ghosts could think and feel just like humans did.

After sneakily dropping Cujo off in the Ghost Zone, Danny flew back to school, but a newspaper vending machine stopped him in his tracks. The front page headline read "Phantom menace poisoning the minds of our schoolchildren!" It was an article about how Phantom was supposedly brainwashing the local youth into liking and trusting him. It warned parents to remind their children that all ghosts were evil, and dangerous, even if they appeared to act otherwise.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Danny flew the rest of the way back invisibly.

All Danny's hopes were dashed in short order as the situation grew steadily worse. The school installed ghost detector alarms that would wail anytime Danny got within six feet of them in his human form, which of course had Wes chomping at the bit to scream, "Fenton is Phantom! He keeps setting off the ghost detectors! If that's not proof, I don't know what is!"

"Danny got ecto-contaminated from one of our parents experiments a while ago," Jazz said calmly as she passed them in the hall. "If he was a ghost he would activate them from much further away."

"Yeah, what she said," Danny agreed. That, at least, was true. When he turned into Phantom, any ghost detector within thirty feet of him went off. His human form suppressed his ecto-signature enough to sow doubt in Wes' theory.

Danny's parents started giving speeches in the park about "ghost safety" that basically consisted of them spewing vitriolic ghost hate for an hour straight, and teaching ordinary people how to kill ghosts. They made Danny come to their first speech. When it was over he locked himself in his room until the morning, skipping dinner because he felt too nauseated to eat anything. 

Eventually, the propaganda started to work, and even some people at school started to believe that ghosts were evil. There were still others who disagreed, some because they wanted to believe in their ghostly hero and others simply to spite their parents, as teenagers were wont to do.

The worst was when the government gave approval for the G.I.W. to start doing anti-ghost patrols in Amity Park. Danny tried to go out as Phantom less, by the Ancients he tried, but despite their improved training, the G.I.W. just couldn't hold up to certain stronger ghosts, and they weren't immune to overshadowing either. Besides that, Danny had to protect the ghosts too.

It was one thing to let the G.I.W. chase them off, but they tried to capture ghosts for experimentation as much as possible, which Danny couldn't let fly. He wasn't about to let even his worst enemies go through anything like that. Then there were the ghosts that specifically targeted Danny, like Skulker, and forced him to transform and fight, disregarding the danger to both of them. Taking all that into consideration, try though he did, Danny actually ended up as Phantom even more often than before.

With so much more being piled onto his plate, Wes' continued campaign to expose Danny's secret stopped being funny again, and became annoying, and eventually, Danny was forced to wonder why. Why was Wes still so determined to expose him?

Surely he wasn't completely blind to everything going on. He had to know that there were laws in place that stripped Danny of all his rights as a human being, just because he had ectoplasm in him. He must have heard about all the vile things Danny's own parents said about Phantom during their "ghost safety" speeches. And there was absolutely no way the G.I.W. patrols could've escaped Wes' notice.

So why? What had Danny ever done to Wes that he would risk exposing—no, that he would do everything in his power to expose Danny to all of that? Sure, Danny had messed with him a little, had teased him, but so what? He'd never done anything to Wes that put him at risk of being dissected. What had Danny done to deserve all this?

Danny had feared Wes once, then laughed at him, then vaguely disliked him, but now Danny had grown to actually hate the guy. He resented Wes for continuing his potentially deadly efforts against Danny as the stakes rose ever higher.

Then the unthinkable happened. The G.I.W caught up to Phantom, shot him out of the sky. Danny took two shots to the back, one to the side, and one to the leg before was able to give them the slip by turning intangible and traveling underground.

It was spring break. Sam's family had dragged her into some fancy retreat that they wouldn't let her worm her way out of. Jazz was touring out-of-state colleges with their mom, and they wouldn't be back until the following afternoon. Tucker had gone to his family reunion. Danny had assured them that he would be okay. He'd promised he'd be careful.

And now he was bleeding out. Ectoplasm and flecks of blood soaked his jumpsuit, and he was sure he'd broken several bones when he'd fallen out of the sky and hit the ground hard. He couldn't go home, not in this condition. The house's ghost defenses would finish him off in an instant. He could go to his friend's places, but there would be no one there to help him, and he couldn't properly treat the wounds on his back by himself. He needed help. He needed someone who knew, who wouldn't hand him over to his parents or the Guys in White.

And he needed them fast because he could tell he was about to pass out, and he couldn't risk someone finding him unconscious and calling the G.I.W. on him. There was only one option available to him. Reluctantly, he flew west, huge drips of ectoplasm falling rapidly from his open wounds, splattering on the street below. The ecto-blasts had singed his skin too badly, preventing him from healing as fast as he normally did. The edges of his vision started to blacken as he flew sluggishly, awkwardly through the air, barely avoiding another anti-ghost patrol.

Finally, he reached his destination.

His only chance.

He landed heavily on the fire escape with a loud clang. The second his feet hit the metal, his knees buckled and he blacked out momentarily, unable to go any further. So there he was, helpless and injured, outside the bedroom window of none other than Wes fucking Weston, desperately hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

Previous | Next

[ithel-lovik]

lazy writeblr intro

about myself

ithel (pseudonym)

they/them, neutral terms only

mid-20s

autistic, ADHD, cPTSD

somewhat crippled/ill

fantasy/horror writer

artist (@sardonicdoll)

white, TME, gentile

not new to tumblr or writing whatsoever, just new to writeblr. i'm a BFA student studying digital arts, but having writing as a career would be amazing because most forms of employment are pretty inaccessible to me as a disabled trauma survivor. that's why i have a patreon. unfortunately, my disability situation also causes me to struggle with being committed and consistent, but there's only so much i can do about that.

other than writing i also like photography and video-games.

about my work

what i like to write: fantasy and horror, dysfunctional romance subplots, death and resurrection/transformation of the self, monsters, themes about trauma and recovery, usually long-form stories but i have some short story ideas as well, dunno if my stuff counts as YA or NA

goals: to actually finish/publish something, whether it's one of my book/short story ideas or my webfiction project

current project

title: Red Sodom

genre: webfiction, post-apocalyptic horror w/ cosmic and biological horror elements, zombie-adjacent (but not really)

warnings: gore, body horror, violence, themes of trauma and its effects, centers around disease/a world-ending pandemic (i feel like i should say this story is not at all inspired by or connected to COVID-19)

stuff people might like: they/them nb+disabled+anti-hero lead, other queer characters, goes against typical post-apocalyptic tropes (e.g. everyone being selfish and trying to stab each other in the back instead of humanity coming together), "came back wrong," trauma is a central theme to the story (particularly childhood/developmental), also heavy themes involving redemption

summary:

Sira wakes up to the ruins of civilization with no memory or knowledge of what happened, other than the name they’re called by a disembodied voice just before they regain consciousness. A red mist blankets much of the earth, carrying with it an unstoppable pathogen that transforms those that inhale it into grotesque, reality-defying monstrosities dubbed “phantoms.” Strangely, Sira demonstrates a never-before-seen immunity to this pathogen, and they are taken in by the CPC – one of the paramilitary organizations working to combat the mist and its monsters – for protection and for the purposes of researching a vaccine or cure. Haunted by nightmares of a crimson-colored world, it becomes clear that Sira’s immunity to the disease is no mere coincidence, and their awakening sets in motion a downward spiral of events that proves the apocalypse is far from over.

where to find it:

currently what i had done previously is being re-written and i'm going to finish drafting the 1st arc in its entirety before posting publicly again, but you can still read the old writing at these places+it's where the new writing will be uploaded eventually

redsodom.wordpress.com

RoyalRoad: IthelLovik

Wattpad: IthelLovik

other projects

Exalted - fantasy/adventure with original worldbuilding about a mage who is driven from his homeland, discovers he has the same capacity for power as a god does, and gets pulled into a plot by a member of the nobility to destroy the planet

Safe Harbor - short supernatural romance story about a nineteen year-old who wants to escape the world and a thing that comes from the sea

all of my ideas other than Red Sodom have been put on hold to try and get it off the ground, but i'm hoping to continue work on them eventually

what i'll post

updates to my work, writing references, and any stuff that i make pertaining to it that i share with the public (like what i share to IG)

other places to find me

patreon.com/ithellovik

IG - ithel.lovik

twt: ithel_lovik

[manndraki]

FUCKING SEA SLUG TUESDAY!!! AND THURSDAY, AND WEDNESTDAY, AND ANY ANYDAY, SEA SLUG EVERYDAY!!!!!

SEA SLUGS IN GENERAL ARE INCREDIBLE!!! Every species is just so different from each other the colors and patterns are so beautiful and biologocally they are so interesting, Melibe Viridis is a really interesting and different species tho, i almost didnt believe it was a sea slug (Same reaction i had to the Sea Angel, didnt believed it was a sea slug until i read from multiple sources claiming it was one)

Those motherfuckers are carnivorous but barely a hunter, they just scoop the sea floor hoping to eat something (Little crabs and other crustacians), the scooping is a common characteristic of this family (Tethydidae), ALL THETHYDIDS HAVE THIS SCOOPER HOOD! Yes, you heard me, all of them are like this, some are much less dreadful, its not hard to be less dreadful than Melibe Viridis, this guy is the freak of the family, and i will show more examples of it to prove it, sorry Viridis, you are a little dreadful thing

Before we go to the examples i need to say those things are MASSIVE for a sea slug, most sea slugs are between 0,3 to 2 centimeters, very smol, but you know how big Viridis is? This thing can go up to 12 centimeter, MASSIVE BOY, COLOSSAL, actually, lot of this family individuals are massive, colossal, enormous, gigant, huge, and other synonyms i dont know

12 centimeters of pure horror babeee

So the first example is Melibe Japonica, it has a hood, ceratas, a beautiful color and as the name suggests, its from japan. This one is another massive boy, the photographer of the second image reported that this individual was 30~40cm long, with a oral hood diameter of 15 cm (BIG BOY!!!!!)

Now we go to Tethys fimbria, another massive boy! 30cm, ENORMOUS, this one looks more like some weird fish than a sea slug, and different from most sea slugs, btw this guy can swim, yes you heard me right, big boy can swim well!! Looks more like a funky dance tho. This is the only species of this genus as far i know.

Melibe arianeae, this little guy has tiny white and opaque turbecles that covers all of its ceratas and rhinophoral sheaths, the body is almost transparent so you can see its digestive system (Look at those little organs), Arianeae was also the first Melibe species to have confirmed reports in the tropical western atlantic ocean, with 2 specimens collected from Florida, there were only 4 observations of this little guy, a relatively new species to humanity since it was discovered back in 2013, so there isnt a lot of information about them

Lets see another translucent Melibe, this is melibe Colemani, a weird sea slug that i cant wrap my head around to what is supposed to be what, or where is supposed to be things, its known as Phantom sea slug, the reason is clear

This nudibranch is a odd guy, does not looks like most Melibe, you can barely see its mouth, and its a recent species too, it was discovered in 2008 but it only got its name in 2012, a month after its original discoverer, Neville Coleman, passed away

Last slug of the night!!! Its 4am, i started writing this at 3am and im really tired, open your doers forrrrr....MELIBE MEGACERAS!! This thing is scary as fuck to me, this guy looks more like an insect than a nudibranch, and as the name suggests, its ceratas are BIG, its brownish color comes from the microscopic algae that lives on it, they apparently have a symbiotic relation, but i couldn't find a lot about it, but it seems to exist

Im sorry if i got any information wrong or forgot to say anything, i would keep writing this forever, i love sea slugs so much djsjdhd

But its 4:30 am and im almost passing out so i will post it and sleep, good night guys, no nightmares about scooper slugs eating you all

Some extra facts about the family Tethydidae

1. It only has 2 genus, Melibe and Tethys, being Tethys a genus of 1 single specimen

2. Many of them can swim! Some are terrible swimmers and it cant help them escape, others are great swimmers like this little guy (Link to youtube video of sea slug swimming here)

3. They are nudibranchs, yes, nudibranchs, you must know them from the colorful little slugs that looks like candy, just to be clear those people know are mostly Chromodorididae, a family (A reminder that not all sea slugs are nudibranchs, but all nudibranchs are sea slugs)

4. They dont have radula like most sea slugs, radulas are what sea slugs use to eat, their mouths, like several little teeths they use to scrap food and eat

5. BIG BOYS BIG BOYS

Thanks Bane for showing me this :]

ITS THIS THING TUESDAY

[love-bigboss1fan-me]

Spoiler warning if you haven’t played MGSV or not familiar with any of the MGS games. Please keep in mind that this is my opinion and interpretation of V if you have another that’s wonderful because V’s ending has evidence to support both sides. With that said here is once again my theory on MGSV’s ending just more organized 😂 Also warning that this is long.

After 9 years of MGSV being out yeah I still think Venom is in alter ego of Big Boss’s mind. I’m not an expert so if I get anything wrong please correct me. So the ending shares that one of the things that caused Big Boss to go into a coma was a heart attack and he enters a brain dead state. This has a possibility of allowing brain damage. The medicine that Ishmael uses a “pick me up” was once used to help people who had suffered heart attacks. It is interesting to think that Big Boss and Venom’s injuries are in the same place, the head and the heart. I like to think Ishmael is a representation of Big Boss’s survival skill because seriously no one reacts to him when he makes any kind of noise. Which is odd that XOF soldiers just ignore him during their search. It is also odd that his right eye is tracking. I know some say it could be a glass eye or something and but the thing according to Para-Medic it’s ruptured and nothing has mentioned his eye being removed before or after. Even before V starts we had a snippets of Big Boss’s PTSD in the form of flashbacks and hallucinations. The famous scene of when The Boss passes and the flowers turning red is hallucination of his guilt and grief the flower petal turns white the second it leaves his hand and when he is no longer in that field. It is easy to say that is just MGS imagery but because it is MGS it probably does have something deeper going on beneath the surface. Portable Ops and Peace Walker have shown us him having intense flashbacks and in PW it actually causes him to black out once in the AI pod. We even hear a mix of voices of The Boss and her AI pod that it makes hard to tell which is the one from the pod and inside his head. The AI pod even has phantom butterflies and flower petals inside it. That imagery only stops once the pod is destroyed. He has a tendency to lie to himself when memories are too painful to recall. Like in PW he knows full well what the truth is of 3 otherwise why would he eventually go off on his own but because the truth is too painful he goes with the cover story to prove some mental release. Can you imagine how much stress he must be under in trying to keep his trauma at bay and having people to rely and look up to him. He can’t show that he is cracking. Could you lead with all the questions and doubts inside your head? It is like with the clones he knows they exist but rather than admit that he dismisses any talk of cloning because wouldn’t you if it was done without your consent. So why not pretend that they have no relation. MGS4 even mentions that something about Solid and Liquid’s DNA having differences. Also who is to say Ocelot didn’t run the test and just lied to Miller by saying that they have no relation. After all Miller knows too much about Zero and the clones to be a simple “business partner”. It would serve Ocelot well to keep him in the dark for the time being. Instead of acknowledging past betrayals cough Miller cough why not pretend they didn’t happen. Most remembered him saying “they are much sicker than that” when Ocelot mentioned them being cell grown in a lab however not 2 seconds later he tells Ocelot to treat them like everyone else. That’s such a fast switch and why. I don’t think all the tapes are truthful since we have seen Ocelot and Miller in the Paz hallucination so who is to say there isn’t more. Speaking of Paz it is forgotten that she says in PW

“I am an angel of Peace I will be watching over you” it kind of makes sense why he would think about Paz that way. Before Zeke he did seem to care about her in some way and even sounds a bit upset after the battle. Despite her angel of peace act he did eventually warmed up to her and some of her ideas.

“Fighting is the only thing I understand but this doesn’t mean I have a grudge against those who believe in peace.”-Big Boss (this really needs to be talked about more)

I also noticed she sounds oddly cutesy in the truth tapes much like the hallucination tapes. Paz only sounds like that when she is undercover and drops it when she doesn’t have to hide anymore like her diary or Ground Zeroes tapes. So why is she doing the young voice when talking to Zero? It is strange unless it is a clue that V is still not being honest. The credits in V and the timeline also are a bit strange like Kiefer Sutherland being credited as Snake but not as Big Boss yes they share the same code name but if they are different why not credit them differently that’s like calling Big Boss and Solid Snake Old Snake you would be kinda of right but still wrong. The timeline says Big Boss’s Phantom ok if Venom is his own character why not call him Venom, use the player’s name, or heck call him Ahab as we hear from time to time. Why phantom? It sounds very vague.

In MG2 SS there is a codec you can read that talks about the rest of Big Boss’s limbs and right ear becoming cybernetics and MGS4 talks about rebuilding his body. We don’t know what that rebuilding means but the novel and database do lean into that rumor being true.

I also have some interesting snippets of Skull Face also being a potential alter ego even though I go back and forth with it but impossible to ignore. Skull Face and Big Boss have the same past. In the “unofficial” official Big Boss is a third generation Japanese American in Hawaii and became an orphan during WW II. You could go far as to say we don’t know what language he grew up using, a mix of Japanese and English or if one was more favored over the other. Skull Face is Hungarian and also became an orphan during a war. Skull Face is referred to as a ghost without a past well who does that sound like? Big Boss will not tell the other characters about his past other than The Boss. Heck as the player you actually have to dig around for it in the wiki or databases. Even the name John Doe is a reference to an unknown male. He is very much our ghost without a past. Skull Face has an odd interest in The Boss that only shows up when we are in the jeep with him and even holds onto some of her possessions.

“You left everything behind your country, your identity, your past, and ideals”-Miller about Big Boss

“His country, his family, his face, his identity, everything was stolen from him.” Ocelot about Skull Face

I don’t think I have to mention them being burn victims. They even share dialogue

“Nothing to be ashamed of pain gets the better of us all.”

“Chico, growing up means choosing how you are going to live your life.”

Lol I think that’s everything. If you read to this point thank you. As I said this is just my interpretation of V’s ending if you do believe Venom is his own character then go for it V has evidence to support both sides to keep us talking for years to come.

Happy 9 years MGSV

[froldgapp]

For the writing prompt list (and Tim Drake):

“I hate that I let you convince me to do this” or “I don’t want you to die for me, I want you to live for me.” :D

Thank you!

“And one and two and three and f–!” Dick lunged forward, barely managing to keep himself upright on his crutches, as Tim lost his footing and almost ate a mouthful of rubber matting. He managed to correct himself at the last moment, bouncing into Dick and nearly bringing them both down. “Oopsie,” Dick said, chuckling despite the judgemental look Jason was giving him as he moved through his cool down routine.

“Ugh,” Tim moaned into Dick’s chest. “I hate that I let you convince me to do this.”

Dick made there-there circles on Tim’s back. “You’ll get the hang of it. Think of it like an assignment. Or–ooh–like an equation. You love those.”

“I failed calculus four times, Dick. Mr Schiller cried when he had to call Bruce about my report.”

That gave Dick pause. Tim looked up at him through sweat-clumped hair. “Why’d you have to go and break your foot?”

“Technically masked assailant number four broke my foot. And a mallet. And gravity, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You love watching me suffer.”

“I love to watch you flourish. Which is exactly what dancing will help you do–hey!”

Tim sank to the floor, leaving a damp forehead streak on Dick’s spotless grey cropped sweater. Sitting slumped in his white shorts and tee, he looked like a person doing their best impersonation of a discarded tissue.

“Nobody’s ever going to believe I’m a dancer, never mind a new member of this fancy dance troupe. Can’t we just, I dunno, storm in and make the guy hand himself in?”

Awkwardly, Dick positioned himself on the floor opposite Tim and offered his most doleful look. “Come on, Timmy. You know the guy’s cagey. Now I’m out of commission for the next four weeks, you’re our best shot at luring him out.”

“Isn't there anyone else in this stupid family who...?" Tim trailed off as his weary eyes took in miniature demon Damian furiously drawing a picture of a mound of dead ninja and Jason who was distractedly inspecting an errant nipple hair. "Ugh," he groaned and flopped onto his back. “This is going to be a disaster. I can’t even box step.”

"Stop overthinking it so much, Timmy. It's just like fighting." 

"Then he's truly a lost cause," Damian sneered from across the room.

"Har dee har.” Tim closed his eyes and sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. “Dick, you know I would die for you...”

“I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to live for me. Dance for me!”

Jason sniggered. “Phantom of the crop-topera over here.”

“But I just... It’s embarrassing. I have two left feet.”

“Nuh-uh.” Dick wagged his finger. “You have two perfect feet but one big noisy brain.” Struggling to his feet and crutches again, Dick offered his hand. “I promise I won’t let you embarrass yourself.” Jason opened his mouth to speak, so Dick added, “Publicly.”

Tim wriggled in place like a petulant toddler. That’s when Dick knew he’d won. Tim was way too easy. “I promise you won’t regret it. I think you’ll even like it. And besides, you can prove Jason and Damian here wrong, which is, like, your favourite activity. They’ll be calling you Mr Hips when this is all over.”

Tim grumbled and took Dick’s hand. “I can think of one or two things to call you.”

Dick grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Can’t be any worse than what I got.”

Tim trotted back to the middle of the training mat, smiling despite himself. “Play the damn track.”

[karaspal]

"Also, did they SAY that was the only reason she was being sent along?"

yes, actually! they did!

as they are about to send her, her mother tells her "you'll journey to earth to look after your baby cousin, kal-el." her father doesn't even tell her he loves her...

later in the season, kara has a talk with her sister where she expresses sadness over the fact kal had to save her because she still feels like it was supposed to be the other way around and she failed him. what happened to her (getting stuck in the phantom zone) was not her fault, but she still felt guilt well into her adulthood because of the fact her parents drilled into her she's saved only to look after her cousin.

kara: it wasn't supposed to be this way. this is the reason my mother and father sent me to earth.

alex: they wanted you to live, kara.

kara: no, it's more than that. i was supposed to be the one saving him, not the other way around.

in fact, here is something kara said in the season one finale that proves my point - "but my mother didn't send me to earth to fall in love with a human, have children, live in a house with a white picket fence. she sent me here to protect kal-el. and now, i will use my powers to protect the earth. and if i die achieving that, I'm at peace with it."

even in season six, after she's healed from most of her trauma around krypton, she still says the reason they sent her was to protect her cousin. "my father sent me to earth to take care of my baby cousin who went before me..." so it's not her interpreting it wrongly when she was younger. she was sent to earth to look after her cousin, not just have a second chance at life. and that's so so wrong.

"You want to show me what they could have done that would still ensure those kids safety?"

they are kara's parents. their main concern should be kara. instead, they sent her as a scapegoat to ensure kal is fine. i don't understand why you don't see that as wrong. sure, they can tell her to stick with her couisn, but not make it her entire mission.

here are some examples of alura and zor-el sending kara to earth where they are actually being good parents:

supergirl: woman of tomorrow #6

legion of super-heroes (2023)

notice how alura made it a point to tell kara how much she loved her instead of telling her she's only saving her so kara could watch over kal? notice how she said "find" instead of "take care" as to not put pressure on her child? yeah...

"This just sounds like you don't understand parenthood, or the dire situation they were in."

again, kal is not their child. kara is. they shouldn't put this baby over their own daughter but to each thier own i guess.

#funny how she valued it after Lena took advantage of her

why is lena da bus driver all of a sudden?

#alura's gratitude to Alex for what her family did for Kara shores up my argument btw

alura was alive and never bothered to look for her daughter. it's really not helping your point of "alura and zor-el are good parents" here...

also, you could make the argument "oh, she saw kara getting sucked into the phantom zone. she thought kara was dead." which would be wrong because she knew people don't die there, but whatever.

overall, i don't know why you're acting like this is a bad thing. in terms of storytelling, it's quite good. it adds layers to kara's character and makes her much more complex. a main character having bad parents is nothing new and is used a lot when writing a story to make a characters more interesting.

honestly, it's really crazy how kara's parents (in the show) saved her only so she can watch over kal. "you'll journey to earth to look after your baby cousin, kal-el.", "my father sent me to earth to take care of my baby cousin who went before me..." don't you just want your daughter safe? don't you just want her to live? is her life not worth that much to you? her happiness? why must she be spared only to look after some boy? why must you drill into the head of this young girl her life's worth it only if she's giving it away for others? are you not ashamed? ... fucking assholes!

[inkykeiji]

you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later. 

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince. 

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new. 

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to. 

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most. 

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out. 

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion. 

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom. 

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

[catty-words]

on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07. 

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here — 

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

[muffindaddystyles]

Tell me you love me, before I go.

A/N: A very short smutty writing I had in my swirling whole night, which unapologetically I ended up writing in the wee hours of dark.

Summary: Harry and Y/N are rivals -- very passive aggressive enemies. When on a mission Y/N breaks into his room he had no choice but to punish her.

AU: Rivals to lovers, dark sci-fi, angry rough sex, spanking and spitting, reassurance kink and unrequited love.

A war between two groups. Left one with nothing but a tech base and other with almost everything. So the Arsonists raid the Phantoms' buildings to steal food items and necessary fuels for their people since they're mostly unarmed due to lack of weapons they try to use their brain as much as possible. 

Y/N works in one of the tech bases of Arsonists and right now she's standing with her five more mates trying to figure out how to break through these large gates of the villain's building, one of his most strong headquarters. 

They've to collect some data before another truck of fuel arrives for Phantoms next Wednesday so they could have access to it without doing much effort. 

Once sneaking in successfully because the two guards were too muddled in gossiping their arsess about their maiden. The building's nothing too extravagant, sleek and able to live, dimmed to an unpleasant light indicating everyone inside it is sleeping. 

She barges into the villain's room easily and almost had all the information in her hands from his drawers when the door to the room banged close, startling her at spot and the frames of her glasses fell on the carpeted floor. 

"Shit." 

"D'ya think cursing would take ye' out of here? if so you're down bad" Her heart sinks in when his cold insensate voice booms within the walls — a heavy boot comes crushing her glasses, again and again mercilessly. 

Her blood boils. Because, what the fuck. Doesn't he have any manners? 

"Do you think I need my glasses to punch the shit out of you, you prick!!" She pounced at him, almost breaking his nose into a splitted eiffel tower but he dodged it, twisting her wrists at her back and snatching the files from her sneering menacingly —- letting her painful grunts fly over his head without any remorse. 

"Well, well." She yelps when he tightens his grip angrily, "Look what cat dragged in come little mousey we're going to have some fun." She didn't know until now that someone could be this strong as he puts her in a chair like a rag doll binding her with no escape out. 

She tries to squirm and wriggle her butt out but he just tuts standing tall and evil in front of her, she rakes her gaze slowly up to his tanned biceps and clavicles popping from underneath his flimsy shirt, matted curls grazing his shoulders. 

"Oh no, trust me sweetheart, you're going to want to stay strapped in here. We're going to find out how many times an Arsonist can break –- and for the fact my people will kill you on the spot if you step out of my room." Shiver runs down her body from fear and he chuckles, flopping onto the edge of his bed, man spreading, leaning onto the heels of his palms behind him. 

"You're pathetic!" She spits out. Full of venom. 

"Pfft, a thief telling me that 'm pathetic." He shakes his head and she's despising his audacity as if he rules the world. She could kick him square in his sexy face but the thing's she's bound to this damn uncomfy chair. 

"Atleast, I don't go on killing people." She grumps and it's like she pushed a button when his irises turn pitch dark. Her eyes widen in astonishment, reeking with fear when he leaves his spot in a thunder striding towards her furiously and drags the chair closer to him, almost lifting it inches above floor. 

The next thing she knows that a gun is resting against her temple ready to be fired, "Ye' really that desperate fo' me to prove it to you, huh?" He growls, hooded gaze following the gun that's sliding down her cheek and the way her breath wavers —- lips trembles, nose twitches he knows he's fucked. 

"Will it hurt?" If she's going to die it better be an easy way. 

His eyes soften at that. Taking in the rosy features of her, the plushiness and squishiness of her skin that his fingers feels like dipping into cream. The women of Phantom aren't like this; they're built differently to fight and kill who wrongs them -- they're almost heartless at this point. 

"Dunno, You'll get to know after taking one." He shrugs like it's not a biggie tipping her chin with the gun's pointer and her eyelids slip shuts. She couldn't cry. Even her dead body wouldn't forgive her if she would cry infront of her worst enemy for the last time. 

"I hate you, Harry. I'd never ever forgive you for kidnapping my cat when we were small." There she said it. If she's gonna die soon she better let it off her chest. Before it could hit him right in the wound he builds a shield fast arguing back with a stoic chuckle. 

"Guilt tripping wouldn't help, darling." He tuts patting her cheek with the gun's barrel —- funny case it's empty of bullets. He just shooted all of them whilst doing target practice. 

"Fuck you." She yells. 

"It'd take much more action than just undressing me naked with your bare eyes." He squeaks dramatically. Stepping away and pouts when she huffs trying to kick her feet in his direction. 

"Not my fault that you're a perv." 

He pouts feigning fake disappointment putting a hand on his chest, "You're such a grudge holder." 

"Think about 10 ways to fuck me until then 'm heading to make amends for you -- see what they offer in return of their precious nerd." He smirks, it's sad such a gorgeous face could be such evil she thinks. 

// 

When he comes back she's fallen asleep from getting tired and exhausted being trapped in the same spot for hours, "Sorry, peaches but they don't want you back –- even told me to kill you if that what it ta —- oooh" He halts in his tracks closing the door behind him quietly not to wake her up and pads softly towards her, putting her dangling head back gently in a comfortable position and tucks a strand of her hair that's tickling her nose behind her ear. 

You're not supposed to act that way with your enemy, you FUCKER. 

His brain screams but his heart says otherwise. 

She has changed. She never cries anymore. Everytime they kidnapped her or she ended up being caught from his henchmen —- she'd always need company to make her feel less frightened from the hollowness of their buildings, would cry when they'd lock her up in dark rooms. 

It's awfully hurtful how once bestfriends turns into rivals just because of a conflict that ruined their and their families lives. 

She has been doing all of this for people who doesn't even care about her. They're using her and many others like her to build a nuclear power plant so they could become intimidating. 

He retires to sleep. Debating in his sleep whether he should just free her and tell her to sleep in one of the rooms of the buildings but soon the possibilities died when he was high in his slumber. 

// 

He groans, knuckling the sleepiness away from his eyes. He woke up from loud the thumping and found Y/N trying to break the door knob, he winces covering his ears when she screams watching him lunge towards her in rush. 

His chocolate curls bouncing atop his head. His emerald eyes speaking with morning's gold and lips ripe like cherry. His brows kinked in annoyance and expression pinched in rage. 

"You're confident." He rasps out in his morning husk and slams his hands on either side of her head trapping, cornering her between him and the wall.

"Did you really think it was going to be this easy." He nothing but purres, pushing her against the door. She gasps abruptly aware of their height differences moreso the radiation of power he daunts that she ignored her whole life. 

"Hmm." He hummed. Eyes black with intimidation burning her under the intensity of it, he keeps his focus on her, smirking. "It suits you. This trying to fight me, desperation is a beautiful look on you." 

"Fuck you." 

"I mean if, ask nicely." His smile is sweetly honey and lethal if you ask me. 

She glares at him with blazing daggers, "This isn't the way you make people love you." Her chest heaving with his heat close to her and his scent enveloping her. 

"Love?" He laughs fondly even, crinkled forming by his eyes and he breathes out when she hovers her dry lips over his's, "Sweet thing this isn't about love — if ye ask me far from that." He's lying. He's full of bullshit. 

"And yet you don't touch me or hurt me." She squints her eyes up at him wrecking her brain how to slip away from his hold, "If you beg so." He simpers awfully lewd for her. Sure as rock for what he said with his whole chest. 

"Come get me then!" She trips him aside and rushes for the door when he pushes her into it tightening his hand around her throat, it's aching him to tell her the truth but he wants to let her know her worth. He rests his forehead against her's muttering a rumble deep within his chest, "They don't want you Y/N." Her windpipes squeezes painfully. The statement punching her lungs. Tears springing in her eyes. 

"You're lying!!" She looks up at him shattered and desperate. 

He caresses his knuckles against her tear stained cheek, "Shh, shh baby I'll always want you even if they don't — " He jerks back when she blows hit at his brawny chest yelling at him. 

"It's because of you!! You, you, you." He sighs. Grabbing her wrists and pining them above her head, "Shut up, please." His chillness irks her more and she nips at him feastly. 

"Make me." So he does. When her eyes drift up at his determined ones it takes her breath away and she knew it was over for her. 

His lips catches her's in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. Nothing gentle mind mushing about it rather pricking needles into her skin with the severeness of it. She feels the door rattling against her back when he shifts, pushing her against it with his hips, every thought of her exploding into white noise of want and lust. The dark curl of desire twisting in her stomach and pearling sweat on her neck. With the last thread of restraint in herself she tries to pull away. 

"No." He says bringing her lips back to his's. Cupping her cheeks to deepen the kiss and it's ardent as before not loosing it's spark, she slips her hands under his shirt — pulling him closer and the low groan at the back of his throat, a small pleading noise of want sets her skin on fire. 

"Fuck me."  She mewls. Trying to latch on his body like a kitten with it's dainty paws. 

He glides his clammy palms down her bum and grabs her thighs wrapping them around his waist. Not breaking the kiss but tasting ever dulcet corners of her mouth and creating heavenly noises. 

The next thing they know she's crawling back with the help of her bum to settle in the nest of pillows and he's fumbling with his belt buckle quite aggressively, she tugs the hem of his shirt down not satiated enough from having his lips on her and meanders her fingers in his hair to pull at them roughly in order to flush her chest up against his's.

"Never thought your sheets would have smelled other than sex." Because, genuinely. They smell that of fresh mint and roses. 

"So, you think of me doing dirty on this bed you're laying at the moment?" He asks mock and degradation evident in his tone, "D'ya get wet dreamin' 'bout me railin' ye' to death?" He grazes his teeth along her jaw and sucks at her earlobe counting in her silence. 

"Shut up." She gasps, probably from the abrupt press of his bulge against the inside of her thigh. 

"Make me then." He growls. Fisting the hem of her hoodie and pulls it over her head throwing it among his skinny jeans. Her head falls back and lips tremble from the effect of slap he landed at her outer thigh —-- she knows she can't shut him.

Though he knows that her single command and he'd be at his knees for her. 

When she clings to him for dear life and whimpers in his ear softly, his eyes widen in realization and he leans away to watch her expressions diffuse into manifold emotions. His nose scrunches up and he holds back his cooes for her. 

She's a subby. A cute one. 

Her eyes blink open to the sight of him out of his boxers and it waters her mouth —- her mind manipulating her to lunge forward and take his heavy member in her palm to give a good suck to his shiny crimson head. 

Down her throat. Nestle her nose against the trim patch of hair under his balls. 

"Like what y'see, doll?" He highers his chin quite smug about her staring and she hates him for that, "Pretty cocky for someone who likes staring at his enemy's tits." Her voice groggy. She wheezes a squeak through her nose when Harry pulls his shirt over his head revealing toned pecs and abs -- skin sewn with tats. 

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to stare at it for longer when that shirt comes wrapping around her eyes blocking her sight. 

He can never let her have nice things would he?

"Wanted to gag your mouth with it … but I'd rather love hearing you moan fo' daddy." He nips at her collarbones -- sucking it harshly to leave a prominent mark. His calloused hand rubs over her tummy smiling against her skin when she jolts and lets a little squeal slip. 

His cock drips precome at her tummy and her breath shudders into heavy pants when the tip of his cock dipped in her belly button nudging it. 

"Ha —- " He glides his sticky head down her happy trail and slips his large palm into her panties cupping her with his middle finger teasing her entrance, "Couldn't hear you!" He ducks down to put his ear near her lips and drums the pads of his digits against her cheek. 

She huffs and squirms for a second then moans breathily when he spanks the side of her hip leaving a sting, "Oh my god, daddy." His grin victorious and he lowers down to smudge his lips against her parted ones -- kissing her tongue and humming around it. 

She's somewhere it's hard to configure out, in between paradise and wonderland. 

"Tell me princess, what d'I do with you in your filthy dreams?" He grabs her jaw patching gentle pecks against her lips and he slops his finger into her throbbing pussy, "Fuckin' drippin' down ye' bum fo' me." She cries out trying to hook her thigh around him but he hisses slapping her cunt hardly -- turning her into a thrashing mess. She's trying hard to suppress the bitter-sweet sensation of her own body getting out of control and her glistening pussy lips flutter erratically creating sloppy noises. 

She squirts drenching the sheets underneath them and her panties. 

He slides his arm under her arching back pushing her up against his chest with a jerk, "Daddy's askin' you somethin'." He grits, propping his knee in between her thighs to rub it against her soaking centre. 

She gulps, licking her dry lips, "You–your rings … ah!" Her whimpers are muffled against his chest and he twists his thumb in tight circles to smear her wetness from her slit to clitoris, "What 'bout them, doll?" 

How does she tell him she liked what he did earlier. 

"Daddy, please … " She whines blindly searching for his face but he grips her wrists in his one hand and groans, "How's daddy gonna make you feel good when you don't tell him, pet?" He takes a kitten lick of her perky nipple. Teasing her areola with the tip of his cold tongue against her warm sweaty body —- he laps at it hungrily then creates a suckling noises, the noises, his slobbery tongue on her body, his fingers curled inside her pussy and the thick humidity is too overwhelming, she feels like fainting. 

She wants him, inside her needy pussy. 

She can't take the teasing anymore. 

"Spanking! I – I liked it when you did it, please." He kisses her nipple for the last time before smashing his mouth against her's in a fervent sinfulness and parts away with a smooching noise to sit back on his heels, "It wasn't that hard was it? Just a word and I could give you my whole world." The sincerity in his voice makes her want to hug him and kiss him for lifetime but for now he has other plans as he rips her panties away moaning obscenely gruff at the sight of her pussy weeping for him to pound his cock inside her, so ready and full of dripping honeyed wetness  for him. 

"Your safe word is clouds." He whispers in her ear. He knows her limits and her resistance but by any chance he'd cross it he'd never forgive himself, "What's it?" He asks and she says in wavering, "Clouds." 

"Atta girl." He pets her cheek. 

Her nail scratches the side of his hands that are pinning her down when he spits on her already damp cunt, a loud noise resonates along with her needy cries when his free hand adorned in jewels came spanking her pussy and her pelvis remains lifted in air bathing in the sting of metal and the throb rattling in her whole core. 

"This's what you wanted?" He kisses his teeth slapping her slick clit again and again, "To be roughed up by daddy, hmm." She bobs her head squirming and wriggling. Her words struck in her throat. 

"To be manhandled." He hums a growlish moan tasting his own fingers coated in her juices, "I'll show you what being manhandled really feels like." He promises her. She gasps a sweet yelp when he flips her over and throws her bum up.

His cock rubbing against her thigh and her heartbeat fastens, anticipating something, crimping the sheets in her fists and mewls into the mattress when he spanks her ass loving the way it jiggles stroking it afterwards to subside the burn down before landing another brutal one. 

She bolts her eyes shut throwing back her hips at him and he lays all the way over her back pushing her down on the bed, her cum trickling down the inside of her thigh, "Want daddy's cock?" He asks. Slicking the head of his prick up and down her asshole and slit. 

When she nods vigorously he bumps it in furious circles against her swollen bundle of nerves, "Then beg fo' it," He says intimidatingly and she doesn't waste a second before blabbering shamelessly. 

"Daddy … please I want your massive cock inside me, all of it." In her entire lifetime -- she never once uttered these kind of words. 

His heart mushes into a puddle seeing her a babbling mess and grabby hands for him, he kisses her gently speaking to her with foremost affectionate, "shh, shh moppet. You could have it anytime you want it, daddy's g'na fill you to rim with his cum and make you keep it there for hours with his prick still snug inside your little pussy, just made for him, c'mere...yeah just like that." He lays her back gently that her front is facing him now and wraps his hand around her calve raising it and pushing it against her chest firmly.

A series of pornographic moans and whimpers echoes in his bedroom when he seathes inside her slowly stretching her out in by inch leaving a burn behind her pulsating walls, their breath laboured breaths mingling, "Fuck you're so warm baby —-- hugging daddy's cock so good." He whines looking down where they're connected and knotted. His stomach twists and turns, his hips stiffens and he resists from pushing inside her when she's not ready but her milking him with her wetness isn't doing him any mercy too. 

She gropes his ass, nudging him to move and their teeths clanks, temples falls against eachother and lips whisper prayers of their unrequited love when he pulls all the way back to pound back inside her roughly. 

"You're daddy's good girl, making him feel so good. I want to keep you to myself. all of you and cherish you, make love to you, w'na mark you however I want." He groans eyes rolling back under his closed lids grinding his hips against her's in rhythmic pleasuring motions to give her clit stimulations and she cries out feeling another bursting orgasm bubbling in her tummy. 

"'M gonna cum, daddy!" She tugs at his roots and he drives more maniacly inside her, "Squirt around daddy's cock pet, so your pussy could swallow it deeper inside you." The headboard of bed hits against the wall vigorously and she digs her heels deeper into the dimples at his back moaning at the top of her lungs when she gushes all over his dick making more squelching, soapy, dirty noises of him raming inside her. 

She desires for more. 

She has become one little insatiable thing. 

His balls smacks against her bum and his thursts turn faster to chase his high, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He curses nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and keeps his hand around his throat with the slight pressure of claimation. 

"Come fo' me again." He spanks her ass and she clamps shut down at him pushing him to the edge of ecstasy, "Squeezing me so tight -- gimme more, I know you can princess." Her legs tremble around his waist when she crampies around him and his cock's head strokes against her sweet spot doing wonders to just topple her off real quick. 

"Daddy!" She feels floaty and foggy head coming on his cock for the many times she has forgotten. Her mind blocking out even the weak shuddering whimpers and beaten moans of Harry as he reaches his orgasm unloading inside her -- his cum sticking thickly to her walls and some of it oozing outside of her pussy hole but he pumps it back with lazy strokes. 

He lifts his smushed face from the dip of her neck, his own curls sweaty against the nape of his neck and he smoothes his palms down her sides to calm her, his lips brushing featherly against the corner of her mouth as she keeps on blabbering something. 

When he tries to pull out gently she cries out pawing at his shoulders, "Daddy no!" He caresses her sweaty hair back and gets rid of her blindfold, pecking her nose sweetly. 

He wants to take care of her. He yearned to have her like this for years. He has to bring her back from her sub-space before it's too late. 

"It's no daddy anymore, petal. I'll crush you in this position — " Carefully he tries to retreat but stop when she says in a very dejected feeble voice, bottom lip wobbling and tears springing at the corners of her eyes, "You don't want me too?" OH NO. This's what Harry was afraid about. A breakdown. He saw the storm coming but didn't know it could be this worst right when she's in her sub-space. 

His face pales at that. His state in frenzy and panic. 

"No bubba. I want you my precious girl -- s'just you're gonna get tired like this, hmm. 'N I have so much to show you and make you meet new people -- couldn't have me baby walkin' on her wobbly legs for whole day could I?" He cups her cheeks tenderly and smiles down at her warmly smothering her in devoted kisses. 

"Promise, daddy?" She sniffles staring up at him with doe innocent eyes and he shakes his head, "Harry sweet angel, come back to me moppet." He keeps his gaze locked with her's, gliding his thumb delicately against her cheeks and seals his promise with a kiss. 

"Promise." 

She lets him pull out and he shushes her wrecked whimpers with his lips. Falling to side with a large puff of breather and embraces her with his arm slinged around her shoulders protectively and she hides her face in his chest, mumbling incoherent things and he tries to stay with her emotionally and physically much as possible -- assuring her and soothing her with his sweet nothings. 

"Harry." She whispers softly and his ears perks up at that looking down at her with most loving eyes, "Hi baby." He giggles quietly kissing the tip of her nose and she sniffs cuddling into him. 

"Sorry —- " He shakes his head pinching her chin to make her look up. 

"You don't have to darling -- s'okay, everything's alright." After, making sure she's okay and giving her million re-assurances because he loves to he cleaned her with a damp wash rag. 

"Such a pretty babe." He makes her blush treating her as if she's a china glass doll who'd break at his slightest poke and showers her in praises and kisses because dunno who got her self-esteem and confidence like that but that person sure needs to get punched in their face. 

"Did I hurt you?" He asks tenderly applying a thin layer of cream on her red imprints. She shakes her intervining her fingers into his's one by one and kisses his knuckle, "No." 

"Good." He chuckles as if he was holding his breath. 

"How bout you take a lil nap and I see if I could bring us some brekkie, hmm?" He's gonna break his own rule. Taking food from mess area to your rooms and taking long showers was never allowed, having lights on after 12 because of the risk of attacks. 

"'M not hungry, please stay." Her eyes half open and her face buried into his scented pillow, "Dunno. But to me you look like y'could faint any time soon." He says sternly pulling a snugly clean duvet over her body. 

"Okie but come back quick." 

"Don't worry. In a snap I'll be infront of you." 

//

It's her fourth day here. She came out of his room to socialize just a day before and she realized from the nasty glowers thrown her way that not a single person likes her. 

But it felt like spending a lifespan with Harry. To fill the emptiness of all those moments of their childhood together they lost once after the war. 

She got to know he's the best cuddler and likes to be a small spoon, she loves to jetpack him. He seems rather scary and is scary when he's commanding people off -- they wouldn't dare but to speak a word over him but he's this big softie Y/N likes to squish in their privacy. 

He got her glasses fixed and put them over her nose with a mishevious kiss, she was unable to not to grin when he murmered against her lips, "Now you could punch me with your glasses on." 

"Seems like I don't have to do that anymore." She shrugged squealing afterwards when he threw her over his shoulder tickling her till all she coul see was him and stars. 

It was all going on track until now when she was passing through the lobby to go to Harry who's practicing out in field, "What are you doing here Alex?" She asks angrily grabbing his arm and he tells her feeling relieved she's okay, "I'm here to take you back." 

"But they don't want me back." She grits, he catches her wrist pleading her sadly, "We want you back -- Nia waits for you daily." Nia is his five years daughter. 

"I know that … but — " How she's gonna tell him she's in love with one person they despise with their whole hearts. 

"But what — "

"Alex!!" He was in the midst when she sees a bullet approaching his way from the side of his shoulder and screeches loudly pushing him aside, the bullet makes it's home in her chest. 

It was fired from Harry's gun with his own hands that were loving on her an hour ago. Life drains out of his body and he feels sickness approaching to split his throat, knees turning weak as he stares his shaking hand in horror. 

Before, he could do anything another bullet hits Y/N in shoulder knocking her to floor and this time it was one of his people, the shot was fired on instinct. 

"Put your gun down!!" He shouts at him shoving him away with a single forceful push and strides towards where the love of his life's laying in a pool of blood. 

He pulls his hair maniacly, falling to his knees and pulls her up in his lap cradling her head gently to press his lips against her forehead, "No,no,no,no baby." He sobs wiping his tears away harshly to see her properly. 

"Ouch. It actually hurts." She gives him a frail smile raising her shaky hand to cup his cheek. 

Will it hurt? 

You'll get to know after taking one. 

He wishes he could takes his words back. 

"You'll be fine, you're okay, 'm so so sorry moppet. Didn't-- didn't know y'were standing behind him, bu –-- but s'...s'okay yeah —-- call the doctor!! Why nobody has called him yet!!!" His scream thunders aggressively as everyone watches  their commander this defenceless and vulnerable infront of them for the first time in shock. 

"It's not your fault, okay?" She manages to speak groaning and eyes rolling back from pain residing in her bones torturesly, he cries out like a wounded puppy patting her cheek to keep her awake, "Please stay with me baby, please." Her chest tightens. His chest tightens from the fear of loosing her and he stands up carrying her bridal style tumbling his way on wobbly legs towards the medical ward in the building. 

His tears shiny droplets on her skin and she nuzzles into his fragrance for the last time. 

"There was no happy ending to this," She murmurs. Any, sign of life fading from inside her and replacing her eyes with stoness.

He brings her closer to himself, "hey, hey now none of that -- you're not leaving. 'M not letting you leave." He kicks open the door and lays her limp body on the stretcher. Snapping his head outrageously in every direction to find any doctor but none and drags his palms down his teary face.

He couldn't stop crying.

He's loosing the sunlight of his bleak life he must protect her at all costs.

But, life's prize is something that would have him selling all of what he had worked for and still he'd be unable to even bring her back from cold dark earth.

"Shit. Shit ---– I'll patch you up myself. I know how to take a bullet out — " He creates a ruckus around to collect stuff, "Harry! Harry! listen to me." but her hollow anguish calls for him breaks him at last. 

"How about you spend these last few minutes with me because 'm really 'bout to die commander." She tries to keep her anxious voice cheery but fails drastically coughing blood, "Don't say that baby -- I just got you, don't leave me, don't make me hate myself again." Sad tears trickles down her cheeks and he feels like fainting imagining the pain, agony and fear she's suffering from. 

She's hating to leave him.

"Maybe in afterlife, we could have a nice homely house, long warm baths and two smol kittens —- and oh I forgive you for kidnapping my cat." She admires him for the last time wiping his tears away and tries to lift his head that's lowered into shame. 

She's so fond of him at the moment.

She gulps, trying to gasp for oxygen feeling her heartbeat drop to zero, pleading him, "Tell me you love me before I go." His bloodshot eyes snap to her's and his chest heaves ruggedly with heartbreaking sobs -- his words full of sorrow tasting the bitterness of goodbye on her lips streaking away the blood on her mouth. 

"I love you so much, baby. Never stopped. Never will." She cries at last kissing him back with all the blood she has left pumping to her heart and tries to exchange the words but it was too late before she lost it all -- cold in his loving embrace. 

"Stay…." He begs praying like he did never before. 

"Y/N!!" He screams trying to shake her alive and hugs his angel to himself with mournful wails. 

Everyone standing outside the room knows that they'll never see this Harry again. 

[datawyrms]

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

[moonbake]

Haru Kurosawa | Imagine... A Blind Date | AOT/SNK

Erwin Smith || Art Museum || word count: 4.1k || (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ SFW

Haru is leaning on a tall light pole, standing near the entrance of her apartments, her doll-sized handbag resting on the bench as she adjusts her knee-high black boots. I don’t know why I wore these; they’re going to be so loud.  It wasn’t like her to fret about how she looked, but this date was different from her others, it’s a blind date.

Her best friend Hange Zöe wanted to cheer her up after losing her art internship. Not that she could argue with them since they live together. Haru had to promise Hanji she wouldn’t look up anything on Erwin Smith, the CEO of a Survey Freedoms, Inc. a security company that handles relocations and safety to the needy.

As promising as that sounds, not really her thing. The only reason she agreed to the date is because Hanji had already set the thing up. She’d much rather be in her room painting away while her cat Moon watches from the balcony.

Instead, here she is standing in her black turtleneck tucked into a plaid high-waisted skirt. I should’ve grabbed a coat. Her boots aren’t high-heeled, though she was warned to wear her tall ones. Whatever that means, she’s been with tallboys before, nothing new to her. It's cute to see how flustered she’s getting over this date.

She looks at the older gentleman, Bill the doorman. “No need to be nervous,” he smiles.

Haru sighs, “is it that obvious? I was hoping to play it off...” she decides to pull her hair up into a bun, trying her best to contain her thick black waves.

“My advice? Be wildly honest. Hold nothing back.”

“Alright, duly noted... thanks Bill,” Haru chuckles.

“That’s why me and my wife are still married, misses told me I was too piggish when I watched movies, and you know what?”

“What?”

“Bless her. Wanted to prove her wrong with movie nights and well, been doing for the last thirty years,”

Haru smiles, “how is she doing by the way?”

“Just fine,” Bill opens the door for guests coming into the building, welcoming them and returning his attention to Haru, “she’s out of town, visiting the grandkids.”

Before she can reply, a Rolls-Royce Phantom pulls up and stops. Expecting the driver to come out, the back doors reveal a pair of long legs stepping out in tan slacks, with a pair of brown leather shoes. All pulled together by the very tall gentlemen wearing a white button up shirt and wool mix waistcoat. Topped off with a small, emerald bolo tie.

His sky-blue eyes paralyzing Haru causes her knees to lock up. His intense gaze turns soft, putting his hand out to shake, “are you Haru Kurosawa?” She quickly looks back to Bill, who nods and gives a discreet (stamp of approval) thumbs-up between the two.

All Haru can manage to do is nod, “I’m Erwin Smith, Hange failed to mention how formal this would be, I’m a bit of a mess,” a mess? If he’s a mess then I’m the queen of slobs, she thought as her eyes darted to his arms, the fabrics looking ready to tear as it struggles to stretch against his large, thick biceps.

She looks back not even realizing Erwin gaze on her, cheeks flushing against her will. “You’re fine, I’m mean I tend to overdress,” boo no Haru own it! “Well, you know, it’s not a date without boots, which by the looks of it, maybe I should’ve worn my taller pair.”

Erwin chuckles, “you look lovely, putting me to shame honestly,” She finally takes Erwin’s large, yet gentle hand, as he motions to the car, “shall we?”

The car ride is filled with the familiar get-to-know-you questions, mostly it seemed like Erwin trying to get Haru to speak up more. Not that she didn’t want to, if anything, she was finding it exciting to listen to him speak away about his work, friends, and what he likes to do—which is rare as not many men really grab her attention. Especially corporate ones.

“So, where exactly are we going?”

Erwin chuckles, “to be honest, Hanji set this all up, even I’m in the dark” he grabs his coat, removing the lint as best he can. “They told me you’re an artist,”

“Not a very good one,” Haru semi-jokes, be confident not wimpy, she waves her hands, “currently I’m an art teacher over at the school nearby my apartments,”

“That’s amazing,” he dropped his coat to his lap, turning his attention to her, “what do you normally draw?” he asked, this time leaning on her every movement.

“Landscapes mostly, I’d like to become a concept artist, but portfolio building is very time consuming, to say the least,” she didn’t want to go into detail about failing the internship. What makes it more painful is getting to the last round of interviews... only to lose to someone close to the president of the program. The industry, am I right? 

“I’d love to see your art,” he said bring her back to reality, “or at least, whatever you’ve willing to show me,” a soft smile absorbed his face, with a spark in his eye.

“Really?” She can’t help but smile at his response, “that’s sweet of you,”

“I’d be happy to even look at your portfolio—”

Haru shakes her head at his ambition, what a sweet boy, “trust me, it’s all over the place, I’d much rather show you something else,” she quickly overthinks what she last said, cheeks burning up, “not like that! I-I mean, not to insult you or anything! Cause we were talking about my art and all.” Shut. Up. Her thoughts shake her, only to her surprise, the car isn’t silent.  

Erwin can’t help but chuckle, his endearing laughs causes Haru to lighten up. Suddenly, she’s beginning to feel comfortable around the intimidating figure, he isn’t like him... he’s light-hearted. She shakes thoughts of him away, but then out of the dark, like a crack of a whip, “That’s a shame,” Erwin’s bold voice murmurs, adding to the tension between the two, “I better play my cards right then”

Her heart flutters, causing her to dry swallow. Her legs pull together, clenching so hard it squeezes her pleasures away. Before she can reply, the car comes to a stop. The two look out the window at the destination Hange so cleverly picked out for them.

 “No, they did not!” Not even waiting for anyone to open her door, Haru leaps out of the car. It’s the Art Museum she had been boring Hanji about, they had new exhibits she’d been dying to see like the Yoshitomo Nara one, and the Van Gogh, even her personal favorite type of style, the artpop corner!

Erwin can’t help but admire her spunk, grabbing her bag before tipping the driver. As he leaves the car, his eyes are locked on her pear-shaped frame, it’s very hard for him to respectfully stare. It’d be easier if her skirt wasn’t hugging her hips, a major weakness for him.

“Can’t forget this.” he lightly taps Haru’s shoulder with her bag. She chuckles, using it to hide her blushing.

“I’ve got to thank Hanji for this,” she said as Erwin easily slips his coat on. “You really had no idea about this?”

Erwin smiles, “believe me, I’d be taking credit if I did.”

“Guess I chewed their ear off about this place enough,” Haru looks back to Erwin, “I’d get it if this isn’t your type of thing, rather go do something else,”

He frowns, “are you kidding?” he looks to the museum and takes a deep breath, “this place is full of history, I’m a sucker for that,”

“Good thing art and history go hand and hand,” she said as she stared walking ahead.

Clearing his throat, Erwin smirks, “you have no idea.”

After buying their tickets, the two wander inside the chilly, brightly lit space. Haru is jumping in place like an eager kid, ready to throw herself into the exhibits. Psst! Control yourself, hot dilf standing next to you! She takes a deep breath to calm herself.

Erwin who’s looking at a pamphlet, looks unreal (and not just because of his height) his sharp jawline and strong brows pull it all together, screaming dominance... why did that come to me? She thought as she makes her way towards him.

“Where to first?” she asks.

Erwin looks puzzled, “no-no, it’s where you want to go, I’ll follow.” Except to his surprise, she shakes her head at what he just said, replying with, “want me to pick?”

She nods, “of course, lead the way commander.” she murmurs as she gets closer to him, looking down at the same pamphlet he is, only this time the tension between the two is thicc and oh so electrifying as she takes in his strong aroma of sandalwood and after-work coffee. Haru prefers tea but can’t help herself from taking deeper breaths as she’s close to Erwin.

On the other hand, it’s taking everything in Erwin’s power not to compliment her sweet honey-rose scent, like a flower protected by a hive, forbidden. As she’s busy looking over the map, the turtleneck is highlighting her jaw and clinging tightly to her chest. He snaps his head, and look to his right, cheeks flustering, “let’s go this way.”

He offers his strong arm out, and without hesitation, Haru takes it. She’s holding on tighter, absorbing his warmth as she's feeling him flex through the coat, he’s going to rip it if he keeps this up.

They first walk into the German Expressionism exhibit, pieces of art that were saved from being destroyed. Some of them are straightforward, with subjects of farms and people, but as they slowly walk through the art, it turns into an expressive nightmare showing the true horrors.

Though they were chatting away in the car before, here, the two are nearly silent as they take in the art. Only the chatters in the background and their soft breathing can be heard. If anything, Erwin is occasionally looking over at Haru who’s completely lost in the art. Her round, fern-green eyes carefully soaking in the work, occasionally peaking in the corner catching him.

“When did you decide you wanted to be an artist?” he asks.

She shrugs, “when my parents were busy working, I didn’t have any siblings growing up, so I had to keep myself busy, had to put my energy somewhere since I sucked at sports,”

He chuckles, “sounds like your parents were alright with it then?” he said, keeping his attention on her.

“Mmmm... yes and no.” Haru pulls away from Erwin, feeling her stomach turn at the thought of her family. It’s been sometime since she’s talked with them. Not her favorite topic.

Erwin clears his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stir things.” His calm demeanor allows Haru to weakly smile, giving his arm a light squeeze.

“Believe me, it takes a lot to rattle my cage, besides,” she looks over her shoulder to more Expressionism pieces, “not letting my family ruin this date.” She grabs onto him and attempts to pull him along. Only, Erwin stature isn’t just for show, it’s nearly impossible for her to move the muscular man without nearly tripping.

He can’t help but chuckle at her size, if he really wanted, it’d be so easy to pick her off the ground with just one arm really. Instead, he allows her to pull him along, feeling excited at her holding onto him. Haru's cute personality held a charm of fatality. Another weak point.

“Tell me, how did you get into security?” She asked, trying to take the heat off her as the two get closer. Her leg accidentally brushes against his, finally causing Erwin to burn up, almost embarrassed at the fact he can’t hold his composure. “If I’m making you uncomfortable—”

“Absolutely not.” He reassures, moving his hand to hers. For large ones, she expected it to hold such strength, but even she could tell he was holding himself back, his thick fingers brushing over her knuckles like blades of leaves falling from trees.

“And to answer your question,” he clears his throat, “it’s been something on my mind since I was kid, guess you can say it sparked my curiosity for the world.” Erwin falls silent, looking at one of the pieces, “it’s funny, when you mentioned being an art teacher, I thought of my father, he was a teacher like you.”

“That’s awesome, what did he teach?”

Erwin expression grows solemn, looking at the art ahead of them and giving her hand a light squeeze, “general studies, he knew his history.” The piece showed a town with people running down a twisted path, only cools and whites were plastered on the painting.

Not wanting to delve down the same conversation she avoided, Haru easily rest her head against his bulging bicep. She can pick up on Erwin tone, going from welcoming to lost, way to brighten to mood, she throws at herself.

Erwin smiles, “Why do you create?”

“Huh?”

“Art. Your art, how come you create?” he asks, this time shifting so he faces her. Yet to Haru, this adds more pressure as he towers over her. Good lord Hange was right about the heels. Yet, the soft eyes reflect more than just herself, it’s the first time she really has insight into someone—so no bullshit when it comes to Erwin Smith.

“I suppose at first it was to distract from everything,” she takes a deep breath, getting really honest with herself, “but ever since I���ve been working with the kids, it feels like there’s this new sense of freedom, I don’t know,” she cuts herself off, pulling away from him as she walks off to the next exhibit: Vincent van Gogh. The variety of paintings from Van Gogh are ranging, and yet, all share the same melting expression of self-portraits. “I know, it sounds weird.”

“I like weird,” Erwin catches up, leaning in and whispering, “try me.” In a low tone that sends chills down Haru’s back. Yet... so inviting. She looks over at the figure with tears, the Weeping Women with Handkerchief (1927) On one hand, it looks like Sally from Nightmare before Christmas. One knows easily this piece is something from the mind of Van Gogh depicting despair and pain.

“You can say I’m healing my inner child by creating pieces I like; these kids are so free with their work and not a care in the world. It spreads to me.” she sighs, scratching at her head, knowing full well her cheeks are on fire as she adjusts her turtleneck. “I like having this not as an escape but as something I want to get lost in, if that... makes sense.”

Haru’s too afraid to look at Erwin, “it makes perfect sense,” his steps echoing, leaning close to her ear “in fact, I find it incredibly hard for me not to admire your passion for art. It’s beautiful on you.”

Oh god no, the words melt on her shoulders and down her legs causing them to grow weak, clenching between her thighs. A grin grows on her face as she finally turns to Erwin, who also has a smirk on his face—holding his arm out for her to take. Haru runs her hand down his arm, slipping her slender fingers through his.

They make their way through the large Van Gogh exhibit as the two-grow lost in one another, continuing to ask questions about their favorite foods, where they’d travel to, and the most important question, cats or dogs?

“I’d have to say I’m more of a dog person,” he said, barely paying attention to the art anymore. “I have a German Shepard at home.”

“How old?” Haru asks as they stop at Nara make-shift work studio. A recreation of their artist space that looks a lot like Haru’s, nothing but papers, markers, and colors scattered about.

“Four weeks old, I got Bandit from a friend.” he says. She pokes her head into the space, “Hopefully you can meet him soon.” He casually drops. Haru looks back at Erwin, admiring his smirk. “Shouldn’t have assumed that” he lightly shrugs, “not that I’ll take it back.”

She smiles, turning her attention back to the gentle giant, “I tend to stay away from your type, but I have to admit, the suit is a good look,” Haru can’t stand her hair up any longer, the strain on her scalp is too much. So, she unleashes it.

And to no surprise, Erwin eyes are lost in her incredibly long hair that runs down to her lower back, nearly stopping right above her hips. “Says the angel.”

He did not just call me that—They both freeze, Erwin quickly clears his throat and waves a hand as Haru heart flutters all over her insides, unable to control the blood rush.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from,” he said. Haru grabs his shaky hand, pressing it against neck. Her heart beating like crazy, making it easy for him to feel her warm pulsing beat.

“I liked it.” She whispered, “so don’t stop...?”

Erwin smirks, “Anything for you.”

As they exit the museum, the sunny sky is now a purplish-blue with stars beginning to poke out. Winds are brushing past Haru as her hair floats about. She feels more alive than when she went in. Not wanting the night to end, she holds onto herself, unable to wipe the smile off.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see the other exhibits?” He asks as he offers his hand out. Haru shakes her head, taking his hand as she attempts to pull him down a sidewalk.

“And miss the best part? Come on, before the sun completely sets—” Not arguing Erwin follows with, but Haru being Haru, as she tries being playful and pulling on him, ends up taking a misstep and rolling her ankle. “Ow!” Smoooooth Haru...

Of course, as she braces for the ground, a pair of arms easily grab onto her. A sense of stability and strength that’s firing up her heart.  “Are you okay?” he asks, his thumb rubbing circles.

Despite all the pain, it was hard for her to not catch her breath as he towers over her. The concern in his eyes gave her butterflies. She nuzzles her face into his chest, not wanting him to see how red she's gotten. “That’s what I get for trying to lead you around.”

He chuckles, his hands moving from her arms to her back, “Believe me, I’ll follow you wherever you need me.” He pulls away to give Haru space, but as she tries to take a step, she winces. “Where does it hurt?”

Before she can answer, Erwin kneels, moving her hands to his shoulder as he grabs her leg. It’s hard to control her shaky legs as his fingers trace along with her boot, “here?” he asks, pointing at her ankle as he looks up.

Oh, good lord and heaven have mercy on my quivering insides.

All Haru can manage is an uneasy nod, Erwin sighs, looking to a nearby bench. “Here, I’ve got you.” He sweeps Haru off her feet, causing giggles as he grabs onto her ticklish sides.

“I’m sorry for this,” she frowns, “I’m such a mess.”

He smirks, “a hot one, if I may add.” Erwin sets her on the bench, carefully taking her boot off to show a puffy ankle.

“Again, there’s a reason why I’m an artist and not a sports master.”

“Don’t you—” he chuckles, “I see what you mean.”

Haru sighs, “maybe we should just call it a night,” her ankle is making it impossible to walk, and even with a young night now she has to worry about getting home and nursing the damn thing. I just wanted a glass of wine and watch Gracie and Frank. She tries to stand up with Erwin holding her hand, but can’t hold her stance. “I can barely walk.”

“Not a problem,” Erwin smirks, kissing her hand before motioning to his back. “I’ll carry you.”

She looks down to her skirt, “Erwin—” but to her surprise, he’s tying his coat around her waist, why is he so damn charming? “You don’t have to do this, really.”

He kisses her hand again, radiating confidence that even is inspiring her. “Trust me, it’ll be fun, only if you’re comfortable with it.”

She nods, “... okay.” Her fragile voice manages to get out.

 “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, she gulps. “Come on, hop on.”

There’s a lot more I want to hop onto... she thinks as she grabs on, putting her arms around his shoulder as he hooks his on her legs. In one swift motion, he stands tall and shifts her on his back. Doesn’t even sound like he’s struggling.

She nuzzles her face against the crook of his neck, “thanks.” She murmurs as he walks down the trail.

“Lead the way?” He asks, with the sakura and wisteria trees about, the smell of floral is in the air. She uses her head, motioning to his right where the tall light post highlight sculptures.

It’s funny, even some bugs are flying to Haru as they mistaken her perfume for pollen. Erwin can’t help but chuckle as her grip tightens, squealing whenever a bug flies into her hair. In fact, he had to stop to carefully pull out a butterfly that got trapped in her wavy locks.

“Where are we going?” Erwin asks, squeezing her thigh.

“Do you trust me?” she shivers, “it’s a surprise.” He picks up on her chattering teeth, noticing that even it’s getting chilly for him. The night sky revealing itself as the sun is hiding away, “I promise, we can go after this, besides,” Haru grabs on tighter. “I’m really liking this view,”

Erwin laughs, “Believe it or not, I know someone taller than me.”

“Is that even possible?” she chuckles, rubbing her cheek against his strong jaw.

He takes a deep breath, “I didn’t think someone could make me feel small—"

“There!” She points out. They finally arrive at the edge point, a view of the entire city, but it’s the way the glow behind the building cast colors that aren't normally there.

“I love coming out here when I’m having bad days, something about running up the hill to capture this view is... rewarding.”

“When you’re not spraining your ankle, right?” he jokes, giving her thigh another squeeze. Using her position to her advantage, Haru uses both of her thighs to squeeze Erwin. "It's my sanctuary."

He lowers her down, trying his best to keep his composure but can’t help her audacity of teasing him.

“So, this is what you wanted to show me.” Erwin surprised at her honesty, is taken back when he turns to see the biggest smile plastered across her face. He’s lost in the multitude of the golden hour colors casting its light on Haru.

But that’s not the only thing he’s stuck on, quickly darting to her pouty-lips and back to her eyes. It’s too much for him to hold his composure any longer. “Haru, can I kiss you?” She nods.

Erwin runs his hands under her chin, leaning down and carefully pulling her lips in for a kiss, but he’s slow enough to allow Haru to claim her own path and meet him halfway.

Yet as soon as those lips hit, it’s like a symphony of fluid motion coming together. Grabbing onto his shirt to close the gap between them, Haru runs her hand up to his back.

His coat drops to the ground, but that’s the least of their worries as Erwin moves a hand to the lowers of her back, giving her support as she practically melts in his grip. His hefty fingers enjoying her hair like running through grass.

She tries to grab his coat, but Erwin kicks it aside, his kiss growing passionate yet playful. Occasionally biting at her lower lip to remind her of pain and pleasure.  It’s like he’s unraveling everything he pent up since the beginning of the date. Respectfully, he stops, leaning his head against her.

Haru is lost in trying to catch her breath as her heart is racing, a champion’s smile plastered across her face as her terra cotta lipstick is smeared all over Erwin’s lips.

“Please, let me take you out again.”

Author’s note: ah! this is my first post in YEARS, haven’t done fics since hs. So enjoy! I based this on my visit to LACMA last year.

I’m sorry for the delay, I’m trying to find my writing style again (so if there are typos... my bad.) A head injury is the worst and it's been fun to write these. Many more to come!

On Twitter @ /moonbake_ updates on scheduling & more goodies ★~(◡﹏◕✿)

[tennessoui]

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”