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redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

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The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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alma-berry · 5 years ago

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Timeless Horizons

A sweet little Kitty fic, with a special surprise! This is a collaboration with the amazing @toka-sketch, who made two beautiful illustrations for this story.

Here’s a little sneak peek of Dru and Ty! You can see the full illustrations of them and Kit down at the bottom, as they are filled with spoilers!

Enjoy ❤

Dru is hiding.

Yes, it’s practically comical by now. She’d spent far too much time trying to avoid closing herself from her family and be more present, but today… she can’t help herself. The institute is just swamped with people, with preparations, with the shadow of old ghosts. The only ghost she actually wished to see was Livvy, who by all means should have been present for her brother’s engagement party. Instead, she dreads of meeting the more corporal ghosts of her past… plenty of whom was invited.

Hens, the hiding. Dru wasn’t stupid enough to do it inside the institute, where early guests and the battalion of her siblings were probably itching to make her fold napkins or whatever if any of them laid eyes on her. She was hiding outside the sanctuary, running her bare toes over the sandy concrete stairs that lead to a road connecting the highway.

In a mundane scenario, this wouldn’t have been the brightest choice for a hiding spot, but everyone uses portals these days anyway… it’s not like Magnus Bane would make a road trip out of it and drive all the way from New York to Los Angeles. Dru was sure he doesn’t even drive to the grocery store, not that he even needed to when he could just snap his fingers and voila!

Dru sighed in frustration, she would have loved to be able to summon up some Carmel corn right about now… hiding is dull work.

A loud sound of something like crackling grew closer to where she sat.

Dru sprang to her feet, not intending to be caught in a welcoming party of any sort. But when she started to head back into the institute, a single dark figure became visible right in front of her.

It was a man, climbing down off his motorcycle. There was something familiar about the fluid movement of his body that made her stop in her place and stare.

Long, strong thighs wrapped in tight dark gear stretched as they lifted themselves off the massive bike. Dru arched her eyebrows and let her gaze linger over the soft leather of the rider’s jacket with quiet appreciation, and latched onto the strands of fair hair that peaked out of the helmet that still lay on his head.

A ring of recognition went through her, and it wasn’t long before she connected the dots. This was Jace Herondale.

She ran towards him, avoiding the questions that his abrupt appearance brought up - where was Clary? How did he bring his motorcycle from New York? And most importantly, was it the one that could fly?

Before she could call for him, the man lifted his helmet and a curtain of long, golden curls fell on his neck. Dru’s breath caught in her throat as long, elegant fingers pushed back the tangle of hair and made way for two lucid blue eyes.

This was not Jace Herondale. This, Dru realized with a sharp pang in her chest, was Kit.

“What,” her voice pitched, “the hell are you doing here?”

The shock made her words sharp and shrill. She blushed with sudden guilt, and it was a moment until she remembered she was more than entitled to be upset to see Kit Herondale.

Dru wasn’t supposed to be so surprised to see him. Jem, Tessa, and their cute little peanut, Mina, were already there, but when they said Kit would probably be joining them later, Dru assumed it was just an excuse for Kit to bail on them. Again. She was angry with him, for leaving them, for lying to her. And above all, for leaving Ty.

She cleared her throat and sharpened her gaze on his eye, but the look she found in them silenced her. Kit looked at her like he was afraid she’ll put a blade between his teeth. He also looked like he would have let her. Maybe that look, of a convicted criminal, was what made her soften her expression… and when she did, Kit visibly relaxed, but kept his distance from her all the same.

“I was invited,” Kit said. His voice was husky, hard, but his body was all discomfort. He looked at his boots, his hands twisting down his front like a complicated pretzel.

“I didn’t want to come, I know you probably don’t want to see me,” Dru could feel the acid, eating away the iron of his voice. “But Emma threatened to shave my head while I sleep if I missed this, so… yeah. I didn’t have much choice.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Said Dru.

Kit’s brows rose alarmingly high, his body closing in on itself. Dru knew animals from years of watching her older brother bringing all sorts of creatures inside the institute, so she had seen her fair share of cornered animals. Kit looked like one, so Dru schooled her face into a soft, neutral expression.

“Listen I’m, I’m sorry about-“ He was panting, fighting so hard to get the words out. From his expression, every syllable was a knife to the chest.

Dru silently took back every bad thought she had about Kit. If even after all of this time he reacted like this to the mere sight of her, he couldn’t have been so cold and indifferent like she convinced herself he must be. She hated the times when she caught herself doing the things she criticized most in others, like twisting the truth into an opinion. Like ignoring facts, knowledge, experience, and boxing them into a mold born of hurt.

Searching Kit’s half-shut eyes, Dru let herself remember the boy who lied to her only to keep her brother’s secret safe. The boy who lied only because he had to, not because he wanted to.

“I’m sorry I ditched you and-“, Kit’s voice was small and his face was a patchwork of pale and blotchy. Dru couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s okay, Kit. I know why you left, it’s…” Dru swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“You do?” Kit paled. He looked honestly startled before his face settled into a frozen non-reaction.

“Yeah… I know about Livvy, and how it, umm, didn’t work out.”

Kit’s blank expression didn’t change, it was as empty as the desert’s sky. Something pulled up Dru’s stomach. She opened her mouth, but between one blink of an eye to another, Kit’s stone face washed under by a strange reservation, and he mumbled “Yeah, okay. Umm, thank you.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was scanning the institute behind them so intensely she wondered for a minute if someone was approaching, and then she realized - he must be thinking about Ty.

Kit radiated with coiled-up energy, tense and unforgiving. Dru wasn’t sure if he was afraid, expectant, or both.

“He’s not here.” She said in a small, soothing voice.

Kit stayed still, but Dru detected a slight tightness in his jaw. Was he disappointed? It must be confusing for him, being here after so long, in his hometown, in the first place he learned about being a Shadowhunter. He must be completely overwhelmed. She remembered how pained Kit seemed to be when he tried to apologize to her just a minute ago, and it was just her. He probably would’ve had a fit if it was Ty here in her place.

“He’s still at the Scholomance.” She said into the silence. “They have this super-secret, highly sensitive, just for elected few stupid mission.” Dru let out the exasperated mixture of pride and annoyance her brother’s stories usually made her feel, and although Kit has just nodded once, she was sure his lips had twitched upwards a tiny bit.

“So... a motorcycle, huh?” She smiled at him. “Very Herondale of you.”

Kit let out a full-fledged smirk at her comment, and Dru felt a familiar tap on her heart. This was the Kit she remembered, and the feeling made her push a little more. “I knew they called it Grand Theft Auto for a reason. I can’t wait to hear what else you managed to steal from the head of the New York institute.”

Her taunt was a downright success. Kit barked a laugh so genuine, Dru felt thirteen all over again. She would poke him some more if it made him this cheerful. “It’s not considered theft if it was given you freely... just don’t tell that to anyone. I don’t want people to think I lost my touch.”

Dru felt her eyes widen in surprise. “So it is Jace’s motorcycle? I knew it!”

“Yeah…” Kit rocked on his heels and glanced over at his bike lovingly. ”He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

That is one legendary gift, Dru concluded. She wouldn’t mind a cousin that gifts sexy automobiles, but the thought of Julian approving to let her near a thing like that was less likely than her becoming the youngest consul in Shadowhunters history.

“So... how did you get it here?” Dru asked. “It’s not exactly a short ride from New York or Devon.”

“Magnus,” Kit answered with a shrug. “He portaled us and then just... did that thing he does where he poofs things out of thin air, like chocolate-chip cookies or... tents. Magic is so...”

“Yeah.” Dru sighed in agreement, thinking about that caramel corn.

“So where were you?” They began to trail back towards the institute. She could feel Kit tensing up with every step. She didn’t know if it was just because it brought up memories, or if it was something else. She still debated herself whether to pry into that subject, while she pried into others.

“Umm... I just,” Kit’s fingers roamed through his long curls in a somewhat nervous gesture. “I thought I’d check out my dad’s old place. See if there was anything left.” His sky blue eyes seemed clouded with memories, and from the little she knew or remembered, they weren’t all good. “I didn’t really get a chance last time, after, umm,” Kit cleared his voice. “After he died.”

He sounded stiff, and a bit drained. She almost forgot he was an orphan, like her. Of course, she had Julian, which was an amazing brother-father, and Kit has Jem and Tessa. She didn’t know Johnny Rook at all, but from what she heard, the Carstairs were definitely an improvement.

“And did you find anything?” She asked, carefully.

Kit took a long moment to answer her. They were already at the sanctuary’s doors when he finally answered.

“No. There was nothing left.”

Kit’s appearance didn’t make her want to join the herd of party planners all of a sudden, and by the looks of him, Kit wasn’t up to a large reunion yet. So she offered him to go practice in the training room and was pleasantly surprised when he agreed.

Kit wasn’t a regular Shadowhunter, in the way that he didn’t have to endure rigorous training for his entire life the way Dru was. So when she picked up her favorite misericord and gotten into a fighting stance, she felt rather confident that she could give Kit a run for his money, even with all of his bulging muscles and chiseled arms.

She was absolutely, painfully, wrong.

Kit might not have been raised as a Shadowhunter, but whatever it was they were feeding him in Devon, it made him a beast in a fight. Well, maybe not so savage as it sounded, but he whooped her ass in a matter of seconds, flipping her on her back without breaking a sweat.

“Damn it, Herondale.” She gasped. “Aren’t you supposed to be inexperienced? Why are you so good at this?”

Kit’s face lit up like a campfire. “Am I?”

Dru blew out a whine. “Don’t get all modest on me, you’re ruining your brand.”

There was nothing modest in the grin Kit shot her back. He flashed his teeth wide, like a Cheshire cat, and ran up to climb the training room’s pitched roof until he balanced himself lightly on the highest of the rafters. He didn’t pause to look at her and just jumped gracefully, somersaulting in the air like he was a goddamned acrobat.

Right before he straightened up, his black shirt, which had a Deadpool logo, a fact that made her enormously happy, having it being another thing that looked like the Kit she knew, rose up a little and flashed the tip of a black pattern that was inked into his lower back. Dru wondered which rune it was, and who put it on him. It was such a strange location for a rune, not somewhere you can mark yourself. It must have been Jace, but that left the question of which rune Kit needed Jace to mark him with, that he couldn’t do himself?

“Was that sufficiently Herondale?”

She stared at him, completely dumbfounded until she caught herself and shut her gaping mouth. “I’d say so… yeah. You caught in quickly, haven’t you?”

Kit brushed the dust off his gear pants and shrugged.

“Jace. That man is… relentless.” Kit flopped on one of the training mats, making a loud poof when he did. “You know, he almost threw me off a tree once, when I refused to jump? Twisted my ankle three times. He said if I won’t make it, he’d disown me. Still not sure what I was supposed to be disowned off, his rusty collection in the armoire?”

He had a British lilt to his voice. The way he pronounced certain words, round and elongated, was something he didn’t used to do back then. It was charming, Dru thought. He was charming. A bit self-conscious, still, with the way he occasionally tugged down his shirt or bite his lower lip, scrunching it to one side.

Dru always thought that if she ever met Kit again, she’d let him have a piece of her mind. But he was so… Kit. Quiet, sarcastic, familiar. The things about him that felt foreign to her weren’t really foreign, but more of an enhancement of what he used to be. There was something bright about him, almost luminous. He wasn’t particularly happy at the moment, so she couldn’t blame it on his mood. But there was something in his features… they were fine, delicate. He was all muscle, but the way his hair fell on his skin, gold on gold, felt fragile, almost monochromatic.

Kit must have sensed her staring, and his eyes narrowed at her in a silent question.

She put the misericord back on its hanging and placed her hands over her hips.

“So, wanna sneak down to the beach?”

The infinite stretch of water in front of her was shining bright like there was a blanket of diamonds spread all across it. The sun was low, and every ray hugged the waves with bright whispers.

They weren’t so sneaky as she hoped. Giving Kit a sideways glance, she hid a smile, remembering how Emma crushed him in a tight embrace.

“You are so big, Kit! I haven’t seen you in a year and you became Godzilla. I do not approve, Jem. He’s not allowed to be stronger than me.”

Kit choked out a bruised laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that, Em. Just… lay off with the hugging, you’ll crack a rib if you won’t let go of me.”

Mina’s answering giggle was more than enough to break the two apart. She reached her arms for Kit and he tugged her to him without a second’s hesitation.

He reminded her of Jules so much, of how he used to hold Tavvy when he was her age, nuzzling his baby hair and murmuring soft words to his ear.

There was something so vulnerable about this Kit, but when he was with his baby sister, she could see how he simply glowed. The love that he felt for that little girl was so evident, so undeniable, it made Dru’s heart play a low, painful beat.

He seemed troubled now, his brows screwed together, as he stared into the sunbathed horizon.

“How is he?”

It was almost a whisper, but Dru heard.

“Alright.” She answered. “Tall. Taller than Julian.”

Kit’s shoulders hunched inwards, and the grip on his arms was so tight, she could see his knuckles whitening.

“But, how is he? With Livvy, and,” he choked on the last word. “With everything.”

Of course he wanted to know about that. She almost forgot he knew at all. Dru was so accustomed to having to keep the slight shifts of Ty’s attention to herself, knowing he must interact with Livvy in a way that was reserved to them alone, even after death.

“He’s okay, she’s… okay.” She said. “Not that I could really say for myself. He doesn’t say much about her. He’s better now, with me.”

Dru loved her brother fiercely. All of her siblings, but Ty… Ty was something else. She didn’t love him more, but she loved him differently. In him, she could sometimes see her Livvy, and wondered whether it’s a twin thing, or was it just her presence, revealed and kept only by him. They were better, now. There were things he only said to Dru, like the story of how they found his Lynx.

“Oh, he has a cat! Well, she’s not really a cat. She’s a Carpathian lynx. Scary as hell, doesn’t like anyone other than Ty.” Dru said with her nose screwed. She liked cats and didn’t appreciate Irene’s snobby attitude, even if she gave her the creeps.

Kit muffled a laugh. “Sounds like Church. That cat gives all other cats bad reputation, devil creature.”

Dru’s hands flew to her mouth. “Church! Awww I miss that furball!”

Kit snorted. “You can have him.”

Dru let herself look at Kit’s eyes. The smirk on his lips didn’t reach them.

“And you? How are you, Kit?”

Kit seemed startled by the question. For a second, the guard he kept up slid off him, and an endless sorrow spilled away from him like ink, staining his face with shadows. It didn’t linger, but it didn’t really keep away.

“I’m okay, Drusilla.” He put a calloused hand on her arm and squeezed. “So are you, it seems. I’m happy to see you again.”

The smile Dru gave him was wide, silently trying to convey that so was she.

She patted his arm and rose to her feet, dusting sand off her black velvet overalls, which were an unfortunate choice for the beach.

“I’ll head up to see if they need some last-minute help. Can’t pull the hostess trick for much longer, I suppose.”

Kit only nodded and fixed his gaze back onto the sinking sun.

When Dru was halfway to the institute’s doors, she noticed a tall, dark figure headed her way. Her breath caught in her chest, and she ran towards him, blessing the sand for muffling the sound of her feet.

It wasn’t long until she reached him, her eyes tingling with excitement and apprehension. Ty reached for her shoulder, grabbing hard. He didn’t even look at her, her face set ahead, on the black and gold figure sitting a breath from the water.

“Ty! When did you get here? I thought you weren’t coming, Jules and Em almost called this thing off!” She was jabbering, she knew it, but she wanted to distract Ty so she could wage his mood, see if he could handle Kit’s presence.

“The mission was over,” Ty answered. “I texted Julian a few hours ago. When did he get here?”

Dru stared at her brother until she realized he was talking about Kit. “Oh! Umm, a few hours ago? We trained together a bit and then we just… hung out here. I was just heading back, do you…” she hesitated, “do you wanna come with me?”

Ty averted his gaze to his left hand, which was when Dru noticed the agitated movement.

“No.” He said. “Did he, umm,” Dru wasn’t used to seeing her brother so hesitant, one of his hands fluttering, one clutching her shoulder in an iron grip. “How is he?”

His tone, his words, the exact mirror to what Kit had asked her moments ago. Ty didn’t try to mask his feelings, Dru guessed he wasn’t aware enough of her presence to try.

So she weighed her words carefully, before answering. “Sad. I think he’s sad.”

Ty’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she thought it was a reaction to her words. But when she looked into his stormy eyes, she saw that he was looking down at the waters again. At Kit.

Dru turned to see Kit has risen to his feet. He was chucking his jacket away, unbuckling his pants. She’d never seen him swim when he was staying with them, but the salty smell of the ocean and the light breeze was intoxicating enough for her to understand the urge to plunge inside the ocean.

Kit reached for the hem of his shirt and started to lift his shirt up. Dru tensed, suddenly remembering the rune she glimpsed back at the training room. She straightened her back, readying her eyes to catch the mark from the large distance. But when Kit’s shirt rose up over his neck and his fair hair slid sideways, she could hear the air escaping her lungs, echoed in the stunned gasp that came from Ty’s direction.

Kit’s entire back was inked with an intricate pattern, looping from the nape of his neck, down his shoulder blades, and all the way to his lower back. A beautiful arrangement of vines, tracing the dips and ridges of his muscled back, the black, thin shapes draping his skin like skeleton feathers. It wasn’t a rune at all, it was a tattoo.

“Thorns.” She whispered, disbelief marking every syllable.

“Blackthorns.”

She turned back to look at her older brother and was startled to find a fierce smile blazing through his lips.

His hand left her shoulder, and he was walking slowly towards Kit, who had already lost his gear pants and was paddling through shallow waters.

Dru just stood there, her thoughts an incoherent tangle inside her head. She watched Ty making his way towards Kit, and found that her heart understood before her mind did. It was unexpected, to say the least, but it also wasn’t.

Memories washed over Dru as she watched Ty closing the distance between them, three years worth of distance, and felt the past washing over her at once. It was the way it was always supposed to be, the two of them together.

With one last glance towards the strange painting of past and future, Dru turned her back to the sunset and headed back home.

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geekinator · 3 years ago

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I did this as a three part series, because I just can’t get enough Beifong in my life and thinking about them brings me immense joy.

Here’s the first two:

And last but not least:

The Beifong family is the best thing that ever happened to Avatar and quite possibly my life. The thing I love most about them, though, is how human they are. They are the epitome of what happens when life is messy and emotions are raw and people do stupid things and life doesn’t go as expected. Each and every one of them is batshit crazy, and I love them for it. Here’s my take on the illustrious Beifongs. Last is Su.

Suyin: An Analysis

Oh, Su. What can I say? Su is just as complicated as the rest of the Beifongs. Su is no saint but neither is she a devil. Su is human, and that’s about all there is to it.

Su obviously took her mother’s absence in a very different direction. I would imagine that both Toph and Lin were very excited to welcome Su. However, very shortly Lin is old enough and probably mature enough to watch her, which leaves Toph free to be Chief, which means Su is shortchanged in her time with her mom. I don’t think Toph sat them down one day and was like ok girls I’m going to be spending more time at work so Lin you’re in charge. I think she just slowly wasn’t really needed at home (at least not in a way that computed in her mind) and she just kind of drifted away.

Well if I’m Su and my big sister starts bossing me around I’m like ok no that’s not happening, and she obviously started to resist it. However, saying “I was more of a rebel” is like saying “that ghost pepper is a little spicy”. Like Su, honey, there’s a rebel and there’s criminal enterprise. It’s not the same thing, and even later in life she obviously hasn’t made that connection.

Whether because of her absence, or because she perhaps saw herself in Su, Toph turned a blind eye (pardon the pun). It’s also obvious that Toph isn’t even aware of half the stuff that goes on. And because she’s clueless, Toph probably doesn’t believe Lin when she tells her. Whatever the case, Su is that kid who could do anything or say anything and get away with it, while Big Sister probably sneezes wrong and everyone glares at them, because they’re older and supposed to be more mature. Lin at this point is beyond frustrated with Su.

So here we go, Su steps out of the car and I’m sure Lin is feeling a lot of things. Probably like she failed her little sister, angry because WTF Su, and maybe even a little vindicated. Now Toph will HAVE to pay attention. Su is the dumbest bitch this side of Whale Tail Island, however, and actually thinks that Lin is going to let her walk away. Well of course she’s not, duh. But Su is so full of anger and frustration, that she lashes out.

When I say Su is full of anger and frustration, I mean that as much as Lin kept a lid on it, Su did, too. Su had less time with Toph at home than Lin did, which wasn’t fair. Su had to put up with Lin mothering her, when she wasn’t actually her mother and only a few years older than her. Su had very little direction in her life, from anyone. Su was obviously very impressionable. Those two idiots she was with probably could have convinced her to commit Grand Theft Auto, and it wouldn’t have taken much. If things hadn’t gone down the way they did, Su probably would have ended up dead or as a true villain.

Hm, excuse me while I jot down a story idea.

Anyways, my point is, Su had just as many feelings as Lin, her bottle just looked very different. So in a moment of pure anger she lashes out when Lin tries to arrest her. I believe she regretted it, and here’s why: she’s in Toph’s office with Lin. Had Su been completely devoid of any feeling, she would have run away and never looked back, or at least tried to rationalize it. Toph is obviously fully aware of what went down; she asks both of them what they were thinking, so even though Su’s not saying sorry she’s not sitting there trying to deny it. She knows she got caught. She may not be sorry, but she’s still sitting there in the office. Frankly I give her points for that. Not many, but a few.

If I’m Su, I know I did wrong but I don’t care. So I love to hear Toph ask Lin what she was thinking, too. I’m like ha! Yeah, you tear up that report, Mom! But wait, I have to leave the city? Holy shit, did not see that coming! So now the mom who I didn’t have much time with in the first place and has been largely absent is sending me away to my grandparents (and who knows how well she knew them) where only the Spirits know what’s going to happen then. Well this sucks. Not an excuse for her shitty behavior but it still sucked for her.

So then she goes traipsing around the world to prove to herself she is outside the realm of rules. She finally settles down with Bataar Sr and builds Zaofu. Her ideals still seem to be based on the idea of life without limits, which fits her history. She seems more like someone who creates opportunities than someone who makes a lot of rules. Aiwei calls her the matriarch so she’s not exactly in a position of true political power, at least not in name.

I truly believe Bataar loves Su and that he is a good husband and father. I also believe that for the most part, Su is a good mom. Here’s why: her kids are quite well-adjusted. Except for Bataar Jr who seems to have inherited her impressionable nature. But Wing and Wei are cool and obviously very accomplished, Opal is rather prissy but she does have some good qualities, and Huan is very passionate about his banana art. They’re kind of a fun family. Su tells Korra that she always wished Lin were a part of her life, and I believe her. I really think Su misses her big sister. She and Lin are alike in that what they want most is their family to be intact.

After the fall of the Earth Queen, Su says she doesn’t want to impose her ideals on the nation. Again, she doesn’t like rules, so she's not going to go around telling everyone else what to do. I don’t agree with that decision but it is consistent with her character. Her decision to try and assassinate Kuvira I believe comes from a desire to protect those around her, anger at Kuvira for betraying her and taking her son away from her, and guilt because it was her inaction that precipitated the whole thing in the first place. It’s a stupid ass decision, and is an emotional one. Su seems to be ruled by her emotions, from the first time we see her until the end of the series, which is interesting because she does keep her cool most of the time. Emotional people are like that, though. I’m ok until you make me mad or feel something and now I have to do something about it. Oftentimes they resent the person who made them feel it, and blame them. Su definitely falls into that category. Because she is so governed by her emotions, she tends to rush headlong into things without seeing the long game, or the risks. When she gets caught, she knows she messed up. But now Korra has to come and save her, Su knowing full well she’s not ready. But Korra tries anyways because even though Su is incredibly stupid and selfish, she is a friend and they still care about her. Anyone who watches Dragons Race to the Edge, it reminds me of Snotlout, when Astrid says he’s a muttonhead, but he’s their muttonhead. For better or worse, Su has become one of them.

Quite frankly, I like Su. I think her biggest faults are that she tends to follow her emotions which gets her into trouble and she doesn’t really like to acknowledge when she’s wrong, even though she definitely knows she is. Neither of those things are traits that I would consider unforgivable. I don’t think she and I would be bosom buddies but she is an interesting person. I would be endlessly frustrated with her and probably tell her I told you so a lot. But Su is there when it counts. She defeats P’li and helps defeat Kuvira. She helps save Korra and teaches her metal bending, and she is quite cheerful. As far as Lin forgiving her I feel like that was more for Lin than Su, just like forgiveness is for everyone. For anyone who says Lin deserves better, keep in mind this is her little sister who she loves very much. There’s history there and families are messy and complicated and I for one trust Lin. Lin also doesn’t just jump in, she tells Su she just won’t show up and attack her. They only become more involved because that’s how things played out. Lin is very sincere when she tells Su that she loves her, and it almost seems like the first time Lin has said those words out loud, based on Su’s expression.

Su may not have known or believed it before that. Right or wrong, good or bad, Su is family, and families are stupid and crazy. Like I said before, Su is no saint, but she’s no devil either. She makes shitty decisions and yes people have to keep coming to her rescue, but I think her heart is in the right place. I really do.

#avatar #legend of korra #lin beifong #toph beiphong #suyin beifong #the beifongs #beifong sisters #beifong family #chief beifong #lok suyin #lok lin #lok toph #character analysis #the legend of korra #here you go

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noodlewright · 4 years ago

Text

Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Maddie Pairings: None Rating: G

“So will it be between seventy and a hundred, or lower?”

“No. Keep working.”

At the heart of Clockwork's lair, Danny stared unseeingly at the math worksheet in front of him. The numbers were starting to blur together.

Today, Danny was visiting Clockwork after having a fit of homework frustration that was quickly becoming routine. He was lucky to have found a mentor in Clockwork and studied with him as frequently as he could. Danny had quickly found that the ghost was, apparently, scary good with numbers, but there was nothing to be done to make math less mind numbing.

“No, as in it'll be higher?”

“You know perfectly well Danny.”

Danny wanted to know if all his extra study sessions would pay off when it came to Friday's big test, but he knew what Clockwork was getting at. The spirit was concerned that knowing his future test score would make him slack off, either because of an expectation that he would do well regardless, or that he would see no point in studying with failure to come anyway.

He needed to study for now and later exams, Clockwork insisted.

Danny huffed in annoyance and stared harder at the problem that gave him such grief.

It didn't yield.

“Do you want to go over it again?”

Danny hung his head in defeat. “Yeah.”

Clockwork left his terminal and made his way to Danny's side with a spare sheet of paper, half of it covered in a scrawl from earlier.

Halfway there, the spirit paused. Clockwork stared just over Danny's shoulder, as though a thought had just occurred to him.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Just the other day, while Danny visited, Clockwork had done a similar action. He hadn't given it much thought then, or the ones before. Everyone did it on occasion. In Danny’s case, it usually happened when he walked through a doorway. Most people though, Danny considered, didn't do it this much.

Maybe Clockwork was a little scatterbrained?

It was, by now, what Danny recognized and referred to as one of Clockwork's “Moments”.

Danny had come to learn that Clockwork had these frequently. Clockwork didn't have all knowledge of all things, the spirit had once explained. Clockwork knew of the past, if he cared enough to know it, and knew of the present, but not all of the present. If he wanted, he could learn it all but there were, he said, very many things that were dull and unimportant, and taking the time to see every bit would be a torture unimaginable.

The future was similar to him, in that he didn't endeavor to see every scrap of it, but even if he tried, it wouldn't have the same easy clarity.

The real take-away was that, when it came to the future, all things weren't set in stone, and as Clockwork explained, the ghost often felt that some events got lobbed at his head and he needed a moment to sort out the new information. Danny could understand that. He had trouble grasping the rest of the hour-long, complicated discussion that included half a dozen different metaphors and some math chalked onto the wall, but he could get that at least, and was glad to gain a little more insight on how Clockwork's abilities functioned.

“Are you okay?”

Clockwork’s attention snapped to Danny. The intense gaze made him uneasy. Was Clockwork mad? He got the feeling like he might have interrupted something.

“Uh, sorry.”

Immediately Clockwork's eyes widened, “No no, I’m sorry. I just realized something. I need to go-”

“What?” They had barely started!

A wink was sent his way. “It won't even be a moment.”

Oh right. Well, it wasn't like Danny could just forget the last fifteen years of rigid physical laws that applied to his and everyone else's lives. Clockwork would probably only disappear and reappear between blinks.

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, have you been disappearing on me this whole time?” he asked. He shouldn’t be surprised, it would be so easy to ditch and return without anyone being the wiser.

“No, just when you’re already engaged in something.” Clockwork admitted.

So basically, any time Danny wasn’t actually talking to Clockwork. Which was a lot.

He shouldn’t be bothered by it. He hadn’t even caught onto it until just now, but still, it sat unwell with him that Danny was someone who was to be put aside for a later date. Couldn’t it wait until after Danny had left? It wasn’t like Clockwork couldn’t just go back to whatever time period he pleased.

It would be polite at the very least.

But what was Danny going to do about it? Clockwork was nice enough, and Danny wasn't about to voice his disappointment when it wasn't actually that big of a deal to begin with. It would just have to be another mannerism to add to Clockwork's growing list.

“Uh, okay. So what's got you in such a rush to go?”

Clockwork opened his mouth to answer, but paused for another faraway look to overtake his face. “. . . Well, how do you feel about coming with me to find out?” he finally said.

There was hardly a thought before Danny agreed. “Sure!”

They set off.

Clockwork's portal led them to a large, immaculate kitchen.

“Very nice.” Danny said as he stepped out and oggled at the sheer size of the room. The number of cooking ranges and pots suggested that he was at a restaurant. “Do you come here a lot?”

Clockwork gave a distracted noise of affirmation as he walked over to a glowing red stove top and fiddled with the knobs until it was completely turned off.

Had he just stopped what could have been a fire?

The ghost then grabbed at unsightly cords that littered the countertops and tucked them into less noticeable places.

“Danny, there is a set of knives to your left. Would you please place them in the cupboard?”

The cutlery in question had been loosely kept in a stainless steel container, not very dangerous in his opinion, but he obligingly shut it away.

From Clockwork's direction, Danny could vaguely make out senseless muttering, “-idiot thinks he's a chef . . . ”

Yeah, no kidding. Idiot was an understatement. Who left a stove on?

Danny startled at a sensation that brushed across his ankles.

He looked down to see a purring cat. “Um. Hi.”

It was long haired, and an obviously very well-kept animal. It was incredibly out-of-place for the current location. The cat gave him a lazy, silent meow.

“I didn't think cats were allowed in restaurants.”

“It isn't a restaurant,” Clockwork clarified. “This is the home of Vlad Masters.”

Danny suddenly snapped alert and floated off the ground in a battle ready stance. His eyes darted around in search of an unwelcome presence.

“He isn't here right now.”

Danny immediately relaxed and found his footing again. He regarded the cat and kitchen before him once more. Now it was looking familiar. This wasn't his first jaunt uninvited to Vlad's house, but he had never paused to really look at the rooms he was darting through.

“Okay, so what are we doing here? I mean, I know fire-safety is important and all, but a blazing house and that guy isn't the saddest combination that I can imagine.”

“I understand,” Clockwork said as he made his way to a nearby window and began working its unyielding frame closed. “Masters has done you a great deal many wrongs. He is, what most would determine, unsalvageable. Unforgivable. Unethical and unrepentant.”

“Yeah. All that times a thousand.”

“He is also incredibly unstable.”

“I could have told you that.” Danny wondered where this was heading.

Clockwork ceased his fiddling and picked up the cat that had only been too content to loll on the ground. It wiggled, displeased at the graceless hold.

“Before you is the crux of all of Masters’ affections.” He lifted the cat further with emphasis, and spoke with sincere solemnity. “The warmth held for you and your family is but a shrinking mote compared to what he has fostered with this animal.”

Shrinking? Anything that lessened Vlad's attention could only be a good thing. “Really? Does that mean he'll leave us alone now?”

Clockwork didn't entirely look him in the eyes when he said, “Not exactly. Masters is the very definition of passion and he can never entirely drop something once he's set upon it.”

“Not in all the timelines?”

“Most of those are currently closed and the few available are too . . .” Danny thought that Clockwork was about to have another Moment, but the spirit soon found his words, “-dreadful. Which is why it is very important that we curtail his fixations, in what ways we can, and direct him to better . . . things. This cat is crucial to that. He's poured all his love into it and should anything happen to it, Amityville will be a flaming crater, and its residents, crumbling charcoal.”

“He'd kill people for a cat?!”

“He'd kill someone for kicking it.”

“Oh my God. I mean, that's a really mean thing to do to a cat, and they deserve something, but the town is innocent. Why would he hurt them?”

“He’s an idiot when he's angry. And a part of him has always wanted to watch the world burn.”

Danny pulled the, now fed-up, cat out of Clockwork's arms and held it with complete reverence. “We have to protect this cat,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“We need to keep it inside and never let it out.”

“I know.”

“Sam can watch it when I can't-”

“Masters will be consumed with rage should it go missing.”

“Right. Okay. Well, it's- it's a cat, and it's been alright so far, right? It should be okay here. It's happy here and Vlad's happy.”

“But there's a problem. It's why I have to come here almost every blasted day. The cat is suicidal.”

“ . . . Is there a therapy for that?”

Clockwork gestured to the room, heedless of Danny, “She keeps trying to kill herself. Last week she was roadkill and the week before, mauled by a pack of dogs. I stop her from eating poisonous plants and she goes right back to them the next second. I keep her from chewing power cords and she tries and tries again- last time she did it while soaking wet from nearly drowning in the toilet. In fact, had we not been here, at this very moment, she would have deep fried herself! I am confident that I have now seen every possible misfortune that can befall an animal and I grow tired of it.”

Danny scrambled to absorb the dire information. “But . . . the deep fryer isn't even on.”

Clockwork glared at the animal pointedly. “And yet.”

Danny looked at the yowling cat in horror. “What can we do?”

“I'm doing all that I can.”

“But isn't there something we can do that is less hands-on? More permanent?”

“I've been scouring the timelines for that very answer and have come up short. Other possible solutions will show themselves eventually, but we're not at the right stage to begin exploring those.”

“Okay, well if we can't do anything with the cat, what about Vlad? Can't we just stop him?”

Clockwork rubbed his face tiredly. “Danny, a future where Masters has that sort of melt-down, and the city regardless saved, is not a future either of us want.”

Danny wished he could fact-check that, but he wasn't the one with foresight. “Are you suuure?” he needled.

“Yes.”

Well, Danny supposed that was that. He didn't entirely believe Clockwork. It was hard to judge when he knew so little of the information as a whole, it could just be that there was something that had been missed. However, he did trust that it was what Clockwork believed.

“Clockwork?”

“Hm?”

“This future you have in mind, is it a really good one?”

“. . . It's not all good, but it has a great deal many good things, yes.”

Something niggled at Danny. It was a thing that had long been bothering him, and it reared its ugly head whenever altering timelines came up, but he had never earnestly voiced it. Mostly because he had yet to see any bad come of it. “Clockwork, I know you can do all these cool things, but do you ever think that maybe you shouldn't be doing all this? Changing the timelines, I mean. I get wanting to have a better future for people, but what if you don't make the right choice? Why not just let it go?”

“Instead, how about you let it go?”

Danny's mouth dropped open in shock at the sheer rudeness, until he realized that Clockwork was pointing at the cat. She writhed in his arms and gave him warning bites to his gloves.

He guessed Clockwork's answer wasn’t as much a brush-off as it was a diversion then. Fine.

He, gently, released the cat and planned to get right back to the questions at hand, but Clockwork addressed him before he could open his mouth.

“I've let things go a time or two before, Danny.” Clockwork had taken an interest in one of his many watches, his head tucked down so that shadow eclipsed most of his face. “And contrary to what some would have you believe, I have learned that it is better to do something, even if it's not the very best, than nothing at all. Inaction and apathy are things that I have fought hard to stay buried, and to embrace them again would be inexcusable.”

What could have possibly have happened? How bad did it get? Did he really want to know?

“What-”

“So, will you help me keep this cat alive?”

And Danny did drop it, just like that. Clockwork clearly didn’t want to talk about it. That didn't mean he wasn't still curious. He was. But for today, and probably for a while, he would leave it be.

Vlad returned to the center of his current frustrations. He had been trying to recreate an old family recipe, when suddenly, he had been called away on business. It wasn't a long meeting, but he had felt the need to rush. A thought had dogged at him since he left.

Had he left the stove on?

He swung the kitchen door open and immediately calmed at the lack of raging flames and burning stove-tops.

It seemed he did remember.

There was also a lack of general mess that often accompanied his random acts of cookery. His ingredients were laid out still, as well as a number of random bowls, but the utensils were nowhere to be seen and the deep fryer had been dumped. Curious. He didn't keep his cleaning staff this late, and even if he had, they wouldn't have been so lazy as to not properly clean up a clear mess.

“Who the shit has been in my kitchen?”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #clockwork #maddie #hahahaha!#at last #I get to share my favorite one #I realize that here his foresight works like Garnet's future vision #but I've had the thought since MiB3 came out #there's also some other caveats that I'm exploring #This is all there is for now #Now we enter a (hopefully) brief hiatus #vlad masters

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concussed-to-pieces · 5 years ago

Text

Stay Safe Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! I will apologize for word count, but I will never apologize for length...or girth. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @helplessly-nonstop @toxiicpop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst @kylolover96 @crownofmanga @eli-bourne @lackofhonor @talesfromtheguild

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

He was silent for quite a while and you were loathe to break it, sitting on the edge of the co-pilot seat with the harness secured loosely around you. A force of habit, more than anything.

He appeared to be studying the various star charts, flipping back and forth between two particular ones to select the shortest route to the next destination. You were still uncertain as to why he had requested your presence; your navigational skills were bare-bones compared to his, so that couldn't be it.

"You remember what I said about the button on the comlink?" The Mandalorian asked abruptly, making you straighten up. "That it sticks?"

"Yeah, of course. You told me a few times." You responded, your brow furrowed. "Why, did something happen?"

"That night, you…" he paused, clearing his throat. "After you said good night."

Oh no.

"I thought you were in pain."

No no no.

"At least, that's what I thought a-at first." Even through your panic, you picked up on his voice sounding strange again.

"I-I--" You stuttered, your mind spooling back all the incredibly embarrassing, incriminating things you had said. Maker. "Look, I-"

"Do you do that often?" He questioned bluntly. He hadn't turned to look at you and that, of all things, made you angry.

"Listen, I get it, okay? It's gross, someone like me getting off on thinking about someone like you. Miles worse since you had to hear it, I'm sure." You spat, your embarrassment compounding to a scalding fury. "I wish it hadn't happened, but now that I know it did all I can say is forget-"

The sound of his harness buckle hitting the side of his chair interrupted your heated rant and the next thing you knew he was standing over you, leather gloves creaking from the pressure of his fists clenching. You quailed a little, suddenly unsure of yourself. What if he thought you were dirty, disgusting for fantasizing about him? Oh Maker, what if he was angry? What if he forced you to leave? What if-

The Mandalorian jabbed a finger down to undo your own buckle, his grip unforgiving steel when he tugged you up out of your seat. You stared hard at his chest, willing yourself not to cry.

"I couldn't get your sounds out of my head." He rasped finally. "I was up all night. Couldn't sleep." His hand moved up slowly, like he was in a trance, and he ran his thumb over your lower lip. "Th-Thinking about you spread out on the floor, whimpering for me." He muttered, and you started to realize that he was absolutely not angry. This was...something else. "Begging for…sounded like you were right next to me a-and you're this beautiful...fucking, perfect-" He stopped abruptly, his words choking off in his throat.

It was restraint.

Iron restraint was keeping him barely reined-in but he wanted this, the breaths panting out through the modulator a tell-tale sign that he was under duress. He pulled off his right glove and reached out hesitantly, cradling your hand in his bare palm when you didn't move away.

His fingers were so hot. You could feel them trembling and you wondered what thoughts must be running rampant in his head as you folded your other hand over his own, keeping it there. He inhaled raggedly, his helmet listing to the side. "Maker, I've been--I was…"

"What?" You whispered, feeling as though you were trying to approach a wild animal.

He appeared to be having trouble articulating. For all his self-assurance, he had never really displayed any sort of awe-inspiring grasp of linguistics. The tradeoff for a creed of people that so often ended up solitary, you reasoned. In a way, it was endearing.

A soft noise issued from him, almost a groan, almost a sigh, and he lifted his free hand to his chest. His index and middle finger drew a circle and then he rapped his knuckles against the beskar over his heart, steel ringing softly in the silence of the cockpit. "K'oyacyi, stay alive, stay safe." He murmured. "An order, rigid, firm, with heart underneath it."

Oh.

"Do you remember the first time you said that to me?" The Mandalorian pressed on, "You were still scared of me, but you said it anyway. Right before I tangled with Dune. "

You erupted into giggles. "I know, you got covered in needles from those trees."

"Thought I'd never get all of them out of my cape." He was smiling, you could hear it in his voice.

"You sound nice when you smile."

"I...h-how...thank you." He stammered.

He stepped back after a moment, gesturing down at the star charts. Destination: Nevarro. The place you had called home for over a cycle. The place where you had once longed to return. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been cowering in the hold, begging to be delivered safely to Nevarro.

"I'm...I'm bringing you back. This is where you wanted to go." He said with difficulty. "Once we arrive, I..." He paused, looking down at you. "I don't know what will happen."

"I'm coming with you." You said quickly.

You felt the difference, the shift in his attitude. One moment he had been warm, the next, an impenetrable wall of beskar slid up between you. "No, you're not."

You wanted to scream at the change, to rail at it until he relented and gave you back that brief taste of what you had been searching for all this time. The man, not the mystery. "How am I supposed to keep you safe if you go places without me?" You reasoned wildly, trying to phrase it like you were joking.

"I don't need you to keep me safe." For all his hatred of droids, he certainly excelled at channeling their impassive demeanor. "I would rather you stayed out of this. It's business between the Guild and myself."

"Then why are Cara and Kuiil here too?" You challenged.

"That's...they're here to…" He shook his head and looked back towards the viewport, obviously frustrated and either unwilling or unable to explain himself.

Your heart sank in grim realization. "You're going to do something."

"I'm always doing someth-"

"You know what I mean!" You interrupted him sharply. "Something that you shouldn't do. I heard the message, most of it anyway."

"It's something that I have to do." He sighed, the sound bone-tired. "Otherwise, they'll just send more hunters after the kid. It's better this way. Better if I go along with the plan."

"B-But-"

He reached for you abruptly, hands gripping your shoulders. "What would you do? Since you've got all the answers?" He growled. "I can't keep running. We've barely made it this far. I won't get steady work without the Guild. If I do this, Karga wipes my record and I can get back to the way things were. The kid shouldn't have to be fucking hunted, running scared all the time!"

You glared up at him, furious because of course there was nothing you could do to change his mind. You didn't have a solution to this problem and he knew it, yet he still wanted to take it out on you! "Don't yell at me, you-!" Angry words seethed in your chest, molten hot like lava. You wanted to rage at him, stars knew you wanted to. But instead, tears welled up in your eyes. "Y-You--!" Maker, why couldn't you just be angry? "You're so stupid!" You sobbed out.

He was silent in the wake of your tumultuous explosion, hesitantly digging his thumbs in to rub comforting circles on your shoulders after several minutes of just standing there like a statue. "I don't know what else to do." He admitted, his voice nothing but a soft whisper. "All I know is what I have to do. You need to understand, the IG and I...I made the choice to hunt the kid first. I turned him in first. I took the payment first."

"You g-gave them the baby?" You snuffled incredulously. "I thought-"

"They offered me an entire camtono of beskar." He replied, his voice dark with shame. Your eyes widened, breath catching in your chest. So much! "Slid me an ingot beforehand to sweeten the pot. It was Purge-smelted, like the one you had. It needed to be brought back to the tribe. Healed. Melted down to sponsor Foundlings." He sounded like he was still trying to convince himself, still trying to justify his actions. "This is the Way."

"Stars." You breathed.

"I handed over the kid, got my beskar, and I...I just...I realized that I had…" He was struggling again, settling for a shrug. "So I went and stole him back and then left." He cocked his head to the side, his tone gone wryly fond. "That's when you showed up."

The individual in gleaming beskar armor gave no sign that they heard you, their rifle barrel trained between your eyes--

Now that you knew what had transpired immediately prior to your arrival, you were even more impressed that he hadn't shot you on sight. "I'm going with you. I don't care." You hiccupped, wiping your eyes.

"That's the problem. I do." His voice pitched lower with sincerity, fingers digging in slightly. "How many damn times have I put you in danger? Between Sorgan, Toro, the stunt with Ranzar's group? This isn't a life you want, stowaway." He was trying to convince you, you realized, possibly himself as well.

"I want a life with you." You whispered, your words naked and honest.

The Mandalorian's voice sounded raw even through the modulator. "No, you don't."

His hands left your shoulders and you almost started crying again, only just managing to fend off the impulse through sheer, indomitable spite. You seized his bare hand before he could move away from you and you raised it to your lips.

"Don't," he breathed, his helmet bowed against his shoulder. "You're making this much more difficult than it needs to be."

"I don't believe you." You knew the words were cruel, but you didn't regret them. You stared defiantly up at the impassive man, then you kissed his knuckles.

And all hell broke loose.

The Mandalorian ripped his hand out of your hold and grabbed a fistful of your tunic, shoving you back against the wall. "You think so?" He seethed through his teeth. "You really--you believe-I--" His body crowded yours, beskar breastplate rising and falling against your chest with every furious breath he took. Your own breathing hitched, legs trembling slightly as you stared him down. "Do you have any idea how hard you're making this for me?!" He finally managed to snarl. Not angry but frustrated, scared.

His pelvis rested against yours, and through his flight suit... "Yeah." You replied, giving him your cheekiest smirk. "Yeah, I'm getting an idea."

"You-" he stopped short, obviously confused before you pointedly rolled your hips. His helm dropped and he sucked in a ragged breath, the hand still fisted in your shirt tugging you hesitantly closer after a moment. "More. Fuck, I just-" His other hand grappled with your belt loops, wrenching your lower half flush to his. "More."

You squirmed in an effort to get comfortable and he snapped his teeth with an audible click!, the noise sending lightning sparks through your body. As he tilted his head back, no doubt in an attempt to regain some composure, the thick column of his throat revealed itself tantalizingly from beneath the layers of beskar and cowling.

"Want to touch you." He said helplessly.

"I'm not going to stop you."

"I know, that's the fucking problem."

"That seems like the exact opposite of a problem to me." You tucked your face against his shoulder, fingers dragging his cowl out of the way, and you felt his whole body tense as you pressed your mouth to the sensitive skin of his throat.

The Mandalorian made a noise that sounded almost pained, his gloved hand shooting up to thread through your hair. "Maker, you...fuck-" His voice cracked when you bit down gently. "Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want--"

"What do you want?" You asked softly.

"I--" The armored man surged forward to nudge his knee between your legs, spreading them wider. His fingers fought with your placket for a split-second, and then he had it splayed open. "You." He growled, gracelessly shoving his bare hand into your underwear. He stopped dead, clearly startled by how wet you already were. "Oh, you--you-?"

As if he hadn't had you in his helmet the other night begging him to fuck you. You whimpered, licking and nipping at the skin of his neck to try and encourage him to keep moving. "Come on, don't stop-"

His fingers shakily curved to cup your mound, rapid breathing all but deafening through the modulator. "You're so warm." He sounded dazed, his index finger tracing your slit before his knuckles collided with the slick that had pooled in your panties. "Maker, I just-"

His hand slithered free and you whined at the loss, confused when he quickly clapped his other hand over your eyes. There was a soft chuff of air and then you heard the distinct noise of a tongue hard at work. Your thighs clenched instinctively. Gods, was he tasting you? The low, unmodulated groan that followed only intensified your suspicions and arousal in equal measure.

"So hot." His bare fingers delved back into your drenched pussy, smearing your slick liberally around your clit. He hadn't removed the hand from your eyes yet, warm leather kissing your cheekbones. "You're so wet, I--fuck-" Whatever limited articulation he did possess seemed to have been thrown to the wayside, the Mandalorian resorting to a litany of sighed swears that had your body rocking against his hand.

The hand that he kept pulling free. You could hear him shoving his helmet up to taste you every time, licking your arousal off of his fingers like he was starving.

This was all achingly one-sided, despite his original protests. "H-Hey." You said shakily, trying to get his attention, "not that I'm not having legitimately the best time of my life, b-but I'm not doing anything for you-"

"Wrong." He replied breathlessly. "Everything for me."

"I just feel like--I-!" Your voice cracked, then broke embarrassingly high when he hooked his fingers a certain way and ground the heel of his palm up. You grabbed his shoulders, your body caving into his as your legs started to tremble.

"Everything for me." He repeated, feverishly working his thumb in circles around your clit. "Everything, everything-" He nudged your face against his neck, muffling your hungry whimpers and moans with his cowl. "-Perfect-"

Your nails dug into his pauldrons and a satisfied growl rumbled in his chest as you came apart under his touch.

His hand finally left your eyes, but at that point you were having difficulty opening them anyway. You dimly heard him tearing at his zippers, the lower fly of his flight suit apparently giving him some trouble. He snarled and the feral noise ripped down your back like a searing blade, making you quiver against the wall.

His gloved hand cupped the back of your neck, tugging your head down until you lazily blinked open your eyes, somnolent and simply luxuriating in the feeling. "Look." He breathed, seeming almost shy.

Oh. Oh, he was huge.

You were absolutely looking.

He had his cock in hand, the whole surface shining with a mixture of precome and your own arousal. As you watched, the head of it slowly vanished into his fist, and then emerged even slicker than before. "You're such a tease." You whimpered, loving the way his hips jerked at the sound of your voice. "Are you going to put it into me or do I have to beg?"

"You...you want-?" The Mandalorian sounded absolutely shattered.

"Please, please fuck me." You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing kisses to the bare skin you could find. "Please." Granted, you were unsure of your body's capability to take...all of that, but you were absolutely game to try.

"Stars, you're killing me." He grated out, tugging at your pants so you could kick them off. Strong hands gripped the backs of your thighs and he hoisted you up against his body, shoving his liner shirt to the side in the process. His cock ended up trapped between the slick folds of your pussy and his stomach and you loved the helpless noise he made in his throat.

Your back hit the wall a little higher than before and you wrapped your legs around his hips, wriggling into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Tell me to stop." He begged, his cock throbbing against your sensitive clit as he shifted his hips. The motions sent tiny little shudders of delight up and down your spine.

In reply, you rested your forehead on his helmet, staring into the visor. You imagined you caught the faintest glimpse of his eyes, wide and waiting. "You want me to ask nicely?" You crooned, "Please fuck me."

His cock slowly, slowly surged up into you, the blunt press of it robbing you of your breath. The Mandalorian's snarl was music to your ears, "Have t-t--go...slow." And stars he was huge, huge, you were bewildered that you were managing so well on this first push. You thanked the Maker that he had already made you come once, at least he wouldn't have any lubrication issues!

Words appeared to fail him rapidly, the armored man focused solely on burying his cock in you as deeply as he could. You finally felt the fabric of his flight suit against your groin and you growled, your fingers raking hungrily at his back plating. "Fuc-kk--y-you're so big-" You gasped.

His first real thrust ruined you. Your back arched and your mouth fell open of its own accord as the breath left your body, your mind dissolving into static. The Mandalorian pressed his forehead to your own. "S'--okay?" He slurred, clearly concerned but not in the right frame of mind to fully coordinate a sentence.

"Move, oh please, please," You begged, "fuck me open, f-fuck me, fuck me-"

His cock withdrew, and-and--

"M'sorry-" he choked out, cradling the back of your head to keep it from hitting the wall as he mercilessly pounded your cunt. "So--hot, wet, I--"

"Don't stop, please please please-" you sobbed against his neck, your fists clenched into his flight suit. "P-lease, I need it, I need you, gods I need you so much-" The words tumbled from your lips, as brutally honest as you could let yourself be, as he fucked them out of you. "I need you so much, I need you so much--"

I love you so much, I love you so much.

"N-Need…" You felt his body go taut underneath you, the tension making his cock throb at your inner walls. "You--me?"

"Yes." You keened, your second orgasm building to a crest in your belly.

"So good-" Every impressive inch of him plunged into you and then he stopped, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held still for the barest second. "Safe." His helmet tipped back and he groaned, fumbling his free hand down to stroke your clit and fuck you through your orgasm. "I--want you, p-please--all this skin, f-uck, y-yes you feel so--!"

He was grunting, straining, snarling out half-nonsense and then you raised one trembling hand to his chest. Two fingers traced a circle on the center of his beskar plate and as his chin tipped down to watch you, you tapped your knuckles over his heart. "Safe." You whispered.

He came in you with a seething moan, his fingers clawing at your hips while you clung tightly to him.

Heavy breaths rattled his entire body. You weren't much better, your chest heaving against his own. The Mandalorian groaned deep in his throat, dragging at the hem of your tunic. "What's wrong?" You asked breathlessly.

He didn't answer, just continued to haul the tunic up and over your head. He then rutted his hips up, punching a pitiful little whine out of you. How was he still hard?!

"More." He begged.

…

The Mandalorian's head tipped back and he swore, the noise gravelly.

You sprawled comfortably between his legs, naked as the day you were born and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You had been there for an extended period of time, though you didn't particularly care. The pace you had set was languid, unhurried, and he seemed perfectly happy to just sit in his pilot chair with his cock resting on your tongue.

The urgency that he displayed earlier hadn't faded at all despite that, both of his now-ungloved hands hungrily stroking over your jaw, your shoulders, the back of your neck.

"If I don't--don't-" He gasped out suddenly. "I want you to know, I-"

You pulled off of his cock and he grunted, shuddering. "You can just blow off steam, you know. Not everything has to have an important reason." You informed him, your nails scratching lightly at the flight suit that still covered his thighs. You ducked back down to kiss and lick at his balls, and you heard him choke when your tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

His abdomen spasmed underneath the thin liner shirt, muscles twitching and jumping the longer you lavished his balls with attention. "W-hy--I don't-I don't--" He stuttered, rushing to wrap his fist around the base of his cock to hold his orgasm back again. This would mark the fourth time since you had settled between his legs, but you were hardly complaining. "Oh, fuck, f--uck-"

"Don't you want to come?" You asked curiously, licking a wet stripe up the side of his cock and fingers.

His helmet slammed back against the headrest hard enough to make you wince. "W-Want--hngh-I don't want this t-to...don't want it to end. Feel so good-!"

His voice broke when you grazed your fingernails softly over his balls. Despite him coming in you earlier, he seemed to have more than enough to spare. You wondered with a lewd thrill just how much he might come if he was toyed with long enough.

"Used t' think about--about this. A-About. You." He confessed guiltily. "Fuck my fist, wishing it was your...c--unt, fuck-"

"Yeah? Did you get off on me?" You asked teasingly. "Did you wish you were fucking me?"

"I d-didn't mean to-" he moaned, the noise almost a whimper. "I just...you were...g-good to me, n' sometimes I would--I would--" He spread his legs a little wider and shoved his liner shirt up, exposing the planes of his abdomen to you in a languid show. He then slid a single finger down the side of his cock, smearing the precome that had seeped forth once you removed your mouth. "Fuck my fist, just--j-just wishing that I could…" He choked off his train of thought when you leaned up and licked at the skin he had revealed. "Oh, oh, fuck-"

"I'll suck you off for as long as you want, and you can fuck me for as long as you want." You breathed.

"N-No, no, have to do something for you t-too." The Mandalorian protested, his hands grasping at your shoulders. "I can't just t-ake-"

"You want to do something for me?"

"Anything. Wh-Whatever you want."

"Kiss me?" You whispered.

His entire body went still. "I…"

"You can cover my eyes, but I promise I won't peek. It doesn't even have to be on the mouth, if you don't want to! I just…" You fidgeted and glanced down, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden. "I just wanted to know, I-I guess."

"Sit up here." He ordered as he patted his thighs, his voice breathless. "Sit." You obliged, straddling him as best as you could with his legs spread so far apart. You ended up with your mound pressed to his stomach, your pussy grinding against his cock with every shaky breath he took. "I'm going to cover your eyes now." Why was he whispering? He raised his hand, tenderly cupping your cheek before he smoothed it down over your eyes.

"I can't take it off for you, right?" You asked. "That's not allowed?"

He murmured, "has to be me." Blind to everything and anything except the overwhelming presence that was him, you closed your eyes behind his palm and waited patiently.

There was the soft chuff of air that you had heard over and over earlier when he was...enjoying you. Then, the quiet slide of his skin against the inner padding.

"Oh-! Dammit." He swore a split-second before there was a loud clatter on the floor. You burst out laughing. "Rude, stowaway. Shouldn't kick a man when he's down." Even through his protests, you could tell he was smiling. "Lost my grip on it."

You raised your hands, blindly feeling along his arms until you reached his shoulders. He still had his pauldrons on, the beskar smooth under your touch. You walked your fingers up the sides of his neck, surprised when you felt thick hair grazing your knuckles at the nape of his neck. "Okay, so maybe you do have hair." You allowed, lacing your fingers through it and tugging gently.

"Were you still--Maker, you're impossible." He huffed, leaning forward. His stubble brushed your ear and you flinched, squealing a little when he tongued over the ticklish skin. "Got you." He exhaled and suddenly it wasn't ticklish anymore. Straight teeth worried the sensitive shell of your ear and you whimpered, unable to keep from twitching at the feeling. "Mm, what's the matter?" The Mandalorian murmured playfully. "You said I didn't have to kiss you on the mouth."

"Yeah, b-but--" You cut yourself off, your fingernails digging into the nape of his neck when he plunged his hot, wet tongue into your ear before mouthing all around the edge. For some reason the sensation had you wound tight, a new wave of slick rising in your core. "Ah-!"

He brought his free hand down to your pussy, carefully spreading your folds with his fingers. "What's the matter?" He crooned in your ear again, tapping his thumb lightly down onto your clit. He then nipped at your earlobe, tongue laving over the skin. "Was there something else you needed? You're dripping the come I pumped into you all over my beskar." He whispered. "Could keep you splayed open like this for hours, just so I could watch your insides twitch and clench down on nothing while you're waiting for more."

"Y-You-" You wished your voice didn't sound so breathy. You couldn't decide which you preferred: his wild stammering when he was out of control, or his unflinchingly honest speech when he could manage himself accordingly. "You're not f-fair--"

"Mm, odds are usually not in my favor." He agreed. He wrapped his soaked fingers around his cock, giving himself a lazy stroke and then rubbing the head against your clit. "You're so fucking...warm," he grunted, his thighs shifting restlessly underneath you. "I want to put my cock back into you. Will you let me fuck you again?" He asked, not giving you enough time to answer before indignantly replying, "What, no? Damn, you drive a hard bargain. What if I offered to...kiss you on the mouth? Would you let me put my cock in you then?"

You found yourself laughing at his teasing, butting your forehead against his own even though his palm was still over your eyes. "You're so dumb." You snickered. "How was I ever scared of you?"

"Because I'm strong and fast." He replied bluntly. "The armor helps."

"Your modesty is your finest quality." You snarked, a soft whimper fighting its way free when he rocked the head of his cock against your entrance again.

"Hmm, I don't remember you begging for my modesty the other night." He taunted you in reply. "If I recall correctly, you got a little...possessive. 'Your Mandalorian', was it?"

You swore under your breath. You got the feeling you would never, ever live that moment of weakness down. But seeing as it had led to this, you could probably endure his lighthearted jabs. "Well, yes. I did say that." You admitted. "Did it make you uncomfortable?"

"Fuck no." His teeth grazed your ear again and you shivered before you could stop yourself. "It was...it was nice to hear you all strung out, fucking yourself to the idea of me." You could feel the curve of his lips, could hear the bastard smiling. "The speaker is right in my ear, so it was like having you next to me." His unmodulated voice was like warm honey, husky, rich and golden. You had never thought that a voice could be so enthralling. "You're moving your hips again, stowaway." His fingers returned to your pussy, spreading you wide once more. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy doing that, if only to make you squirm. "Something you want?"

You reached down and took hold of his cock, smiling at the way his breathing hitched. "This." You splayed a palm on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat there. "All of this." Your fingers rose from his chest to his mouth, where you brushed your thumb over his lower lip. "And this."

"Yours already. All of it." He sighed, the noise turning into a growl when you angled your hips and eased the head of his cock into your cunt. "All of it. Every inch, every...s-stupid thing out of my mouth, everything."

"I like most of the things that come out of your mouth." You assured him, bracing yourself on his thighs and slowly, slowly lowering your pussy all the way down on his cock. Your pelvis slotted against his with a wet noise and you could feel your arousal trickle out around his cock and down your thighs.

"Hah, you...y-you…" You felt his hand squeeze your face momentarily, and then his mouth collided with your own. You whined and he snarled, that hot tongue seeking your own out after a split-second. He licked into your mouth hungrily like he was starving for a taste of you, only backing off to gasp, "Y-You're so wet-"

You bit down on his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth so you could harass it with your teeth and tongue. The Mandalorian made a strangled noise in his throat as your tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive flesh before you released him again.

"Can't even th-think straight right now." He admitted, sliding his free hand beneath you to support your back. "Maker, between your fucking mouth and your c--cunt, it's a miracle I'm still--" His words jerked to a halt and you heard him swallow audibly. "Oh. Oh." He gritted out.

You rocked your hips back and forth a little faster, knowing that he could handle a rougher pace. He curved inside you deliciously, the length of him only marginally easier to manage with you in control.

"Wait, wait wait, I'm--fuck, wait, I-"

"What's the matter?" You asked breathlessly. "Too much for you?" You felt his hand grapple fiercely at the small of your back, grinding your pussy down onto his cock. He started rambling in Mando'a, the words ragged as you continued your merciless attack without quarter. This was one fight you were determined to not let him win.

"Cyar'ika," he moaned, his mouth finding your own. "I'm-I'm--f-uck, fuck fuck, I'll fucking--I'll f-ucking split y--split this sweet little c-cunt--" His whole body went taut beneath you, ramming his cock up to meet you over and over. "You take me so...s-so fucking good, so good, so good t' me--" The wet sounds, the heat of his body against your own in his frenzied fucking and the way that his voice cracked combined to be the thing that finally tipped the two of over the edge. As you felt him start to let go, you took one of your hands and fisted it in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, directing him to look down at where your bodies joined.

"I want you t-to watch. Without the helmet." You panted, feeling more than hearing his raspy groan in reply. "So you can remember."

"I'm not going to f--orget, fuck, fuck, like I could e-ever for-g-get this--" The words stumbled out of his mouth, tangled in a dazed little knot, "--ever forget you." His body shuddered and he finally ground to a halt, dragging you against his chest and burying his face in your shoulder as he came with a hoarse shout.

You circled your hips on his still-twitching cock, your own orgasm close behind from how hard he had been pounding up into you. His voice sounded destroyed when he cried out, and you couldn't determine whether he was begging for mercy or more. His free hand fumbled between the two of you to tease one of your nipples; you could do nothing to help the pitiful noise you made when he pinched and tugged at the sensitive bud.

"Come for me. C-Come for me. Come for me." Whether a plea or an order, it was unavoidable. You came for him, the intensity making your skin prickle and your eyes open wide behind his hand. "Yes..." He drew the word out alongside your keening moan of completion, long and slow, praising you in that husky, now almost reverent tone.

You collapsed into him and you felt his mouth curve against your neck, stubbled smile teasing the skin while you fought to regain your breath. His arm reached for something on the floor, and you heard the slide of his helmet after a moment. Then, he removed his palm from your eyes.

The Mandalorian grunted softly and there was a delicate crackling noise beside your ear. "Fuck, that's a cramp." He grimaced, making you huff out a laugh. "Ow, ow. My wrist is...not pleased."

"Mm, should have just taken the chance." You mused, your eyes still closed.

"Chancy enough, getting this naked." He flicked over your nipple, chuckling softly when you whined. "Gods, you are perfect." He murmured. "I'll miss this."

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water. You sat up slowly, staring at his visor. "Why? Wh-Where-?"

"I don't know how sideways all of this will go." He replied simply. "I have a gut feeling."

Your hands fisted in his liner shirt. "So don't go, then."

"You know it's not that simple. If I don't, they'll keep hunting the kid."

"We can hide!" You suggested wildly. "Stay in the Outer Rim, hunker down on Dathomir or Felucia-"

"Until what?" His pragmatism cut you to the quick. "Until the Crest falls apart and we end up stranded in some asteroid field?" You fell silent, your fingers kneading at his chest in a silent plea, don't go. "I'm not doing this. I'm not going to drag you along this time. Whether you agree or not, I'm not involving you."

It felt like he had just stolen all the air out of your body, tears welling up in your eyes as those traitorous arms wrapped around you. His palms were large and warm, rubbing firm circles into the abruptly-cold skin of your back. You were suddenly awash with shame, and you pulled away from his comforting embrace. He made a noise, almost a protest, but you shook it off and struggled to stand.

"Easy, hang on to me. You'll fall over." He offered, his hand already out for you to grab. You ignored it in favor of jerking your panties back up your legs, nearly toppling with the effort. "Hey, you-"

"Don't touch me." You breathed, seconds from bursting into tears. "Just...just don't." You felt disgusting, sore, your body aching and tender from the overstimulation it had just received.

A soft, "oh," was all he gave in reply. His voice sounded defeated and more than anything you wanted to fling yourself back at him, to beg forgiveness and also kill him because how could he do this to you? How could he give everything to you and then take it all away in an instant?

You refused to look at him while you continued to dress yourself, certain that your incredibly fragile resolve would give out if you saw him tilting his head or any of the other little things he did that had wormed their way into your heart. But you were also seized with the fierce desire to wound him like he had wounded you.

And so, as you turned to climb down the ladder you tossed out a flippant, haughty, "This is the Way, right?"

You heard him inhale raggedly. "I--wait, please, just-"

You didn't stay to let him finish, continuing down the ladder.

…

This was technically your own fault, you reminded yourself for the hundredth time. Technically. You could have let him leave the cockpit, but no, you had to grab his hand! Really, you had no one to blame but yourself.

That didn't stop you from feeling like a gross, terrible person, of course, but at least you knew why. You felt stupid for thinking that you could convince him of anything other than what he had already decided upon.

Cara seemed to sense that something was wrong the following morning and she went out of her way to goad the Mandalorian into an arm wrestling match once the Crest departed Arvala-7. It was a bit cramped in the hold, what with the blurrgs and all, so you were a spectator whether you wanted to be or not.

The two of them posted up on top of a crate, their elbows firmly planted after they set their wagers. They slapped hands once and the child's ears perked up curiously.

The former trooper and the bounty hunter locked into their holds as you looked on, a bit invested now. Carasynthia somehow managed to keep the armored man at bay, unless the Mandalorian was going easy on her. Of course, she had been a dropper. Lugging pounds and pounds of gear and artillery must have built strong arms.

"I got you, Mando." She grinned.

"Care to double the bet?" The beskar-wearing man shot back, and you hated that you could tell he was smiling.

The baby looked back and forth between the two grunting adults, and their tiny hand reached out towards Cara. "Looks like the kid is calling dibs on the next round." You commented, chuckling a little. But when you looked up, you saw Cara releasing the Mandalorian's hand to frantically claw at her own throat.

The Mandalorian was only still for a split-second before he bolted upright, lunging to haul the child out of their bassinet. "Stop it!" He berated them sharply. "We're friends, we're friends! Cara is my friend!"

"Hey!" You moved to take the child but the Mandalorian quickly shifted, maneuvering himself between the two of you. "What are you doing? Stop yelling at them!" You protested, yanking on his arm.

"How very curious." Kuiil murmured, rising to his feet and moving to examine the child. The kid was just laying there, limp in the Mandalorian's grasp. Like they knew they had done something wrong.

"I mean, that's one word for it." Cara coughed. "What the hell was that?"

"What it is, I'm not certain. But that story you told me of the mudhorn is making a lot more sense." The Ugnaught mused to the Mandalorian.

"Psh, you would need the kid to help you cheat." Dune tried to joke, her voice rasping a little. "You that scared of losing, Mando?"

"What story? What mudhorn? What even just happened?" You demanded.

"The kid did this...thing once before. I can't really explain it." The Mandalorian answered you curtly. "He just moved his hand and a fucking full-grown mudhorn was three feet off the ground."

"...excuse me, what?" You questioned weakly.

"He also went into a coma sleep afterwards, guess he wore himself out." The Mandalorian shrugged, the kid peering over the side of his arm guiltily. "Maybe...maybe he thought Dune was a threat or something. Thought we were fighting for real."

"You little nugget, you really thought I was screwing with your dad?" Cara asked incredulously, reaching out and rubbing over one of the child's ears. "I tangled with your pops once, remember? He almost died."

"Not how I recall it." The Mandalorian growled, his pride clearly pinched. "We were at a stalemate if anything."

The child whimpered, holding their arms out to you. Despite now being privy to the incredibly frightening knowledge that oh, they can move things with their mind, they can choke a full-grown human out, you could still feel yourself softening. The eyes got you every time.

The Mandalorian, who had been watching you warily, muttered, "you don't have to if you don't--"

"Stop." You interrupted him sharply. "They're not a bomb." He fell silent, passing you the kid without further debate. They settled into your arms, staring up at you while you rocked back and forth. You began to hum their lullaby softly, hoping to get them to sleep at some point during this flight.

"I need your help." You glanced up, disappointment searing in your chest when you realized the Mandalorian was addressing Kuiil. You then proceeded to berate yourself for the hope you had in the first place.

He had made his choice and, in doing so, he had made your choice as well. There was nothing you could do to change his mind. Obviously. The best you could do was return to your mundane existence on Nevarro. Maybe once you were there you could hitch a ride on another freighter, leave the whole planet in the dust and get on with your life.

…

You tucked the baby in for what you knew was the last time, stroking your fingers over their little head.

The Razor Crest sat silent amongst the lava rivers, all illumination and non-essential mechanics off so as not to arouse suspicion or garner unwanted attention. To the best of your knowledge, everyone aside from you was already asleep. The blurrgs had been offloaded and secured outside; you could still hear them shuffling about as they chewed their cud.

The Mandalorian's rendezvous with his contact wasn't until tomorrow, but you didn't exactly feel like trying to explain your departure to everyone in the crisp gray light of a Nevarro morning.

It was better this way. It always was.

You picked up the small pack you had stowed in the bunk, as well as your toolbelt. After one final look at the child, you slowly felt your way towards the door. The lights in the hold were disabled, so all you had to navigate by was the faint orange glow from the distant lava.

You froze when you saw him standing next to the loading ramp, his shoulders rigid and arms crossed over his chest. The void of his visor bored into you, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking.

After a moment of the two of you standing there in silence, he sighed and tapped a few of the keys on his gauntlet. The loading ramp began to slowly open, segmented plates extending with a hiss of hydraulics. You shifted your weight nervously and opened your mouth but he held up a hand, stopping you before you could even start.

He simply gestured at the ramp, all that beskar for once not making a sound.

You crept forward, wary of him for the first time in a long time. Before you managed to get past him though, he tilted his head. Two fingers pressed against his breastplate, drawing a circle. Then, he tapped his knuckles in the center.

Stay safe.

You wanted to scream.

"Yeah." You managed to choke out instead. Your hand moved of its own accord, running down your leg to your boot where you tugged the vibroblade free and held it out. "Won't need this anymore."

That stupid visor felt like it was staring into your soul. He took the knife back after a moment. He was blatantly, obviously careful not to actually touch your skin, using his index and thumb to gingerly pinch down on the handle.

You gave him an awkward nod and continued out onto the ramp, your boots hitting the obsidian ground with a thud.

You didn't turn around, no matter how much you wanted to.

Part Eight

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #eventual romance #slow burn #oh they fockin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #please don't hate me #this hurts me a lot

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lousimusician · 5 years ago

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hi! could i request a mob!tom where him and the reader are fwb and they both like each other but neither of them want to commit to each other because of his line of work. and then one day tom snaps and he's like "i can't do this anymore, we're not just friends!" or something like that. thank you!!

I loved this one! Thank you for requesting!❤

~~~~~~~

"Shit," you grunted breathlessly, climbing off Tom and collapsing next to him on the bed, "That was fantastic."

Tom hummed, rolling over to place kisses on your neck, making you giggle. "You're very energetic today huh?" You teased.

"Can't help it," he muttered, "You're addicting."

Damn he made you weak.

You hummed blissfully, relishing the feeling of his lips on your neck, wishing you could stay like this forever.

You felt his hand slip onto your thigh and closer to your core, but you quickly grabbed his wrist.

"Ah ah ah," you laughed, "Not today, I gotta go."

"Yeah? Where to?" He asked, continuing to plant kisses on your neck.

You smirked, "Well if you must know... I have another date tonight."

Tom sat up, and raised an eyebrow, looking down at you, "Another one? With who?"

You shrugged, "Some guy from my art history class, 's been asking me out for nearly a month." Tom frowned, making you laugh, "Aw don't get all pouty big scary mafia boss. You'll still be my number one guy I go to for a quick fuck."

'Quick Fuck...' you laughed pitifully to yourself 'He's anything but.'

You raked your fingers through his curls, staring into his eyes a little bit longer than you probably should have, before sitting up.

Tom rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling while you started collecting your clothes, "Quick fuck hm?" He asked.

"Well yeah," you said, pulling your pants up, "What else?"

You've gotten too good at lying.

"Nothing," he muttered, "Have fun."

You gave him a skeptical look, hearing a passive aggressive undertone, but after pulling your shirt on you headed out.

Tom sighed, and ran a hand down his face.

'Date'

The word ran through his head endlessly, and he felt anger bubbling in his stomach.

He was well aware of his feelings for you of course, but the two of you had no realistic future with what he did for a living, so he was fine with the whole friends with benefits arrangement... but that was before you decided to go on dates.

Tom suddenly got an idea, and quickly scrambled out of his bed and pulled his pants on, before running downstairs, where he knew a few of his men would be waiting.

"You two," he said, pointing at two of the four men that were there, "I need you to tail (Y/N) tonight."

It wasn't ideal.

Not at all.

To go out on dates with boys you barely knew, in hopes of smothering the crush you've harbored on Tom all these years.

Probably doesn't help your case that you go back to him almost everyday, hiding what you really wanted behind eager kisses and desperate fucks.

But that's how these stories usually played out, huh?

'It's safer' a little voice in the back of your head insisted.

And it was right. Getting into a relationship with someone from a mob is downright ridiculous.

Not that what you were doing was really any better-

"Helloo~" you sang as you stalked into Tom's office.

It was a new day and you already forgot about your date last night upon seeing his hunched over form over a ton of paperwork. Usually no one was allowed in while he worked, but he was always quite lenient with you which you took full advantage of.

He hummed in acknowledgment but didn't look up, which was a bit out of character.

You frowned at the lack of attention, and shrugged off your jacket, tossing it onto a chair.

"So," you started, "Wanna ditch the paperwork for a bit and have some fun-"

"How was your date?" He asked, cutting you off.

"What?" You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned back in his chair, "Your date. How was it?"

"'S alright, I s'pose," you mumbled, not used to this coldness coming from him.

Why does he seem so angry?

Well actuallly, ....Tom was livid.

He had heard the report on your date last night, and it had put Tom in a sour mood all day. But there was a certain sentence in the report that got to him much more than he'd like to admit.

The date was seen leaving her apartment at promptly 7 am this morning.

He hummed, "Did you have fun?"

You shrugged, "I mean, I guess- is something wrong?"

Tom stood up, and walked around his desk, until he stood in front of you. "Course not." He finally answered.

His one arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into him.

You placed both hands on his chest and relaxed a bit, thinking he was snapping out of his bad mood. However the air still held a thick tension.

He leaned down and ghosted his lips along your own, before pressing his mouth hard against yours.

You let out a squeak at the suddeness of it all but relaxed into his kiss.

This kiss was different from his usual one's.

Aggressive, unforgiving, possessive.

And you knew he was still pissed.

You broke the kiss, "Okay Tom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He grunted, trying to dive back in for another kiss, but you pulled back.

"Bullshit. What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" He scoffed, "Does it matter? I thought you only came here for a quick fuck anyway."

You rolled your eyes, "Stop being a dick, and tell me what's wrong."

"Did you fuck him?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What-?"

"Did you fuck him? Last night?" He reiterated.

"Oh, you mean Andrew?" You asked, coming to the realization. "No, of course I didn't fuck him. I only really just met the guy."

"Bullshit." He said, repeating your word from earlier.

"What-"

"That's bullshit (Y/N) and you know it."

You backed away from him, "What the hell is the matter with you? Why would I lie? You know we have a deal to fully disclose any sexual partners either of us may have."

"Then why did he leave your place at seven in the morning?" He blurted out in anger.

"How do you-"

"Because I had my men follow you, that's how!" He shouted, turning so his back was faced towards you.

Tom never had a very good handle on his emotions and tended to lash out, which usually worked in his favor when dealing with clients, but in this situation he knew he was probably overreacting.

Fuck- you guys weren't even exclusive, he shouldn't act like this.

He knew he had no right to feel this jealous, but just the thought of you with someone else was enough to drive him crazy.

But the thought that some other guy got to go on a date with you- something he's never been able to do- set his blood on fire.

"You had me followed?" You asked in a steady but angry voice.

He was silent, guilt and shame filling him.

You scoffed when he didn't respond. "Fine. I'll tell you why he left at 7. He had a little bit too much to drink and I wasn't about to let him drive home, so I let him sleep on the couch. Alright? That answer good enough for you?" He stayed silent, back still facing you. You rolled your eyes, assuming he was probably embarrassed for overreacting, and too prideful to admit he was wrong. "Whatever. I'm going home." You turned, and grabbed your jacket from the chair you threw it on, and started putting it on as you headed for the door.

But suddenly his hand covered your own on the doorknob, stopping your actions. "Wait." He muttered, standing behind you.

You turned around to face him, and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He sighed, "I can't..." he trailed off, "I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stuttered, "What?"

Was this it? Has he finally had enough of you?

"This thing between us is tearing me apart."

You shifted from foot to foot. "Okay... so you wanna break things off?" You asked, hiding the hurt in your voice.

He grunted in frustration and pulled at his hair, "No! That's- .. that's the opposite of what I want!"

Your eyes widened in realization, your heart hammering in your chest but you wouldn't feed into the illusion of a relationship with him no matter how badly you wanted it. "Oh...but Tom..." You trailed off, "But... we're friends."

"No we aren't." He snapped, "You know just as well as I do that we're way more than that." He stated firmly.

You fell silent for a few beats, "... You." You sighed, "Tom I..." Fuck, you were weak, "Fine," you groaned in exasperation, "I like you Tom, I really do- but I just can't-"

"Why not!?"

"Because it's too dangerous!" You yelled. You calmed yourself before you continued, "Tom I like you so fucking much, but you know I can't... you're a criminal." You said softly.

Deafening silence spilled the space between you two.

Tom sighed.

He knew you were right, he even knew that there's a good chance that the two of you would've been together already if it wasn't for his line of work.

Tom didn't respond.

Instead he walked up to you and pulled you into a tender kiss, much different than the one before. It made you feel dizzy and light headed, but at the same time it sent sparks through your entire body.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. "I'm asking a lot of you princess, and I know that. It's dangerous but I promise that I will do whatever I need to, to keep you safe." He paused, "I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else other than me, but if you want out I'll let you go. But shit like this doesn't happen for me often and I... I really don't want you to go."

You stared up at him, wide eyed.

Shit...

"Then... don't let me go."

...you really are weak for him.

~~~~~~~

Let me know what you think! I'm still pulling myself out of a writers block, and feedback helps keep me going❤❤❤

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland au #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #mob!tom x reader #mob!au #mob!tom x you #mob!tom x y/n

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talesmaniac89 · 5 years ago

Text

Nicotine

Pairing: Dean x Reader (Reader is not actually present in the story, just mentioned)

Summary: Dean has his vices, but they all pale in comparison to how he craves you. Yet he pushed you away, leaving him gasping for air.

Word Count: 1966

Triggers: Talks about addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, romanticizing unhealthy behaviours (vices/addictions), alcohol, nicotine, heartbreak, angst, self-medicating, drugs (not taking drugs just the language used as metaphors), brief mentions of sex though no smut.

Y/N = Your Name | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

A/N: Written for the lovely @katehuntington‘s 1K Celebration (Congratulations again💚!). I chose the song Nicotine by Chef’Special - The story uses slightly reworded lyrics at multiple points, but I’ve marked the lyrics in bold in the one place I used the lyrics directly (with a change in tense from “is” to “was” to make it work with the story).

---

Dean had his vices.

Hell, he nearly collected them like some people collected baseball cards; carefully filed and stored away in the dark recesses of his mind for when he needed an escape from the real world. A personal prescription to hedonistic tendencies that temporarily drowned out anger, pain and weakness.

Sex, alcohol, adrenaline, unreasonable amounts of coffee, grease and sugar. They were his coping mechanisms. His form of self-medicating in a job that definitely didn’t offer a healthcare plan. Was it unhealthy? Yeah, maybe. But everything else in his life was already out to kill him, so he couldn’t really make himself care enough to stop. It wasn’t as if liver failure or death by sugar overdose was what was waiting for him down the line anyway. He’d never make it that far.

No, Dean Winchester would die like he lived; with a gun in his hand, anger in his eyes and a weak hope for humanity in his heart.

His vices, his addictions, just let him escape from all the shit in his life for a little while. Let him feel like he had control over some part of his screwed-up existence. They were the comforting oblivion when the real world just hurt too much and the needed driving force when he was just too angry at the world to stay in one place and went looking for a hunt. For some sick bastard or monster to hurt in place of himself.

Each vice served its purpose.

Casual sex and quick hook-ups for the days his bed felt too big and the loneliness was eating at him. Caffeine for when he was just tired of the constant sleepless nights and nightmares. Adrenaline and recklessness when he was angry at the fucking world. Alcohol to shut out the guilty thoughts and his not-so-greatest hits playing back featuring everyone he’d ever failed for just one night… You name a less than stellar state of mind; Dean had a vice to cope with it.

Though he’d stayed away from anything harder than alcohol as far as anything that could be considered ‘recreational’ went. He might be reckless, but he wasn’t about to make himself an easy mark by getting strung up on something that a bit of fresh air couldn’t shake. No, even when indulging, Dean wasn’t stupid. He was a hunter first, and one with a massive target on his back at that. He needed to keep a clear head to face the monsters the world kept throwing his way.

He’d also never really gotten the whole fuss and temptation of cigarettes, past trying one once in his teens. The greyish bitter smoke reminded him too much of the black toxic cloud of sulfur that followed a possession. And he liked flavours and sensations when it came to his vices; the burn of a good whiskey, the pleasant heat of a woman’s body, the heavy pulse of an adrenaline rush. Not the thought of inhaling bitter, foul smelling smoke into his lungs and coughing them up until he got hooked on it. He never really understood why anyone would want to inhale anything other than air (and the occasional burger) in the first place. It just wasn’t natural.

Or at least he hadn’t… Until he met you.

That’s when stolen moments of inhaled sweet air became another thing to get hooked on. The teasing whiff of your fresh shampoo as you brushed past him in the hallway. The sugar sweet rush of your scent that left him breathless when he’d pulled you close and out of danger. The breaths of cotton candy air he’d greedily stolen from your open mouth against his as he gasped around the taste of you once he finally worked up the courage to kiss you.

That was all it took. One gasped breath, and he was hooked.

Every other vice and addiction paled in comparison to you. Some men had nicotine, Dean Winchester had you; his drug of choice. From that first dizzying hit of inhaled sugar and salt as he buried his face in your damp, heated neck, writing love stories on your skin with his tongue and teeth, Dean had been a goner.

He needed to feel you under his fingers, taste you on his tongue and breathe in the sweet scent of your warm skin to fall asleep. Hell, to just stop from losing his mind when the world decided to test the limits of his sanity once more.

When you were around, he felt whole again. He hadn’t felt that way in years; that long lost and forgotten happiness. Like he was good, worthy and human. You were the only drug he’d ever need. The soothing touch of your fingers against his forehead was better than the oblivion found at the bottom of a bottle. Your steady breaths that lulled him into dreamless sleep removed the need for caffeine completely. And your body next to his on the bed didn’t just momentarily chase away the loneliness, it completely erased it.

Dean didn’t just crave you. He needed you like others needed air.

Yet he’d chased you away. Leaving him tossing and turning in twisted sheets from withdrawal now that your skin wasn’t easily within the reach of his greedy fingers. His throat was rough and raw with a thirst he couldn’t quench. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, couldn’t fucking breathe. His head was pounding with the constant echoes of your last fight. The ghost of your skin against his fingers was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He needed you to breathe. He needed to taste you on his tongue. Dean needed you.

But you were gone.

After another hard hunt, another life lost, he’d pushed you away. Yelling angry words that he didn’t even remotely mean, even in the heat of the moment, to make you leave him. Since he didn’t have the willpower to kick the habit that was (Y/N) (Y/L/N) himself. Silently begging you to get out before it was late, before your name was added to the list of people he failed to save. Breaking his own heart even as he told you that what you’d shared had to stop.

It had been a bad fight. He might not have known how to stop craving you, but if there was one thing Dean Winchester was an expert at it was destruction. Tearing down anything remotely good in his life as if he was a controlled explosion; leaving the bad untouched and disintegrating the good. Demolishing beautiful, safe walls and leaving just a wreckage made of hurt, hunts and freezing lonely nights. It was the Winchester legacy; no heart left unbroken, no happy endings and no bright light at the end of endless dark tunnels.

He’d told you he didn’t need you. That you made him weaker. That you were a danger to them. Turning everything he believed about himself on its head and mirroring it, so you had to temporarily carry the burdens, just for long enough to realise he was toxic. That he was a harmful habit that you needed to kick, or it would end up forcing you straight into an early, unmarked grave.

He’d turned his back on you, and you’d left. Your angry tears drowned his already shattered heart as you spun on your heel and removed all traces of yourself from his life. Your parting words a bitter echo of love that just wouldn’t stop ringing in his ears. The beautiful sound of your voice, breaking over a promise of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You hurt me Dean. And fuck if I don’t want to hurt you back. But I love you, and I always will, even if you can’t love yourself,”

He’d done it for your sake. Dean Winchester wasn’t really a safe pair of arms to rest in. Yet, the moment the door shut behind your retreating back, he’d regretted it. Sinking to his knees with the early shakes of withdrawal.

He hadn’t realised how deep he’d fallen, how addicted he’d become to your plump lips and the bittersweet taste of your kiss. He was high on you, and he wasn’t coming down. Instead, everything he tried to do to wean himself off your taste, your touch and your scent only solidified how much he needed you. Your love was the cure, the miracle drug needed to survive the damned hell that was his unfair and unforgiving life.

But you were gone, and it was his fucking fault.

Twisting his body on the hard mattress Dean barely glanced at the glowing numbers on his bedside clock before combing a hand roughly through his hair and glaring at the dark ceiling above him. Anger radiating off of him and staining the ceiling with new guilty shadows and stupid decisions. 3 am; another sleepless, loveless night.

Before you, he would’ve just gotten out of bed on nights like that. Found a bottle and drank until the room started spinning and he passed out. But the taste of you was hotter than whiskey, the pull for you stronger than the oblivion he was trying to chase.

Staring at the ceiling, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched at the bridge of his nose. His head was killing him, his body was aching for you. He just needed to fall asleep. To try and find his way to a dream featuring you, as if he was chasing a fading high. Just to not feel anything for at least a little while. To not freeze to death from the chill to his left where you’d been just days earlier. Just within his reach whenever he needed to feel your pulse against trembling fingertips or steal another gasped sugared moan from your lips.

He was desperate for at least an hour of shut eye, of a dream of you. Even though he knew it was useless. Sleep wasn’t a cure. It wasn’t even a fucking band aid. Even if he managed to block out the hurt, the need, for a few hours. It’d just come rushing back once he woke back up. Knocking the air out of him and leaving him pinned to cold sheets, gasping for you.

It was futile. Your love was like a drug. He couldn’t just forget you. He couldn’t sleep this off and shake it. He needed you more than adrenaline, alcohol, caffeine, nicotine, sugar… More than any fucking vice that anyone could think up. Without you he couldn’t even taste the burn of the whiskey or feel the heat of the sun on his skin. You were the colour to his sketched outline. Nothing else mattered if you weren’t there.

Opening his eyes, Dean’s feet found the chill of the concrete floor before he even fully realised what he was doing. He needed you. He’d been fucking stupid, letting you go. And even if all he could do was drive around aimlessly, looking for your car, then that’s what he’d do. It was 3 am, but Dean didn’t care. He’d drive, and he’d keep driving until he found you again. Until he could beg you for forgiveness. Beg you to come home to him.

He barely even remembered to grab his keys and jacket in his rush to fill the craving that was tearing his heart apart. Pulling the worn leather jacket on over the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d been sleeping in, or trying to sleep in, as he shouldered the door to his room open.

He had to find you, had to make things right.

Dean Winchester had his vices. But you were no vice. You were a virtue, and he wasn’t gonna let you go. Not without chasing the sweet high of your kiss till the end of the world.

---

Tags:

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce

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corpse--diem · 4 years ago

Text

Ghosts That We Knew | Blanche & Erin

TIMING: A few hours after this PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @harlowhaunted SUMMARY: When Blanche wakes up in the hospital, she has something to tell Erin. CONTENT: House Fire tw (mentions)

Blanche dreamed of darkness until she awoke to a steady beeping and a too-bright light in her eyes. She let out a quiet moan. Her limbs were filled with cement, and she couldn’t really move as she tried to orient herself to her surroundings. Blanche was in the hospital. Oh, the hospital. Fan-fucking-tastic. Properly admitted too, or so it looked from the hospital bracelet around her wrist and the IV coming out of her arm. It took her a second to remember the fire, and it was only then that Blanche forced herself to sit up in bed, chasing away the tiredness that hung around her. Her back hurt. Her everything ached. Her eyes shot around the room, and she saw Erin in the bed next to her. “Erin?” Blanche croaked, voice hoarse and thick. She coughed once, before the questions spilled out of her before she could stop them. “Erin? Where’s Rio? What happened? Are you okay? What’s - I mean - What’s going on?”

Erin didn’t want to be here. She could leave against medical advice if she really wanted to - wasn’t like she had handcuffs securing her to the bed, which was a surprise in itself. The police had come through to talk to her about the fire and Roland’s death. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a suspect they were prodding too hard. Not yet, anyway. Maybe it was just better judgment keeping the more pressing questions from the woman who’d gone through a trauma like that until later. Turning her head slightly, she peeked behind the half-drawn curtain that separated their beds for the fifteenth time that hour. The guilt needling her bones each time. Still quiet, still sleeping. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. Erin could only hope it was restful. Rest. Roland jumped out in her mind’s eye. She kept seeing him falling over and over into the flames, stuck on a loop. Closing her eyes, she ground her teeth down hard. No. Not now. She wasn’t ready to deal with it, and knew if she allowed those thoughts to permeate, she wouldn’t be able to keep it together. She couldn’t lose control. Not now and not ten feet from Blanche’s bed. What right did she have to mourn him, anyway?

She opened her eyes, forcing her attention to whatever As-Seen-On-TV kitchen appliance was being overhyped on the screen. When she heard Blanche stir, she instinctively shot up, wincing as her bandaged arm hit the side of the bed. “Fuck,” she grumbled. Medication could numb that pain at least. Mostly. She reached over as far as she could, holding a hand up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. Rio’s fine. You’re fine.” Her chest tightened at her other questions. “There was an accident at the funeral home. Do you--do you remember anything that happened?”

Blanche coughed some more, looking at Erin as she tried to calm her. “I -” She still had the lingering headache that told her she shouldn’t have pushed herself too hard. Her hand rose to her forehead, squinting at Erin. “I remember what happened. Rio and I … I picked us up food while we were both on our breaks. The smoke alarms didn’t go off.” And oh god, the fire had been so horrible. Blanche could almost feel the thick smock scratching the back of her throat as she slumped against the wall, waiting to die with Rio. Things went hazy after that. Rio picked her up and passed her through the door to Erin and the police officer… Her heart sunk in her chest. The police officer. What had his name been? Roland. Blanche saw his burned form once they were finally outside, lingering over Erin while her wounds were getting treated. His words burned her ears. He said her own name as Blanche faded back into unconsciousness, unable to do anything else. “That…. Man.” Blanche didn’t see him fall through the floor, but she had heard it. She had seen the aftermath. The flames leaping out of the hole. She looked at Erin, her mouth going dry. “The one who helped us. He was there and…” She rubbed her aching forehead, shifting in the bed to pull her knees up to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath. “How did it start? The fire?”

The severity of her injuries reflected how much longer her and Rio had been exposed to the smoke and lack of oxygen and Erin physically cringed at the sound of Blanche’s painfully dry coughs. Didn’t have the courage to keep eye contact. Rio was recovering surprisingly well from when she last checked and she had to wonder if that had anything to do with the way he literally punched through that door. Blanche had a rougher journey ahead of her. “Roland. He’s--was the police sergeant,” she said quietly, easing her legs over the side of the bed to better face her. Shoved that swelling in her chest away as hard as she could. Blanche deserved to know the truth, she’d almost died for it, but the words kept sticking in her throat. “This is my fault,” she finally answered with a stoicism that surprised even herself, even if she could only meet her eyes for a few seconds at a time. “My boss. He did this. The one I told you about?” She recalled their conversation very clearly, remembered promising her she had it under control. So much for that. “Let’s just say I gave him my resignation and he didn’t take it well. I think I started something I can’t stop.” That was all Blanche really needed to know. She lifted her chin to face her properly, finally, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blanche. You shouldn’t have been in any part of this. This is my fight and that sick fuck took it too far--” she paused, chewed at her cheek when her voice rose and nodded firmly at her. “I’m going to make this right.”

Roland. She remembered being an ass to him online. Her heart tightened, and she cleared her throat again as she shook her head. Blanche looked at Erin, pressing her lips together as she digested Erin’s explanation. The situation with her boss - the one that Erin was supposed to have under control. Only for a moment did Blanche feel a spark of anger. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it wasn’t fair. “This isn’t your fault,” Blanche found herself saying, shaking her head. “You didn’t… You didn’t set the fire. You didn’t lock us in. The only thing any of us can control is ourselves.” Rio and her were shut in there on purpose. The lock had been tampered with and they were barricaded in, left to die of smoke inhalation and fire. A cruel death, likely meant to get back at Erin. Blanche remembered glumly thinking about how much it would hurt before she lost consciousness the first time. She shifted on her bed again, trying to find a more comfortable position that had her back aching less. Blanche washed a hand down her face, looking away from Erin to stare at the stark white sheets and blanket they put over her. “... I need to talk to you,” Blanche finally said, glancing back at her. The heart monitor picked up the anxiety she felt, and Blanche shot a glare at it. “About… Roland. I saw something. Before they… Before they loaded us into the ambulances.”

Erin didn’t say anything when Blanche insisted it wasn’t her fault. It was. She knew it was and arguing about it with Blanche in this sad, dark hospital room wouldn’t change that. Sure, she hadn’t touched the fire to the house but there wasn’t any question about who had ignited the flame. She shook her head, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Either way, after we get out of here, I need you to keep your distance. No joke. From me, from the funeral h--” She froze, shoulders tensing, face flushing at her glaringly obvious error. The structure stood still, stubbornly intruding on the skyline. From what the police had told her, with enough money and perseverance, it was salvageable. Probably. Not great news but it was better than what she expected. “Stay away from anything to do with this or me,” she said, the edge in her tone sharp and unforgiving. This wasn’t a suggestion and she needed to make sure Blanche realized that. Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Roland, uncertain but far softer than they had been seconds ago. “What do you mean? What about Roland?” He was dead, there was no question there. The doctors had delivered the news personally after she had been taken care of and bandaged up. “What did you see, Blanche?”

The words were cold, but familiar. She hated that they had come from Erin though. Blanche’s eyes closed as she once again adjusted, unable to find a comfortable position longer than thirty seconds. Her legs had this irresistible urge to move; despite feeling like her limbs were weighted down in cement, she wanted to leap out of bed and start screaming. The anger that was there before was back in just a brief instant, her fists curling around the cloth until the skin stretched across her knuckles turned white. Stay away from me. Stay away from danger. “Yeah. Okay,” Blanche said, blankly. “You have it under control, right?” It was a snide comment, but it wasn’t like Blanche had asked for any of this to happen - like she asked to be put in a burning building from some asshole who had a vendetta against an organ dealer. Blanche had grown up used to disappointment, but hearing that from Erin made her so angry that it took her a second to remember the responsibility she had.

That responsibility hit her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The damn ghost situation. Blanche felt the tears prick her eyes, and she felt so ridiculous for feeling so upset over something so stupid when someone had died for her and the rest of them. They couldn’t do a single thing for Roland now. Blanche would have to go and make sure his soul was gone, but other than helping him find peace, there was nothing anyone could do for him now. Blanche pressed her lips together in a thin line, not looking at Erin as she answered her, instead looking at the silent TV trying to sell her some fancy juicer that would break after using it two times. “His ghost,” Blanche said, finally. “I saw his ghost. He … said things to you.” Blanche finally looked at her, her tone softening slightly at she remembered the man’s words. “Do you want me to tell you what he said? Or do you want me to wait?”

Erin wasn’t expecting her demand to go over well but the anger she saw Blanche tensely hold back caught her off guard. Of all people, Blanche deserved to be angry, and especially at her. Stung a little but if that’s what it took to keep the younger woman at a safe distance, she could take it. What hurt more was the question that followed. It hurt because the implication wasn’t wrong. Hurt because it came from Blanche. Guess she deserved that. She clenched her jaw, settling her gaze on the dark window at the far end of the small room, shrugging. “I’m working on it,” she answered simply.

Her attention turned back to Blanche, bristling at the word ‘ghost’, piling onto the confusion that followed immediately after. What would he have to say to Erin? She almost didn’t want to know. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with her after the arrest and she shifted uncomfortably as her imagination ran wild. He also had no reason to forgive her. Making her feel guilty about his death from the other side didn’t seem like his style. People could surprise you, though. She’d surprised him after all. After a long silence, she nodded her head. “What did he say?” She asked, her voice small but sure. Whatever it was, she could take that too.

Maybe Blanche wasn’t being fair, but right then and there, Blanche didn’t want to be fair. Stay away from anything to do with me. Blanche heard that before, and it meant trouble and pain and, now, it meant death. She thought of the police officer again, how he was so ready to literally carry her out of there, and how his last action was to throw her to safety as the floor gave way beneath them. It wasn’t fair, Blanche realized, to let her anger mask over her duty to the dead. “He said he was sorry,” Blanche said stiffly, her cheek resting on her knee as she stared at a patch of wall. “That he doesn’t understand how you got mixed up in something like this, but…” Blanche was unsure how to word it, and she didn’t want to get it wrong. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure if the memory she had of Roland’s voice was right. But didn’t Blanche owe it to Erin to tell her what she thought she heard? “But he wants you to find your way out of whatever this is.” Her voice hardened again, despite herself. The anger she felt was real, and she was having trouble swallowing it back as she became more and more aware of just how much everything hurt. The pain gnawed at her like an aggravating itch she couldn’t get rid of, even though she was sure they had given her something for the pain. Her fists clenched around the blankets, and for a second she thought the whole room was going to consume her. Breathe, Blanche. Her eyes closed, and slowly, she forced herself to relax out of the stiff position she wound herself into.

“I don’t know if he passed on,” Blanche finally looked back at Erin. “I… couldn’t stay awake any longer.” She was uncomfortably guilty about that. “I’ll have to go back and check later. Once…” Blanche looked around, squinting out into the dark. “Did they say how long we’re stuck here? I want to go home.”

Erin had naively thought she was ready for whatever this fight would potentially give or take away. The nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, were spent picturing the 1001 ways this could go wrong. As if armoring herself with any foreseen pain could make the actual thing more bearable. Didn’t work like that though. Emotions couldn’t be planned out ahead of time. She could suppress them, switch autopilot on when it was necessary to get the job done. She’d gotten good at that. The way Blanche was looking at her--or more aptly, not looking at her--seared a white hot guilt through her chest that rivaled the literal burn on her arm. A look she had thought she had prepared herself for--the anger, disappointment. Roland’s final words only added to the noise in her head. “He’s sorry?” She blurted out while the rest of his final words processed. “Why would-- For wh--” Her jaw slacked as her mind tried to catch up, to try and understand his reasonings. It never quite got there. The man had nothing to be sorry about. No good reason to hope for the best for her. She had gotten him killed and still, he was more kind to her than she ever deserved. Angry tears clawed at her throat, burned behind her eyes until her vision blurred. Oh god, she couldn’t break down right now. Not here. Not in front of Blanche. Wasn’t fair to put that on her on top of everything she’d already endured. “Thank you. For telling me,” she nodded earnestly when she finally pulled herself together.

“I don’t know. They couldn’t tell me how you were doing,” she finally managed after Blanche asked the question. Something about HIPPA or whatever. She pulled her covers up a little higher, afraid if she moved too abrasively or made any sudden movements, the whole room would crumble in on itself. Home sounded good. She wanted to go home. Wanted to disappear into Nic’s arms for a little while. She ran a hand over her cheek, took a deep, sharp breath. “Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or get the nurse to?”

“That’s all he said. I’m sorry.” Granny said a medium’s gift was for the living just as much as the dead, but she couldn’t give the living answers that were not there. What was Roland sorry for? The fire? The way things went between them when he was alive? Blanche didn’t know, and she couldn’t give Erin the answer she wanted. Her job was to speak for the dead, not to put words in their mouth and lie, even if making something up seemed better now. Remembering Granny’s words kept Blanche stone faced as she stared at the wall, not responding to Erin’s gratitude. She didn’t want her thanks, she didn’t want any of this.

Her icy facade only broke when Erin asked if there was anyone she could call for her. A name caught in her throat before everything hit her at once. Everything was fucked. Erin’s home, Roland’s life, Rio, how quickly she gave way to the smoke and how tired she was. Why did this keep happening? If things were just normal she would be sitting here, her mother and father and brother at her side already. If things were normal, Blanche wouldn’t be here at all. She wouldn’t even be in the state. She’d be in Massachusetts, getting ready for her senior year of school if she could have just held on for a little bit longer. It was thoughts she had before, and Blanche knew that dwelling on them would do nothing for her now.

Tears had come out of her eyes before she could stop them, and Blanche crumbled in her bed, right in front of Erin, suddenly too viciously upset to be embarrassed. Her arm with the IV jerked. Blanche knew there was only one person in the entire world that could give her any comfort. “I want Granny,” Blanche said angrily, knowing just how impossible it was. “I want to go home.”

If Erin had known the question would set Blanche off into a torrent of tears, she would have kept her mouth shut. Concern spiked through whatever grief or guilt clouded her thoughts. Granny? The one Blanche had been mourning, who had crossed over not long ago? “Oh, Blanche…” she murmured softly. Words failed her the rest of the way and they died in the air.

Comfort usually came much easier than this but her own pain and exhaustion refused to let better words come. Instead, she shifted tenderly off the bed, wheeling the IV attached to her arm to Blanche’s bedside. “Blanche, I’m s--” she shook her head, sitting at the edge but close enough to rest her hand on the younger woman’s arm. Apologizing again felt hollow. She tried to meet her watery eyes, her sobs piercing her skin like knives. “Please. What can I do? Who can I call? Let me just--please let me help you,” she pleaded. Even if she could just sit there while she cried, to help her feel a little less alone right now, she’d take it. If she wanted to scream at her for putting her in this position, she’d take that too. Anything at all would be better than helplessly watching her fall apart.

She wanted so badly to rip the IV out of her arm and shove Erin away from her. What was she doing? What were either of them doing?! This was so stupid. This was all so stupid! Granny was gone, someone was dead, and they were almost burned alive. Blanche cringed away from Erin’s touch, wanting to rip her arm away from her. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Delivering messages while she sat in a shitty hospital bed, in pain, exhausted, and angrier than she had been in a long, long time. Hadn’t she accepted this when Granny moved on? Her mediumship was her duty and her responsibility, no matter the circumstances because so few could give a voice to the dead. Who else would have heard Roland? And Roland should be heard, his words and his wishes should be heard. But, Jesus Christ, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to sit here in this shitty hospital room and look Erin in the eyes after she just told Blanche to stay away from her? Why did she have to provide her that comfort? Granny would remind her to be kind and have compassion, but at that moment, Blanche had no kindness or compassion for Erin.

She shook her head, wiping her tears away in fury with the back of her trembling hand. “I want to go back to sleep.” Blanche snarled, finally wrenching her arm out of Erin’s grip. “I want to go home. I want Granny. I want Adrien. Nell. Rio. I just want - I want it all to stop! Can you make it stop Erin?” Blanche looked at Erin severely, unable to truly focus as the hot tears blurred her vision. Erin couldn’t make it stop, and that wasn’t her fault. She was grieving the loss of her home and that policeman she saw - the one who whispered to her before she died. This wasn’t fair to her either, but Blanche was done being fair. Her energy was spent, and she had nothing left to give. Maybe she would regret it later, but now? Blanche just shook her head, pulling the thin white blanket up and over her head as she curled back down into the thin mattress and shut her eyes tight. She could deal with Erin later. She could text someone later. She could deal with anything later as long as she didn’t have to deal with the weight of the world now.

There was nothing Erin wanted more in the world than to make it stop. Make this all stop. The death, the destruction, the fresh pain rippling through town at the hands of this monster. Monster. It wasn’t a word she used lightly anymore but there was no better descriptor for Roy Chambers. Roy and the easy smile he wore while he flippantly decided who lived and who died. Who had to bear the burden of the ash he left in his wake. Erin could take it. She would, whether she liked it or not. She’d signed up for this. Rio hadn’t. Blanche hadn’t. Roland sure as fuck hadn’t. Nothing Erin said or did right now was going to change or dull the pain that Blanche was feeling right now either. She wouldn’t take back her demand, either. This was exactly why she needed Blanche to stay away. Space was the only thing that would keep her safe. If that meant she’d hate Erin for the rest of her days, Erin could only be thankful she had those days to hate her with.

Still, the rejection that came when the blanket was pulled over Blanche’s head gutted her like a knife. She sat quietly at her bedside, hoping maybe she’d rip the blanket off and even scream at her if that was what Blanche needed. When it became clear not even that was going to happen, Erin padded slowly across the cold floor back to her side of the room. Grabbed the curtain that separated the both of them, sparing one last look to the rumpled bed. I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me. I’ll always be here if you really need me. She didn’t say any of those things and knew it was probably better that way. The less she confused the young woman about her previous demand to stay away, the better. She’d done enough damage as it was for one night. With a heavy heart and tired eyes, Erin drew the curtain shut.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #ghosts that we knew #house fire tw #mentions #chatzy: blanche #:/#meri hurt me with this

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amaranthinerose42 · 5 years ago

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So Ghosts are real

or at least waves of negative energy. Whether they’re man-made or spirits that can affect us.

So not everyone wins the lottery when you get set up with housemates. Sometimes they’re strange, annoying and don’t understand boundaries. Sometimes they’re mean. Sometimes they’re quick to judge. Sometimes they turn out to be the kind of person who just exuberates negative vibes, man. I had the luck of all three in my final semester at san francisco state. Mix those all together with someone who is a chicken when it comes to confrontation, me, and you get domestic troubles. To keep people anonymous I’m going to refer to each housemate to their sun sign. We had a Leo and Aries sharing one room, Pisces and Capricorn (me) sharing another and then the Aquarius.

This strange roommate with a lack of boundaries, the Aquarius, had her own room. Funny enough she never closed her door and had a habit of waltzing into our rooms without permission. I put her down as quirky, annoying, and someone I’d have to tolerate. The others found her behavior as offensive, horrifying, making them (and I quote) ‘Prisoners in our own home’ that it was ‘the most traumatic shit they’ve ever experienced’. It wasn’t a fun experience, and I felt bad for the girl. She did have some mental stuff that hindered her to understand certain social situations and what is polite living with near strangers. She’d change her clothes with her door open, not shower apparently (my room wasn’t close enough to hers but my housemates said the smell was unbearable) Things got real personal real fast with her. She’d talk and talk and constantly jump from one inappropriate topic to the next.

As a person with my own social anxiety, I still tried to understand her point of view, respond, be generally kind and polite to her. The others were So good at acting polite toward her I was worried I was the one getting impatient and might snap at her. But then one weekend she went home. They went off. From that weekend on, for the next two weeks, they’d treat her like a monster in our house. They’d leave the living room the moment she’d come home from class.

Anyway, one night one of the girls, the Aries, in the other room invited us all except the Aquarius to go with them to see this opera thing at the baseball field. It was mostly to get out of the house. I accepted because it seemed like a fun thing. I honestly didn't want to get involved in their drama. They just talked shit about her all day. As a gullible person, I was starting to lean toward their side. But now it’s likely a lot of the little things they said she did sounded like made up childish bullying to make her seem more gross.

Things got bad enough that we had made a list of complaints and sent it to our RA to help us deal with her. There were certain things she straight up did/didn’t do like help pay for toilet paper, take peoples kitchen supplies, take peoples food. So our RA decided it was a good idea to email everyone in the house that “I see things aren’t going too well, we’re going to have a meeting on friday to discuss things”. We thought this was risky, but it being a wednesday we thought whatever, it’ll be taken care of in two days. Then the RA cancelled. Moved it to monday. Saturday was the opera night.

So, we went to this opera thing and they purposely didn’t invite her. It was a fine night but I could tell I was starting to get sick, we were out in the cold. Then we went back home. Here are the following events from my perspective:

As we were coming back home into the building I asked the Aries, the one who invited us out if I could have some of her tea, as i was starting to feel unwell. She said sure of course and brought me to her stash. It was nearly midnight when I had my cup.

I then started to get ready for bed, exhausted. I had to walk over to their side of the apartment to get my toiletries. From where I stood, the Aquarius saw me with her door wide open. She asked me how the night went, had her usual cheery attitude. I responded, kinda downplayed it to make it seem not that interesting. Then I left to go to the restroom. A few minutes later, I was exiting the restroom with my PJ’s on when I see the Aries and the Leo leaving the apartment.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The Aries, with a peeved out of patience lilt, “My room just got raided.”

“Raided?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, saying it in a way that indicates with both know what just happened, “We’re going to the housing office.” And they left.

Being curious, I went to their room and peaked in. The Leo’s side was fine, but the Aries side seemed a little messy. It does seem like her stuff had been looked through, but nothing broken or too crazy. The Aquarius’s door was shut. I went to bed not knowing what else to do. Pisces was asleep. I laid there for like five minutes when Leo called and told me to bring everyone and come down to have an emergency house meeting. I thought I needed to wake up the Aquarius and she wasn’t answering when I knocked on her door so I called her.

She was crying when she answered, told me she was already down there and apologized. I just say it’s ok, said me and Pisces will be down there in a sec and hang up. God I just remember thinking this was all so stupid and childish.

So we had this meeting, Aquarius was in a separate room because she was screaming and crying. The other four of us tired, listening to Aries and Leo explain what happened.

So apparently when they came home, Aries found her stuff moved, rummages through, some of her things thrown into the trashcan, objects misplaced. Aquarius is inconsolable, saying she’s innocent. But the only other person was Pisces and Aquarius would have seen her do it with her door open. Pisces also had no motive.

After Aries had seen the scene on her side of the room she called her parents and angrily expressed what she believed to be true, that Aquarius had done this. That she felt safe and said something along the lines of “Guess I’m getting murdered tonight” Aquarius, leaving her door open had overheard this, approached Aries and said very defensively “Do you have a problem with me?!”

They talked as if they had a screaming match. I heard none of this.

Anyway, the Aquarius was effectively getting kicked out and moved to a separate housing until Monday when we could have an actual mediation when she is more calm. At first the housing people felt bad for her, but as the night progressed, hours later we could tell they seemed to be kind of unnerved by her.

The next two days we “celebrated”. Drank a little, got food together. Monday happened. I wrote a little message and presented it to the Aquarius. Essentially saying that we didn’t deal with this right, we should’ve just talked to you more, but breaking into someones room and messing with their things is pushing an unforgivable line and now we just feel unsafe. The rest just listed off the things that bothered them. I almost didn’t say what I wrote, she seemed already so distraught. She started crying after I read my note. The others were ready to kill her they were so angry.

And then it was over...? She had to come back a few days later to pack up her things and officially move out.

#Ghosts #Spirits #Negative Energy #Horrible Housemates #Roommate Drama

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 6 years ago

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Bodyguard II: Brendon’s P.O.V Part III - Chapter 4

“What the hell?”

Sighing tiredly, I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her retreating frame and focus on my hopefully still best friend. “Spence-“

I was forced to swallow the rest of my words, as his right fist collided with my cheek in a solid punch. My vision clouded with pain, the damage from his strike came off twice as bad since he’d hit me right where she had only minutes ago.

Lovely. Now I had two temperamental girls to deal with.

I raised a hand to my jaw, flexing it to try and aid the dull sting in my face. I didn’t make any move to retaliate – not even with words – because how could I?

Fuck, if the roles had been reversed and one of the two of them had pulled a stunt like the one I had, I would’ve flipped my shit much sooner, much worse.

Hence, I relented.

“Deserved that,” I mumbled, nodding before clearing my throat and facing forward again.

I knew that it would be miles easier to get Spencer to forgive me – and thank fuck for that; the last thing I needed was for him to write me out of his life. See, unlike with (Y/N), I could be totally honest with him about what I’d been doing all this time, and I knew he would understand. But it was far more complicated when it came to her.

“No shit,” Spencer spat, blue eyes wide, “You’re a fucking dick, you know that? Do you have any idea what the past year has been like? The hell that (Y/N) and I have been going through?”

I don’t want to think about it.

“I know-“

“No, you don’t!” he yelled, letting his anger spill over, “You couldn’t possibly know what it was like to lose-“

Hold the fuck up.

“Really?” I interjected with a frown, narrowing my eyes infinitesimally, “I don’t know what it’s like?”

That shut him up. He knew that that wasn’t true. I’ve lost far more than was every necessary.

He stared at me for a long while, eventually looking away and shaking his head, exhaling shakily.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t need to, Spence.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know.”

I did know. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it, now.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair in frustration and began pacing up and down the length of the hallway.

“What the fuck were you doing, anyway?” he scoffed, clearly confused as to why the hell I had decided to fuck off for almost an entire year.

I held my tongue against the inside of my cheek for a couple seconds before taking a deep breath and answering. This was bound to get a wonderful reaction. “I went looking for Mason.”

Spencer stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to stare at me in blatant disbelief. “Mason?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Glancing out in the direction that she’d hurried off in, I clenched my jaw as my mind churned out possible locations of where she’d headed. I really didn’t have the time or patience for ‘storytime with Brendon’ right now.

I wanted to tell Spencer everything and, again, I would, but not right now. She was my first priority. Finding her and getting her to somehow trust me again – regardless of how fucking long it would take – was the only thing on my mind at present.

Because I couldn’t protect her if she didn’t trust me to.

I knew that Spencer would always be there with me and for me, regardless of how badly I fucked up. He was my brother. Her presence, however, was not guaranteed – and that unsettled me.

“Look, Spencer, I’ll tell you everything, alright?” I held out my hands and arched my brows to show my sincerity, “Later, I just gotta-“

“She’s gonna kill you,” he warned, arching his brows too and nodding, “She’s literally, legitimately going to kill you.”

“She’s not gonna kill me,” I argued, shaking my head once before following in her invisible footsteps.

Spencer scoffed, “Yeah, how do you know?”

Because I know her. And…

“Because if she wanted to, she would’ve done it already.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

I heard her muffled voice resonating through the thin, transparent material of the office she was in, followed a mere one second later by the piercing sound of glass shattering.

How wonderfully reassuring.

Tentatively, I stepped over the scattered shards on the tiles and stopped in the doorway. She had her hand raised, clearly ready to tear down the entire office, but lowered it once she spotted me.

I opened my mouth to say- wait. What the fuck was I gonna say? What could I say? I- oh fuck. She was raising her hand again, this time aiming at me instead of the glass surfaces around us.

Awesome.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she said softly, just loud enough for me to make out.

There’s a shocker.

I entered the room with my hands raised in defence – a silent statement that I didn’t want to fight with her.

“I know you’re mad at me – and you have every right to be,” I begun, figuring that acknowledging her feelings were at least a good start, “And-“

“Where the fuck were you?” she demanded.

I shut my mouth and breathed in deeply through my nose, coming to a halt a few feet away from her. Fucking hell. I mean… I knew that question was coming, but that didn’t make it any less of a pain when it eventually did.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't tell her the truth. At least, not the whole truth. It’d push her away forever, and I couldn’t have that.

“It’s…” I kept quiet for a beat, then looked at her with a lowered head as I continued, “a long story.”

That’s truthful, isn’t it?

“You conned me into thinking you were dead for eleven months,” she retorted bitchily, squinting slightly, “I have time.”

Yeah, she wasn’t about to let this go. Beautiful fucking frustration, that’s what she was.

“Trust me, you’re not gonna like what I tell you, (Y/N),” I said, kicking some stray pieces of glass out of my path as I moved even closer to her; she didn’t shift away, hallelujah, “So can we just leave it at ‘I needed to do something important’? Please.”

“More important than protecting me?” she whispered.

I felt my stomach drop. Everything about the way she spoke those five words made me hate myself. And her eyes… fuck… they were so filled with hurt that I had to look away for a moment.

If I had a gun on me I would’ve shot myself right then and there.

“You were in good hands,” I tried defending my reasoning, but both of us knew it was bullshit. There were no excuses.

“Yeah, but they weren’t your hands,” she countered, once again finding her loud voice as she stepped up to me, “Didn’t you promise you’d always protect me? Or was that just another lie?”

I came back to protect you.

She was getting riled up again, and I could see it. I reached out to touch her, to try and relax her, but she denied me and swatted my hand away.

“No, don’t fucking touch me,” she hissed with a frown, “It was a lie, right? Just like everything else. Just like everything you’ve ever said to me. Because that’s what you are.”

Her voice gradually got louder with each word that spilled from her lips, and her hands had taken it upon themselves to start shoving against my chest.

“A liar! A fucking liar!” she yelled, starting to hit her fists against me as her breathing became ragged and tears started to form, “I can’t believe you would do this; you’re such an inconsiderate, self-absorbed piece of-“

There were probably a thousand words she could’ve said next, but she opted instead to let out a scream, all of her pent-up emotions boiling over in the form of angry yells and repeated punches to my chest.

The truth is – the reason that I had put off my return for so long was because of this. I couldn’t bring myself to come back to her, because I had failed her. I betrayed her. I lied to her. I knew the true identity of the person that killed her parents and I didn’t tell her; even worse, when I found him, I did the unforgivable and let him go.

How could I explain that to her, and how was I supposed to ease her pain when I couldn’t?

How was I supposed to deal with her tears, knowing that they were because of me?

I let her get her anger out for a couple seconds, allowing her to continue punching my chest, before gathering her into my arms and pulling her close.

I might not have been able to give her the spoken truth and consolation she was looking for, but I hoped to God that holding her was a worthy substitute. Before she had the chance to yell out again, I tilted my head down and pressed my lips to hers, instantly silencing her.

Kissing her was my own personal heaven. It was the best fucking thing I’d ever felt, and even better than I remembered. And I remembered. It was pure ecstasy, and it was something only she could give me. Only she could do to me.

She struggled against me at first, still fuelled by her rage, but I kissed her harder and eventually, she caved. Tangling her hand in the hair above my neck, she tugged on it and kissed me back.

Thank you.

I pulled away a moment later, pressing my forehead against hers and still holding her as close as I could. Her breaths were shallow as she shook her head, pushing a sentence through her quivering lips as a few tears ran down her cheeks; I wiped them away gently.

Don’t cry, baby.

I’m not worth your tears.

“I hate you!” she choked out.

I pecked her lips softly.

“I missed you, too.”

And I’m never fucking leaving you again.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

@arosebyname @avengertrash21 @tiffisnotnormal @darknessdancing @raversam @theieroenthusiast @the-ghost-of-hemingway @laerkers @peters-vlogs @hockeyswag-boll @username-number-01834 @untilyouburnallofthewitches @underscoredarcy @aminasmells @becausebands @converseskyline @vinyloider @attractiveugly @twentzyonepirates @tegan-eva @i-only-date-flower-boys @jishwatylrandtop @blueskiesbleakeyes @robinruns @hi-ho-and-hello @svintsandghosts @iamafishandigosplish @sunshineandapplepie @kealohilani-tepise @bookworm104 @sheridans-dynamos @justawriterinprogress @anotherwriterinprogress

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ambelle · 6 years ago

Note

Tell me more about your time in China. I’ve been contemplating going.

Oh man where do I even begin? Grab your popcorn. I’m saying the names of the company because I honestly and truly DGAF. Anyway the short version is that despite me going above and beyond everyone people were offended by my skin color and COULD NOT GET PAST IT.

Long version under the cut

THE GOOD

Met some dope people. They were all expats though. I did make friends with the only two non racist Chinese people breathing in my general area so that’s something. Look mom I transcended race : )..with two people but still.

THE BAD

First So the company that brought me to China was called EF English first. This place is built on a throne of lies…as seen by fake glassdoor reviews and the hopeless look in the eyes of every teacher who has been there more than a week. They promised constant support and training when we arrived. However we got there and they told us we have to find your own apartment and pay 4 months upfront because you can only stay at this hotel for 2 weeks. Gave us a list of agents and said yeah some may be shady good luck.

So I did my best despite my anxiety flaring, but the agent kept pushing back my move in date. Soon enough it was the day before we had to leave the hotel, I was out of money due to the deposit and was about to be homeless. I told EF and they reluctantly agreed to pay for me to stay two extra nights. Then my recruiter sent me a nasty email about how ungrateful I was and how much I sucked during the training sessions. Speaking of the training it was just a info dump and us doing mock lessons while the trainer took notes. She then ripped into us about how uncomfortable we all seemed despite them saying no teaching experience is required for the position. Then when that was over the regional trainer sent messages to our individual centers to reiterate that we were all trash…Ya know just to start us off on the right foot. Or something?

Any way because I had the audacity to ask them to help me not be fucking homeless in a foreign country they harassed me until I decided to quit.

THE BADDER

I made sure I secured another job at Etonkids before i quit. You can read up on it but when you leave a job you have to get a release letter to go to the next one. It’s impossible to restart your work visa application (or transfer it if your first job got you one) without this letter. We’ll come back to this damn letter because it’s ultimately why I ghosted on Eton Kids.

Okay so my contract with Etonkids And I was meant to get training, a valid work visa, a 9-5 mon-fri schedule, a salary that was actually enough to live on, and 2 weeks off in the summer and 2 in the winter. All things EF didn’t have so it sounded great! Yeah I got none of that and to make matters worse my coworkers and the principals were both racist. The Chinese principal Coco outwardly so and the English principal Karen (she’s Australian) was on some bizzaro world wavelength of racism thats hard to describe. Now I was gaslighted so much that I began to think maybe I was the issue. But I was the 4th black woman to come and leave that position in the span of 5 months. And Ruby who trained me warned me that nothing I ever did would be good enough because they don’t like our skin. Now when she broke this news to me I had just escaped EF and damn near living below poverty level so I had some misplaced hope. HOPE that they’d just fucking stop acting like we were in the Jim Crow era until I finished up my year…but NOPE! Despite me staying hours of unpaid over time to do projects not even relevant to my lesson (painting murals making clothes for a parade etc), despite me adapting to wildly contradicting criticism from the 3 Chinese teachers in the classroom and Coco who would come in and observe me with a snare whisper shit to my co teachers and then leave… it was not good enough. They wanted me to teach the kids more English without using “too much English” and they want the 1.5-3 years olds to know how to read and write without me teaching them the alphabet. And they wanted all these ridiculous things and it took me too long to realize as I jumped through hoops they were laughing at me.

Karen on the other hand decided to extend my probation because during one lesson I had to take 10 seconds to open a crayon box and she thought it was unforgivable that the box wasn’t already open. She also made the most unfortunate comments in meetings like when she talked about how some Africans who visited Australia were so dark and they would scare the children. Wild shit like that. But anyway yeah she also thought it would be possible for sixteen 1.5-3 year olds to make sixteen individual kites in 20 minutes. In other news I am literally Jesus and 1.5 year olds have the motor skills and attention span to construct their own kite when I’m teaching them.

Anywho the damn work Visa. I went with a rep from EF to the entry exit Bureau because I needed to cancel the EF application one in order for EF to give me my release letter. But to cancel it I needed police registration forms for my current address. Turns out the apartment Etonkids put me in wasnt mine so they couldnt provide that. To put it simply no registration form=no release letter=no new work visa= YOU CANT FUCKING WORK IN CHINA LEGALLY. However because I’m a dumb darkie Etonkids decided to try and gaslight me. They repeatedly told me not to worry about getting the letter because they are getting my visa sorted. But I knew this was not possible without the letter so I kept asking and they kept lying for months. Finally end of July came and I held a grammy ceremony in my class that impressed them all so damn much they sent videos of it to Head Quarters. Next thing I know I’m getting an email about how they wanna put me in a hotel for a couple days to get registration papers from there so THEY CAN BEGIN MY WORK VISA APP. So for 3 months I was at risk for arrest while they lied about my visa being “in process”. I told my family and they bought me a ticket home right away. I didn’t tell Etonkids shit I just collected my last check and left. I got angry messages and emails which I now have saved to laugh at every now and then.

AND YEAH IT WAS UGLY

The general publics treatment of you gets old fast. The stares are whatever for about a week but it quickly becomes excessive. It’s not a normal stare either , it’s a unblinking train ride long stare/glare from 100 people at the same time. Especially when you learn the slurs and figure out exactly what they are whispering and giggling about you. The cameras being pulled out inches away from your face. The realization that they know its rude when you pull out your camera and do the same and they look furious.

Yeah I’m really not here for anti-blackness and I’m not gonna excuse BS just because “UWU they don’t know better”. They know and they don’t care because we are subhuman to them. Know this ahead of time.

So yeah. China

#anti blackness #it's 2018 you heathens #youll never be white btw so get a grip #minitelsoleil

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webcricket · 7 years ago

Text

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 2420 (Act I)

A/N: Act I of a five-act series charting Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: The Queen of Angst @willowing-love who has my everlasting gratitude for helping hone these words [and, I’m sure, a bottle or two of my tears stored on a shelf somewhere for her own personal amusement].

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - Emily Dickinson

Act I

Father forgive me, Castiel prays, clutching the soulless husk of your body to his chest. Through the deafening cracks of his vessel’s fracturing heart, he becomes vaguely aware of the sputtering wet cries of your newborn daughter flooding the room – his daughter. What I’ve done, it’s unforgivable, he rebukes himself, throat bobbing in a thick swallow of guilt.

“She’s…she’s gone, Cas. Let her go,” Dean’s gruff voice echoes hollow in his ears, demanding the angel’s attention with increasing insistence. “Your daughter needs you. Cas-”

“No,” Cas growls. Through a haze of desperate tears, the angel recognizes and ignores the looming figure of Sam in his periphery trying to push a loosely swaddled pink-flushed wriggling infant into his unwilling embrace. “Y/N, please-,” pleading, he smooths his fingertips tenderly across your forehead to sweep aside the sweat-dampened hair gathered on your brow. Cradling your cheeks, he wills you to look at him, “-please.”

“Sammy.” Dean flattens a palm to his brother’s shoulder, barring his efforts.

Sam’s dazed regard shifts between Dean’s grief-stricken greens, the crying babe, and the unresponsive angel.

“Not now,” Dean mouths, reaching out to take the child in his arms. “Give him space.”

Sam’s lip quivers. “Yeah, yeah sure.” He bites the quavering flesh to immobilize it. Relieved of the delicate burden of care for the creature you charged him with delivering safely into the world, emotion brims to streak his cheeks. Allowing the magnitude of what happened to sink in and seep free, he weaves his useless hands through his hair and knots them behind his neck.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Dean coos, rocking and pacifying the girl as he and Sam move toward the door, “everything will be alright. I promise.” He says it to her as much as he says it aloud to convince himself, his brother, and his inconsolable friend.

The angel perceives no solace in the remark. It’s not the Nephilim born into this world, her very conception a testament to the power of his love for you, which anguishes him now. Rather, it’s the knowledge that by loving you purely with every atom of his celestial being and giving in to his weakness by succumbing to that forbidden temptation named love, he doomed you to this fate. He condemned you the instant his eyes first alit upon you, sky blue irises churning in wonder to encounter so beautiful a soul. He understood too late why love was not meant for angels.

Grace exhausted in attempt after failed attempt to revive you, he begins to shake you. Fraught fingers fumble to set your limbs in motion. The calloused pad of his thumb brushes over your pale lips, caressing the curve of your cooling cheek to hook your chin, tilting you to face him – as if these gentle actions might rouse you from a deep slumber. Staring into the glazed far off focus of your unblinking eyes, your dull gaze looking toward horizons where he cannot follow, he shivers to see the emptiness of expression where once shone a warmth and brilliance to rival the sun. You promised him everything would be okay. He wanted to believe you. He held on to your unyielding faith and bravery those too brief happy months of the pregnancy right up until your life ebbed and slipped like water through his fingers.

The murmuring of a grief-stricken guttural growl stirs in his lungs and erupts into a deafening cry aimed at the heavens. The sound of your angel’s heart breaking quakes the foundations of the bunker, fissuring the reinforced concrete walls and shattering windows as the shockwave assails upward to reverberate utter grief upon the pearly gates of Heaven itself.

Dean,

If you’re reading this, well...

We defied the odds so many times, but this time I knew where I was going. I knew the risk and I accepted my fate because she’s worth it. This is my ending, but it’s also a beginning. This life growing stronger inside of me day-by-day – she’s beautiful. I feel her goodness in my heart. Her light will save the world. There’s no darkness anymore; no shadow of doubt – I’m filled only with hope.

You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. You and Sam, you’re the best men I know. I’m fortunate to call you brothers. I know this is too much to ask of you both. I’m asking anyway because I must. There is no one else I trust with this task. No one who would understand. No one more capable of seeing this through than you two amazing idjits.

Dean, please take care of my girl and my angel. No matter what happens next, I know you will always listen to your heart and do what’s right by both of them. Protect her with your life. Love her as your own. Raise her to be as strong and sentimental as Sammy and as selfless and stubborn as you. Don’t let her forget I believe in her and love her with all my heart.

And my angel – Dean, Castiel will be so lost. He tries to keep a brave face, but when he thinks I’m not looking I see the fear and pain in his eyes. All the love in his heart, it’s not enough to save me and I know he blames himself. With me gone, he’ll be searching for answers. Answers you won’t be able to give him. Answers he may destroy himself and others in search of. Answers he will never find until he forgives himself.

He needs you, Dean. Try to be patient with him. Give him room to grieve. Time to understand and to remember. He’s angry with himself, and you know all too well that’s the worst kind of anger. Remind him that I love him, that I don’t regret a single minute. He’s my happiness, and this miracle we created with our love – I’ve never wanted anything else.

What he needs now is Hope. Dean, you and Sam – you hold on to that hope for him until he finds his way home.

Love Always, Y/N

The handwritten letter gripped between Dean’s fingertips flutters to the table, his attention drawn to the hasty footsteps clanging on the iron of the map room stairs. Rising from his seat in the library and crossing to the threshold overlooking the room, he sees Castiel wrenching the door handle at the top of the landing. “Where are you going?” he asks, cadence coarse as he sniffles back the fresh flow of tears prompted by the discovery of your note.

The angel pauses, allowing the door to swing shut. Chin falling to his chest, he doesn’t turn to look at his friend as he speaks. “Away, Dean,” he mutters, barely loud enough for Dean to discern. “There’s nothing in this place for me but her memory.”

“You think Sam and I aren’t thinking about her every single minute? That we aren’t hurting and missing her, too?”

“It’s different.”

“How?” Dean ascends the first several steps.

“She’s gone because of me. Because I dared to love her.”

“Cas, you have a beautiful little girl that needs you here. She needs her father.”

“I’m not fit to be anyone’s father.”

Dean’s muscles seize in an upwelling of resentment; his already red-rimmed eyes discoloring further in the crimson hue of rage as his blood pressure spikes. Cas struck a chord – the Winchester has had more than enough of making excuses for absentee fathers to last one lifetime and he will tolerate no more. He bounds up the remaining stairs by twos, growling and grabbing a fistful of beige trench coat to spin the angel around where he stands. “It’s been two days. Two days!” he roars, breath bellowing hot against the angel’s expressionless aspect. “I get it, I do. You’re grieving. But you haven’t even looked at her, Cas! She’s your daughter! You don’t get to walk away from this – from her. I won’t let you.”

Two days, or an eternity; it all feels the same to the angel. Entombed in that moment, he relives those fateful minutes in the staggering quality of detail only a celestial mind can conjure. For all his promises and power, again and again he’s helpless to stanch the ebb of life from your body. Each time he blinks he sees the bright flicker and fade of light in your eyes and the glimmer of a smile ghosting your mouth upon hearing your daughter’s healthy cries. Over and over he hears that final wilting wisp of breath flutter past your parted lips – his name on your tongue in an unfinished utterance.

He refused to let you go even when there was no longer anything corporal to hold. A numb sentinel beside your hunter’s funeral pyre, sky blackened by smoldering wood and bone, acrid air permeated the fabric of his clothes and crept in to begrime the very core of his celestial being until there was no escape for his senses. What remained of you charred and flew upward in flame – upward to a Heaven where he is not welcome to tread. His fiery devotion diminished to smoke and ashes beneath his fingertips.

“Are you hearing me?” Dean jerks roughly at the angel’s coat collar.

In response Cas slams his palm to Dean’s chest, hurling him against the wall with a sickening crunch.

Dean doubles over coughing, sputtering flecks of blood, the wind knocked out of his lungs, several ribs broken.

“Everything I touch turns to ash.” No longer apathetic, anger bristling, fury gleaming white hot in his piercing blues, Cas strides forward to grasp Dean’s shoulder, forcing him upright and stooping to search his strained face. His teeth and jaw grind, punctuating every gritty word. “Everything and everyone. Do you understand?”

Snatching at Cas’ arm for a handhold, gasping for every shallow stab of air punching through his ribcage, the hunter teeters and spits crimson in the struggle to stay on his feet. “Cas-”

The angel’s vice-grip clamps deeper until Dean yelps and his knees buckle. Lip snarling, Cas lets go with a shove, warning, “Do not try to stop me again.”

“Cas, don’t-” Dean manages to choke, reaching out to catch at the hem of Cas’ swaying coat.

Cas slips away from his grappling fingers. Forcefully heaving the door wide, the metal screams in protest, straining on the hinges.

“Cas!” Dean gasps again, crawling after him. He collapses against the door jamb as a violent spasm of coughing accosts him. He kneels there, too incapacitated to intervene as he watches Cas’ retreat.

“Try to be patient with him,” your words resound in Dean’s ears, so near and so real his gaze darts sideways searching for you in the empty air.

“Patient my ass,” Dean snorts and wipes the trickle of blood from his mouth.

“Dean? Are you in here?” Sam’s voice drifts upward.

Dragging himself to his feet and staggering to the railing, leaning on it for support, Dean glares down at his brother. “What?” he rasps.

Sam carries your daughter, awkwardly extended at arm’s length, scrutinizing the diaper and onesie he simultaneously succeeded in putting on backward. “Something doesn’t seem right here.” He peers up at the landing, brow knotting in concern at Dean’s battered condition.

“That’s for damn sure.” Dean presses a hand to his bruised ribcage and hobbles down the stairs.

“What the heck happened to you?”

“Cas left,” Dean grunts. “I tried to get between him and the door.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean slumps into the nearest chair. “Hey, you can’t keep holding her like that, give her to me. Like this-” He lays her to his chest. “There we go, sweetheart. Uncle Dean’s got you. That’s better, eh?”

Already larger than a newborn should be, she bobs her head up from the flannel of his shirt to blink bright blue eyes at Dean and burble happily.

“She needs contact. Needs to know we’re here. That she’s loved,” Dean explains, rubbing a small circle into her back. “Ya gotta talk to her, Sam. Tell her everything’s okay.”

“Dean-”

“I know, Sammy. I know,” Dean stops Sam from saying what they’re both thinking – that there’s a chance Cas isn’t coming back, that everything is as far from okay as it gets. Coping skills set by default to maximum brood, he believes dwelling on the potential aloud is pointless. “When was the last time she ate?”

Sam runs a hand over his exhaustion-lined face and through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair. “I, uh, I thought you were making a formula run.”

“Right. Time for plan B.” Dean fishes the Impala’s keys from his pocket and tosses them at his brother. Crinkling his nose, he adds, “Better grab some more diapers while you’re at it.”

“Yeah, yeah, more diapers, check.” Sam yawns and aims his weary frame in the general direction of the garage mumbling to himself about whether fully human babies go through as many diapers in a single day as this child.

“And pie!” Dean shouts after him.

Without turning around, Sam weakly waves in acknowledgement.

A faint smile contours Dean’s lips. “Wait’ll you get your first taste of pie, princess. You’re gonna love the stuff.” Kissing the fuzzy crown of her head, his nose lingers, inhaling the perfume of her skin – soft and sweet and so reminiscent of you. “Your momma sure did. Maybe more than me, and that’s saying something. Couldn’t get enough blueberry pie with you growing in her belly. She’d sit right over there in that chair-” His regard flits to the seat occupied by a favorite fleece blanket of yours and his smile withers. He keeps talking through the scratch of sorrow thickening his throat, because if he can keep on talking maybe the bunker won’t feel quite so empty. Maybe with enough words he can cushion this innocent life he holds from the hurt. “Right there, swiveling and shoveling that gooey crumbly goodness straight from the tin by heaping forkfuls. She had Cas running all over Kansas night and day just to get more pie. And your daddy, he-” Dean’s lids squeeze shut with the effort required to will away the coarseness coloring his tone. Not completely stifling his bitterness over the angel’s desertion, he exhales a long sigh. “Well I guess he loves her more than anything else in this world, doesn’t he?”

She begins to fuss.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. Everything’s gonna be alright.” Readjusting his support, he soothingly bounces her despite the searing pain radiating through his ribs and the worry burdening his thoughts. “He just needs a little more time.”

Continue reading Act II:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/173228719397/an-angels-elegy

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camille-marshall-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Challenge #7

Alternately Titled: Getting Cane-did

a/n: Nihao, kumusta, hello~! I know that I said that I’ll be posting three fics for the weekend but I think I’ll be posting four. As you all probably know- I am the worst when it comes to wrapping everything up in just 4500 words- IT’S HARD OKAY(?) lol. So this fic will have a follow up fic posted soon (maybe tomorrow..? or tonight depends if I can finish my supposed school work tonight) Anyway, yeah this fic is really about Marshall and her internal thoughts during the caning. I loved writing this fic because of the actual internal conflict and suffering that Marshall faces and well... more of that stuff here. So yeah lol. I hope you enjoy Marshall’s lowkey suffering. Also s/o to Grace and Claire for working on such bomb ass Nate and Mal fics for the caning because HOLY SHIT the drama and the dialogues were hella great. 11/10 love the drama. Okay yeah, enjoy! Do I even need to warn you guys about cursing anymore? (3570 words)

It’s been getting harder to sleep these past few nights.

My dreams were ridden with the same situation, the sound of the alarm, the chaos of the palace, the same faces. The same things that wake me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, keeping me up for the rest of the night.

It’s been a few days since the rebel attack, but I haven’t managed to have a good night’s sleep ever since. Tonight, I wake up from the same dream- this time clutching my temple. I had dreamt that I was the one shot, not Kramer. I shake my head, reminding myself that it was only just a dream.

Going back to sleep is not an option, knowing that I’ll end up dreaming the same things. I hated how many times I’ve relived the situation. I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did right now, but these were my ghosts. I had to live with them.

I spend the next few hours sitting on my balcony, clutching a book in my hands and waiting to see the sun rise. The lack of sleep has been taking its toll on me, the heaviness of my bones was a clear sign, the dull ache in the back of my head, the tiredness that plagued me.

Maybe it wasn’t only the attack that was plaguing my thoughts right now. I mean, Venus had been eliminated a few days ago, and my heart had hurt so much as I hugged her before she left. I lost my best friend, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t having some separation anxiety from the beauty guru. A part of me felt like I needed her to be around me, she made me feel more confident in myself when she was around. Now, it I’ve never felt anymore lonely.

My maids comes bursting into my room a few minutes after the light starts to break over the horizon. They’re in a frenzy as they pull me back into my room.

Angelica starts giving instructions to Peggy and Eliza as they start scrambling around the room, and I blink in confusion at the frenzied pace of my maids.

“What’s happening?” I ask Angelica as she makes me take a seat at my vanity.

“They found a rebel, Miss.” Peggy informs me, brushing my bed hair.

“What?!” I yell, looking at Peggy. “Wait, then why are you all here? What’s with this?”

“There’s going to be a caning, a public caning.” Angelica says deadpan- wiping my face with a moist towelette. “We don’t have much time. We have to get ready you ready.”

A caning? Perhaps that was a better punishment than an execution… but still, a public caning?

I let my maids drag me to my closet, fussing over which of my dresses was appropriate for an event like that. How much black I had in my closet was ridiculous. My maids have always joked that I always looked like I was prepared for someone’s funeral… well, it’s not my fault that I preferred the color. I’d stop wearing the color when they invent a darker color. My maids continue doing their job, I allow them to prepare to dress me and put some minimal make up and soon enough I look like I was dressed like I was headed for a funeral.

My feet slip into my slides, my bandaged ankle still lightly throbbing every time I walked. Eliza gives my choice of foot wear a disapproving look, but there’s nothing we could do about it.

The news of the caning did bring a somber mood in everyone. A knock on my door signals that my escort had arrived, a guard assigned to assist me. Dr. Granger said that I needed someone to help me walk around, just someone for me to help me with tricky things like going down the stairs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure that the guard served a second purpose though, to prevent me from running away again.

To my surprise, it’s Officer Gutierrez waiting by my door this morning and he offers me his arm before we start walking.

Gutierrez was Kramer’s classmate, a fellow Fort Lauper graduate too- I couldn’t imagine what went through his head when news of Kramer’s death had reached him.

Gutierrez was the first one to speak among us.

“We’re headed to the side of the palace, the part that’s closer to the east entrance.” he informs me as he starts assisting me on the stairs- holding my hand as I took one step at a time.

“The rebel… it was an inside job, wasn’t it?” I ask, recalling what I had heard from the report I had heard the day of the attack.

“It was… but,” Gutierrez shifts his eyes away, a look of doubt in them.

I raise an eyebrow as I take one last step down the staircase, “but what?”

Gutierrez shakes his head, something still troubling him. “Nothing.”

That’s suspicious, I shake my head- deciding not to push through with my questions. The two of us walk the rest of the way in silence, though I could tell that Gutierrez was obviously uncomfortable. What was so wrong about catching a rebel? Wasn’t that a win for us? A chance to give justice to those who have died during the attack? Gutierrez ushers me outside and a bolt of anxiety shoots through me as I hear the sounds of a crowd gathering behind the palace gates, as well as the sight of a good number of people allowed to enter through the gates. Gutierrez brings me to a certain area of the crowd, tells me that this was where the Selected are supposed to watch. He gives one last glance to the raised stage before bowing and leaving me standing there, unsure of what all his fuss was about.

Rebellion was wrong. The rebel was getting what he deserved. A caning sent a message to everyone, punishment. Hammurabi’s law. Eye for an eye.

The government, the military, the country’s national defense were stronger than anything, anyone who dared to threaten it. That was the message.

The sound of the crowd dulls out as a man dressed like an executioner steps up to the stage, and I could only hear his voice ring throughout the space.

“Charles Flynn!” his voice echoes menacingly, “a member of the palace kitchen staff was found attempting to bring down the monarchy with his fellow rebels.”

I nod, hanging on every word.

Charles Flynn.

That’s the name of the bastard who unleashed hell on the palace. I keep my eyes trained on the stage, feeling a sense of resentment against him already. Traitor.

“Mr. Flynn has broken his loyalty to the country and the monarchy. His disgusting actions have shown his real intentions. He is found guilty of treason against Illéa!”

The crowd seems to roar too, anger in their cries from outside the gates. The enmity of everyone clearly creating at atmosphere that was so full of hatred you could choke on it. My eyes shift to the other raised platform, where the Schreaves watched- clad in all black. The queen was beside King Spencer and I gaze upon the king’s steely expression, an unforgiving expression that reminded me so much of Nate when he had gotten angry the other night. I then see Nate standing there, looking obviously uncomfortable, eyes moving everywhere- wearing a more unsure version of King Spencer’s expression.

I wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and squeeze his hand, whisper to him how he needed to stop looking that way, tell him that things like this needed to be done- that this was the ugly side of his job. Everyone’s job had an ugly side. A future king like Nate needed to be reminded that, but most of all- I think he needed to be assured that things were necessary to be the leader I knew Nate could be.

Suddenly, the crowd’s yells grow louder as I see a figure hobbling to the stage where the masked announcer stands- and I feel my heart drop.

That was Charles Flynn?

The rebel looked like he couldn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet, he was nothing but a teenager, a child. How could he be a rebel?

I narrow my eyes on the kid, searching his face for something, anything that reminded me of the rebel I had faced off. There was nothing common between them, save for the blood on his shirt. Charles Flynn’s face was not the face of a rebel, heck- that kid looked like he’d apologize for burning my morning toast. The crier continued his speech, and I was suddenly understanding the look of concern Nate had on his face, why Officer Gutierrez seemed so antsy discussing about the rebel.

The mental image of a child like Charles Flynn being brutalized with canes was not a pretty picture to imagine.

I ball my hands into fists, though. I remind myself that Charles Flynn was a rebel- if he was found guilty by the king. If the king, my commander-in-chief, had found him guilty, then I, a soldier, should accept his orders.

“This is a crime punishable by death! But in his mercy, King Spencer had decided to spare this traitor’s life. Long Live King Spencer!”

The child was a traitor, I remind myself. I should not hold any sympathy for a rebel. Charles Flynn had made Kramer’s death possible. He should find himself lucky that the king had not ordered an execution, he should find himself lucky that his fate was not the same as his fellow rebels. Long Live King Spencer. I thought bitterfully.

Still, my heart was beating wildly as I watched the rebel’s hands strapped to some device- palms to the sky. This boy looked only about 15.. 16 years old? Was that the face of some kind of spy? My instincts were yelling at me to stop directing such harsh thoughts to the child.

“Charles Flynn, you are hereby stripped of your caste. You are the lowest of the low. You are an Eight and sentenced to prison for further questioning!” No wonder they’re keeping him alive.

I keep my eyes on Charles Flynn’s face, noticing his eyes trained to the direction of the stage... where the Schreaves stood. Who was he looking at?

“And to inflict upon you the shame and pain you have brought upon this proud country, you will be publicly caned with fifteen strikes. May your many scars remind you of your many sins!” The growing rage of the crowd was starting to unsettle me.

I stop myself again, stopped myself from trying to be so sympathetic to the rebel. Sympathy will get us no where with this rebel situation, sympathy did not stop people getting killed in rebel attacks.

But sympathy was what I feel when I see the canes being drawn from their buckets of water. I felt Charles Flynn’s pain as I hear his anguished cries when the canes had struck down on his hands for the first blow. I ball my fists to my sides even harder, feeling the slight pain from my nails against my palms as I clutched my fist. This was necessary, This was the verdict of King Spencer, these were his orders. I could not disagree with the king, I had to respect his decisions.

It was my duty as a soldier.

Nothing tore me apart than that thought. I look at the people bringing the canes down on the kid. My thoughts drift over to the masked men striking Charles Flynn’s hands.

They were doing their duty.

Then it hits me, makes me wonder if I could do the same thing as them if I were given orders to. I have killed a rebel, but more out of self-defense than what was ordered to me. If I had been ordered to cane someone, would I do it?

The answer is clear in my head.

I would not.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting to this public torture. I couldn’t agree with this, Spencer be god fucking damned. No one deserved to be treated this way.

Rebels, soldiers, guards, queens, kings.

No one in this world deserved punishment and pain like this, I realize. Then I notice a sudden movement from the stage with the Schreaves, a blur of black jumping the railings and shrieking out Charles Flynn’s name. The royals themselves were yelling things I couldn’t quite make out thanks to the deafening crowd. All I could hear was Queen Aubrey, the usually serene and calm Queen Aubrey, screaming Princes Mallory’s name. Nate was yelling something too. King Spencer seems to have broken his stoic mask, pushing a guard to chase after the figure running to Charles Flynn.

What in Elton John’s good name was happening?

I watch Princess Mal run to the stage, screaming “CHARLIE!” and the pieces seem to click together. Charles Flynn was looking at Mal a while ago.

Oh… Oh.. Well, holy shit- this was a revelation.

Just about as Mal was about to reach the stage, a guard slams her to the ground- stopping her from reaching him. The morning sunlight allowed everyone close enough to see the tears streaming down the princess’ face. She was screaming profanities I thought never existed in her vocabulary at the guard as he grabbed her. Her cries caught Charles Flynn’s attention though, sharing a look with the princess before another set of blows were dealt on his bleeding palms. Mal and Charles Flynn seemed to have something shared between them, I could tell that. There was something there, perhaps a mutual care for each other. The things you do for the people you care about.

My eyes widen when another figure jumps the railings- my heart almost fucking stops… this time it was Nate.

I watch the crown prince run to the stage and jump on it, going to his sister.

This time, it was my turn to yell his name.

“NATE!” I felt my breath catch in my throat seeing Nate on the stage, seeing him so close to those men holding those canes. Nate get off that stage. I don’t know what those men would do to him for his obvious act of protesting against this.

I wanted to scream his name, push past the crowd and fucking tackle Nate down from that stage. He needed to be away from that danger, someone needed to get him off that stage.

Fear, I felt fear overcome me as he stood on that stage. What the hell was this boy doing? I was frozen in fear of what could happen to Nate. Oh my god, what would Spencer do to him? They could hurt him, I couldn’t let that happen. Nate please get off that stage. I was choking up in fear, unknowingly tearing up as my feet drag me to the railing, pressing myself against the bars. Wasn’t Nate aware of how dangerous a situation he was in? I tried to stay close enough, just in case something happened- I’d be there.

“Stop,” I hear Nate yell and I hold my breath like everyone else in the crowd.

Everything went silent, except for the sound of Mal’s incoherent screaming and crying as she was held back from reaching Charles Flynn.

“What's the point of this? Is this what's expected of a king?” Nate’s voice echoes throughout the entire space. Everyone was listening to him now, and right there.. I saw him transform from a scared boy to a man who spoke with a conviction that commanded everyone’s attention. That didn’t stop me from still fearing for his safety, it made me even more worried. Fools who run their mouths too much could wind up dead. But I saw him, the courage he musters with every word he said.

Nate looks to the king, and the king looked pissed off. Good lord, please don’t hurt him. I silently pleaded in my thoughts and tried to think of things rationally. The king couldn’t hurt his own son. But the anger in the king’s eyes made me fear the worst, gripping the bars with my hands tightly- anticipating what the next move was going to be. If Spencer even thought of laying a hand on Nate…

“If that's the case, I don't want it.” My jaw drops when those words come out of Nate’s mouth. For Christ’s sake Nate…

But I get it, I understand where he’s coming from when I hear the sound of the canes on Charles Flynn’s palms. This was the sound of terror, it was barbaric. This was not order- this was cruelty. I understood where Nate was coming from- his eyes usually gave everything away. The prince I knew often cared deeply for everyone around him, his kindness was one of his best traits- his selflessness was admirable, but equally frustrating.

His ability to empathize with others, his sympathy- his heart- was a quality that I loved about him because by being around him, well… the warmth of his spirit melted my the walls of ice I had built to protect myself from being emotionally attached to people.

The fearlessness of his stance against the king made him shine like a beacon of hope. I understand where he’s coming from.

“Why are you encouraging this, Why are you enjoying this? You’re literally watching a boy get tortured. He’s a kid.” Nate threw questions at the crowd with such disgust.

I was born to protect other people, the need to was incessant, but a need that made me want to be in the military in the first place. However, I’d rather give up my rank, my officership, my station to protect people from being an absent minded monster who just followed orders, like the ones bringing the canes down against the limp Charles Flynn… but wait.. another realization comes to me.

There could always be more people wearing those masks and holding those canes. Those men, striking the rebel… they were just following orders- if they stopped… there’d be always be more people thinking that they were just doing their duties. This injustice would continue, torture like this… it would happen again- because they were the king’s orders.

If I left my job… If Nate would leave being prince… who’s to say that the same thing won’t happen when Quinn’s on the throne? When Brooks is on the throne?

If we wanted to change the way things were… we couldn’t run away from them- we had to make sure that we change things ourselves.

I don’t think being just a pilot in the air force could help me change things.

Later, I needed to tell Nate this later.

“End this.” Nate yells to the direction of his parents, staring off his own father. I felt fear overcome me, scared of what Spencer would do to Nate again. What if he ordered the masked men to hit Nate?

Thankfully, after a silent beat… Spencer speaks up. “That's enough.”

I breath a sigh of relief as the barbaric torture on the rebel ends, and the masked torturers drag him away. The king wears a stoic face as he commands the crowd to disperse, but I turn to Nate’s direction- keeping an eye on him. He’s safe, I remind myself as I watch him walk away with Mallory in Brooks’ arms.

After Nate goes back into the palace, I do too. I was concerned for Nate, his well-being, I knew I needed to talk to him soon. So I walk quickly back to my room, enduring the pain of brisk walking on my sprain. I reach my desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen to write a quick note.

Natalie, we need to talk. Meet me up at the rooftop when you're free.

- Marshall Camille

It was time to talk.

#ch marshall #selectionoc #marshall fics #challenges #((damn will I ever give Marshall a break?))#((the answer is no))#((the girl shall suffer more))#((what do I mean by that? you'll see.. soon *wink wink*))#*evil laughter*

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