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mars-writes-1999 · 4 years ago

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Penumbra Podcast fan Theory

I have a theory about how this season is going to end and where the Junoverse is headed. None of this is certain, it’s all just theory. This isn’t about Nureyev’s debts though, I have genuinely no idea what’s going on with that boi but he worries me lots. I love him, and can’t figure him out. This is about the other class X radical.

SPOILERS FOR JUNO STEEL AND WHAT LIES BEYOND PART 2

tl;dr Jet saw Nureyev/Ransom fly away with the Ruby 7. The Ruby 7 sent the distress signal. The Ruby 7 is a sentient ai. The Ruby 7 is the other class X radical.

1. Jet saw Nureyev/Ransom fly away with the Ruby 7.

There was a line from Jet that stuck out to me right away in What Lies Beyond part 2. At the very beginning of his interrogation jet says "I do not think. I know. There is nothing on this ship that they want." He also later says "There is nothing on this ship that they want. That is final". I do put more stock in the first than the second quote because by the second one he is playing along with Juno's plan and intentionally being angry. I have looked through the scripts and I don't think we're ever told where Jet is being held (lmk if I'm wrong) but for my theory to work he is somewhere with a window and/or he saw things before being put in a "cell" at all.

Jet is a straightforward guy and went into that interrogation with a plan. He had time to think about what he wanted to say to Juno and what he said was "I do not think. I know." I take this to mean she really does know. He knows that Ransom, who dark matters is looking for, is not on the ship. He knows that the Ruby 7, who he believes dark matters is looking for (I'll get to this later), is not on the ship.

While my Ruby 7 theory is a bit more of a long shot, I REALLY think Jet saw Ransom escape. He says in no uncertain terms that he KNOWS that there isn’t anything that Dark Matters is looking for. Even if we make an assumption that Jet thinks they’re only looking for one

2. The Ruby 7 sent the distress signal

So I’ve thought this might be true since my second listen through the episode. It was a bit of a wild guess at first, but the more I think about it the more I buckle down on it. It lines up in a lot of ways where nothing else I can think of does. This whole argument does assume that Sasha and Dark Matters didn’t just fabricate the distress signal, but given her distaste for agent G (god rest her soul), I think the signal was real.

When trying to decide who could have sent the signal we can immediately rule out literally every person in the carte blanche family. Buddy and Juno do a good job of explaining to us why each one of them couldn’t be it.

Buddy was dying (plus we have the added bonus of her monologue and knowing what she was doing)

Juno, Vespa, and Ransom were in sight of each other and in the way of EMP waves

Rita’s comms were knocked out by the EMP waves

Jet was fixing the Ruby 7 and was right next to the EMP waves. He was also pretty busy trying to keep buddy from allowing herself to be killed

All of these things considered, we can also just assume that no one on this ship would rat them out. The only possible defection is Ransom, but despite not knowing what his motives are, I don’t think he ratted them out to Dark Matters.

The only thing with the sentience to call out would be the Ruby (I’ll provide evidence for its sentience in a moment). I don’t know why it would reach out to Dark Matters specifically, but maybe it was just reaching out to anyone with a distress call. I don’t know how space distress calls work, but Sasha did need to specify that the call didn’t come from the Carte Blanche which means vehicles may have the power to send out a distress call.

We know from Sasha and Juno’s conversation that the distress call was sent out 4 times in 2 hours. In the episode we see 3 major EMP blasts: The one between episodes, the one when Vespa and Ransom start arguing and Buddy can’t communicate, and the one Buddy barely avoids by getting into the safe room. It isn’t unreasonable to presume there was a 4th EMP wave that occurred after Buddy was safe and sound but before the entire team made it back safely. 4 distress signals for 4 emp waves. If the Ruby 7 is the one sending these, then this math makes sense.

In The Heart of it all Part 2 Jet says to Buddy “Even an EMP so direct couldn’t deactivate its computer mind for a moment - though it is still bitter about its engines.” This means the Ruby may have been scared about its engines dying and therefore it sent out a distress signal.

None of this is provable at this point, but I also haven’t found any evidence to the contrary. If nothing following this is true, I still think this may be true.

3. The Ruby 7 is a sentient AI

It is at this point that I would like to acknowledge that I am using it/its as pronouns for the Ruby 7. This is how the car has been referred to in the show up until this point and so it is how I will be referring to it from here on out. If any of this pans out and the Ruby 7 uses different pronouns or signifiers in future episodes I will refer to it differently.

Before I give the reasons I think the Ruby 7 itself is sentient, I want to talk about why I think it’s plausible that Kevin and Sophie would take the story in this direction. The reason is pretty simple, they’ve told us they’d be willing to. Here is a clip of Kevin and Sophie in the Season 1 Q&A.

[audio file]

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1cOXj3ybVkszLdt8U8BiRrVW3Cy7O_oGl/view?usp=sharing

[google doc transcript of audio file]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/16EP7CP6Wxic3q7-QhPce1dinan5A0ACNDdxZ4DfaEtA/edit?usp=sharing

So not only does this clip make it clear that Kevin has wanted robots in some form from the start, it shows that Sophie is open to the idea. We also hear them talk about how big of a deal it would be to introduce elements like this into the story. I would consider all of this setup as treating the concept of AI with the respect and time it deserves. We also know how much Kevin loves the Ruby 7 so making the car a main character would absolutely be within the realm of possibilities. The Ruby 7 is arguably the 7th member of their crew with or without sentience.

Now to discuss the proof of the sentience of the Ruby 7. There’s a lot of evidence for this. The car has always been sassy and had a personality, but there are several moments that point to more than this.

In the very beginning of part 1 of Tools of Rust, we see Jet directly mull over the sentience of the Ruby 7.

The Ruby 7’s many background calculations make it more like a horse. It can be controlled, but only insofar as it wants to be controlled. (HE SHAKES HIS HEAD AND SNORTS, DISMISSING HIMSELF) “Wants to.” This car can make you believe in ghosts, too — a spirit in the machine. But the Ruby 7, whatever the force of its calculations, cannot want and cannot think; it can only behave like it does. ~from Tools of Rust Script released to 10$ Patreon supporters

This gives some of the base backgrounds into how Jet thinks about the car he is closest to. In this episode he refers to the ruby as “a wild horse, I must break it in.” The catalyst for this episode occurs while Jet is breaking down the tractor shield generator because when driving the Ruby 7 “Manuevers have not responded as they should.” There are of course reasons for these things that are not sentience. Jet himself does not think the car is sentient at the beginning of this episode. We also know that his view of the car is changing throughout his arc of this season. In its most recent appearance, we see the Ruby at its most sentient. Two distinct moments come to mind in regards to this.

First, in part one as they are discussing their plan after Rita deploys the Book:

JET: We will be on our own — even the Ruby 7 will temporarily shut down. RUBY 7: (PETTY/ANNOYED BEEPS) BUDDY: … Come again? JET: The Ruby insists that it will not shut down. It is incorrect. RUBY 7: (REALLY ANNOYED BEEPS) JET: The Ruby says that I should not tell it what it can and cannot do. VESPA: Really built some sass into that thing, huh? NUREYEV: Is it just me, or… have responses like this become more common from our mysterious vehicle? VESPA: I swear its voice changed, too. BUDDY: Then we’ll allow the car its moody teenage years, I think; after all this is over I’ll buy it an industrial supply of eyeliner and posters of sad young men. ~ From The Heart of it All part 1 script released to 10$ Patreon supporters

Here several characters are remarking upon the increasing sentience of the Ruby 7. In part 2 of this episode, we see further evidence that the crew, especially Jet, has noticed changes in the Ruby which make it seem more and more sentient.

BUDDY: Singing and theoretical mathematics? Is there anything that car can't do? JET: Increasingly I worry that there is not. Even an EMP so direct couldn’t deactivate its computer mind for a moment — though it is still bitter about its engines. (HE ACTUALLY IS WORRIED ABOUT WHAT THE HELL THE RUBY 7 IS, BUT NOW ISN’T THE TIME FOR THAT) But in this moment I am far more worried by.... ~ From Heart of it All part 2 script for 10$ Patreon Supporters

Here it is clear that not only does Jet sound concerned about the Ruby 7, but Kevin’s direction shows that Jet is genuinely unsure of the Ruby. Not just that he doesn’t know what the Ruby 7 is doing, but that he doesn’t know what the Ruby 7 is.

Now that I’ve shown all of the evidence I have I’m going to extrapolate some of this to draw a line from this evidence to my theory in part 1.

Jet knows something is up with the Ruby 7. He has seen Nureyev leave the carte blanche in the Ruby 7 and therefore knows the car is not on the ship. As the delivery notes say “now isn’t the time for that”. What does Jet have while in his “cell” but time? He spends part of his imprisonment sitting and thinking about the Ruby 7. He knows that Dark Matters could have easily found the cure mother prime so he assumes there is something else they are looking for. He realizes that his car is sentient. He realizes that they are looking for 2 main things, Ransom and the Ruby 7. He saw both of these leave. He says "I do not think. I know. There is nothing on this ship that they want."

For this to work, the Ruby 7 needs to be classified as a Class X radical, this is a tall order, but I think the Ruby 7 meets the criteria.

4. The Ruby 7 is the other class X radical

1st of all, look at that green car? That car is SO rad.

Jokes aside, there are 2 main criteria I’m using to determine that the Ruby 7 could be the class X radical Dark Matters is looking for. First, is it literally possible that this is what Dark Matters is looking for? Does it fit any descriptors Director Wire gives us during her interview with Juno? Second, does it fit the definition of a class X radical?

In answer to the first question, we consider what Dark Matters is searching for. We know that they know it’s class X, but not much else. In fact, Sasha suggests that Juno may know more than her about the radical because he’s been living with it. This gives the impression that they might not really know what they’re looking for. My theory here is they know that they are looking for a sentient robot, but they don’t know it’s a car. This explains why they know what they need to about its threats but not much else. It may also explain why some of the agents were looking in drawers. If they were not looking for Nureyev (cause like Buddy said, they should know he’s not inches tall) then perhaps they were looking for a sentient robot. Unless I’m misremembering something, I think this is all we really get in terms of information on what the second radical is. Sasha doesn’t give Juno much information despite giving him everything she can about the cure mother prime.

In answer to the second question, we look toward the definition Sasha gives Juno for a radical: “any person or object with the potential to cause significant change to civilized human life as we know it”. AI with sentience fits this definition. Even if you don’t think it does, the piece from the season 1 Q&A shows that Sophie thinks it does. They talk about the care that would need to be in place in order to introduce robots, ai, or aliens. Care is needed because any one of these three things would drastically change the galaxy as they know it.

I don’t really have any clever way to end this other than saying all of this could be wrong. I could be completely off and there are probably other explanations for everything I’ve described, but I actually feel pretty confident on this. It started off as a random thought and the more I’ve sat on it the more evidence I’ve collected. Whether this comes to fruition or not I hope you enjoyed reading my theory!

CC:

@thepenumbrapodcast

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 5 years ago

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tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend.

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up.

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it.

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes.

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy.

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly.

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates.

“Y/N.”

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays.

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles.

“Harry?”

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye.

“C-could I get a picture?”

He honestly doesn’t want to.

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo.

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation.

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward.

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it.

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention.

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.”

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs.

“That’s surprising.”

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her.

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation.

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly.

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back.

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying.

“I beg your pardon?”

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly.

“Dee—”

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?”

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face.

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him.

How ironic.

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly.

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him.

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word.

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave.

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her.

They make him feel nauseous.

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong.

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance.

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands.

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her.

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her.

“Baby—”

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer. “This one mine?”

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly.

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him.

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her.

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her.

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments.

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people.

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most.

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her.

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same?

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—”

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it.

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.”

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully.

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing.

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees.

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear.

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away.

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public.

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.”

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.”

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine.

“What are you saying?”

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything.

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking.

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly.

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.”

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath.

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.”

She nods.

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could.

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all.

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching.

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.”

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all.

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago.

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did.

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features.

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.”

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes angst #gif not mine #credit to owner

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writingpitcheswearingpearls · 4 years ago

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Nothing Says Soulmates More Than Sharing a Soul: Chapter 13

Ao3 Link

Once out of Danny’s body, Phantom found himself hyperventilating and his vision fading to black around the edges. This was it; the moment of truth. He was about to find out what Danny thought of him now that he’d seen his true colours.

“W-What just happened?” The sound of Tuckers voice got Phantom to turn and face him, which the ghost immediately regretted. Standing in front of Phantom with clenched fists and a heaving chest was Danny. There was so much pain and anger in his eyes, Phantom couldn’t help but immediately burst into tears.

“Danny, I –”

“Get out! I don’t want to see you!” Danny cut in with a furious growl. Phantom’s eyes widened with fear. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could let out was a pathetic whimper before turning and flying away as fast as he could.

As he frantically flew over the town, he felt pure dread fill his entire being. His absolute worst fear had been founded. Danny hated him the second he knew the truth, and now he’s lost the most important person in his life. Not only that, but he’s lost everyone else that’s important to him too. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to pick him over Danny. They’d only ever been there for him because they were under the impression that he was the friend they knew and loved, not some stranger who didn’t even have a clue who he really was.

Not being able to think clearly, Phantom flew straight back to Danny’s room and collapsed onto Danny’s bed, curling in on himself as he sobbed into the pillow that so painfully smelled of Danny. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but he had no idea where he was meant to go and it was the only place he felt safe. He figured as long as he left before Danny got back, there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“Danny? Are you back?”

At the sound of Jazz’s voice, Phantom choked on a sob. He somehow needed her and couldn’t handle the idea of talking to her. Immediately, Jazz burst into the room and rushed to him, apparently hearing him through the wall. She sat next to him and began giving frantic, yet still soothing strokes up and down his back.

“Danny! Are you hurt? What happened?” She asked in a panicked tone. At the sound of the name she called him by, he let out a small moan of distress and curled further into himself.

We haven’t told her yet…She still thinks I’m him.

“I- I’m not…” He tried to say through his sobbing, but the pain and fear attached to what he was trying to say made it all that much harder to let out.

“It’s okay. You can tell me anything, little brother.” She encouraged in a gentle voice full of protective feelings and love that he didn’t deserve. Finally, he found the strength to push himself up and back away from her touch.

“That’s just it! I’m not your little brother!” He exclaimed, bringing his arms close to his body and digging his nails into his biceps. It was all he could do to stop the frost that was building around him from spreading any further and hurting Jazz. He wanted to look up to see her reaction, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Don’t say that –”

“But it’s true! I was never actually Danny! I’m just some pathetic ghost that latched itself onto him, leeching off his memories and his friendships! Now you know the truth, you’ll want me gone too!” He cried out, lifting his hands to his face to clench his hairline.

“Phantom…” She said softly, before her hands wrapped around his to pull them away from his face.

“Please look at me. I… I already knew that you weren’t Danny.” That made him look at her.

“What? But then why did you call me that earlier?” He questioned with eyes wide with shock.

“It was a reflex, sorry. Having thought of you as Danny for four years, it will be hard to get used to the truth, even though I’ve had a couple of days to wrap my head around it. The point is that I know you’re not Danny, but I also know that nothing else you said was true.” She explained with a serious, yet empathetic expression. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when she raised her hand to gesture that she wasn’t done.

“You talk about yourself like some sort of malicious parasite, but that isn’t true at all. You’re a hero and the last thing I’d call you was pathetic!” She reassured. Phantom shook his head and looked away.

“You can’t know that. I have no idea what type of person I was before Danny, so who’s to say that fusing with him wasn’t intentional?” Phantom argued. The room was silent, and Phantom was afraid that what he’d said had convinced her.

“When that alternate future version of you fused with Vlad’s ghost, did he immediately go evil?” She asked.

Fuck, she thinks I’m going to go evil!

“I- I think so. I’m not sure.” He answered, shaking from how fast his core was pulsing with panic. He risked a look at her, only to become shocked to find her smiling.

“Great. So it stands to reason that when somebody fuses with an evil ghost, they are influenced to take on those evil traits. When Danny fused with you, he didn’t become evil, he became a hero. What do you think that says about who you were?” She explained with a confident tone that she reserved for when she was pretty sure she just won an argument. To Phantom’s confusion, it may have been warranted. He couldn’t find a way to argue with what she said. The calm only lasted a moment before he remembered the last time he spoke to Danny.

“Well, just because I didn’t go in a shit person, doesn’t mean I’m not a shit person now. You don’t know what I’ve done since separating from Danny.” He redirected. Her brow quirked in confusion.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“The second Danny found out, he never wanted to see me again.” Jazz blanched at his statement, visibly taken aback by it.

“What? That can’t be right. He wouldn’t –”

“But he did! He was everything to me and now that he hates me I’ve got nothing!” Phantom cried out, frost flashing out of him and spreading around the room, causing Jazz to flinch and jump up from the bed in shock.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” He apologised quickly, nearly reaching for her before thinking better of it. Jazz looked around the room at the ice damage, breath slowing down.

“It’s okay Phantom, you just surprised me. I’m not hurt. Has this been happening a lot?” She eventually said. Phantom groaned as he dragged his hands down his face.

“Yes. I can’t control my powers properly, especially my ice core. Danny has been helping me, but… without him I don’t think I’ll be safe around people anymore.” He admitted. The only place safe for him would probably be the Far Frozen. Frostbyte would surely take him in, even if he’s only half of “The Great One”. Jazz sighed, before sitting on the bed again.

“Phantom, I’m one hundred percent certain that if you just talk it out with Danny, you’ll find that he doesn’t hate you. That being said… spending some time away from him might be a good thing.” Phantom’s eyes snapped back to her, scared by what she’d said.

Is she telling me to leave?

Something about his expression must have told Jazz to realise what he was thinking, as her eyes widened and she suddenly raised her hands into a gesture that read “I mean no harm”.

“I’m not telling you to leave! I’m just saying that if you do leave, it may be good for you. It’s clear that you’re extremely dependant on Danny, so spending time away from him could help you develop as an individual and self-regulate.” She clarified. Phantom felt his shoulders drop, not realising that he had hunched them in the first place as he thought about what she said. Those sounded like things he wanted, but the idea of being separated from Danny for a long time gave him an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

“In any case, you should wait until you talk to Danny before deciding anything. If you’re wrong about how he feels it will feel awful to leave with such a painful misunderstanding lingering between you. If you’re right, you’ll regret leaving without a proper chance to apologise and reconcile.” Jazz added on, bringing his attention back to her. The smile she gave him was warm and understanding, which he found deeply relieving.

“Thanks Jazz. For the advice… and for still caring about me even though I’m not your brother.” Phantom thanked sincerely, hoping his tone conveyed how deeply he meant those words. For a moment, Jazz’s eyes watered, before she suddenly lunged at him and pulled him into a hug.

“Listen closely Phantom, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to repeat it until it gets into that ectoplasmic skull of yours. Just because you aren’t Danny does not mean you aren’t my brother! You have been a part of my family for the past four years and that doesn’t end just because we aren’t blood related, you hear?!” She declared, voice shaking with emotion. Phantom couldn’t help but cry as he wrapped his arms around her back and clung desperately to his big sister.

“Dude, are you okay?” Tucker’s words cut through the tense silence. Danny turned to him and took in the concerned expressions of his two best friends. He groaned as he turned back away, too emotional to make eye contact with either of them.

“Not really.” He admitted lowly. So many emotions were bubbling inside him at that moment. Anger, betrayal, embarrassment, but mostly confusion. He wasn’t even sure confusion was an emotion, but he sure was feeling it.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Yeah, what the hell happened back there?” Tucker chimed in, voice raising in confusion. Normally, he would have loved to fill his friends in on what happened, but to do that he would have had to have processed what happened, and he did not want to do that any time soon.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Danny growled bluntly, hoping his anger would mask his fear.

“But –”

“Drop it, Tucker. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.” Sam cut in. She offered Danny a supportive smile, which he tried to reflect back weakly.

“Fine, topic dropped. What do we want to do now, if we’re avoiding dealing with our problems?” Tucker relented. Danny was almost stunned for a moment. If he had told his fourteen-year-old self that Sam would be the one enabling him not to process his feelings and Tucker would be the vaguely more responsible one, he would have gotten a laugh and a “good one, Amorpho” from him, before immediately getting attacked. The thought made him chuckle lowly, before thinking of how to answer his friend’s question.

With everything he was feeling, he wanted nothing more but to distract himself from what had just transpired between him and Phantom. He was even willing to do something he had been avoiding doing ever since he became a hero.

“Is it too soon to go to Mikey’s party? I really just need to get drunk right now.” Danny asked, finally turning to face his friends. Tucker snorted out a short laugh.

“It won’t start for another couple of hours, and it won’t be cool to show up for another few.” He answered matter-o-factly. Danny groaned. He should have realised. Years of not being able to go to parties really made him a complete novice at them. Seeing his disappointment, Sam stepped closer to Danny with an encouraging smile.

“If you wanted something to do while we wait for the party, we could have drinks at my house and play video games.” She suggested.

“Pre-drinking before a house party? Wow, we are finally acting like real teenagers!” Tucker cheered enthusiastically. Danny put on a grin, hoping it conveyed his gratefulness to both his friends, while concealing the feelings he desperately wanted to ignore.

After sneaking into Sam’s parents’ liquor cabinet and several rounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike III that got progressively worse the more the trio drank, Tucker finally announced that it was fashionably late enough to show up at the party.

Sneaking more booze into their bags, the three of them took off on foot towards Mikey’s house, which was luckily only a short distance from Sam’s estate. Being in the same part of the neighbourhood, Danny really shouldn’t have been surprised by how nice Mikey’s house was. Not as intense as Sam’s “old money” mansion, but still quite fancy.

“Wow, drunk Danny sure is interested in architecture.” Tucker commented teasingly.

“Oh shit, was I talking out loud?” Danny asked, immediately being answered by two grinning nods.

Before they could knock on the front door, it swung open to reveal a red-faced Mikey with a wide, excited smile.

“Danny! You came!” He exclaimed far louder than necessary. Tucker cleared his throat.

“We’re here too, y’know.” He grumbled, making Danny and Sam giggle. Mikey took a big step back and gestured for them to enter.

“Come on in! If you brought drinks, you’re best to put them in the fridge now if they need it. We’re running out of room fast!” He advised, before wandering off at the sound of someone shouting his name from the other room.

Standing in the doorway, Danny felt his heart racing. Here he was, at a real-life high school party that he was invited to. He was drunk and without a care in the world, with no responsibilities or ghosts to worry about –

Suddenly, the thought of ghost brought a vision of beautiful green eyes to his mind. He shook the thought out of his head, before pacing further into the house to find something to distract him.

“Hey! It’s Fenton!” Turning to face the sound of the voice, he saw Kwan and a group of footballers gathering around a ping pong table. The rosy tint in Kwan’s cheeks and the delighted smile brought a warm feeling in Danny’s stomach. Before the jock could even gesture for him to come over, Danny found himself gravitating in his direction.

“You up for some beer pong? You can be on my team!” Kwan offered. Danny chuckled.

“Sure, but I’m warning you that I am already pretty drunk, so my aim is probably shit.” He warned, winning a light laugh from the group of jocks.

“All good, bro! That just means an even playing field!” A footballer he couldn’t remember the name of called out, words slurring together slightly.

Danny turned to ask Sam and Tucker if they wanted to play, to find that they had only just caught up to him.

“Do you guys want to play?” He asked. Sam rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, no thank you. I hate beer, and they probably don’t have a vegan friendly one, either.” She replied. Danny did a double take.

“Wait, beer can be not vegan? How?” He asked, very confused. Before she could answer, Danny felt himself being pushed toward the ping pong table by Tucker.

“Come on dude. You know she won’t stop once she gets started.” With a shrug, Danny returned his focus to the group of footballers.

“Alright, let’s do this! Now… how do you play?”

Danny wasn’t sure how, but he managed to be insanely good at beer pong, quickly annihilating Tucker and the other team and winning an uproar in cheers from his own team.

Learning how to aim while losing blood must have been good training for this very moment.

Busy chuckling at his own thoughts, Danny was caught off guard when he was suddenly swept into a bear hug by Kwan.

“That was legendary, bro! Seriously, is there nothing I can say to convince you to join the football team?” The boy gushed, ruffling a hand through Danny’s hair and messing it up even further.

“Yeah, especially considering sign ups are well and truly over and this is our final year?” Danny replied, not sure whether to return the hug or not. The contact certainly felt nice, but there was something this was just… off about it. Maybe it was the fact that Kwan seemed to be running hot too, so there was no cooling relief like when he was holding Phanto –

No. He wasn’t letting himself think about him. It hurt too much.

“Oh, right. My bad.” Kwan laughed, pulling away from Danny. He had to admit that the jock was quite handsome, and the glistening of his sweat was weirdly mesmerising.

“Wow, dude. You sure are hot.”

“WHAT?” Danny exclaimed, not sure if his line of thinking had made him hallucinate hearing that or if it had actually happened. Kwan laughed again.

“I meant your temperature, bro. Are you coming down with something?” At that question, Tucker jumped into the conversation, wrapping an arm around his best friend.

“Nah, he’s fine. He’s just running warm because of his growth spurt, that’s all.” Tucker explained, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“That checks out. You did seem to fit four years of growing into like, three days. Why don’t you have one of my rum and cokes to cool down? They’re in the fridge door!” Kwan offered, before waving and wondering back to the footballers.

“Danny, are you alright? You really are burning up…” Tucker commented, voice laced with concerned. Danny sighed before slinking out from under Tucker’s arm and stomping towards the kitchen.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling, I just want to drink until I can’t feel my fingers, okay?” If he couldn’t feel his fingers, maybe he wouldn’t remember how Phantom felt underneath them. Maybe he wouldn’t want to run them through his ghostly hair and relish in how soft it was.

“Whoa, take it easy, okay buddy? I don’t want you getting hurt.” Tucker advised; voice laced with concern. While Danny appreciated that Tucker cared, he was in no mood to be lectured, so he ignored the warning and continued his path towards the fridge and grabbed one of Kwan’s cans. When he was halfway through downing it, revelling in the cooling sensation, he heard a sigh come from his friend.

“I’m going to go find Sam. I think I need her help with this.” He admitted reluctantly. Danny huffed with indignation.

“Fine, go get her. Neither of you will be able to stop me from having fun tonight.” He scoffed. Hearing a surprising chuckle from a new voice, Danny pivoted suddenly toward the source of the sound to see Spike leaning in the doorway.

“Damn, Danny. I am loving your new look on you. Have you ever thought about eye liner? I think it would look awesome on you.” Spike commented, eyes tracing up and down Danny. For a moment, the blue-eyed boy shivered under the gaze, before offering a non-committal shrug.

“Come with me, I’m going to put some on you now.” With that, the punk boy had grabbed Danny’s free arm and tugged him towards what looked like an entertainment room, before pushing Danny onto a fairly large couch and stepping out of view. Quickly he returned with a bag and was pulling out an eyeliner pencil. Any concerns about getting pink eye from sharing the pencil immediately evaporated the second Spike perched himself on Danny’s lap. The pressure gave him an instant flashback to the times Phantom was in his lap.

“Sorry, this is just the easiest way to do this.” Spike apologised, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” Danny was pleased with the laugh that quip won from the punk boy. Quickly, Spike stilled again and continued drawing along Danny’s lash line.

“With lines like that, it’s no wonder Punny Phantom chose you.” Danny couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of Phantom. Spike leaned back to look at his work, only to frown as he noticed something.

“Uh oh, did something happen between the two of you?” At the punk’s concerned question, Danny groaned and realised that he must have been grimacing.

“Sort of? I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled, looking down and away from the boy in his lap. Suddenly, a hand pressed lightly into his cheek and turned his face back up to Spike.

“Hey…if you ever want to talk, or not talk… I’m here.” The punk boy offered, eyes lilting on the words “not talk”.

As Spike leaned closer in towards Danny’s face, it occurred to Danny that the guy might be into him. He was going slow, seeming to give Danny an opportunity to stop him. Feeling his heart rate increase, he wasn’t sure if he wanted him to stop or not. The guy was pretty cute and he seemed like a decent enough person having calmed down a lot from their freshman year, but there was something missing.

Before Danny had to make a decision, the door to the room slammed open, causing both boys to jolt in shock. Peering around Spike, Danny saw a very drunk Sam standing in the threshold, hand still on the door with an angry expression on her face.

“I have to go.” Spike said abruptly, scrambling off of Danny’s lap and pushing past Sam, revealing that she had Tucker and Starr behind her.

“What were you doing in here?” Sam asked with a scowl. Danny gulped nervously, not sure what he did wrong.

“Spike was putting eye liner on me. Do you like it?” He replied, hoping his nervous smile would be enough to smooth out her agitated mood. Sam narrowed her eyes, as she scrutinised his appearance, before a strong blush spread across her cheeks.

“Y-Yes.” She mumbled. For a few moments an awkward silence hung in the air, as Danny waited for anyone to say anything. Eventually, Starr groaned before pushing Sam toward Danny.

“For crying out loud, I thought you were going to confess, not stare awkwardly at him.” The blonde complained. Sam hissed lowly, her blush getting ten times worse as she staggered toward him. Danny was thrown off by what Starr had said.

“Confess? Do you mean like, to murder, or…?” He asked cautiously, trailing off when Sam stopped right in front of him. Either way, he was nervous for whatever she was going to say. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, before scrunching her face up and turning back towards Starr and Tucker.

“I can’t do this! It’s too hard!” She complained, earning an eye roll from them both. Seeing how distressed she was, Danny reached forward and took Sam’s hand gently, the touch getting her to whip back around to face him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Sam. You’re one of my best friends; you can tell me anything and I’ll still want to be your friend.” He tried to reassure. Unfortunately it seemed to fail, as she let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s the problem! I’ve always just been a friend, but I don’t want to be!” She exclaimed almost angrily. Danny couldn’t helped but flinch, releasing her hand as he leaned away from her.

“Y-You don’t want to be friends with me anymore?” He asked, feeling tears begin to well in his eyes. The groan from every person in the room was Danny’s only warning, before Sam suddenly dropped herself onto his lap and pull herself in to his body until their lips met in an intense connection. It was at this point it clicked for Danny that Sam had romantic feelings for him.

As she gripped tightly into his shoulders with one hand and raked through his hair with the other, he took the moment to contemplate how the situation made him feel. He knew he should feel amazing; Sam was beautiful and someone he was very close with, not to mention the crush he’d had on her for the past four years. Theoretically, this was everything he should want and he should be satisfied.

The only problem? He couldn’t feel any of that. He tried kissing her back. He tried smoothing his hands over her waist. He even tried grinding into her. Nothing. Frustrated, he pulled away from her and groaned as he slapped himself in the face and leaned back into the couch.

“Ugh! What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just do this?” He mumbled, tears welling in his eyes. Why couldn’t his body react like it had with Phantom? Or even how he’d felt a minute ago with Spike in this same position. A scoff brought his attention back to the girl in front of him.

“I can’t be that bad at kissing.” Sam grumbled, crossing her arms defensively.

“Sam, I don’t think you did anything wrong. He’s just gay.” Starr interjected before Danny could open his mouth.

“What? No, I’m bi. I’ve had feelings for girls before, I swear! I even had a crush on Sam for like, four years! I don’t know why I’m ruining this!” Danny cried out. The irritated look in Sam’s eyes melted into one of sympathy as she slid off of Danny’s lap to sit next to him.

“It’s okay Danny. Sexual orientation can change, and crushes fade. I’m just sad I missed my chance.” She reassured, taking his hand comfortingly.

“But how did it change so fast? I swear a week ago Tucker caught me with a boner when you were picking up litter in a mini skirt.” Danny argued, before breaking eye contact with Sam to look at Tucker, pleading with his face for his friend to back him up. Seeing the thoughtful expression on his face made Danny’s stomach sink.

“Danny… I think those might have been Phantom’s feelings.” At the sound of Tucker mentioning the name, it all made sense. He’d always assumed he only started getting interested in girls after the accident because he’d only just reached that part of puberty, but what if it was because Phantom was the one who was attracted to girls? It would certainly explain why he hadn’t felt anything for any girls since they split. A weight lifted off of Danny, from both understanding himself better, and for the knowledge that Phantom was just as much in control when they were fused as he was. He let out a relieved laugh.

“So I wasn’t controlling him this whole time! He still had free will!” He exclaimed happily. He couldn’t wait to tell the ghost the good news.

“Uh… now that we can mention him without you losing it, can you please explain what the fuck happened back at the library?” Tucker enquired, making his way deeper into the room and sitting on a recliner. Danny found himself off guard, suddenly remembering that he was mad at Phantom.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started! He full on let me believe I was this perverted asshole that didn’t deserve a chance with him, but no! Turns out he was only acting weird because he did have feelings for me and was too much of a coward to tell me the truth! If he had just told me he was awake when I kissed him in my sleep then I wouldn’t have spent this entire time agonising over what a bad person I was!” Danny complained. As he spoke, it became very clear to him that the entire time he’d spent with Phantom as separate people, he’d been repressing his own feelings for the ghost to the point of almost being unaware of them. Seeing gears turn in Sam’s mind, he waited for her to speak.

“So, the problem was that he didn’t make it clear how he felt, which made you feel like he couldn’t love you?” Sam questioned, to which Danny nodded emphatically in response.

“Right… and how is that any different to what you are doing now?” She continued, stopping Danny dead in his tracks.

“W-Wait, what?”

“Come on dude, you had a look inside his mind and the first thing you did was tell him to fuck off, essentially. As if that didn’t tell him you aren’t interested. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you never wanted to see him again at all!” Tucker explained, rolling his eyes. Danny felt his own eyes widen with realisation and despair.

“Shit! I only meant I need space to cool down while I was mad at him! He probably thinks that I hate him! What if he runs away to the Ghost Zone? I have to go home and tell him the truth!” Danny exclaimed in a panic, before jolting to his feet and dashed out of the room.

“What the fuck was that all about?” was the last thing he heard from the room before he darted his way through the house and back onto the street.

Thanks to his increased speed and endurance, the sprint home was in record time, and luckily he had managed to sober up in that time. He wanted to talk to Phantom with as clear a mind as he could, so that he could tell Phantom how he felt without there being any more confusion between them. As silently as he could, he opened the front door. Luckily, he could hear his parents tinkering away frantically in the lab, so he didn’t have to worry about them slowing him down. Unable to slow his heart rate down as he climbed up the stairs, he focused on slowing his breathing and on what he was going to say.

“Don’t worry Phantom! I don’t think you’re a pervert! I’d probably watch you shower, if given the opportunity.” No, no, no… that doesn’t sound right. Just keep it simple and say you don’t hate him!

Figuring that was a good place to start, he took one last deep breath before opening the door to his bedroom.

To find it empty.

Disappointed, Danny walked into the room and looked around. The only sign that anyone had been in here since they’d left earlier today was that the computer was now on. He paced over to the screen to see a folder open with a single video file in it labelled “Goodbye Danny”. Nervously, he tapped on the file and the video began playing. On screen, Phantom was stepping away from the screen and steadying his breath before looking straight into the camera. It broke Danny's heart to be able to tell that he'd been crying.

“Hey Danny. By the time you’ll be watching this, I’ll have already gone into the Ghost Zone. I know Jazz said I should wait to talk to you before I go, but I think seeing you would hurt too much. When you told me to leave, I didn’t know who I would be without you. I… I need to be someone on my own, but I can’t do that if I stay with you. When I feel like I’m ready, I’ll come back to see you. But I’m not sure how long that will take, or if I’ll still feel the same way about you. I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry I let you down. I hope you find someone who deserves you. Goodbye Danny.”

With that, the video ended on Phantom leaning forward to stop recording, and Danny found himself as frozen as the frame on screen.

He was too late; Phantom had left him.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny fenton x danny phantom #danny fenton/danny phantom #fan fiction #pitch pearl #pitchpearl

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rachelkaser · 3 years ago

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Stay Golden Sunday: Vacation

Dorothy, Blanche, and Rose go on a Caribbean vacation and everything goes wrong. Back at home, Sophia flirts with the gardener.

Picture It...

Dorothy is gathering suitcases in the living room, fussing over Sophia. Dorothy, Rose, and Blanche are going to the Caribbean for vacation, meaning Sophia will be home alone. Sophia protests she’ll be fine. Rose fusses about traveling abroad, which drives Dorothy insane. Blanche has packed a ton of luggage. After leave for the airport, Sophia greets the Japanese gardener, Mr. Mitsumo, and tries to flirt with him. He doesn’t understand very much English, but he flirts back with her.

The Girls get to the hotel, and find their supposedly luxurious hotel room is a grungy shoebox. Not only are the telephone and the air conditioner not working, but their “ocean view” is a brick wall seen through a window the size of a porthole. They ask the very hostile porter to send the manager up. The Girls complain some more. The very slimy manager enters and claims their room does have an ocean view if you lean extremely far out of the window. When the Girls protest, it turns out Rose pre-paid for the room and they can’t get a refund, meaning they have no choice but to stay.

DOROTHY: You call that an ocean view? You have to be a contortionist to see! MANAGER: Hey, it doesn’t say “great ocean view.”

Back at home, Sophia is having dinner with Mr. Mitsumo, who asks that she call him Toshiro. He plays Japanese music and has made sushi for Sophia, also showing her how to eat with chopsticks. Sophia’s a little grossed out at eating raw fish, and puts most of it in her purse when Toshiro’s not looking. She still compliments his cooking and tells him she thinks he’s cute. He says she’s cuter, and I just can’t with these two.

Back in the hotel, the Girls get set up in the bathroom and Rose talks about how she’s planned out their day as mosquitos bite them up. When Rose tries to enter the bathroom again, the door is locked. They discover that there are three men in the bathroom, as it’s shared with another room. Dwayne, Rick, and Winston are all obnoxious 30-somethings who try to be rude to the Girls, but Blanche isn’t having it. She tells them off, saying to go into the jungle to relieve themselves.

ROSE: You... you... you rude person! DOROTHY: Go easy on him, Rose.

The Girls are sitting in the hotel lobby, having just eaten an awful dinner, when the boys rom the other room enter. They apologize for being rude earlier, and offer to buy the Girls drinks. When they ask how their vacation is going, the Girls admit they’re having a terrible time. Winston says he’s rented a sailboat and offers to bring the Girls along on an evening cruise, which they agree to enthusiastically. Dorothy goes to call Sophia before heading out.

Sophia and Toshiro are now eating Italian food, which he’s enjoying. She tells him that she’s attracted to him, which he understands, but there are still some communication issues. These two are honestly adorable. Sophia goes in for a kiss but is interrupted by the phone call from Dorothy. She’s not pleased, and gets the phone call over with as quickly as possible. This time, it’s Toshiro who initiates the kiss.

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Sometime later, Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose are on a beach with the three young men. They sailed into a storm and are now shipwrecked. Naturally the Girls are not pleased with the boys and Blanche and Dorothy start a huge argument. It’s Rose, of all people, who stands up and takes charge, citing her survival knowledge as a Scout. She starts barking orders, telling the other Girls to make a campfire, and Dwayne, Rick, and Winston to follow a path that might lead to a waterfall. Everyone leaps into action, with Blanche and Dorothy being a little scared at how commanding Rose is being.

Hours later, the Girls are grouped around the campfire and the men haven’t returned. Rose, now considerably less confident, thinks they might die and confesses that her confidence earlier was mostly bravado, and she can’t actually help them survive. Under the pressure, the Girls start confessing secrets to each other, including Rose once read Blanche’s diary, Rose once had her nose done and she and Dorothy hid it from Blanche, and Blanche and Dorothy both slept with Rose’s cousin Nolan. Finally they all shout each other into silence.

BLANCHE: You don’t think anything happened to them? DOROTHY: No, I think they probably just stopped to rest. BLANCHE: Yeah, or maybe they’re looking for something to carry the water back in. ROSE: Maybe they were clawed to death by bloodthirsty animals.

After a few moments they start apologizing to each other and say that, if they’re going to die, at least they’re together. Rose bursts into song -- specifically “I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing” -- and suddenly the boys emerge from the trees with tropical drinks. They discovered that they never left the resort island and were in fact wrecked next to the actual resort. The Girls agree to keep their confessions to themselves, and they all go off to the Hyatt Regency together singing “I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing.”

“If I put cracked ice and an umbrella on your head, you’d be a Mai Tai.”

This is a really hard episode to judge, because it’s got very funny parts even if I find the scenario kind of silly. Several of the individual scenes make me laugh, but the episode doesn’t hang together terribly well, and it kind of sucks that the B-plot, as cute as it is, doesn’t last for very long. I would have enjoyed seeing the Girls come home after their ordeal and finding out exactly what Sophia had been up to while they were gone.

ROSE: *on her millionth question* Did you call a cab to take us to the airport? DOROTHY: No Rose, I called two cabs. One for Blanche and me, and one for you, cause you’re making me crazy with all your questions! ... ROSE: Now whose cab is this? Is this yours or mine? DOROTHY: Rose, there’s only one cab. ROSE: Well how am I gonna get to the airport? DOROTHY: Run behind it!

This is one of those “away” episodes where we spend the majority of the episode somewhere other than the Girls’ house. The Girls are off to what they think is a luxurious Caribbean resort, only to find everything not exactly as advertised. Oh the days before online reviews, when you just had to trust that everything was as it looked in the brochure. That’s not to say this couldn’t happen today, but it does make this episode feel like a product of its time.

So much of this episode is memorable, even if in a weird way: The argument over the girls’ “ocean view,” the porter stomping on the bed, Rose snapping and taking charge after the shipwreck. Even if the whole episode doesn’t make a lot of sense, those scenes stick in the mind. And the final scene plays out like one of those single-scene arthouse plays, and it’s always great to see Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy just sit down and talk, as it capitalizes on the actresses’ tremendous chemistry with each other.

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I guess if I have one problem with this episode, it’s that the writers felt like they were trying to cram too many different ideas into one episode, any of which would have made a perfectly satisfactory A-plot on their own: The Girls go on a vacation that turns out badly; they end up having to share a bathroom with three men; they get shipwrecked on an island. The young men are a good example of this. For starters, how did the Girls not notice another door leading out of their bathroom when they arrived? They’re in very little of the episode comparatively speaking, and are a plot convenience to get the Girls shipwrecked. Also, if the Girls can’t leave their crappy hotel because they already prepaid, how do they expect to afford a room at the Hyatt Regency?

It’s almost a pity Sophia couldn’t accompany them, because I can’t picture her putting up with even half of the hotel’s foolishness like the rest of the Girls do. This is yet another one of those episodes where Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy go away for some reason and leave Sophia out of things. They do invite her along, but she actually turns them down this time. Turns out there is one reason why Sophia won’t complain about being the “Tonto of the group:” She’s trying to get herself a date.

DOROTHY: Ma, I hate leaving you like this, I really do. Why don’t you come with us? BLANCHE: Yeah, come on, Sophia! It’ll be fun! ROSE: *taking out the brochure* Oh, and the resort is absolutely gorgeous. Look here, here’s our room. Isn’t that beautiful? You can have the king-sized bed. SOPHIA: There’s already two people in it.

I almost wish that B-plot took up a little bit more of the episode. One, because I hate it when Sophia is in less than half of the episode and disappears before the final third. Two, because this is the first time Sophia’s had a romance plot in the series, and it deserves more screentime. I always enjoy how this show makes it so clear that women can have love lives no matter what age they are, and while we’ve been aware that Sophia dates around from her saying as much, this is the first time we’ve seen it happen onscreen.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Toshiro Mitsumo, Sophia’s Japanese gardener love interest, was played by Keye Luke, the actor who played Lee Chan in the Charlie Chan films. Those films may not have aged well in terms of a white actor playing the role of a Chinese detective, but I always enjoyed Luke’s performances as Chan’s “Number One Son.” Here he doesn’t get much to do as Mr. Mitsumo, but he still manages to look very cute flirting with Sophia.

RICK: So, how have you ladies been enjoying your vacation? DOROTHY: As a child, during the Depression, I had to have my wisdom teeth extracted by a shoemaker. That was more fun than this.

I mean, part of me finds it ironic that the episode acts like sushi is exotic and disgusting, to the point where Sophia slips it into her purse rather than eat it. I know that, at the time, most people probably weren’t as familiar with sushi, so it probably didn’t sound appealing to the average Golden Girls viewer, but it’s hilarious considering you can now get sushi very easily in most major American cities (including Miami), and probably a lot of minor ones too.

In the end, while I do love parts of this episode and they gave me a few laughs, it’s a hard one to judge. Still, if nothing else, it gave us some very memorable scenes of our favorite Girls out of their element, and Sophia her first love interest of the series.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

The Girls contend with their poor accommodations and Rose has another of her flights of fancy:

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#golden girls #stay golden #stay golden sunday #dorothy zbornak #s02e08 #sophia petrillo #blanche devereaux #rose nylund #picture it #vacation

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betweenthetimeandsound · 3 years ago

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Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#160-151)

(Author's note: Sorry about it being a couple of days late--I wanted to rest a bit--which I will do again because we hit the top 150--and had to download quite a bit for the gifs. Please enjoy this bunch, though!)

#160: Dihaj -- Skeletons (Azerbaijan 2017)

“When we hook up it’s fantasy We’re just like alchemy I’ve never been so ready”

I completely neglected Skeletons during the contest, as I didn't listen to it beforehand and didn't watch songs 12-17 when watching the grand final live. Along with "Grab the Moment" that year, it sandwiched a horrendous stretch of songs in #13-16.

Despite this, I listened to it a lot afterwards. It’s equal parts intriguing and mysterious, especially with the almost-nonsensical lyrics with interesting images. I always imagined a concept film in which the main character meets a potential love interest in a night club, only to go too far and almost kill him.

The atmosphere the staging created was a bit strange, in that it incorporates masks and a world inside a school chalkboard. For each of these aspects, Skeletons is my favorite Azeri entry ever—it stands out in a unique way because of its eccentricity.

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 14th/26 GF in Kyiv

#159: Tommy Seebach -- Disco Tango (Denmark 1979)

“Hun er en stjerne på et dansegulv Slår John Travolta i en rock ‘n’ roll På diskoteket ta’r hun kegler, og der ka’ man se Dem stå i kø og skæve, hver gang hun gør sin entré”

“She’s a star on a dance floor Beats John Travolta in a rock ‘n’ roll At the disco she’s scoring, and there you see Them queue up with an eye on her, every time she enters”

Disco and tango are two genres you don’t expect to work together, despite them being so fun to dance to. Despite this, Tommy Seebach makes it sound natural. There’s a bit of adjustment needed when listening to it, but it’s equally flirty and groovy all at once, as one gets to know the many quirks of the song.

The live performance definitely elevates it--not only with Debbie Cameron's enthusiasm (she would come back two years later with Tommy in a bigger part), but also because of the orchestration. The mix with strings and castanets in the chorus was definitely the best part and gets me shaking.

It’s different for Denmark, but definitely a song you should put in a disco (*clap clap*) from time to time!

Personal ranking: 3rd/19 Actual ranking: 6th/19 in Jerusalem

#158: Poli Genova -- If Love (Were) a Crime (Bulgaria 2016)

“Unafraid, never fade When it’s dark we illuminate”

Bulgaria’s comeback after a two-year hiatus sees them with a hyper energetic pop song with an uplifting message. While it seems like a simple one at first, the diverse Eurovision community can embrace it for its openness and determination. The great production upholds this gem, and the lighting on stage adds to it, especially in the end.

Poli definitely makes this song come to life with her vocals and her upbeat personality, making it shine even more! (And I did like her costume--not something for everyday-wear, but definitely one fitting the song and a bit avant--garde too). Compared to her first entry, which fights against those who put her down in a pop-rock way, she delivers with fun.

And they got their first qualification in nine years and a start to a nice run of entries as a result.

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 4th/42 GF in Stockholm

#157: Athena -- For Real (Turkey 2004)

“All I know is you don’t want to be part of the crowd Realise yourself You say it but don’t feel it, what you sayin’ has no meanin’ Don’t hide your soul”

For their host entry, Turkey brings upon Athena, a ska-punk (and former metalcore) band with this bouncy song. And it’s such a great one—filled with energy and fun. A bit different from what we expect from Turkey, but it shows what their music industry could bring.

It's lively and fun, with Gokhan leading the charge with his presence. At times, he shouts more than he sings and it seems like he didn't dress up for a more formal event. That said, there's still a lot of charm in "For Real's" performance, ranging from the sharks in the background to the "Hi mom!" and the peace jacket. It comes along in an eccentric package, and makes for a solid predecessor to their rock-based entries four years later.

And it definitely hints at being oneself, which celebrates individuality in a fun way.

(Plus, that's the reason why my top three in 2004 isn't the actual top three. Haha)

Personal ranking: 3rd/36 Actual ranking: 4th/24 in Istanbul

#156: Katarína Hasprová - Modlitba (Slovakia 1998)

“Láska kráčam údolím sĺz A len ty môžeš zmierniť môj žiaľ Túžim sa dotknúť tvojich pier, tvojich rúk Prosím vráť sa mi, nevzdaj sa nás”

“Love, I am walking the valley of tears Only you can get me out of misery I long to touch your hands, your lips Please, come back, do not give up”

A comment on the interwebs suggested anybody who has Horehronie as their favorite Slovak entry has never listened to this. I could understand why people would gravitate towards the former, but this stands out more for me (and not just because of the religious title).

The introduction reminds me of “Kiss From a Rose”, which here, is less meant to be about plagiarism and more about the 1990s feel of it. Musically, it takes the same medieval elements from other 1990s entries, but it tells a different story, one about trying to fix a relationship on the rocks. It builds well, going from an otherwise delicate ballad to something more explosive when one gets into the chorus. The orchestration really helps it too!

Modlitba got six points from Croatia...and then nothing else. It's still a shame it did so poorly, but as a potential nul-pointer too? Sad.

Personal ranking: 4th/25 Actual ranking: 21st/25 in Birmingham

#155: Melovin -- Under the Ladder (Ukraine 2018)

“Nothing but your will sets you on fire Fire lasts forever...”

The song that inspired a fervor from Melovin’s fans, including me! While I’m not as enthusiastic as them, I still love this song—it's pulsating and intense, with quite interesting lyrics about getting up again(with some enunciation issues). There was a point where the song got a musical revamp, and I feared it would make the song worse, but fortunately it kept the whole thing intact with a few production changes.

Melovin proves he's a talented showman, and seeing the stairs go aflame made me smile (even though I preferred the effect more on his Vidbir performance; the flaming LEDs really helped there). Good thing the televote swooped in, because last place in the jury vote feels really wrong (though it could be because of said pronunciation).

Plus he has some good post-Eurovision songs—check them out! My favorite is З тобою, зі мною, і годі.

Personal ranking: 6th/43 Actual ranking: 17th/26 GF in Lisbon

#154: Joci Papai -- Origo (Hungary 2017)

“Be kell csuknod a szemed Úgy láthatsz meg engemet Hogy meghódítsd a szívem Ismerned kell lelkemet”

“You need to close your eyes So you can see me To conquer my heart You have to know my soul”

While Az en apam (#240) touches me more than Origo, one can’t deny this is the more creative song. It combines not only Romani influences, but also a dark pop foreground which allows them to shine.

In addition, the lyrics are absolutely masterful—they are rooted in Joci’s story and packs a punch in the message. It's tells of a relationship with someone who doesn't accept him for who he is (cursing her forever as a result), along with how Joci grew up and used music as a weapon for himself and his people. He's a compelling storyteller, and you can tell he sings it from the soul.

Combined with a compelling rap and a neat violin instrumental, you get a completely unique experience.

Personal ranking: 4th/42 Actual ranking: 8th/26 GF in Kyiv

#153: Blanche -- City Lights (Belgium 2017)

“All alone in the danger zone Are you ready to take my hand?”

Blanche had quite the journey in Eurovision--first her song gets released, and immediately becomes a contender. Then she has problems performing in shows and during rehearsals, at which the odds star dropping like flies. Then her semi-final performance was notably wobbly, but she still qualifies and places fourth.

Despite the staging errors (I would've personally have made the lighting gold rather than natural-colored), it was fully deserved and I think it was better than the eventual top three.

The vibe of this song reminds me of walking down the streets of Tokyo, because of the visuals involved. Everything is in a rush, but one's not sure There’s also tension, because of the dark electronic sound that dominates it. Despite Blanche’s nervousness on stage, it worked well with the song—it amplified the sensation of walking down a wire and wondering if the relationship will work. A startling entry from Belgium and one that really strikes at modernity.

Personal ranking: 3rd/42 Actual ranking: 4th/26 GF in Kyiv

#152: Frances Ruffelle -- We Will Be Free (Lonely Symphony) (United Kingdom 1994)

“Welcome to the land Where all our dreams are planned And fighting is a thing to do...”

The first of the UK’s attempts to modernize the contest in the 1990s, it’s a cool, funky song with interestingly-written lyrics. Someone compared the chorus to a protest slogan for social justice movement, but the rest of the song discusses a complex relationship. The opening lines are a highlight in particular, and everything flows fantastically.

A few bits of the live-performance went out of hand, like with the orchestration and Frances’ vocals, explained by how she was bopping up and down and was told that she needed to keep that down. As a result, she couldn't focus on her vocals and they turned out a bit sharp at times.

That said, she had a pretty dress and charming look about her. And while it placed in the top ten, I think it should've done better.

Personal ranking: 4th/25 Actual ranking: 10th/25 in Dublin

#151: Sebalter -- Hunter of Stars (Switzerland 2014)

"I state my heart has been well trained I’m gonna be your candidate I am the hunter and you are the prey Tonight I’m gonna eat you up"

This word-salad of a song makes it quite hard to choose a good lyric, as it has a bunch of nice lines but almost no meaning to them. Reading them again, it seems like one is trying to get his affections to like him, to no avail, unfortunately.

But beyond that, we get a fun and wholesome song, which features a prominent banjo and even a violin solo! From the opening melody I can't help but smile, or even whistle along at points (everytime the latter synchronizes, I feel a bit of accomplishment). It's a bit more folksy than what the contest oriented on the time (slickly produced pop with a bit of dubstep), which makes it even more special.

Finally, we have Sebalter himself, who really carries his own song! Not only is he quite good-looking, but also very charismatic and knows how to have a good time. While Swiss entries have become better known since then, you can't replicate Hunter of Stars; it's too special!

Personal ranking: 5th/37 Actual ranking: 13th/26 GF in Copenhagen

#eurovision song contest #esc 250 #esc top 250 #esc azerbaijan #esc denmark #esc bulgaria #esc turkey #esc slovakia #esc ukraine #esc hungary #esc belgium #esc united kingdom #esc switzerland #vintage eurovision #three minutes to eternity

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humanmoodring-retired · 4 years ago

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Where’d You Ghost? || Nadia & Sammy

TIMING: Before the Exorcism PARTIES: @humanmoodring and Sammy (the fantastic @chloeinbetween) SUMMARY: Two ghost play pranks and have a heart to heart. Or, as much of one as can be had without a heartbeat. CONTENT: It’s kinda soft, actually

Sammy wondered, as him and Nadia walked into the cafe, if there was going to be a point when he just forgot what walls were. Like sure, they stopped you seeing things, but walking through them was just like walking through air. Someday, he’d probably ask Blanche to follow him somewhere, and lead her straight into a dead end without even realising. But this was nice. It was early afternoon but the sun was setting so early at the moment that the everything had a cool pink hue to it, and when they floated inside the cafe, everything became warm and orange. While he preferred spending his time around Ariana even when she couldn’t see him, Nadia had been right, they needed some space, and Blanche needed some space for her poor ghost spidey-senses. “Is that her on the left?” he whispered, even though there was no way anyone could hear him, being dead and all.

Even though they said they didn’t mind, Nadia knew that she couldn’t spend all of her time `bothering Blanche and Regan, and, after the whole thing with Luce and the mirror, Nadia just wanted to be around someone who understood, who wasn’t going to suddenly stop seeing her, and who wasn’t going to get overwhelmed by her presence. Of the other two ghost frequently occupying… not space but time in Blanche’s apartment, Sammy was certainly the more approachable. He was easy to talk to and he wanted to have fun in ways that she’d never really been able to, even as a kid. “That’s her,” she murmured back, matching, looking over at the barista with a small frown. Not only had the girl judged her for the amount of caffeine she’d been drinking and the odd hours she kept (she was aware, Bethany, okay? No need to point it out), she’d also been really rude when Nadia had fallen asleep at one of the tables on accident. She’d never targeted any of the other patrons like that, and Nadia hadn’t really been able to understand it. She’d been bullied out of getting her coffee, dammit. So what if she wanted just a little payback and fun?

“Cool, cool cool cool. Let’s uh… Let’s show her. Without, like, compromising anyone else’s health or anything.” Pranks had limits, after all, and although Sammy felt an increasing urge to act out to get any kind of attention, he didn’t actually want to injure anyone. But pranking someone to help Nadia feel better, that was right up his alley. At first, Sammy began to sneak up to the till, before remembering that… there was no point in sneaking. He straightened up sheepishly, passing right through the counter. What should he do? After freezing in indecision for a moment, Sammy knocked the milk jug, hard enough for some to splash onto the counter. Bethany spun and sighed, telling the customer to just give her a moment.

Laughing at Sammy’s antics, Nadia followed along behind him, no longer even pausing as she phased through the counter. This was going to be a problem if… when she got her body back. Because she was getting it back. She was. She smirked a bit as the milk spilled, and the frustration was clear enough on Bethany’s face that even a non-empath could see it. “Smooth, Sammy,” she told the younger ghost. As Bethany set back to work, Nadia managed to tug hard enough on the strings of the girl’s apron that it came undone, causing it to fly open and disrupt her work. Cursing and holding a cup in her hand, Bethany struggled to try and tie it with only one hand, failing spectacularly in the process. Nadia didn’t consider herself a cruel person, and she didn’t like causing people problems but this… was kind of funny, and there was a certain sense of satisfaction that came along with it. She smiled at Sammy, glad to be able to spend time with someone that understood.

“Hey! I’m impressed I even managed to move it at all.” Sammy protested, but it was with a lopsided grin on his face. A few weeks ago even that had been hard. For someone who had been so physical in life, always shaping things with his hands, he’d found doing the same thing as a ghost impossibly hard. It was easier when Nadia was around, like there was some secret trick for him to figure out just by watching and feeling her doing it. Bethany tied back the ribbons of her apron, and set about making the small coffee she’d just been requested. When she turned her back, Sammy jabbed at the large button until it clicked… and then it jammed. “Shit,” he whispered, watching the coffee begin to overflow.

“Honestly?” Nadia asked, offering the young man a small smile, “I’m pretty impressed, too. You’re getting a lot better.” They both were, though Nadia didn’t take nearly as much pleasure in it. Sure, it was nice to be able to move things, to be validated in her existence, but it was also… hard. The better she got at it, the more comfortable she was with being like this, the harder readjusting would come, if she ever got to that point. The more she thought about the exorcism, the more she learned about it reading over Regan’s shoulder, the more she wondered about her own survival. She’d already been exorcised from her own body. What if she was exorcised from this plane, too? What if the wrong soul was destroyed? She was jerked out of such melancholic thoughts by the sounds of machinery breaking and Sammy cursing. “Fuck,” she said, attempting to fix the button but jamming her arm into the machine instead, causing lights to blink and noises to go off. “Fuck.” Nadia looked at Sammy with wide, panicked eyes. “We should, uh, leave. We should go. Right now.”

“Oh shit,” Sammy breathed as Nadia made more sparks fly. “I didn’t mean to jam it,” he whispered urgently, as if the woman standing half through him might hear him. “I just wanted to make her overfill one drink.” His panic made a nearby light flicker, and, wide eyed, he hurried out of the store, until he was outside and all his jittery energy did was make the snow around him melt. He looked at Nadia once, twice, and then fell through the floor in nervous laughter. “She definitely noticed that,” he commented drolly. “You okay?”

“It’s all good. This is all good. It’s totally fine,” Nadia tried to reassure the younger ghost, but she followed him out the door all the same, leaving chaos in their wake as they went. Well, their little prank might have gone a bit overboard, but… it had been kind of fun. And they’d both proven that they were getting better with their ghostly abilities, for what that was worth. If Nadia did end up stuck like this, at least she was proving she wouldn’t be an invalid. “What? Nah, I don’t think she did,” she teased Sammy, a smirk on her face as he fell into the ground while she just barely hovered above. “On the bright side, I don’t think she’ll get fired for a bunch of random techno mishaps.” She moved to sit, legs pulled up and arms resting over her knees as snow fell through her. “I’m fine. Really. Thanks for this. It was,” she paused, laughing, “something.”

“No I think she’s fine. Just pissed off, which serves her right if what you’ve been saying is true.“ Sammy ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he remembered exactly why he shouldn’t do that. Even Dad, he could feel the texture of his injuries. Quickly dropping his hand he laughed again, smiling up at Nadia. “It really was,” Sammy agreed with a chuckle. A man in a bright burgundy work suit strolled through the two of them before going into the cafe. As the door swung open,Sammy heard the manager apologising to customers for the technical difficulties. “Come, let’s sit somewhere else,” he said, leveraging himself out of the ground and wandering aimlessly to look for a quieter area. Not knowing where one might be. “Blanche would’ve liked to see that, if she weren’t, you know.”

“Honestly, I think she’s deserves a bad day or two at work.” Nadia frowned at the coffee shop as the man walked through the door, but at least the mess was getting cleaned. Looking back at Sammy, she felt a bit of an ache, as close to pain as she could get like this, as she watched him struggle with his injuries. She didn’t anything discernable, just the same stained clothes and muddied boots she’d been wearing for months, and she knew that he didn’t hurt, but, God, it looked painful. But she got up and followed after Sammy, the two of them strolling through town companionably, no one paying them any mind because, well, why would they? They were just two ghosts. She looked over at him sadly. “I know she would have, but…” She didn’t know what to say. She hated seeing the younger girl like this, sad and heartbroken, especially when Nadia didn’t even have to be an empath to get it. She would have had to be blind to not see the way Blanche looked at Constance. Of course it was gonna end bad, but, hell, she wished it hadn’t been like that. “I don’t really know what to do to help, you know? She’s just-- Fuck, this just sucks.”

“It really fucking does,” Sammy agreed quietly. “I feel like I shouldn’t even be around her, because it’s a lot for her when we’re even nearby. I mean, Constance freaked me the fuck out, and she always felt like she was on the edge, like some kind of livewire, but she… she had her moments.” He couldn’t even say anything like I can’t believe she poltered, because he could believe it. Constance had always been… casually terrifying, but she’d also been nice at times. She looked like she belonged on a long stroll on an episode of Pride and Prejudice, but maybe also on the set of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, because of the many knives he imagined she’d have hiding in her stockings if her stockings had been… real. “I’ve always been a hugger, and now I can’t even offer Blanche that.”

“I know,” Nadia said. “i’m worried about her after all of this. I… tended to stay away from Constance.” She gave him a wry smile. “Real bad experiences with redheads, you know, especially ghosts.” The whole reason, she believed, that Cordelia had been able to get Nadia in her ghostly grasp was because Nadia kept thinking she was seeing someone that she wasn’t. “I was scared something like this would happen, but I’d hoped, I’d hoped, it wouldn’t, you know?” But she’d lived with Cordelia in her head for months, and she’d felt her poltergeist. When Sammy said that Constance felt like a livewire, he wasn’t joking, and Nadia knew all too well what happened to livewire ghosts. She wished it hadn’t come to this, though. Not for Blanche. She sighed. “Ghost, right? Good for pulling great pranks, not so much for comforting people. God, what I wouldn’t give to actually just be able to touch someone, something, right now.” She attempted to scuff her boot against the ground and only succeeded watching her foot disappear.

He matched her wry smile. “We talked a couple times, but her whole magic tree house, narnia way of speaking and my rambling and tiktok slang didn’t really match up all that well,” Sammy said ruefully. “I hoped… I think… I think Blanche was too optimistic. I’m not sure Constance would have ever moved on, you know? She had a pinterest of horrible ways to murder people. I just… didn’t think it would be this fast.” He rubbed the spot where his eyes might be. “I tried to warn her, before. Because even in the best outcome, Blanche would be alone. And…… this is the worst case situation.” Instinctively again, he reached for Nadia’s hand, but they could affect each other as much as they could affect anyone else in this world, which was to say, not at all. “But maybe you will soon, right?” He asked softly.

Laughing, Nadia said, “She did sound like a Jane Austen novel, didn’t she? Though, I gotta tell you, I’m still not sure what tiktok is.” But she was fond of Sammy’s ramblings and weird phrases. It was enjoyable, and it made her feel younger. It had been awhile since she’d felt, like, actually young. “She was but… I didn’t want to talk her out of it, and I know you didn’t want to talk her out of it. She felt so guilty about what happened with me and-- and Cordelia. Of course she didn’t want to see it happening to Constance, especially not Constance.” Hell, Nadia hadn’t wanted it to happen to Constance. She sighed. “I know you did. And this… I know. God, I fucking know.” She gave Sammy a sad smile, wishing that she could take the boy’s hand. She swallowed, tightly. “Yeah, soon.” She bit her lip, wishing she could feel it. “If-- If it goes well, I want you to still come see me, okay? I can see and hear ghosts, somewhat, in my body. And if it doesn’t… I’ll still be around, right?” She didn’t dare mention the third option: if they destroyed the wrong spirit, then she wouldn’t be around at all.

“Especially not Constance,” Sammy agreed. They turned the corner into one of the town’s smaller green squares. Not that it was very green. Snowfall had been reduced to lumps of brown slush by the drains, the grass had been trodden down to mud. “It’s shitty all around. Just got to wait for Blanche to figure out if she wants to talk with us, and do our best in the meantime.” His mood lifted when she explained that she’d still be able to see him. If everything worked. If it was possible to put her back in her body at all. All the unsaid ifs they’d avoided these past few months. “You can?” Sammy asked, embarrassed at the slightly pleased tone in his voice, a little too full of hope. He swallowed. “It’ll work. It has to work. You’re getting out all the big guns. And I’ll come see you afterwards.”

Nadia felt so much heavier, her boots sinking into the ground a bit more. “So fucking shitty. But you’re right. And, when she does, we be there for her, however we can.” She smiled at Sammy. “Of course. It’s not, like the best, and I’m a little out of practice.” She ran a hand through her hair, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t interact with a lot of ghosts, you know, before.” She leaned into him a bit, brushing their shoulders even if they couldn’t touch. “But that was before I met you and knew that ghosts could be cool. So of course I can. And of course I want you to come around.” She stopped, looking down before looking back up at up at him, her face serious. “It will. Of course it will. But… But if it doesn’t-- Make sure Blanche doesn’t blame herself? Is something goes-- she shouldn’t blame herself for anything that happens to me, okay?” She gave him a shaky smile. “But it’s gonna go great. I’m gonna see you as soon as it’s done.” It wasn’t going to go wrong. She had to believe that.

#where'd you ghost?#chatzy: sammy #wickedscontent #//just a lil ghostie feels after yesterday #mostly lighthearted and fun #immo is a blessing and a delight

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pastelpinkcheeks · 4 years ago

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Tolkien Secret Santa 2020!!!

Here’s my gift for the 2020 exchange! Happy holiday to y’all ( @officialtolkiensecretsanta ) and a fantastic New Year ! This was written for @stormwarnings uwu I hope you find it cute and funny and that there aren’t many typos on it... I am really bad with the typos. Anyways. Have fun!

Title: In which Thorin learns about Hobbit Christmas

Rating: G

Summary: Decorations up in mid-November, a pantry filled to the brim with food and declaring war on your cousin because of presents? It's the Christmas holiday at the Shire and Thorin wants to know all about it.

Read it under the cut or at AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287660

The hobbits had this thing called Christmas and Thorin was just discovering how much of a big deal it was. Oh, he wasn’t an ignorant old dwarf, thank you very much, he had some idea of what this Christmas holiday was supposed to be. There were feasts, and celebration, and presents, very similar to the dwarven traditions of Yuletide.

All in all, probably not that much of a big deal. Just harmless winter time fun!

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

It was the middle of November. Thorin was happily bouncing young Frodo on his knee and reading him a children’s story. Only five months since he decided to move into the Shire with his dear Bilbo and Frodo already adored him. The young man was nothing but a toddler, but Thorin was terribly blessed at how quickly he managed to charm Bilbo’s nephew. Young hobbits weren’t always fond of his rugged looks, and his beard was always raising suspicion around the Shire. Fortunately to him, Thorin was amazing at making different voices for the characters.

“…and then they lived happily ever after.” Thorin finished the book, making the three-year-old clap his little hands in a mismatched rhythm.

That was when Bilbo dropped a heavy box by his feet, startling both dwarf and hobbit. “Good, you’re done! Frodo, darling, guess what we’ll be doing today?!”

The young toddler stared at him with wide eyes. “Dunno?”

Bilbo smiled and opened the cardboard box. “We will be putting on the Christmas decorations!”

Frodo shrieked and hopped of Thorin’s knee, falling to the ground on his chubby knees and palms. He quicky raised back to his feet and dove inside the cardboard box, pawing at all the colored tinsel. Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“I thought your Yuletide celebration only happened in the end of December.”

“Yes, Thorin, but we start decorating earlier.” Bilbo said as a matter of fact.

“You start decorating in November, then?” He hummed, wondering why bother decorating before Christmas itself was knocking on their door. Wouldn’t they be tired of the decorations by the end of December, when the holiday was due to happen? He did not mention that, though, because both Frodo and Bilbo were happily scavenging inside the wooden box.

He ought to write that down. Get used to the Shire festivities!

And the Shire was boiling with celebration all over the place. Bilbo was consistently sending Thorin to the market to buy more and more food, and even though Thorin had no problem with eating a lot or stocking up food, their pantry was starting to cranky under the weight of all the stuffed hams, salted pork meat, gigantic pumpkins, pots and more pots of honey, a lot of bottles filled with red wine, dark ale and blonde beer. There were also huge blocks of hard cheese, and small blocks of blue cheese pilled on top of each other. Not to mention the vegetables, that, for all Thorin knew, would be stale by the second week of December.

“It’s just in case one of the in-laws drop by and we have to make a quick feast.” Bilbo ushered him off whenever Thorin complained.

“A feast is never quick, Bilbo.” Thorin frowned. In the paper Bilbo had just gave him, there was a small list of items to buy. “Why do we need an entire mutton?”

“Oh, I don’t know, why do we need it?” He placed his hands on his waist, tapping his overly large foot on the wooden floor. “Because it is Christmas!”

If the cranking pantry was worrying Thorin – Frodo can very much be standing under one of the wooden planks when they inevitably break down from the excessive weight! Have you considered that, Bilbo?! – he had not been prepared to deal with the market in the beginning of the third week of December. Not even the halls of Morgoth, during the first age, had been as crowded with mad creatures as that market. Thorin was blessed with height, otherwise he would have been swallowed by the crowd of fussy hobbits.

Patiently, Thorin stood by and waited. Everyone around him was yelling, leaning on the counters and trying to get their goodies first than the others. Fussy hobbits, Thorin thought with a frown. He could be the arsehole and use his louder, deeper voice that compared to theirs was like thunder, but he wanted so much to be a good lover to Bilbo, and he wanted to charm his family. He couldn’t be that guy who went to the market to yell at other people. He couldn’t be that guy.

So, he waited patiently in line and bought all the goodies Bilbo had beautifully written down on his note. Thorin always loved his calligraphy, how he added little dots on top of his letters that more looked like small crystals.

The other thing he learned was that entire feuds were held over not giving a gift to someone during the Christmas week. Not during Christmas day, no, not that. That was too late for hobbits standards. If you actually cared for friends and family, sending presents had to be done till the Christmas eve otherwise you were as good as declaring war on them.

And Bilbo was considering finally declaring war on his cousin, the dreadful Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“Is it worth it?” Thorin asked, fixing the golden tinsel that Frodo had ripped from the top of the entrance door. “What is it about the Christmas spirit again?”

“Oh, don’t you even start.” Bilbo tapped his feet. “Every holiday I give her something good. Something made of silver, or perhaps a new embroidered apron. And guess what? The damned woman will still try to abscond with my silverware.”

“Maybe…” Thorin touched his beard. “Maybe you should give her something extremely valuable. You should humble the woman until she is too ashamed and won’t even try to steal anything.”

“Or perhaps I should give her absolute garbage since she will inadvertently pick something else from this very house!”

And Thorin sat back on the armchair, watching as his lover fussed around the house, trying to select whatever piece of trash he could find lying around the house. Frodo appeared a few minutes later, his child-like voice asking what his uncle was looking for. Thorin bent down and picked him up, setting the young hobbit on his knee. “Your uncle is going on a personal vendetta against his cousin Lobelia.”

“What’s vendetta?” Frodo asked.

“Well… it’s when someone does something bad and you decide to do something bed to them as well.” Thorin frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t be teaching something like that to young Frodo, and shouldn’t be telling the young kid that his uncle was a mean little bastard when he wanted to. “Actually… why don’t we go wrap up the presents and leave your uncle to his own devices?”

Little Frodo happily nodded and followed Thorin to one of the many rooms inside Bag End. Thorin was sure Frodo had quickly forgotten all about ‘vendetta’ when later that week, during the Christmas, he quickly found out just how good the memory and understanding of a three-year-old could be. When Bilbo was, with an overtly sweet smile, delivering his neatly wrapped present to Lobelia, little Frodo asked:

“Is that the vendetta?” While pointing to the colorful present.

“The what?” Lobelia blanched, frowning at the kid.

Bilbo paled. “Now, where did you learn that word?! Little kids really have a fascinating way of learning, don’t they? Frodo, dear, come, let’s get you another cookie in reward for your excellent vocabulary.” Said Bilbo while hiding the present behind his back and taking Frodo by the hand.

“But what about my gift?!” Lobelia asked, still confused by Frodo’s words but greedily staring at where the package had disappeared.

She would, obviously, receive her package later. Not the collection of old toothpicks Bilbo had smugly wrapped up in a big box, but a bottle of old brandy he received from Lord Elrond himself. Next year, perhaps, he would fool Lobelia and give her what she deserved. But the important part about a vendetta was not letting the victim know about it!

Now… Bilbo asked himself while he quickly wrapped up the bottle, where did Frodo learn that word?! It didn’t take Bilbo two seconds to figure out where he learnt that, or, even better, whom he learned it from.

Despite Thorin going on and ruining Bilbo’s marvelous plan of fooling Lobelia without technically declaring Christmas war on her, he couldn’t stay mad at the big oaf of a dwarf he had brought into his home. Their first Christmas together, and Bilbo was immensely appreciative of how much Thorin was trying to learn Hobbit customs and blend in with Bilbo’s gigantic family and never-ending family drama. He already loved Frodo, which covered the essentials, but seeing Thorin learning some of the Shire Christmas carols really warmed up his heart.

And, boy, did he sing them in dwarven fashion, all low notes and rumbling voice?

It was nearly morning when Bag End was finally clear of family members. Frodo was asleep, had been asleep for hours now, and Bilbo was putting the trash out. Thorin was smoking outside, and the Sun was making the sky shine in different colours. It was now light enough to see without the aid of a lamp.

Bilbo sat down next to Thorin. “How was your first Christmas experience?”

Thorin let out the smoke and tapped the pipe down, removing the burnt leaves. “You hobbits take it very seriously. It was enjoyable.”

“Even after all the times I sent you to the market?”

“Even after the multiple lines I had to stand by.” Thorin nodded and smirked. “Now, were you consciously sending me away? I thought you were too busy that you weren’t even noticing that.”

Bilbo snickered. “I wanted to make sure we had everything in case anyone would drop by earlier than the Eve, but, in honesty… I like it. Having this domesticity between us, being able to send the mighty King of Erebor whenever I wish to buy, I don’t know, carrots and salted pork.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Thorin… this, this thing… it works, doesn’t it? Do you feel like it works? God, am I rambling? Sometimes I get overexcited.”

“It works.” Thorin said, making Bilbo shut up all at once. He leaned down to kiss Bilbo’s curls, the little braids he himself had put there. “I wasn’t sure I could trade rock and stone for sunny meadows and green hills, but it works.”

Bilbo stared at him. From the greying hair at his temples to the sharp tip of his nose. Wow, Bilbo thought, enamored, what a dwarf! He looked around for a second; in the next weeks the Shire would be snowy and wintery, but so far, it was only December. None of them were too fond of snow.

“Next year, maybe, we should go to Erebor. So you can teach me about your holidays.”

“It involves less fussing about unexpected relatives dropping by and more drinking competitions.” Thorin warned.

Bilbo’s nose twitched. “Then you better have some sugar and grease to help me with all that speculative drinking.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

#tss2020 #tolkien secret santa 2020 #bagginshield #the hobbit fanfic #my fanfics #my art #my writing

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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The Paths We Choose || Morgan & Blanche

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan has a request for Blanche as she helps ward off her and Deirdre’s home.

Blanche sped far too fast to Morgan and Deirdre’s house, practically peeling up the driveway. She could be nostalgic for all the times she and Morgan laid on the floor watch Kate Walsh save lives and deliver babies in heels - and hell, maybe they could even do more of that - after Blanche was done ghost proofing Morgan’s house so a probable-poltergeist didn’t try to stab anybody. She had yet to meet Constance, but Blanche was absolutely certain that she didn’t want the displeasure of the trouble. She hopped out of her jeep, slamming the car door as she struggled with her too heavy bag. “Morgan?” Blanche called, banging on the door. Her senses weren’t going off, so that was good. It meant that she wasn’t here - for now. “It’s Blanche. I have wards. And a lot of salt. And a lot of iron - but well, I guess iron was kind of stupid. Sorry.”

Morgan couldn’t keep still. She had already swept away the glass and changed the sheets, started on laundry, and excused her class for the day. But eventually, even with as quickly as she’d messaged Blanche, she ran out of things to do and was left standing in her kitchen, just as helpless as she’d been in the night. Fuck, she should have known. She should have trusted herself when she saw the woman at Lydia’s. She should have reached out to Blanche sooner, or called Rebecca, or done...anything but waltz stupidly down to sleep like everything would be fine just because she wanted them to be.

Blanche’s knock shook the door. Morgan darted to answer it, not even checking her hair or the haggardness in her face. Infinite stamina, my ass, she thought. If she could squeeze a whole fucking week without her world exploding out of White Crest it would be a miracle. “Oh, good, you’re here,” she said. “We need to ward up...everything. All the things. Every wall, drainpipe, the grass, the fence, I don’t even know what the range is on these things or how they do their thing, but if we have to burn them into the ground for it to stick, I’ll get a shovel, a wheelbarrow, torches, whatever!” It was only after her voice cracked, lacking enough oxygen to go on that Morgan realized how deranged she sounded and how much Blanche almost certainly did not need someone else to be falling apart in front of her. She stopped herself. Breathed. “Sorry. I’m a little...rattled, I guess. We can...um, I don’t know...settle in first. I have lemonade. The good stuff, not the watery crap I leave out for Urk. Do you wanna come inside, set some stuff down? Also, Deirdre won’t mind the iron under the circumstances, I don’t think, just don’t leave it where she’ll run into it on accident.” She beckoned Blanche inside. “And thank you, for coming over so fast.”

“Uh -” was Blanche’s intelligent response to Morgan, looking half crazed as she ran out of air. But then she kept talking. Blanche snapped her mouth shut, and shook her head as she followed Morgan inside. “I’m, uh, not too hungry. Thanks though.” Besides, taking a moment to drink lemonade while they had more important things to do seemed sort of foolish. Or maybe she was just a little freaked out about Constance still being around. Blanche would have thought that the stupid bitch would have fucked right off after impaling Morgan on a pole. Was that not enough for her? Blanche shook her head, swinging her backpack off her shoulders as she put it on the counter. She began taking everything out - first a long metal rod. “This is made of iron. It should be able to fit in a backpack or something. Keep it on you - one swing of this if she gets too close will cause her to dissipate for a few hours and give you a chance to run.” Blanche had considered giving Morgan her dagger than she had gotten from Nell, but decided that was perhaps not a good idea. Blanche started pulling out the ward slips. Rebecca had taught her how to make them, and now she had plenty on her at all times to keep ghosts out. “These need to go on inside of each of the perimeter walls around the house. That will make the barrier that ghost can’t cross. I’ll come check them every two days or so, just in case. That’s sorta over-kill, but just in case a disaster happens and one of them falls.

Morgan took the rod and hefted it gently. She had one similar, out of cold iron, but it hadn’t been anywhere near by when Constance had burst in. Maybe it was time to start leaving spares in different places. A ‘work’ iron weapon, a ‘car’ one, a ‘just in case all hell breaks loose while you’re at home’ one… She should have known better than to exhale and think she’d get to have anything. Even in death, a fucking shriveled up, numb, eternal living death, how dare she even try to be okay, be nearly happy. Morgan grimaced and took the iron rod, walking into the great room to stash it near the couch where she and Deirdre spent most of their time together. This was fucking ridiculous. A ghost. Some bloodthirsty bitch who didn’t even bother getting to know her long enough to get a good grudge going. Just once, once, Morgan wanted to show her what retribution really looked like.

“Great. We have a lot of walls to cover, so that’s something we can start with. Does it matter what we stick them with? I mean, I’ve got tape, sticky tack, push pins, you name it…” Morgan said, marching back into the kitchen for the junk drawer and knocking around for what she needed. She took out a handful of everything and held them out. “I know this is just step one in what is going to be a painfully, obnoxiously long process, but at least we’ll be able to, you know, rest easier. It’s not exactly going to be easy looking up how to give her what she deserves and knock her out of existence if I can’t even be safe in my own home.” She headed toward the outermost wall in the kitchen, gesturing for one of the ward slips. “I don’t really like dragging you or anyone else into my personal bullshit and I know you’re not an exorcist or anything, but, will you help me, Blanche?” She didn’t exactly know many other ghost watchers or ghost-be-goners. Not well, certainly.

Blanche pulled out a couple things of double sided tape. “These will work. I usually stick them behind things - like paintings or stuff to hide them. It prevents people from taking them down or people from asking too many questions. Feels a little national treasure-esque too.” Blanche was considering Morgan’s options in her head. Connor could get rid of Constance, assuming she was a poltergeist. She had to be by now, right? Even if she wasn’t, an exorcism might be enough to push her over the edge if she thought her unfinished business wasn't done - and from the sound of it, that was making sure Morgan was good and dead and wasn't going to come back.

“Well, as you said,” Blanche said as she started to lay the wards gently on they backs, sticking tape to the back of them for easy sticking purposes, “I'm not an exorcist. And I don't particularly have a need or want to become one.” And maybe that was selfish of her, but Blanche wasn't sure could physically handle it. She couldn't handle having to deal with souls that she was too late to properly help. “So I need to see her, and… uh… well, get a feel for her, I guess. Poltergeists and regular spirits feel different.” What a strange sentence, but she wasn't wrong. Neither felt particularly nice, but the feeling was different enough to help her tell the two apart. “And I can help if she isn't a poltergeist… as much as I can, at least. I don't think she’s really… uh, talkative. Otherwise you'll definitely need an exorcist.”

“No need to worry about anyone in this house taking things down.” Morgan said, taking a strip of tape and mounting the first slip. “You know, as long as it’s out of reach from the cats, which…” Morgan looked behind her at Anya, who glared at her suspiciously from the top of the couch. She had come around to claiming this house as her own, including the fridge, and anything else that had a flat surface. “Yeah, we’ll hide them.” She shimmied over to the fridge and stuck one behind it, then went to the wall by the back porch door and slipped another behind the clock. She smirked a little as she tucked the clock carefully back into place. They did look a little like they were hiding secret treasure clues. If only this was as fun and wholesome as all that, she might have actually been able to enjoy having Blanche around again.

As they moved onto the next room, Morgan asked, “What’s the difference in how they look? I mean, would I be able to tell, if I knew what to look for? She still seemed, you know, normal for being a ghost. Still looks like tall, evil, Laura Ingalls. Has all of her evil fingers and toes and creepy woo-woo ghost power. Still hates me for no reason. And--” Morgan let out a long sigh. She didn’t like the idea of dragging more people into this than she had to. Blanche was one thing. As much as Morgan hated to pile more on her, she had at least been in this almost at the start. But others? Some random exorcist off the road or Craigslist? “I could use any exorcist recommendations from you whether she’s gone polter or not. I want her gone, permanently. And I want her to pay for this, for everything. And that’s not going to be something I can call Becca back here for.”

“They look largely the same,” Blanche said apologetically. She was slipping a ward behind a painting. “The difference is more… ah…” She wasn’t sure how to describe it. “In the feeling. An itch, I guess. Like little needles pricking my skin whenever a ghost is around. They do it differently when a ghost is more powerful or when a ghost is on the verge of being a poltergeist or has completely turned onto a poltergeist.” She explained. Blanche didn’t think that Zombies, while they were able to see ghosts, could feel spirits like that. At least, Remmy had never mentioned being able to when Granny was around. But she didn’t get the chance to ask Morgan when she continued on. She wanted Constance to pay. “To pay?” Blanche had read something while researching with Connor. In one of the ancient looking scribe books - the kind where she sort of felt like she should be wearing gloves when she turned the pages - there was a mention of a to the pain ritual. They hadn’t paid much attention to it, it hadn’t been something Blanche was interested in. Why would she or Connor want to cause a spirit pain when getting rid of a poltergeist already destroyed them. For once, the information Blanche had was held on the tip of her tongue, and she didn’t know if she wanted to share it.

Rebecca’s words echoed in her head. She will never exist anywhere as Lauren Langley ever again. She felt sorrow for Kaden’s mother, even if she was a horrible person. Even if what she had done in life was horrible. The idea of having a soul being stripped away until they were nothing at all wasn’t something she liked to think about, and it was the reason Blanche wasn’t interested in learning how to do exorcisms. She couldn’t handle having to do that on a daily basis. There were souls much better than Lauren Langley who wouldn’t be able to stand being on this plane for too long that would turn, and Blanche wouldn’t be able to do it. Constance was likely a poltergeist, so the destruction of her soul was unavoidable. “How do you mean? Like... More than getting rid of her soul if she’s a poltergeist?”

Morgan didn’t make much of Blanche’s silence. She was still trying to rewire the part of herself that felt safe in this house, that remembered something other than the previous night. But nothing in the house looked right in spite of all her efforts to clean it. All she’d wanted was her own fucking life, with no one’s mistakes or bullshit floating over her but her own. If her own miserable death had given her anything good at all, it had at least ended her curse. But apparently that was just a pipe dream. There was no getting free of Constance’s shadow. Stars, it wasn’t like the past few months had been free of suffering for herself. Heck, aside from the dying part, you might say her normal, un-cursed friends had it worse. Her freedom hadn’t amounted to all that much in death’s shadow. All she had to show for it was her Wellbutrin and spinal fluid cocktail, an amethyst buried in the flowerbeds out back, and this house. This house that had once looked like a magazine spread to her that now marked the absurd, tender movements of her life with Deirdre. If either one of them had been a second slower last night, Constance would’ve taken it all away for good. And then what would there be? What would she crawl out of the hole inside herself for when she was too heavy and tired to be of use to any of her friends?

“I mean I want her gone, and I want to give her back as much of the pain as she’s given me over the past thirty-nine years. And a downpayment of what’s in store for me down the road. And, you know what, maybe some interest on how her bullshit probably fucked up my mother into becoming the nightmare she was to me. And hers, before that. I know there’s no equivalent exchange for that, but I’ll take whatever I can squeeze out of her on the way out. She’s not worth keeping around for chaotic shit’s and giggles, I don’t mean like a game or anything, I just...I need this from her, after everything that’s happened now.” Morgan cleared her throat and did her best to will away the gravity that had hung from her words and slumped her shoulders. This wasn’t the time to curl up on the floor and wish for some benevolent non-existence. This wasn’t the time to let Constance win, or even think she’d won. Morgan had to push through. “There’s gotta be something for that, right? Some exorcisms that hurt more than others? And is it really that different if she’s a poltergeist or not? Whatever state her spirit’s in, she still did this, all of this, to me.” Morgan gestured vaguely for emphasis and went to the next wall.

How was what Morgan wanted to do any different than what she did to August? Blanche was silent for a long time in thought. They hadn’t destroyed August’s soul. They had traded his life for Bea’s. August was free to go where he pleased in the afterlife, free to move on to Heaven or Hell or whatever existed on the other side. They hadn’t destroyed him completely - they could accomplish their goal without it. His murder was a means to an end. What was the end here? Was this more about revenge or being safe from something that was after her? And what made a monster? What was Constance’s true unfinished business? Blanche was having a hard time wrapping her head around it and her own hypocrisy. August was chosen as a sacrifice because he killed Bea. It was his fault she died, and in a way, it served as perfect revenge, even if Blanche viewed it as an inevitable sacrifice. It was Constance’s fault that Morgan had died, and it was clear her spirit wasn’t planning on her to come back. But what would it do? Morgan was already still here. They just needed to keep her safe. The exchange didn’t make sense to Blanche, and for a single moment, she thought about what her Granny would tell her to do. And as the words responsibility and gift echoed in her head with Granny’s voice, Blanche knew what the answer was.

Blanche swallowed hard, shifting on her feet as she glanced over at Morgan, almost guilty. “I… will help keep you safe, Morgan,” Blanche said, quietly. “But… I can’t do what you want me to be a part of. What you’re talking about… Destruction of her soul even if she’s a normal ghost isn’t… I can’t be a part of something like that. I can’t stop you.” But if she didn’t take action, wasn’t that as good as doing it herself? Blanche hadn’t done anything when she knew Erin was selling organs because Erin was her friend, and that ended poorly on all accountsShe couldn’t think like that, though. That wasn’t fair. Things weren’t that black and white and she knew that. She wouldn’t be friends with so many hunters if she didn’t know that. Blanche wasn’t responsible for her friends actions and it wasn’t her job to police them into following her exact ideals of what was right or wrong. “I can’t knowingly destroy a spirit that may not have to be destroyed. And I don’t want to torture her, either. I just want her gone, so she leaves you alone.”

Blanche’s words had a chilling tone of certainty that reminded Morgan of Rebecca and why she was determined not to reach out to her on any of this. For what felt like a long time, Morgan didn’t have any words. It was okay for Blanche to help facilitate human sacrifice, but not to get payback on a ghost that had died over a hundred years ago. Constance didn’t even have a body, and she had outstayed the invitation Morgan has extended by summoning her in the first place. Morgan tried to math out whether or not she had done something to Blanche to find herself on the outside of her alignment. They had so much in common, sometimes it was jarring when the girl said something Morgan couldn’t understand at once.

“I see.” She finally said, her attention fixed stubbornly on the wards. She picked up another slip and went to a new wall. “Are you going to tell me why?” She couldn’t help a bitter edge from creeping into her voice. This was what happened. This was what always happened to her: the moment she needed something desperately, something big, all that nice comfort and support she thought she had disappeared. But Blanche had seen her fair share of shit. It was probably better for her, in the long run, that she tap out of this. The last thing Morgan wanted was for Constance to set her sights on the girl. She wouldn’t know how to protect her, she could barely protect herself. Morgan cleared her throat, doing her best impression of Deirdre’s coping apathy. “It’s your business, obviously, but I would prefer it if you tell me. If it’s just because I haven’t earned something like that from you yet, or if you draw a distinction on revenge when it comes to killing humans or wrecking ghosts. Or something else.” She shrugged. “You can tell me.”

“Earned?” It was hard not to miss the bitter edge in Morgan’s voice. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her insides as her nails dug into the palm of her hand. Blanche was going to stand her ground. She did so much to help people, but she drew the line here. “Morgan, it’s not about what anyone has earned. It’s about the end result. What will torturing and destroying Constance do? I want to keep you safe and alive and here. Constance has to go, and there’s - it isn’t going to do anything. It’s more work, more research, more everything for something that’s awful.”

Blanche didn’t want to watch that. She turned her back on the resurrection for a reason, even if she had gotten a little too trigger happy with the taser when apprehending August. “I don’t get pleasure in torture or revenge or anything like that. What happened with Bea…” Blanche pressed her lips together, and she shook her head. “I did what I had to do. And I would do it again if we went back in time because it means she’d be here.” Morgan was still here. She had died, but Constance’s soul was not a needed price to pay for her to rise up again. “Doing this isn’t going to undo the pain or the hurt that she’s caused you and your family. It isn’t going to make things better. Nothing is going to be better after this.” Things were even arguably worse after the resurrection. But at least Bea was alive. Blanche wrapped her arms around herself. I’ll help keep you safe. I’ll help you find an exorcist that will do a regular exorcism. But I… It’s my job to help spirits. Not to torture them.”

Morgan grimaced as she went back from another slip and left the latest room to find a new one. She was bad at pretending like she didn’t care, and in all her months at White Crest, she’d gotten even worse at pretending like she wasn’t hurt when she was. “Fine,” she said shortly. It was one of those awful, hurtful things to say that didn’t actually tell anyone anything. Morgan stopped and turned and slouched against the wall, finally facing Blanche. “I mean-- I accept what you’re telling me. Obviously, not what I expected. I thought...I don’t know. Differently. But that’s on me.” Becca sure would be proud of you though, she said silently, looking at the difference between them now, Blanche full of her idea of fairness and conviction, Morgan fraying at the seams after two hard nights in a row and off to do some contraband ghost torture. Back when she was alive, she’d embraced her crybaby tendencies because no one else would cry for her, so why not. It made for a kind of narrative symmetry for revenge to be the same in death, at least where Blanche was concerned. But this was okay. She would be okay. “I don’t need to convert you to my perspective or coerce you into something. I don’t want that for you, or us. I uh…” She sniffled and reached inside herself to see if she had one of her smiles left. (She didn’t.) “I’ll take care of finding an exorcist for what I need. Just… if you can not get in the middle of this one way or another, and maybe...don’t tell Becca? Can that be okay, with where you stand on things? I won’t ask you for any more favors related to Constance now that I know how you feel. Just...I would appreciate it, if you wouldn’t do anything, or tell anyone to stop me. Because I need this, for me. She thinks she’s fate and justice, and she is the reason I grew up hating myself and the reason my mother was so broken inside she couldn’t...she’s the reason I died, Blanche. And if she wants to play bloody justice, then that is what I will give her as she is wiped from the earth. I need this.”

You thought wrong. Blanche wanted to say, but she knew that would just escalate things into a fight. That was the last thing she wanted. Honestly, it wasn’t what she expected either. Especially that sick feeling in her stomach that churned over and over again at the thought of torturing a spirit - even a bad one - til the point where they didn’t exist anymore. The hypocrisy was clear, and Blanche wondered if she was using the afterlife as an excuse. She didn’t even know what lay on the other side. No one did. Maybe she was using the tangibility as an excuse because she couldn’t put her money where her mouth was and actually do it again. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it again, even for Morgan. But Morgan was still here. Morgan was still here and her head was on straight and she could do this for herself. She had a body. Blanche could make sure she was safe, and if she didn’t want to do this, no one was going to force her. Grow a backbone, dear. You are not any less for not doing this. You are allowed to say no if you believe it’s wrong, no matter the reason. A voice, similar to Granny’s echoed in her head and she squared her shoulders as she picked up more warding slips. As for telling Becca… “I haven’t really talked to Becca since she left town,” Blanche admitted quietly, though she did hesitate…. But Blanche already knew she wouldn’t run to Rebecca, not for this. Then she really would be a hypocrite. Blanche shook her head. “Do what you have to do, Morgan. For yourself and only that. That’s… That’s all any of us can do.”

#wr blanche #wr chatzy #wr blanche chatzy #the paths we choose #wickedswriting

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writeyouin · 5 years ago

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yoyoyo, for Halloween request I would absolutely love to see IDW Megatron. Imagine if the human liaison explained and somehow convinced everyone to celebrate Halloween so now they’re having a huge party and liaison notices megatron isn’t there. They go to his quarters and try to coax him to come out but he doesn’t budge and it turns out with him admitting that he feels as if though he doesn’t belong there and liaison is comforting him. I just imagine it to be a very “intimate” interaction :D.

Megatron (IDW) X Reader - Removing the Mask

A/N – What I’m about to say will make sense later: I don’t think Megatron would own a mirror, putting more into his mind than his looks… Ravage on the other hand… He a kitty… Kitty needs mirror.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Slowly, you weaved your way through the throng at Swerve’s, careful to avoid the stomping pedes of the overcharged bots that towered over you. Despite your trouble manoeuvring through the crowd, you were delighted to see everyone getting into the Halloween spirit. When you suggested celebrating the holiday in the meeting with Rodimus, you never thought everybody would be so interested, but apparently any excuse to cut loose and party was good enough.

However, as happy as you were, you were also disappointed to find that Megatron was nowhere to be seen. Over the past few months, you had started understanding him more, visiting him for friendly chats rather than professional meetings, listening to his poetry recitals, leaving him small gifts of Earth literature; you had broken free of your role as his keeper, opting instead to be his friend.

The memory of your last conversation replayed in your head; a reminder that you might have crossed the line from friends into something more without his wanting to. ‘You should come to the Halloween party tonight. It might be fun.’

Megatron hadn’t even looked up from his report, replying with a despondent, ‘Nobody will want me there. I am hardly adored on this ship.’

‘You’re wrong. I mean, I want you there…If you want to come that is.’

At that, Megatron didn’t say anything more and you wondered if you’d overstepped your boundaries. Now, as you craned your neck to look up for him, you realised that you might have sounded a little desperate.

You wondered whether you ought to check the hallway for him, in case he was out there, worrying about entering the party alone. The opportunity didn’t arise however, as you were knocked down by an over-charged mech. You were sure he was about to crush you when he turned around to check what he had hit. His pede came crashing down, and you held your arms up instinctively, trying to shout over the noise of the bar to no avail. Before his foot could come down, you felt yourself being yanked into the air.

Rodimus set you down onto the bar with a cocky grin. You saw his lips moving, though you couldn’t hear what he said over the pounding lyrics of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller,’ which blasted loudly over the bar’s speakers.

“WHAT?!” You yelled.

Rodimus tried again.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

Rodimus frowned, his neck cables becoming taut as he yelled over the music, “I SAID IT WAS A COOL FRAGGIN’ SAVE!”

You gave an agreeable thumbs-up. Meanwhile, Rodimus commed Blaster through his internal feed, telling him to turn the music down so the two of you could have a normal conversation.

Finally, when he could hear himself think, Rodimus turned his attention back to you. “So, after that daring, debonair rescue, can I get you a drink?”

You grinned, “Do you even know what debonair means?”

“Not a clue.”

“Didn’t think so. Well, as much as I love those ‘debonair’ drink offers, I must decline. I’m looking for Megatron, you seen him?”

“That sour-puss? He’s probably moping in his hab-suite. Why do you need him anyway?”

You chewed your lip, thinking about your previous invitation to Megatron. Denying Rodimus the truth, you shook your head, “No reason.”

Rodimus stared intently at you, trying to figure you out. He was about to say something more, but was quickly cut short by the sight of Ultra Magnus entering the bar, a stern look on his face.

“Scrap,” Rodimus blanched. “Gotta run! Homework attack! You haven’t seen me!”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, not quite ready to say aloud the private thoughts you’d been having about Megatron. Thinking of Megatron again didn’t help, other than to make you feel even glummer. Would it be a burden on him if you visited? What if he really didn’t want to come to the party? You wanted to believe that he did but was too shy, however the fear of him hating your weird Earth traditions scared you, as if he might be rejecting you instead of the holiday.

“Be brave,” You told yourself. “If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.”

With that small boost of courage, you vaulted off the bar, taking one shaky step at a time to visit the mech who you ought to hate, yet were slowly growing to love.

Megatron stared forlornly at the blank datapad in front of him. He had hoped to escape the jubilations of Halloween in one of his works of poetry, yet no matter how much he tried, he could think of nothing to write. Even from his hab-suite, his wonderful world of words could not protect him from the faraway sound of music that furthered the ache in his spark.

‘(Y/N) is out there, probably having the time of their life without me,’ Megatron thought sadly. He was your job, and though he was sure you were only making your job less tedious by conversing with him on a personal level, he held out a small slither of hope that it might be because you liked him, at least a little bit.

He rested his helm in his servos, loathing that fragment of hope for existing. He should be content with what he already had, yet that infernal emotion kept coming back, daring to dream of more. Why wasn’t it enough to be merely accepted by you? He’d tried to eliminate your planet, yet he still had the gall to wish to hold your light near him, snuffing out the darkness of his past.

‘(S)he said (s)he wanted me there…What did that even mean? Was it just a polite invitation? It didn’t feel like that.’

Megatron leaned back in his chair, sighing. He was glad that Ravage wasn’t around to see him like this; it was a very sorry sight indeed. Fortunately, the ferocious feline had taken to napping in the vents and wasn’t likely to come back for a while.

“Megatron?” You called from outside, having failed to reach the door-pad to buzz yourself in.

Megatron sat up straight, the corner of his lips fighting between a smile and a frown, causing him to grimace oddly.

“Megatron, you in there?”

“Just one moment,” Megatron replied. He lowered himself to the floor where there was a mirror for Ravage to preen. Seeing himself on all fours made him feel ridiculous, but he had to make sure he looked all right. He hadn’t buffed his paint-job in a while, though he supposed he still looked acceptable, at the very least.

‘What am I doing?’ He reprimanded himself, getting up quickly and walking over to the door in a controlled manner.

He let you in, keeping his expression neutral while he tried to figure you out. You waved casually, taking a few steps inside. The door closed quietly behind you.

“Hey,” You said, hoping whatever was coming wouldn’t sound desperate. “I uh, wondered if you were alright… I kind of hoped to see you at the party.”

Megatron blinked long and hard, putting too much thought into your words. So, you did want him there, but was it a pity invite? If it wasn’t then why did you want to see him of all mechs? Did you just want to see him as a friend? Could he dare ask for more? It felt selfish to think of you as a friend at all, but whenever he looked at you, he felt the need to fight again. Only this time, instead of fighting to destroy, he would be fighting to create a relationship worth protecting.

“Megatron?”

Your voice brought Megatron out of his reverie. He opened his optics, his gaze gentle as it met yours, making you feel vulnerable, as if he was seeing something in you that you didn’t know existed. “I am sorry (Y/N),” Megatron said humbly, “but I cannot attend tonight’s festivities.”

“Oh…”

Megatron’s spark squeezed in his chest cavity at the crestfallen look that befell you.

“I um… Is it me? Did I push you?”

“What! No. Primus, no. The fault is entirely my own- I just-” Megatron sighed; how could he concisely convey the eons of hatred that followed him where he went. He knew he deserved it, but every time he left his hab-suite only to be met with a look of the purest contempt from everyone he passed, he was reminded of the many iniquities of his past that he had no way of making up for.

“(Y/N),” Megatron lamented, half-covering his face with his servo as he leant against the berth. “Why can’t you see how much they hate me? Why… Why don’t you hate me?”

“Do you really think so little of me that you think I wouldn’t understand?” You asked, surprising Megatron. “I get why they hate you. When we first met, I honestly wondered how we were going to work together because I hated you. You attacked my planet, my home, my way of life. Considering how long your war was, I get it; everyone hates you.”

Megatron knew he deserved the verbal beating, but hearing it from you was far worse than he ever fathomed; every word felt like a bullet to his very spark.

“But then I met you.” Megatron risked a peek at you, finding your gaze distant, lost in the void of memories. “I was so sure you wold be the same Cybertronian I saw on T.V. all fierce and proud and so full of hate… but you weren’t. From day one you were so eager to make up for all the things you’ve done. I bet you didn’t even realise it but it was almost like if you showed just this one tiny Earthling that you’d changed, maybe everyone else could see it too.”

Megatron hung his head low, embarrassed that he was so easy to read; he hoped nobody else was as perceptive as you.

“You know, on Earth we have this… well it’s not really a saying, more of an idea really. It’s that if you feel ashamed of your past, it makes you a better person than those who aren’t, because at least you want to change. Somebody who is truly bad doesn’t care about their actions or who they are.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, Halloween is a time for unmasking our ghosts and facing the skeletons in the closet… You shouldn’t force yourself to face your past alone. Everyone here has something they’re ashamed of, that’s why they don’t hate you as much as you think they do. I’d bet if you spent half as much time with them as you have with me, they might even like you.”

Megatron finally looked at you, your words reopening some old wounds inside him that would heal better thanks to your kindness. “(Y/N), I know what you say holds the truth, but I cannot go out there… not tonight.”

You nodded sadly, “I know. I saw it as soon as I came in here. Goodbye Megatron. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for on this ship of misfits. I know I did.”

As you turned to leave, Megatron reached out for you, “Wait!”

You inclined your head towards him, listening.

Although Megatron wanted to ask you what it was you had found during your time aboard the Lost Light, he couldn’t as another request came to mind. “I know it is selfish to ask on your holiday, but please… Stay with me tonight?”

“You sure you want me here?”

Megatron dropped to his knees before you, “I feel that maybe I could use some practice if I am to co-inhabit with the others of this ship. Will you ah-”

Your lip tilted at the corner and Megatron blushed. He had already admitted that he was being selfish, but if only you knew how selfish his processor desired to be. If he could keep you to himself for eternity he would; you were the only one to speak to him with full honesty. By admitting that you hated him once, yet had the room to grow, you had enchanted him; by telling the truth, you had accidentally made him realise that he loved you, though he hoped you would not unmask that side of him quite so easily.

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#megatron #megatron x reader #idw #the lost light #rodimus #ll #mtmte #more than meets the eye #idw transformers #transformers #reader #reader insert #maccadam #fanfiction #fanfic #removing the mask #holyfucksalt

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gagmebucky · 5 years ago

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24, 28 & 32 with charles blackwood, pretty please? and i loooove your blog so much!! also, i tried really hard to try and find the “before you request” page/link on your blog and couldn’t find it at all. so so sorry if i did something wrong ahh! 😩💗

you are SO polite and adorable! dw about it ❤️🥰 I got you 🥰❤️

“Behave.” // “I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.” // “If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.” (includes bodyguard!charles blackwood x princess!you, royalty au, violence in your defense, spanking, fingering, d/s dynamics, light bondage.)

do not repost.

—

“If you think because you’ll be queen, you speak to me that way—” Duke Eldridge is snarling at you. (or is it Eileen? Alfred? You don’t know. All you know is his nation is much smaller than yours.) His mature features are screwed up in red-faced, raging embarrassment, and his finger jabs out with the intention of shoving you backward.

Who knew pointing out an elder royal’s causal, insecurity-based sexism then making a joke about his overcompensating demeanor would have him seconds away from throttling you? Well, you did—it wasn’t necessarily your intention, but it was always a possibility.

It’s always a possibility, because you’ve done this many times before. But it’s like, being the princess, future queen, to kingdom powerful as yours that means you can go against these assholes in the way their people dream to.

Before the Duke’s index touches your chiffon clad shoulder, it’s being twisted around his back. A sickening CRACK! preluding his wimpish cries before combat boots swipe underneath his ankle that sprawls him across the ballroom floor.

The expanse had already been quieting at the confrontation, but now is effectively silent, grandiose gowns and tuxedos locked tensely on your personal guard’s wrath. A usually charming man, six feet tall with an equally intimidating mass, shifting in the physical embodiment of a tornado wrecking whatever’s in your path—and right now, he’s intent of ripping Duke Oldboy out of your way.

Charles sets a heavy, leather clad boot against his throat, blackened blue eyes narrowing. “Didn’t anyone inform you disrespecting the princess is cause for death?”

The other guards are clamoring in to make good on his word, hauling the now blanched royalty to meet his deathly fate. And, you use to try and convince him that such consequences are far too extreme, but it’s never been successful. Instead, your personal blackguard has you escorted out before you can lament your dissent.

Muttering under your breath, you don’t bother revolting, allowing two armed wards to bring you back to your suite. Truth be told, you’ve always hated the whole ostentatious party scene, and Duke whatshisface might deserve what your lifetime protector is furied to give him.

When Charles is finished, he promptly locates you. Barging into your suite without knocking as you preen in your vanity mirror, he’s splashed in blood, bow tie loose, jacket off with his white long sleeve rolled to his forearms. The anger emitting from his tightly coiled form is almost suffocating, the majority directed at you, apparent as his icy blues pierce you.

“Cosa ti ho detto, principessa?” The slow drawl of baritone Italian cuts through the air, the switch in language a calm indication of true lividity, deadly as he repeats, “What did I tell you, princess?”

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip, dithering between snarking back—because might as well—and accepting your fate. A bead of silence, and he narrows on you in silent demand. “Behave,” you finally say with a mild hissed quality. “You told me, comportarsi.”

“So you did hear me.” With a sardonic smile, a juxtaposition to the fire beneath the storming waters of his eyes, he presses forward, plucking a cloth off your vanity to clean blood from his split knuckles. “A simple fucking order to follow, correct? And yet—”

“It wasn’t my fault!” you suddenly blurt in a belated realization the former of the previous choices is best. “You can’t blame me. He was a dick to me first! Was I not suppose to relatitate?!”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” he explodes, slamming his hand on the wooden desk, almost shattering your mirror. “You were suppose to get me so I could handle it. How many times do I have to tell you that?! Princess, you know I don’t like to repeat—”

You stomp your foot like a petulant child despite being a grown woman, insisting your shifty innocence: “All I did was make a joke—”

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god—” he snarls with another dangerous step toward you, fists flexing at his sides.

“Or what?” you challenge, an infuriating smirk tilting. You’re the motherfucking princess; your own father doesn’t speak to you like that. “What are you gong to do, Charles? Spank me?”

The mocking prompt strikes him, first nonplussed by your blatant disrespect, processing it with parted lips. It evaporates instantly, a wicked curl of his redden lips, a considering gleam like white tips on waves in his eyes. Your stomach dips with his delighted, determined, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

His hand shoots out to yank you forward, stumbling you into his chest while he buries it in your hair. Ruining the updo, locks falling down your back, strands cupping your cheeks, he forces your gaze on his. “Take your gown off, princess,” he growls, watching defiance flicker in your expression. His grip tightens, a sting to your scalp that has you gasping. “Don’t make me rip it.”

Your hands are trembling underneath the heat rising in your center as you grasp his wrist. “You wouldn’t,” you whimper, but the look in his eyes tells you different. Now, you’re scrambling to peel it off, and he releases you to shakily unlace the tight then flowing fabric. It’s a gorgeous piece done by hand, a blended A-line with thin straps, tied at your waist.

Unknotted, it pools around your feet, leaving you indecent. In nothing but your undergarments, it’s most exposed a man has ever seen you—a fact attributed to him (not that you have a problem with).

Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lascivious orbs, a cold heat invoked solely by his gaze and not the low temperature of your bedroom. Your face flushed, his eyes roam covetously over your skin, pushed up cleavage to the line of your navel, down the tempting V of your thighs.

A soft sound erupts from the base of his throat as he nods to your covered flesh. “What’re you waiting for?” he growls. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You only said the gown,” you simper despite better judgement to simply obey.

Once again, you’ve astounded him and pissed him off all in one go. “You know the things I’m capable of, the things I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, and you still test me?”

You don’t back down, you should, but you don’t. “As if you’d done any of it if weren’t to protect me,” you snark matter of factly.

You’re right, and his eye twitches. “Bend over.”

“Make me.” You fold your arms and turn your back to him.

You can’t help it, truthfully. There’s an addicting rush to provoking a man like him—testing his thin patience because you’re the only who can without having a death wish.

He chuckles, low and humorless, and a shiver slithers down your spine. His hand wraps around your arm tightly, bringing his face beside yours. “You have three seconds to lay across my lap, or, instead of spanking your ass, I’ll shove my cock in it,” he utters calmly in your ear, syllables slow so the commitment to his threat sinks in.

Lightning jolts through your veins; a spike of arousal so powerful, it’s dizzying. Your breathing catches as you twist around to face him. The tension fizzles between you two, the unflinching demeanor, and your desire because of it.

“You can’t - you aren’t allowed—” you mean to speak strongly, but your voice cracks, vaguely a whimper. “You’re not suppose to say things like that to the princess.”

The hand around your arm unfurls, and he perches himself expectantly on the edge of your bed. Remaining aplomb, he merely looks at you, legs spread wide in anticipation of you. “One, two—”

Your body springs into action before your mind thinks to, draping your abdomen across his muscular thighs. There’s an echo of humiliation in baring yourself like this for him, a perverse pleasure in knowing this is a disgraceful act of princess to do—much less with the man who’s grown up alongside you in purpose of your safety. An irony there, too.

You squirm. Not your fault with an uncomfortable sensation itching at your skin in being in a position so foreign, both dynamically and physically.

Half balancing in a plank, your hands are pawing for stability on his thighs, legs shifting between finding footing flat on the ground and straightening. It’s a flail, subconsciously trying to irritate him like he’s done with you.

“Be still,” he orders but it’s just so awk—“That’s it!” he suddenly growls. Then the sharp riiiiiiiiiip of your brasserie fills the air, roughly tearing the elastic down the middle of your back and off your chest. In a similar fashion, he’s grabbing your wrists and lace immobilizes your arms just above your ass.

“C - Charles!” you whine when your vehement wiggling does nothing to budge the knot. It straddles the edge of painful and lax; a slight strain in your shoulders as a reminder it’s there yet blends uniquely with everything else you’re feeling.

“Unless you want me to gag you, I suggest you keep your pretty mouth shut,” he warns, a husky chuckle when you do just that, teeth worrying your bottom lip in replacement. “Don’t think being good now is gonna get you outta this ‘cause it’s been a long time coming, princess.”

His hand caresses your behind lightly, palming each cheek through the thin fabric of your underwear. Little noises catch in your throat, almost gasping beneath his touch, pushing to your toes in an effort to receive more.

“You’ve just got the best ass I’ve ever seen.” There’s a guttural factor to his rough praise, emphasized with his fingers kneading into your skin. “Wearing those tight skirts and dress, you were just begging for me to get my hands on them. The amount of times I had to stop myself from bending you over my knee like this.”

It’s debauched, but you want it—whatever it is. An ache throbs below like never before, and you’re helpless to soothe it, completely dependent upon him, like so many times before.

Your pinned hands clench, and you shake your head. “Charles,” you moan, beginning to wiggle, “you’re not allowed - you’re not suppose to treat the princess like—”

“If you were acting like a princess, I wouldn’t have to instill this lesson into you,” he hisses before wrenching your panties down your thighs, and you don’t get to question lesson because his palm is cracking down.

Calloused flesh on soft rings deafeningly within your bedroom, your loud cry mixed in as burning blossoms through your bottom. The pain drips low between your thighs, a confusing flash of satisfaction before disappearing with the wined back of his arm.

“Oh, God,” you warble, and you’re wriggling again, your head heavy over his thigh. “C - Charles…”

“You can do whatever you want, princess, but make no mistake, when it comes down to it, you will listen to me.” Charles twists your hair around his arm, enforcing an arch in your back to offset the sting in your scalp. It effectively stops any residual writhing, and it allows him to brace your hips firmer under his knee. You know you’re going to get it, so why are flooded in scathing eagernesss?

In a false sense, he’s rubbing over each cheek gently, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut in preparation. “You can do whatever you want, princess, but make no mistake, when it comes down to it, you will listen to me.” His voice washes over you like gravel. “And I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

The wind whistles as he draws back.

“When I say, don’t do something, you don’t fucking do it.” THWACK! “When I say behave, you will behave.” THWACK! “And if you don’t—” THWACK! “You won’t sit right for weeks.”

Each blow is centered between your respective asscheeks, an evenly toned bruise to span across in the morning. Your ass can light a candle with how hot it burns, sizzling with aftershocks as the cold air breezes past your aching flesh.

You jolted with every hit, whimpers escaping, but ultimately withstood the pain. Now, with the release of your hair, you’re panting incessantly, your cheek resting on his lap, lingering tremors down your back. To make matters worse, liquid lust is trickling down your thighs, tickling and uncomfortable.

“Do you understand me, princess?” Charles pauses then, THWACK! But this time, he’s angled lower, a smack on slick flesh. “Dimmi che mi capisci, principessa.”

“I - I understand,” you rasp.

He makes an approving hum. “Good.” His hand returns to you, massaging your stinging bottom, briefly rubbing his thumbs into the tender muscle. Then he moves lower, dipping his fingers over your folds teasingly. “Look what you’ve done,” he murmurs as his fingers move lower, brushing across your dripping folds. “You’re making a mess all over my pants. I have half a mind to make you lick it up.”

“S - sorry,” you immediately moan, careening back in hopes of relieving stimulation.

He chuckles. “S’okay,” he says. “The question is, should I oblige the princess? Already spoiled rotten. Giving in would only make it worse, right?”

As he speaks, you feel his eyes taking you in greedily: how unmistakably you glisten underneath the light, the darkened glow of your abused ass, the shake of your bound wrists. His fingertips are teasing, rough pads tracing your entrance then sinking down to encircle your engorged clit.

“Please, please.” You strain to look back at him, for him to see the sincere need in your eyes. “Charles, please. It hurts,” you whimper, and you aren’t referring to the spanking.

“Princesses aren’t suppose to beg,” he mocks. “But I do live to take care of you, so…”

His fingers finish the sentence, honing in on your nub, direct pressure beginning to swirl hot and steady circles.

“O - oh!” you gasp when the furnace in your belly suddenly roars to life.

Your tippy-toe footing fumbles, but he’s anachoring a hand curled around one of your thighs, fixing your stability while he plays.

Wrists tied, bent over his lap, all you can do is take it, moans and mewls, limited squirming. His touch is skilled, tactful compared to your otherwise virgin experience (again, his fault, although without complaints.)

Palming your sex, heel slotted between the heart shape of your ass, his arrowed fingertips are working with an ever increasing pace, sponsored by your excessive wetness.

“Prissy princess, I should’ve known you’d have the cutest little pussy. So soft, and wet for me,” he croons above you, not a slow in his ministrations, the pit in your stomach preparing to combust. “But I think it’d be even prettier after I’ve fucked it all abused.”

Your nails cut crescents into your palms, gasping as the dizzyingly sweet sensations swell. “Charles, oh, God,” you moan, eyes shutting while waves begin to crash.

“Is that what my filthy, little princess wants?” he continues, a ravenous note to the husky question. “Wanna match with this pretty spanked-red ass of yours? Fuck you so you’ll still feel the burn days later?”

“Charles—”

A cocoon of heat engulfs you snugly, blazing as convulsions involuntarily wrack your body, so strong you almost rip your ties off. For over several seconds, the most pleasurable sensation render you wild, only waning with the reluctant end of his caress.

Once he’s sure it’s died down, a few twitches as you go slack, you’re being maneuvered. A careful and gentle shift places you on your bed, laying you out in your belly because your ass still resounds with smarting pain. Your bra-turned-bind is pulled free, your arms instantly going underneath your face despite your wince at the sudden movement.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he says but you already know it. “I’m going to take care of you, princess.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#charles blackwood x you #charles blackwood x reader #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #WHEW this was long #but ykw would b cute? a companion piece where they’re trying to force you to marry someone who’s just downright awful #l and charles just ends him #completely going against the king who he’s *suppose* to be loyal to) then knocks up with his heir #so they have no choice but to stop w the arranged marriage #my writing

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hamliet · 5 years ago

Text

Your Fate Is Up to You

“I WILL CHANGE FATE I DON’T POSSESS. MY FATE IS UP TO ME AND NOT THE HEAVENS!”

So said Shi Wu Du right before he died. In doing so he directly stated TGCF’s existentialist themes on deciding your own fate.

On the most obvious level, within TGCF the roles of god, demon, human don’t dictate whether or not someone is a good or righteous person. I mean, the worst demonic calamity in Bai WuXiang and the head god Jun Wu are the same person.

To start with I might as well just state it outright that my thoughts on Jun Wu are probably a lot harsher than most of the fandom’s. That said the narrative definitely has empathy for him and his ending was perfect and objectively beautiful.

Like most of MXTX’s antagonists, Jun Wu is attempting to force empathy because he feels lonely. It’s the same motivation that drives Shen Jiu, Xue Yang, Jin GuangYao, He Xuan, Qi Rong even, etc, etc, etc. It’s also what drives many of our protagonists (Wei WuXian, Luo BingHe, Hua Cheng, etc.) Yet in the end, Jun Wu is not actually forcing people to empathize with him, but instead dragging them down with him, and he needs to realize this.

The scene where Mu Qing is poised to fall into the lava (a symbol of the hell that started it all) tells us:

Many small broken threads of flames were also singing Mu Qing’s robes, and the hilt was scorching hot, yet he still gripped on hard, afraid to let go, and afraid to look down.

If he was to let go then it was nothing but blazing flames and lava waiting for him down below. There was also the hungry wailing of countless spirits of the deceased, their cries resounding and echoing, as if they were calling for the one struggling, hanging on for dear life above to hurry and join them in companionship.

Jun Wu really just wants someone to hurry and join him in despair. But it’s also symbolic in showing the difference in Xie Lian, because instead of sacrificing parts of himself (aka his three friends: Hua Cheng, Feng Xin, and Mu Qing, plus Mei Nian Qing again), he’s determined to save them even though some might not necessarily deserve it. Feng Xin and Mu Qing haven’t treated him particularly well, but they’re a part of each other. Mu Qing is the part of Xie Lian that others tried to shame, the part of him willing to do whatever it took to accomplish his goals (usually saving people), the part of him that almost led him into becoming Bai WuXiang himself. Xie Lian needs to reconcile that part of him, the choices he made that were both good and bad in these traits, with his animus (Hua Cheng) and with his princely side in all its strengths and flaws too (Feng Xin).

Anyways, all that to say it’s fitting Mu Qing is the one dangling, about to be burned. Because especially after Jun Wu has taken so much from Xie Lian, it’d be fitting for him to deny that part of himself and any risk that he would be like Jun Wu. But he doesn’t do this, because he is similar in some sense, and because he knows it. And even if Mu Qing had sided with Jun Wu by then (and he hadn’t), Xie Lian decides to save him. It works with the theme of rebirth, in which the butterflies cannot fly over, but Xie Lian himself can because he’s strong enough to do it on his own:

Hua Cheng casually let loose a silver butterfly. That silver butterfly fluttered its wings, flying out for a few hundred feet, but before it reached even one third of the way to Mu Qing, it dissipated into silver smoke and vanished in the air.

Xie Lian knew that he was demonstrating that the wraith butterflies could not help; it was a dead end, not worth dying for.

Mu Qing also witnessed the vanishing process of that silver butterfly, his expression gradually turning into one of despair.

He understood. Right now, one, there was no one who had the ability to save him, second, no one believed him, and on the grounds of his triggering, there was no reason at all for Xie Lian to come pull him up at the risk of his own life.

But, while despairing, he still refused to yield, and he was unwilling to give up. Mu Qing gritted his teeth, shouting, “IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME THAT’S FINE TOO, BUT I WILL NEVER FALL THAT EASILY!”

(It’s also why during the final physical fight, MQ and FX are yet again dangling over a pit.) Xie Lian chooses to reconcile with himself, with his shadow self and with what he could have (and almost did) become, with the friends he’d driven away. In saving his loved ones, he saves himself.

Therefore, it’s fitting Jun Wu didn’t die. He could not make Xie Lian into anything close to what he became because of his choices. It tells Jun Wu that yes, Xie Lian and him are alike, but that doesn’t mean they’re destined to walk the same path. It was his choices that led him here. And because Xie Lian reconciled, there’s hope for him to reconcile with himself too.

His being forced to remain alive even after having done so much evil, and Mei Nian Qing choosing to stay with him as well, ultimately disproves Jun Wu’s cynical view of the world. It offers him another chance. Someone can always choose to do better, and he is left with MNQ who chose to do better just like he needs to.

He didn’t intend to get up at all, and Xie Lian asked, “Master, are you not coming?”

Head Priest shook his head, “I’ll keep his highness company. After all, in the past, I didn’t stay by his side.”

The rain was coming down harder, scouring Jun Wu’s resting face, washing away the life and blood flowing from his wounds.

As the rain washed, Xie Lian felt the three human faces on his face seemed to have gradually faded somewhat. Maybe it was his imagination.

After a moment of silence, Xie Lian took off the bamboo hat carried on his back, and tossed it from his hand, covering it over Jun Wu’s face.

Not only that, but there is a part of Xie Lian and a part of Jun Wu that are similar, that are good. And that’s the desire to save people and an understanding of hypocrisy. Though Jun Wu completely forsook the whole saving people thing for awhile, it’s not like his actions are entirely useless. The dichotomy between the righteousness of the gods and evils of demons has been completely ripped into shreds, and people on both sides have to make choices to make better.

Like, it’s pretty telling that the three gods we see who are the kindest and most benevolent are Shi Qing Xuan, whose brother cheated to get him an ascension, Xie Lian, who got kicked out twice, Yu Shi Huang, who was scorned by all during her life, and then also there’s Hua Cheng who outright refused to ascend. Everyone else who was expected to ascend and then did is a complete disaster. (Though again, Shi Wu Du outright gave us this existentialist theme with his last words: “I decide my fate!”)

Even among these disasters, we see improvements. Mu Qing is honest with Xie Lian about how he wanted to be his friend. Pei Ming tells a demon whom he wronged who has now stalked him for years to love herself, to do better, that she can choose to be better.

And among the demons, Hua Cheng saves the day with his love for Xie Lian. Qi Rong dies saving a human child, a callback to the same act that started all of this (when Xie Lian chose to save Hua Cheng instead of continuing a festival to the gods). And He Xuan helps save the gods he betrayed, in particular returning Shi Qing Xuan a reminder of who he is. He may not have earned his ascension, but he’s the one in the end protecting the people with spiritual powers, because he is strong enough even without his brother’s help. Instead of defining Shi Qing Xuan by who his brother is, He Xuan defines him by who Shi Qing Xuan is.

When he saw a “Hua Cheng” come by, he quickly called out, “CRIMSON RAIN SOUGHT FLOWER!!! You’ve finally come back! What the heck were you doing leaving for so long, have you thought of a way to connect with his highness? No no no you best think of a way to help me deal with the situation here first, do you see all those fiery rocks coming down from the sky? Think, fast! Blow a breath or make those endless little butterflies go up and chase them away or something, otherwise we’ll die....”

“Hua Cheng” didn’t speak a word, coldly allowing Shi Qing Xuan say that giant pile of words in one breath, and finally, as if he was growing impatient listening, he cut him off directly, “Deal with it yourself.”

Shi Qing Xuan exclaimed, “Deal with it myself? Don’t joke at a time like this, I’m not his highness, I can’t understand your jokes. How do I deal with those rocks on my own…” Before he finished his sentence, “Hua Cheng” seized his back collar, and yanked him out of the human array directly.

...Yet unexpectedly, after “Hua Cheng” had pulled him out he wasn’t done, and a hand came swinging, smacked him and sent him flying out.

...“It’s fine it’s fine, I didn’t die! He didn’t really hit me, he was just lending spiritual powers!” ...

Shi Qing Xuan examined his hands, then looked at his own body, emitting spiritual light from head to toe...

Just then, “Hua Cheng” flung his right hand, and tossed something at him. Without thinking, Shi Qing Xuan raised his hand to catch, but when he saw what it was he caught, his entire face blanched.

That object was the Wind Master fan!...

Shi Qing Xuan was clutching that dearly familiar fan, his neck stiff, and slowly turned to that “Hua Cheng”.“Hua Cheng” then repeated again coldly, “Deal with it yourself.”

He Xuan, someone who had no faith in justice or the gods or anyone, has faith in this one former god, now a beggar. And because of the return of his fan, because of who He Xuan is, Shi Qing Xuan remembers who he is and who he could be as a god, and saves people.

You only need one person to believe in you, to remind you that you can be better, in the end. For Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, for Shi Qing Xuan and He Xuan, for Gu Zi and Qi Rong, for Xuan Ji and Pei Ming, and even for Jun Wu and Mei Nian Qing.

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hotheadhero · 5 years ago

Text

Reconcile

“Perhaps you should go to the Goddess Tower and seek her council. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Yes, rumors abound about that place, but it’s also the most private place connected to your goddess here.”

Even as he stands before the entrance of the Goddess Tower with Celica’s advice still fresh on his mind, he can’t bring himself to climb those storied steps and seek divine counsel. For everyone else the tower represents joy, bears witness to fateful promises that will last a lifetime. He has nothing of the sort to make tonight; it would be something like heresy to climb up now. And so he remains at the foot of it, blankly staring up at its peak trying to listen for something he’s never sought out in his life before... and finding, to some distress, nothing at all.

Now, as ever, it would seem he has to muddle through things on his own.

For one normally so hyper, he stands almost statuesque, hand frozen in midair mere inches from the gilded knob. Minutes pass, hours, eons, before he heaves a sigh and, clenching fingers once into a fist, turns away. Exactly what he’d hoped to find here, he doesn’t know... It was stupid of him to even try. Perhaps he’d be better served hunting Linhardt down and apologizing tomorrow. It’s getting late, anyway. Neither of them should be up much longer; and coupling his friend’s general distaste for balls with his own epic (and public) outburst midway through one, chances were just as high the mage had already fled and turned in.

But of course, the goddess still loves her games and whiles. As he trudges back down the short flight of stairs across the cathedral bridge towards his dorm room, who should he find along the way but the very person he wanted most and could least avoid. He looks up precisely when Linhardt does. Their eyes meet. His composure breaks.

Seeing Linhardt again after what feels like ages tears a fresh hole into his psyche. He finds now that all he’s done tonight is delude himself, slap band-aids over his wounds without really assessing their depth. He’s never had any aptitude for healing his physical wounds; whatever made Caspar think he could handle his emotional ones any better? He’s run away from his problems as he always has, never confronting them unless forced; and how it shows when the matter involves someone he can’t run away from, his dear best friend, his fellow student and other half on this same goddess-forsaken campus! The injury is still there, fresh as if he’d torn it now rather than hours prior. It suffocates him, chokes out his power for speech. But speak he must! for he feels the weight of those incredulous accusing eyes on his, near withers under that ocean-ice gaze. Linhardt’s stare is almost frightening when not at their usual half-mast; it pins him like a vampire to the stake. How dare you renounce everything we had? those eyes demand. How dare you go and pretend as if all of this is normal?

“Linhardt, I—”

A wave of emotion crashes over him and drags him under with those two words, as if he’s opened a dam without first seeing how much water it held back. His perfectly rehearsed apology dies in his mouth. He wants to flee but finds himself rooted to drown under the weight of all their past memories. Acceptance. Laughter. Harmless exasperation at Linhardt’s many capricious antics; countless adventures with the other boy in tow. Innumerable times escaping Gilead’s wrath or even Lord Hevring’s. All underscored by an unshakable faith that no matter what he did, Linhardt would always have his back just as Caspar did his. Because they were best friends, brothers from another mother, and they’d never have to fight it out. Because theirs was an unbreakable bond… Up until the moment Linhardt broke it, and everything burned.

(Or was it he who had broken it from the start, and thus he who deserved all the blame? For hadn’t it been Linhardt who’d always had faith in him when even his brother and father did not? Who’d always helped him get back on his feet every time a fight or argument knocked him down? Who’d convinced him he had any shot at any of this when the whole of Enbarr seemed to believe otherwise?)

And he’s my friend besides. He would never lie to me without good reason… Right?

Words fail him as they never do; and Caspar is the first to divert his gaze. His eyes writhe with equal parts anger, guilt, and sorrow. He isn’t blind to the damage he’s done tonight, not at all. He simply doesn’t know how best to make amends.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Then when?

At least you still have the ability to talk to him now. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

(It is Lloyd’s words that finally rouse him to action, his spiritual older brother with the wise haggard eyes. He can’t allow himself to go the way of Linus, to see Linhardt or himself part ways forever without ever learning the truth.)

“… Why?” he manages at last. It’s a loaded question, far weightier than its one syllable deserves. Why did you lie to me? Why did you break our promise?

Why did you go and leave me behind?

Narrow fingers clench tighter in his palms ‘til they blanche. It's a pain and atonement far too small, he thinks. Pathetic, something hisses inside. Seething with thoughts unvoiced, you dig your own grave even deeper. Did you ever think you deserved such a friend? Dare you think you deserve any at all, after what you yourself did to your best and first most faithful friend?

“I don’t understand.” Not you, not myself. He addresses the air, not his friend’s face; his words drag forth from him, quiet and ragged for what he fears he’s about to hear. ”I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. Grow up, since I haven’t with you always close by. Isn’t that why you left the Eagles for the Deer? Because I’ve done something seriously wrong?”

How it hurts to admit that aloud; but that’s the only thing that can explain all this. Why else would Linhardt dodge his questions and accuse him like that when all he’d done was listen to what he thought he wanted? Ten long years they’ve been friends; he’d thought by now he knew Linhardt’s mind like the back of his hand. Clearly he was in the wrong—and if he’d been wrong about that, what else had he been wrong about? Had he ever really known Linhardt at all?

“I…” Caspar sighs. Head unmoving, his eyes flick up towards the other’s face; but this position makes the back of his eyes ache and so he forces himself to properly meet the mage’s eyes. ”I still don’t think you gave me an honest answer back there, so tell me now. Obviously you didn’t leave the ball early like all the other ones back in Enbarr, so why are you here? Come to tell me off? Go on; I can take it.” Yet his gaze slips sideways again. ”It’s probably nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Oh, but can he? His own words conjure up all manner of past demons – just as they had with Celica, but worse. A formless beast, bearing at times his brother’s face, at others his father’s, appears in his mind’s eye, sinister, venomous. Spiteful. Even Linhardt’s face appears there once, he thinks; and that possibility terrifies him. Julian was right, you know, it whispered, words sinking into his mind like the poisoned claws sinking deep to his bones. You weak, stupid, reckless, irrational cunt. Unworthy of the peerage, let alone of your family’s coveted title. You will never make anything of yourself other than an abject mess. To convince yourself otherwise is the highest of follies. Desist, now. Everyone will be happier with you out of the way.

“If everything you’ve ever done for me was from some misguided sense of pity, then stop. I’m not worth it. Maybe I’ve never been. Not like you.” (Goddess damn it, his hands are shaking; but he can bear it all; he must!) “Just tell it to me straight whether you want me to leave or stay, because whatever we’re not telling each other definitely isn’t helping.”

Honestly, even contemplating the possibility that he could lose his decade-long friend, could already have lost him with his own foolishness, pains him terribly, but maybe things would be better that way. Even if the closure he so desires is spit in his face like his brother’s slander (and Linhardt would be justified in such after what he’s starting to think was an unjustified rant), surely it will be enough to let him move on. Caspar’s sure he can bounce back; he always has… But it will be a damn sight harder without his old friend at his side.

(He’s still not looking at him. He’s too afraid to see what's surely there.)

@linhcrdt

#toaball2020 #thread: reconcile #linhcrdt #length readmore #// here we gooo <w<#// theme song: nier automata's weight of the world #// first drafts this 4-11 waits until now to post #// delays it for your finals but also constantly nitpicks it #// opening celica blurb drafted prior to its appearance in the relevant thread and preapproved by nat

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pink-jindallae · 5 years ago

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At the hospital / Part 1

[Nathaniel/Candy] full angst / heavy mention of panic attack Hospital scene from episode 16 completely rewritten. I'm so slooow to write ;-;

Words: 3464 Author note: Before starting this reading, I would like to highlight Candy's mental state of this episode. I personally felt a lack of investment as Nath's girlfriend. If he wasn't her LI, okay, sure. But as her boyfriend I don't agree. She saw him bleeding to death a few hours ago and she just leaves? Amber asking Candy to stay alone with Nath? Um, no? I'm not sorry to say that I have the fucking right to be with my boyfriend, as much as her. As a writer and as Nath stan, I couldn't let it pass. I got so much frustrated that I had to rewrite the entire hospital scene because first; I can. Second; Beemov cannot get me away from my man like that. LET ME STAY. And third: I LOVE the angst. Anyway, I hope you will enjoy the angst nonetheless ;)

Candy P.O.V.

Nathaniel has been awake for over an hour now. A little while ago, Kim and I were interrogated separately by the police about Nath's assault before they got to question him. Kim assured me soon after that she had repeated word for word Nath's version. As for me, I did the same with a robotic voice, too tired mentally and physically to pretend to be fine in front of the policemen. They didn't ask me too much questions, perhaps discerning my torment. Just after the police left, a nurse came to report on Nathaniel's state. We were relieved to hear his wound wasn't too deep and his organs were untouched. However, she also informed us that Nath had a head injury, so they had to keep him under observation until tomorrow to see how his condition is evolving. My face had blanched during her whole speech, but I didn't interrupt, unlike Amber who peppered her with so many queries. She acted like a lion mama, nearly throwing a tantrum in the hallway, thankfully Kim was there to calm her down. The nurse only concluded by saying we could now visit Nathaniel, although not for too long since he was still recovering and probably exhausted by his prior interrogation. To my surprise, Amber requested to stay alone with him for an unknown reason. I initially didn't agree, because even if she is his sister, I'm his freaking girlfriend and there was no fucking way I would leave like that! Not without seeing him safe and sound. Besides, how she asked rubs me the wrong way, like I wasn't that much important. I acknowledge she has a special bond with her brother, still, it wasn't a good reason enough to push me aside. I know she has changed and I don't rightfully hate her anymore, but God, I just wanted to punch her face at that moment. Hopefully she agreed to let me stay in the end, thanks to Kim who interjected in my favor. However, Amber still demanded to see him by herself first and to avoid another outburst in the hospital, I let her do as she pleased despite my own wish to come along. Only because I would be alone with Nath after as she promised not to be too long. When Amber left, Kim kindly offered to stick around with me a little longer, to which I refused. While I'm grateful for her concern, I needed to be by myself for a moment. Moreover, I would have felt bad to monopolize her presence just for my sake, because she too, was tired after such a night. She despised the hospital anyway, so, she went home to rest without insisting. And now I'm on my own in the waiting room for what felt like eternity. I can't remember how long I've been counting the minutes. The hand of the clock is turning, and yet, time seems to have frozen. It ticks with an annoying sound as if to emphasize the surrounding silence of death, reminding me again and again this disastrous evening. That deafening noise is taunting me, resounding a little louder as soon as I lose the thread, just to have the pleasure to grab all my attention while I'm waiting to see Nathaniel. I watch it with a rather confusing obsession despite my annoyance. I hate myself for that, I can't help but check the seconds spinning through the clock face. Because that noisy thing represents the heartbreaking absence of Nath by my side. Even if I know that on the other side of the wall, he's alive... Slumped on my chair, I bring my legs against my chest, my forehead glued to my knees. I need to see him so much ... "Are you all right, Miss?" I raise my head sharply. Another worried middle-aged nurse is looking at me and I can see pity through her clear eyes. What a sorry sight am I. "Y-yes." Great, my voice is shaking. "I ... I'm just waiting to see my boyfriend ..." "Oh ... is it the boy who arrived at the emergency room earlier?" I only nod, unable to speak at the recall of the events. The nurse sits next to me, her clipboard pad resting on her lap. "Your boyfriend is safe now, don't worry." she begins in a benevolent tone that irks me. "His relative is by his side right now, but you can rest for a while." The nurse's compassion touches me deeply, or maybe it's tiredness that speaks for me, because I feel my eyes sting a little bit as I'm about to cry any time soon. "I have to see him first." "This evening must have been very hard for you too, you have the right to rest. I'm sure he won't be angry if you come back later." She still insists. "I can't!" I nearly scream. "I need to see him!" Unable to contain myself anymore, I hunker down, squeezing my arms so hard that a red mark is blemishing my skin. I can't go home. Not now, not like that! Not seeing him drives me crazy! I'm exhausted ... my whole body is sore. "Would you like to call someone? Family, friends?" I shake my head, eyes closed. Her insistence begins to pester me. Why is everyone is completely disregarding my feelings? Amber, the nurse, even Nath. I'm that much insignificant not to have anything to say. My voice, no matter how I yell, is unheard and my opinion not even an option. Amber had already asked me if she could see him first, alone, and I meekly agreed to make her happy. And yet, I had to fight so I wouldn't be sent away, still muffled and saved by someone else. The nurse now pushes me to go home for the sake of resting regardless my desire to stay. And Nath… Damn, he didn't even wanted to see me at the gym. Kim said she called me because he agreed to, but with the way he acted, I doubt that. He was so stubborn, not listening to anything and facing my lack of power, Kim decided to call the ambulance against his will. During the ride to the hospital I have wondered; if she hadn't phoned me, I would have been unaware of Nathaniel's state since brother and sister like to keep secrets as if I wasn't part of their life. As if … I was nothing. "Just leave me. Go away." I coldly mumble, chasing those memories away. The nurse doesn't insist anymore and walk away after reminding me to contact the medical staff if I needed anything. Like hell I would. I feel many eyes on me nonetheless, kept under surveillance from afar. My mental state seems to worry them, but I don't care. All my thoughts are turned to one person. I decided to get up after her departure though, to freshen up a bit, the need to walk and think about something else motivating me to move. Specially to avoid their insistent stares, almost too heavy with judgment. When I see myself in the mirror, I quickly comprehend their dismay. It is anything but glorious ... My hair is disheveled, my eyes are swollen from crying and consequently, my mascara has heavily dripped on my cheeks. My white-like face doesn't really help to improve my condition. I look a fright ... The most impressive thing is my clothes stained with blood – his blood –. No wonder the nurses were concerned. I hurry to make a coarse bun in order to hold my hair in place, then rinse my face, erasing below the neon light all traces of this morbid night. I still look exhausted but at least I'm more presentable. Once I'm satisfied with my reflection, I go back to my seat. Meanwhile Amber has appeared in my line of sight, coming out of the elevator with a sullen expression. My heart skips a beat and I run to join her. "Amber!" She glances up at my panicked face and smiles weakly to reassure me as best she could, although it looks more like a grimace. "I was looking for you. You can go see him." "How is he?" I ask, worried about her peaky look. "The doctors told me he could go home soon. Luckily, he can talk and move despite his head trauma." Upon hearing the news, all the pressure on my shoulders evaporates bit by bit. I'm so relieved he is fine… "Did he ..." The blonde cuts me off, shaking her head in negative. He didn't reveal anything to her either. I sigh, depressed. Of course, he's not the type to vent so easily. Even her twin sister doesn't know everything about him. The few times we spoke indicates that Nathaniel didn't confide to her as much as she believes to. "I'm sorry for earlier…" she suddenly resumes, changing the subject. "… for insisting to see my brother alone. But please understand that I needed to talk to him. Nothing against you." I'm taken off guard by her sudden apologies. I really didn't expect it at all to be honest… "I… It's fine. I guess." I articulate, dumbfounded. She averts her eyes, probably feeling too guilty to look at me directly. "I may have overreacted." "You did. And to tell you the truth, it hurt me." I frankly blurt out. "So honest, as always. I like that about you." She lets out a small laugh and I smile in return. I'm glad she noticed her wrongdoing and asked for my forgiveness. She was as anxious as I was, so, I can understand in a sense. And to be fair, I'd probably request the same in her shoes if she wasn't her relative… "Thank you again for being there for him ... Thank you for everything. You saved his life." She sobs in a weak voice, taking my hands in hers. I lower my eyes at her statement, not sure to deserve gratitude. I didn't do anything. Kim saved Nathaniel while I was watching him, helpless. My conscience planting arrows in my heart keeps me quiet, not knowing what to answer. Amber's hand pulls me out of my thoughts by squeezing mine. She stares without saying anything, her message mute. I only notice now that her green eyes have lost their sparkle, filled with remorse too. "I'm going to his flat to bring some clothes and feed Blanche. I'll be back soon." she informs, gently releasing my hand. "Watch over him, please. He's waiting for you." I just agree in silence, the knot around my neck tightening slightly. I don't waste more time to watch her go and fly to the elevator. And damn the seconds feel like hours in the lift. I've waited so long to see Nath that I tremble like a leaf out of stress. My anxiety is only amplifying, trapped in this metallic box. The walls come off as an oppressive cage, shrinking around me. I feel like I'm suffocating ... It makes my mind runs wild, what I've striven to push back in my mind suddenly arises with brutality. My boyfriend is laying in a hospital bed after an attempted murder. The bloodcurdling realization I could have lost him forever tears me from inside. I remember too well watching him bleed to death. I can still smell the blood, see the light in his eyes weakening and his life being taken away slowly… I struggle in vain to hold back my suffering, but it's far beyond my strength. I can't help but dwell on the events, unable to think of anything but his twisted face of pain, the gaping wound and the pool of blood. It wasn't an accident. Someone tried to end his life. Stop! I must not panic. Do not panic! Nathaniel is fine, Nathaniel is fine ... I repeat these words like a mantra. Focusing on dominating my terror, I close my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply. My breath is shaking, but I keep taking deep breath to calm the frantic beat in my chest. My body is agitated with nervous spasms, I squeeze my hands hard to stop my tremors. Carefully ... slowly ... I'm breathing. At long last the elevator stops and after a soft "ding", slides open. The overwhelming gasp of air at the opening wakes me up from my horrifying trance, my lungs finally accepting some oxygen. After a gulp, I'm resolved to get out and stand right in front his room. I enter with a gentle push on the door which creaks faintly under the pressure of my fingers. What I see behind crushes my heart. Nathaniel seems to have fallen asleep, but his features are drawn, denoting extreme fatigue. His face is still a little pale, but slowly picks some colors up again. His left eye is slightly swollen, as are his knuckles. There was no doubt he tried to defend himself against his aggressors as much as he could. I pinched my lips so as not to break down again, shaken beyond word by his atypical vulnerability. I must be strong. I shed enough tears. At some point, I finally allow myself to approach with catlike stealth to avoid waking him up. My hand smooths his golden hair, brushing aside wet strands on his forehead. Softly … fearing of hurting him more. With the same care, I stroke his damaged hands in hope it would erase the marks of his fight. I wish I could take all of his pain… "You're here…" I jump, startled. Nathaniel is awake. He painfully opens his eyelids to gaze at me. I'd like to answer something, but on the verge of tears, words are strangled in my throat. "I'd have preferred to welcome you in some other way." he continues with a sheepish smile in an effort to relax the atmosphere. Except it provokes the opposite of the desired effect. He looks at me, his eyes filled with grief. His hand frees itself from mine to caress my cheek and I close my eyes to enjoy his touch full of tenderness. I barely notice him wiping a tear that has escaped against my will. And here I promised myself not to cry anymore. Damn it… "I ruined our date again." He feebly murmurs. "Forgive me." I shake my head, eyelids firmly closed. Other tears flood with me powerless to stop it. Nath remains silent, busy to dry all the sad pearls rolling on my skin. "Don't be ridiculous, you idiot ..." I end to whisper with a trembling voice. "We'll have other dates. I just want you to heal quickly." I swallow my tears somehow and finally open my eyes to offer him the best smile I could do. Nevertheless, he only observes me without saying anything, his look indecipherable. His eyes glint with a dark and melancholy glow, almost seeking to penetrate my thoughts. His face seems tortured, preoccupied, a frown on his forehead. A voice in my head hisses that pain is not the main cause. Anxiety, anger, guilt, maybe something else. I'm not sure what I can read. He carries my hand to his lips and kisses it with infinite love, contrasting with his painful expression. Nath, is there something you're not telling me? The rustling sound of sheets catches my attention all of sudden. My veiled eyes immediately fall on Nathaniel who's trying to get up, his face disfigured in pain. "Nath!" With an unsteady step, I try to lie him down but this obstinate man resists. "I just want to sit down, I'm tired of laying." He insists. "Don't be foolish, you have to rest! Imagine if your wound opens again!" I'm unsuccessfully trying to convince him, but he is too adamant and completely deaf to my protests. I shortly give up, helpless in front of his stubbornness, and put his cushion in a way he can lean on it without hurt. It takes him a few minutes to find the right position. "It doesn't hurt too much?" I ask as I sit on the mattress to get closer. "I'm fine ... I've experienced worse." Worse? What can be worse than being stabbed in the abdomen? Could it be related to the scar on his lips? To his father? My face runs out of blood just imagining it. Facing my frightened look, Nath takes my hand again squeezes it more firmly. "No wait! I mean ..." he resumes with difficulty. "... I'll be okay, you don't have to worry about that." "How could you ..." His thumb lays on my lower lip to keep me quiet, fondly brushing it. "I'm fine, okay? That's all you need to think about now." "But you nearly killed yourself, how could you expect me to stay calm after that? Nath, you could have died!" "What happened, happened. And I'm still alive." What the hell! I know he wants to be reassuring but he can't tell me that like that, as if it was something trivial! "Listen to me," He begins but I refuse to hear his nonsense. I drop and shake my head. The situation is so absurd, it makes me crazy! It's a nightmare. Breathing becomes difficult again, I feel like choking once more. Sensing my distress, Nath cups my face and forces me to look at him. "Listen to me!" He gives me time to calm myself before carrying on. I stare back with a look in which an unreasonable dread is reflected. I know I'm overreacting but … "You're afraid." I'm not. I'm terrified. "I understand, I really do. But look, I'm fine." He caresses my cheeks with lots affection and so much care to put me at peace, but I'm still shivering so much. However, my body is less stiff now, soothed by his voice. "I'm fine…" He calmly repeats again, insisting on this point until I stop shuddering. "All I need is my girlfriend by my side. This night has been painful enough for you and for me… We both need to rest. Just let me enjoy your company. Is it too much to ask?" I have to admit he's right. He is indeed fine. He survived and is certainly exhausted by his injury. I was so preoccupied by my own fear I forgot the most important; taking care of him. Ashamed, I lower my eyes. "I'm sorry…" "No don’t be, love." He murmurs, putting his forehead against mine. "I'm the one who should be. You deserve so much better than that." "Shut up." I sob. Our faces are so close, caressed by our breath, yet I feel so far away from him, an unbreakable wall between us. And I know… he is the one building it, pushing me away. Again. "Come." He simply finishes by opening his arms. He wants us to cuddle. "Your wound, it could open ..." I weakly protest, fighting against my own desire to snuggle against him. "My right side is fine." Nath persists. I don't want him to suffer ... My hesitation crumbles a little more when he softly pleads: "I need you in my arms ..." I don't want to start a quarrel, especially in these conditions. I'm too tired anyway. Besides, I'd lie if I said I don't want to be in his arms too ... Short of argument, I breathe: "Promise me to tell me if you're in pain." He simply nods, and I give up. With caution, I go around the right side of the bed where he's not injured. I'm careful not to lean too much upon him, my side propped against his cushion, but my head finds its way to the crook his neck. His right arm slides around my waist and presses me a little more against him despite my reluctance, yet I oppose no resistance. His soothing heartbeat under my palm relaxes me. He is still alive… Being in his arms drains all energies I had left, in other word, almost none. My eyes close when he brushes a warmth kiss full of comfort on the top of my head. I'm just so weak even though I should be the one who supports him. I can't help myself thinking I must do more than complaining and crying. He silences me when I word my thoughts and confesses that being here is more than enough. Actually, it is what he needs the most according to him so, I'm not arguing. After all, a nurse is coming soon to kick me out and I don't want to leave him with a pointless fight. Silence now surrounds us. Not a single word is shared anymore. We are just enjoying each other presence… … as if it would be the last time.

#mcl nathaniel #my candy love #amour sucre #mcl candy #mclul #my candy love university life #amour sucre campus life #Corazon de Melon #nathaniel x candy #nathaniel x lynn #angst #mention of panic attack

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theskyeandsea · 5 years ago

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When the Levee Breaks || Remmy & Skylar

Location: Remmy, Blanche, and Nora’s home, specifically Remmy’s room.

Notes: Just friends hanging out, having a chat, coming to terms with the incomprehensibly painful and overwhelming reality of their lives.

Trigger Warning: Depression cw, suicide/suicidal thoughts tw, chronic illness mentions, abuse mentions

Skylar’s bag thumped against her back as she walked up the steps to Remmy’s place, her skin inside it weighing heavily on her shoulders. Her hands shook as she made her way to the door, trembling as she stared at the door knocker. All of this, it was too much. She couldn’t-- this was a mistake. She shouldn’t be burdening Remmy with this. They were just… too nice, too kind, too giving for their own good. But, she couldn’t be alone right now. Not after everything she’d realized. Knocking on the door, she quickly stepped back and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Skylar hoped that Blanche didn’t open the door-- the last thing she wanted to do was bother another person with her problems. Hoping that her eyes didn’t look to puffy from all the crying she’d done, Skylar steadied her nerves as best she could when the door swung open. “Hi… I’m really sorry for bothering you so late.” She mumbled.

Even over the internet, Remmy could tell something big was wrong. Skylar had messaged them and the words alone had worried Remmy. And even though it would take Skylar a bit to get there, they had been waiting down by the front door the minute she’d said she was on the way. Remmy had already been through something like this with Morgan, and this time, they weren’t going to let their own feelings get in the way. Besides, they’d taken that reprieve once, and that was enough. Cry and leave it, as Lancer had always said. The second there was a knock on the door, Remmy was leaping across the foyer to pull the door open. “What? No! No, it’s totally fine! You’re not bothering me at all, I promise!” They ushered Skylar inside, the entryway already clear of loose snakes. Moose was laying by the stairs and lifted his head when he saw Skylar coming in. “I told you, anytime, I’m here for you. I don’t sleep so,” they shrugged, shut the door behind her. “Do you um, want anything? Tea? Water? Apple juice? I think we have apple juice, I bought some for Blanche when she was sick.”

When Remmy opened the door, Skylar could feel the tears start to well up in the corners of her eyes. Just looking at them-- she hadn’t seen them since that awful night at the beach, when she’d seen them get… stabbed by a lobster claw. And, even though they had reassured her that they were okay, that it was fine, she hadn’t been able to shake her worries. What if something happened? What if they weren’t as indestructible as they thought? But, here they were. Safe. And whole and fine. Everything was fine. Except that it wasn’t. Blinking away the tears, Skylar’s hands fidgeted at her side and she shook her head. She couldn’t… She didn’t want to speak right now. There was just too much going on in her mind. Too many emotions. Holding her hand up, Skylar got Remmy’s attention and signed, “I don’t need anything to drink right now. Is there somewhere we can be alone?” She asked, not meeting Remmy’s gaze as she signed. It was too much. All of this was too much. She couldn’t do this.

Oh, shit. Remmy should’ve thought of that. “Right, sorry,” they signed back. “We can go to my room.” They’d chosen more secluded rooms from each other, mostly for privacy, but also because the house had twelve of them. Remmy took Skylar’s hand gently and led her up the stairs to their room, giving Moose a pat and pointing him off to his own room. He slumped a little as he walked away, but Remmy wasn’t sure he was the most comforting to Skylar. They shut the door behind them and turned back to face Skylar. “Uh, sorry it’s pretty empty,” they signed again, “we can sit on the bed or the chairs.” The two plastic chairs from Remmy’s old dining table were in the corner of the room, but they weren’t exactly...the most inviting. “Beds more comfortable.”

Skylar trailed behind Remmy, letting them guide her through the house without a word. Most times, she would be incredibly uncomfortable letting someone else take her hand. They were how she communicated with the world for most of her life. But, she just… she couldn’t deal right now. There was too much pain, too much sadness, too much of the harsh reality bearing down on her shoulders, weighing her down. When Remmy led her to their room, she sank down onto the bed, too drained to think of anything else. She slipped the backpack from her shoulders and gently removed the skin, unfolding it so it draped over her legs like a blanket. Staring at the pelt for a moment, she looked up at Remmy before clearing her throat, “Ricky was right.”

Remmy felt immediately bad for the thought, but they were so glad to see Skylar had her pelt and that she was holding it so delicately. Had she changed on her own? Remmy came over, cautiously, kneeling on the floor in front of her, before sitting. Ricky was right. Remmy’s eyes fell. Of course he was, because denying who you were wasn’t going to help anything. But they couldn’t say that. They knew Skylar was hurting, because not accepting she was a selkie was about more than just not understanding the world of magic and monsters. Remmy shifted slightly. “I’m sorry,” they murmured, held out their hand as an offer. If Skylar wanted to take it, she would. If not, that was okay, too. “I...I know that’s hard for you to admit. I know it’s because of…” they looked down at the pelt. “We can talk, or we can just sit here. Whatever...whatever you need, I’m here.”

Shifting her gaze to the pelt on her lap, Skylar trailed her fingers across the fur. It was comforting, it was so… comforting, to have it here. Just touching it made her feel better, made the sadness wane, just a little. But, now she knew why it felt so familiar and right. Because it had always been with her. It had always been a part of who she was. “It’s not that he was right about me being a selkie. He’s always been right about that. He was right about,” Skylar swallowed thickly through the lump that had formed in her throat. Seeing Remmy’s offered hand, she clung to it, grasping them tightly, so tightly. Like they were a lifeboat and she was adrift, drowning in an ocean of deep and cutting truth. “My parents… aren’t good people. They were never good people. And I was too stupid to see that.” As she spoke, a droplet of water fell from her eyes, splattering against the fur of her pelt and rolling off the side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being mad at you, Rem. This was all my fault.”

Remmy just held onto Skylar when she grasped them, wrapping their arms around her. That familiar embrace, just like how they gathered Morgan up into their arms. Skylar was bigger than Morgan, but she still fit fine in their arms. “I’m sorry,” they muttered, “I...you’re not stupid, Skylar, and none of this is your fault. They were...your parents. You were supposed to be able to trust them. That’s not on you,” they said, shaking their head, “that’s never on you. And I know-- I know that doesn’t help the pain, but it’s the truth.” They sat back again, holding Skylar at arm’s length. “Hey, don’t-- don’t apologize. It’s okay. You-- you were allowed to be mad. What I did was...I know it hurt you, and we shouldn’t have forced you, I just…” they reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

Leaning into the embrace, Skylar began to sob, the tears streaming down her face in full force. She burrowed her head into their shoulder and wrapped her arms around Remmy, hugging them tightly. Her body shook as she continued to cry, unable to form words as she sat there, absolutely emotionally drained. Her parents had done nothing for her. They’d hurt her, actively withheld the one thing that could make her better, and then forced her to turn when she’d been too weak and too delirious to even remember, let alone ask why. Eventually, her sobbing subsided and she was able to form words again. Mumbling quietly into Remmy’s shoulder, Skylar took in a shuddering breath. “Th-they let me suffer. They, they knew how to really help me and they never told me. They waited until I was too tired and in too much pain to do anything, and forced me to turn.” Sucking in a deep breath, she shook her head, “They did this my whole life. When I left home, they didn’t say anything. They would have been just fine if I had died.”

Remmy just held Skylar. They knew no words were going to make something like this right. Her words struck something deep inside of Remmy’s chest, inside of their memories. Hands tightening ever so slightly around her, as if the stronger the grip, the more they could protect her from all the horrible things her parents had done. Remmy’s head dipped and they placed their cheek on the top of Skylar’s head. “I’m so sorry, Skye,” they said, holding back the bite in their voice, “I’m so sorry they did that to you. But you...you know you have people here who wouldn’t be fine if you died. You have people here who...who love you. Who care about you so much.” That’s what had gotten Remmy through the pain of a lost mother and an abusive father. Knowing that other people cared. They slumped a little. “I’m so sorry. I wish they’d told you. You don’t deserve this.”

Resting her head against Remmy, Skylar just sat there for a long moment, letting the silence stretch on. The pelt was still draped against her legs but, even though she’d turned and even though it was here, a deep and profound weight had settled in the pit of her stomach. Dimly she was aware that, for one of the first times in her life, it wasn’t because of her biology. This was just true sadness and grief. Grief over the life and the family she’d lost. “I called my mom.” Skylar said. “She didn’t say anything. She just… told me to never call again. And that was it.” Swallowing, she pulled back slightly, eyes puffy and red as she looked at Remmy. “I know you care about me. And Winston. And Shiloh. I just,” Fresh tears began to spring to her eyes and she did her best to hold them in. “I pushed Ricky away so many times. I was so angry at him, Remmy. And now I don’t think he’s going to want anything to do with me any more.”

Remmy’s chest felt tight again, as they looked at Skylar and felt as if they could feel the weight of her pain, just from the way she held herself, and how small her voice had become. “I…” Remmy didn’t know what Skylar and Ricky had talked about or what had been said, but Remmy knew Ricky. “I think he might need time, but he’s-- Ricky doesn’t hate you, Skye. He might be hurt, but you were hurt, too. He...understands that. He was just as worried about you as I was.” They paused. The parents subject was...harder to breech. Remmy didn’t know how to handle that, entirely. They only had their own experience to pull from. “When, um-- when I first left for the military, my dad looked me straight in the eyes and said he was glad I was leaving. That I shouldn’t come back unless it was in a body bag. With a check.” Their brow furrowed. “What uh-- what I’m trying to say is, sometimes people...they’re supposed to mean something to you, but they don’t. And it hurts, I know it hurts, but it’s...it gets better eventually. I promise.”

Skylar blinked back the tears, forcing herself to compose herself, just a little. She’d been crying for what felt like hours and even though all of this hurt, she didn’t want Remmy to see her cry any more. They had gone through far worse than she had-- they’d… died. They had died. Her own experiences paled in comparison. But, here they were, still trying to help her. Humming at their words, she rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She would have to figure out how to talk to Ricky on her own, that wasn’t Remmy’s burden to bear. They’d already done so much. She would figure it out on her own. When she heard Remmy’s open up about their own parents, her heart broke a little for them. “He… he really said that to you? Remmy. I-- I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” She said, shaking her head. Her parents might have intended the same thing, but they’d never said it.

Remmy’s face contorted for a moment. “What? No, I-- I didn’t-- I didn’t tell you cause I wanted-- I just meant like…” They shook their head. “It’s fine. I just wanted you to know that it...it gets better. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. This is about-- I just want to help you. I know it’s gonna take more than just...you know, one talk, but I-- I’m glad you called me. That you came.” Because the truth was, Remmy hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight, either. Something was digging at their insides and they couldn’t outrun it anymore. They dropped their arms, still keeping their hands on Skylar’s arms, looking down. “What, what do you need? From me? I’m here for anything. Even if you just wanna cry more, that’s totally okay. I’m good for that. I don’t get tired so I can just...sit here with you.”

Shaking her head, Skylar wiped her eyes again, brushing away the tears. “No. It’s okay, I want-- I want to hear about it. Because, you’re helping me get through this and listening to me and supporting me and I, I wanna be there for you too. I’m sorry your dad was… an awful human being.” She said. How could anyone say something… so hateful and just cruel to someone as kind and sweet and good as Remmy? And their own father? Mulling over Remmy’s words, Skylar nodded slowly. She didn’t want to cry over herself anymore. Right now, she just wanted to do something to ease the sadness that threatened to push her over the edge. And the one way she’d always fixed that was simple enough. “Can we just… talk? Maybe not about me, or at least, not just about my stuff,” She let out a shaky sigh, “Are you… are you okay?”

“It-- it’s fine, he doesn’t matter anymore. He hasn’t for a long time,” Remmy said hurriedly, as if trying to sweep the subject away. “So it’s fine.” They scooted onto the mattress and ushered Skylar to follow them so that they could lean up against the walls, still facing each other, caddy corner. “Talk? Yeah, we can talk. I can do that. About what? Um-- I saw this really bad movie the other night. I forget it was called um...Killer Klowns From Outer Space?” They pressed their lips together, hoping Skylar didn’t notice them glaze over her question. They didn’t feel like doing this again. They didn’t need to break down on another person who didn’t need their sob story right now. Remmy was fine. Perfectly fine.

Shifting to follow Remmy so they sat facing each other, Skylar pulled the seal skin tight around her, fingers playing with the soft pelt. As Remmy tried to change the subject, she could see the pull in their lips, the change in their posture-- there was more to it. And, when they didn’t outright answer her question, it made her concern grow. She swallowed thickly, before reaching out to hold their hand. Like most people’s, their hand was cold to the touch, but unlike everyone else, Skylar knew why. They weren’t… fully alive. They were a zombie. And, as hard as learning that she was a seal was for her, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what Remmy was going through. “Remmy. Do you remember what I said? You said I can talk to you about anything, and it’s a two way street. How are you feeling?”

Remmy looked down when Skylar took their hand, their fingers loose in her grip. They didn’t move away, but they didn’t move to hold hers, either. “I remember,” they said, looking away. Knees curled up to their chest and they wrapped their free arm around their legs. “But I don’t need to talk. I’m fine,” they said, trying their best to look over at Skylar, but something in them made that almost impossible right now. Like a quiet shame, or a deep hurt that wasn’t ready to come out yet. “I talked to Morgan the other night, anyway. About...some stuff. Sort of. I mean, we talked. So it’s fine now. I just have to...wait and it’ll go away.”

Watching the way they kind of curled in on themselves, Skylar chewed the inside of her cheek, her fingers toying with the edge of the pelt. As much as they protested, she could tell that there was more under the surface. There was so much more that they weren’t saying with their words, but they screamed with their body language. Everything about Remmy, the pose, the way they weren’t looking at her… All Skylar wanted to do was help them. “Okay. Do you remember when I said that I’d just have to wait through something and it would go away?” Skylar asked. Without waiting for Remmy’s response, she continued, “And do you remember what happened?” Squeezing their hand tightly in hers, she looked at them directly, wishing they would look her in the eyes. “Please, Remmy. Talk to me.”

Skylar’s hands squeezed Remmy’s and it was just a reminder of how little they could feel. A dead hand, like a glove in warm water, longing to feel it, but never able to. Remmy’s hand jerked slightly. They looked over at Skylar, saw the worry on her face, the pain they were causing her and felt something lurch into their throat, like a stone sticking there. Blinked and looked away again. Something burning in their eyes. “That’s not-- that was different. You were sick and hurt and dying. I’m not--” they bit their tongue as something like a sob tried to pry its way out of their mouth, “-- I’m not sick. I can’t even get sick anymore. I’m just...this. Dead. Forever. Did you know I’m going to live forever if something doesn’t kill me? I don’t wanna live forever. Not like this. Not with these memories.” Suddenly, they couldn’t stop the words. Or the tears. “I should’ve died with them, Skylar. Why didn’t I just stay dead with them?”

When Remmy looked up at her, Skylar almost wished they hadn’t. The pain, the pain was so clear on their face. Even if they tried to pretend it didn’t exist, that they would be fine, she could see it as plain as day. There was just… so much hurt. And as they struggled to verbalize their feelings, Skylar wished there was something she could do. Anything she could do to help them. But, how could she possibly help someone who had to… live with the knowledge that they were dead, that they should be dead, that they shouldn’t even exist? As tears rolled down Remmy’s face, Skylar scooted closer to hug Remmy the way they’d held her, resting her chin on their shoulder and holding them close. “I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to your questions and I wish-- I wish that I did. I wish that I could tell you why this happened to you.” Skylar swallowed. She didn’t know who Remmy meant by “them” but she couldn’t imagine it was good. “But, you’re alive now. And I can’t lose you, Rem. There are people here who love you, so so much. We would have never known you and now that we do… We can’t lose you.”

Remmy’s whole body shook, screaming at them to keep it inside, to not let anymore out. But their heart ached and felt heavy like lead. And their head swirled, and felt like they were falling. Skylar’s body was warm pressed against them and the action made them crumple, completely, arms wrapping around Skylar, as they sobbed. So suddenly, so painfully. “I don’t wanna be here,” they sobbed, fingers curling into her shirt. “I don’t wanna be this. Everyone keeps telling me I’m not a monster, but I still feel like one. I want to go back, I want to go back and not wake up and not come here. I never got to say good-bye. Why me? Why did I have to wake up? I didn’t want to wake up. I don’t want to be alive.”

As Remmy collapsed into her, their hands gripping tightly onto her, Skylar did her best to bite back the tears that were welling up again. She couldn’t cry, she wouldn’t cry, she had to be strong. She had to be strong, even though it hurt so much to see how badly they were hurting. And it hurt even more to realize that they’d been hurting for so long. She’d been so wrapped up in her own… issues, that she hadn’t even seen how badly this hurt Remmy. And how could it not? They’d died. They’d been a normal human their whole life and now, they weren’t. And they never would be. “I’ve got you. Shhhh, I’ve got you.” Skylar mumbled into their shoulder, holding them tightly. “Maybe… maybe you’re a monster. Maybe we’re all monsters. But that doesn’t make us bad people. It doesn’t make you a bad person.” The way they said they didn’t want to be alive, Skylar couldn’t help the tears that overwhelmed her. “You can’t go, Remmy. You can’t, please. Please, I know. I know how much it hurts to be alive sometimes. I know. But we need you. We love you, so, so much.”

Remmy couldn’t form words anymore, but they could understand what Skylar was saying. She knew how it felt, to not want to be alive. To be around. Remmy buried their face in Skylar’s shoulder, tears staining her shirt. It wasn’t fair. To either of them. Why did they have to suffer like this? What greater power had decided they deserved this? Remmy wished they could take all of Skylar’s pain away. She didn’t deserve any of it. Maybe they did, maybe this was penance for everything they’d done before, for choosing to pick up the gun and fall in line. For not being better. But not Skylar, she didn’t deserve this pain. Remmy didn’t know how long they stayed in silence, only small hiccups of sobs to break it before they found the will to say words again. “I’m trying...I’m trying so hard--” a shuddering breath, “--to be okay with this. With myself. But I don’t...I don’t know how. Tell me how, Skylar. Tell me what to do.”

The silence between them lingered and Skylar did her best to hold herself together, to be the support that Remmy so desperately needed. But, this wasn’t something she’d ever prepared herself for, helping people like this. She barely knew how to keep herself together and… even then, she still didn’t have it all figured out. She could only be there for Remmy in the way she had always wanted someone to be there for her when she’d been going through one of her episodes. Rubbing her thumb against their back in soothing circles, Skylar swallowed, trying to come up with words. “I know, I know you’re trying so hard. Just… take it one day at a time. And please, be kind to yourself.” She said, doing her best to keep her voice calm and steady. “You’ve gone through so much, but you’re not alone any more. Talk to someone when you need to.” She hoped that this was what Remmy wanted, that this is what would help them. Because if it didn’t work, she had no idea what else to say.

Remmy drew in a shuddering breath, still holding desperately to Skylar, as if she were the only thing keeping them from falling into that darkness right now. And it wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t fall on her. Skylar had her own problems, real problems, problems that mattered in the here and now. But they couldn’t stop the sinking pain in their chest, even as they leaned back to and scrubbed desperately at their face, as if trying to rub the sadness out. “I’m sorry,” they said through a sniffle, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m not going to-- I just wish--” a stifled sob, swallowing it whole in their chest, “--I wanted it to be my choice. I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t get to decide. Either time. I don’t know how to-- I don’t how to make it stop.” They looked over at Skylar, tears still leaking down their face. “I can’t stop crying. I’m sorry. This is stupid. You came over here because you’re going through something, and I-- I’m sorry.”

As Remmy began to apologize, Skylar shook her head. No. No, there was no way that they should be apologizing right now. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I wish it’d been your choice too.” She mumbled, leaning her head into theirs, their soft shorn hair rubbing against the side of her cheek. When they pulled back and stared at her, their eyes shining with tears, Skylar couldn’t hold back the tears that fell from her own. Shaking her head more vigorously this time, Skylar wiped at her face. “Don’t apologize, it’s not stupid at all. We’re both--” She let out an exhausted watery laugh, “We’re both… just trying our hardest to get through this.” She said, with a tired, drained grin. “But we’re not alone.”

Remmy tried their best to smile through their tears. Everything inside still felt heavy and tired, but something felt lighter on their shoulders at Skylar’s words. Remmy just nodded, sniffling some more. “Yeah,” they murmured, “we’re not alone.” They felt wearied, suddenly, and shifted slightly. “Can we just...lay down for a little bit?” they asked, looking over at Skylar, feeling that ache in their arms to want to hold someone, something, and feel their physical weight like an anchor to the world that felt so distant now. “If that’s-- if that’s okay?”

When they repeated it back to her, relief washed over Skylar. At least for now, they knew. And, even if it took her telling them day after day that they mattered, that they weren’t alone... she would do it. Because they’d already done so much for her. At their question, Skylar nodded. Thoroughly cried out, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and just… rest. She wanted to be held, to be comforted, to be reminded that she wasn’t just alone. “I’m okay with that.” She said, before lying down on the bed, arms curling into herself slightly. Even though her body felt better than it had in weeks, she was just so tired, so emotionally spent.

Remmy scooted around silently and laid on the bed next to Skylar, before coming in closer and nudging her softly. Held their arms open, closing them around her when she moved, and pulled her in close. She was warm and soft and Remmy felt a washing sense of relief, laying here with her. It was just two friends, worn and spent, and tired of the pain the world kept giving them, hoping that, for at least one night, they could be okay together. And if they weren’t, well, they still had each other. After a long moment, Remmy’s whole body relaxed, even though they still held tightly to Skylar.

When Remmy wrapped their arms around her, Skylar felt the tension ease from her body as she snuggled back into them. Her pelt, still draped over her legs, was warm and comforting against her legs. Wriggling slightly, she drew the skin up so it covered the two of them, hoping that it would provide some amount of relief to Remmy in the same way it did for her. Closing her eyes, Skylar let out a long sigh. She wasn’t alone, and neither was Remmy. They had each other.

#p: remmy mccallister #p: wtlb #depression cw #suicide tw #chronic illness cw #abuse cw

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