#of anger that is old and deep and blocked from me. i need it released ideally before new moon on halloween | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drvirgus · 6 months ago

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Protecting (my heart)

Idol! Minji X bodyguard! Reader

Description: getting a new job as NewJeans bodyguard isn't really something Y/n thought would happen to her. What exactly happens when she suddenly felt attracted to one of the NewJeans members? Can Y/n stay professional or are her feelings for Minji too much to handle?

Warnings: stalking; harassment; kys jokes; suggestive language; death threats; mention of abuse; mention of murder; Violence

Chapter: never leaving (fully-Written)

Masterlist

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Smiling, I stood before the arriving car and opened the door. My smile widened immediately as I took in the sight of the beautiful woman before me. "Hey," I said softly, extending my hand to her right away. Fortunately, my back blocked the reporters from snapping a photo.

I watched as Minji looked at my hand and then placed hers in mine with a sigh. I helped my ex-girlfriend out of the van before releasing her hand and assisting the others out, except for Hyein, who was still injured and couldn't attend the event.

The conversation I had with the others had somehow managed to resolve Danielle and Hyein's anger towards me, which honestly was a huge relief. Danielle, especially, was quite terrifying when she was angry.

I took a deep breath of the fresh but warm evening air as I observed the NewJeans members posing for photos and interacting with the reporters. My eyes, however, were fixed on Minji, which made me smirk a little. Minji was always beautiful, but all dressed up like this, she was the most stunning.

I flinched slightly as I felt Mr. Wick-oppa nudge me and give me a reproachful look. "Focus," he said quietly, making me nod immediately. I cleared my throat and closed the van door so it could drive away, making room for the other idols' vans to arrive.

My feet carried me toward the entrance of the event while Mr. Wick-oppa had already gone inside to check the security one more time. My task was simply to wait for the idols and then follow them in. My eyebrows raised as I watched the NewJeans members strut further down the grand carpet, posing for more reporters. The amount of flashing lights was truly extraordinary.

How on earth could they still see anything?

I stood by the entrance, ready to guide them inside once their photo session was over. My eyes remained glued to Minji, who radiated confidence and elegance. Her every movement seemed to command attention, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and admiration.

The girls finally finished posing and began making their way toward me. I gave them a reassuring nod and gestured towards the entrance. "This way," I called out, my voice steady despite the chaotic environment.

As they approached, I fell into step beside Minji, my presence a silent promise of protection and support. She glanced at me, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips. The brief moment of connection was enough to send my heart racing, but I maintained my composure.

I licked my lips once more as I felt my heartbeat automatically accelerate when our eyes met. My hand naturally rested on the lower back of the taller woman. "You can relax. There are no fans or cameras here," I said with a smile.

Minji's eyebrows raised as she looked at me slightly skeptically. I chuckled softly at her expression. "Hey, I'm here to protect you. Don't forget that," I added with a light laugh, which made Minji smile a bit. She tilted her head slightly, a grin forming on her face. "And who protects you?" she asked, clearly amused.

I smiled as well, removing my hand from her back and looking up at the much taller woman, who was even taller now with her high heels. "I don't need protecting," I replied, which made Minji roll her eyes.

"Oh, there's Kyujin," I heard Haerin say, and I watched as she slowly walked over to her old school friend. My eyes followed her and I immediately recognized Haewon standing next to the other Nmixx members. I smiled and nodded before turning back to Minji.

"Have fun, baby," I said, which made Minji's ears turn a deeper shade of red. She quickly hid them behind her long black hair as she playfully pushed me away from her shoulder. Her laughter filled my ears, which made me visibly relax. "You all should have fun too," I added, looking over at Danielle and Hanni, who were watching us with knowing grins.

The evening continued smoothly as the NewJeans members mingled with the other guests, their interactions a mix of catching up with old friends and making new connections. I stayed close, my eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble, but also allowing myself to enjoy the moment. Seeing Minji and the others so happy and relaxed brought a sense of satisfaction that made the night's work worthwhile.

Danielle and Hanni eventually joined a group of their peers, leaving Minji and me with a brief moment of solitude. She turned to me, her eyes sparkling under the soft lights of the venue. "Thank you for being here," she said, her voice soft and sincere.

I nodded, my heart swelling with affection. "Always," I replied. A gentle smile spread across my lips. "You won't get rid of me, Minji," I said softly, my eyes sweeping over the entire event before lingering on her. "Not anymore," I added even quieter, causing Minji to let out a soft sigh. I noticed how she bit her lip slightly.

"Promise me?"

My eyebrows shot up again as I detected the vulnerable and fearful tone in her voice. My heart pounded even faster as I realized just how much pain I had caused the younger woman. My decision had hurt our bond, our relationship, and Minji herself...

Why did I ever think it was a good idea to break up with her?

The air between us changed drastically as I turned my whole body towards her and looked at her earnestly. "I promise," I replied with a seriousness I had never felt before in my life. "I never want to be separated from you again. Never," I added, causing Minji's lip to tremble slightly.

I could see Minji's thoughts swirling wildly in her head. Her eyes scanned my entire face, searching for any sign that I was lying or uncertain. But I wasn't.

"Minji," I continued, taking a step closer, "I was a fool to think I could protect you by pushing you away. I know now that the best way to keep you safe is by staying by your side."

She looked down at me, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "I was so scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know what I did wrong or why you left. It hurt so much."

I reached out, gently cupping her face in my hands. "You did nothing wrong, Minji. It was my mistake, and I'm so sorry for the pain I caused you. I thought distancing myself would keep you safe from the stalker, but all it did was hurt both of us."

Minji closed her eyes, leaning into my touch. "I don't care about the danger," she murmured. "I just want you with me."

I felt a lump form in my throat as I fought back my own emotions. "I want that too, more than anything," I said. "From now on, we'll face everything together. No more running, no more hiding."

She opened her eyes, a small but genuine smile forming on her lips. "Together," she echoed.

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"As I can see, you've made up?"

My head turned to the person next to me offering me a drink. Fortunately, Mr. Wick-Oppa had informed me earlier that my shift was over and I should just enjoy the event, as he would take care of everything. It was his way of thanking me for helping him so far.

I swallowed and accepted the drink Haewon was still holding out to me, taking a small sip of the cola. I turned my body slightly more towards Haewon, smirking a bit. "She's still mad at me... but, in my mind, we're together. At least for me," I said with a light laugh, causing Haewon to roll her eyes noticeably.

"I'm happy for you," Haewon said with a smile as she sipped her wine. "Maybe now you'll stop spamming our chat with messages about her," she added sarcastically, making me groan slightly. I gave the younger woman a playful nudge on the arm. "Oh, come on. I'm not that bad," I replied, which clearly amused Haewon.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You are, but it's cute. It's clear how much you care about her. Just make sure you don’t mess it up again."

I nodded, my expression growing serious. "I won't. I promise," I said, my eyes briefly finding Minji again, who was now laughing with her group members. My heart swelled with affection, and I knew I would do everything to keep my promise.

"So," Haewon began, leaning against the wall and looking at me with curiosity, "how did you manage to patch things up with her? I thought she would never forgive you after what happened."

I sighed, looking down at my drink for a moment. "It wasn't easy. I had to be completely honest with her, explain why I did what I did. It was the hardest conversation I've ever had, but it was worth it. She needed to know that I was just trying to protect her, even if it was the wrong way to go about it."

Haewon nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'm glad it worked out. You both deserve to be happy."

I smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. "Thanks, Haewon. That means a lot."

We stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the event unfold around us. The flashing lights, the chatter, and the occasional bursts of laughter filled the air, creating a lively atmosphere.

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My brow furrowed as I caught sight of a familiar face out of the corner of my eye, but the person disappeared when I turned my head. I frowned more deeply, my expression growing serious.

The stalker? No way....

Mr. Wick-Oppa had secured everything... and there were several bodyguards and managers here. There was no way someone could sneak in... right?

My eyes immediately searched for my beautiful ex-girlfriend, and I sighed in relief when I saw her dancing intimately with Haewon on the dance floor. A smile crept onto my face.

Thankfully, I knew Haewon wasn't into women, or I would have been really jealous....

However, as I continued to scan the room, my gut feeling that something was off wouldn't let me relax. I kept a closer eye on the surroundings, just in case.

Across the room, Hee-jin, a middle-aged woman with an obsessive glint in her eyes, watched Minji and Haewon dancing. Her thoughts twisted and darkened as she saw Minji's bright smile and graceful movements. To Hee-jin, Minji was just another seductress, no better than the others she had fixated on in the past. Her obsession had turned into a dangerous delusion.

Hee-jin's eyes landed on a table nearby, where a few knives were laid out for the catering service. Her heart raced, and her mind made a snap decision. She couldn't let Minji continue her charade. She couldn't let this "slut" ruin more lives with her allure.

Determined and enraged, Hee-jin slipped through the crowd, her eyes locked on Minji "You don´t deserve to live, you fucking bitch" My heart sank as I noticed her erratic movements and realized her intent. Time seemed to slow as I bolted towards Minji, my instincts screaming to protect her.

I pushed my way through the crowd, my voice shouting Minji's name in a desperate attempt to warn her. Minji and Haewon turned, confusion and alarm on their faces as they saw me running towards them.

Hee-jin raised the knife, her eyes wild with hatred and disgust. She lunged towards Minji, but I threw myself between them, feeling the cold steel pierce my side. Pain exploded through my body as I collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. I could feel the warm blood seeping out of the wound.

Minji's scream echoed in my ears as she dropped to her knees beside me. Her hands pressed against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Y/n! No, no, no! Stay with me, please!" Her voice was filled with panic and desperation.

Hee-jin was quickly subdued by the security team, her face twisted in anger and confusion as they dragged her away. "She's a seductress! A liar!" she screamed, but her words faded into the background.

My vision blurred as I looked up at Minji, her tear-streaked face the only thing I could focus on. "You're safe," I whispered, my voice weak and trembling. "That's all that matters."

"Stay with me," Minji pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please, don't leave me."

I tried to smile, reaching up to touch her face. "I promised... I'd never leave you... remember?" My hand fell limp, and darkness closed in, but Minji's face remained etched in my mind.

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Taglist: @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa@acegaydar@alexxeey @sixflame438 @pandamiswifey

#newjeans hanni #newjeans #hanni pham #danielle #newjeans minji #newjeans hyein #haerin #minji x reader

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fiendishartist2 · 1 year ago

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until my fears come to fruition, i'm not scared– tma

"'Once I even saw him take one of Hector’s femurs and, after twisting it into a corkscrew spiral-'" Sasha spoke evenly into the tape recorder, voice soft as if giving words to the statement was a divine act. She felt it reverberate through her, a warm shiver that ran from the soles of her feet to the tips of her fingers. It wrenched her eyes open and she drank the words in as quickly as her own cadence would allow. Cold fear settled unpleasantly in her stomach, but the deep rightness of it compelled her to continue.

Just as she came upon the climax of the account, reading growing more frantic with each word inching closer to the heart of the victim's terror, the door to her office swung open.

It crashed against the wall with reckless abandon– old and rusty hinges shrieking alongside a startled Sasha. Tim strode into the room, waving around a handful of loose papers and manila folders.

"I told you– I told you!" He raged as he paced in front of Sasha's desk. Each harsh clap of Tim's loafers against the scuffed hardwood floors of the Archives punctuated the pounding of Sasha's heart. She almost couldn't catch her breath in all of the commotion; the last remnants of her prior excitement trickled out of her thoughts, replaced by quickly fading adrenaline.

Sasha mustered up a weak glare, "Tim, what the hell are you on about? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Tim continued to pace, completely ignoring Sasha. He muttered furiously to himself, talking in circles.

"Look, Tim," Sasha sighed, "I really need to get back to work-"

He whirled around and slammed the stack of statements onto Sasha's desk. His eyes were wild and hard with anger, but flitting about the room nervously, as if expecting something to sneak up on them. She flinched– she had been doing that a lot recently, especially around the people she once called friends.

Tim released the papers, moving his hands to grip the edge of Sasha's desk. Sasha pounced immediately, flipping through them hungrily.

"Wait, are these-?"

"Statements you've already read? Some of them," He shot a look over his shoulder, "Most of them aren't. Most of them are statements I've never seen before. I-I found them hidden in Document Storage- surely so we wouldn't find them…" Tim trailed off, babbling to himself.

Sasha's attention was glued to the unfamiliar statements. Her gaze jumped from paragraph to paragraph– page to page– as she tried to discern if she had seen them around the Archives or not. Something about these statements in particular repulsed her, even the ones she knew she had read prior. It felt wrong, like Tim had disrupted something important by taking them.

"So… what?" Sasha asked distractedly, "You found this lot of statements in storage. Gertrude probably hid them away for some reason or another. You know how she was."

A hand suddenly blocked her reading again as Tim slapped it down in front of her. He leaned in, mouth caught in a snarl.

"No." He said darkly, vitriol boiling just under the surface.

"No…?" Her voice climbed a few octaves as a different kind of fear wracked her.

Tim's erratic behaviour in the past few weeks had been causing her considerable alarm, but being faced with his rampage upfront was a whole other beast. She didn't want to believe Tim or Martin would harm her, but discovering Gertrude's body had changed things. The last Archivist was murdered, her death successfully covered up by someone working in the Archives. It rattled Sasha, made her wonder day in and day out if that would be her last– made her obsessive and confrontational and paranoid. The only person who could keep her anchored to reality was Jon; he kept her sane, in a way. On top of being a trustworthy friend in a place where she had lost all feelings of safety, he was incredibly helpful with Gertrude's murder investigation. He always seemed to get the perfect evidence just when she needed it. Sasha needed Jon, and she was grateful for it.

"Someone in the Archives is hiding these statements. Hiding them from you and me and Martin- a-and probably Elias too, for that matter!" He lowered his voice, once again checking over his shoulder before speaking, "I'm sure this is all Jon's doing."

Sasha burst into laughter.

All at once, the tension in the room dissipated. Of course Sasha was not about to be shot in her office, going the way of her predecessor; Tim was on another one of his 'Jon is evil' tirades. Tim sat back on heels and crossed his arms protectively over his chest. The faint blush creeping over his stony face prompted another round of giggles from Sasha.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just- Tim, please," She all but rolled her eyes, "I promise Jon did not squirrel away random statements for nefarious purposes."

He started pointing desperately at the papers again, "Look at them Sash- really look at them and-"

"Tim, I am looking at them. All I see is unrelated statements." Her hand moved of his own accord, settling on top of Tim's. She smiled, "You're getting worked up over nothing."

He looked disgusted for a moment, and then confused.

And then angry.

"You're not listening!" He shouted, before shooting a frightened look over his shoulder and lowering his voice to a growl, "If you just read them, you would see how they connect to Jon-"

"Spit it out already!" Sasha snapped. Her own frustration was bubbling up and the longer Tim beat around the bush, the more irritated she grew.

Tim dropped himself bodily into the chair in front of her desk– the one reserved for statement givers who thought the couch made it feel more like therapy than academia. He slid one of the folders towards himself, plucking the statement from within and holding it up.

"Read this one," he urged, "All of the writing in this file was done by Jon, but it's not anything coherent. Just the statement and pages of nonsense. I've never seen it before because it's been misfiled since Jon started working here."

"How do you know it's Jon's and you're not just using him as a scapegoat? You all started work on the same day." She asked cuttingly. She felt quite mean talking to Tim like this, but these baseless accusations against Jon were getting under her skin. She was just protecting a friend.

"Look at the handwriting- it's got to be Jon's." Tim handed over the open file and sure enough: Jon's characteristic cramped cursive littered each page.

As she flipped through the pages and pages of indecipherable 'research', she came upon the original statement: 'Statement of Darren Harlow, #0101811'. It looked relatively new; maybe a few years old, taken by Gertrude but untouched until Jon picked it up. Curiously, some parts of the statement were obscured– words, sentences, even entire paragraphs scratched out in pen. Otherwise, the statement appeared unharmed.

The visual of a marked-up statement made Sasha itch behind the eyes.

"'Annabelle Cane'? So, what, she turns into a spider monster by the end or something? Seems as normal as a statement can be."

Tim shook his head, "They're all like that, though! All about spiders and webs and- and puppets, for whatever reason. All follow-up done by or re-opened by Jon."

Tim snatched another piece of evidence from the pile, "A-and look at this one! I could have sworn you recorded this one right before Martin's run-in with Prentiss, but apparently it's been unfiled since Jon decided to 'continue Martin's research'," he mimed exaggerated quotation marks, "While he was absent."

Sasha remembered this one; statement #0150409, from the man who believed he was haunted by an immortal spider. She still regretted how hard she pushed Martin into proper follow-up on that one. In some ways, she felt like she had handed him over to Jane Prentiss on a silver platter.

However, she knew she could put Tim's skepticism to rest, now that she had a statement that was already on tape. Sasha pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk, where she kept all of her tapes. They were in neat stacks of six, ordered by date recorded. She shuffled through them, passing over the exact date where Carlos Vittery's statement should be. Real panic gripped her when she came up empty handed.

With more urgency, she dug out the entire stack it was supposed to be in and tossed it haphazardly onto her desk. The itch behind her eyes spread like a wildfire, filling her brain with an inescapable, searing buzz. She needed to find that statement– it was hers and the possibility of it being missing or- or stolen was inordinately wrong.

She pawed through the scattered tapes frantically.

"It's not here," she said faintly, turning back to her drawer to dig through the tapes with reckless abandon, "Tim it's not- it's not here. Why isn't it here?"

"I didn't see any tapes with the lost files, but-" Tim started tentatively, his own rage fizzling out as Sasha visibly spiralled. She stood abruptly, sending her chair careening behind her. It crashed into the bookshelf on the wall, dislodging a few books that fell to the floor with dull thumps.

Sasha marched around her desk. She pulled Tim out of his seat and pushed him out of her office.

"They were right here, I swear."

Tim had led her to the back of Document Storage. She had been trying to tame this room since day one in the Archives; so far, she had managed to record a considerable number of statements, but it had barely made a dent. There were still stacks of statements littering the floor and filing cabinets overflowing with manila folders.

Tim had pulled out one of the drawers of a filing cabinet and pointed out the space behind it. She had to admit, she's not surprised Tim found it so easily. It was a horribly obvious place to hide something.

"I don't see the tape…" She mused. Calmness settled over her like a blanket, pinning her down underneath it.

When Tim had steered her toward Document Storage, the panic fuelling her started to lose steam. Despite everything that happened between them recently, Sasha loved Tim– he was one of her closest friends. But, ever since Jon joined the Archives, she had to admit he had become a bit… irrational. After Prentiss, his disdain for Jon reared it ugly head and, subsequently, so did the theories and the arguments and the paranoia. Looking at it from a calmer perspective, it was easy to see how Tim was just jumping to conclusions, like usual.

Document storage was a mess; a room where every nook and cranny had a statement shoved in somewhere. Sasha often found herself getting turned around in there. It was impossible to find anything in the nonsensical filing system as statements were, more often than not, incorrectly filed. She couldn't exactly blame Jon for just sticking all of his work behind a drawer and calling it a day.

Of course, that wouldn't explain the missing tape, but what reason did Sasha have for thinking Jon was the culprit? Maybe she had just misplaced it, even though she was impeccably organised. That pressing calmness was now almost crushing.

She must have misplaced it.

"Sasha…?"

Sasha squeezed out a chuckle. What a strangely humorous situation. How could she have gotten so wrapped up in this? Obviously Jon wasn't working against them just because he chooses to research spider-related statements. That's ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"Sasha, are you okay? You're acting a bit… weird."

Sasha felt a bit weird, but that was okay. She was so calm that she couldn't mind if she tried. The familiar force tugging at her thoughts was so helpful, so kind. It knew what was best for Sasha and wanted Sasha to know as well.

Wordlessly, she wandered back to her office, still chuckling under her breath.

When she pushed open the door, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet, she was greeted by the sight of Jon. Her desk was empty, cleared of statements and tapes. Something ugly squirmed around in her stomach, but that gut reaction was unreasonable. How utterly ridiculous she was being.

"Hello, Sasha. I was just coming to talk to you when I spotted my research work on your desk. Mind if I take it back? I believe there was some follow-up I hadn't quite finished up." He said innocently.

The ugly thing in her stomach was trying to crawl up her throat and out of her mouth. She wanted to scream at Jon– tell him no, tell him to leave, to stop doing whatever he was doing to all of them.

But Jon smiled that kind smile– the one that crinkled his eyes and thinned his lips and seemed to draw all attention to it– and numbness settled over her again.

Tim whipped you into quite the accusation, a voice in her head scolded. And of Jon of all people? That's ridiculous. That's absurd. How could that ever be possible?

The corners of her lips moved of their accord, manipulated into returning Jon's smile.

"Of course. Go right ahead Jon."

"Why, thank you, Sasha."

Jon shut the door softly behind him as he left. Sasha crumbled to the floor, her strings cut.

I'm going to find a way to tear your web apart, Jonathan Sims.

#i loooooove archivist sasha. shes like if jon was smarter but just as mentally ill #also i love s2 tim bc he was so ready to fuck jon up at any moment. im obsessed with how much he really hated his ass #tma #the magnus archives #my fic #sasha james #timothy stoker #jonathan sims #archivist sasha #web avatar jon #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #a little #just in some of the wording #title from dr sunshine is dead by will wood #edited to fix spelling + grammar

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6ft-under-beacon-hills · 5 months ago

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Cost of Concerns — Teen Wolf Ficlet

summary: Theo got sick and no one could figure out why. You did, though.

tags: gn!reader, usage of you, canon-divergent, no major plotline in this ficlet, no particular / set pairings (open to interpretation).

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You rushed into the room, walking past Scott and Stiles who were exchanging words with their eyes, avoiding Scott who were stretching his arms as he yawned then slightly bumping into Stiles' shoulder causing his drink to spill a little. You heard a tired warning of "hey careful" from the guy but ignored it as you continued heading straight to the couch.

There, Theo laid — shivering from cold despite the scorching heat from outside that leaked into the house — clutching onto his sides, he seemed to be in pain since last night but no one could figure out why.

There was no visible wounds, no symptoms of Wolfsbane poisoning and definitely nothing supernatural issues at play.

Liam blocked your path before you got too close. He put down his mug on the coffee table, then crossed his arms across his chest.

"Liam," You started. "We made that decision together." Stepping a little closer, you reminded him. "He's my responsibility too."

He sighed, pushing back his hair. On any other circumstances such gesture would be a good look on him, but his cheeks hollowed and eyes red from tiredness.

Everyone in the room were more or less haggardly similar.

We were tired. And with the number of hunters increasing and the boldness of these unreasonable attacks that were happening during broad daylight, no one felt like they should let their guards down for one good night rest.

"We checked everything. Tried everything." Liam said, but gave way nonetheless.

You glanced at the round table in the middle of the room, last night's urgency showed itself as first aid kit clattered across the surface, old books opened to some random pages, and the laptop screen still on traditional medicine website browser. The only things that were new were the mugs and empty plates on it. You assumed they had a quick breakfast or a midnight snack when you were gone.

Theo grunted and your attention returned to him. You crouched beside the couch, writhing Theo managed to crack a sly smile at your sight.

"..w– worr– ied..?" he asked, teeth grinding against each other.

"Need to take a look into your mouth."

"..why..?" He managed to asked with a cough.

You rolled your eyes. "Lost my car key."

He gave a smile before opening his mouth as wide as he could which was not that big considering he was subconsciously trying to shut it tight. The sudden rush of air into his dry mouth might have been uncomfortable, you deduced.

You gently grabbed his cheeks to maintain that opening, and using your other hand, you quickly dropped a few pills inside before shoving a bottle of water into his mouth. He pushed you off — or tried to — but you resisted, you initial hand grabbing his jaw shut, thus, tightly closing his mouth.

Once you saw his adam's apple bobbed up and down, you released him with a sigh of relief.

"What the hell did you give me!?" His tone was harsh, anger was evident but his roughness lacking the usual bite, uneventful within his fatigue.

"Sleeping pills." You said.

Turning around to the rest of the pack, ignoring the confused look Theo shot at you. By the arch way, Scott and Stiles exchanged another look that did not seem to say much except to ask one another the same question that Liam, Malia, Lydia, — the three stood scattered behind you — Corey, Mason, and Brett — they huddled closely on the other end of the room — were wondering. Lori was in deep sleep next to Brett, blissfully unaware of the growing confusion in the room.

It was Theo who eventually asked it out loud. "What.. for..?"

You thought to reply with the most obvious answer. To make you sleep, duh. But decided against it and stood up to meet their gazes, caressing Theo's arms, noticing his shivering stopped, as you did.

"We are so used to dealing with the supernaturals, things that several years back I would've thought impossible or simply a myth, and with everything that has been going on—" You pinched the bridge of your nose "—Point is, we overlooked a simple fact about our bodies. If you are tired to the very core, there's only so much that your super healing could do."

The silence was a dead giveaway for everyone's confusion yet as expected Lydia was the first to connect the dots, her eyes lit up in a way that expressed self deprecation for not realising earlier, but it was Stiles, who connected the dots milliseconds after Lydia, who explained it concisely.

"So he needs some rest."

You nodded, looking at Theo who was biting back a yawn. A hint of anger behind his eyes but you can deal with that later when he's feeling better.

"A full, undisturbed rest." You continued. "Something that the rest of you need as well. Which is why I spiked the water dispenser last night."

A collective WHAT and HUH echoed the room.

Scott called your name. "We cannot sleep. Not now, not with the hunters out there looking for us."

You dismissed his concerns with a wave of hand, knowing one of them would protest against this decision. Which was why you had to take the matters into your own hands and did things underhandedly (maybe illegally, but at this point, who cares about legality anyway).

"Chris will be here. So will Derek and Isaac. This house is well-hidden and there are traps everywhere. Traps that are so strategically placed that Chris, a renowned Argent hunter, himself got into. If any hunters, especially amateurs, somehow found us, you all will be refreshed and ready to fight by the time they reach the back door."

Your phone buzzed, a text from Isaac popped up.

We're here. Front door. 6:07am

Also need some bandages. Derek stepped on a trip wire. 6:08am

Scott opened his mouth to further protest, but instead a yawn came out. He rubbed his eyes, sighing defeatedly. "Fine."

He watched you walked past him, a reassuring smile on your face.

Turning once more to address the pack, you told them, "Get some rest." Then you closed the curtains on the arch way.

Despite the super hearing and the short distance, Scott was having trouble listening in properly to your conversation as you opened the door. He slid against the wall, Stiles already snoring on the floor several feet away, slowly letting the sleep take over.

He heard Derek arguing against getting a bandaged and Chris Argent commending you for the cleverly hidden trip wire in which he thought he heard Derek growled at that.

It didn't matter, everything after that was becoming incomprehensible and within seconds, he fell asleep.

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senorablack · 2 years ago

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Have a Little Faith, There's Magic in the Night

Words: 7347 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley Additional Tags: Humor, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Bakery, POV Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham & Eddie Munson Friendship, Lovers to enemies to lovers Summary: In which there is a rivalry between baker and barista, a minor top-shelf black cardamom discrepancy, baked goods used as an avenue for anger management, mass non-sexual prostitution for a good cause, and an old kinda kiss that means something new—all at the heart of a festival under the hazy harvest moon.

Eddie’s sure of a couple of truths come Hawkins’ 30th Annual Harvest Festival: there will be blood shed, for one, but by the metal-gods will there be premium baked goods.

An offering meant to appease hundreds of Hawkins’ most hungry is entirely contingent on epic ingredients. Everything must be thoroughly vetted. Sourced locally. Carefully tended to when acquired. It’s a game of time and knowing who’s who when gathering all these little morsels of magic, and Eddie’s a seasoned player. Saturdays down in the square hosts a gaggle of merchants who sell organic goodies and Eddie’s here for a lot of fun sundry, but also a dealbreaker.

Eddie knew that this specific Saturday the who’s who of black cardamom will be near the consignment shop with a little extra of what he’ll be needing. Eddie didn’t know, however, that that slimy sludge-pushing Harrington would be here haggling Eddie’s guy for his black cardamom.

“This will not be something I take to heart, stew on for days, and blow up later for.” Chrissy is saying at his right. “Repeat it with me.”

It’s not that he refuses to repeat it with her, it’s that he can’t. There’s little roaming around up there in Ed-landia save the image of the Fellowship down in a chamber of Moria right before they fought off those orcs. He hears the war drums from the deep. He anticipates the impending battle. Knows they are coming. And if Eddie had a bow he’d have already been setting up an arrow and aiming for the heart of the nearest snarling idiot. There aren’t any weapons nor orcs to fend off, though, just his severe indignation and Harrington and all his audacity.

“CEASE!” Eddie’s yelling, because that’s how regular people speak, “HALT! Release those fuckin’ pods or so help me!”

Harrington, clad a thin white tee and mom jeans, turns to him before Emmanuel does, looking every part a parent who’s one LEGO block between the toes away from a proper meltdown. He’s got the gall to put his hands on his hips in that condescending way he’s known to do, brows knitted together, eyes lit on fire as if Eddie’s the damn mistress here.

“Eddie, how’re doin, mijo?” asks Manny with a sunny smile and wide open arms. Eddie tries to cool some in the light of Manny’s all encompassing hug. They are arguably the best in town and he owes it to them to be clear headed (as to achieve maximum enjoyment). Eddie gives as good as he gets with Manny, squeezing the hell out of him like he’d never get another chance to again, before pulling back. Eddie gives him a little pat on the shoulder and lowers his voice.

“Manny, my man. What’s going on here?”

Manny’s never been a man to mince his words, so he’s vocal about the betrayal, which, does not come to a surprise to, nor devastates Eddie. Except you know, it does. It very much does.

“This young man says he’s interested in some black cardamom.”

“That can’t be right.” Eddie’s blinking, rubbing at the place where his heart used to be.

“No, I am really here for black cardamom.” Steve interrupts with his stupid ass pink mouth. Eddie decides that he’s not heard him.

“What are you talking about?” Manny asks.

“I mean, that can’t be right because Steve’s no mere mortal—he’s a demon.”

“See that you still think you’re funny.” Steve says through a clenched jaw. Eddie grins at that, but does not look at him.

“No matter how many times…”Chrissy sighs, long and heavy while inspecting some star anise. “… I tell him otherwise. Hey Steve, it’s good to see you.”

“See that you think that this conversation involves you, Harrington.” Eddie says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking out to the bustle and hustle of the farmers market.

“You’re literally bitching about me—oh, hey Chrissy how are you—in front of me. Anyway, I just need a quarter of a pound. I’d really appreciate it, Mr. Zuniga.”

#steddie #my steddie fic

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fencesandfrogs · 2 years ago

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xii. release

i'm told it's a cycle.

endorphins:

chemical signals in the brain that block the perception of pain and increase feelings of wellbeing

in my senior year of high school, julia m.'s house burned down. she laughed when she heard. just threw her head back and laughed until she was crying.

physical exercise releases endorphins. i go to krav maga, sometimes. my knuckles are swollen after, but i feel alive again.

there hasn't been a death i've cried over yet. i don't know how to. something locks up deep in my heart and i give up. i just let myself feel nothing instead of whatever you're supposed to feel.

pain releases endorphins. it's a trigger, it floods your body. (do you see how this story ends yet? i don't think i do.)

imagine me as a ten-year-old, please. imagine me swollen hot with anger. i do not know the name of this feeling. i just know it's overwhelming and needs to escape out of me. it has claws and teeth and is shredding me from the inside out. i still haven't learned how to scream.

i don't know how to tell the next part, but i know it:

the number of self-harm methods are only limited by an individual's inventiveness and their determination to harm themselves;

close your eyes. don't read this. don't see me as a ten-year-old. don't see me as a child, sitting with my legs in butterfly position. don't see me raise my fist. don't see me hesitate. don't see me consider. don't see the pillow next to me, the one that wasn't enough this time. don't see bring my fist down as hard as i can.

don't see me, because i don't stop until it's bloodied.

prompt from @nosebleedclub's october list. quotes sourced from wikipedia on january fourth, two thousand twenty-three. the first quote is from endorphins and the second quote is from self-harm.

#mine #writing #disorderposting #self harm #i'm two weeks clean boys #that's one of the hardest things i've ever done #i'm trying to break a habit i've had for a decade #(yes the january prompt i. decade was interesting to me but i decided to take it in a dif direction)#anyway #here's a little piece about it

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leowolf0816 · 1 year ago

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He's so Dead// Ch17

Chapter 16

Word count:965

Amber's P.O.V.

Matt's face contorted in anger as I told him about what I saw and as I observed him he looked like steam just may appear from his ears in large blazes of fogged anger.

As he was about to go do something he regretted I grabbed his arm and bolted his feet to the floor with ink as his fogged gaze lingered where he felt my touch distracting him from the shackles at his feet.

I pleaded softly for him not to fall for the trick of a man whose only goal was to destroy our happy bubble of warm fog. He contemplated my words for a moment before softly nodding but even I could tell he was plotting something devilish in his dark mind and it scared me but I slowly let him go before walking past him to where Milly slept. He knew he couldn't fool me and yet he tried. I felt his eyes on me in pleading energy knowing he had lost. He began to speak stopping when he felt me staring at him. He could hear my heart and he knew it beat in pain at his lie.

He looked down at his feet his jaw ticking in a soft rhythm as I stared at him. He seemed to debate if he truly wanted to argue with me so he took a deep breath and slowly released it. His voice was soft as he spoke. He promised me he wouldn't go after him knowing that if he broke a promise to me I wouldn't forgive him. We left it at that or so I thought. But I knew him and right as he knew I was asleep he left. Sadly that's the thing about my power I could change something as simple as my heart beat and he wouldn't know. I was upset that he had left despite his promise and I had a sickening feeling he would regret it and I would pay for trusting him. I let my mind drift as tears began to drip down my face.

I laid their and cried as softly as I could only getting up as a knock rang through the apartment. Glancing at the time I felt my face scrunch up in confusion. But I made my way to the door to tired to check the peep hole I pulled it open thinking it was Alisa who forgot her key before work only to see Stephan.

My heart froze and I tried to close the door quickly only for him to block it with a heavy looking boot. Quickly I inked it shut running to My room to get Milly and bring her somewhere safe. I grabbed her and dragged her out the window. She cried out confused as I dragged her down the fire escape only to see the ladder was broken. I swore under my breath and jumped shielding Milly from the impact of the trash below before crawling out of the can and taking her around to the front of the building knocking really hard on Martha Stasky's door when her daughter answered I called out for her mom who ran to the door asking me what was wrong but I just quickly told her to call Sarah as I shoved Milly at her before running out the door.

I needed to get somewhere safe and fast. I quickly patted down my pockets finally realizing I didn't have my phone. I cursed at myself but didn't stop running. I made my way to Matt's apartment relived as I looked around seeing no one had followed me. But as I made it to his door I realized it was cracked open and me caring more for his safety then mine I made my way in and looked around. It was empty and there was no sign anyone was in there. Quickly I locked to door and tried to relax myself smiling as the door to the roof opened only to be struck with fear as something was shot at me pricking me in the shoulder. As I looked over I saw the label of the dart and let out a cry. It wasn't just Stephan anymore but his old lab. The realization hit me as I saw the name plastered on the dart along with the person who caught me.

Stella Cort the main boss of Cort Corp. a scientific company with high security protocols and a habit of doing not so legal things in the name of science. I had an ungodly itch telling me that I would be their next experiment. I felt them clamp something around my next as my vision go hazy. Looking at an approaching figure I saw Stephan with an evil grin on his face. I could tell my features soured as he grabbed my face roughly. He spoke so quietly I wasn't sure if Stella might hear.

"That little boyfriend of yours won't be saving you and neither will your useless powers at least not where you're going..." His smile seemed to grow "Oh and if he tries guess what?" He paused as if I could answer "I get to kill him in front of you to see how you react for our experiments" He began to laugh making me feel sick. But he wasn't finished as I got dragged away he waved a picture at me letting me know he was going to make sure Matt knew just where to go and I was about to regret ever falling in love with vigilante. I felt my lungs and thought burn with my want to scream and cry and fight. But no mater what I tried I couldn't do anything my powers didn't even seem to work as my vision went black.

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julyofaugust · 2 years ago

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Vignettes: String One

My face throbs, ever so slightly swollen and deeply flushed, a biological reflection of my deep state of frustration. “God help me, I may give up today.” Assumptions, I conclude, will be the death and doom of me. If it were welcomed by the unspoken rules of literature, I would dash my fingers across the keyboard and leave behind a trail of letters, asdfghjkl, foretold and concluded by nothing but the rage in my soul.

I am tired.

Yesterday’s sorrows and tomorrow’s joys pale in comparison with the heat that has now risen to the very lashline of my eyes. Suddenly, I understand the phrase, “eyes burning with rage.” It is, I now understand, a literal phrase as much as a metaphor.

Where did I stray? Let’s walk back to infancy.

My mother often complained to me during my childhood that I had been a difficult baby. I cried nightly, stopping only when she rocked me in a rickety little rocking chair. The moment she stopped rocking, even if she still held me, I’d burst back into tears. I needed the metronome-like motion. With my father, it was the beat of a drum, his heart, that lulled me to sleep. He would lay down on the shaggy carpet in the living room, place me on the left side of his chest, and together we would drift off to sleep.

I can’t help but think that even as an infant, I was desperate to be held in a steady, unending rhythm of love.

I’m walking now, grabbing onto everything as I make my way around the living room. I fall, giggle, and get back up. It’s a resilience that will stay with me, although the joyful spring in it rusts and breaks somewhere in my childhood.

My mother is exhausted, my father is breaking down putting bread on the table, and I find myself lost in the space in between it all. No longer the baby of the family, despised by my older sister for signifying the end of her 4-year reign as an only child, I whimper and reach out my hand. It grasps at empty air, and I feel myself begin to crumple into myself. An overly sensitive flower without enough sun, I’m not meant to survive in these conditions.

School somehow thrust itself upon me, and with it life’s chaos. Racist teachers and parents, my mother’s need for control now flaring, and the introduction of the concept of “being (un)cool.” I respond with a physical embodiment of my sadness: asthma.

Sure, it’s in the family. Sure, my mother worked in a factory producing car parts, often around powderized materials and chemicals. Sure, I was born in a bloodbath with my umbilical cord tied taut around my waist. (Clearly practicing fetal waist training in anticipation of patriarchal beauty expectations.) Sure, I had pneumonia at three years old.

And I also know that breathing felt laborious in a spiritual way as well. In ancient Chinese medicine, lung problems are thought to be strongly tied to sadness and depression. The vagus nerve runs through an opening in the diaphragm. This nerve is connected to the autonomous nervous system, the operator of our fight or flight (or freeze) impulses. Deep trauma can impede proper functioning of the vagus nerve, locking or entirely blocking the operation of those impulses.

I had trouble breathing. I also found it hard to smile.

I’m sobbing, trying to quietly release the waves that drown me from the inside out. My mother’s loud voice comes closer. I hear her look around the room, annoyed and impatient. The accordion-like closet door is pulled open. “Porque estas aqui? Ya deja de chillar. Ay.” She impatiently barks out a request, command, demand. I try to process the sudden burst of sunlight in my face, the loudness and intensity of her voice, and the palpable anger that seems to course through her waving arms and jutted hip. I’m afraid of it all, it is so loud. It’s almost unbearable, but I know I must face it lest it invades my personal space further, directly crashing into me in hand, an object, or spit-laced soundwaves.

My tears stop falling and I find in the clutter of my mind a mask to put on.

The pain rails against my spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical membranes.

I carry on.

In life, there is mortar and pestle.

There are those who break things down, for good and bad, some thoughtfully and others recklessly; they are active shapers of life.

Life’s many factors and elements are the ingredients being broken down. And sometimes, the world’s oppressed are “what” is broken down.

Holding all of that is the mortar. These are the people who passively shape the world. They are accomplices in the good and bad taking place. Either out of avoidance of decision-making, indecisiveness, or neutrality, they hold the space for and carry the fruits of pestle’s interactions with ingredients.

I strive to be a thoughtful, precise pestle, but often find myself a mortar that sympathizes with those ground and tries to reason with the pestle, or one ground that excuses the mortar and tries to reason with the pestle. In fact, in all honesty, it feels like I’m both mortar and ingredient, almost like I am the miniscule bits of mortar that gets broken down and blended in with the ingredients. At once, I am both passively present and helplessly transformed.

I had watched the chaos and heard the emotions thrown around. Like the winter cold that chilled my bones for hours after recess, both chaos and turbulent feelings began to seep inward, past my jacket. Before they could breach my skin, I turned and began walking past the tetherball court, towards the soccer field.

“Sarah, get back here!” My infuriated peer let out a string of objections in her lilting, almost redneck rendition of English. I began to turn my head, hearing Sarah’s voice boom toward me. Step by step, she got closer. My eyes widened, and like a deer, I froze in her path. Like a semi-truck, she barreled forward, her frenzied red curls jolting with every step.I suppose all she saw was red, and perhaps with my flushed cheeks, I blended right in.

Whatever it was, she didn’t see me and her left shoulder crashed into me just as I tried to step out of the way. Her path of motion was unswayed, but my frail little body flew into the tetherball pole, with the bony, tender place behind an ear being the metal’s point of direct impact.

I found myself in the office, being inspected by a nurse and the secretary. My head was swollen and my head throbbed in pain. My brows were furrowed, but not in concern for me. “Is Sarah going to get into trouble for hurting me? I don’t want her to get in trouble. I know she didn’t see me.”

And it’s true. I saw her face snap down towards me when she sent me flying. Surprise, then guilt, then shame flooded her face. She was a soul swollen and throbbing in pain from her life’s circumstances. Just like my head, she was hurting. And just like the ice, all the social workers in the world could not resolve the pain. They helped her soften her reactions, but they could not undo the impactful events she experienced. And while I made contact with the metal pole once, she faced impact after impact everyday, with compounding symptoms. I felt for her–arguably more than I felt for myself.

The adults chuckled in a way I was unfamiliar with at the time. I now know it to be nervous laughter. They looked at each other instinctively as they let this reaction out.

I think that was the moment they recognized me as a mortar, mortar fragment. They knew then what I was to find out in the coming years.

#vignettes #vignette #childhood #sadbeautifultragic #random introspection #autobiographical #sketch #freestyle

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dreamypqulson · 2 years ago

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— gentle hands, crueler mind

summary: when you are going to take things to the next level with cordelia, things go south. or rather, you own head does.

pairing: cordelia goode x reader

warning: talk of sexual assault

a/n: i wasn’t going to post this because it’s just a comfort fic for my personal experience…but i figured, why not, because maybe it could comfort other people who can relate too.

word count: 1600

Cordelia was the first person who had touched you without completely shattering you. Cordelia knew how to maneuver your emotions, she knew how to covert your anguish into pleasure.

Cordelia had never used you for her own greater good, and you weren't accustomed to that just yet.

That's why, Cordelia's hand exploring your body for the first time had felt like touching fresh burn marks; matter how gentle, it was going to hurt.

When you were at your most vulnerable in front of Cordelia; nothing but your undergarments, it didn't feel that bad. It felt good. And the older woman's gaze staring down at you with nothing except desire had made you feel genuinely wanted for once.

You and Cordelia were being vulnerable together, it didn't feel so much like a show that you were putting on for somebody.

This felt raw, real, it felt loving. Naturally, you're own head decided to betray your lust. Images flashed behind your eyelids. With every blink you could see the memories play out for you, over, and over again. It soon turned into everything you saw. Everywhere you looked. Cordelia's hands were suddenly aggressive and grubby.

You pushed the body off of you. The weight that was keeping you secured on this bed. You needed off. That wasn't Cordelia.

You ran off towards the bathroom. Nobody could hurt you there. You were alone.

Knees were up to your chest, and you were sitting in the corner of the bathroom. It felt safe there. As safe as you could get from your own mind, from this evil world.

You heard the old door creak, and Cordelia's silhouette walking towards you out of the corner of your eye. Your girlfriends steps are light, and delicate, everything that he wasn't.

You drop your head to your knees. Everything was too bright. It was two in the morning, yet you still wanted everything to dim some more. You wanted it all to be quiet.

"Sweetheart" Cordelia said. It was too loud, too much. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't do this. Not right now. Not ever.

Cordelia kneeled down, only a foot away from you. She was cautious, and slow. She didn't want to overwhelm, didn't want to frighten further. However, the urgency she felt to find out what was wrong, and repair the issue, had been something she is trying so hard repress for the moment.

"Sweetheart. It's me, okay? It's Cordelia. Can I touch you?" She asks for your consent first. Her voice ever so soft. She was so gentle, so brittle in such a heavy storm, yet nothing ever seems to shatter her.

"Wait" you said through the single gasp of air that you had managed to intake, because you need to figure out how to breathe first, before taking on another task.

She nods, simply. It was a simple request; just wait a minute. But it felt nearly impossible for her to hold still.

You slightly leaned back, stretching out your stomach. The curled position you had been sitting in felt safe, it felt warm, but it had also felt like it blocked your breathing pathway.

You took a deep intake of air, and slowly let it out.

"O-okay. You can now."

Cordelia scooted closer, now sitting criss-cross on the cold, tile floors. She tugs you onto her lap, and your head makes its home on her chest. You don't deserve to have someone touch your vile skin with such tenderness. To have someone hold you at your most vulnerable and tell you, it's all going to be okay.

You feel uncomfortable, feel the need to scrape off all the skin on your bones. "Tell me, my love, what's making you hurt?" You wanted to tell her all the things, wanted to release the anger, sadness, and pain, and have her throw it into the abyss like she always would. Always did.

But you simply couldn't. It was too heavy, too strong, too disgusting. It wouldn't fit down the long, dark hole of nothingness that other pain was already occupying.

You've never told Cordelia. You weren't planning on it either. The past was the past, she didn't have to know. But now you found yourself stuck between two roads. Run away, or lose the woman you love because 'no' was too difficult for a boy to understand.

"I can't- I can't. Please don't make me." Please forget that you found me violently sobbing on the bathroom floor after i've pushed you off of me.

You began pulling at your hair. Anything. Anything to take this pain away. Anything to let your anger out without accidentally hurting your girlfriend.

But this hurt her the most. No punch, or slap, or kick from the most powerful person on earth could ever compare to the pain Cordelia felt seeing you in such distress.

She grabbed both of your hands, gentle, but with such a force that you had no choice but to let go of your strands of hair. She unwrapped your fists, and then intertwined her fingers with yours.

"You can tell me absolutely anything," she said against your ear. If she hadn't been so close, you wouldn't have heard her.

Her breath against your soft flesh was enough to ground you. That familiar lisp, curling around her words, had anchored you back down to steadiness.

"No, no, no. You'll find me disgusting, Cordelia. I can't. I don't want you to know. I never did."

So you had been suffering for awhile now, is what Cordelia had gathered.

"Honey, look at me." She lifted your chin so she could convey the seriousness in her next choice of words. You realized, you both had, that this was the first time you've looked her in the eyes tonight. You saw the fear, and the sadness in her, and it had pushed those possible thoughts to tell her back down.

"You are my soulmate. My person. My love. My best friend. I could never, ever think you're disgusting. Nothing you do, nothing anyone does or did to you can change that. You'll always be my sweet y/n, forever and always."

You sobbed, while your face had found it's place on Cordelia's neck for comfort. Her scent, it had made you feel as if you had never smelt anything in your entire life. Lavender and vanilla, she smelt like the perfume that you bought her. It brought back memories. Good memories. For a moment, you've forgotten why you're crying.

"I'm so tired of fighting this external battle with myself, Delia" you breathe. It's too sharp for your throat to handle. You cough, and Cordelia was going to get up to get you water, but you grounded your weight so she couldn't leave you. "I'm so tired of everyone suffering because of my mistakes."

"Baby, what are you talking about?" Cordelia had never suffered from everything you've ever thrown at her. Not that she could remember. But if she lost some of her memory tomorrow, she still wouldn't doubt it.

"I trusted him and- and he hurt me. And everyone blames me. Everyone thinks i'm disgusting."

"Oh." Cordelia knows. The pad of her thumb comes up to stroke the ridge of your cheekbone. "You're not disgusting."

"Yes I am." You speak so aggressively, much so that you nearly startle Cordelia. "You don't know." And you never will. You don't have any intentions of telling Cordelia.

"I do." For a moment in time, your blood boils, and almost burns your insides. She must've read you thoughts. But when Cordelia elaborates, your icy expression thaws. "I overheard you fighting with your family over the phone earlier. I was going to bring it up, but I wanted to wait for the right time."

You want to hide, but the only safe place you know is Cordelia. You always felt safe with her. Like you could completely shatter in Cordelia's hands, and trust that she would put you back together. But right now, her eyes staring down at you feel like they're burning your skin.

Still, you bury my face in the crook of her neck. Cordelia does not move you, she lets your fragile body rest. You don't understand why you haven't been thrown off of her yet. Why you haven't been shamed.

Cordelia wouldn't do that, but you're own fear and doubt betray you.

"None of it was your fault." You squeeze your eyes shut against the words that you've never heard spoken in your ears before. Never heard directed towards you. You think, perhaps, you may be hearing things. This cannot be. "You did nothing wrong. Do not let yourself believe such lies."

"Why can't I think that, then? Why do I feel so guilty?" Her skin was becoming uncomfortably wet from your tears. You shifted your head so that they wouldn't land on her anymore.

"Because, my love, nobody has ever told you that it wasn't. It's hard to not believe something that you were taught to."

"But I—"

She doesn’t let you finish. Already knowing where you’re taking this.

"No more 'buts.' There is no excuse for what he did. He did it. It was his choice. Not yours. I will remind you every day if I have to" Cordelia's says. You feel her place a kiss on the top of your head. You're so sleepy that you hardly process it. You're nearly falling asleep in the older woman's arms. “And i’m going to always be here for you. Whenever you need to vent, or cry, or just scream about it. Okay? Because I love you so much, and I will do absolutely anything to make sure you feel that.”

“I love you too,” you say. "I'm so sorry for tonight. I know you wanted to enjoy us after being stressed all week."

"No more sorries tonight, my darling. I don't expect anything from you. Just being with you is all I need."

taglist: @loverofallthingssarah @goodeday2u @lanawinters-ily @talulahmae @sapphicforsarahh @ahsfan05 @stayevildarling @isle-of-earle @cordithatgurl @mistysswampmud @billiedeansbitch @billiedeanspearls @cigaretteology @favoriteredhead @sarahs-mf @cordeliass

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amaradangeli · 2 years ago

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Chenford + it matters to me that's why!

Okay, this is the last one from June 1st. Will I ever catch up? Who knows! 🙃 He's never fought with her like this. He's only ever fought with Isabel like this and it wasn't even all that similar. He fought Iz over so many things, and often those fights were gut-wrenching, last-ditch efforts to save her life.

He's never fought with anyone like this when there wasn't a relationship — sex — as part of the equation and it's damned confusing to be standing in the hallway of the station, both of them breathing heavily, her next to tears with her level of frustration and him with his fists clenched at his sides because if he doesn't fight it, he's going to fall into her. This wave of emotion and realization might be too strong to fight.

"Why are you pushing this?" He hopes the desperation he's feeling, the deep-seated desire for this to mean something is tempered in his voice, but he doesn't think it is.

He can see fire in her eyes, waring with the tears that still, somehow, haven't spilled onto her cheeks. "It matters to me, that's why!"

"Why?"

She makes a sound of complete and utter vexation, and he can see they've drawn a bit of an audience — thankfully, it's only their friends. "Because you absolute idiot, you matter to me." She loses the battle with her tears. She swipes at them angrily, as if personally affronted by her own inability to suppress whatever it is she's actually feeling. "I'm just supposed to not care?"

He doesn't really understand why she's so angry at him. Or if it's even anger she's telegraphing. It feels different. It feels like more. She's radiating desperation and fear and something wild and unnameable.

If she were any other woman looking at him like that, he'd touch her. Everything in him is screaming at him to hold her because as angry as she seems to be, he thinks she needs support. "Chen," he tries, not sure where to go next.

It doesn't matter. She scoffs. "Chen. Right. You're having this conversation with Officer Chen. Damn it, Tim," she swears under her breath. She swipes at a fresh round of tears. "You know what. Do it. Do what you need to do."

She turns around to stalk off, probably to decompress in the locker room until she feels more in control. She's momentarily stalled to see Angela, John, and Nyla standing there, blocking her path. But he sees the way she squares her shoulders, quite literally pulls herself up, and walks away.

The murder in Nyla's eyes and the disappointment in Angela's are like two more people standing there, judging him. He has no idea what happened, but he knows he can't leave it like this. She does disappear into the locker room. "Will one of you please go check on her? And tell her I'll wait outside?"

Nyla narrows her gaze further, but both she and Angela follow Lucy into the locker room.

"You want to talk about that?" John asks.

For once, Tim thinks he might actually benefit from a John Nolan slice of perspective, but old habits die hard. "No." He throws the word over his shoulder and stomps out into the garage.

By the time she joins him, he's leaning against her little car. She looks more in control of whatever she's feeling but he's feeling more strung out than ever. He still wants to touch her.

"You blindsided me in there, you know?"

"I wasn't trying to."

"I know," she says. She leans against the car too, close enough that he can feel her pressed all down one side of his body. Something inside him that feels wound-tight releases enough that he can take a full, deep breath. "I could just wreck you for this, you know?" She wipes her fingers across her cheek, and he realizes she's crying again.

"I know," he concedes, and he decides that propriety is less important than her, and he repositions himself to stand in front of her, and then to pull her into him, cradling her head against his chest. Her arms circle him, he can feel the shudder of her breath where she's soft against him, and he can feel the way her hands are in fists on his back. "You gonna tell me why?"

"Yeah," she says and blows out a long, warm breath he can feel through the cotton of his shirt. "When you get back."

He nods, even though she can't see it, and he presses his face into the crown of her head, breathing in the warm scent of her, deep into his lungs. "Okay."

She takes a step back and surprises him by pressing a fierce-feeling kiss to his jaw. "Be careful."

He wipes tears from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Yeah." He thinks about kissing her again, thinks that's where they are now, and then thinks about leaving right afterward and saves them both the internal turmoil.

He turns around and hitches his backpack onto his shoulder, and heads toward his truck.

#chenford #comment fic #oh man did I love writing this #I LOVE writing about twisty big deep feelings man #especially when people don't recognize what they are #it's like chef's kiss baby #this is what the good stuff tastes like #so I wrote this for ME #but I hope you like it too #😁#oh #and what is he doing that's so damn bad?#I haven't the foggiest idea #I just wanted to write *this part* and not worry about the rest

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witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

Text

holding on by a thread

Synopsis: Childe finds out his S/O has been kidnapped. When he goes to retrieve the reader, anger and rage fill him, and he doesn’t hold back

Childe X FM reader | Anthology

Genre: ANGST -> LIKE VIOLENCE*** -> hints of torture and acts of violence -> comfort

a-n: as a heads up --- while I like Childe and I think he is an interesting character, he a bad guy… so, whoever would decide to go up against him would need a pretty good reason to do so …

It was a day like any other when Childe received the news he’d always dreaded would come. It clung to his heart every day, and knowing that his worst fear had come true he felt a piece of his heart disappear. A piece slowly being replaced with rage and fury. Who would have the AUDACITY to touch what belonged to him? Did they not know his history, who he was, and what he was able to do to those who crossed his path?

Childe gripped the torn note in his hand. He read the message over and over again hoping maybe the next time his eyes scanned the words they would change. They never did, and the blood which stained the paper only furthered his understanding that its contents spoke the truth.

11th Harbinger,

We have something precious of yours. If you want it back, come alone to the old ruins above Jueyun Karst at midnight or you will find it scattered across Liyue.

Do hurry

When was the last time he saw you? Yesterday, the day before? How long had they had you, and what could they have done during the time he wasn’t paying attention. The blood on the paper tells him everything he needed to know. Whoever had you was going to wish they were never born.

He’s seething and everyone around him knows it.

Childe looks at the clock. Based on the time, if he leaves now he will be able to make it to the location slightly before the mentioned time in the note. He’s intensely calm, each move he makes is deliberate. The way he picks himself from his desk, the way he tucks the note inside of his jacket pocket, the way he exits his room. Everything about him is so dangerously calm.

“Childe,” one of the Fatui members calls from further down the hallway. Unaware of his mental state. “I was just looking over the ledger and I noticed …” Childe continued to walk past them, indifferent to their attempt to hold a conversation.

“Don’t bother me,” his voice was deep and had a warning tone to it, which they didn’t pick up.

They ran forward and tried to block his path. “I know, I just need to check with yo…” They were cut off as Childe's hand encased their throat. He shoved them against the wall with so much force that the clipboard they were holding fell from their hands. There was a fire burning behind his normally distant eyes which fed into the oppressive fear radiating off of his body.

Without saying anything, Childe released the Fatui member. They fell to the ground coughing, hands protectively shielding their throat as they tried to bring air back into their lungs. They watched as Childe made his way down the rest of the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

---

The air is still when Childe reaches the destination on the note. He’s a bit early and decides to check out the surroundings, making sure there isn’t anything that would catch him by surprise. Once he is satisfied, he finds a spot to sit and wait. It was entirely their fault for giving him the opportunity to set a trap, to get what he needed before they could ever be prepared to retaliate.

As he sat and waited, his thoughts shifted from the creative ways he would tear apart the bodies of those who took you to the last moments he had with you. Desperately, he tried to remember the last thing you had talked with him about. What if he could never remember, what if it was already too late

- bloody body parts falling at his feet, the painful screams of useless trash ringing in his ears -

your smile flashed in his mind and he heard the sound of your laughter. He’d never heard a laugh like yours, one that could make him melt while also solidifying his heart

- the sensation of slicing through flesh, the crushing of bones under his fingers, watching the life painfully slip away -

there was no doubt he cared for you.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and forced distance makes the heart enraged.

Checking his pocket watch for the thousandth time, he lets the nerves in his body ignite as the minute and hour hands come to rest on top of each other. He closes it with a click and looks over the landscape.

As if on cue, he sees lights dancing on the land, stretching and casting their warm glow on every feature big or small. Shortly after the light appears he sees, for the first time, the people who have stolen something precious to him.

He can’t make them out very clearly; he counted maybe six, seven figures, all of them male. Only their shapes could be made out, even with the assistance from the torches and lanterns. What was heartbreakingly easy to see was the pitiful figure that stumbled behind them. He knew it was you, there was no question.

He watches you stumble forward, your hands tied in front of you and attached to a rope, which is kept possessively in the grip of one of your captors. Even from this distance, he could see how badly you had been hurt, it was apparent by the state of your walk and the way you wobbled uneasily back and forth. Whatever they did to you, they made sure every movement, every step you took would be agonizing.

The rage building inside of him was unbelievable and when he saw you stumble forward, your body plummeting to the ground, and how your captives yanked, kicked, and pulled at you to get up … he doesn’t wait any longer.

Out of the darkness, Childe made his way toward the group. There was no way they could have known how terribly stupid this idea was.

“Right on time.” One of them announces. He pushes past the others in order to stand at the front. “I’m not surprised by your promptness, as a member of the Fatui I had no doubt in your follow-through.”

Childe doesn’t answer him, in fact, he barely registers that the man is there at all. All he can look at is you. Now that he’s closer, he can see every cut and every bruise on your body, the way your clothes were torn, and parts are completely saturated with mud and dirt. He can’t see your face, and honestly, he doesn’t know if he can bear it.

“Hey,” the man interrupts his observations, “I’m talking to you.”

“What.” His voice has no emotion in it, it doesn’t sound like Childe at all. The life in Childe’s eyes is completely gone, and it sends a shiver through the group.

“You don’t know who we are, do you?”

“Should I?”

The group murmurs to one another, their gestures catching in the flickering light of their lanterns. Not even the response of their leader seems to quiet their reactions.

“Let me paint you a picture. Imagine before you, a small fishing village, they don’t have much but the lake and their determination to brave the icy waters.” He starts to walk around as he was putting on some sort of play, his arms extended outward, his gestures and mannerism expressive. “When suddenly, there is a sound in the distance. To the townspeople's surprise they find their houses burning, and the only items most of them ever knew destroyed in an instance. Panicked, the people of the village desperately try to put out the flames, but, alas, they cannot. So, as the men run back to their crying families, instead of finding their children laughing and happy, they see everything they loved destroyed.” He points his finger in Childe’s direction, the rage in him apparent.

“And YOU, ‘11th Harbinger’ will pay for the weight of this destruction.”

“And?”

“AND!? AND, the Fatui took everything from us! You ruined our land, stole our children … and for what … we had NOTHING to give you.” The man stomped his way past the angry mob and wrapped his hand in your hair. He yanked it with all the hatred he could muster and pulled you forward. Childe watched as you tried to stand up, your bound hands pushing against the ground to counteract the force of his grasp.

“The Fatui destroyed our lives, so now we will destroy yours.” The man lifted you up and placed a knife to your throat.

That’s when Childe finally saw your face. There was a huge welt on your eye, a cut along the edge of your lip, and several other scrapes across your cheeks and forehead. Your eyes met his and his heart shattered.

“So, I’ll give you a deal. Her life or your own? Hmm, which will it be?” The knife dug into your throat and he watches the blood drip down onto the dirt below you.

“I do not bargain with those beneath me.”

The man bursts into frenzied laughter, his heightened emotions making him cackle with insanity. “Beneath you, hmm. So, that’s what it is.”

“Listen,” every word out of Childe’s mouth grows colder and colder, “I don’t care about the past, what’s done is done. I also don’t care about anything but myself and what belongs to me.” He takes a few steps forward before adding, “and she, she belongs to me.”

Childe watches you open your mouth as if to say something, but the words don’t reach him, the only thing he sees is your outstretched arms, bound in red painted rope.

“I guess it’s her life then.”

Rage can be so overpowering. Anger, now he’s felt anger numerous times, anger at his siblings for not listening to him when he told them to be careful, anger at Fatui members for disobeying his orders or failing in their task, or simple frustration at other harbingers from time to time. This anger, the anger which began to consume him, suffocated him, he’d never experienced it before, and he worried if he’d ever be able to return to the surface.

They should have heeded his warnings. The moment that he saw the pain in your eyes, saw the fear of your final moments with that knife at your throat he was at the bottom of a vast ocean, no sound, no life, just darkness.

---

Every movement he made was ruthless and cruel. He started with the knife at your throat. A quick slash of his weapons and in an instant he stood behind the two of you, his face obscured behind a mask and his hands gripped around blue blades. There was a satisfying thump, and as the other members of the group looked at the source they saw the bleeding arm of their leader, its hand still gripping around the metal handle.

The blowing of the wind was replaced by agonizing screams.

Every action that Childe made from there on out is deliberate, like a killer whale playing with their food. He prolonged their pain and returned every strike he imagined they had given you, every tear they made you cry, every minute of every hour they treated you like garbage.

He only stops when he can’t smell anything but blood, and when he hears you call his name.

“Childe …” your voice is deep and scratchy. He has a hard time believing it’s even you.

With his mask still on, for he cannot bring himself to face you without it, he made his way over to you. With nimble actions, he removes the bindings around your wrists and notices how raw your skin had become underneath. As carefully as he can, he lifts you up and cradles you in his arms.

He can feel you shaking and there is something in him that breaks.

As you settle into his arms you start to drift away. There are small drops of water falling onto your face and chest, you look up to the sky but instead of rain clouds, you realize they are tears, and they are falling from underneath Childe’s mask.

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

For weeks, Childe is constantly around you. He’s permanently at your side from the moment you wake up to the moment you close your eyes. There were times he would ask you about what happened to you while in their captivity, and when you share with him your experiences he disappears for a few hours. When he returns he has a new bruise or cut.

Your recovery is slow. There were nights when you would wake up in a cold sweat or when you turn your body the wrong way a sharp pain shoots through you and you have to rest until things straighten back out. When you finally were able to move around easily and freely, and the trauma of your experience was a soft whisper instead of a pounding drum, you started working yourself back into the normal flow of your life.

What happened to you in those days they held you, was nothing compared to the conversation you were about to have with Childe.

He showed up at your house, relieving the Fatui guard standing outside. He had brought you some of your favorite food, and while his manners were pleasant and kind, his eyes looked distant.

“Thank you,” you started, pulling the food from the brown bag. You hadn’t eaten much that day and were starved by the time he arrived. You took a few bites before you noticed Childe pacing, his arms crossed and his head locked onto the floor. “Hey, why don’t you come eat with me?” You stab one of the buns with your fork and offer it to him, the grease dripping onto your open palm.

“I’m okay.” He answers you but doesn’t seem to have much presence. Nervously, you place the morsel back into its container.

“Hey, you seem distracted.” You wipe your hands before standing up and making your way toward him. He doesn’t stop pacing even when you brush his arm with your hand. “Childe?”

Suddenly, he stops. He turns around and closes the distance between the two of you. His large arms wrap around your chest and he pulls you in for a tight hug. You let out a slight chuckle as his lips press to the crown of your head.

“You are acting so strange…” you chuckle, your hands sliding down his back.

“We should stop seeing each other.”

Did your heart just stop beating? Did your stomach just drop to your feet? Did your mind just turn off? -- Maybe you imagined it.

“What?” you push yourself from him, your hands resting against his chest. You want to make sure you hear him correctly this time.

“This will be the last time I see you.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you. He can’t be serious, right?

“Childe …” you're shocked and refuse to believe his words. Without warning, he breaks away from you and makes his way toward the front door. Frantically, you grab his arm and dig your heels into the floor. “Stop, what are you talking about.”

“You aren’t safe with me.”

“What?”

“I won’t come back here anymore.”

“No, hold on…” he pulls himself away from your grasp. The tears are already starting to fall. You can’t think logically anymore and rely purely on a physical response to get his attention. Rushing forward you pass him before he can reach the door and you barricade yourself in front of it. “Stop. Just stop.”

He looks at you, those distant, cold eyes like daggers in your heart. “Move.”

“No, talk to me. Why would you say I’m not safe with you anymore?”

“Why?” His indifference turned to irritation and with lightning speed, he reached toward your wrist and brought it into your line of sight. “Look at this. This is the only thing I can bring you. I’m doing you a favor. Now, move.” He yanks you forward but you hold your ground, gripping the doorknob in order to stay in place.

“I won’t.”

“Don’t test me.”

“I won’t move.” You stand in defiance to his commands, your heart may be beating rapidly and your veins may be surging with energy, but it was better than the alternative if he left your house and never came back. “I won’t move until you talk to me!”

“Please, I’m giving you an out just take it.” There was an emotion spilling from him that was unlike him. A sort of plea you didn’t expect.

“Why are you trying so hard to push me away!”

“Because I... I can’t …” he looked like a caged animal, desperate to escape.

“Can’t what?” Your hands reach out to his face in an attempt to bring him back to you.

“I can’t bear to see you destroyed because of me!” His hands are gripping onto your shoulder, his face flush and eyes cloudy. “Don’t you get it? This won’t be the only time people will come after you. Next time you might not be so lucky and I can’t … I can’t...” His voice cracks and he drops his head, unable to finish his thought.

Your voice is soft, a whisper. “You think I didn’t know who or what you were when I met you? I knew. I wasn’t afraid then, and I’m not now.”

“You should be…”

“Why, because some people decided to hurt me? I’ve been in plenty of fights.” “Those aren’t the same.”

“They practically are.”

“Look, I’m giving you an out, you should take it.”

“I won’t. Childe,” you lift his head and catch the sadness in his eyes. “I love you, and I won’t be shaken by this. You are my strength, you are my everything, please don’t take away my breath.”

“I won’t always be able to protect you.”

“I’m strong, remember, you taught me to be.” With that, you embrace him, and after a few hesitant seconds, he returns your outreach. His hands pull you into him, his head buried in your neck.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into...” he whispers against your skin. “You’ll never be able to escape me now.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact childe #childe X reader #childe #genshin childe #genshin imagines #genshin angst

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lexosaurus · 3 years ago

Text

Invisobang: Morge pt 2

It was a beautiful day outside. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming...a corpse was found in the woods.

Or, Amity Park's local cadaver dog trainer was walking her dog in the woods when they discovered a little surprise waiting for them six feet under.

Pairings: none WC: 9886 read on: [ao3] part 2 of 2, read: [part 1]

---

some amazing accompanying art by @ghostkiin

---

“It’s like you’re not even trying!” Plasmius barked, throwing Danny an exaggerated yawn while blocking the ectoblasts thrown his way. “Really, Daniel, you were always woefully incapable compared to me, but this is just abysmal, even for you.”

Danny gritted his teeth and glared back, allowing his glowing eyes to glare to toxic levels. Plasmius picked the wrong week to try to steal blueprints from Fentonworks.

“What, are you going to hit me with a little ectoblast again?”

“Oh I’ll show you an ectoblast,” Danny growled, charging ectoplasm in his palms so concentrated that the green glowed a fierce white. He flung his hands out, releasing the energy with a venomous, “eat shit, Fruitloop!”

But just like the rest of his life, his attack was uncontrolled, wild. It flew several feet to Vlad’s side, nailing a road sign and burning it like acid until there was nothing left.

Plasmius grinned at its charred remains. “Was that supposed to hit me? My, Daniel, I’m quaking in my boots!”

Danny felt his aura increase.

This week had already been shitty enough, even without Vlad’s help. He felt like his brain was trapped in a hailstorm, with constant unavoidable attacks pelting him from all sides. His core was a ball of energy and anxiety, not allowing him to sleep or eat or even breathe without the constant fear about his body and how it was being messed with and he needed to protect it and how he’d failed so miserably at protecting it and now his secret was going to be revealed and he was screwed.

“Well? I’m waiting! Tick tock, Little Badger!”

Ancients, Vlad was such an asshole.

“Shut UP!” Danny yelled, releasing his ghostly wail.

Just as a pink blast slapped him across the face, sending him flying into a brick building.

Plasmius tisked, flying nonchalantly towards him. “We can’t have you using that particular power, now can we? Not while you’re so obviously in control of yourself.”

“Fuck off.”

The older ghost smirked and brushed dust off his red and white cape. “Teenagers. Always so hormonal. What, did a girl at school reject you?”

“What are you talking about?” Danny launched himself back in the air and powered an ice blast. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care what you have to say.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” Vlad said, releasing a plasmius blast just before Danny released his own. The pink blast travelled across the air like a bullet, punching Danny in the gut and sending him crashing back into the building.

Meanwhile, Danny’s ice blast flew a foot above Vlad’s head, webbing itself into a tree and coating the branches with thick icicles.

Danny tried to push himself back onto his shaky feet, only to be pushed back down yet again by another plasmius blast.

Brick tumbled onto his head, coating his vision with dust. His body ached, and his neck was sore from the whiplash.

From his clouded vision, a glowing white figure with red eyes and gaudy horn-like spikes for hair hovered closer to him.

“My, my. You really are out of sorts today,” Plasmius said. “This is almost too easy. I could just take you out right here and go take your parents’ entire spectre speeder straight from your lab.

“What do you even need a spectre speeder for? You can fly,” Danny asked, rubbing a lump from his skull.

“A simple minded teenager such as yourself couldn’t possibly understand my reasons.”

Anger flared through Danny. He gripped some wreckage next to him and forced himself back onto his feet. His legs shook and he felt something wet drip down his calf.

Great, he was bleeding. Just add that to the list of reasons as to why this week was the worst.

“Shut up. I won’t let you do that.”

“Oh?” Plasmius powered a pink blast in each hand. “Then prove it.”

Danny tried, but with each attempted blast, kick, or punch, it seemed like Plasmius was one step ahead of him.

And worse, it felt like he was reveling in the power trip.

A burn here, a kick there—everywhere Danny looked, there was Vlad, glowing fist at the ready. It reminded him of the first time he’d encountered Vlad, back at the mansion. Having Vlad so openly destroy him had been shameful.

Danny collapsed onto the pavement, heaving, his entire body searing in pain.

Plasmius paused to survey him up and down with suspicious eyes. Finally, just as Danny was one breath away from turning invisible out of sheer discomfort, did the ghost finally open his mouth. “Alright, spit it out.”

Anxiety gripped Danny’s stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“Something’s troubling you enough to make you pathetically weak. It’s honestly embarrassing. I can’t stand here watching my future ward make a fool of himself any longer.”

“I’m not moving in with you, creep,” Danny bit back.

“That’s what you think. No matter, tell your dear old uncle what’s troubling you.”

“Go play in traffic.”

Plasmius’ eyes narrowed. “I’d nearly forgotten what a brat you are. Now tell me before I take methods into my own hands.”

Danny sighed, and attempted to stand. But the moment his foot touched the ground, a sharp pain shot up his shin. He hissed, and lowered himself back to the pavement.

“Well? I don’t have all day.”

“It’s nothing,” Danny grumbled, glaring at the pavement. He felt small under Plasmius’ critical gaze. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s obviously something,” Plasmius said, landing in front of Danny. “Now quit wasting my time and tell me what it is before I—”

“Then why don’t you leave? If I’m just wasting your precious time, then go home! It’s not like you even care about me anyways.”

Vlad leaned in, flaring his aura. “In case it’s not clear to your simple teenage brain, your actions represent the both of us. You fuck up, I have to pay the consequences.”

“Who says this is even about ghost stuff?” Danny hissed. “For all you know, I got in a fight with Jazz.”

Vlad scoffed. “Do you seriously believe me to be that stupid? Of course it’s about your identity! Why else would your core be acting so wildly if its Obsession weren’t at stake?”

Danny flinched.

“You did something, and I want to know what it is so I can determine if I need to run damage control on you or not before you blow this for all of us.”

“It’s...” Danny felt his aura pull back. “It’s about...you know…”

“I can assure you I do not know.”

“I...I might have…the police may have found...it…’

Plasmius sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “What did they find?”

“My—my, uh...body?”

“You mean your identity?” Plasmius’ eyes widened.

“Not exactly.” Danny felt his face burn. “You know...the body I left when I...after the accident.”

Plasmius reacted instantly. He shot up, glancing around, before grabbing Danny and pulling him through a hastily erected portal.

Danny felt his body squeeze through the portal and then seconds later, he was in Vlad’s study. The ghost threw Danny on his loveseat and heightened his aura. His brows creased, and his eyes glowed a dangerous shade of red. “What exactly do you mean when you say the police found your deceased body? How did this happen? What the hell did you do?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Danny cried indignantly. “They found it with their freakish police dog! I swear I buried it deep in the ground.”

“Well not deep enough, apparently!” Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Of all the stupid, childish things you could do!”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

Vlad ripped his hands away from his face, his eyes snapping back to Danny. He took a step closer to the teen, his eyes narrowing until a red glow peaked underneath. “Then whose fault would it be exactly, hmm? What, is this yet another piece of blame you’re going to cast upon my shoulders? Me, the halfa who has managed to keep this a well kept secret for over twenty years when you apparently can’t even manage to keep it to yourself for one?”

Danny let his own ghostly strength shine through his eyes. “Quit acting like I invited them all over. I didn’t, it was a coincidence. A mistake.”

“Oh, goodness me!” Vlad let out a sardonic laugh. “I guess when the Ghost Investigative Ward appear at my doorstep in a month, I’ll just tell them it was all a mistake. That’s sure to turn them right around!”

“Shut up.”

“No I will not.” Vlad’s face set back into a scowl. “You have proven yourself to be a liability again and again, and every single time it’s me who has to clean up your little messes. Messes that you don’t seem to realize could be the end of our kind!”

Anxiety shot through Danny’s stomach. He gripped the arm rests of the chair, squeezing them so tightly he heard the faint sounds of cracking in the wood.

“And now you mean to tell me that the police have your rotting, ectoplasm-drenched inhuman corpse in their possession?” Vlad yelled. “And you’re really trying to argue with me that it was just a simple mistake?”

Danny’s shaking hand slipped, tearing off a chunk of the armchair. It clattering to the floor. “I don’t—I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t…”

Vlad closed his eyes, but Danny could still see the wisps of red shimmering through his eyelids. “No, of course you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we can let them keep it.”

“I’ve tried.” His voice cracked. “I keep trying to convince them to stop, but they won’t—”

“What, you actually thought they’d listen to you? A ghost? My boy, I know you were dim, but this is truly extraordinary.”

Danny sniffed, keeping his head down. He felt like an egg boiling over, the yolk just one jolt away from breaking.

“No…” Plasmius hummed. “What we need is to take it back by force.”

“We can’t, they have the whole morgue under a shield. We can get in as ghosts, and it’d look too suspicious if we showed up as humans.”

“Unfortunately, you may be right about us appearing as humans. We can’t do that. But,” Plasmius’ tone shifted, “one thing we can do is break the shield.”

Danny froze. He gazed questioningly up at the older ghost, who was facing the window with a renewed sense of determination. “Break the shield? How? We can’t touch it!”

“No, but the shield doesn’t exist on its own. It has to be generated from somewhere, doesn’t it? Do you see? We break the device, we break the shield.”

Danny wasn’t following, and he was sure his face betrayed that much.

“Listen, Little Badger. Ghosts cannot touch the shield or the device, but who says—oh I don’t know—maybe a collapsed ceiling might do the trick? Some torn cables, perhaps? After all, with no energy supply, how could it possibly generate the power necessary to produce a shield?”

Danny felt his eyes widen. Something icy settled in his gut. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “You want to destroy the building.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t be so crude, but perhaps a few colleagues of mine might be swayed—”

“No.” Danny stood automatically.

Vlad’s head snapped over to him. “No?”

He could feel Vlad’s confusion, and it blended with his own. Deep down, he knew he needed to stop at nothing to get his body back, but collapsing the building? Putting others in danger?

Putting his remains in danger of ruin?

What if something happened? What if a brick fell on his skull? What if a spike tore his abdomen in half?

No, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t worth the risk.

This was wrong.

“We can’t,” Danny choked out. “You’ll hurt it.”

“I don’t think you understand, Little Badger,” Vlad hissed, leaning down.

Danny could feel the heat of his red eyes on his skull.

“With the position you’ve put us both in? You don’t get to decide what happens to your corpse now.”

“No, Vlad. I’m serious. You can’t—”

“And so am I.” Plasmius straightened, and his aura tinted to a dangerous pink. “You’ve put us at risk one time too many. Now I’m taking things into my own hands. And no amount of scary eyes is going to sway me.”

In one motion, Vlad ripped open a portal and pushed Danny through. Before he could blink, he was back in the damp alley they’d just been in.

“Good day, Danny Phantom.”

Plasmius shut the portal, and Danny was alone.

---

“Thank you for taking the time to come talk to us about this,” Mark said, opening the conference room door for the consultant before him. “This case is unfortunately a bit out of my expertise, and the lab results are even more perplexing. Hopefully you’ll be able to parse through the documents much easier than I.”

Dr. Maddie Fenton, dressed in her typical turquoise lab attire, stepped through the door and took a seat at the table. “Of course, I’m always happy to help Amity’s law enforcement protect its citizens against ghosts.”

“Well,” Mark pulled out a chair for himself, placing the manila folders against the table. “This is actually a bit more complex.”

“Oh?” Dr. Fenton reached for the folders.

“To bring you up to speed, I mentioned on the phone that we needed your assistance with a murder case involving a ghost. But there’s a bit more to it.”

She opened the folder and leafed through the files.

“The truth is the body we uncovered we believe to be Phantom’s body.”

Dr. Fenton paused, her eyebrows shooting up. She glanced up at Mark. “That’s a rather serious case. What evidence do you have to support that?”

“Well…” Mark started. “When we uncovered the body, Phantom appeared above it, and was acting rather erratically. Like a cornered animal, almost.”

“He felt threatened.”

“Right.” He nodded. “But it’s more than that. When we ran forensics on the body, we found that all our lab results were corrupted with ectoplasm. Ectoplasm that when we ran the ectosignature for, turned out to be Phantom’s.”

Dr. Fenton looked back down at the files. “That’s highly unusual.”

“Well we were hoping you’d be able to piece this all together.” Mark gestured to the files.

“I see…” Dr. Fenton’s voice trailed off. Her eyes scanned the page, hungrily soaking up each word. The silence stretched on for a few minutes as Mark awaited her opinion.

Contacting the Fentons had been something Mark had been pushing off for as long as possible. The Fentons were loud, boisterous, and not at all known for their professionalism nor tact.

But it was either they contact the Fentons or the Ghost Investigation Ward. And despite Phantom’s cold demeanor towards the detectives, Mark still had hope that perhaps he could gain the teen ghost’s trust. And to do that, the GiW could not be anywhere near the station.

Of the duo, Maddie Fenton seemed the most level-headed. And it had just been Mark’s luck that of the pair, she was the one with a doctorate in ectobiology. Which meant that it was perfectly understandable when Mark had requested that she alone come into the station to review the files.

“We’re trying to keep this on the down-low. If Phantom feels like we’re going to turn him over to the government, he’ll clam up. As it stands we’re only barely getting information out of him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust anything he says anyway,” she said, not looking up from the paper. “He’ll do whatever possible to keep himself safe. Ghosts are products of their Obsessions, and Phantom is no different. If he feels like this investigation is going to come in the way of him being able to feed into his Obsession, then he’ll do anything to stop that from happening. No matter who he hurts in the process.”

Mark felt a shudder creep up his spine. “Do you think he could be lying about this being his body? Maybe he could have been the one to kill this boy and is trying to cover it up?”

“Hmm…no, that doesn’t seem likely given the labs. And besides, it would be highly unusual for Phantom to be summoned to a body that wasn’t his. Although…” Dr. Fenton mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.”

“Like what?”

“Well, when an animal dies near a cluster of ambient ectoplasm, their body runs the risk of forming a ghost. However, there must be a significant final moment for the neural pathways in the brain to bond with the ectoplasm. That moment translates into an Obsession, which forms the core that the ghost then forms around. If a human dies peacefully, there’s nothing to work with. But if the human dies violently, or if they die with unfinished business, that gives the ambient ectoplasm something to charge with.”

Mark nodded politely, not seeing where this was going. This was all common knowledge for the people of Amity, and Mark had certainly seen enough of the Fentons’ public speeches to understand these basics.

“The ambient ectoplasm comes from the electrical connections in the brain, unrelated to what’s happening in the body. It’s why a human can be paralyzed from the waist-down, but still form a ghost with functioning legs. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Mark nodded, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing how this relates to Phantom specifically?”

“There’s no real reason that Phantom’s human body should have been corrupted by ectoplasm. In fact, there’s never been a case of a human body with an ectosignature embedded in its cells. It’s virtually impossible, in fact. Living cells are completely incompatible with ectoplasm.”

Mark stared down at his own copy of the reports, his mind reeling. “You’ve never seen this before?”

“Not in my twenty years in this field.”

“Do you have any idea what could have caused this?”

Dr. Fenton pursed her lips. “There’s one...it would explain a lot about him actually. Human experimentation.”

Oh.

Shit.

“You don’t think…” Mark’s voice trailed off, his tongue incapable of finishing the sentence. To think that some sick individual would even attempt such a thing.

“It’s the only logical explanation here.” Dr. Fenton gestured at her folder. “Or at least, the only one I can piece together given this information. Phantom would have had to have died after interacting with an intense amount of ecto-technology. Technology with the power to chemically alter every cell in his living body just before finishing him off with electrocution. Of course, it’s just a theory. Only Phantom knows the truth.”

“Right.” He could hardly process what was being said. “But he won’t tell us the truth.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Ghosts run a different social hierarchy than humans, theirs is far more simple. It’s entirely based on strength. The stronger the ghost, the better they protect their haunt, the more respect they’re given within ghost culture. If Phantom shows weakness, then the other ghosts can use that to dethrone him as the human world’s great protector.”

“But we’re not ghosts.”

“But he is.” Dr. Fenton cocked her head. “This explains other things too. Like the fact that Phantom, a relatively new ghost, is already a level seven on the ectoplasm power scale.”

“I assume that’s unusual.”

“Quite. It would have had to require an extremely intense death at the very least. But human experimentation with ectoplasm, feelling your body reject itself from the inside out, every strand of DNA being corrupted by the essence of death—that’s not an end I’d wish on my worst enemies.”

“And now we have his corpse. Phantom’s going to feel incredibly threatened. He’s bound to lash out.”

Dr. Fenton nodded gravely. “Then you better wrap this investigation up quickly, because Phantom is still a young ghost. He’s impatient, like a child. The longer you take to solve this case, the more unstable he’ll get. And I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end when he finally snaps.”

---

A dull unease panged at Danny’s core. It was calling to him, trying to goad him to his corpse.

Trouble, trouble, trouble, it seemed to whisper.

But he ignored it, just like he’d been ignoring it all this time. Because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get past the shields, he couldn’t get back to his corpse.

He was powerless. Alone.

Scared.

He tried to focus on his math worksheet, but the numbers blurred together and he couldn’t remember what eight times seven was. He had a calculator, but it was in his bag and he couldn’t remember what pocket he’d shoved it into, or even if he’d remembered to put it in his bag last night after staring blankly at the homework assignment for an hour without lifting his pencil even once.

No, his calculator was probably still on his desk at home.

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

The voices were louder now, and the pull was more desperate.

His throat hurt, and for a moment he was convinced his lungs were collapsing before he remembered that he’d forgotten to release the air trapped in his lungs and he couldn’t remember when he’d stopped breathing.

“Danny?” Mr. Falluca said from the front of the room. “Is everything alright?”

He commanded his head to nod, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded. Maybe he did. He couldn’t check, he couldn’t lift his eyes from the desk.

The voices were too loud.

The dull pang wasn’t so dull anymore.

Trouble, trouble, go now, go now.

The pang was solidifying, taking shape. It was becoming sharper, more urgent.

Go now, go now, go now.

The pokes turned into pricks, threatening to rupture his organs, sending needles down the nerves in his arms and legs. A headache sparked before his eyes and his vision swam.

The voices attacked him from all angles, and fingers brushed against his skin, tugging the sleeves of his shirt towards the window, the ceiling, the wall, the door— anywhere so long as it was away from here. Outside. To the morgue.

Go to the morgue.

Ignore it, be strong. Just ignore it and it’ll go away.

Go now.

No.

Go now, go now, GO NOW.

No, he couldn’t.

The pinpricks finally morphed into one sharp, icy cold knife.

It stabbed his core.

Go now.

He stood from his chair, knocking it back.

Vaguely, he could hear the alarmed cries of his classmates, but he ignored them.

The only thing that mattered was his body. His corpse.

Protect.

A hand grabbed his arm, yanking him back, but he could feel the warmth of the human blood running under its veins and he couldn’t be bothered with human problems right now. Not when he was in danger.

He phased through the grip, and ran out of the classroom. He sprinted down the hall, tearing open the familiar looking door and transforming and taking off into the sky nearly as soon as the sun brushed his skin.

This was different than all the other times his core had tried to coax him to his corpse. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong. His body was in danger, and he needed to save it.

He heard an explosion in the distance, and he increased his speed, feeling his eyes sting as the cool air slapped against his corneas. The world blurred, but it was okay. His core was guiding him now, not his eyes. He didn’t need to see, he just needed to close off and follow his ghostly instincts.

“That’s right!” A deep voice yelled from across the way.

Danny pulled to a halt, blinking the sting from his vision.

Then a boulder flew past his body, hitting the wall of a disturbingly familiar building.

His core yelled in protest. The body was in danger. His body.

“You thought a pesky shield could keep me out? Me, Skulker, the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter? I’ll show you!”

Ice filled his veins, freezing his aura and building in power around his hands.

Skulker hoisted a parked motorcycle from the edge of the street into the air. “Take this!” he yelled, hurling it into the air.

It was heading straight for the door. It was going to break it, it might break the window, it could damage the body.

An icicle stabbed his core, and before Danny could blink, his hands were raised and jagged blue ice was shooting from his palms, catching the motorcycle in midair and pinning it to the street.

“What is the meaning of this?” Skulker roared, whipping around. His eyes locked on Danny and his confusion melted from this face only to be replaced by a triumphant smirk. “Well hello there, ghost child.”

Danny’s palms burned an even brighter blue. “ Leave,” he hissed, the Ghost Speak slipping off his tongue like butter.

Skulker’s grin widened. “It seems I’ve touched a nerve. Fear not, child, I’m just here to procure your pelt. Well, your other pelt.”

He flashed his aura in a showcase of power that would send most ghosts running for the hills. “Leave.”

A look of contempt replaced the humor on Skulker’s face. His eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered. “I don’t take orders from you, child.”

There was a natural balancing act between his human brain and ghost core, one that ensured that neither half of him was in full control one hundred percent of the time. No matter how human he was, his core still lingered in the background, and no matter how ghost he was, his human brain still kept tabs on his movements.

But now, as Danny watched Skulker rip a slab of concrete from the ground, he felt something snap inside of him.

“Then I have no choice.”

Green overtook his vision, and Danny Fenton simply disappeared.

Time passed—or it didn’t—in swirls of blue and green. If he looked out, he could see the power released from his gloves, he could see the mix of ectoplasm and ice that he was hurling at Skulker, to protect the building, to protect his body, to protect himself from Plasmius.

That vindictive, lonely asshole.

Who was Plasmius to encroach on what was his?

There were flashing lights around him, but Danny paid them no mind. The only thing that mattered was protecting his body.

Protect his haunt.

Protect his people.

Protect.

He could feel the newly pointed teeth pinch his gums, and the ghostly wisps of his hair fizzle around him. But oddly these changes didn’t worry him, instead they made him feel safe, secure. Like a child clinging onto their blanket.

He launched another barrage of attacks at Skulker, tearing holes through his armor. Panic struck Skulker’s features, and all Danny could think of was, ‘good.’ If Skulker wanted to try to claim dominance over his body, then he would suffer tenfold.

And just before he was about to launch a blast at Skulker that was sure to disintegrate his armor, an amplified voice behind him called out, “PHANTOM!”

Danny flinched, his power leaking out of its concentrated ball.

Weak.

“Phantom, stand down!”

Not a chance.

“We have the area surrounded. Stand down or we’ll be forced to shoot.”

“Better listen to your human puppets,” Skulker said, his voice too shaken to sound mocking. “I know when I’ve been bested.”

It took everything in Danny’s power to not launch himself over to Skulker and tear off his head. “You tried to steal my body.”

“That’s a fight between you and Plasmius.”

“Don’t try to get out of this.”

“Phantom,” Detective Johnson said. “Final warning. Stand down.”

Ectoplasm surged throughout his body. “Make me.”

Multiple events happened at once. Skulker motioned to leave just as Danny raised his arms, blistering white light moments away from release. Then, pain seared through his torso.

Danny yelped, jerking his hand back and releasing the ectoblast somewhere off into the sky. He fell back and hit the ecto-shield, sending electrical warnings through his bones.

Memories of the portal, of the thousands of volts of electricity, of the feeling of his bones and muscles and tissues and cells being ripped apart and stitched back together flashed before his eyes. It was too much, all too much too soon too present. He tried blasting the portal but his gloves were splattered with green and oh no, not good, not good.

He was dying, wasn’t he?

Again.

Would he have a second body?

His vision tilted, and finally he managed to rip himself away from the shield. He collapsed onto the cement and stared up at the sky, chest heaving.

He was paralyzed. He knew he had fingers, toes, arms, legs—but they didn’t work. He couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t fly.

He was dying.

“Phantom?” Johnson’s cautious voice sounded from somewhere off to the side. “Sit up, let’s talk through this.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Danny finally managed to blink. The world snapped back into focus, and his surroundings came with it. He looked down at his torso to see a little hole in his side of his suit surrounded by a trickle of green.

“What—?” Danny gasped.

“I’m gonna put the gun down, okay?” Johnson said. “I just wanna talk.”

“No.” Danny slowly pushed himself up. He surveyed the damage along the walls, the falling bricks on the sidewalk, the shattered windows and bent door. “No, no, no.”

His body wasn’t safe. Not anymore.

“Phantom, come on. Work with me here.”

But he couldn’t. That detective and his partner were just human, they didn’t understand. This was his body and Vlad knew about it and was trying to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost to Danny.

This was a disaster. He shouldn’t have told Vlad anything. He was so stupid for thinking Vlad could help him. He should have known, should have known.

“Phantom.”

“No.”

The cloak of invisibility covered his body, and he shot up into the sky.

Towards the city.

He needed to end this.

---

Sarah felt the chill first.

“You have to stop,” Phantom’s voice echoed behind her.

She sighed and put down her pencil. “Phantom, I thought I explained this already. The police can’t—”

“I don’t care about the police!”

The room grew cold.

“I don’t...ugh!” Phantom floated around her desk, clutching his forehead with one hand and his chest with the other. Mark had just called her with a warning, saying that Phantom was unstable. Looking at the ghost now, Sarah had to agree.

Phantom looked awful.

Dark circles pooled under his eyes, his hair stuck up in all directions, and his face lacked the green blush that normally sat below his skin. His jumpsuit was burned and dried ectoplasm crusted around the torn edges. He looked every bit the image of someone quickly coming undone.

Except this wasn’t just some random person, this was a powerful ghost. This was someone who could easily kill anyone who wronged him.

Or who he felt wronged him.

Deep down, Sarah knew Phantom wasn’t a violent ghost. It didn’t line up with his ghostly Obsession, or the theorized one anyway. But this was his corpse they were dealing with, it was an extension of himself.

Sarah had never confronted a ghost who had lost possession of their corpse. She’d never dealt with a ghost who willingly protected the shield that kept him away from his body if only to make sure it stayed safe. She’d never seen Phantom look so rattled.

At this point, there was no telling what he was capable of.

“Phantom,” she tried cautiously. “You need to calm down.”

“No, you need to tell your buddies to call off this investigation!”

“You know I can’t do that. I have no control over the department, and even if I did, we need to follow the law.”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Why, because I’m a ghost? Because my words mean nothing because I’m not human? I’m telling you that I don’t want to press any charges, I don’t get why that’s not good enough!”

The room grew even colder.

“We’ve been over this. Please, Phantom, sit down—”

“No!” he snapped. “I’ve been telling you guys since the beginning that this was a bad idea, that people are going to get hurt! And no, nobody listened to me because I’m a fucking ghost! And now look, the building was attacked! My body was attacked! Do you—” his voice cracked, and the glow on his eyes wobbled. He drifted closer to her. “Do you even understand? Do you get how dangerous this is? Do you understand the people you guys have pissed off? Who you’re playing with now?”

Sarah took a deep breath. Even as a human, the power Phantom was emitting was palpable. “What people? You mean the ghost who attacked the morgue?”

“Not him. He—he’s just a lacky. Just following orders.” He let out a bitter laugh, running his hand over his forehead and smearing green across his skin. “You guys have no idea, you really don’t…”

Dread crept up Sarah’s spine. If what Mark was saying was true, then this could run deeper than they thought. “Explain it to me.”

“I’m…” He glanced up, looking ill. “I’m not…normal. For a ghost, I mean. I can’t explain it. I really can’t. But the other ghosts...they consider me a liability. And now that you guys have my—my body, they’re afraid.”

“Why are they afraid?”

“Because…” His brow furrowed. “I can’t—I can’t…”

She tilted her head, watching the ghost choke on his words. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll stop at nothing till they get my body back. They’ll kill everyone in that building if it means nobody finds out my secret.”

What secret? Sarah wanted to scream, but she held back.

“Phantom,” Sarah lowered her tone. “Are they the reason you’ve been so afraid of us finding out the truth? Have they threatened you in any way?”

“No!” He backed up in shock. “I—I mean, sort of? Listen, it’s not because of him—them, I promise. It’s more complicated than that. He’s just protecting me, you know? If my secret gets out, that would put them all in danger, but it would put me in even more danger. I wouldn’t...I’d have to leave. I’d be on the run.”

“Why?”

“It’s so messed up.”

“Then tell me.”

She already knew. She just needed him to confirm it for her.

He looked to her, his bright green eyes seemingly desperate for help. But he shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

“Wait—”

But he was already gone.

---

“I’ve never seen him look so scared,” Abrams said.

“So you think he’s right.” Crowley took a long swig of his coffee, “Course you do.”

“It makes sense,” Abrams insisted. “Why else would Phantom be so terrified of people finding the truth?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because he’s a teen who was playing with electrical equipment he wasn’t supposed to be near and even in death doesn’t want to get in trouble for it!”

“Yes but how would that explain all the ectoplasm in his DNA? That doesn’t come from just any electric shock.”

“Who knows,” Crowley said. “The Fentons have always been crackpots. Always have had ludicrous theories. Now suddenly when it’s convenient, you’re all running to their side?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “We’re not running to their side.”

“Then what do you call this?” Crowley gestured to the duo. “Sure looks like it to me.”

“You have to admit that it makes sense,” Mark said. “I mean, get real. Doesn’t any of this smell fishy to you?”

Crowley slapped his empty coffee mug on the table. “You know what smells fishy to me? The Fentons are the only known ecto-scientists in this whole damn city, the only people who have lab-grade ecto-equipment in Amity Park, and suddenly right when they were getting into some financial trouble, Phantom appears out of nowhere from a death that reeks of forced ecto-contamination. That smells fishy to me.”

Mark paused, but then shook his head. “If that were true, then why would Dr. Fenton even offer human experimentation as a possibility?”

“To gloat? Gain our trust? Test our intelligence?” Crowley threw his hands up. “Who knows? They’re crazy!”

“So you think we need to investigate them?” Mark asked.

“I’d be a damn shit detective if I didn’t. They have the means and motive to create a ghost like Phantom. It’s just like Maddie said.”

“I think he’s right,” Abrams said, nibbling on her bagel. “If this is actually a case of ecto-experimentation, then the Fentons should be on the list of suspects.”

“Finally, some common sense around here. Just about the only case of common sense these days…” Crowley grumbled.

Mark chose to ignore that comment, instead checking his phone. No notifications, damn. The entire department had been on high alert for Phantom ever since the attack on the morgue. Mark was just relieved that the new and improved ecto-guns had finally been issued that morning. If not for the updated technology, that incident likely would have ended far less smoothly.

Not that it really ended smoothly. Phantom had yet again escaped Mark’s clutches, free to run off and break into Sarah’s home.

Guilt clawed at Mark’s stomach, but he pushed it back. Phantom was a slippery ghost, one that had escaped all levels of ghost hunters from the Fentons, to the Ghost Investigation Ward. Mark knew it would take a lot more than a few words of peace and one ecto-gun to stop that kind of raw power.

“What do we even know about the Fentons?” Abrams asked.

“They’re ghost hunters and mostly make weapons now, but before that they dabbled in all sorts of ecto-based technology. The husband, Jack, is the engineer and the wife, Maddie, is the biologist. They have two kids, Jasmine and Daniel. Jasmine, or ‘Jazz’ is supposedly top of her class, likely to graduate valedictorian, while Daniel’s something else. Bad grades, skips class, all around a bit of a loner,” Crowley said, regurgitating information like he was reading a case file.

Mark glanced at his colleague, giving him an impressed smirk. “Did your homework early, eh?”

“I told you, something aint right here,” Crowley said.

“And? What do you think?” Mark asked.

“What I think is that I’m shocked their house is even coded to have a lab inside. I’d like to know whose ass they kissed to give them that permit.”

Abrams snorted. “Jesus, Jacob.”

“What? I’m right!”

“Fine, whatever,” Mark stood, collecting his empty coffee cup and paper plate. “I godda head home, my sister’s visiting this weekend.”

“Alright, tell Susan I said hello. And say hi to her little demon child too.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “She’s four.”

“What, four year olds can’t be demons? I should know, I had two of them.”

Abrams swiped her empty wrapper and tossed it in the trash. “Yeah, I have to feed Atlas. I’ll see you both next week.”

“Take care!”

---

“Well at least we know Phantom didn’t change anything about his facial structure when he became a ghost.” Crowley’s small eyes swiveled between the photo of Phantom in one hand and the new sketch rendition of his human identity.

Mark grunted and stared at his own copy of the photo.

The corpse had been too decomposed to be able to distinguish a face, and ghosts often change their appearance in death. Sure, Phantom looked like a regular human, but it was impossible to know that for a fact.

Fortunately, modern research and re-composition was advanced enough that they didn’t have to wonder for long. Especially with this being such a high-profile case for the city.

And as it turned out, aside from the hair, Phantom really didn’t look all too different when he was alive. He had the same sharp nose, the same angular chin, the same boyish face. The only thing that was different was his hair and presumably his eye color, although that was still a mystery due to the corrupted DNA.

Even though there was little change to Phantom’s appearance, seeing the black haired, brown eyed human boy staring back at Mark was rather shocking, if he were being honest. There was something off putting about seeing this enigma quite literally brought back to life. It took away that edge of lore that the heroic town enigma had.

Now Phantom wasn’t some wild mystery. He was just...a kid.

“This really is something,” Crowley said. “Guess we should put it to good use.”

Mark sighed, turning his attention back to his desktop. Sifting through missing person’s reports was never exactly a fun way to start the morning.

“You think you can handle it, rookie?” Crowley asked.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting.”

Crowley let the photographs drop to his side. “Alright, I’m going to continue doing some digging on our suspects.”

“Good luck.”

“And you.”

The work was tedious and depressing. Face after face of missing minors flickered across his screen. It was almost too hard to believe that Phantom was a part of this list.

Caucasian. Black hair. Eye color unknown. Five foot five.

That was all they had on Phantom. For all they knew, he could have been from another city entirely.

But hopefully Mark would find a hit, at least one kid from Amity who fit the profile.

And in fact, there were a few...sort of. Four teens who had black hair and were about five foot five. But none of them looked quite like Phantom.

Which meant Mark had to widen his search.

How wonderful.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out wide. It was nearly lunchtime now and he felt like he’d gotten no further than where he was before. Mark stood from his chair, feeling a bit defeated. Hopefully Crowley would’ve had better luck on the suspect list than Mark.

He strolled over to Crowley’s desk, only to find the desk empty. Crowley had likely already left for lunch, the bastard hadn’t even bothered to grab Mark on the way.

Not that Mark could really blame him. He doubted Crowley wanted to use his lunch break to talk about the case after the tedious research they both had spent their mornings doing.

Mark dug his phone out of his pocket, intent on sending the older detective an update, when he stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, a familiar face stared up at him.

Mark slowly lowered the device and crept toward the desk, as if his mere presence would disintegrate the paper on his desk.

Inside Fentonworks: the Fenton family’s home-grown anti-ghost business!

It was an article printed from some online magazine that Mark didn’t recognize. Slapped on the cover of the page, just under the title, was a photo of a family of four beaming, waving at the camera. One of the members was a young boy—about Phantom’s age—with black hair in almost the same haircut as Phantom, with that crooked smile that Phantom had been caught adorning all too many times.

Waving at the camera.

Skinny, short for a boy, son to two ecto-science parents who fill their basement with dangerous high-voltage and easily combustible ecto-technology.

His name was listed as Daniel.

Mark glanced at the two images in his hand, and then looked at the article below him.

Holy shit.

No. There was no way. Crowley had been suspicious of them, and he had good reason to include them on his suspect list, but this kid was alive. He wasn’t missing, he wasn’t dead, he was standing right there.

It just wasn’t possible.

His apple watch pinged, alerting him of a ghost attack nearby.

Mark hurried back to his desk, swiping his coat off his chair.

This was impossible.

The police sketch and the copy of the article pressed against his fist.

Phantom was a ghost. Ghosts will do anything to protect themselves. They would lie, cheat, and manipulate humans in order to stay on top.

Mark was just seeing things.

There was no way that this was him.

He beelined for the door, tucking the papers into his pants pocket.

It wasn’t possible.

The drive there was short, and the fight even shorter. It had just been the Box Ghost, so nothing that Phantom couldn’t handle. The ghost gave his little song and dance, captured the ghost, and waved brightly to the crowd. But Mark could see right through it, right past all the cracks in his façade.

Phantom was losing it.

And Mark could end this.

“Phantom!” Mark called out through his cupped hands.

The ghost flinched, his cheery face replaced with a scowl instantly.

“Another time,” he said.

But Mark didn’t have another time. He needed to know now.

Because Phantom could end this insane proposition. He could laugh heartlessly at the mere mention that he was this random living child. He was Phantom, protector of Amity Park, not some human experiment.

Not some impossibility.

Not some kid who’s been dead for a year and only pretending to be human for his family.

Not the greatest act of manipulation from a ghost that Mark had ever seen.

Mark yanked the papers from his pocket and unfolded them with shaking fingers. He held them up hastily, knowing that they were too far away for normal human eyes.

But this was Phantom. He wasn’t human.

Mark saw the exact moment that Phantom recognized the photos. The ghost’s eyes widened, his face paled, his aura dimmed. Then, in the blink of an eye, the ghost vanished.

Mark was right.

---

The air was thick, tense. Phantom slumped in his armchair, his body the equivalent of a white flag. Even so, his eyes were bright, charged with nervous energy.

He was terrified.

Atlas must have sensed this, because the dog had decided to break away from being Sarah’s shadow to lay against the ghost’s feet.

“I don’t know where to start,” Phantom admitted after a few tense beats of silence.

“The beginning, maybe,” Jacob said.

Phantom looked sick at the suggestion, but relented. “You’re right. Yeah...I…” he glanced up at the two detectives and Sarah seated across the coffee table on her dull green couch. Phantom had appeared in her kitchen not even an hour ago, looking like he’d just seen the personification of death itself.

And instantly, Sarah knew.

She’d tried to coax him to let her bring him to the station so he could come clean there, but he refused. He said the information was too sensitive and he didn’t trust the station to not have cameras recording every angle of every room.

And so they settled on her living room instead. Mark and Jacob arrived, seeming none too surprised by the arrangement, and more than willing to follow Phantom’s direction if it meant they would finally get the truth.

Which Phantom didn’t seem remotely ready to give.

“I guess…” He tried again, closing his eyes. There was another tense moment of silence before a pair of white rings appeared around Phantom’s waist, traveling up his body and leaving behind a skinny black haired teenager.

Phantom cautiously opened his eyes. And, to Sarah’s surprise, they were blue.

“You’re Daniel Fenton,” Mark said.

She heard Jacob suck in a breath.

“Yes. I’m Danny Fenton.” Without the echo, his voice sounded much closer, much more down to earth than Phantom’s. “And a year ago, I was in an accident.”

His voice, like the rest of him, seemed softer without the powerful aura of Phantom behind it. If Sarah had passed him on the street, she wouldn’t have blinked twice. Gone was the cocky personality, the perfect posture, the floating white hair, the bright, determined expression. Gone was the jumpsuit, the logo, the strong voice that seemed like it could project for a mile, the banter, the confidence.

It was just a kid. A kid with baggy jeans, dirty shoes, and a plain shirt. He didn’t seem lithe, he looked weak. The green undertone to his skin was replaced with red, and his shoulders hunched in a way Sarah had never seen on Phantom before.

“What happened?” Mark asked.

“When my parents first completed their interdimensional ghost portal, it didn’t work. I decided to—it was my fault. I just decided to go in it. I don’t know why.” He looked up to the ceiling. “It was a stupid idea. The portal was plugged in, but there was a switch inside that wasn’t turned on, and I tripped over a wire and turned it on. From the inside.”

Sarah felt a pang in her chest. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. It was,” Phantom agreed. “And then I guess the portal stabilized the connection between Amity Park and the Ghost Zone, because ghosts started appearing in town. So I decided that if it was my fault that they were here, I was going to protect the town. And that’s what I’ve done.”

That’s his Obsession, Sarah realized. It’s protection.

“Why not come out with it?” Jacob asked. “Why bury your body? Why still try to pass as a human?”

Phantom’s head fell into his hands. “I didn’t know what else to do! It—I...you have to understand, my parents would never understand. They think all ghosts are evil. I couldn’t just come out and tell them what happened, they’d kill me!”

“So you decided it was safer to play human,” Jacob said.

“Yeah. I guess I did. Especially since...I sort of still am?” He lifted his head and stuck out his wrist. “I still have a pulse.”

No one moved.

“You’re shitting me,” Jacob guffawed.

“No, I’m being serious. The portal killed me, but then it brought me back to life. Except by then my body was already altered from the ecto-electricity, so the working theory is that I exist in this sort of limbo state between dead and alive. Hence why…” He transformed into Phantom and then back to Fenton. “Hence why I have two forms.”

“And the body,” Mark said. “The coroner report said it only weighed a little over half the weight of a normal body due to all the ectoplasm. But if you’re half alive, how would you have a body?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t know? To be honest, that day was such a nightmare that I’ve mostly blocked it out.”

Mark finally reached over and took the boy’s wrist. He pressed two fingers against the skin and waited.

“Damn.” His eyes widened. “It’s actually there.”

“No way,” Jacob said, leaning over to take Phantom’s wrist. A few seconds passed before he was joining Mark’s reaction. “It is there.”

“I know.” Phantom tucked his arm back to his chest. “I don’t understand it. I have a heart and also a ghost core. I can feel it all the time, even as a human. I have human thoughts and feelings and ghostly instincts playing constantly.”

As confusing and morbid as this was, it made sense in a sort of twisted way that Sarah only reserved for the rambling logic of her paranoid, senior grandmother. It explained why Phantom, a ghost, would willingly risk himself day in and day out over the safety of humans. Phantom was a ghost who was driven to protect his home, and he was also a human who wanted to look after those he loved.

He was truly Schrödinger’s cat. Dead and alive inside his little box, his little town, with no one able to measure him.

“That’s the thing that sets you apart from the ghosts,” Sarah said, tapping her knee with her finger. “That day when you came to my house saying that you were different, this is what you were talking about. You also said it would be dangerous if this information got out.”

The question was implied, and Phantom seemed to pick up on it, judging by his grimace.

“You weren’t talking about your parents.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“So then who is it? Who was trying to destroy the morgue? Who are you hiding from?”

Danny crossed his arms and glared at the floor. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said bitterly. “The government. GiW, all of them. Think of what they’d do if they knew someone could be both dead and alive at the same time.”

“Well fuck the lot of them,” Jacob said.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed.

“And the ghost who was trying to take down the morgue?” Mark pressed.

“I…” Danny’s eyes shifted. “I can’t say. It’s a ghost thing. All the ghosts in the Zone know about me, they call me a halfa. Half alive, half dead. Honestly, I don’t think it took much convincing for them to want to protect me.”

“But you were fighting against them,” Jacob countered. “If they were really trying to protect you, then why not go along with them?”

Danny opened and closed his mouth, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. Words from Maddie’s ecto-biology papers fluttered across Sarah’s eyes, about how ghosts were evil, they were liars, they’d say and do anything to keep themselves safe.

But as Danny let out a defeated sigh, his arms uncrossing to dangle at his side, Sarah couldn’t help but see the face of a scared teen who was just doing his best.

“It’s a ghost thing,” he finally said. “I didn’t like what they were doing because...because I needed to protect my body. If the building collapsed, it would have gotten damaged.”

Sarah blinked, and her and Mark exchanged a glance.

“I see,” Mark said carefully. “So if there was a plan to recover your...body...safely, you would have gone along with it?”

“I don’t know. Ghosts are weird, they all have their own agenda. I’d rather if it were just...left alone. In the ground. Untouched. Like it had been.”

They were silent for a moment, and Sarah watched as Jacob and Mark stared at each other in silent conversation. One that only partners could properly understand.

Finally, Jacob relented. “Okay, here’s the deal. Say I go talk with Chief Davis and he agrees to keep your identity secret. In exchange, all you’d have to do for us is tell your parents.”

For a moment, Sarah thought Phantom was going to bolt out of the armchair.

“Why?”

“Because you’re screwing around putting your life in danger every day, kid,” Jacob said. “Not to mention, your parents’ house is a walking minefield for you. You godda protect yourself.”

“I protect myself just fine.”

“Doesn’t dismiss the fact that you’re running off getting in fights every day with ghosts, and then coming home to a house littered with ecto-weapons that could kill you. You know, all the way.”

“My parents will kill me if they find out though,” Danny said darkly. “You don’t know them.”

“Which is why you won’t be alone. Crowley and I will be there with you. And I know a woman in CPS who can keep this on the down low too. We won’t let anything happen, promise,” Mark said.

Phantom glanced between them, his wide blue eyes betraying just how fearful he was. “You promise?”

“Yeah kid, we got your back.”

---

“It’s going way better than I thought,” Danny said, throwing the stick up the path.

Atlas didn’t hesitate, bounding after the object with an enthusiasm rivaled by no one.

“I’m glad,” Sarah said. “You deserve a safe place to go home to.”

Danny cocked his head. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Getting to know Danny these past few weeks was surreal. For a year now, Sarah had a set mental image of who Phantom was. The hero, the great protector, the thrill-seeker.

But now, as she got to know the quiet yet snarky kid who went to school and stressed over his math exams just like any other teen would, she’d gotten to appreciate the person that Danny truly was, the person he became when he wasn’t trying to hide his ghostly persona or playing the larger-than-life character.

Atlas pranced back, the stick held high like an Olympic medal.

“Good boy!” Danny praised.

At Sarah’s nonverbal command, Atlas dropped the stick in front of Danny, who was more than happy to pick it up and hurl ahead of the dirt path again.

“It’s weird. It’s almost like...I don’t know, it’s just kind of relieving? To not need to hide? Like don’t get me wrong, my parents are still kinda weird about it. I still don’t really use any of my powers at home because I just don’t think I’m ready. But the other day I used intangibility to get a cup out of the cabinet instead of just opening the cabinet door, and my mom didn’t even say anything. I remember back when I first got my powers and I couldn't figure out how to work them. I spent so long trying to hide any weirdness, and to think that now I can just do stuff and nobody cares.” A blissful smile dressed Danny’s lips. “It’s just nice, is all.”

“I bet,” Sarah said. “Must be a huge weight off your shoulders. And your sister’s okay with it?”

“Oh yeah. My sister actually already knew about it.”

“You’re kidding. Really?”

Danny threw the stick again. “Yeah, but I already knew about that. She told me a few months ago. But she’s been really helpful at home with trying to get everyone on the same page.”

“That’s good.”

“And my dad’s already been begging to take me out to the field with him.”

“Have you taken him up on it?”

“No. Not yet.”

Sarah peered cautiously over to him. “Why not?”

“I dunno.” Danny’s eyes tracked Atlas’ triumphant return from the woods. “It just seems a bit weird still. And besides, it would be kinda odd if my parents went from trying to kill me to suddenly Phantom’s new best friend overnight. For now they’ve agreed to a public truce.”

Ah yes, the truce. That had been all over the news when the Fenton’s announced it, citing new research into ghost psychology that showed instances of benevolent ghosts. The news had rocked the city, some calling the duo crazy, while others praising them for their growth.

Even though Phantom and the Fenton couple were still in the growing pains of their new truce, no one could deny how much more smoothly ghost fights had gotten since it began. There was less property damage, less citizen’s hurt, and overall the process seemed far more professional than it ever had.

“I’ve noticed a change,” Sarah said. “I really think it’s for the best.”

“So do I. Even though it’s still kinda weird.”

“It’ll get easier, just give it time.”

Atlas dropped the stick, apparently distracted by some scent on a bush. He stopped to sniff the plant before wandering behind it, his nose glued to the ground.

“Wait, Atlas—” Danny started, watching as Atlas disappeared into the foliage.

Hearing his name, the dog leapt back onto the trail and over to Danny, who paused to scratch him behind his ear. “Good boy.”

Sarah grinned down at the duo.

Who knew a cadaver dog and a half dead kid could make such a good pair?

---

Thanks for reading!

#danny phantom #my writing #morge #invisobang #invisobang 2021

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leo-gold-hotchner · 3 years ago

Text

Unfortunate Reunion Party Pt.7

this part is more of Hotch and Reader rather than focusing on the case

Title Edited: 09 May 22.

Aaron Hotchner X BAU Reader

Word: 1.2k

Warning: The reader is a victim of school bullying, corrupted cop

When I returned from the scene, a man with a frightened face shouted at Rodriguez. The detective had his hands on his waist, frowning deeply, talking to the man. As the detective noticed us, he took the man into an empty office, quickly blinding the window. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but when Rodriguez pushed him into the office, I saw the man’s familiar pink scar on his right cheek, contrasting with his dark complexion. I nearly forgot his face until I saw the scar.

“His friend?” Prentiss asked me as soon as we entered our office.

“Caleb Johns,” I replied as I sat on the chair. “He was a bystander, only watched as his friends harass others, neither participating nor helping. He was quiet, always followed his friends’ back like a dog,” I spat. He was as same as the others, not even trying to talk down to his friends. He was as guilty as his friends. He had the power to stop his friends, but he only sat on his hands. I couldn’t help but grit my teeth at the memory of him just watching idly when his friends tried to make me drink juice made of crushed roaches. It was a miracle when they just stopped because the school bell rang. At that time, I was just thankful the bullies were actually studious.

“Sometimes bystanders earn more hatred than actual assailants,” Reid added with an understanding.

I watched as Eric Kirvy entered the station with Rossi and Morgan. Rodriguez was glaring daggers at the sailor. If the look could kill, I thought. Kirvy ignored me as he was sent for questions. But when his eyes flickered towards the detective, I saw the torrent of pure rage and hatred pouring toward Rodriguez. Then the tall sailor smirked in a taunting manner with his chin raised up at the detective. Already predicted what would happen, Morgan released Kirvy and blocked Rodriguez from punching the tall man who was held by Rossi.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Morgan tried to persuade the angry detective. Rodriguez breathed hard, his body shaking from anger. “I understand you’re angry. It won’t do any good, man. We’ll get the murderer.”

Before or after Rodriguez got killed, I bit my lip to stop blurting out as I heard Morgan calming down the angry cop.

-----

I blankly watched where the interrogation was being held. Not long after, the station was filled with men. All bulky, many of them tanned from the Sun and deep frowns on their faces. Sailors? Small scars were on their hands and arms; even some officers looked terrified at the crowd. The perfect storm, in a way.

“Kirvy’s friends,” JJ informed me as she entered the BAU office.

“Sailors to testify his alibi?”

“Yeah.” JJ nodded. “Detective Rodriguez is angry, but they will let Kirvy go.”

I silently nodded as I saw the interrogation room door open, and Rossi exited with a shake of his head.

With a smug smile, Kirvy exited the room with his lawyer. The man cracked his neck in a boasting manner when his eyes met Rodriguez’s. Fortunately, or unfortunately, deep in my mind, Kirvy exited the station without an incident.

I pouted a little as I watched him go, and my team entered the office silently.

“I asked Garcia to send victims from them during high school who are dead now.” My word gave my team how I felt about them. I didn’t see them as victims, but they didn’t say anything. “She said it might take some time.”

“We all need time to rest,” Hotch said without looking at the clock. “Let’s go back and recharge. I’m sure Garcia will send files in the morning.”

-----

The cloudless sky was filled with uncountable stars. I could even see the milky way as I silently stared at the white speckles on a black curtain. It was getting late, but I didn’t want to hop into the bed yet. I just sat at an old bench inside the motel garden, where darkness shadowed me from the light coming from the motel office. My body automatically stiffened as my ears perked at the quiet footsteps behind me. I just sat there rigid, and the owner of the footsteps sat quietly next to me.

“So many stars,” he said, looking up at the sky like me.

Then we just sat quietly, only staring at the sky where stars only greet us.

“Have I upset you?” I finally broke the silence.

“Why would I be upset?” Aaron asked in genuine curiosity.

“This morning, when I returned with Reid. You looked at me strangely.”

“I wasn’t upset. It was something different.”

“Might want to share with me?” I asked

“You might laugh at me.” He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at the stars.

“I would never laugh at you, Aaron.” Hesitantly but with courage, I touched his hand with mine. He didn’t pull out, but he intertwined his fingers with mine further. “Unless I’m teasing,” I added to lift some uncomfortable mood that currently resided between us.

I was just glad when I heard a light chuckle from him. “Promise me you won’t laugh, F/N.”

I goodheartedly rolled my eyes. “I promise.”

He turned to me. Despite the darkness, I can fully feel the warmth in his eyes. “I was a little jealous.”

“Jealous? Whatever for?”

“I have no right to be jealous, I know,” Aaron sighed. “But you and Reid really looked….” He paused, looking for the right word.

“Comfortable? Close? Cosy?” Despite my heart banging loudly in my chest, I tried to be helpful.

“Any of them would do,” Aaron let out a laugh. “But yes. I was jealous of Reid. You were laughing with him. I thought if I found you, I would’ve been in his place.”

I boldly leaned on his shoulder. “He’s a good friend. We share a common past. That’s all.”

Another silence fell for a minute before Aaron cleared his throat.

“You don’t think it’s weird for me to be jealous?”

“To be honest?” I snickered a little. “I’d be jealous of whoever next to you if that happened to me.”

He smiled at me. Whenever he smiles, his features relax considerably, making him look younger.

“I thought you’d pull me out from this case when I saw your face this morning.”

His lips no longer quirked in a smile, and his jaw hardened. “I… considered it.”

“I…”

He stopped me from further talking with a light peck on my lips with his.

“Can we be just F/N and Aaron now? Not Hotch and L/N.”

Hopefully, the darkness covered my face enough to conceal my heat from him. “Okay, Aaron.” I further leaned on his shoulder, and he leaned back on me. We sat there quietly and watched the stars singing above us. I wondered where this would go and hoped it would make me happy. Make him happy.

“Once a heart is mutilated, it doesn’t fully recover,” he murmured, still looking at the stars. “They say the time helps you heal, but it actually doesn’t. It just numbs it.” He tentatively held my hand, and his heat instantly warmed my hand. “It’s a hard road to patch the wound, but I’d like to be next to you and walk with it.”

I blinked several times as my eyes started to sting from welled tears.

“Does that answer your question?”

I squeezed his hand. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled at me.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #unfortunate reunion party series #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #bau reader #jj #emily prentiss #spencer reid #dave rossi #derek morgan #Penelope Garcia #gender neutral reader #Agent Hotchner

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wornoutmouse · 4 years ago

Note

I saw the cow boy endeavor post and ask you this 🙈 bull!boys possessive over their soft cow gf?? Any mha boys 👀

Referenced smut, blind reader, crack, fluff.

Yall like my cow au’s a lil too much. Is everything okay at home?

Bakugou, Dabi, Shouji

To keep with the cursed cow theme:

Heifer: a young female cow that has not borne a calf.

Also, cows actually have heats and the female will wander and of course, the bull will be aggressive. Just so you’ll know I’m not talking out my ass.

Bakugou (I had too)

When you first came, I’m going to be real, Katsuki didn’t like your ass. Because you’ve never mated before, Bakugou saw you as extremely weak and he would be damned if he bred you.

When receiving a new heifer, the first rule of business is to slowly but surely introduce the bull to them. To do this, you and Bakugou were placed in a miniature barn with a tall gate in between.

For the most part, you stayed on your side, opting to sleep the days away on your fluffy bed. Bakugou didn’t care, he was perfectly fine glaring at you from a distance and muttering all the reasons you were weak and how the farmers were stupid.

Something that really irked him was how you always nibbled on your tail in order to focus. “Hey dumbass, quit cannibalizing yourself!” You glanced away from your crossword puzzle and just stared at him. Wrong move.

Moments later the farmers had to quickly come in and restrain Bakugou because he had destroyed his half of the barn by scrapping his large horns against the wooden walls. Everyone was forced to do round just in case Katsuki decided to take his anger out on you.

As the weeks went on, you were moved into barns that were smaller than the last until the small gate between the both of you was removed quickly. During all this time, not once did you speak to him so Bakugou practically glued himself to the edge of the barn, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of walking past him.

Of course, this petty rivalry was forced to come to the end. Earlier that day, you had wandered past the field so many times that you were locked inside. So when Katsuki awoke to you shuffling along the sides of the barn and throwing hay at his head, he knew your heat was here.

It took a matter of two hours and annoyance due to the mountain of hay that was on his side as you practically swept your side clean, before Bakugou on the floor pumping his cock into you. There were no words said as your slurred words passed through empty ears. Bakugou’s teeth clenched tightly onto your tail as the last rebuttal on how much he hated you.

“You couldn’t get my attention he old fashion way and ignored me?!” Your tail flicked around as your pleasure heightened. “Well, tonight we are going to see how long you can stay quiet.”

Though his words were harsh, you can’t ignore the fact he willingly fucked you till morning although you were fine with one load.

Dabi

Dabi was one of the many bulls on the ranch that was specifically bred to breed. However his abnormally large horns made other cows afraid of him, of course, that was until you appeared.

You, for a lack of better words, were blind. You had been shipped from a ranch that was going through bankruptcy, and your new owners saw this as a perfect chance.

You were immediately put in the vicinity of Dabi. For about 3 days, Dabi would watch you trail your hands along the dewy grass, occasionally eating a few pieces. On the fourth day, Dabi stood in front of you with pursed lips.

“Why are you staring at me?!” Dabi visibly flinched, leaning away from you. “I thought you were blind?” You nodded, chewing softly on a dandelion, “I am blind, but I can see shadows, and yours is really blocking my light.”

Dabi sputtered, plopping down next to you. You laughed as you could hear him pouting as he too grabbed some grass.

Dabi deeply enjoyed your comfort as he couldn’t get any from his father who was mysteriously out of commission. He would ask you curious questions about your blindness and in return, you asked him what certain things looked like. “Every time I ask people, their answers always vary.”

You held such a close place in his heart that Dabi wanted to breed you sooner rather than later. “I don’t want you to be out of your mind during your heat and I don’t want to be too rough with you.”

Despite this confession, Dabi couldn’t help but force you to make the sweetest of sounds. “You like that?” His scared hand smacks your bouncing bottom as you grip the cotton bed below you. “Oh, please yes!” Watching you bounce above him, made him crave the sweet relief he would feel once he came deep inside of you.

Shouji

For the most part, all the caretakers considered it a lost cause when they roomed you with Shouji. He was lame and was too large to be moved so he spent more of his life in the very barn he was born in. Pitiful eyes would always peek through his stall.

“All those legs and not a single one works, God must be playing a cruel joke.”

It was only a matter of time before Mezzo would be shipped off to the butcher but hey, maybe they could get one good calf out of him. That’s where you came in. Though you were a simple cow, long past your youth, you were the only cow the same size, if not larger than him. This upper hand meant you could move him around and wouldn’t need his help with mounting him yourself.

Since you weren’t new to this rodeo, the farmhands expected you to get straight to work. But no, you waited. During each meal, you’d help him feed himself, his limp libs hung to his side as you held his head up.

Every day, you’d ask him if he was ready, and he’d give you the honest answer of no, so you would leave it at that. But on the day of his heat, you couldn’t stand to hear him grunt angrily, from the lack of stimulation.

You edged close to him cautiously and softly palmed his cock. The euphoric look on his face was one that reassured you your actions were not unwanted. You rubbed his brown tip softly between your fingers, listening t the soft gasps he released. Pleading eyes looked at you and your large figure.

“P-Please, I need you so bad!” You hurriedly sat on top of him, careful to not settle all your weight down as you coaxed his dick inside of you. Although he was unable to help you, the feeling of him stretching your womb was like fresh honey.

Months later, Shouji was still sitting in his barn stuck in his own head. A faint knock on the door alerted him of your presence and he shuffled his way into a sitting position. In you, walked with a calf shyly holding your hand. “There’s your daddy.”

#dabi x reader #bakugou smut #dabi smut #shouji smut #mha smut #hybrid #bnha smut

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blazingparker · 3 years ago

Note

tony finds out that peter wants to propose. marriage = very scary thing for tony. tony panics. peter mishears and thinks the issue is that tony doesn’t want to marry HIM. [misunderstandings + breaking up then making up + angst w/ a happy ending].

thanks sooo much for this prompt, anon!!!! i changed it a little so they didn’t break up but they do have a big fight and make up. It’s also a little shorter than i wanted since i can’t really type still due to my wrist injury but i didn’t want to make you wait any longer. i really hope you enjoy this!

read it on ao3!

---

But Your Fears Get in the Way

Peter was going to propose.

Holy shit, Peter was going to propose.

It wasn’t like Tony had meant to overhear, okay? It wasn’t his fault Peter had assumed Tony was in the lab, not in the living room when he got back from patrol.

“Yeah, Ned, I got the ring. No, I don’t know when yet. I’ll let you know. I just-I want it to be perfect, you know?”

Tony had reacted wonderfully, if you must know. He most certainly did not pretend to be asleep on the couch so Peter wouldn’t know he’d overheard, and he definitely did not avoid his boyfriend as much as possible in the following days. It was a shitty move, and Tony knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t marriage material. What he and Peter had - it worked. If they changed it, if they got engaged, Tony would ruin it. He knew that, and he needed Peter to know that before he lost the best relationship he’d ever had because of his own inability to stop fucking up.

It was just a question of how to bring it up to Peter without breaking his heart and ruining everything anyway. Which was why he’d asked Rhodey to come over and help him out. Tony wasn’t the greatest with words and knew he needed to practice with someone before going out and essentially tell his boyfriend ‘Hey, I overheard you the other day. Sweet gesture, but I’m not marriage material.’

“Tony.”

Tony looked up from the Iron Man gauntlet he was in the middle of repairing to find his best friend standing in the middle of the lab, looking very irritated.

“Hey honey bear,” Tony snarked, sitting back in his chair and setting his tools down.

“You do realize you asked me to come over here, right?” “Course I do.”

“Well, then maybe next time you could put down your toys the first time I call your name instead of the fifth.” Rhodey gave Tony a little smirk and crossed the room, sitting down in a chair across from Tony. The genius ran a hand over his face, looking genuinely apologetic - a rare occurrence for him.

“Sorry, Rhodey. I just-this has got me really shaken up,” he admitted. Rhodey tried not to let his shock show, knowing Tony would shut down and shut him out if he looked like he might be mocking him or not taking him seriously.

“You said Peter wants to propose?” He asked, Tony nodding to confirm the information he’d shared over the phone. Rhodey whistled lowly and blew out a breath, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s big stuff, man.”

“I know it’s big stuff!” Tony almost yelled, reining it back in at the unimpressed look the other man shot in his direction. “I just-I can’t let him. I can’t let him propose. But if I stop him beforehand, I’ll break his fucking heart and he’ll know I overheard him the other night. If I say no, that’d be even worse. If I say yes, I’m just prolonging the inevitable break-up.”

“Why would it be an inevitable break-up? Peter loves you. You’ve been together for four years, Tony. That’s plenty of time for someone to decide their relationship is or isn’t going to work and then act accordingly. Clearly he loves you a whole lot if he’s bought the ring and everything like you said.” Rhodey tried to keep any judgment out of his tone, wanting to understand and not aggravate his friend.

“Because that’s what I do!” Tony exclaimed, standing up so fast his chair rolled backwards across the lab floor. “I ruin relationships. It’s honestly a fucking miracle this has lasted this long, you saw how Pepper and I were before.” Rhodey didn’t disagree - Tony and Pepper had been a hot mess. “I ruin relationships, but I haven’t yet with Peter! So everything needs to just-just stay the same so that I can continue to not fuck it up. For once in my life.”

There was silence after that, Tony’s chest heaving as he breathed in heavily and tried to calm himself down. Rhodey stood from his chair as well, crossing the room to his best friend and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Tony almost seemed on the verge of tears, something he’d only seen a handful of times before.

“I don’t think you could ruin what you and Peter have,” Rhodey said, holding up a hand when Tony immediately opened his mouth to argue. “But if you’re that worried about it, tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Tony asked, and Rhodey took a second to think about how to phrase his next words. He thought Tony’s fears about ruining his and Peter’s relationships were uncalled for, but they didn’t come from nowhere. There was real fear there that needed to be addressed. Both men were so deeply engrossed in their own thoughts and their conversation that neither noticed the lab door easing open slightly and a head full of fluffy brown curls peeking in.

“Tell him you can’t,” Rhodey eventually suggested. “Just-tell him everything you told me. Talk it out with him. Tell him you’re not ready for marriage yet but that you still love him.”

“I’m not ever going to be ready.”

“Then tell him that, Tony. Tell him you can’t marry him. But tell him, not me.”

The two men jumped at the sound of the lab door slamming shut and swift footsteps running down the hall.

“Who was that?” Tony asked, thoroughly confused.

“It seems Mr. Parker is leaving the building in quite a hurry,” JARVIS spoke up. Tony’s entire chest filled with dread and the room was suddenly entirely too cold. Peter had heard. How much had he heard? Didn’t matter, he heard enough to just leave. He’d done it again, he’d ruined the one good thing he had left--

“I’ve ruined this already,” Tony wheezed, finding it difficult to breathe. Rhodey’s hands landed on his arms, his best friend coaching him through taking some deep breaths.

“You didn’t. We both made a pretty huge mistake, but we can fix it. Let’s go talk to him, we can explain.” Tony shook his head, placing his hand on Rhodey’s and removing it.

“No, I need to fix this. Thanks though.” He gave Rhodey a weak smile before rushing out the door, following JARVIS’ directions up to the penthouse.

“Peter!” He called out as the elevator doors opened. He heard shuffling in their bedroom and ran over to the doorway.

Peter was packing a bag. That feeling of dread in Tony's chest intensified as he took in the scene.

“What?” The younger man asked coldly, shoving clothing into his suitcase in a hurried manner that was so unlike him. Usually he treated his things with more care, folding each item carefully before placing it gently in Ben’s old suitcase.

“Just-stop packing, okay?” Tony walked over to where the suitcase rested on the bed and gently tried to block Peter from placing another shirt inside. Thanks to Peter’s ridiculously good reflexes, he was unsuccessful.

“Why? So I can keep listening to the bullshit you and Rhodey were spewing downstairs?” Peter asked, and Tony sighed as he continued to pack. Eventually, the billionaire just started taking the clothes back out of the suitcase, something Peter squawked at. For a few moments, there was just a flurry of movement as Tony took clothing out and Peter rushed to put it back in.

“Knock it off!” Peter cried out after a few moments, catching Tony’s wrists in his hands and holding them tightly.

“Then hear me out,” Tony said, trying to stay calm for them both. On the inside, though, he was terrified. And maybe a little turned on by Peter manhandling him like that--

Focus, Tony.

“Fine,” Peter practically growled as he released Tony’s wrists and took a step back from his suitcase. “Talk, then.”

“First of all, what you heard was taken wildly out of context,” Tony started, and Peter immediately scoffed and rolled his eyes. The younger man crossed his arms over his chest defensively, taking a few steps back from his boyfriend and fixing him with an incredulous look.

“Oh, so you weren’t talking about how much you don’t want to marry me? How you can’t?” He spat out, the words seemingly spearing directly through Tony’s heart.

“Peter-”

“Don’t Peter me. If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have just fucking said so!” Peter said, clearly distressed but trying to hold back tears. “No, but instead-instead, you strung me along for four goddamn years only to tell your friend that you can’t marry me instead of telling me! Do you not see how fucked up that is, Tony?! The second you overheard me you should have come to me instead of avoiding me like the plague! I thought I’d done something wrong, but I guess the only thing that I did wrong was loving you too much.”

“I-”

“No, I’m not finished,” Peter said, pointing at him. Something in his gaze, in the way he held himself in such a defensive way that he’d never been around Tony before, made the genius shut up. “Four years is plenty of time to tell me you don’t want to marry me. Plenty of time for you to let me go so we can both move on. Why didn’t you? What did you think was going to happen? That we were just going to stay boyfriends forever? Newsflash, Tony, in adult relationships there’s this thing called commitment.”

“I have been wholly committed to this relationship for four years, Parker,” Tony growled, more than a little bit of anger peeking through the fear at those words.

“Congratu-fucking-lations! You’re not acting like an adult though, are you? Committing to a relationship means commitment for the future, too! Not just right now.” Peter yelled - he was yelling now - and something inside Tony broke.

“I never said I didn’t want to marry you!” He yelled, and both of them fell into a shocked silence. Tony never raised his voice - not at Peter, anyway. Sure, they’d fought before, but Tony was usually calmer and when he did get angry he never yelled like that. They both took a few breaths before Tony ran his hands over his face and continued.

“I never said the problem was you,” he rephrased, voice softer now as he glanced down at the floor. “I’m the problem, Peter.”

“You’re the-”

“No, stop. Just let me talk.” Tony’s voice was exhausted, defeated even. He knew this was coming, despite Rhodey telling him otherwise. Despite hoping his days of setting relationships on fire and then watching them burn were over.

“Okay,” Peter agreed in an equally quiet tone. He felt slightly bad for screaming at Tony like that, but given what he’d overheard it had felt justified at the time. Now, after seeing his boyfriend look so utterly broken like this? He wasn’t so sure.

“This,” Tony gestured between them. “This is what I do. I cause problems. My relationships start out great and then inevitably I fuck it up somehow. A suit comes to protect me from a nightmare. I forget an anniversary because I’m too busy tinkering in the lab.” He finally met Peter’s eyes. “I take my fears of losing you to my best friend instead of to you, like I should have.” Something in Peter’s eyes softened slightly at that last admission, and Tony swallowed before continuing.

“Four years with you isn’t enough, Peter. Our whole lives won’t be enough. Of course I want to marry you. But I can’t. I can’t marry you because then when I fuck up and lose you then we’re both going to be in for a world of hurt. It’ll be easier if we just stay like this.” Peter took in a breath like he wanted to say something but Tony kept talking. “I’m not saying dating is going to make it so I never screw this up, but it’ll at least let me enjoy this a little longer. Enjoy you a little longer.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then another.

After a few moments, Peter walked up to Tony and gently took his hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over calloused knuckles.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered fondly, and Tony tried to jerk his hands out of Peter’s grip. His boyfriend was too fast, though, holding on steadily and continuing those soft touches.

“That’s not news,” Tony tried to joke, but his voice was weak.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Peter murmured.

“I just did! Almost. You were packing!”

“Because I thought my boyfriend didn’t want to marry me. I thought-” Peter broke off, taking in a shaky breath as tears came to his eyes. “I thought you wanted marriage, but not with me. Why would I stay and make us both go through a relationship where neither one of us is ever going to get what we really want?”

Tony could almost kiss his stupid, selfless boyfriend. Of course Peter fucking Parker would put his own heart into the line of fire to make sure Tony got what he really wanted.

“Now that I know that that’s not what you meant, I’m here to stay. Of course I’m here to stay. I love you, Tony.” Peter reached up and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s cheek, squeezing his hands lightly.

“So you understand why I can’t?” Tony asked, and Peter rolled his eyes. The action was more fond now than it was angry.

“No, I don’t. But we’re going to work on it. As long as what we both want most is each other, then we can work it out. I’m not going to let your fears get in the way of us.” Peter smiled sweetly up at Tony, who felt slightly dizzy. Peter wasn’t leaving him. They were going to be okay.

“I’ll work on it,” he promised, voice barely more than a whisper.

“We will,” Peter amended. Tony simply nodded before leaning down, capturing Peter’s lips in a fierce kiss. He finally pulled his hands free of that soft grip and wrapped them around the smaller man, tugging him into his chest and holding him close.

As they slowly broke apart, Tony barely held back a whine and tried to chase after Peter’s lips. His boyfriend just laughed, placing a gentle finger on Tony’s lips.

“Wanna help me get my clothes off the bed?” He asked, and the older man groaned at the thought of cleaning up.

“Do we have to?” He asked.

“Well, we can’t exactly have fantastic make-up sex if the bed is covered in all my clean clothes,” Peter pointed out, smirking as he mouthed along Tony’s neck before pulling away.

Tony, ever the genius, simply ripped the comforter off the bed and tossed it aside, revealing sheets with no clean clothing in the way.

“Fixed,” he crowed, picking Peter up and placing him on the bed. The laughter that rang out in their bedroom as he climbed on top of his boyfriend was something Tony knew he would cherish.

They had things to work through, that was for sure. But it was like Peter said. As long as they both wanted each other, Tony had a feeling they would figure it all out.

#blazingparker writes #starker #starker fic #starker community #peter parker x tony stark

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