#soak the hair ties in fire res

[minecraftbookshelf]

my personal Tango of the Tek variety character design headcanon is fire-hair that is just long enough to go into a stubby little ponytail when he’s working to keep it out of the way. And then when he gets excited or frustrated or has any kind of emotion (which is frequently) his hair burns through the tie and falls down and he has to either cope or put it up all over again.

[poppadom0912]

Together (VI)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, and scary men.

Summary: Everyone in Chicago knows the signature Halstead stubbornness, but the Murray's only smell delusion.

A/N: A Levels are kicking my ass but enjoy!! This was also written on while I was at school so there might be a few mistakes. The angst in this is too good to be true if you ask me so buckle up ;)

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

The effects of the drugs were still present as Will came back to, vision blurry and body in agony as he re-adjusted himself on the cold floor. Everything came rushing back and he tried his best not to panic when he couldn't find Jay.

However, his panic became clear as day when he caught your unconscious figure laying almost too still on the floor, too far from him to reach you.

Despite calling out to you, trying his best to nudge you with his feet, you never moved, remaining immobile. Will swore he heard you groan but it was so silent he could easily blame it on delusion.

Trying his best not to jump to conclusions, Will tugged and moved his hands tied to metal pipes, trying as hard as he could to release himself so he could get to you.

And it might've taken what felt like years, resulting in his wrists to bleed out a bit too heavy than normal but he was already in so much pain that it made no difference.

As carefully as he could so not to aggravate any of his more serious injuries, Will brushed your hair away from sticking to your forehead to behind your ears.

On instinct, he checked for a pulse and choked back a sob when he felt it. It was definitely weak but it was there and that was all that mattered right now.

"Y/N? Y/N open those eyes for me." Will whispered, gently picking your head up and placing it on his thighs, letting them act as a pillow.

"I know you're in there so don't even try it with me young lady." He said, semi strict tone that he used to use when you were a teenager and he was the only fatherly figure in your life besides Jay.

Once again, you groaned from the sheer amount of pain you were in, tears pricking your eyes and falling down your cheeks when you didn't bother holding them back.

"There she is." Will continued whispering, a smile gracing his lips as the two of you made eye contact. He felt his chest tighten at the sight of your silent tears. "Hurts... It hurts Will." You said huskily, voice cracking and breaking, an indication that you were going to lose it soon. "It hurts so much."

“I know, I know it does.” Will whispered, swallowing harshly as you shivered in his arms. “I’m so sorry but you have to stay awake for me.”

Despite being in a haze, you let out a sound that indicated you were listening to him. As you did so, you forced your eyes open and studied your oldest brothers scar filled face.

“You're hurt Will.” You said, trying to raise your voice in sternness but it only cracked further. Mustering as much strength as you could, you lifted your hand and gently poked his face with your own bloodied and worn out fingers.

Slightly wincing, Will held your wrist, his touch as light as a feather as he moved it away back onto your lap. “Don’t talk to much okay? You need to preserve your energy and try not to lose your voice.”

You were never a sticker for the rules, always foregoing your brothers advice whenever they lent it to you. "Tell me a story, something I don't know... please?"

The desperation soaked into your words, it almost brought Will back to a time where innocence was all the Halstead siblings knew. The image of a toddler you, wobbling along like a penguin but ambition shone bright in your eyes as it always did whenever you heard the boyish shouts of the only kids who'd have to become men too quickly

For the sake of you. 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he continued to bring you comfort with his feather light touches as to not add any more gasoline to to fire your body was set on. 

"Well." Will blinked away his tears, refusing to show both his pain and fear in a moment that he needed to be the big brother he's been since the early age of two. "I was going to tell you this at your wedding but when you were seven..."

And with ease, something Will hadn't felt since he was in Jay's truck earlier today or maybe it was yesterday, time slipped away from him; Will delved into what sounded like angels singing hymns.

The great blue earth that spun ever so gracefully felt so insignificant right now. It felt like hell was here in the room with you because this pain was otherworldly. 

You would never let them know, but you craved sweet release. 

*****

Jay felt like he was going crazy, which he was, both figuratively and literally. 

Here he was in the bullpen, not in the best of states taking into account the cuts and bruises littering his body, his thigh pulsating whenever he moved an inch but just as he felt the pain, he remembered you and Will. He remembered your battered body and your helpless screams and despite never seeing it, he knew Will had been hurt but the man was too stubborn and selfless to show his younger siblings. 

There was no new evidence since Jay's unexpected arrival. 

Everything had been thoroughly sifted through and no rocks had been left unturned. Things were so uneventful that Kelly had been convinced - *cough cough forced* - back to work with the promise he was their first call when they found something. And of course, Jay wasn't going to deny his future brother-in-law. 

The middle Halstead sibling sat at his desk, picking away at every miniscule detail he could remember. His siblings lives were literally in the palms of his hands and he'd be damned they were ripped out of his grasp. He wasn't a Halstead for nothing. It was the only good thing they all inherited from their father and that was his godforsaken stubbornness that Voight, Goodwin and Boden cursed out on a daily. 

His eyes stung, salty tears blurring his vision for mere seconds before they were extinguished. This was not the time nor was it the place for Jay to start contemplating and start thinking the worst. He knew that as long as neither of you were alone, as long as the two of you remained together then he had no reason to worry and his only job was to find you. 

The Jackson brothers had already taken so much from the Halsteads and just as life was running smoother than silk, they barged in and tore it all apart with no care for the feelings of others. Jay didn't understand just how cruel people could be, even in his line of work some people were just beyond evil just for the sake of it. 

Apparently, according to Antonio who had been in touch with a few of his people, Jackson's escape was so clean not a single prison guard could recollect when or how it happened and Ezra had been in hiding for the past four years. There were no explanations to their appearances and Jay felt himself going mad. 

Maybe he was beginning to get delirious from the endless dead ends they came upon or maybe it was the blood loss catching up to him added with the adrenaline finally dying down. No one would know but Jay could live with that if it meant getting a single hint or clue as to where his brother and sister were kept locked away from his itching fingers. 

In Jay's opinion, Voight wasn't being fair when he denied giving Jay his backup gun that was usually kept in the draw at the bottom of his desk. He'd confiscated it and refused to give it back till this entire ordeal was over as he claimed Jay's behaviour to be unpredictable even when on the verge of fainting. 

"Thanks Kim." Jay thanked the brunette with a tight lipped smile when she placed a coffee and sandwich in front of him on his desk. He could practically feel the concern oozing off his colleagues but he simply ignored it, shoving it far away because that was the least of his problems right now. Deep down, he knew he needed medical attention but then he heard your gut wrenching cries and suddenly his eyes were stinging again. 

According to the numbers on his computer screen, it would be 24 hours since the Halsteads kidnapping in approximately three minutes and gosh did it make Jay want to scream, shouting out to any higher power that was empathetic enough to help. 

His favourite coffee sat peacefully in its paper cup but the brown liquid only made him feel queasy. For some reason, the common beverage made him think of the thermos sitting in his truck that belonged to Will, his older brothers complaining about how the ED had tired him out. God, Will must be so tired. 

Swallowing back the rising bile, Jay sighed, his entire body deflating into his chair. His head was pounding and the bandage Ethan tightly wrapped around his leg was soaked through, his blood was soon going to start dripping onto the wooden floor and he didn't need that on his mind too. Sitting up, Jay nicely asked if Kim could help him redress the wound which she nodded without a second thought. Besides the two of them and Voight in his office doing God knows what, the bullpen was empty despite the occasional team member moving in and out with an urgency that never left since they heard Jay's audio from Trudy. 

Screwing his eyes shut, Jay bite back a wince when Kim knelt down and touched his thigh with practiced gentleness that reminded him of the tenderness his first responder siblings showed whenever on the clock. 

All of a sudden, his heart lurched out of his chest when Kim's phone alarm went off, a notification popping up and going as soon as it came. It was very short lived but Jay caught of glimpse of the words on her phone and felt dread taking over his body. 

Dragging his eyes back over to his computer screen, Jay could only feel the weight on his shoulders increase tenfold and if he listened closely, he could probably hear his bones creaking under the pressure. 

It'd officially been 24 hours since the Halsteads went missing. 

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale

[the-ellia-west]

A Farm Girl & A Prisoner

Alkain Short story (3/3)

I hope y'all like it!!!!

(This is entirely unedited, My BAD)

(And it's only a bit shorter than Part 2, sorry, Lovelies!)

ALSO, THE STUFF ABOUT MULTIPLE COLLARBONES AND SHOULDERS IS INTENTIONAL BC HE HAS 4 ARMS

The Queen trailed a hand over his shoulders and leaned into him, resting her head into the crook of his top shoulder. Her breaths warmed his cheek as she twisted his long tangled hair between her fingers and brushed her lips against his ear. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad for a promise.”

Alkain squeaked softly, his whole body trembling beneath the binding spell, closing his eyes as she slid a knife off of a side table. “Know what this is, Ciranes? This is my best friend, and I think it’ll be yours too!” She pressed the blade to his upper collarbone. “You two fit quite nicely.” 

A long silence stretched between them before the cool steel dug into his skin, drawing a thin line of crimson fire from collarbone to collarbone, extending it to the right shoulders. He flinched, tears stinging in his eyes, his pleas for mercy muffled through the gag. The Queen’s hand moved to his neck, smoothing along his skin and pulling him closer to her. 

His begging turned to tears as he tried to ask her to stop. But his words only came out as sobbing mumbles. She frowned. “That’s a very unappealing sound, Alkain.”

The Elf whimpered softly in an attempt to speak as her fingers found the gag’s ties and wrenched it tighter, sending his pleas to his throat. Any sound he made turned into a struggle as he choked on his tears for several agonizing moments. He gasped, vision blurring so he couldn’t see anything as she ripped the knife down from his lower shoulder, carving perfect claw-like gouges into his skin.

Alkain shivered, muffled shrieks of pain sending him into frenzied gasps. He tried to pull away as she moved on to his upper arm, then back to his collarbone, soaking her blade and arms up to the elbows in blood. She wrapped his lower arms around her body, snuggling into his upper arm once more. 

“I love you Alkain, I hope you know that. I’m doing this all for us. To make you the perfect person you were meant to be and ensure you’re happy when you finally realize what I’m trying to do.”

The Elf moaned in pain, streams of crimson caking into the Queen’s loose brunette hair. She sighed. “I hope you will be well acquainted with your new friend by the end of this month. I came back for you, and I intend to keep you with me, just like I promised. You’ll learn to love it. Come on, let’s get you dressed.” 

Niriscia broke the spell and pulled Alkain to his feet, pulling the loose fabric over his wounds and fastening the clasps as he tensed in pain. She ran a hand down his side, a smile in her eyes. Alkain yelped through the gag, summoning all of his strength as he backhanded her across the face and bolted for the door. The Queen cried out in pain and lunged after him, grabbing his wrist. “You little bitch!”

She wrenched him back toward her, his wide grey eyes locked onto her fiery blue ones as blood trickled from her nose. He struggled, but his efforts proved to be in vain as she re-bound him with a spell and he collapsed onto the carpet, wounds reopening fully and seeping into the ground as she placed a foot on his side and propped him up. “You listen to me, now. I was kind to you before. You will learn to appreciate my efforts, and you will learn to love me again, whether you like it or not. But this is a warning. Never, and I mean Never, do anything like that ever again.” She wrenched one of his arms up, and he could only watch, trembling in fear as she drew a display sword from the wall and hacked at his arm.

Agonized screams, pleas, and sobs crackled through the gag, leaving him a whimpering shivering mess as she sliced quicker, much deeper, more painful slashes into his other two arms and chest, kicking him back against the door as she held up his hand, deep blue light swirling around it and his bloody wrist. “This is yours. I can fix it, if I want to. If you want it back, you will do whatever I order, and only when I order it. Understood?”

Alkain shrank back as she pulled the spell from him, ragged gasps and horrified whimpers the only sounds he could make as he stared at his severed hand. The Queen grabbed him by his hair and yanked him along behind her as she reached a room, picking up a large needle. She stabbed it into him injecting the solution straight into his neck as she wrenched him toward the gates and threw him down the stairs where he landed in a bloody heap. “And need I remind you what happens when you don’t come back? Their deaths were a warning, and I don’t think either of us want any more blood.”

The Gates clanged behind the Queen as Alkain pushed himself to his trembling knees. She’d kicked him out twice before when he’d resisted, and he still remembered the sticky scent of blood when he’d disobeyed her. The sight of someone hung by his own intestines and nailed to the frame of his kitchen door. He tugged himself to his feet, dizziness making him scramble for his footing as he stumbled off down the street, trailing blood behind him as he went.

***

“It’s been a long day!” Euania leaned against the bar and smirked at Oirwyn. “Take a break, Wyn! You’ve been about all day!”

“I can’t, I still have stuff to do, Nia!”

“Like what? Getting yourself kicked by a horse and making me take care of you for the next week? Overworking yourself so bad you fall asleep in your work uniform and make me have to stitch it back together. If you’re trying to make less work for me, it’s not working!”

“Nia, we still have customers. If I’m staying up, so are you.”

“Oh, come on! You know I need my beauty sleep to keep my good looks!” Euania pantamimed fainting against the bar, and Oirwyn grabbed her hand.

“Nia, we both know that whatever happens, you’ll look like a radish that was stepped on one too many times by a cart-horse.” The Barkeep smirked at his sister and trotted off.

“Wha- Hey! Come back over here Mr. Big-ego, and we’ll show these kids what a real bar fight looks like.”

“Oh Please, I could end you easily no matter the circumstances!”

“Really? Try saying that when I beat you over the head with this tray!” Euania smiled as she leaned against the counter. Conversation and light laughter rippled across the tavern as the patrons watched their friendly argument.

“Try it Nia and I’ll wash your dress in mud.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Oirwyn laughed sinisterly. “Oh, I would.”

After a few more minutes of banter and work, the siblings returned to the counter, defaulting to eavesdropping as they usually did when they ran out of conversation topics, a better way of observing the local news.

“I heard the Queen threw out her toy again.” A man by the door scoffed. “He’s lucky enough to gain her favor and he’s entitled enough to say he doesn’t want it? Who does he think he is?”

“I don’t know, I hope she kills him. Then we wouldn’t have to see his smug face everywhere.”

“Did you hear he killed a man and his son just for saying no to him?”

“Yeah, I hope I never have the luck of crossing paths with him.”

“Entitled Bastard.”

Oirwyn glanced at Euania, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you heard of the person they’re talking about?”

“Only vaguely. They say he’s the Queen’s… uh…” She paused, trying to figure out how to word it.

“Ah… I haven’t heard much. I wouldn’t want to meet him though, doesn’t sound too nice.” The Cave Spirit glanced at his sister, who just shrugged before they continued eavesdropping.

“Isn’t he Seikarian?”

The first man scoffed. “Apparently. Maybe that’s why he’s so entitled—born into a country that can’t admit when it’s wrong.”

“If that ain’t the truth.” The Second rolled his eyes. “So how’s your sister?”

Euania stopped listening and moved to another conversation while cleaning cups, and another. Everyone seemed to be talking about ‘the Queen’s Plaything’. Whoever that was, he'd become a local legend around the city in the last month. Whether that was for the better or the worse, she had no idea.

Euania nudged her brother. “I’d like to get some fresh air, if that’s alright with you. Do you think you can handle manning the bar alone for fifteen minutes?”

“I’ll try my best Nia, but I’m not sure if I could, it’s just… so difficult- Nah, get out. It’s easier when I don’t have to deal with you!” He shoved her shoulder playfully.

Euania laughed. “Alright, bye everyone! I’ll be back soon, don’t miss me too much!”

“We won’t! Be careful Nia.” 

“I will, don’t worry!” Euania stepped out onto the cobblestones and took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs as she looked up at the sky freckled with millions of stars, like snow on a black canvas. The Tailor hummed to herself, mind running through everything she'd heard.

Who was this man? What had he done to deserve those words from the patrons? Was he truly the terrifying figure he was believed to be? Or was there something else? Euania couldn't believe that someone would just do that without a reason. She sighed, letting go of her thoughts as she passed the bakery. She stopped. Eh, maybe I could get something for Wyn.

“Hi! Welcome- Oh, Euania! Good evening! It’s nice to see you!” The Elemental behind the counter looked up.

“Myria! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, what about you?”

“I haven’t been too bad myself, what can I do for ya?” Myria smiled.

“I need some bread and I thought I’d get something nice while I’m here.”

“Understood, well how about some of these.” The Elemental put a box of frosted cakes across the counter. “There’s six of ‘em and it’d only cost you two extra copper.”

“Sure, I’ll do that!” Euania slid the coins across the table to her as Myria put the pastries into a basket for her.

“It was good to see you, you should stop by more often!”

“I’ll try! Thank you!” Euania waved, the door closing behind her and suddenly plunging her back into the cool darkness of the night. She shivered, eyes darting around the streets before she set off, taking the long way home.

The Cave spirit weaved down a dark street and paused as a strange noise echoed from an alley leading to the city’s inner circle. She poised to run. “Hello?”

Muffled speech accompanied by faint sobs and the smell of blood made her jump. Euania stopped, alarmed as she spotted a silhouette leaning heavily against the wall. “Who- who’s there? Are you okay? What are you? ...Who are you?”

The tall, four-armed figure stumbled along the wall, creeping into the light as his words grew fainter and he fumbled desperately at the bloodstained gag shoved into his mouth. He ripped it from his lips, tears pouring from his agonized grey eyes as he pitched forward into the light, finally allowing Euania to get a good look at him. 

He stood half a head taller than her, deep rivers of crimson spilling from the precise cuts all over his arms and the corners of his mouth. The loose white cloth he wore had been stained scarlet by the blood, and his lower left wrist hung empty, thick heavy splatters intensifying the smell of blood until it made Euania almost light-headed. He shifted with a groan of pain, waves of sandy-blond hair spilling over his shoulders before he looked up, meeting her eyes as he fell to his knees, voice hoarse and slurred.  “Please… Don't… Leave me.”

Euania dropped everything in her arms and fell beside him. “I… Who are you? What's going on?” She fumbled for his clothing and tore the white fabric from his chest. The Cave spirit wrapped it tightly around his wounds as he lost more strength and fell against her.

“No…” He mumbled incoherently and fell limp.

Euania tensed and ripped at her skirt as she finished off the fabric of his clothing. She put his arm around her shoulder and dragged him to his feet. “Come on, you need help, come with me.”

The Cave spirit cursed as her mind began to run again. Oirwyn can help him better than I can. Whoever this is, I can't just let him die. 

Despite the difficulty, she dragged him back down the roads toward the tavern with desperate strength stretching the tension in her muscles. She grunted wil effort, grabbing him under the lower arms and stumbling backward through the doors. “WYN! Wyn I need you! Now!”

The patrons all jumped and scrambled for what was going on as Euania dragged him inside. Oirwyn stepped behind the bar, “Oh, hey Nia! What’s- OH HOLY SHIT-” The Older cave spirit dropped the tray he was carrying with a loud crash and scrambled over to her. “What happened? Who is this?”

“I don’t know! I just found him and he begged me for help! Wyn please, we can't let him die!” 

“Noted!” Oirwyn leaped to his feet. “Bring him upstairs, I’ll get the supplies. Everyone else, out. Now. The Twisted Oak is closed until further notice! Sorry for the interruption!”

The patrons glanced at the Elf’s body in Euania’s arms and all clambered out of the building obediently as the two cave spirits rushed for supplies before they eventually laid him on the bed, wounds freshly treated and bandaged. Oirwyn eyed the Elf’s hand stump, “Where… did you find him?”

“Well, I was passing the silver circle on my way back from the bakery, and he was in an alleyway, gagged and crying. And then he collapsed on me. Sounded… almost drunk, or drugged.”

“That’s concerning.”

“To put it nicely.” Euania dropped to her knees beside the bed and smoothed the Elf’s sandy golden hair back. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“I can’t be sure, he’s stable for now. But I think a better question is who exactly is this guy?”

“I’m not sure… It sounds like several of our patrons are outside waiting for an update or something. I’ll stay with him if you’d like to go handle them.” Euania set her basket down beside the bed and smoothed a hand over the bandages.

“Will do.” 

The tailor smiled faintly as her brother left, but soon turned back to the Elf. She frowned, muttering under her breath, “Who are you?” She turned to the ripped cloth she’d used as improvised bandages and rummaged through the bloody fabric for any sort of clues before she came across the clasp that held the shirt together.

A golden eagle sigil. The sign of royalty. She pulled back, eyes darting between the sigil and the unconscious figure on the bed in front of her. He was royalty? But from his skin tone, he couldn’t be from Valeran. 

“Nia!” Oirwyn slammed the door open, gasping.

“What is it?”

“It's him. He’s the Queen’s plaything.”

“What? But why would he be so…” She trailed off, thinking of the words from before she’d left. “The city hates him.”

“We’re not throwing him out.”

Euania nodded. “Of course not, I just... didn’t expect you to say it.”

“What kind of monster do you think I am Nia? He’s hurt. We’ll keep him here until we can question him.”

“Agreed. Now all we have to do is wait for him to wake up.”

***

Euania jumped as the Elf sat bolt upright. He cried out at the sudden movement, doubling over in pain. 

“Woah! Hey! Calm down! Stop!” She held up her arms as his eyes darted from her to the room.

“Where am I?” He tensed back against the wall, looking down at the bandages covering his body. “Who are you? What happened to me? What-” He stared at the stump of one of his arms, and screamed.

Euania jumped, tipping over her chair as she tried to calm him down, “No, no! Stop! I’ll explain!”

“MY FUCKING HAND!” The Elf grabbed his forearm and then using one of his other arms, grabbed a poker from beside the bed and aimed it at Euania’s neck. “Stay back!”

Just then, Oirwyn slammed the door open. “What’s happen- Hey! Back off!”

The Elf shrieked, throwing his stump arm and another over his head as he kept Euania hostage with the poker. “No! Please! I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Both of the cave spirits stopped and glanced at one another, a long silence stretching between them before it was broken by soft sobs shaking the elf’s whole body. “Please…”

“Um… we’re not here to hurt you.” Euania slowly put her hands up. “Are you… okay?”

The Elf hesitated, lowering his arms a bit so that his grey eyes met Euania’s.

“You’re in a tavern, The Twisted Oak. On the edge of town. I’m Oirwyn, this is my sister, Euania. She found you injured last night.” Oirwyn closed the door carefully.

“Who are you?” Euania glanced down at the poker.

The Elf looked at the improvised weapon and lowered it slowly. “Alkain. Alkain Ciranes.”

“Okay, well then, Alkain. Can you… tell us what happened to you?” Euania smiled.

The Elf lowered his arms, glancing nervously between them before his eyes settled back on the stump where his missing hand had been, and the memories rushed back to him.

If you want this back, you’ll do whatever I order you to. And only when I order you to.

He shivered. “I… No. I can’t. I won’t. I have to leave!”

“What? Why?” Euania started as he tried to get up.

Alkain flinched away from her, eyes wide and scared. “Dangerous. I’m a threat. If I stay here you’ll die.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The last people I stayed with… It’s my fault, I can’t stay! If I stay here, I put you in danger. I didn’t pay for you to bandage me… I don’t have anything to give you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t- I don’t…” He trailed off.

Euania tapped him on the shoulder. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Alkain stopped, looking up. “Um… Uh… I… Yes. Yes please.”

“Good. Let’s start there!” The tailor offered him a hand. “We’ll give you something to eat and we can talk.”

“Alright.” Alkain allowed her to lead him back to the bed as Oirwyn left to get something and quickly returned with some bread which he gave to the Elf.

“You can stay here for now, if you like. You’re safe here. We want to help you.”

Alkain studied her for a moment. “Why?”

“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else.”

“No one likes me. Why would you help me? It’ll just bring trouble.”

“That’s just it, why doesn’t anyone like you?” Oirwyn raised an eyebrow.

“I… I’m Seikarian, and the… the queen…” He trailed off, hugging himself with all four arms. “She… can do whatever she wants to me. I belong to her.”

“That’s-” Euania started, but Oirwyn cut her off.

“If you want to stay, you’ll have to help. You already caused enough trouble last night when Nia brought you in. I had to mop your blood off my floors for hours.”

“Of course!” Alkain nodded. “I'll help! No problem.”

“But only after you’re healed enough!” Euania shot her brother a glare. 

“Understood. I can do that.”

Oirwyn scowled at the Elf. “You stay with us and help, and we help you.”

Alkain glanced between the two spirits and nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

(PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COMMENT SO THAT I KNOW YOU READ IT)

|Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (Here)|

@aesthetic-writer18 @themortalityofundyingstars @darkandstormydolls @artsandstoriesandstuff @rivenantiqnerd

@urnumber1star @bloodmoonloveletter @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @stars-forever @corinneglass

@supercimi @phoenixradiant @whoevenknowswhatimwriting @blue-kyber @aalinaaaaaa

@lunaeuphternal @chaoticcandle @sunflowerrosy @n1ghtcrwler

@floweryprosegarden @foxydemon666 @bluektw @nkikio @i-hate-happy-endings

@confused-romantic @savepoint-has-died @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @starslide @ramwritblr

@thecoolerlucky @bread-roses-and-chrome @thepeculiarbird @roleplay-fanatic @bbatcat

@thelazywitchphotographer @ryahisbored @pastellbg @icarianauthor @agirlandherquill

@taleweaver-ramblings @bigwipscholar @imacreatorandadreamer @cowboylikericky

@cosmolumine @caffeinated-and-annoying-bard

Thank you so much for reading! Have a fantastic day! <333

[talentforlying]

@asteritm: i guess you’re going to ask what i’m doing here. — AMERICAN GODS STARTERS.

' yeah. for starters. '

it's the most he can manage: dumbstruck agreement. midnight house calls are nothing new, but opening the door to see her standing there is . . . new-er, than he'd like it to be. leaves him frozen in place, stock-still in his skivvies, and staring — and unbelievably, inconceivably, speechless.

how long has it been, since she last came to his door and not the other way around? how long since they weren't inhabiting single-person flats, haunting each other's shared spaces like lonely ghosts? forever, it seems. forever, since they started trying to re-enter orbit; since he followed her voicemails home and she spat him back out like the bitter taste he is.

why are you here? what do you want? i was just closing this wound, i was just putting it all to bed, why for the love of fuck are you here now? why now?

and just who left that wound, exactly? which of us was actually hurt and by whom, exactly?

the chilly breeze of an ungodly hour picks up around them, shoving its way past him like the newly-realized, full-bodied breath of her absence come to stay, and he shifts from bare foot to bare foot in the doorway, acutely aware of the way that the departing wind leaves springs of flyaway hair hovering against her cheek — of the scent of her on the air, so familiar, so achingly close. hair he wants to comb back from her pretty, pretty face; ones he's found on his jackets and his coat and his goddamn shoes. a scent he's tried to preserve on his shirts and ties and sheets ever since he came back, since she'd told him no more. she'd said they were done, but she hadn't told him just how profoundly she'd meant to linger.

he's been holding his breath — to savor the moment or avoid it starting, god only knows — and now he blows it out as he sinks against the frame, instinctive wariness retreating to a backwards glance in her presence. even now, even distant, there's nothing he wants more in the world than to soak her in; even with his hand and arm still laid across the door like any sort of laughable proof that he might ever, possibly, find himself capable of closing it on her, for any reason. ( no chance. never. )

' i mean . . . you alright? you in trouble? ' the dawning of concern is delayed, but bright, sparking flash-fire into eyes that dart over and around her, peering both ways down the street. there's nothing he can handle that lilly can't, he knows that; but why else would she be here, and so late? like she'd been called straight out of the voicemails he played to fall asleep? ' come in if you want, you know you can. '

there's no putting out the rare and dying spark of hope that she might be here to stay.

[alispangles]

The Adventures of Tiffany Faewyf

The Woman

Seasons passed and the farmhouse stood defiant to the weathering. Cracks were patched and holes were mended. Shutters were re-fixed and furniture was replaced.

It was a warm spring day when the woman woke up. She stretched in her bed, her slender arms reaching up and tickling the headboard as her small feet wiggled their toes amongst the sheets.

She sighed. Pulling herself up to sitting, she rubbed her eyes and yawned deeply. Somewhere downstairs she heard the ticking of the old clock, then a whirring followed by the frantic sounds of levers and wheels as it chimed out the sixth hour.

Tiffany pouted then turned on her bum and dropped her bare feet down onto the floorboards. Stretching once more she stood up out of bed and made her way over to a small table and chair.

She began to hum gently to herself as she ran her brush through her long blonde hair, listening to the gentle birdsong outside. Next, she plait her now smooth hair, weaving in a time-worn pink silk ribbon that she then tied into a bow at the end. Dipping her hands into a small basin of cold water, she washed her face.

The room around her was quite empty and she sighed to herself as she stood up again and began to make the bed.

She walked to her wardrobe and took out a fresh shift

Loosing her current one at its neck she let it drop down her body, catching for a moment on her chest, she wiggled and watched the linen fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she stood for a moment, naked, feeling the morning air on her skin.

Looking in the wardrobe she took out a skirt and a bodice too and laid them down on the bed. Throwing the fresh shift over her head, she wriggled it down over her body, sliding her arms into the sleeves, reaching out her hands and then tying it off at the neck to sit neatly on her.

Next, she stepped into her pink, woollen skirt, pulling it up over her hips and drawing it tight at her waist. Finally, she slipped on her bodice, lacing it tight up her back and tying it off with a neat bow.

She looked at herself in the mirror and, lifting herself up on tiptoe, she twirled, enjoying the swish of the fabric as it spun around her.

It was time to start the day!

She picked up her shift from yesterday and folded it before walking out into the hall and down the stairs. She dumped it into a wicker hamper and made her way to the kitchen. Spotless as she had left it, she made her way to the broad fireplace and began to pile fresh wood in its centre. Fiddling with the tinderbox she sparked it into life.

Soon the flames were crackling as she picked up a large kettle and filled it from a heavy earthenware jug. She hung it over the fire and smiled.

Next, she walked over to a large basin filled with now cold water, floating in it were linens and wools that had been soaking through the night. She took each one out in turn and wrung it out, dripping water onto the stone floor as well as plenty onto herself.

It felt cool and refreshing on her skin as she worked her way through the laundry, wringing and folding each item into a basket then emptying the basin out by the kitchen door onto the earth outside.

Pulling the basket of wet clothes up onto her hip, she sang as she made her way outside.

“Good morning, little friends!“ she beamed as she greeted the chickens in the pen. “Sally, Brenda, Hilda, Penny, Laura, Gemma,“ she named them each in turn, “I'll fetch you your breakfast in a moment my dears, I must do my chores first!“

She skipped along, the fresh air filling her lungs.

“Good morning, Major, you old goat!“ She giggled as she grinned at the billy-goat, snoozing by the barn. “Are you dreaming about battles again?“

On she went through the yard. At last she came to the washing line, strung across a patch of grass between the barn and the gate.

She placed her basked down and proceeded to peg the items out, singing to herself as she did.

“The girl I love has a wandering stare

Keen brown eyes and long black hair

She walks in the twilight as the moon shines bright

And the sound of her laughter is a beacon in the night

The girl I love has a dress of green

A pretty little nose and eyes so keen

She calls to the mountains and she sighs to the sea

And she's never second fiddle to a princess or a queen

The girl I love has a will of steel

A hand that's quick and a heart that feels

She's always chasing terrors and she fights off buzzy bees

Then she comes my way each evening and she calls to me

Oh-ho, my dear-y-oh ...“

“Oh hello, my darlings!“ She broke from her song as she watched a pair of rabbits hopping through the long grass. “Are you hungry too? You're quite right, I should stop my day dreaming and look after you all! Very well.“

She picked up the now empty basket and carried it back to the house. Popping it down carefully, she picked up and bag of grain. She lifted herself onto the tips of her toes and she began to dance and twirl through the yard.

She sprinkled the grain among the chickens as they clucked and pecked and fought one another to eat as much as they could. She twirled further, poising arabesque as she bent down to drop a pile of grain in front of the goat who snorted awake and ate it greedily. She continued her dance all the way to the grass where she began to sprinkle the food for the rabbits too.

She smiled a contented smile as she listened to the animals feeding. Back in the house, she could hear the kettle beginning to sing. Twirling on the spot, spilling much of the grain as she did, she began to walk back to the house.

She stopped. Dropping her pose as her feet fell flat onto the ground.

High above her, she could hear the sounds of bells. A gentle tinkling, almost imperceivable over the sound of the wind in the leaves of the trees, but she could hear it. And, what was more, she knew what it meant.

She ran light-footed back into the house. All of a hurry, she threw the basket and the bag down in the kitchen. Hastily wrapping her apron around her hands, she lifted the noisy kettle off the fire and dropped it down on the floor.

She squealed with pain and sucked at her fingers as, around the edge of the cotton, she felt the hot metal had burnt her slightly.

There was no time to stop though.

She doused the fire and hurried upstairs. Back in her bedroom, she picked up the chair from beside her dressing table and placed it next to her bed. Stepping up onto it, she reached up to the ceiling and pushed at a hatch that folded up into the loft space and came to rest against one of the rafters.

With well-rehearsed ease she held tight to the sides of the hatchway and pulled herself up and through into the loft space. Gently placing the hatch back over the hole, she began to walk, bent low, between the rafters.

The heavy thatch of the roof was warm above her as she made her way to a small, open window set low into one end. Crouching down and peering out, she watched the tree line outside.

Not for the first time, she felt incredibly alone.

For a while, nothing seemed to be happening.

Was she wrong? Had she misheard? No, there was some movement. A figure, stumbling out past one of the oak trunks. Steadying himself and looking about. He was calling out. She shrank down, making herself as invisible as possible.

“Hello?“ The man was calling. “Hello!“

She didn't answer. She just waited.

In time, he drew a canteen from his belt and took a drink. Then, finding no-one answering him, he walked through the yard and off down the track.

Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief.

Her heart was racing though. She felt light-headed. She needed a rest. She grinned to herself, she knew where to go. She always felt better there.

Heading back down, through the hatch into her room, grabbing a cloak and a small, handled, box, she hurried on down to the kitchen door.

Putting her things down just long enough to assemble a pack of bread, cheese and fruit, she turned and looked over the kitchen.

She would be back. She just needed a little respite.

Stepping through the door, her feet feeling the energy of the living earth beneath them, she made her way down t to the tree line, across the brook and off into the forest.

[starsinmylatte]

Tease (2/2)

Our beloved reader was fed up with the lack of attention from a certain Grand Admiral. To force his hand, she decided to send some pictures to tempt him while he was away, but things didn't quite go as they were planned. Now, we see the aftermath of those events.

Tease (1/2) link here in case you haven't read it!!

Pairing: Grand Admiral Thrawn x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Minors DNI

Tags/warnings (for part 1): lingerie, m@sturbation, dom/sub relationship, y'all this is filth, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex (please practice safe sex irl), authority kink

Word count: 4k (I got a little... ok, a lot... carried away)

bat in’a- beautiful one

ch'eo ch'itiseb- my sweet

ch’eo vir- my dear

cseo cssah bat- so very beautiful

cseo ch’itrico- so hungry

cseo tsaco- so tight

You had known that you were in trouble, but you realized the true extent of how completely and utterly kriffed you were on the morning Thrawn returned to the Chimaera.

Clue number one: he didn’t spare you as much as a single glance when he entered the bridge. Usually, Thrawn would make a point to have at least one small moment of inconspicuous eye contact as a greeting, but not today. Today he didn’t spare so much as a glance in your general direction.

The second clue was far more direct; a simple note sent through the encrypted channel.

Wear it tonight.

Some small part of you hoped the video would finally push the calm, distinguished Grand Admiral over the edge. He was always a generous lover, that being somewhat of a massive understatement, but you could tell he was holding something back. During your most intimate moments, you could see it. Something sharp, dark, and glittering rose to the surface, and Thrawn pushed it away every time.

What would Thrawn be like if he fully let go? That thought sent delicious shivers down your spine, and his final audio message played on repeat in your head.

“Ch’eo ch’itiseb, you know you really shouldn’t tease me like this.”

Thrawn’s voice was normally a seductive purr, but that audio message…. It embodied the dark edge of him you had been longing to experience.

You felt your core clench as you desperately tried to re-focus on the screen in front of you, but an all-too-familiar presence suddenly appeared behind you. All of your racing thoughts screeched to a halt as that same smooth voice you were fantasizing about was now whispering in your ear. “Bat in’a….”

Thrawn’s warm breath was caressing your neck, raising goosebumps, and sending a chill down your spine. Your breath hitched almost imperceptively as he continued, “I see your gift fit you well; it certainly does seem like you enjoyed it.”

Your lover’s reflection was showcased on the darkened computer screen you were so intently studying. His eyes were half-lidded and blazing with barely contained desire. The knowledge that all the bridge officers were obliviously going about their duties while the most powerful man on the ship was leaned over and whispering sinful things in your ear was almost too much to handle. You had no choice but to blush and avert your gaze so you could keep some shreds of your dignity intact.

“Y… Yes, Grand Admiral. I did.” You may have been flustered, but you were feeling coy enough to tease him slightly. A “yes, sir” would have been sufficient, but you knew full well what Thrawn felt when you called him by his full title.

As if on cue, a growl so quiet and low you barely heard it emanated from the man behind you. Thrawn’s usual soft tone sharpened; the mysterious darkness resurfaced, and his perfect Imperial presentation cracked in half. The accent he worked so hard to conceal, the same one you loved to tease out of him, now marred his words. “Careful, Commander, if you want to be able to walk tomorrow, I suggest you close that pretty little mouth.”

Your mouth shut so fast on reflex that your teeth clacked together. His tone was utterly predatory; Thrawn, usually so prim and composed, sounded like he was moments away from ordering everyone off the bridge so he could fuck you now. But, stars, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fantasizing about it now.

Your naked body flushed with desire, pressed up against the icy cold transparisteel of the viewport, and presented to the galaxy by your lover. Thrawn commanding your body as masterfully as he does his flagship, pushing you right up to the edge of completion before withdrawing, edging you over and over again until you can barely stand on your own. His muscular body pinning you in place against the wall, hell-bent on making you rely only on him for support, as he fucks you mercilessly from behind. Thrawn’s thick, ridged cock splitting you open and hitting spots so deep you see new stars appear in the galaxy with every thrust. The curved transparisteel to your side showing a perfect reflection of your bodies intertwining as Thrawn pulls your head aside to kiss and nip at your neck……..

Your blush turned at least three shades deeper as you shoved the thoughts aside. Thank the stars that most of the officers were gathered around a terminal on the other side of the bridge, or they would undoubtedly know exactly what was occurring between the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy and his Commander.

Like flipping a switch, Thrawn’s cool, Imperial tone resurfaced in an instant. “Apologies, ch’eo ch’itiseb, I have distracted you from your duties for too long.

Wordlessly, you watched him straighten, pick an invisible speck of lint off his already pristine jacket, and resume his usual impassive expression. The blue bastard had the nerve to walk away and leave you flustered in the middle of the command bridge as if nothing had even happened. As he walked away, you saw the barest hint of a smirk ghost across his face. He wasn’t sorry at all.

-----------

The rest of the day crawled by. Thrawn obviously had some plan for the evening, but not knowing the details meant the suspense was absolutely eating you alive. You managed to slog through the rest of your day without any major inconveniences, but as soon as it ended, you nearly ran to your quarters to prepare.

After showering and letting your hair dry, you turned your attention to what you would wear. Of course, Thrawn’s request that you wear the lacy, red set was a given, but you couldn’t exactly walk down the hallways of the Chimaera in that. You decided that it would be best for your trip to Thrawn’s office to seem like it was purely one of the extra duties you were finishing. You put on one of your looser fitting uniforms, hoping to hide the lines of the lingerie, and tied your hair back into its usual bun before leaving.

When you finally arrived at Thrawn’s office, the door slid open with a cool hiss of hydraulics as soon as you reached for your comm. You laughed softly to yourself. Well, he was definitely anticipating my arrival.

As you stepped through the door, you saw Thrawn’s back as he leaned over his desk. He seemed to be watching something quite intently, and as you kept walking forward, you began to hear hints of quiet audio. Before you reached his side, Thrawn paused what he was watching and turned his head to acknowledge you. A dangerous smile played across his lips, “Commander, I was hoping you’d be here soon. You are just in time for my favorite part.”

You raised an eyebrow and shot him a questioning glance, “What… what do you mean?”

His smile widened enough to show off his pointed teeth, “I do believe you should know exactly what I’m referring to because you played a starring role in it, ch'eo ch'itiseb.”

At that moment, you felt your soul leave your body. Kriffing sith hells, he saved it.

You didn’t think it was possible for his smug smile to get any bigger, but it did. “Oh, bat in’a, of course, I would save something so… artfully done.”

Thrawn stepped aside, and you were greeted by a projection of your video displayed between the other holos of priceless artwork on his desk. It was stopped at a very particular moment; you reclined on his bed with your legs spread open. One hand rested on your thigh, and the other was settled on your chest.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Thrawn hit a button, and the video continued to play. Breathlessly, you watched as your head lolled to the side, and Thrawn’s name left your lips in a broken moan. One of your hands pushed the lace aside to slip two fingers deep inside your cunt, and the other rolled a peaked nipple between your fingers.

A pang of lust immediately overcame any embarrassment you felt in the moment as you realized exactly what Thrawn must’ve felt when watching the video. Even though you had intended for the circumstance to be slightly different, it must’ve absolutely killed him to be away from you for that night and the several days following it.

Before you could react, Thrawn had closed the remaining distance and pinned your back against the wall. He leaned in to lavish his attention on the shell of your ear and whispered, “Naughty little thing….. teasing a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy like that. I could’ve canceled the trip to come back and fuck you, but then I would have been giving in. You obviously need to learn a lesson in patience.”

One of his powerful hands pulled your wrists above your head and roughly pinned them to the wall. A gasp fell from your open lips and your legs involuntarily clenched together as your cunt throbbed with desire. Watching the video had already lit a familiar fire in you, but now you could feel your arousal beginning to soak the thin, lacy material of your panties. Thrawn’s already wicked smile turned feral, and he forced his thigh between your legs. He grabbed your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him.

“Ch'eo ch'itiseb,” he cooed, “you don’t get any relief quite yet. You were so eager to tease me with that video, but now it’s my turn. Tonight, I get to take my time with you.”

As if to prove his point, Thrawn flexed and shifted his muscular thigh, so a hard ridge of muscle lined up perfectly with your clit. “It’s what you deserve, after all, for trying to tease me. You looked drunk with your own imagined power, writhing in my bed and begging for me…..”

All you could do was whimper at his sinful words as he tilted your face to the side again. You let out a low groan as Thrawn pulled the collar of your uniform aside and lavished all of his attention at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, taking turns sucking and kissing until he had left a noticeable mark. He hummed in approval at his work before trailing a line of kisses up the column of your neck, only to immediately double back and follow the line with his tongue.

Thrawn was the definition of commanding as he gazed down on you, already keening from his touch. He clicked his tongue in a mockingly disapproving manner as he moved his hand to trace the outline of the hickey. “Such a needy little whore for me. Maybe I should mark you up, so everyone knows you’re taken.”

He trailed a long, graceful finger up the side of your neck as if deciding exactly where to claim you next before stopping at the tender pulse point below your jaw. “I think here, to start.”

Another breathless whimper left your mouth as you tried to grind against his thigh, searching desperately for any purchase you could find, but Thrawn just pushed you harder into the wall, leaving you unable to move at all. “A visible mark on a pretty thing like you will have the whole ship wondering who owns this precious cunt.”

Thrawn paused to capture your lips in an all-consuming kiss that further ignited the flame burning deep in your core. By now, your panties were completely soaked through; arousal was beginning to trail down your leg, and your lover hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet.

The barest hint of the friction you were desperate for and his sinful words made you melt further into his embrace as you made another futile attempt to grind against his thigh. “P-Please… Thrawn... I need you to touch me. Take my clothes off. Anything.”

His silken voice was infuriatingly smooth, and it was apparent Thrawn was enjoying his revenge. “Well, bat in’a, you begged so sweetly for me, and now here I am. You’re going to get everything you asked for, but I decide how much you get and when to give it. Maybe my little dove will know better than to tease me after her own lesson in patience is completed.”

Thrawn swiftly stepped backward, and your knees crumpled at the sudden lack of support. He reached out and gracefully caught you; one of his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt the other behind your knees. Before you even fully realized it, your lover had quite literally swept you off your feet and was carrying you towards his private quarters. Thrawn’s burning eyes met your lust-addled gaze, and his smug smile returned, “Already weak at the knees for me, ch’eo vir?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but at that moment, your back hit the silken black sheets of his bed. If the unexpected fall hadn’t taken your breath away, the sight of Thrawn’s powerful form leaning over you absolutely would’ve. Even fully clothed, you could see the hard lines of his muscles shift and move beneath his uniform. His arousal was becoming more apparent by the second as his thick cock strained against the fabric of his pants. You wanted to feel its heavy weight in your mouth so badly you had to bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan.

Thrawn curled his long fingers beneath your chin and traced his thumb over your plush lips, “Open your pretty little mouth for me; I want to hear every single sweet sound you make tonight.”

When you complied, he slipped the calloused digit inside to rest on top of your tongue. You met his gaze again as you licked up the underside of his thumb before briefly closing your mouth to suck on it.

Thrawn let out a groan that trailed off into a low growl. Removing his thumb, he leaned down for another kiss. The first brush of his lips was almost reverent in its gentleness, but that soon gave way to searing passion. Thrawn’s hunger for you seemed to grow as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, seeking permission to deepen your embrace. You yielded to him completely, hands reaching to cup Thrawn’s face as his soft, breathy moans mixed with your own until he pulled away.

“Thrawn…..” you protested at the sudden loss of contact.

“You would do well to remember that tonight is about you learning patience,” he admonished as his fingers sought the closure of your uniform. “For now, I wish to see you.”

The air in his bedroom seemed to fill with electricity as he slowly undid your uniform jacket. Every so often, his fingers would barely graze your skin as they worked away at the fastenings, raising goosebumps and sending a thrill down your spine at the anticipation of each touch.

As soon as the last clasp fell open, Thrawn leaned back to admire you. “Look at you….” his tone of voice was reverent as he trailed his fingers across your décolletage, “cseo cssah bat.”

You arched into his touch, encouraging him to remove the rest of your uniform. Thrawn tossed the clothing unceremoniously to the side and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face. One of his hands reached down to tangle itself in your hair. “You look just like you did in the video,” he cooed, “tell me, are you as hungry for my touch now?”

“Yesyes, please, Thrawn. Please touch me,” you pleaded.

His red eyes blazed at the desire in your voice, “remove my clothes, then.”

You eagerly started to unfasten his white uniform shirt, drawing a short chuckle from the normally reserved Chiss. “Cseo ch’itrico...”

Each exposed inch of Thrawn’s beautiful skin spurred the movement of your hands until his jacket lay open and his muscular chest was on full display. Now, it was finally your turn to touch him. Your fingers trailed hungrily down the center of his chest over hard lines of muscle and old scars to hook into the waistband of his pants. Finally, he shrugged the jacket off and threw it to the side to join the growing pile of clothes.

In one fluid motion, Thrawn pulled you up and into his lap. Being this close to him was absolutely intoxicating; the chill of his quarters combined with the warmth of his body and his deep, masculine scent was enough to send your head reeling. His hands continued their previous mission, trailing over your body, studying you as he would any of the priceless art pieces he was so fond of. They paid special attention to your breasts, rubbing your peaked nipples through the fabric. You couldn’t help but whimper at the delicious sensation, “mmmmhThrawn…..”

“Does that feel good?” he murmured into your ear before rolling his hips upwards, driving his erection against your core. You cried out in pleasure as he leaned forward to press a searing kiss on the soft swell of your breast. Your hands sought purchase in his hair as he bit the tender spot before soothing the sting with his tongue, leaving yet another mark on you.

Thrawn’s hand trailed down to drag two fingers over your clothed cunt, growling in approval as he discovered the thin garment was already completely soaked. He moved the strip of lace aside and repeated the movement before circling your clit, drawing more desperate cries from you. All the teasing combined with the anticipation from earlier already had you nearing your first orgasm. Then, without warning, Thrawn thrust two fingers deep inside, and you shattered with his name on your lips.

He let out his own moan at the sensation of your cunt milking his fingers as he fucked you through your orgasm. “Needy little thing, how many times are you going to cum for me tonight?”

Thrawn held his fingers up for you to see. Stars, your arousal was dripping down them. “Commander, you made a mess. It’s only proper you should clean up after yourself.” The mock-disapproval was back in his voice as he pressed them to your lips.

Your cheeks flushed at his words as you took the fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean. Thrawn leaned in for another kiss, “Don’t worry, I’ll have my own taste soon enough.”

He laid you back down and moved to kneel at the base of the bed, pulling your hips to the edge. You slid easily through the silken sheets, grasping them for stability as you felt Thrawn’s hot breath on the inside of your thigh. Once again, he languidly pressed open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin before sucking deep bruises into the tender flesh, murmuring quiet praises in Cheunh between each one. The kisses trailed higher and higher until his mouth was pressed intently against your soaked core.

He gently sucked at your clit before sliding his tongue in to taste you. Your grip on the sheets tightened as he devoured you like a starving man, drinking you in and bring you closer and closer to ruin as he held your hips in an iron grip. You ground against his mouth, desperately chasing your second orgasm as he returned to sucking your clit. He let out a low growl of approval at your desperation, and the vibrating sensation on his lips pushed you screaming over the edge.

Again, Thrawn fucked you through your orgasm before raising his face to look you in the eyes. The calm, composed Grand Admiral was long gone. Pieces of his dark hair had fallen into his face, which shined with your arousal. His red eyes were half-lidded but smoldering with unrestrained lust. “You’ll give me another,” he demanded, returning his attention to your cunt.

For the second time that night, he pushed two fingers deep inside, seeking the spongy spot that would turn you into even more of an incoherent mess. You whined at the feeling of overstimulation, but you were just as hungry for him as he was for you. Thrawn moved back up to ravish your neck with more kisses while he slipped a third finger inside. The wet sounds they made would have been deeply embarrassing to you under any other circumstance, but the noises only encouraged your lover. “Tell me, ch’eo ch’itiseb, were you this wet when it was your own fingers inside of you?”

He gave a particularly rough thrust and grinned wickedly, “I don’t recall your cunt being this musical in the video.”

You were in such a blissful, fucked-out state that it was nearly impossible to form any words, but somehow you managed to speak, “Thrawnnnnn…. pleasepleaseplease…... need you inside me now.”

It was altogether too much. You came hard, soaking the sheets underneath you and drawing a pleased growl from Thrawn.

This time, he withdrew his fingers immediately, leaving your cunt spasming in his absence. Again, you protested weakly, but the sight of him finally removing his pants immediately stopped your complaints. It was a sight you’d never tire of, one you could appreciate even when you were this far gone. Thrawn was breathtaking; his lithe, muscular body had been sculpted from a lifetime of training and discipline. His cock was equally beautiful, large and thick, with pronounced ridges running along the side. He looked like a figure from one of his paintings as he walked towards you, a god of war hell-bent on making you his greatest conquest.

All need for words was long gone as he returned to the bed. Thrawn was as desperate as you; he ripped through the thin, lacy material in his way and trailed his cock along your slit, coating it with your combined arousal. He entered you in one swift movement, and the word fell away. You felt the delicious stretch of him, teasing the line between pleasure and pain as he began to fuck you at a relentless pace. With each snap of hips, yours rose to match the pace, and you saw stars. Thrawn tangled his hands in your hair and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He greedily captured each moan, every sigh that fell from your lips. Your fourth orgasm was quickly on the way, and you could tell that your lover wasn’t far behind.

All of the earlier teasings seemed to have affected him as much as they affected you. Thrawn pulled your hips upwards, and the new angle sent him deeper and deeper with each thrust. You felt this tip of his cock hit so incredibly far inside that it sent you reeling as the sound of your lovemaking filled the room. The lingering pleasures from all your previous orgasms were piling on top of each other, driving you closer and closer to a final climax that you were sure would leave you unable to walk tomorrow. Thrawn locked his gaze with yours, watching tears of pleasure run down your face. “So… close….. I can feel you, cseo tsaco -so tight- around me. Cum for me once more,” he commanded with the barest hint of desperation in his voice.

That was all the encouragement you needed before the most intense orgasm of your entire life swept over you. You bit down hard on the juncture of Thrawn’s neck and shoulder to keep from screaming his name loudly enough to tell the entire crew of the Chimaera exactly what was happening. He exhaled sharply as he continued to ride out your orgasm, but the feeling of your cunt greedily clenching around his cock was too much. Thrawn came with a groan, coating your walls with his seed as his pace slowed to a halt.

Your spent bodies fell on the bed together in the afterglow. Thrawn remained inside of you, and you enjoyed the closeness as you felt him soften. He pulled you into a tight embrace, placing a tender kiss on your temple as he softly smiled. “I missed you too, bat in’a.”

Tagging some friends: @pala-din-djarin @handbaskethell @mittheresabosen @pretty-with-andorian-shingles @bluecynadi @ele-millennial-weirdo @mysticalgalaxysalad @rebelpitstop @jedi-mando @tibbietibbs @rexsjaigeyes @anna-the-godkiller @erinsusername @myevilmouse

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content. 

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses. 

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.” 

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.” 

[elysiadjarin]

Sword and Shield 7

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Part 6: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/655814128564355072/sword-and-shield-6

Warnings: not really much, some mentions of fights etc.

Notes: Well, after this chapter y’all... I think. You know. Where this about to go...

7: Tumbling

Tipoca greeted you the way it always did: a bustle of commotion as soon as you stepped foot off of the ship. You’d dressed in the standard gear that the Kaminoans had given you: a modified pair of blacks that essentially fit you like a jumpsuit.

Following Hunter, you and the rest of the team let him lead the way down the halls. Clones moved through the hallways as well, some of them giving you looks but the majority just ignoring you. By the time Hunter had opened the door to the Bad Batch’s usual barracks, you’d begun to brace yourself for the usual checkups and procedures you knew would follow.

“Hey Shiv, looks like they’ve moved your stuff in already,” Wrecker said, bounding into the room and over to his bunk.

You went over to the singular trunk that had been set in the middle of the floor, labeled with your designation number Unit 526934. Opening the trunk, you found your extra few changes of clothes and the random odds and ends that you’d left behind. Most of your favored possessions you’d either left with the 501st or taken with you onto the ship already, so the little you’d left in your quarters on Tipoca held little to no value.

Digging through the trunk, you grabbed the one item you’d hoped they hadn’t forgot, relieved it was still there. You let out a breath as you closed the trunk and turned to the table. Turning over the small holoprojector, you placed it down on the table and flicked it on, watching the images flicker into view. You smiled as you flipped through the couple of pictures of you with the 501st when you’d first been taken to Tipoca.

Pictures of you, soaking wet from the rain, laughing with the 501st. Fives, splashing you as Kix chased after you both with a towel. Your smile faded a little as you came across a picture of Echo, his grinning face fixed on you and Fives as he watched you both slip on puddles and slick durasteel.

Flicking it off, you stuck it into your bag and looked around. Apparently you were required to stay with the Bad Batch now, not that you’d protest.

“Uh, Shiv— looks like they didn’t bother to put another bunk in here.” Hunter turned to you.

You shrugged. “That’s okay. I can go on the floor or something.”

“You could share with me.” Tech adjusted his goggles. “Mine can extend a little further.”

You turned to glance at his bunk. “Oh... are you sure?”

“Awww, no fair Tech! I wanna sleep with Shiv!” Wrecker leaped up from his bunk, promptly cracking his skull against the top of it and letting out a yelp.

You could have sworn your entire face flushed at the double entendre of the words, but you tried to swallow and push it away. “Um- if you’re alright with it....”

Tech’s face looked a little colored. “If you want.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Tech. You sure I won’t make you uncomfortable? I tend to gravitate toward heat... I’ve been told I’m a little cold-blooded.”

He opened his mouth to reply when Crosshair snorted. “Really Shiv, do you think any of us would complain about that?” he asked, sending you a dark smirk from the other side of the room.

You swallowed thickly as Wrecker laughed and Tech sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Hunter chuckled.

“Well, it’s not as if you haven’t all fondled me already,” you said smartly, turning on your heel to go back to your trunk.

A dead silence filled the room for a moment as you bent over the trunk and started rummaging again, trying to search for the pair of night clothes you’d left behind last time. They’d been comfortable, and you didn’t want to give them up.

Then Wrecker burst into hearty laughter again. He walked up to you, grabbing you and hoisting you up as you squeaked a startled protest. “That’s the way, Shiv! Give it to him!” He swung you around as you squealed, grabbing onto his shoulders.

“Wrecker— Maker, wait—“ you tried to say through laughs, the world spinning.

He playfully tossed you down onto his own bunk as you shrieked, hair falling into your face. Grinning, he bent over you and handed you something.

“I want you to meet Lula,” he presented with a flourish. “Made ‘er myself!”

You brushed hair out of your eyes and took the little stuffed bunny, smiling at the stitched-on smile. Leaning forward, you had to bury your face into the plush tummy and breathe in Wrecker’s unmistakable scent. It smelled like the sizzle after a rain of blaster fire, the plume of smoke from an explosion barely wafting through the air, all underscored by a hint of sweat and a warm, thick scent that you just knew was wholly him.

“Lula is really warm, and soft,” you said softly, fingers squeezing the arms as you smiled up at Wrecker.

He hovered over you, face lighting up as you approved. “You like it? It’s coming apart a little, though. I gotta get ‘er fixed.”

You looked back down at it curiously, then turned it over. A seam had started to unravel at the back. “Oh— I can fix that, if you have the materials,” you offered, tugging carefully at the thread to see how loose it had gotten. Frowning, you tied a knot in the thread to keep it from further unraveling.

“You can?” Wrecker leaped up, managing to avoid hitting his head that time, and went to go rummage in all the miscellaneous parts.

“Here, Wrecker,” Hunter said, tossing him something from the other side of the room.

Wrecker caught it, squinting down at it. “Oh goody, it’s the thread.” Then he resumed looking for what you hoped would be a needle.

“Do you need anything, Shiv?” Hunter asked, turning to you briefly from his bunk.

You shook your head, scooting to the edge of Wrecker’s bunk and carefully holding Lula. “No, thank you. My trunk is here, and I guess I’m sharing with Tech, so... I should be good. Besides,” you sighed, rolling your eyes, “the Kaminoans will give me whatever they see fit anyway.”

“Oh, right.” Hunter walked over to you, handing you a datapad. “You’re being called into the medbay at 1800 Standard. I assume for a checkup.”

You glanced at it, then nodded and scrunched your nose. “Yeah, it’s going to be a long one,” you sighed, shoulders slumping. “Especially since that stupid stunt I pulled on that first mission.” You absently reached up and rubbed your arm, feeling the phantom pain of melting flesh tearing away.

Hunter glanced at your arm with a frown. “I thought it healed?”

“It did,” you said, “but now they’re going to poke and prod at it for a while to figure out the cellular regeneration most likely. Plus, they never have figured out why bacta patches tend to do more harm than good on me.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.” He walked back to his bunk just as Wrecker returned triumphantly.

“Found ‘em, Shiv!” He presented them, sitting back down next to you.

You set Lula down in your lap in order to take the materials, threading the needle with the thick, dark thread. Trying the knot, you turned Lula to the nearest light source and carefully inserted the needle.

“How’d you learn to sew, Shiv?” Wrecker asked, watching you start to mend the split seam.

You tucked in a bit of the stuffing. “Slave days.” You shrugged slightly, focused on getting the seam pushed together properly so it wouldn’t unravel as easily. “Gotta sit still and look like a useful and pretty ornament, y’know. Whims of the rich and whatever.”

“I still don’t understand,” Hunter spoke up, a growl in his voice. “Why would a Separatist choose to make you an ornamental slave instead of a weapon partner?”

You took a moment to tie the knots and snap the thread, then started re-threading the needle to do another tight layer. You finally answered with a sigh. “Bragging rights. Besides, I wasn’t a person to them. I was just a biological weapon, nothing more. What’s the point in treating me like an independent being? It’s one of the biggest reasons I found family in the Clones.”

The thoughtful silence told you that your point had hit home, and you started the second layer carefully. “I’m going to do another layer just so that it won’t tear as easily next time, Wrecker,” you explained, watching the needle push through the fabric and the stitches crisscross over each other.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, Shiv.” Wrecker nodded, still apparently finding the process interesting.

You hummed, double-knotting the last stitch and snapping the thread again. Turning, you handed him the newly-mended Lula.

He cheered, taking her back excitedly and beginning to babble about it.

You had to watch him with a smile even as you pushed the needle through the spool of thread. Wrecker’s innocent joy in the simple things had always drawn you, the way he let himself be unapologetically enthusiastic about what he cared about. You had to fondly smile as you watched him toss Lula about and razz Crosshair.

Standing after a moment, you went and put the needle and thread back on the table and resumed your interrupted search in your trunk. Thankfully, you’d found the sleepwear and set it on top. Standing, you ran a hand through your hair and glanced at the wall chrono. It read 1730, so you grimaced and grabbed your ankle monitor.

“I have to go to the medbay,” you called over your shoulder, hopping as you slapped the monitor on your ankle. “I should be back around 2100, hopefully before.”

“Good luck, Shiv,” Hunter said with a nod.

You threw them a wave as you rushed out the door, headed for the medbay. They usually wanted you to be early so you could take a quick sonic shower and change into the proper clothes. As you’d expected, you found a droid waiting for you as soon as you entered.

“Greetings, Unit 526934,” the droid bleeped. “Please make your way to the showers. You’ll find clothes waiting for you when you’re done.”

You nodded, biting back a sigh as you made your way over to the shower cubicles. Getting clean, you clambered out of the shower and changed into the loose-fitting robes that they’d provided. Picking at the hem of the shirt, you walked out into the attached room.

The droid waited by an examination table. “Please lie here.”

Without a word, you climbed onto the table and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. The monochrome color swirled in front of you, making you grimace and close your eyes against the brightness. A few minutes later, the doors opened just as the wall chrono chimed. You didn’t even bother opening your eyes.

“Hello, Unit 526934. Welcome back.” The smooth tones of the female Kaminoan washed over your ears. She started to move through the room, her silent footsteps only marked by the rattling of tools. “I trust your missions have been successful.”

“Depends on your definition, but sure,” you said flatly.

“You seem distressed,” she noted.

“Tired,” you corrected. It wasn’t a lie. You were definitely tired of these checkups, the way they always insisted on poking and prodding at you, picking you apart, shoving things into your bones and veins. Taking things from you. You hated it. But this, as you knew, was the price you’d chosen to pay.

To stay with the Bad Batch? You’d be the most cooperative patient they’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like a tranquilizer while we do this checkup?” She offered.

“No thanks.” You kept your eyes closed, not protesting when her long fingers rested against your wrist.

The rest of the preparations took place silently as you forced every other thought out of your mind. You’d have to make sure you weren’t projecting too much so you didn’t bother the others. Sometimes, the way the Kaminoans experimented left you with an aching jaw as you grit your teeth against the pain.

Hooked up to an IV for a blood sampling and a medley of other liquids that they regularly drained into you, you felt the table jolt as you were pushed to the other side of the room. You opened your eyes, staring blankly above at the top of the machine that now hovered over you. It hummed to life, a soft light glowing at the edges of the smooth metal.

“According to your most recent report, you received a substantial injury on a mission,” the Kaminoan remarked smoothly. “Did you sustain any damage?”

“No,” you answered blankly, voice expressionless. “It healed over in two days. I had to cover it.”

The machine beeped, the droid puttering around the room coming over to check your IV. The blood sample had been taken, so it unhooked that line and instead gave you a small injection. Your arm numbed almost immediately, and you closed your eyes in resigned exhaustion.

“It looks like your scans show that you’ve completely regenerated sixty percent of the tissue in your arm recently,” the Kaminoan reported. “I will have to take samples to test. Did the injury reach your bone?”

“No.”

“Did you sustain any broken bones?”

“No.”

The Kaminoan tapped at the screen controlling the machine, readjusting the table so your head was mostly covered by it. You closed your eyes again, ignoring the other metallic clinks of instruments being prepared.

The Kaminoan returned. “It seems as though the removal of the inhibitor chips has continued to prove successful. Your brain functions have seemed to recover well,” she remarked clinically. “In time, you may have regained enough stability to consider a new one.”

You sourly hoped not.

The Kaminoan pulled the table back out, then settled you against the wall. The droid kept the fluids steadily dripping into your veins, and you felt the cold start to creep its way into your bones. Despairingly, you hoped that Tech wouldn’t mind if you ended up clinging to him like a leech by the time morning rolled around. It always came as a side-effect of the fluids. Though you knew that they boosted a lot of your internal functions, it still demanded a price.

“I will start taking samples.”

You grit your teeth, jaw ticking as you felt the cold needle press against your arm. It pushed, entering your skin without a sting thanks to the numbing agent, but you knew it wouldn’t last the deeper it went. And it continued to push. The pain started welling, and while you were used to pain, there was something about the cold metal point burrowing further down that always took you off guard.

The needle hit bone.

It took every ounce of willpower you had to shove back the scream that tore through your chest, welling in your throat. Ruthlessly, you shoved the pain away from the Bonds and down deep into yourself, willing yourself to stay quiet.

Your eyes nearly rolled back up into your skull with sheer relief when the needle pulled back out. The deep-tissue sample was usually the worst part. You could feel the light sheen of sweat that had broken out on your body start to cool even further, adding to the way your temperature dropped.

The ankle monitor beeped, warning about your plummeting temperature, and the droid instantly began to dial the fluid drip back. The Kaminoan nurse swiftly pulled a heat lamp down over the table, letting the artificial heat wash over you. Your muscles had started to tense with the cold, your eyes still stubbornly screwed shut against the pain.

“Your temperature should start rising soon,” the Kaminoan tried to soothe, adjusting the heat lamp.

Darkness plucked at the edges of your consciousness, and you blacked out.

~

Exhausted and still cold, you limped back into the Bad Batch’s quarters with the ankle monitor still on and a medbay blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Shiv?” Hunter sounded incredulous.

You looked up and waved them off. “This is normal, don’t worry about it,” you sighed, going to your trunk.

“What do you mean, normal? None of us have every come back from medbay looking worse than when we went in,” he demanded.

“Lemme get changed and I’ll explain,” you promised, grabbing your night clothes and heading for the bathroom. Changing into the comfortable pair of shorts and tank top, you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders again and shuffled back out into the room.

Tech was already sitting on his bed, so you went to go sit next to him, pulling the blanket to cover your feet. With a groan, you reached up to rub at your eye.

“Are you alright, Shiv?” Tech turned to you with concern, eyebrows furrowing.

“No, I’m freezing cold,” you said miserably.

“What did they do to you?” Hunter asked again with a frown.

You sighed, leaning into Tech’s shoulder. “Normal procedure for me is going in and getting a blood check, physical, and brain scan. I also have to get a bag of fluids that’s made to boost some of my biological functions, kind of like how you’re modified to be enhanced. It helps with my physical upkeep, but the side-effect is brutal. I’m going to freeze like an icicle for the rest of the night,” you grumbled. “And since I had to regenerate sixty percent of the tissue in my arm, they took a deep tissue sample.”

“A what?” Wrecker asked, tilting his head from his bunk. He held Lula up, craning his neck toward you quizzically.

“A deep tissue sample is when an injection has to be made in order to obtain cells from a section of a patient’s body,” Tech answered for you. “Oftentimes I’ve heard it can be very painful when it reaches bone.”

“They’ve got that right,” you said, eyes drooping closed with a heavy sigh. “They even had to turn on the heat lamp this time to get my temp back up. Oh, Tech,” you added as an afterthought, “I hope my ankle monitor won’t bother you. I have to keep it on tonight to monitor my vital functions. Like I said, the fluids tend to drain me of any and all heat.”

“It’s not a problem, Shiv,” Tech reassured. “If it goes off, what should I be prepared to do?”

“The only reason it’ll probably go off is if my body temp drops too low,” you sighed. “If I can’t, tap the monitor for me and it’ll manually send a burst of heat to regulate me.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright? You said the process was painful.” Hunter checked.

You shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to,” you said. “If anything, I hope I don’t bother Tech. I’m going to become an ice-cold leech.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I volunteered, then,” Tech said dryly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I’ll have to take advantage of whatever chances I get.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself. “Be careful what you wish for. You might regret it in the morning.”

“Nah, if Tech doesn’t want ya I’ll take ya, Shiv!” Wrecker grinned. “Lula and I can make room.”

“Thanks, Wrecker.” You smiled, feeling the sleepiness descend. Yawning, you leaned your head against Tech’s shoulder.

The cold dragged you into sleep.

~

“Shiv. Shiv, it’s time to get up.”

You let out a groan, pulled out of blessed sleep. You didn’t want to move. You felt perfectly, comfortably warm, and something heavy was draped across your waist. Instead, you whined petulantly and buried your head into the source of warmth you were so tightly pressed against.

A sharp inhale of breath hissed against your ear, but you were already falling back asleep-

“Shiv.” Someone’s mouth had pressed against your ear. “We have to get ready for the conditioning in an hour.”

Slowly, the words bled into your sluggish mind. Conditioning... an hour. Tipoca. Kaminoa. Right. Training exercises. An hour-?

With a yelp, you jolted awake and found yourself flailing. Your entire body went off the edge of the bed, slamming against the unforgiving floor. Grimacing, you reached up to rub the spot where your hip had landed.

“Ow, ow— don’t scare me like that, Maker—“ You opened your eyes to see Tech peering over the edge of the bunk at you.

“You alright, Shiv? Sorry I didn’t catch you, you startled me,” he said.

You stared up at him for a minute, your brain starting to put pieces together. You’d... probably been pressed against him. And that weight: his arm on your waist. The soft murmur and his kiss to your ear. You flushed.

“Oh, Tech— I’m sorry, I told you I’d probably end up being a leech,” you groaned.

“I wasn’t complaining, Shiv,” Tech said, swinging himself to a sitting up position.

You sat up, still rubbing at your sore hip. “Well there’s another bruise,” you muttered. “Thank you, Tech. I feel back to normal, I think.” You stood gingerly, patting at yourself. Your body temperature felt pretty normal, a bit chilly from waking up but nothing unusual.

“As much as I’d like to continue seeing you walk around in that, I think you might want to get ready for the conditioning,” Hunter remarked, walking past.

You blinked, then flushed as you remembered the shorts and tank top. Shaking your head, you grabbed your outfit from your trunk and went to go change.

By the time everyone was geared up and ready to go, you were starting to feel a little less sore from the needles. While the numbing agent had worked, it sill left a bit of an ache deep in your arm where it had hit bone. You walked down the hall following Hunter and absently rubbed your arm.

“Is your arm still hurting?” Crosshair asked sharply.

You started a bit. “Oh... I mean, it’s more of an ache. The needle hit my bone, so it feels weird,” you said, shaking your head. “It’ll go away.”

You arrived at the training deck on time. Taking in a deep breath, you tried to mentally prepare yourself. You didn’t know exactly what they’d throw at you this time around. You had to be prepared.

The Kaminoans watched from the observation deck above as you walked in, the doors sliding shut with a hiss behind you. The Prime Minister was there as well, to no one’s surprise.

Force 99, please prepare yourselves for a standard simulation. Unit 526934, please prepare to engage yourself as a non-lethal training weapon only.

You simply turned to Hunter, waiting for directions. He nodded to everyone as they started pulling their helmets on. “You guys know the drill. We’re used to Shiv by now. Just act like you would any other mission. Shiv.” He turned to you, holding out his hand. “Permission to Transfer.”

You sucked in a breath and grasped his hand. “Transfer Granted.” As soon as you’d Shifted, you didn’t even bother projecting an astral form as the simulation began. You’d already defaulted to Hunter’s preferred modifications, though you carefully made sure that your fire was stun-only.

The combat droids started to swarm, causing Hunter to duck and weave through the barriers and start firing. A pattern soon presented itself, and you picked up on it as soon as Hunter did.

“Tech!” Hunter yelled, tossing you.

You guided the weapon into Tech’s outstretched hand, instantly splitting into two. You whispered across the Bond. Pattern of four, flanking both sides and driving a wedge down the middle.

Tech nodded as he continued to fire and make his way closer to Hunter. “So it’s trying to funnel us toward the center and get us trapped,” he deduced.

“Wrecker, clear a path down the middle, Tech and I will cover you!” Hunter shouted.

“Wrecker, catch!” Tech called.

Wrecker whooped and caught you easily, charging straight into the middle of the arena. You formed yourself into a stun grenade launcher, and he eagerly fired a few into the swarm. Manually charging in as Hunter and Tech picked off the ones that got too close, Wrecker used you to both shoot as well as physically bat away some of the droids.

From a vantage point, Crosshair had already started sniping down the towers and picking off droids that threatened any of his other teammates.

Droids started swarming you and Wrecker even more, and you were pressed to focus on both keeping a second eye out for him as well as making sure your shots were still stun-only instead of live fire. They swarmed towards the center, and you quietly murmured across the Bonds.

Wrecker laughed heartily, elated by the action and the promise Hunter’s conveyed plan presented. “Let’s do it!” He roared, swinging you in a circle and firing gleefully. “Come and get it!”

It only took another moment before Hunter yelled “Now!”

Wrecker barely hesitated, pushing himself off the ground in a mighty leap to the side. He fired unerringly toward the mass of droids, a stun-grenade arcing through the air. A bolt from Crosshair hit the grenade dead-center, and it went off in a mighty pulse as you dragged Wrecker down to the ground to avoid the shockwave of the blast.

All the droids hovering in the air instantly dropped, sparking.

Slowly, Wrecker looked up. A moment of silence, then a bell chimed from above.

Simulation complete. Prepare for phase 2.

Wrecker scrambled to his feet. “What? Phase 2? What’s that?”

Hunter, Crosshair, and Tech quickly came up.

You materialized over Wrecker’s shoulder. “Phase 2 is my fault,” you said quickly. “It’s meant to be a test of how well I can switch between all of you as need be. There’s going to be most likely a set of obstacles of some sort that will lean on your individual strengths and see how well and quickly I can adapt.”

Hunter nodded. “Everyone keep as close as possible and support Shiv. Keep sharp and listen to the Bonds and each other.”

Everyone nodded and scattered to nearby barriers. For the time being, you stayed with Wrecker.

As soon as you caught sight of a droid staring to rise from a panel in the floor, you sent a pulse over the Bond. Wrecker barely paused before turning and chucking you clear across three barriers.

Hunter caught you as you Shifted into his modified blaster. “Any ideas, Shiv?” he asked tightly.

It’s a heavy fire unit, You guessed by its build. I don’t know what mods it might have, but I think treating it like an armored assassin droid would be best.

He nodded, then leapt over the barrier and started to run towards the droid. He weaved and dodged the bolts, and you Shifted into an energy shield to help block any stray blasts. Hunter dropped and skidded across the floor as you Shifted back into a blaster. Leaping up, he shoved the blaster into the crack between the two chinks of chest armor and fired.

Dodging out of the way, Hunter instantly turned and kicked at the droid’s legs. You Shifted into a vibro-shiv, and he slashed instantly at the droid’s back plate. The droid fell to its knees, and Hunter sank the shiv into its head plate, carving it open. You Shifted into a blaster again, and he fired instantly into the now-open head.

The droid crumpled, and Hunter whirled around to look for the source of the faint buzzing he’d heard. As soon as he caught sight of the tiny, round droid speeding around the edges of the room, he whipped his arm back.

“Cross!” He shouted in warning.

You Shifted midair, guiding yourself into Crosshair’s hands, already complete as his preferred modified sniper rifle. He smirked, then sprinted over to one of the towers in the room. You positioned your astral form in the usual place to his left. He climbed the tower, taking up a spot and propping you up on the railing.

Peering through your sight, Crosshair let out a quiet breath. You took the moment of complete silence in his head to gather yourself, preparing for his next order. His warning came a split second before the shot itself, but you were prepared. His shot hit the tiny droid almost dead-on, and a moment later you’d deflected a last ditch-effort shot made by the now-useless droid.

Crosshair turned his head to catch sight of the tower’s control panel flickering on. “Tech,” he hollered down, dropping you.

Tech looked up, catching both blasters you’d Shifted into flawlessly. Crawling around his barrier, he started into a dead-sprint toward the nearest tower. He lifted you as you Shifted into another shield, holding you above his head just in case. You took a single shot thanks to his weaving and dodging, so you were ready when he reached the tower.

He instantly propped you up and began slicing into the tower’s controls. It took him all of a minute while you braced yourself. You kept Shifting sizes of the shield depending on the shots aimed toward you. If you concentrated on a shot, it was much easier to conserve energy, maybe even absorb it and use it to refuel yourself. But the larger the shield, the more the shots would take out of you.

It didn’t take long for Tech to finish slicing and recoding the tower. Its turret rotated and started firing at the others until they were all down.

Tech grabbed you, letting you Shift back into his twin blasters. He sent you the schematics for a set of weapons, then shouted “Wrecker!” You automatically became an IWS as Wrecker caught you, but you studied the schematics Tech had given you with interest. A pair of armored gloves?

You started to copy the weapon, figuring why not? Wrecker looked down in surprise as you covered his hands, forming into the heavy gloves.

“Whoa, what are these?” Wrecker’s eyes lit up with interest as he turned his hands over.

Why don’t we find out? You asked with a smile. So far, this had been the most successful Phase 2 you’d ever experienced, and while you could feel the stress, it didn’t debilitate you like it had before.

Wrecker looked up just in time to see the center floor panel open up to reveal a giant droid ambling forwards. He grinned, then slammed his fists together in front of himself. The gloves started sparking, and you quickly made them stun instead of live energy.

With a whoop, Wrecker leapt forwards toward the heavy-duty droid. His first punch with the gloves made the droid shudder, sparking; but after a moment, it recovered itself and pressed forward again. You kept half a mind on Wrecker and continued studying the schematics of the gloves, refining the gloves and streamlining it as you familiarized yourself with it.

“Hey Shiv,” Wrecker grunted, still punching away at the droid, “what else do these do?”

You absently flicked on a button, and faintly heard Wrecker whoop as energy coils started threading between the gloves. Wrecker knocked the droid’s legs out from under it and started to wrap the energy coils around its head and neck joints. Still, you only half paid attention as you continued to study the schematics. They had aspects that made you wonder if Tech had been modifying it himself. There were mods that clearly hadn’t been made for a standardized weapon.

“Gimme a last good punch, Shiv!” Wrecker hollered.

You looked up from the schematics, shifting your attention, and powered up the gloves to as high of a safe extent as you could. Wrecker let out a shout and slammed his full weight into the chest of the droid. The entire chest plate caved in, and you winced as the stun energy rippled though the entire rest of the droid, reducing it to a heap of smoking parts.

Wrecker stood, nodding in satisfaction and smacking the gloves together. “These are awesome!” He cheered, shaking his fists in the air. “Hey Shiv, can we use these more often?”

You materialized over his shoulder, staring at them yourself. “I haven’t figured out all of it yet, so it might take me some time to make it better. But yes, if you’d like,” you agreed.

He turned his head to you in surprise. “You haven’t?” he asked as the rest of the team approached, the finish bell ringing.

You shook your head. “Tech gave me the schematics before he passed me to you.”

“You mean you made it functional on the fly?” Hunter asked, surprised.

You nodded. “Yes. I’ve studied weapons for most of my life, so it’s not as difficult anymore. But this schematic has modifications that weren’t meant for this weapon originally, so I’ll have to further study it to make it as practical as possible without compromising the rest of the weapon’s functions and overall integrity.”

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I didn’t expect you to try it right away. It was a weapon I’d found base schematics for on a mission. I thought I’d try to make some mods to accommodate Wrecker’s particular preferences. I figured I’d share what I had with you for the time being, since you’re now our partner and weapon.”

You disengaged, staggering a little as you dropped to the ground. Catching yourself, you shook your head from the giddiness that bled over from Wrecker.

“I like it,” Wrecker said with an adamant nod.

You smiled dizzily. “G-good.”

Hunter caught your arm. “You good?” His eyebrows furrowed for a moment.

“I’m fine, just-“ you squinted, balancing yourself. Taking a breath, you re-centered and shook your head. “I’m a little... that was the best I think I’ve ever done for a Phase 2,” you admitted breathlessly.

“You did great.” Hunter gave you an encouraging nod.

“I believe that was also one of the quickest battle sims we’ve managed to complete,” Tech noted, scrolling on his wrist unit. “We took a total of eight minutes and fifteen seconds for the first one. During Phase 2, Shiv Shifted weapons a total of 12 times in the span of twelve minutes and twenty seconds.”

Battle Simulations Complete. Performance Satisfactory. Prepare for mission assignment within forty-eight chrons.

You flushed as your stomach let out a loud growl. You hadn’t really eaten since lunch the day before, and you were now feeling it.

Wrecker laughed. “Let’s go get food!” He clapped your shoulder and started toward the doors.

Tech fell into step beside you as you all walked towards the now-open doors. “You did very well,” he offered. “I saved the footage in case you wanted to review it.”

You gave him an appreciative smile. “I’d love that, thanks, Tech. I’m glad I did well.” You let out a sigh of pure relief. “It was really stressful.”

As soon as the Bad Batch walked into the canteen, you mentally braced yourself for snide comments. It was always the same no matter who you were with, and worse if you were alone. Still, you hoped that the others wouldn’t be too effected by it.

Grabbing a tray, you felt your shoulders hunch a little. You just... wished others would simply ignore you. Their comments didn’t even matter, but it always felt so awkward. And sometimes, you’d found, ignoring them only earned you more trouble. Putting the bland food on your tray, you wished for a moment that you could just cook something yourself on the ship.

You followed behind Wrecker’s bulk as he confidently made his way to an empty table. Feeling a presence behind you, you glanced back with wide eyes to see Crosshair following behind you.

“Sit on my side of the table, Shiv,” Cross said coolly. “Wrecker always starts something in the canteen when others make comments.”

Though you didn’t really mind either way, you nodded and slid into the spot next to Crosshair on the bench. Hunter slid in on your other side, while Tech and Wrecker sat across from the three of you.

You just silently tucked into your food, grateful for the nutrition at the very least. Wrinkling your nose at the dubious soup, you decided to dunk your bread into it instead to avoid the taste as much as possible.

“The soup never is good,” Hunter said with a roll of his eyes as he copied you.

You nodded with a soft hum, spooning the other food into your mouth.

A group of troopers passed by your table, chuckling and nudging each other. “Well if the outcasts don’t find each other,” one of them sneered in your direction.

Another snorted. “Yeah, looks like the Sad Batch found the flimsi-opener.”

You were fully prepared to ignore it all when Wrecker leapt up from his seat.

“Leave Shiv alone,” Wrecker fairly growled, glaring at the group of troopers.

Choking on a spoonful, you pounded at your chest at the unexpected rush of heat that traveled down your body at the sound of Wrecker’s voice dropping that low and raking down your spine. It was the sound of his voice as much as the abrupt defense that took you off guard, and the way your body reacted to it completely unbalanced you. You could feel color burst in your cheeks as you stared wide-eyed up at Wrecker still glaring balefully at the troopers.

“Sit down, Wrecker,” Hunter said, waving his hand. “They don’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

Wrecker huffed. “They don’t deserve to talk to Shiv like that,” he complained.

You shook your head wordlessly, trying desperately to shove the memory of Wrecker’s face contorted in a feral snarl, his growl rolling through your mind. You weren’t even sure why it had effected you so heavily, but... You shifted a little in your seat, realizing with despair that Hunter would probably be able to smell your reaction at this rate.

“You okay, Shiv?” Wrecker turned to you, back to his normal husk as he frowned.

You coughed, shaking your head and then nodding. Swallowing thickly, you pressed your thighs together and desperately tried to refocus on your food.

Beside you, Crosshair let out a low, knowing chuckle. His hand under the table briefly brushed up your leg, and you let out a squeak, instantly clapping your hand over your mouth.

“You look flushed, Shiv, are you alright?” Tech frowned, observing your face.

“No- ye- no-“ you choked out, pointedly trying to look down at your tray. Biting your lip hard, you picked up your spoon again. Why was everything suddenly so... sensitive?

“If they say anything again, I’m throwing this table,” Wrecker said darkly, glaring around the canteen.

You couldn’t take anymore. You needed out. Standing abruptly, you grabbed your tray. “Excuse me, I’ll- I’ll be in the room-“ You fled, choking on your own words. Fairly throwing the tray at the return, you started running down the hallway and out of the canteen.

You barely made it to the barracks before your knees gave out. Leaning against the table, you sucked in a burning breath and closed your eyes, shivering. You didn’t even know why, but something about the way Wrecker had instantly stood to his full 6 foot 6 inches and growled at the person who had insulted you just... did something. It was like someone had flipped a dusty switch in your mind and broken a dam in the process.

Sucking in a breath, you grabbed your sleep clothes and went to go change in the fresher. You needed out of your blacks as soon as possible. The heat that spread through your whole body was the polar opposite of what you’d felt the night before.

Still, even after you’d changed into the tank top and shorts, your body still felt like it was on fire. The heat puddled in your lower belly, making you press your hand against it. Your skin felt so hypersensitive, the comfortable clothes rasping against you in a way that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Grabbing a datapad, you shakily tried to scroll to the report of your last medbay visit hooked to the ankle monitor you’d shed that morning. Scrolling through it, you pulled up the list of the fluids you’d been injected with. A particular side effect listed on one of them made you let out a broken groan and sink down onto the nearest bunk.

The door flew open. “Shiv?”

Tag list:

@subbing-for-clones

@darkangel4121

@mo-i-ra

@dolphincommander

@ladydiomede

@alis-gore

@spp2011

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, please message me! Thank you guys for the support!

[riotgirl21]

Pushing the boundaries: Daichi

Warnings: oral, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, spanking, rimming, anal play, close to fainting and pet names. Lots of aftercare... I think this guy would be perfect at it.

"Daichi... I can't. Please. Oh God."

You sobbed, breath caught in your throat as your boyfriend chuckled darkly. Your hands tied above your head, resting on it, while his hands gripped your hips and slammed up into you. He had spent hours making you come over and over again, tongue fucking your wet pussy until it was puffy and swollen with juices dripping down his chin into the crease of your ass. Flipping you onto your stomach while he pressed a plug into your ass, hands leaving red marks on your cheeks as he alternated between each one, tongue licking around the stretched rim of your ass. Your tears soaking through the pillow, calling out his name and a string of curses while he simply hummed and ignored it. Hands groping and pawing at your breasts as he pulled and pinched your nipples, slapping the sides of them while you rocked back against the plug.

"Mmmm... yes you can. I think you can, sweetheart. Your little pussy can take a bit more right? You're so wet, just lookit the cream you're leaving around my dick baby."

Daichi reached up and pressed his thumb into your mouth, wedging it so your jaw stays open. Your tongue licking the pad of it, tasting salt from his sweat and leftover flavoured lube. Pressing his heels into the bed, thighs tensing as he fucked up into you. Thick cock splitting you open as held himself inside you, grinding you down so your ass touched his hips.

"Daichi, please. Don't... oh God. Please don't. I can't."

"Gimme a colour, baby."

"Green." A deep breath when he made you look at him again. "I'm good. I promise."

Sitting up so you sat on his lap, he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck before looping your hands around his neck. The motion putting your tits up against his mouth, his lips wrapping around your nipple eliciting a loud moan from you as it shot to your clit. Smiling at you widely, he pressed his hands to your ass before moving you forward and back quickly.

"Come on, sweetheart. Gimme one more, huh? One more sweetheart. Lemme feel that pussy pulse around my dick. You gonna be a good girl for me? That's it, baby. That's right. Scream for me, nice and loud. Good girl. Fuck, just look at how gorgeous you look."

The words lit a fire under your skin, mouth pressed to your throat as they rumbled against you. You couldn't control the sounds coming out of your mouth, head thrown back as you felt the orgasm rip through your body again. Legs twitching, tears streaming down your cheeks as your muscles pulsated around him. The feeling too much, you could feel the darkness creeping through the edges of your vision. The orgasms that he had ripped from you had wrung everything from your body.

"Red... Dai-chi. Re-ed."

Eyes lolling closed, you felt yourself moved to lie down. The restraints from your arms loosened as he bundled you into a blanket, Daichi carefully placed your stuffy under your chin as he grabbed the juice and chocolate from the bedside cabinet. Hands moving to wipe your face with a towel, even when you hissed and moved away. You heard a small click and some rustling before something was pressed to your mouth.

"Drink something baby."

"Mmm... no, thank you."

You heard his sigh, loud and clear, when he propped you up and held the bottle to your mouth tapping it against your bottom lip twice before he spoke again.

"Please? For me?"

Cracking an eye open, you saw the look on his face and decided to take a few sips. His hands moving the hair from your face as he kissed your forehead.

"You didn't get to come. 'M sorry."

"You really think I give a shit? No."

Daichi put some chocolate in his mouth before meeting your lips, using his tongue to push the melted confectionary past your lips. Moaning when you opened for him, your hand threading through his damp hair. Body moving closer to him, chest pressing against his as the blanket began falling away.

"Stop. You need to rest, sweetheart."

"But-"

"If you got energy to argue, you got energy to get that ass spanked?"

"No, thank you."

"That's what I thought."

[totallyexhausted]

So, I am re-watching Danny Phantom and the idea of Lancer caring for an ill Danny crossed my mind after I read all the ones I could find. I also toyed with Danny’s powers; him being able to change, obviously, but also seance and see dead spirits (and ghosts; leaving spirits and ghosts as separate entities) walking around. Basically, I upped the rating on Danny Phantom and combined Klaus Hargreeves powers with Danny’s own abilities.

Also, I’ll say, and maybe it’s the song I’m listening to, or the fact that I was reworking Greenberg and Coach from TW, but I got the picture of Danny showing up at Lancer’s door, high off his ass mumbling about Sam, Ghosts, and other teenager things.

…………………………………..

Lance Lancer had never seen a kid so sick, nor did he remember his own son ever being this ill. Danny groaned loudly, curling further into himself, his arms tightly protecting his stomach as his nails dug bloody indents on his forearms. He was shivering, his ghost sense going off every few minutes, creating a barely visible burst of cold air biting back against his sweaty flesh. He clenched his eyes shut as he tried to forget about the spirits flooding the room. As he tried to forget their voices, their screams, their hands brushing over him as they pleaded for him to look. As they begged for him to help.

Lancer bit his bottom lip as he pressed his hand harder against the 17-year-old’s shaking front shoulder, his other trying to work through some of the knots plaguing the boy’s shoulder blades. He shouldn’t have this many tight muscles, this much stress forced in his back at his age… and the fact that Danny seemed to curl tighter into himself, straining his muscles further every time he took a slow, shallow breath, worried the English teacher more.

The teenager groaned again, clenching his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed quickly, letting out a shaky breath. He stilled, hoping his lack of movement would help ease the nausea stampeding through his body and after taking several slow breaths, he relaxed. He hated being sick… not that anyone loved puking their guts out for hours, let alone in someone else’s home, but his ghost sense always made him on-edge, unable to sleep peacefully or unwind. Every spark of Ghost-breath as Tucker called it, sent violent shivers through him making it harder for his body to heat or cool properly.

The last time Danny remembered being this sick was a few days after the Accident. He’d been on a famous “Fenton Family Vacation,” which was just code for some lame ghost-convention his parents attended every year, forcing their two kids to cram in the RV for a 12-hour car trip to some middle-class hotel. Usually, Jazz and Danny occupied their time exploring the city or making fun of the people who attended the convention. But since the Accident a few days before, for Danny, the family vacation turned into 3-days of complete feverish hell as his body tried to figure out how to survive with only half an immune system, half the person he used to be.

There wasn’t much to remember from that experience except cold showers, endless puking, aimless wondering in some sauna-type hotel as Danny tried running from himself, and the vague memory of leaning against his father several times as his mother coaxed him to take whatever foul-tasting liquid she wanted him to drink. Whether or not his parents actually attended the convention, or if Jazz had explored the same boring city, Danny couldn’t remember. But he remembered his parents arguing, his sister cradling him to her chest on the bathroom floor, and at some point, crouching under the bathroom counter as he forced himself small, trying to hide from the green-eyed, white-haired kid in the mirror or the bloody, contorted people following him. Since then, sickness never came easy despite his immune system being half-dead or ghosted or whatever it was Tucker had told him.

The 17-year-old pressed his face against the comforter, lessening the pain shooting through his temples as the thought of puking again slowly began to evade, and his head welcomed the soft cool fabric cushioning the migraine eating away at his jawline. He was lying at the edge of the bed, curled into what had to be a pathetic sweaty ball, his knees pulled halfway to his chest as he braced his arms across his stomach. This was hell. It had to be. Because only some sick fuck would make him miserable, feverishly grasping what little reality he could hold onto, and so nauseous he couldn’t move, away from his parents with only Mr. Lancer as his only comfort. It was some kind of sick joke.

Danny’s stomach churned, and he swallowed hard, his hands clammy against his overheated skin, trying to will whatever else he could possibly still have in his stomach, back down. He stilled again, breathing shallowly through his nose, feeling his stomach relax slightly. He sighed internally, praying to God he was done puking as heat lit through his veins, and Danny lurched, retching loudly as he shut his eyes, willing for everything to stop. He had no strength left to hold himself up; his mind fuzzy and everything hard to piece together through sweaty nauseating moments. He whimpered as he lurched again, retching as bitter acidic bile spewed from his mouth, running down his chin, and the 17-year-old coughed harshly, tightening his grip across his stomach, and clenching his eyes shut as he struggled to breathe through the rest of it.

He felt something wipe across his chin and mouth, his stomach lurching further at the thought of the humiliation of being so exhausted and sick he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe any of his vomit away from him. Danny whimpered loudly, letting foul saliva pool from his mouth as his stomach heaved, hanging his head off the edge of the bed over what he had been hoping for the past two hours was a wastebasket… but considering Lancer had rapidly become more concerned with other ailments such as the teenager’s temperature or the tight muscles straining in his shoulders and back, the 17-year-old was willing to bet the dark wooden floor wasn’t pretty. He’d also been too scared to look, not wanting the guilt of Lancer having to clean up his vomit added onto the guilt and humiliation he already felt.

“Alright. Easy, Daniel. It’s alright… just let it all up. It’s alright,” Lancer said as softly as he could. He was pretty sure the kid was mostly delirious by now, his fever spiking as sweat layered on top of him, soaked through damp clothes and sheets that were plastered to the teenager’s pale skin. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, his face pressed against the edge of the bed while Lancer kept a firm grasp on his shoulder so the kid wouldn’t topple off.

Lancer pressed the disregarded and mostly warm rag from the nightstand against the teenager’s face; forehead, cheeks, neck, trying his best to mop up as much sweat as he could, trying to cool Danny off as much as he could without physically carrying him into the bathroom and forcing him under a cold shower. It wasn’t ideal, and Lancer knew from previous experience with his own son, it wouldn’t be pretty; but considering Lancer was currently in charge of the poor kid, he was willing to do whatever was necessary. He’d just never seen a kid so sick.

Lightening flashed outside as a branch scrapped against the glass windowpane, thunder clashing loudly as rain continued to beat against the old house. The small leak in the roof audible in the kitchen as tiny droplets fell against some crappy tin figurines his wife failed to take in the divorce. Lancer had always hated them… but he didn’t have the heart to toss them… or admit to himself that those stupid scrap metal trinkets were his last thread he had tied to her. His last hope that maybe she’d come back. But it’d been 12 years… and she wasn’t coming back. Neither was Charlie.

Danny coughed harshly, flinching as something cool touched the back of his neck, brushing sweaty sticky hair matted to his neck from his burning flesh. He felt like he was on fire. No, worse… his core was always cold, freezing almost; so, his temperature was lower than any other humans. So, the fire eating away at his muscles and memories, was excruciating.

He coughed again, wheezing slightly as his heart skipped. He had to be breathing faster than normal… hell, he was breathing faster than normal. Air sucked through achy lungs and forced out through a dry mouth as his heart tried keeping up the pace. He swallowed, pulling his knees further to his chest, shivering again as his ghost sense went off, and he opened his eyes slightly, wincing as the dark room spun in a multitude of blacks, browns, and dark purples. Red mixed against almost translucent flesh as faces inched closer, and Danny’s stomach lurched, hard, as his eyes met the contorted and split face of a middle-aged man in coveralls.

The teenager choked, swallowing loudly as his stomach cramped again, barely feeling Lancer’s hands trying desperately to work out the clenched muscles in his back. Blood dripped from the man’s face; his appearance split into two as his smile dropped in opposite directions. Normally, Danny could ignore it; ignore them… but it was worse when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t block them out. And to be completely honest, the past couple of months hadn’t been easy on him.

He and Sam had broken up before they ever began dating. Tucker had maintained under the radar both boyfriends and girlfriends while helping his childhood crush, Valerie, pick off the ghosts Danny had missed. They were still close, the three of them; but Sam had been more distant, avoiding plans with Danny when it was just the two of them… and deep down the teenager knew it was his fault. Everything was.

The 17-year-old bit his lip, blood coating his tongue as he buried his nails further against his flesh. Sam had almost died. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for Danny… and that was something Danny would never have been able to live with. He had fucked up. He had tried to help… and she had almost died. The faint tan scars still visible against her neckline, shining as a reminder in the sunlight and under the florescent lighting in the chemistry lab. Since then, she’d been doing her best to avoid Danny, and Danny let her. He couldn’t face her. He didn’t know how.

That had been months ago, but it still flooded the teenager’s mind every time he glanced in her direction. Every time their hands touched in chemistry… every time she forced a watered-down excuse past purple lipstick. The sigh. That sigh. She had been scared of him that night. He saw it. The fear plagued across her face. The horror. And Danny didn’t blame her because he scared himself nowadays too.

He felt colder than he had been in his youth, emotions concrete against things that troubled his peers. His demeanor seemed further away as he toppled over the puny shadow of his early years. He wasn’t a pushover; Dash didn’t come near him anymore… but he was still outcasted, marked freakshow as newer threats and tougher bullies appeared. Sam had borne witness to things Tucker knew nothing about; she had seen a darker side of Danny that the teenager tried so damn hard to hide. But it was getting harder… the spirits were bleeding through more and more, scratching his mind and haunting him with nightmares that kept the 17-year-old up most nights. Nothing was a comfort anymore. Not even his friends. Not even his sister.

The teenager’s stomach lurched again, and he felt cooper flood his mouth as he bit his lip harder, forcing his eyes shut, cutting off the images around him as the spirits continued to scream. He breathed through his nose slowly, feeling Lancer’s hand grip his fingers as he tried to pry the teenager’s grip baring against his sweaty flesh.

“Wuthering Heights, Daniel!” Lancer breathed, still trying to force Danny’s fingers away from his arm as the small bloody marks from his nails became visible. Despite visibly shaking, and his breathing coming in teeth-chattering waves, Lancer was surprised Danny’s grip remained resilient. Likewise, when Danny had grabbed his wrist in the hallway earlier, when Lancer had startled the teenager, his icy-blue eyes daggered towards him, watching the older man’s actions, his fingers tight and threatening around his wrist… Lancer had been taken aback by the teenager’s strength. Just like now.

The English teacher sighed, giving up and pressing his hand against the 17-year-old’s shoulder once more as Danny lurched, coughing harshly. Concern and sympathy ate away at Lancer’s expression; his own actions feeling clumsy and foreign as he tried to soothe the teenager as much as he could. As much as he remembered. But he hadn’t comforted his own son in almost 12 years… and Danny had become much more distant and independent over the past three. So, the comfort Lancer used to try and reassure the kid, felt awkward, just as the sickened pain written across the teenager’s pale face, looked wrong.

The lights flickered above, and Lancer glanced up, hoping he wasn’t going to lose power as that would add to his already worrying list of problems. Lightening cracked again, a tree in the front yard visible momentarily as a branch fell against the window, rain threatening to break glass, and the distant sound of a tornado signal blaring through Amity Park.

Danny whimpered loudly, clenching his eyes as voices cut through his skull, pounding against the pain enveloped in his forehead and cheekbones, trailing down his jawline and neck. The bed spun despite the teenager being curled into a tight motionless ball, sweat falling from his hairline as the smell of body odor reached his nostrils, and the 17-year-old gagged.

Lancer pressed a reassuring hand against the teenager’s shoulder, murmuring he’d be right back before rising, grabbing the lukewarm rag from the nightstand, and trashcan from beside the bed as he made his way towards the kitchen. After replacing the trash bag and running the rag through cold water, Lancer sighed loudly, pressing his hands against the counter as he watched water droplets forming through the small hole in his ceiling and ping against the metal statues harbored on the bar.

He huffed again, running a tired hand over his bald head as he stared at his reflection in the dark window. The electricity shut off as the lights flickered before the microwave beeped loudly as the powerlines fought against the storm. He didn’t need this. And if there was any type of superior being looking out for him, they’d keep the lights on. At least, Lancer would have one thing going for him then.

He sighed again, glancing towards the direction of his guestroom then back towards his reflection. It was nearing 5am, and despite the sun aimed to rise in an hour, Lancer doubted it would bleed through the storm that had showed no signs of letting up. He wished it would, wished the skies would clear… wished flights would take off because that meant Danny’s parents and sister could fly home. They’d be able to take better care their son… they’d know what to do. Lancer didn’t. He hadn’t been a dad in years… he hadn’t looked after someone in years…

Danny had been miserable all day, this had become evident to Lancer in 4th period as he berated the teenager for once again sleeping in his class. His cocky, sarcastic attitude pushing the English teacher to his limit as he awarded the 17-year-old with another days’ detention. But it hadn’t been until later that Lancer began to notice things he should have seen to begin with. The dark circles, pale complexion, the bloody nose, and red tint painted across sharp cheekbones; his voice, cracked and sudden, as Danny retorted sarcasm aimed to hurt… his stare gazing past whatever Lancer had been teaching, staring at nothing but looking at everything.

Lancer shook his head as he glanced down at the red coffee cup and abandoned bowl of cereal lying in the sink. This had not been in his Wednesday evening plans… then again, there was no way in hell Lancer was going to let the teenager go home to an empty house. Lord knows what could have happened, and the fact that Danny’s temperature had spiked in the night, confirmed any doubts the older man had of letting the kid stay with him until his parent’s plane landed, which had been grounded until tomorrow evening, at best.

The older man glanced back towards his reflection, catching sight of the radar flashing across the television in his living room, silently. The storm was huge, coming from the Gulf, pressure building from the North and East as it moved slowly over Amity Park. And it was only expected to get worse which was ironically befitting. Lancer had played with the idea of taking Danny to the Emergency Room several times within the past few hours; the only thing stopping him was the question of what was more dangerous: Danny’s illness or the storm?

Jack Fenton had argued while on the phone with Lancer that he had half a mind to rent a car and drive back, despite it being a 20-hour drive back to upstate New York. But much to the English teacher’s amusement, Mr. Fenton’s plan had been shot down from his wife in the background, asking Lancer the condition of her son. Danny’s sister groaning loudly in the background, yelling something about embarrassment. But that had been yesterday evening…

And now. Danny couldn’t keep anything down, not even the miniscule amounts of water Lancer had encouraged him to take to prevent dehydration. His fever had spiked from 102 yesterday to 104.8 through the night, and most of the hardened demeanor Lancer had come to expect from his pupil over the years, was vanquished within a matter of hours. The tough, fuck-you-attitude Danny had adapted, was replaced with the youthfulness of his age. Only 17. He was still a kid; scared, alone, and whether he wanted to admit it, trying his best not to cause his teacher any further inconveniences than he already had. And despite Lancer finding the teenager’s attempts admirable, he found himself at a loss of trying to convince not only the teenager, but himself, that he only wanted to help, to make the kid feel better. But Lancer was so far out of his parental element, and he’d never seen a kid so sick before.

It hadn’t taken long once Lancer had settled down for the night, warming his hands against a mug of tea, quietly watching the news, for things to take a turn. Danny had been rather quiet during the drive to Lancer’s house, slumped in the passenger side, forehead pressed against frosted glass and still mumbling in disagreement with whoever thought he needed a babysitter every couple of minutes. The 17-year-old had attempted to convince Lancer he was fine, that he felt better since puking in detention, and his parents were overreacting. And despite sloppily scribbling through his homework, half of which the older man was certain Danny hadn’t even bothered to read, the teenager remained sullen, flushed, barely touching the sandwich Lancer had offered.

After some time spent brooding in a chair at the kitchen table, Danny had apparently concluded his English teacher wasn’t going to take him home anytime soon. He seemed more compliant then, taking up to inspecting Lancer’s memorabilia instead, trying his best to leave everything exactly as he’d found it. The older man had admired how careful the 17-year-old had been when picking up photos or knickknacks, casting weird what-the-hell-is-this glances towards his teacher as he explored.

Something sounded to his right, and Lancer blinked, running another hand over his head as he cleared his mind. Most of the things taking up refuge in the old house were objects ghosted with the memories of previous family, previous love, a previous life. He had never had the heart to take them down… it was creepily comforting.

Lancer sighed, reaching for the water-soaked rag puddling on the counter as something moved in the corner of his eye causing the older man to jump. He turned, facing the 17-year-old leaning heavily against the wooden arch of the hallway, shaking as he pressed a hand firmly against the wall for support, the rest of his lanky form hunched.

“Great Gatsby, Fenton! What are you doing up?” Lancer advanced, his tone slightly harsher than intended causing the older man to grimace. The teenager looked fairly close to passing out, a hand on his stomach firmly, the other grasped at flat wallpaper. Sweat trailing down his flushed face, forming in droplets at the kid’s chin before melting into his sweat-soaked shirt. Red set high across the bridge of his nose, painting his cheeks as he opened his mouth to speak before closing it, confusion setting across his features.

Lancer made a move towards the teenager as Danny stepped back, his eyes wide as they observed the older man cautiously. The English teacher raised an eyebrow, taking another step forward, a sick feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach as the teenager recoiled once more. Lancer cursed softly, pushing his hand towards the 17-year-old slowly, his voice low and calm as Danny reeled back. Lancer hesitated, “I’m not going to hurt you, Daniel.”

Danny pressed against the wall as Lancer took another step forward, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyebrows furrowing together as he tried to focus on the swimming interior around him. He couldn’t breathe, the air around him sucked from tired lungs, voices piercing through his head as he raised a shaky hand to his ear, wincing loudly as the spirits around him grew louder. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body struggle against the wall supporting him as he jerked away, wincing again as questions pelted him, begging, pleading for his help, for him to look. Look. Look! Just look at what had happened to them!

“Daniel?” Lancer questioned quickly, stepping forward again as the teenager gasped loudly, forcing a hand against his left ear as blood began dripping slowly from his nose, his shoulder slamming against the ugly wallpaper, “Daniel? Danny! Hey!”

The 17-year-old felt something brush against his wrist, and he forced his eyes open against the harsh lights flickering above him. Everything was hot, confusing, mashed together in a nauseating off-kilter vibrancy that hurt; his legs refusing to support him, lungs unwilling to take air as panic took over as he tried to clear his head, as he tried to remember where the hell he was.

He grimaced, sliding against the wall as his legs fought to keep him upright. He felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, weird, gone. He swallowed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fear crossing his face as he pulled back, red sticky liquid coating his fingertips. Tears threatened to spill as he tried to catch his breath. This was his fault. Everything. And now he had blood on his hands. Sam’s blood.

Piercing cut through as Danny pressed a shoulder to his ear, crying out as the man in coveralls laughed, reaching towards him. Danny dropped to his knees, his fingers trembling as they slid down the wallpaper, forcing a picture of a little boy in a baseball uniform to the ground; the glass breaking around it as it smashed against the wood flooring. Tears clouded his vision as he glanced towards the photo, the blonde-haired kid morphing, mirroring Danny’s own reflection through splintered glass.

“No,” The 17-year-old choked, pulling the photo from the floor, glass splinters slicing his trembling fingers as the kid’s gap-tooth smile distorted. He couldn’t breathe; suffocating fear eating away at him as he realized he was gone. The kid in the photo was gone. Taken, dead, his soul split, lifeless as the portal had taken everything from him. He had died, leaving behind grief and broken disappointment. His friend’s hurt, bleeding out on the side of the road as Danny struggled to hold onto any humanity he had. As he struggled to save those he should have left long ago.

Blood dotted the photo, the boy’s face hidden by crimson, and Danny wiped his hand under his nose again, smearing blood across his face. The innocent boy in the photo was gone; he had killed himself in the Accident, left behind by evil contentment and a nightmarish reality that he’d never been good enough. He was broken, built in a sweetness that no longer existed, a black gaping hole where his soul was, under aching ribs, sweaty skin and a tormented, fucked up version of himself. A black pit of beautiful disappointment. An unlovable thing. He had become something unlovable, the portal killing the good and resurrecting the bad, and even that wasn’t worth much. He wasn’t worth much.

Danny gagged harshly, crumpling the photo in his hands as the leftover glass pressed into his palm. The floor swaying under his body as he grasped the wall for any support he could find. He wanted to go back; to be his parent’s innocent little boy again, to forget about the shitstorm around him, forget about the portal, forget about those he’d hurt, the blood he’d shed. But that was unfixable. He was. And unforgivable. He’d hurt Sam; hurt others, the blood of death splattered on what was left of himself, his human self. And in the end, he was the cause of everything; the collector of souls, the Grim Reaper labelled by Freakshow years ago. The bringer of death.

Lancer took another cautious step forward, crunching down before reaching once more towards the teenager as Danny crumpled sideways, slamming against the wall beside him. The older man faltered. Sweat glistened against the 17-year-old’s face as he gulped for air, his breathing harsh and sporadic as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest, eyes towards Lancer, clearly alarmed by his own breathing. He coughed roughly, doubling over as he caught his breath, and Lancer reached towards the kid, his fingers brushing against the sweat-soaked cotton fabric clinging to Danny’s shoulders.

The 17-year-old flinched, shoving his English teacher away from him harshly, wincing again as he pressed his shoulder to his left ear. He fell backwards, his knees failing him as he slammed against the wall, his head smacking against the small hall table. Darkness swallowed him momentarily, his hands shaking as the photo was crumpled tighter in his hands, letting out a strangled cry as the spirits towered over him, their eyes white, pupils missing as they shouted his name.

The electricity failed as the teenager recoiled violently, and Lancer swore the kid’s cold-blue eyes flashed green before the lights flickered back on, the light in the living room broke, glass shattering to the ground as Danny flinched, gripping one of the iron legs of the hall table, tightly. He eyed Lancer, his knuckles white against black, his forehead pressed against the cold metal, his breathing labored as he pulled his knees towards him in an effort to make his lanky form small.

The 17-year-old coughed, the sound hurting his chest, forcing his headache to crawl, spreading across his shoulders. He grasped at the metal leg of the table, yearning for more cold than the iron rod was willing to give as he sucked in breath after breath. He couldn’t think anymore, the heat had taken everything from him, had taken his core, leaving him with a spinning floor, voices flooding in dizzying waves, and the horrifying notion he was surrounded by death. He had died… the portal had stolen half of him, and now, the nightmares screaming at him, had killed whatever he had left. And the photo crushed in his hand was all he had of forgotten innocence.

Phantom had taken everything. And no one knew. No one understood. The beating, aching heart pounding in his chest was a lie. He was soulless; Phantom was soulless. Welcoming the darkness that swallowed the person Danny once was. And everything else, everything he did, was insignificant. His life was insignificant, a short dull buzz, a flicker. Just shit that happened and none of it meant anything. It was the flick on his lighter as he tried cupping his trembling hands against the wind, trying to spark one of the cigarettes he’d stolen from his father; the light fading, barely there; lighting what has killing him. Because no one wanted Danny Fenton. He was just a mask of stupid disappointment, broken and haunted by his past, damaged by unlovable fear. A shell of a person; a shell of a kid with nothing else to offer the world except the blood he was willing to spill. And then, life moved on.

Something pressed against his wrist, and the teenager yanked it back quickly, clawing at the back of his neck with both hands as he pressed his forehead against his knees, trembling as he tried blocking out all of them. Tried blocking out the tormented and lost souls swallowing him. He clawed again at the back of his neck, pressing his head between his sweaty arms as he rocked on his heels.

Something wet splashed against his joggers, barely noticeable against the heat plaguing him as the 17-year-old coughed. He clenched his arms over his ears as he realized he was crying, hard. He felt sick, wrong, the ghost sense no longer going off because he had nothing else left to give. Tears sliding down overheated flesh, meshing against black cotton as loud pleas left his mouth, the taste of blood sitting on his tongue. Something grabbed his arm, and Danny choked, “Please go away. Please go away. Go away. Go away. Go away...”

His parents would be disappointed. His sister would be a wreck. If they knew. Knew he had killed himself years ago; that the innocence that he once had, was gone; eaten away by the things his parents aimed to hurt. Danny Fenton had surrounded himself in a hypocritical tranquility; believing nothing past the Ghost Zone yet praying to God every night that there was a way out, a way away from himself, from Phantom. Because despite the good he’d done, bad followed him further, bathing his body in the blood of those around him. Sam’s screams, her tears, the fear she felt as Danny shred the last remaining hope of becoming more than the ghost killing him.

Some people deserved to die, and yet, he was the exception. An unkillable thing because the Accident had done that for him; and no amount of pills, cuts, stupid mistakes, or blood could take that from him. A cosmic joke of isolated soulless bullshit. The 17-year-old dug his nails harder into the back of his neck, coughing on the blood in the back of his throat as it smeared further down his chin. Tears mixed with the monster he’d become, crushing his heart as the reality of himself, the fact that no amount of water could wash away the pain he’d caused others, was coated in blood on halfa hands. An unholy thing.

Someone laughed, and Danny flinched, digging harder as something sticky coated his fingertips. The spirits were louder, yelling for him, scratching his skin as they tried forcing him to look; to look at their pain, to look at what had happened to them, at what he had done to them. The 17-year-old gagged as the scent of blood, dirt, and rotting flesh overpowered him. This was his fault. Their lives. Their souls. Death had collected those around him, pulling their individualities from themselves as the teenager tried to hang onto his. Danny was drowning in death, spirits shredding him, ghosts pulling him apart molecule-by-molecule as he constructed more damage than his parents ever could.

Air fell between his lips as his lungs refused to take any more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his friends, his family- but they didn’t need him. They needed Phantom. Leaving Fenton as nothing more than a liability, a liar with cops and parents, a part-time substance abuser as he tried killing what everyone needed. Danny refused to move, pressing his body as hard as he could against the wall as spirits crowded him, ripping skin from his body, screaming for him to look at the damage around him, the lives he had taken.

The grip tightened on his arm, clawing at bruised skin as his world morphed and the ground hovered below him. He was pulled up, his body slamming against the spirits pulling towards him, no longer able to cooperate himself. He gagged loudly as he forced his eyes open, meeting the upside-down bloodied split face of the man in coveralls, an elderly woman praying in the corner, the back of her head blown off revealing dark grey matter.

Danny heaved as some of the grey matter fell from the woman’s white hair to her rosary, liquid meshing against him as the man in coveralls slapped another man, his head decapitating slightly, spewing blood across his vision. The teenager groaned as he glanced towards a German couple screaming at each other in the hall, the wall moving as hot fingers braced against the memories etched in the wood paneling and ugly wallpaper. He whimpered as he locked eyes with a small boy reading in the corner; the boy glanced up from his book and waved towards Danny as the 17-year-old wheezed.

Words passed his ears, muttered and useless as the pleas continued to pierce his mind. Red tears of pain he’d caused, spirits forcing him to look; their bodies distorted and warped as they screamed for the souls he had taken. The ones that had left him, a bloody and tormented ending of human life. His death was coming fast, Danny knew. He could feel it. A sudden drop-off from connection, any humanity left, falling moment-by-moment, a punctuating ending happening so involuntary fast as those would soon realize the monster he had become; realize the death he had collected. Danny retched weakly as the man in coveralls forced his head together, pain screaming from his mouth as lips that no longer wanted to meet, met, and hatred ate away at his features before the heat that fell from the 17-year-old washed over them, their bodies disappearing in the flames.

Danny gagged as the smell of menthol and stale sweat filled his nostrils, his head falling back further as a heartbeat echoed around him. Sweat trailing upward as blood fell back down in a disheveled passion, choking any air left, and the teenager’s body gave out. His eyes connected with the flames engulfing the man in coveralls, his disgust bleeding from his eyes as his face separated again before he disappeared in the fire. Danny whispered, “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save anyone…”

His vision failed as he continued floating through those he couldn’t protect… and death swallowed what was left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Danny had fallen asleep, and relief settled across Lancer’s features as he took another slow sip of his tea, leaning further back in the couch. The teenager had been pretty quiet, but his looks and constant moving had become a distraction to the older man as he tried re-reading Pride and Prejudice. It’d been a long time since there’d been a kid in his home, and Lancer had forgotten how annoying they could be despite wrangling them during class as he desperately tried to pour some type of education into his students.

Lancer set his book down, glancing towards the television as the weatherman showed another map of the storm outside, the pictures flashing silently across the screen as Lancer hit mute. He sighed as rain began to pelt against the roof, the shutters on his windows slamming against the old brick harshly, and thunder echoing around a few other houses in the neighborhood as wind threatened to tear down the old house. It was going to be a long night if the storm kept up and the damage was probably going to cost him a fortune considering his salary wasn’t worth a lot these days.

The teenager coughed, and Lancer turned to see the kid curled at the other end of the couch. His head resting on the armrest at an awkward angle, his knees drawn to his chest as he refused to take any more space than needed, as he tried to force as much distance between himself and his teacher as possible. He shivered slightly, and Lancer wondered whether he should have told his charge to take the guestroom or given him a blanket… or checked for fever. After all, the 17-year-old had been trying to convince the teacher he was fine over the last few hours, but something about him, something about his demeanor told Lancer otherwise.

Lancer sighed again, setting his mug on the coffee table, eyeing the pile of books crammed into the rickety wooden shelf as it slanted forward. He needed to fix it, to buy another one before it fell, or before the weight of the books forced it down. He swallowed loudly as his eyes met the ripped, yellowed copy of Catcher in the Rye, dust coating it as it lay on the top shelf, untouched and abandoned for years. Despite all the books Lancer had reread, all the books he spent his nights enveloped in, that one, that book, he refused to touch… refused to move, to think about, to reread. Memories sat in its pages, crushed between folded pieces of paper from being read over and over, and that was something Lancer didn’t want to revisit, to think about, to remember.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, and the English teacher leaned back again, pulling his book from his lap once more, opening to the page he’d left off on. Considering it was closing in on midnight, Lancer debated heading to bed, but he hadn’t reread Jane Austen in a while. And besides, with the storm raging outside, and a kid he would feel guilty about waking, the older man considered waiting to see if he would need to dig the flashlights from the back of his silverware drawer before making any further decisions.

The ceiling fan sputtered slightly as the lights flickered, and Lancer grit his teeth as the teenager shivered again, his teeth chattered momentarily. Lancer sighed. The situation was uncomfortable needless to say; but Lancer had been a teacher and dad long enough to know that kids were good at hiding things… especially Daniel as he always had some excuse for his tardiness, his absences… his injuries. And a simple cold could turn quickly because most of the students at Casper High were walking petri dishes. Besides, Lancer and Danny’s parents agreed it was best, if the teenager were to become ill, to be surrounded by someone who could look after him or take responsibility for him if he were taken to the hospital seeing as he was still a minor and given the circumstances.

So yeah, the situation was uncomfortable; and Lancer knew that pissed Danny off. But the Fenton’s had gone with Jasmine to visit several Universities, refusing to let their only daughter attend if they couldn’t ensure the campuses were safe from ghosts. An amusing and almost stupid idea but considering Amity Park had seen its fair share of ghosts, not ridiculous. Besides Lancer could understand the Fenton’s concern, their protectiveness over their children as he once had felt it too. He knew what it was like to want to hide your kids from the evil in the world… to protect them, to hurt anything that hurt them, to give them everything. But that was gone now.

The lights flickered again as the screen door slammed against the side of the house. Wind howling outside as the news channel flashed a weather advisory warning across the screen, and Lancer exhaled, setting his book down, and leaning further against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. It’d been a long day… like most. Lancer spent a good portion of his time trying to keep a classroom of 17-year-olds from laughing over the cringing dramaticism of The Mysteries of Udolpho. Considering most of the books he taught were classic romanticism or gothic, the English teacher understood he was faced with a level of immaturity from his students. After all, it was hard for 17-year-olds to fully grasp the concept of metaphorical and real monsters of society.

The other portion of his day was spent grading poorly written essays over whatever topic he had sought to assign his students for the week. Honestly, Lancer had come to the conclusion that the only capable student in his class, after Jasmine Fenton had graduated two years prior, was Tucker Foley. If only his intelligence would rub off on Daniel, Lancer would have very little to worry about. Clearly, the teenager was capable of decent grades as Lancer had always been surprised when Fenton passed an exam or book report. But he seemed more concerned in his peers, in his life outside academics, to give his grades the attention they needed. He wasn’t stupid, Lancer knew that… and considering he came from a family thriving on higher IQ’s than half the city, the English teacher was sure that if Danny put even a little effort in his studies, he’d have no problem climbing to number one in his graduating class just as Jazz had.

But Jasmine Fenton had been competitive; aiming for greatness through academics and challenging those who threatened her perfect GPA. Daniel, however, competed with his teachers, refusing their help as he challenged them, challenged Lancer on a daily basis. Danny’s comments and cockiness had become a problem in his classroom; his antics or clownishness, difficult, as he proved how very little he cared about his grades. And despite his attitude problem, the older man was almost certain the teenager suffered from ADHD, which would explain his inability to focus most of the time and his forgetfulness.

Today had been no different. And Lancer had given the 17-year-old several chances to correct his behavior, letting his less-than-quiet remarks slide under the radar as he continued teaching. But with the constant bickering between him and Tucker, the annoyed whispers from Sam, falling from his seat twice, and the inability to explain what page the class was even reading from, Lancer had had enough. He’d tried to push back, pointing his ruler in Daniel’s direction and explaining there was an idiot at the end of it; but this resulted in the teenager’s sarcastic question of which end? After the laughter had died down, Lancer retorted that the 17-year-old could find out in detention.

Normally, detention was Lancer’s chance to unwind; to bask in the quiet as he encouraged his students to take the time to go over their studies. But today had been different. Not only had the lights gone out more than twice during his 3-hour prison sentence, but Danny had seemed different than earlier that day. Distracted, his eyes out of focus, shivering, and his quiet, slumped demeanor. Usually, the 17-year-old was pouting, refusing to do any real work, or trying to rally those who shared detention with him. But today he just sat there, quietly tracing some type of drawing on his textbook with his finger, his head resting against his desk.

Lancer had let it go for a while… after all, it was beginning to become obvious something was wrong. But into the 2nd hour, the complete lack of motivation, had become annoying, eating away at the older man’s patience. The other students in the classroom had taken Danny’s character as an invitation to abandon their own work for better things such as texting, making paper planes, or horseplay. Through the 17-year-old’s melodramatic and pitiful attitude, Lancer was losing control of his classroom. That had been when things had taken a turn, going from long to endless.

The older man had risen, scowling the other students into compliance as he made his way towards the cause of his current problem. Lancer scoffed when the teenager didn’t even bother reacting to his presence, but continued tracing over the outline of Thomas Jefferson on his torn-up history textbook. And it hadn’t been until Lancer had slammed his copy of Northanger Abbey on the 17-year-old’s desk that Danny reacted.

He jumped, flinging his book from the desk as he jerked towards Lancer, a look of horror crossing his face as he straightened slightly. The older man crossed his arms, a stern look casted down as he raised an eyebrow while the teenager scrambled to grab his textbook from the floor, flipping to a random chapter. Lancer stood there for several minutes, ensuring Daniel was at least pretending to read the words in front of him, and to enforce his authority as the superior in the classroom to his other students. This didn’t last long.

Once he had situated himself back at his desk, opening his book to the last page he’d read, Danny had raised his hand. Lancer raised his head towards his pupil but ignored him and continued reading. After a few minutes, the teenager put his hand down but forced it in the air a few moments later. Again, the English teacher refused to acknowledge his student’s attempt to leave detention. Normally, Danny would give up and ride out the rest of his punishment, partially compliant. Lancer had learned this during the kid’s Sophomore year; refusing to acknowledge or give the teenager permission for whatever excuse he had, was the only way to ensure he completed detention without further incident.

Lancer watched from his peripheral as the 17-year-old dropped his hand, sighing loudly as he continued scanning the words in his barely passible history book; Lancer smiled slightly. Some quiet had passed, relaxing the mood in the room as the older man felt himself beginning to unwind from the day once again. A few seconds later, however, there had been a noise, and the older man had glanced up to see Daniel rushing from the room, his book once again smacked against the tiled floor. The remaining students had jumped, conversing amongst themselves as their eyes watched the open-door slam against the wall.

Lancer grit his teeth, a scowl crossing his face as he calmly rose, placing his book on his desk before glaring towards the remaining students. They straightened, returning to their tasks as the older man exited the classroom, closing the door gently as he traced over the small indent in the wall from the door handle slamming against it. He shook his head as he glared back inside the classroom to his students watching him before looking busy as the wooden door clicked shut.

Out of all his antics, Danny had never defied Lancer enough to leave. And something in his gut told the English teacher this was either a new low from the teenager or an incident that needed attending to. Lancer had hoped all that was needed was a harsh conversation and another week of detention, but as he rounded the corner past the lockers, the root of the 17-year-old’s behavior became evident.

The older man closed his eyes briefly, sighing loudly as he ran a hand over his bald head and made his way towards the kid. Danny was hunched over one of the trashcans in the hallway, retching loudly as his arms trembled slightly, threatening to bring him down from his own weight. He had expected the unpleasant smell of half-digested food, but what Lancer hadn’t expected was the warmth radiating off the teenager as he reached out to grasp his shoulder. Both him, and the 17-year-old gasped, and Lancer stumbled back slightly as Danny pushed him away, slumping against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Danny had landed with a small smack, and he groaned as he eyed his teacher before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. He mumbled something that sounded like a half-assed apology as Lancer inspected his character. Pale, sweaty features set in a flushed undertone as pink ate at his cheekbones. The English teacher ran another hand over his head as he glanced towards his classroom, then back towards his pupil, before turning and advancing towards the class.

After explaining that he felt like cutting detention short due to the storm clouds forming outside, Lancer had gathered his belongings, slinging Danny’s tattered backpack over his shoulder as he crossed through the halls towards the teenager still slumped against the wall, pitifully. He knelt down, reaching a hand out to rouse the 17-year-old, his fingers brushing against his hairline as he made an attempt to check his temperature before the kid jumped. He grasped Lancer’s wrist, pulling it from him harshly, his fingers tight enough around his arm that the older man could feel Danny’s fingernails digging into his flesh.

The teenager’s eyes were locked on his English teacher; the warm blue turning cold and hard as a menacing look crossed his face. Lancer had opened his mouth to speak but closed it a second later as Danny tightened his grip. He’d been surprised by the amount of strength the kid possessed seeing as he always seemed lanky, awkward, and weak. And the threat crossing the 17-year-old’s face sent chills down Lancer’s spine as Danny blinked, releasing his grip before apologizing quickly.

The older man stilled, his eyes glancing over his student as the kid refused to make eye-contact with him. Lancer sighed, offering the teenager a ride home, only to find out that his parents had been out of town for the past few days and weren’t due back until later that evening. And after a very awkward but short conversation with the Fenton’s and finding out their flight had been cancelled due to the oncoming weather, Lancer was driving a pissed off teenager to his own house until his parents returned. Thus, claiming an uncomfortable situation which neither Daniel nor Lancer liked much. But the older man wasn’t a monster… and if a night of letting Danny occupy his guestroom until he was convinced the 17-year-old was fine was what it took, then the English teacher would bare through it.

Lancer sighed again, letting his mind drift as he felt his body relaxing, sleep creeping towards him. Outside, the wind ate away at the chimes and shutters surrounding the house, lightening sparking against powerlines as the lights wavered in and out. Thunder roared overhead, creating a low rumble through the old house as the imminent threat of a tornado loomed in the horizon. But silence engulfed the English teacher as the thought of just resting for a few minutes evaded his tired mind…

It hadn’t been the flinch that woke Lancer, but the loud crash of things falling. Panic clouded his mind as the thought of a tree crashing through the front windows washed over him as he jumped up, cursing loudly. He glanced towards the windows quickly to find them intact and instead turned his attention in front of him as another sound hit him. Heaving.

“Lord of the Flies!” Lancer remarked as he turned his attention towards the sound. The coffee table had been overturned, laying on its side, its belongings littering the floor. And the rickety bookshelf the older man had been wary of earlier, had fallen slightly; its shelves no longer apart of it as the books wedged between non-existent space had crashed to the floor, surrounding Danny as he struggled to breath.

Lancer made his way around the overturned table, crouching down next to the kid as he gagged again, vomit coating his sweatshirt, puddling on the floor below as sweat trickled down his temple. The older man put a steady hand on the teenager’s shoulder, running his hand between his shoulder blades as the muscles in the 17-year-old’s back spasmed between heaves. Lancer let out a slow breath, his voice low and calm, “Alright. It’s alright, Daniel. You’re alright, just get it up. It’s alright…”

The teenager tensed, breathing through his nose lowly as he spit foul-tasting salvia from his mouth, and concentrated on settling his stomach. He felt disgusting, sweaty and embarrassed. He could feel vomit squished between his fingers, and the fact that he had just emptied the contents of his stomach on his English teacher’s floor, mortifying. But considering he had forgotten he wasn’t home, and in attempt to seek out the bathroom, tripped over the coffee table, not only taking it and its belongings down, but falling against the bookshelf, bringing a pile of books crashing to the floor with him, was more humiliating than the acidic puddle in front of him.

Danny closed his eyes briefly, breathing slowly as he leaned back on his knees, scrapping a hand against his mouth and chin. He turned his head towards his teacher but refused to make eye contact because he was afraid of the expression on the older man’s face. The 17-year-old groaned inwardly, setting a hand on his stomach as he let the short silence pass over them; the television cutting off then flicking back on a second later.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Lancer asked softly as he glanced around at the state of his living room. Surely, the shelves or books had fallen on top of the kid when he fell, and given the state of the coffee table, Lancer was betting the kid had tripped over it or something. The splintered shelves could have cut him, or his foot could have gotten caught on the ledge, and injury wasn’t something the older man really wanted to add to his list of problems right now.

Danny was quiet for a while, making brief eye contact with Lancer before looking back towards the floor. He swallowed loudly against the hiccups forcing themselves up his throat and hunched his posture further. He looked downright miserable which didn’t help Lancer’s current situation. The 17-year-old swallowed again before muttering quietly, “Sorry, I’ll help you clean up… I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Lancer sighed, relief washing over him as the kid finally spoke. He ran a hand over his head as he bowed his head, trying to get the teenager to look him in the face, “That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Fenton. Are you hurt?”

Danny froze for a few seconds before meeting the teacher’s gaze slowly. He shook his head, his body twitching slightly as hiccups still resonated through his chest. Lancer nodded, glancing over the kid quickly, looking for any visible injuries but finding none, and ran his hands over his knees before standing, exhaling loudly.

The wind howled outside, and the branches on the tree outside knocked against the window forcefully as Lancer glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was around 2am, which answered two questions: Was he to be expected at school tomorrow and was he going to get any sleep tonight. The 17-year-old coughed gently, and the older man turned his attention back towards the teenager.

“Well,” Lancer started carefully, “Let’s get things cleaned up.”

Danny cast his gaze back towards the floor as he moved to pick up one of the books next to him. Lancer crouched down again, pulling the book from the kid’s grasp, “What are you doing, Daniel?’

The teenager glanced up slowly, “You said to clean-”

Lancer shook his head, cutting the kid off, “The state of my living room doesn’t concern me right now, Mr. Fenton. You, however, do. Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I’m not heartless.”

Danny’s expression shifted as the older man grasped the kid’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder as he swayed slightly, an eyebrow raised as a silent question flashed across the teacher’s face. The 17-year-old swallowed and gave Lancer a weak nod before crossing his arms over his stomach gently, stepping around the chaos as he followed Lancer into the hallway.

He shivered harshly as his ghost sense went off, and his eyes danced over the photos nailed against the ugly wallpaper in the hallway. Pictures of family- of times no one at Casper High knew of; a different side of the English teacher never shown. Danny lingered on the photo of a young boy with blonde hair, a huge gap-toothed smile swallowing his face as he held his ice cream cone towards the photographer. Confusion crossed the teenager’s face as he glanced over some of the other photos, the blonde kid present in almost all of them… and a pretty woman in a few others, posing next to the kid. As far as everyone knew, Lancer didn’t have kids, and he wasn’t married.

His ghost sense went off again, and Danny shivered as he paused momentarily, the photos around him blurring together, spinning into a colorful mess as dizzying fatigue washed over him, his limbs shaking as they fought to bring him down. He made a slight noise as he glanced towards the end of the hall, towards a small boy hiding behind a half-closed door; his green eyes huge and alarmed as he watched the teenager. Danny swallowed, Lancer’s questions floating over him as the boy peered further out the door, motioning for the 17-year-old to follow.

The teenager made an attempt to move, the hallway spinning as the pictures on the wall melted together in an array of sickening colors, and Danny blinked slowly as several spirits began to crowd around him, blood forced from gruesome wounds. A sharp noise escaped his mouth as he glanced back towards the boy, only to find the doorway empty, the door fully open now. Chills washed over him as his knees gave out, and his ghost sense sparked again.

Someone grasped at him, a hand gripping his arm while another snaked over his torse, pulling him back on his feet. Black filtered through Danny’s vision momentarily as his body went limp before he groaned, looking towards his left as Lancer adjusted his grip on his torso, asking something Danny couldn’t grasp. The teenager’s feet dragged against the wooden floor as he struggled to gain his footing, but his legs felt clumsy and foreign. He felt like shit, weird, split into two, leaning heavily against his teacher as the older man led him slowly down the hall, towards the room that’d been previously occupied by a scared little boy.

The 17-year-old hadn’t realized he’d been deposited on a bed until everything stopped moving. The room swaying slightly but no longer spinning in a multitude of nauseating colors. Heat pressed against his body as he glanced over the side of the bed towards the boy he’d seen earlier, hiding behind the rocking chair in the corner. His eyes fixed on the teenager as cold air pushed past Danny’s lips, and he shivered again, turning towards the ceiling fan as his shoes were slipped off his feet, followed by his socks.

He groaned as Lancer pulled his hoodie over his head gently, forcing his arms from the sleeves, leaving him shivering against the warmth dotting against his skin. He was freezing. His ghost sense going off every few minutes, causing his body to ice, goosebumps breaking out over his arms as warmth rushed through him a second later. He blinked slowly, feeling something press against his forehead, and he squinted towards Lancer leaning over him.

“We need to get that fever down, Daniel,” He whispered, running his hands through the kid’s messy black hair. Danny groaned, tuning out his teacher’s movements as he turned back towards the boy hiding behind the chair, hoping that this was as worse as his night got…

……………………………………………………

Heat. Heat blistered against tired flesh and limbs that refused to move… and warmth. Warmth pressed against bruised flesh gently, killing the heat sweating against him, weighing him down in thick blankets. Warmth poured over him, comforting him, drowning the confusion and panic etched in his veins, and Danny suddenly found himself calling to his childhood memories.

“M-mom?” He whispered, his voice barely audible as it scratched past his throat, rough and raw. He swallowed harshly, trying to force his eyes open but finding the task difficult. His body felt heavy, weak, tired… he felt like he had gone several rounds with Skulker… or someone worse.

“Shh, don’t talk, Daniel,” Someone said softly, and Danny blinked slowly, squinting against the dim lights swaying next to him. He shivered as shadows danced around him, and he groaned loudly as he tried pushing himself up. Strong warm hands pressed against his chest, keeping him in place as any strength the teenager had, left him momentarily.

Warmth threatened to pull him under again, and Danny swallowed, his head lolling to his right as he forced his eyes to stay open against flickering, dancing lights. Something pressed against his temple, his cheek, his neck, dampening the fire momentarily wherever the warmth touched, lingering against his skin just long enough to cool the sweat clammed against his body.

Danny coughed harshly as he opened his eyes sluggishly, unaware he had closed them, and he glanced around disoriented, his neck aching from the little effort he put into turning it. His vision wavered slightly, and the 17-year-old groaned as he made another feeble attempt to move only to be stilled by calm hands.

“Just relax, Daniel. Otherwise, I might be obliged to add to your weeks’ worth of detention,” Someone chuckled softly, and Danny forced his eyes open again, “Mr. L’ncer?”

The 17-year-old winced as his voice met his ears, weak and small; the syllables barely leaving his mouth as his tongue felt heavy against his teeth. He swallowed, his mouth feeling cottony and thick as his eyes lazily met his English teacher’s face hovering above him; a stern expression settled on tired features.

The teenager groaned loudly, closing his eyes briefly as the room began to spin, leaning his head back as he listened to the silence surrounding him. A quiet popping echoing around him, and Danny squinted, noticing several candles sitting on the counter and next to him, their flames flickering wildly. Confusion crossed his face as Lancer leaned further over him, “The power went out a while ago, so I had to improvise as I couldn’t find any batteries for the flashlight.”

The older man held up the flashlight, shaking it gently as confusion continued to sit on the 17-year-old’s face. He blinked slowly as he tried to piece together everything. But it was hot. And he felt weird, sick, his mind a muddled mess of exhaustion; his headache still pounding behind his eyes. He tried moving again, sitting up slightly before being pushed back down gently as Lancer sighed, “I swear, Mr. Fenton, do you ever listen?”

Danny swallowed, doing his best to understand his surroundings. He sighed loudly, letting his head fall behind him as he slowly connected the dots. He was in a bathroom. More importantly, he was lying in a warm bath, shivering against the heat beaded on his skin. And more embarrassingly, Lancer was soaking washcloths in the water, pressing them against his face, wiping down the sweat that was forming on Danny’s body. It took him longer than he liked to realize his shirt was gone, gentle fingers pressing lightly against his torso, covering every inch of heat that surrounded the bruised and scarred flesh. Whether or not he was wearing further clothing wasn’t something Danny tried to think about, and if he had the energy, he would have protested this level of comfort. This level of embarrassment. This level of weakness. But he felt too tired, too sick, and too hot to care.

Something moved in his peripheral, and Danny peered at the end of the tub to find the boy from earlier sitting on the edge, his gaze still watching the teenager. He bent down slightly, his blonde hair covering his face as he touched the water before jerking his hand back and shivering. Warmth hit him as Lancer washed over his chest, and the 17-year-old squinted, his eyes still watching the boy, refusing to let his exhaustion overpower him.

The boy disappeared momentarily before returning to his spot at the edge of the bathtub, a rubber duck in his hand. He set it in the water gently, pushing it in Danny’s direction before smiling widely, his two front teeth gapped, three missing from the bottom. The 17-year-old stirred, pressing against Lancer’s hands as his eyebrows furrowed together, and he yelled, “Hey!”

The boy jumped from the ledge, fear setting on his face as Danny struggled against his teacher’s grasp. His ghost sense went off, goosebumps breaking out over his naked skin as the boy disappeared, and the teenager let out a strangled cry as he shoved Lancer’s hands away, leaning over the edge, water splashing to the floor as he scanned the hallway for the boy. The 17-year-old gripped the slippery ledge of the tub as he scrambled to pull himself up, water slapping against the ground loudly.

Lancer gripped the kid’s shoulders, forcing him back down as alarm crossed his face. He held the teenager down as the candles flickered, water soaking into his khakis as the 17-year-old continued to thrash. The older man let out a quick breath as he tried grabbing the kid’s attention, “Daniel! Danny!”

The teenager stilled, his gaze moving from the hallway towards his teacher as his nickname left Lancer’s mouth. The older man sighed softly as he felt the kid’s body relax, his grip loosening on the bathtub as the teacher eased him back down. The alarm that crossed Danny’s face earlier, vanishing as confusion set in, his head smacking once again against the back of the bathtub as exhaustion ate away at his features.

He exhaled loudly as Lancer pressed a washcloth against his forehead, leaving it there for several minutes before repeating the action. Danny swallowed softly, closing his eyes against the dimly-lit room as his teacher cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the circumstances, Daniel. But your temperature spiked again causing you to pass out, and I had no other way of bringing it down quicker. I know it’s uncomfortable. My son freaked too.”

Danny turned towards his teacher’s voice but kept his eyes closed as his mind spun violently. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to understand the information, as he tried to recall the pictures on the wall in the hallway. He coughed, sweat dripping from his hair plastered against his face, “The kid…”

“In the photos. Yeah,” Lancer sighed, wiping across the teenager’s chest again before pressing another rag against his forehead, “He passed some time ago… a car accident.”

The 17-year-old’s eyes opened slightly as he met his teacher’s sad smile before his focus lazily danced towards the hallway. The boy stood there, leaning against the doorway as he fumbled with the zipper on the bottom of his blue jacket, worry flashing across his face as he met Danny’s gaze. The teenager swallowed again, closing his eyes as he turned his head away from the door, sweat rolling down his cheeks as it dripped from his chin.

“Hey…” He muttered softly as he tried calling the boy closer, as he tried to connect the dots. He felt like shit. Even after being extremely sick after the Accident, he didn’t remember it feeling like this. Then again, that had been 3 years ago… and Danny hadn’t really been sick since. But maybe that had to do more with Phantom. Maybe he’d left… leaving the 17-year-old as a barely alive thing. Maybe this was his immune system dying, the other half giving out as it had struggled to survive with half function over the years. Maybe this was the portal killing the other part of him, claiming what it had started.

Danny’s teeth chattered loudly as he shivered against the warmth, “I shou-should call my parents…”

“I assure you they’re fine, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said calmly, rewetting a washcloth and pressing it against the teenager’s neck, “They’re just concerned, trying to find a quicker way back to New York… unfortunately, the storm is making that difficult.”

The 17-year-old swallowed slowly, confusion washing over him before swallowing again. He coughed, his throat raw and his mouth dry like sandpaper, feeling his mind slipping, the reality he could understand becoming harder and harder to grasp. Everything was muddled, fuzzy, hard to comprehend.

“I- I should call them,” He muttered softly, “Apologize for killing myself… they’re going to be-be so- disappointed in me…”

Lancer froze, alarm flooding through him as he choked. He watched the confusion on Danny’s face melt, his features relaxing slightly as moments passed. The older man turned the teenager’s face towards him, shaking his shoulder gently as he let out a sharp breath, “What? Mr. Fenton- what! What does that mean? Daniel? Daniel- Danny!”

The kid whimpered but other than that, showed no sign that he had even heard Lancer’s questions. The English teacher took a few slow breaths, closing his eyes as he forced the panic back down. Perhaps he had misheard… or the 17-year-old’s temperature was getting to him. Hallucinations and muddled speech were common, so perhaps, that’s all it was. Thoughts of a delusional and feverish mind.

Then again, Danny’s attitude had shifted over the years as he still maintained his cocky and sarcastic demeanor… but darker things lurked over him. Lancer knew the kid smoked from time-to-time, and he had heard from a few rumors that Fenton had become no stranger to weed or alcohol. Then again, the aspect of rebellion was fairly common in teenagers, and Lancer couldn’t see the Fenton’s letting their son get away with anything too serious. But perhaps they didn’t know… perhaps they didn’t know about their son’s newer habits. Or the fights. The grades. The attitude problem. The bruises or scars. Perhaps Danny was hiding his true self from them just as he was from his peers.

But it wasn’t Lancer’s place. Not exactly. Sure, he cared for the kid, as he did for many of his pupils. But Jack and Maddie had become neighborly to him after the loss of his son, and the divorce. They expected Lancer to keep Jasmine and Daniel on the straight-and-narrow when they entered high school… which Jazz was no problem… but Danny. Danny was a different story.

Every direction Lancer took, the 17-year-old steered in the opposite direction. And it seemed even worse the last couple of months. Lancer knew something had happened between Fenton and Manson… and Danny seemed really broken up about it. After all, he had overheard Foley’s comment that the two had begun dating… among other things. And rumors were they’d been caught in the Janitor’s closet several weeks prior… But for the past few months, both Danny and Sam could barely sit next to each other, let alone look at each other. And most of the flirting Lancer had come to expect from the two, was replaced with cold stares, harsh short comments, and feeble excuses as to why they couldn’t work together.

Something sounded behind him, and the English teacher jerked, turning his head quickly towards the hall, squinting against the flame’s shadow dancing over the dark doorway. He scanned the empty area before closing his eyes briefly, breathing slowly through his nose, allowing his thoughts to calm as thunder roared overhead. Most nights Lancer could swear his house was haunted. Haunted by the memories of his past, the memories of his wife, his son… the life he missed every day. But that was ridiculous. An idealization deluded from the minds of Jack and Maddie Fenton… and nothing more.

The lights flicked several times as one of the lightbulbs above the bathroom counter popped, before burning out. The TV in the living room spluttering to life, news blasted through old speakers loudly before silence and darkness once again evaded the small house. Lancer sighed, running a hand over his head, listening to the rain pelt against the roof. Despite it being close to 10am, the storm hadn’t ceased… in fact, it seemed worse with every passing hour which was ironically befitting given Lancer’s current situation, and Danny’s condition.

The English teacher sighed loudly, wringing another washcloth out before pressing gently against the teenager’s forehead, cheeks, and neck as lightening cracked against the house. The 17-year-old whimpered softly, his eyebrows drawing together momentarily before Lancer shushed him, forcing another rag against his forehead lightly. Despite trying his best to bring the kid’s fever down, the older man was more than certain he was doing little to cause a significant change in the teenager’s temperature. Or at least it felt like that.

When the 17-year-old had passed out in the hallway, collapsing against Lancer the second he was pulled from the floor, going limp in his arms as the older man tried his best to hold Danny as gently as he could, Lancer had been at a loss. But when the lights spazzed, the shutter door slamming against the entryway and the power gave out, Lancer was close to both panicked tears and self-consumed anger.

He’d been angry over the situation. Over the power going out, the storm wreaking havoc outside and forcing flights to ground. Angry with his own useless attempts to soothe the teenager he thought he could care for. Angry he hadn’t taken Danny to the Emergency Room earlier and angry, that in spite of everything, the teenager seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Panic had eaten away worry and concern, leaving fear racing through thoughts riddled with questions; his own parental instincts, despite having died long ago, blaring as every sound, every cough, every whimper, and every unconscious groan that whispered from the 17-year-old’s mouth, sent Lancer’s senses on high alert.

Something that had scared Lancer more than he could account for was the fact that the 17-year-old was crying, hard, and his temperature. The moment he was near, the heat melting off Danny was deeply concerning, sweat plastered down pale flesh, dripping in puddles down his face and soaked through hand-me-down clothes Lancer had given him earlier. The teenager had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Lancer pressed his hand against his forehead, worry and panic lacing his tired mind as Danny cried harder, pleading with fevered hallucinations to leave and forgive him.

The thought of which was worse, the storm or Danny’s illness, no longer a debate but a firm decided answer that should have been sought long ago. But Lancer wasn’t sure if he would be able to find his keys in the dark, the rain pounding sideways against the windows as it threatened to break glass… and even though it was early morning now, the sun having rose two hours prior, it was still black as hell outside. Lancer’s own attempts to calm the teenager were futile. He was out of his element… so beyond his own familiarity, and he had forgotten how to soothe his own child. Lancer needed help, he needed another adult, and Danny needed a parent, but the older man hadn’t been a parent in a long time…

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He wasn’t a hero. Because a hero wouldn’t do this. A hero couldn’t. And Danny Fenton was no hero. He’d shed blood through Phantom hands, ghosted in hellish torment as he sat, throne to bodies and souls collected at his feet. Human hands forever red with mortal lives, halfa instincts more dead than alive as Fenton became a facade for Phantom. A mask. A plaything. A puppet of normality and bitter resentment as Phantom was forced to live in a barely alive flesh suit. And now, only now, was the teenager hit with the realization that he was no hero. He’d never been.

He’d been a boy. Stupid and ignorant in childish idealization, playing make-believe, costumed in his parent’s clothes, pretending to be something more. Something better. But he wasn’t. He was joke. A harsh cosmic occurrence of puny humanity and preemptive temperament of selfish actions. Cocooned in the tranquility of his youth as he tried to convince himself that he was more than the blood dripping from halfa hands, that he was the savior of death instead of the bringer. But he’d been stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Insignificant. A joke.

Danny Fenton was a joke of unlovable fear and horrible outcomes. Death followed him. Shadowed by terrible posture and cold features. Sam had fallen for the wrong boy. Had loved the wrong boy. Fenton wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save her… fuck, he couldn’t save anyone. He was just a stupid kid with stupid luck. A false identity born to humanity, mirrored from the reality of Phantom, a messenger, a front for what had killed him years ago. Fake bravery. Fake chivalry. Everything fake.

Ectoplasm oozed down his temple, sliding past his left cheekbone, gathering at his chin as sweat and dirt fell past, splattering against ashen snow and green puddles of forgotten souls. Blood pooling from open wounds, forced between busted knuckles and broken fingers as red stained white. Danny choked, his fingers pressing tighter across Sam’s neck as blood gushed from wounds he couldn’t close… from a death he couldn’t stop. From a love he couldn’t lose.

The purple haloed around Sam no longer vibrant or visible through dark crimson, eaten away by the innocence of her youth, and the immorality dripping from Danny. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a good guy… and Phantom? Phantom couldn’t save her. Phantom couldn’t save anyone. Ever. But Phantom wouldn’t have done this… he couldn’t. Fenton had.

Fingers slipping from flesh, Sam’s necklace pulled from her neck as Danny fought for a better grip, forcing the broken bones in his right hand to bend, to curve, to keep blood from puddling around him… to fix this. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a way to fix it. A way to fix death. To restore what was lost. What he had taken. What he had always taken. Over and over and over again.

And now, because he wasn’t willing to live without Phantom, Fenton had destroyed the one thing he loved more than anything. The one girl he loved more than anyone. The one girl willing to fight for him instead of Phantom. But that had been a mistake. Sam loving him had been a mistake. He and Sam had been a mistake. An intimate beautiful mistake.

Danny wasn’t the same person she’d fallen in love with. He wasn’t the same person he used to be. He was different. Darker. Quieter. Colder. He was awkward in his own shadow, uncomfortable in a foreign skin as he allowed Phantom more and more control. Danny Fenton was a waste. Danny Phantom wasn’t. He was the thing people needed. But Phantom wasn’t the one Sam had loved. He wasn’t the one she trusted. He wasn’t the one she tried so desperately to save… He wasn’t the one who had killed her.

The fight was over the second it’d begun. Box Ghost had slipped through the Ghost Zone, followed by Skulker and Johnny; the three musketeers of complete failure as they threatened to destroy the state of New York. But Danny had barely broken a sweat. Ghosts were easier now; less challenging than in his youth, repetitive and old, and most of the time, the teenager had bigger things to worry about. Like Spirits. The Veil. The Spirit World. And Vlad. There was always Vlad fucking Masters. A pain in the Fenton family ass… not that Jack would ever admit it.

Snow had started littering the ground in heavy flurries by the time Vlad appeared. Danny had sat on the park bench for hours, waiting for the stupid pointy-haired bastard to make an appearance; after all, Danny had gotten his message the night before when he was pulled into the Veil. He always got the message while in the Veil. He wasn’t welcome. He was never welcomed. And the Spirits collected within made sure he knew it, made sure he stayed long enough to understand the damage he had caused, the lives he had fucked, and the lives he had taken. Many in the Spirit World knew him, but he knew very little about them.

Despite knowing almost everything about the Ghost Zone, the teenager knew almost nothing about the Spirit World. About summoning. The Veil. The Spirits. He only knew how to tune them out, but the older he got, the more his power grew, the harder it was to keep them in check. Too many times had he been caught in public, or with his parents, or his sister, talking, ranting, yelling or even fighting Spirits that refused to leave. He couldn’t block them out. Their voices, cries in the dark, hands pulled through murky water towards his body as he dreamed, screams echoed through restless thoughts. They were getting harder to ignore… harder to kill.

Drugs didn’t really work anymore, barely a dull buzz of quiet whispers, and other outlets were laughable options. Weed made it hard to focus between Fenton and Phantom, his abilities harder to control… and the Spirits had barely left. Ecstasy was great, the screams a distant thought, the Spirits warping into smokes of green, yellow and red; but Phantom disappeared too, refusing to appear for several days after. And Acid… Acid just made the teenager more jittery, more paranoid, more on-edge than he already was.

Vlad had taught him a few tricks to keep the Spirits quiet enough to function before he died. He’d promised to teach Danny more, but his death made that almost impossible. Unlike the Ghost Zone, the Spirit World lacked a supernatural possession; rather turning anyone such as Vlad, normal and human- barely able to summon Danny through the Veil to talk. And Danny? Danny’s powers were pretty much useless inside the Veil, humanity coursed through fragile bones, muscle, and skin as blood beat through a half-alive thing. The teenager could barely summon, barely survive a night in the Veil, of being pulled through, forced out-of-body through airless lungs and the stillness of a barely beating heart.

In the Spirit World, the teenager was human. So very human. And so very vulnerable. A War progressed through the Veil, the Spirits capable of darker, more sinister realities than Ghosts such as Skulker or Freakshow could ever procure. A world of Death. True Death. The promises of the Ghost Zone vanquished through shreds of paper-thin souls of victims to the War. Death in the Spirit World meant no Ghost Zone after. No other World beyond. No connection or tie back to humanity. To the Human World. Nothing. Just black. Just…

The 17-year-old’s ghost sense had been going off for hours; his teeth chattering as he pulled the thin green jacket closer, cursing Vlad for taking his sweet time. To any untrained individual, the teenager appeared to be alone… but Danny was never alone. Not anymore. His shove through the Veil on his 16th had killed any isolation or solitude he had. They were always there. Always watching. Always with him.

The teenager grit his teeth as he smacked his head against the bench behind him, staring towards the grey sky as white dust fell in clumps, blanketing Amity Park… and most likely, the rest of New York. The weather had been unpredictable lately; a chaotic shitshow of indescribable patterns, something his father chalked up to some weird readings in the Ghost Zone. Despite never really seeing a ghost, his parents still obsessed over them, inching closer and closer to diving into the portal with each passing week. But Danny, Danny wished he’d never have to see another fucking ghost in his life.

More and more of the transparent bastards had been slipping through the portal lately. Part of that was Danny’s fault. The other, unknown. Valerie had helped pick up the slack, along with the Fenton Duo, but the teenager had more important things to worry about like Spirits. The harder they were to ignore, the more of them appeared… and they could touch him. Hurt him. Kill him… the scars plastered against his right ribs should be evident enough to speak to their danger. He’d barely survived his first trip through the Veil, and Vlad kept pulling him fucking through… mainly because summoning wasn’t something the 17-year-old had mastered yet. And with Vlad dead, Danny doubted if he’d ever actually be able to master summoning… leaving no hope for resurrection.

Something kicked against the teenager’s red converse, and Danny shot up quickly, expecting Vlad to be standing over him. A smile crawled across his face as his eyes met Sam, her black hoodie blowing viciously against the winter air, small specks of white clinging to the fabric. She kicked his foot again, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Danny smirked, forcing his hands in his pocket, his right hand clamped around the red lighter he had stolen from his dad’s secret stash. Whether or not Jack Fenton had noticed a few of his smokes were missing, the teenager would never know. After all, if his father ended up confronting him about it, then that meant Jack would also have to come clean to Maddie about smoking… something he supposedly gave up a few years after Danny was born.

Sam slumped down next to him, her shoulder hitting his as Danny turned towards her, smiling. Sam rolled her eyes, her purple lipstick twisting into a grin as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She sighed, “So, I take it Vlad hasn’t shown?”

The 17-year-old shook his head, before clearing his throat, “No.”

“That’s pretty unusual for him, isn’t it?” She asked, pulling her head up as wind forced her hood down, short black hair flying chaotically. She glanced in Danny’s direction as he flicked some snow off his jeans. He hadn’t really thought about Vald’s behavior- about his pretty punctual habits, but now that it was mentioned, it was rather worrisome the older man hadn’t shown yet. Especially given he seemed rather paranoid the night before. But surely, the older man would have said if he was in danger.

Danny shrugged his shoulders, meeting Sam’s gaze, biting his bottom lip. Pieces of ice clung to her hair, freckled across her face, and the 17-year-old hesitated, before brushing his thumb across her cheek carefully, wiping away some of the fallen snow. He paused, his fingers pressing gently against her jawline, following the curve softly before Sam pressed her hand over his. Danny froze, warmth flooding his face as he refused to advert his gaze.

Sam had been weird lately. She’d been acting weird… almost feminine… which was weird for both Tucker and Danny as they had always seen her as one of the guys. But between a few awkward non-date dates, a few fake-out make-outs, and being caught half-naked in the Janitor’s Closet a few weeks prior when Danny had phased through the wrong room after a fight; Danny was finding it harder to act normal around her. And then there was the Annual Winter Dance last month which neither Sam nor Danny refused to acknowledge, involving some sloppy drinking, heated kissing, and one awkward morning after at the Fenton household as Danny tried sneaking Sam from his room only to be caught by his sister.

Since then, Sam had become more… Well, it was hard to explain because Danny was pretty sure he’d become more of it too. Every moment he was around her, it seemed like he had reverted back to his weird, awkward, clumsy demeanor. He couldn’t talk around her anymore, let alone act normal anymore. His ghost sense unpredictable, his powers uncontrollable as his body forgot how to be him around her. He couldn’t eat or sleep and paying what little attention he normally did in class, unbearable. He couldn’t get Sam out of his head. Her purple lipstick. Her laugh. Her hands clasped around his. Her mouth… Her. And it was driving him insane.

Mentioning it to anyone was out of the question. Tucker had them married in 9th grade. His parents were too hyperactive and weird to be able to deal with their only son dating- let alone his sister’s recollection of her very awkward first date that involved more of Jack Fenton than Danny wanted to picture. And Jazz? Jazz had freaked when she had caught Danny and Sam together the morning after the Annual Winter Dance, forcing both teenagers to attend a lecture involving responsible actions, so asking Jazz for advice was out of the question. Honestly, Danny had found some console in Vlad, but that bastard’s advice was wishy-washy and outdated.

Sam’s fingers brushed over the rough scars on his hand before she trailed up his arm. Her hand hesitating on his shoulder before cupping the back of his neck, her fingers tussling his hair softly. The wind whooshed past, snow raining over them as Sam met the 17-year-old’s gaze, a small smirk painted across purple lips. Danny shivered slightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek again, “I-”

“Shut up,” Sam cut him off, pulling herself from the bench as she pressed her lips against his, pushing the 17-year-old back slowly as he dropped his hand from her cheek, trailing down her shoulder slowly, arm, back. He inhaled loudly, a hand pressed against the small of Sam’s back, the other pressing her closer to him as she kissed him again, one of her hand’s slipping underneath his shirt. Cold fingers pressed against the warmth on his back. Black nails scrapping gently over scarred flesh, fingers through black hair, and Danny’s hands dragging her closer. Sam was driving him insane… but maybe this time, they could acknowledge it… maybe this time, he could tell her how he really felt.

Maybe this time he could tell her he couldn’t get her out of his mind. That he couldn’t concentrate around her, he couldn’t get that night at the dance out of his mind… that she made everything better, made everything okay. He needed her like he needed air. She was a reminder that he was still alive, that he was still human, that he was still more than Phantom. Because she seemed to want him more than Phantom… She liked him. Not Phantom. And that- that was all Danny ever wanted from someone. From her…

Her nails scrapped harder against his back as Sam straddled him; her hair flying in the wind, covering her face, smacking against Danny’s face comfortingly. His hands gentle as they trailed down the rest of her back, her thighs, holding her steady against him. Her lips forceful against his, nails marked against skin, her heart pounding against his. She breathed deeply, “Danny…”

“Well, isn’t this nice,” Someone sneered. Danny pushed Sam off him gently, jumping to his feet as he pressed Sam behind him, his stance protective as he met the stranger’s gaze. The 17-year-old watched as a woman stepped forward, a smirk on her face as she pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She eyed the 17-year-old, sizing him up as she walked around the small bench. She scoffed, “They said the halfa was young, but I never would have thought this young… Tell me, handsome, do you even know how to tie your own shoes?”

Danny tensed, “Do you want to find out?”

The woman laughed loudly, circling them once more before standing a few feet from him, “Oh, and that wit. I bet you’re a troublemaker, uh?”

She crossed her arms, straightening her posture until she was eyelevel with him. Her skin almost translucent against the white ground, blood dotting against her neck where a necklace should have been. Her bright pink and blue jumpsuit standing out against the snow, fitting the ideal clothing for an 80’s teenager… her blonde hair in half-buns, purple triangle earrings dangling from her ears. She laughed again, shaking her head, her red lipstick twisting slightly as she peered towards Sam.

Sam had risen from the bench, pulling her hoody back over head as her hair still fought against the wind. She forced the sleeves past her hands, her fingers intertwining gently with Danny’s as the 17-year-old stepped forward, “Where’s Vlad?”

The woman cocked her head, her smile offsetting as she held up her hand, inspecting her chipped blue fingernails, “I wouldn’t worry about Grandpa anymore. He’s been taken care of.”

The teenager swallowed, dropping his hand from Sam’s as he took another step forward, his hands burning slightly as Phantom threatened to appear. Danny swallowed, “What did you do to him?”

The woman laughed again, shoving her hands on her hips as she faced the 17-year-old again, “You’ve become quite the gossip in the Veil. Did you know that? Everyone talks about the halfa; the teenage boy with a hitlist bigger than… well… for decency, think of someone historically bad. The merciless angel. The bringer of death. The red. You could say you’ve become very popular amongst Spirits… and to hear, the little ghost boy could be harmed,” She paused, clasping her hands together as a smile painted her face, “Well, that was like Christmas morning.”

Sam reached for Danny’s shoulder, her fingers gracing over the fabric of his hoodie as he stepped forward again, “What did you do with Vlad?”

The woman smirked, “Me? No, honey, I’ve done nothing. See, I don’t really care for the creepy-uncle-lotion-in-the-basket types. You, however, are much more interesting. Much more powerful than Vlad would be… I can feel it. Radiating off you like the wind around you. It’s beautiful… And we can hurt you. We can touch you. Something those pathetic airbags in the Ghost Zone could only dream of. And believe me, pretty boy, there are many in the Veil eager to show you their real power. Eager to walk this Earth again… all we need is the blood of the halfa.”

“Fuck you!” Sam yelled, stepping in front of the 17-year-old, her finger’s gripping Danny’s wrist. Sam took a step forward, her stance tense, her hood down as wind washed over her. Snow beading in black hair, melting down her face as hatred flashed across her features. Her grip tightened around the teenager’s wrist, protectively; and Danny swallowed softly as he realized she wasn’t about to let go.

The woman stepped forward slowly, smirking again as she chuckled, “Call off your guard-dog, Daniel. I have no intention of killing you today… besides, in order for us to be reborn, you have to come to us willingly. Which I give you… a year before you enter the Veil for the last time.”

Danny scoffed, “Unlikely.”

He shivered as he met the woman’s gaze, her smile hiding something that scared the teenager more than the threat. An understanding… knowing. She knew what went through his mind. What he thought about, how he thought about himself… The way she looked at him, the way she smirked towards him, sneering… she knew. About the drugs. The blood. About the recklessness. She knew what stimmed through a tired mind in the nightmarish reality of Fenton from Phantom. She had to know… but the only way she would, would be- Vlad.

Danny glanced down for a second, swallowing loudly. Him and Vlad had had their differences, but they seemed to work it out over the years… so would Vlad really tell people about him? Would he really betray his secrets to other people, well, Spirits? The teenager had confided in him over the years. Not about everything… but about himself, about how he had come to hate Phantom. How he had become forced to live with Phantom’s pain and torment. How he felt, as the years past, and he let Phantom have more power, he could feel reality crumpling around him. Crumpling in, and slipping through his fingers, through the cracks created by Phantom, opened and birthed through the Ghost Zone and Spirit World. How it felt like he was being drained… that his humanity was dying. Would Vlad really betray him like that? After all this time?

The woman scoffed again, “Perhaps. But I’m willing to help you out… give you another nudge in the right direction.”

Confusion crossed the 17-year-old’s face as he stepped forward again, only a few feet from the woman as she crossed her arms, raising her head. She shook her head slowly, “I can see you’re confused, so I’ll make it simple for your stupid hormonal teenage brain.”

There was a flash, and Danny dropped harshly, his hands and arms burning as he felt the shift starting to take over. Phantom gaining control as the Fenton canister, forgotten on the park bench, exploded loudly, and the teenager pressed his burning hands against the snow. Cold braced against his fingers as he looked up, wiping away some green ectoplasm that litter across his body, blood dripping down his chin slowly from a cut on his upper lip. His eyes flashed green as he let Phantom gain control, his body burning slightly as he shifted, the aching pain that plagued him, gone as Phantom took over.

Within a second, he had the woman pinned against the tree, a smirk twisting against his lips as she struggled pathetically. He huffed, his tone cocky as he tightened his grip, “You missed.”

The woman hesitated before laughing loudly, snapping her fingers as Phantom reverted back, forcing Fenton through translucent skin as he was shoved back into his teenage body. Sweaty fatigue washed over him as she kicked his leg, slamming him against the ground harshly, pinning him against the snow. The 17-year-old squirmed, trying to coax Phantom out, trying to shift but finding the task difficult, his fingers tingling and sparking green but refusing to change.

The woman snorted, grasping his hand in hers, smiling down at him as her blonde hair brushed over his chest. She pressed her fingers between his, humming softly before jerking her hand back, bending Danny’s fingers as she clawed at his palm, bones cracking, causing the teenager to scream loudly as he fought against her. After a few seconds, she let go as wind rushed past them, and she pressed her chest against his, stroking his hair back gently. She bent down further, her lips brushing against his ear, “I wasn’t aiming for you, honey.”

The 17-year-old twisted; his head jerked towards Sam as he tried forcing the woman from him. Blood splattered against the snow as Sam fell, her face pressing against the ice, her hand, bloodied and shaky, as she reached in Danny’s direction. The teenager cried loudly as Sam’s hand dropped in the snow, her body going limp as red bled through white. The woman pressed her fingers against the 17-year-old’s cheek as he screamed again; his hands and arms burning as heat clawed through his chest. Sam opened her mouth, purple lips parted but no words came, only tears trailing down pale flesh before green eyes shut.

The woman laughed softly, digging her nails painfully into Danny’s cheek and chin, prying his eyes away from Sam and towards her. Rage ate away at his features, his skin scorching against Phantom as green began to steam off him, his eyes flashing bright green before darkening as his eyes met hers. The woman tightened her grip as green smoke continued to envelope them; a smirk plastered to skin pulled back too tightly as she pressed her clammy forehead against his, gently. She took a deep breath as Danny struggled against her, his skin itching as black ectoplasm began to drip from his nose and ears, running down his face before smacking against the ground. Cold soaking through his clothes as his skin began to burn away, green fading to black, and black sparks radiating from his fingertips as the woman pressed her lips against his.

The teenager jerked away, his gaze meeting Sam’s stilled face. Her features silent, and Danny choked again as he yelled her name, fighting against the woman’s grasp again. Her nails dug once more into his flesh, pulling his face back towards her as black tears fell down his cheeks in thick trails. She thumbed some away slowly before licking the liquid from her thumb and smirking, pressing her chest once again against his.

“Such power. Such a waste,” She bent down further, her lips pressing against his temple, “Two down… See you in a year, lover.”

Pain seared across his chest, and the 17-year-old screamed as her hand pressed over his heart, burning against flesh as the greenish black swallowing him, ceased. His eyes flashed back to blue as he choked, grasping towards her hand before realizing she was gone. His hand pressing over the bloody handprint stained against his shirt as the pain slowly began to evade, and he twisted around, stumbling to his feet as he forced himself towards Sam….

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (04b)

word count; 7050

summary; you wait hours for news on the young boy, and when the results are finally in, it looks like a breakthrough with thomas might be on the horizon.

notes; this is the second half of part four since it got so long, hope you guys enjoy!

warnings; reference to injury.

Trying to make yourself a little calmer, and distract yourself from how you were feeling, you peeled the gloves from your hands, dropping them in the nearest trash can and searching to find some toilets. The mirror did not offer you a reflection you were proud to see, tear-stained cheeks that cut through sweat-caked dust in tracks, messy hair and red eyes; like picturesque misery. 

There was blood on the clean fabric of your button-up shirt, and your medical bag held little that would be able to help, but you were sure you could at least make a start. Holding your hand under the dispenser for soap, the soft humming made by the machine as it deposited a small pile of foam into your hand was enough to break the rigid silence, and you let out a slow breath. Logically, you knew it wasn’t your fault that he was injured, the boy was almost an adult, he was old enough to make his own decisions, and yet you’d let yourself become attached, you’d tried to offer him advice that had backfired, and so you couldn't help but feel partly responsible. 

The water ran pink as your skin was cleared, before shaky fingers were coming up to undo the buttons along your top. The long-sleeve top worn underneath wasn’t the warmest of items, but it was better than sitting in a blood-soaked shirt, and so you folded the crisp white uniform up carefully, tucking it into your bag and letting out a sigh. With hands cupped under the cold water tap, you let your palms fill, before leaning over the sink and splashing your face carefully with the water, rubbing away the grime and salt present on your skin until it felt fresh and clean once again. 

Your eyes were still lined with red and your throat was still raw, but both of those would begin to fade as you finally began to get a hold of yourself once again. Your head was hurting, both inside and outside, the tight ponytail your hair was pulled up into made your scalp ache as you released it, and you rubbed your fingers gently through the strands to try and soothe that pain, making a note to find some water for your oncoming headache soon. 

Finally, it was enough, hair flailing loose around your shoulders once again and skin clean, at least feeling a little more comfortable than you had, and as you patted down the pockets of your bag, you found your phone again, grateful that Newt must’ve tucked it in there when he’d gone back to the van for you, because you were sure you’d left it on the dash. There was a text from Newt, just having arrived back at the station, saying that he'd spoken to Vince and everything was cleared up, while Brenda had also left a text saying she was hoping that both you and the boy were okay. 

A voice cleared in front of you, snapping your attention away from where you were trying to think of how to reply, clicking your phone off and looking away to find the source of the disturbance. Allison was standing before you, a gown on her body and a scrub cap on her head, but she’d shed the mask and gloves, for now, smiling a little as she began to undo the ties behind her back and neck. 

“I came to give you a little update about what’s going on.”

“Already? It’s only been, what, forty minutes?” Panic flared up inside of you once again at the speed at which she was emerging, but the soft smile and a chuckle she gave to you was reassurance enough. 

“Don’t worry, the kid is doing alright. Doctor Hale is great at his job, and it’s all going smoothly.” You rubbed your hands down along your pants, clearing sweaty palms and standing up to be the same height as her. “He’ll be going into the ICU after this, so why don’t you walk with me now and I’ll take you up to that waiting room, it's a little more comfortable and private than the corridors.”

“He’s going to be alright, then?”

“He’s going to be just fine.” She confirmed, waiting a second for you to grab your bag and swing it onto a shoulder, before she was setting off through the halls again, guiding you as she made her way towards the elevator. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but we’ve got him on some bags now, and his levels are steadying again, he’s starting to get some colour back, so we’re happy with that process, and his heartbeat is stronger.”

You watched as she pressed the button to signal the machine, silver doors reflecting back at you, and you felt positively exhausted as you slumped upon hearing the good news, tensions and adrenaline finally being able to slip away. “What about his legs?”

“Well, we won’t know much about any of it until he wakes up, and we can test his response to stimulus when the drugs in his system wear off and we can replace the anaesthetic with general medication, but the shattered leg has been set and is due to be wrapped in a cast, it’s all we can do, but it isn’t looking the best on the outcome.”

You winced, knowing there was nothing more you could have done, but you still hated to know what the repercussions might be. The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the waiting room, and yet none of it was uncomfortable, she was simply a companion at your side who had brought you a little peace, and when you were of a more stable and clear mindset next time, you’d thank her properly for being so kind to you, and make a better effort to get to know the nurses here, but right now, you didn’t have the right headspace for anything other than taking it ten minutes at a time. 

“There’s not much more we can do now, it’s all about recovery, really. You did some great work out there, we’ve cleaned and applied new stitches to his wounds, I did it myself, and I promise they won’t burst any time soon.” You nodded your head, trying to absorb all the information that you could, but your mind was spinning, only focusing on the fact that he was going to be okay. “We’ll keep him in the hospital for a while, and check on him, his head has been patched up, luckily it was a crack and it hadn't splintered, so we’re happy with that.”

“When he comes out, will I be able to see him?”

“Yes, you can.” She turned to smile at you now, holding the doors open to a much nicer, and empty waiting room, you being the only person here, nobody flying past busily, phones ringing and conversations being had, it was calm and serene, and exactly what you needed. “Doctor Hale is going to come and talk to you more comprehensively himself while they get him all set up, and it shouldn’t take too long for the anaesthetic to wear off. As soon as he wakes up, we can get him started on some real painkillers that won’t knock him out.”

“Excellent.” You sighed, brushing yourself off for invisible dirt a story anxiety took over, before looking back to her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much it all means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, truly.” She placed a comforting hand on your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re one of our own. Derek, uh, Doctor Hale, he feels like he really owes the fire department, so he would do pretty much anything for you all. House ‘21 was one of the firehouses involved in saving his family when there was a house fire. He has a big family, and he almost lost them a few years ago, this is the least he can do, he feels.”

You had no idea, you’d never been anywhere long enough to reap the seeds of good acts so far down the line, but you felt proud just to be able to associate yourself with the team, to be a member of Firehouse ‘21, even if you hadn't been there for that event. They were a great team, a wonderful group of people, and you were proud to be associated with them. You weren’t sure how long it would last, but for the first time in a long time, your first thought wasn’t the next immediate escape route. 

“I’m going to head back in there, now. It shouldn't be much longer.”

You nodded, watching as she walked away, and leaving you alone in the peacefulness of the waiting room. There was a table, stacked up with magazines and a water machine in the corner, chilled and humming slowly, and you made your way over towards that firstly. Taking one of the flimsy little cups, you held it under the nozzle, pushing on the button of the cold water, and watching as it filled up, the temperature making your fingers cool as it moved toward the top. 

Taking it back over to one row of chairs, they were much more comfortable than the others, the hard plastic being replaced for soft cushioning, warm and inviting, and you slumped down into it. Shuffling through your bag, you were grateful to find the half-used try of painkillers you'd hidden in there for personal use, thanking a past version of yourself for thinking ahead, and popping two of the small tablets out, placed on your tongue and reaching for the cup. Several swigs of the water, until the cup was empty, washing them down and enjoying the cool feeling washing along your throat and soothing the burn, and you felt a little more refreshed immediately. 

This time, as you filled it up, you took a moment to observe the room you were in. A small, ornamental water fountain sat on one of the counters, soft sounds of trickling water as you neared it, and it was relaxing just to be around, stacks of little pebbles to create a water fountain, and blue lights to make the pool of water seem clearer, you lips flicking up at the sides. There was a radio, it wasn’t turned on and you didn’t intend to do so, but you admired its place here, the room filled with things all around so that there was something to calm and relax every type of person, no matter what their comfort was, and as you settled back down into the seats, you found you weren't quite so stressed anymore. 

Producing your phone from your pocket once again, you sipped at your water, the headache you had finally beginning to recede, and you replied to Brenda, a thumb swiping rapidly across the screen as you thanked her for her concern, and gave her an update that he was due out of surgery any time now. You replied to Newt too, once again thanking him profusely, as yet another batch of unrelated guilt began to make itself known, surfacing as you realised you’d just abandoned your partner to do all the work. 

Neither of them replied, both messages being left on ‘read’, and you simply hoped that they were having fun with the team, getting to relax and destress after a long day, and they weren’t torturing themselves in the same way that you were. 

The elevator chimed, not too far away, the other end of the corridor, and you paused. Following it, there was the sound of wheels, moving along the corridor, squeaking a little as a bed rattled, before fading away, and your heart leapt in your chest as you resisted the urge to stand up and look out, staying sat where you were. Your suspicions were confirmed, however, when the doors opened up, the doctor who you’d seen only a couple of hours ago appearing once again, and you pushed yourself up to your feet as fast as you could, meeting the doctor, who looked a little frazzled and worn out, but optimistic nonetheless. 

“Doctor Hale, hi.” 

He smiled a little, ducking his head. “You can call me Derek. I’m not your doctor.” Your cheeks heated a little bit, mumbling his name as you grew used to the feel of it in your mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So, you ready for that update?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and he turned his body, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you back towards the doors. 

“How about I tell you on the way to the coffee machine, because I’m desperate for a double espresso, three times over.” You grinned, laughing lightly as you agreed, just the thought of such a drink making your mouth water, and you grabbed at your bag, swinging it onto one arm and letting it dangle as you followed behind him. He held the door open for you, guiding you through the halls, and you followed after him, falling into a comfortable pace beside one another. “First of all, do you happen to know his name? We can’t get anything up on file, and we can’t put him on medications until we know if he has allergies.”

“All I know is that he’s called Aaron, I think. He’s been here before, though, should be on file. I brought him in a couple of weeks ago for the injuries on his stomach.”

The man beside you nodded, taking the pen from his pocket and writing down the name on the back of his hand. “Alright, well, I’m pretty optimistic about how Aaron is doing. He’s all set up in an ICU room now, and as soon as he starts to come around, we can let you in to visit him. While you’re in there, we need you to try and get some contact details, his parents, anything like that, so we can try and get him on file, if we can’t find him in the system, but we have a lot of Aarons’.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“His leg is now in a cast, we set it as best we could, but there was more damage along his spine, so I’m not overly optimistic about that. I don’t know how bad the paralysis will be, but there’s definitely going to be some loss of movement there, he won’t make a full recovery, not from a fall like that with his injuries.” It wasn’t a surprise, you had been anticipating the worst, and so far, everything beyond being told he didn’t make it was just a blessing. Stopping before the coffee machine beside a nurses desk, the screen flashed to life as he swiped his card through the holder, greeting him with his ID on screen, and he began to program a selection of shots and syrups into the blend. “What are you having?”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“My treat, let me buy you a coffee. I get a doctor discount on it anyway.” You couldn't resist the charming smile he gave you, shrugging a little and laughing under your breath. “Alright, Derek, surprise me. I’m not that fussy.”

“I take that as a challenge.” He confirmed, setting to work on making your brew, and as the machine hummed to life, he returned to the topic of your patient. “We pumped his stomach, we ran a few tests and flushed his system out. You might not like me too much when I tell you this, but with the contents of his stomach and the harm he got into as a minor, with nobody here to explain it, I have contacted the police and child authorities.”

“I don’t blame you, Doc. I really don’t. All I want for this kid is the best in life, I encouraged him to get out of that whole gang-lifestyle, I feel responsible for him even being here, and I-” You cut yourself off as you realised you were rambling, your lips pursing shut, and the coffee maker beside you beeped. He grinned, picking up the second coffee and handing it over to you, but only after pressing a plastic lid onto the top of the coffee cup. Bringing it up to your nose, the sweet smell of delicate spices and warm coffee filled your nose, and you hummed happily at the delicious blend. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know, you saved that kid’s life. You brought him here and he’s safe, you’ve done the best you can, and you did great.” You sighed, blowing at the steam on your coffee and taking a moment, a few deep breaths, settling yourself in the moment. “When he wakes up and starts to surface, we’ll let you know. If you give me your details, I’ll keep you updated on how he does.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me for my number there, Doctor Hale?”

“I thought I told you to call me Derek.” He beamed, both of you knowing it was only a joke, before he was holding the pen from the pocket of his coat out for you and grabbing a piece of paper from the nurses stand. Placing down your coffee, you wrote down your name and number, handing it back over to him, and he looked at it for a moment, repeating your name, before putting it into his pocket. “You can head on back to the waiting room, and I’ll come and get you in a little while when he’s awake, and we’ve got him on something to keep the pain off.”

The device on his belt beeped, calling him away to another case, and he was leaving, a wave on his fingers as he picked up his coffee, and you were left to try and navigate your way back to the waiting room alone. 

There were signs up along the walls, but every turn you took felt more confusing, muted coloured walls and total silence feeling more like your new norm as you navigate the maze of pathways, letting out a relieved sigh as you finally caught sight of the same doors you’d come through earlier. There was movement behind them, your heart sinking a little as you realised the peaceful loneliness you had was broken, but you knew other people would be here to visit their families. 

Your bag would still be laying on the floor, where you’d left it before leaving to find coffee, and as you made you way back along, the people behind the glass became a little clearer. Blond hair, brown hair, strawberry and jet black. Pushing the door open, your jaw dropped a little as you looked across the group, all eyes turning to face you, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re pausing movie night!” Chuck was almost yelling, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, and several members of the team shushed him, while others snickered. “Sorry. We’re pausing movie night.”

“I see that, but, uh, why?”

A few looks were shared among the team, and Newt sighed, standing to his feet from where he’d been lounging in your chair. “Because we’re your team, and we care about you. You’re here for the kid, and we’re here for you.”

He took your coffee from your hands, sniffling it, and winking a little before raising it up to take a sip. His eyes widened a little, before he was gulping down another mouthful, and you snatched it back with a protesting noise.

“That’s good coffee. Where can I get one of those?”

“Doctors only.” You mumbled, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a sip, and he stared at you for a second. 

“Are you telling me you made a friend other than me? You really are getting comfortable here.”

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands after another mouthful of coffee, gifting it to him. Brenda was holding her arms out to you, a sweet smile on her face as you paused for only a second, before falling into her arms and letting her wrap you up tightly. The moment you squeezed her back, there was another body wrapping around you, making the pair of you giggle as Chuck joined the hug, and you whined at the overwhelming heat that was encasing you when Newt joined in too. 

Elbowing yourself free, you wriggled out, popping free and finding the rest of the team still wearing sweet smiles, all standing around and waiting patiently. “Thanks for coming, you guys, it really means a lot to me.”

Settling down with the company of your team, Newt slumped beside you, a backpack of his own on the floor, and he picked it up, roping it down on your lap, and the weight of it winded you a little. 

“What was that for?”

“I brought you the clothes from your locker.” You raised a single brow, opening the bag and finding your hoodie and leggings inside, as well as your more comfortable trainers than the ones you wore to work, a little sigh leaving you. “Figured you’d want to be comfy, and you smell a little bit musty and bloody.”

Lifting the edge of your top to your nose, you took a whiff, faint traces being picked up, nothing overwhelming, but it certainly was present. Everybody else had changed their clothes as they left their kit at work, or went home to shower, but no matter what, you appreciated it all. 

“So, you gonna’ give us a little update on the kid?”

“Oh, yeah.” You wiped at your nose, feeling yourself get a little emotions, before pulling one leg up under yourself and turning to face him. “So, he’s doing alright. They’re worried about his legs, and they pumped his stomach, but they’re confident about his recovery and they’ve put a cast on his leg. He’s out of surgery now, they’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What about his parents? They got in touch with them, right?”

“They haven’t got any information on him yet.” You sighed, rubbing at your forehead. “They want me to go in and ask him to give up his information as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, look alive, because here comes a white coat with determination. A good looking one at that, dark hair, tall, I would be all over that if-” 

“Newt!” You hissed, the door opening, and he laughed himself into silence as he brought the coffee to his lips. Standing up, you gave him the bag back, making sure to drop it into his lap with equal the force he’d dropped onto yours, and he spluttered a little, glaring at you and kicking his leg out at you as you walked to meet the doctor. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, he is.” Derek spun on his heel, the two of you walking away towards the main doors, and you turned over your shoulder to scowl at your partner for the kick, a sugary-sweet and sly grin on his lips as you scoffed. “A lot of your friends have shown up, huh?”

“They’re my team, they came to support me.”

“Hey, I think it’s sweet.” He shrugged, guiding you along the halls. “So, he’s in a little pain, nothing awful yet as he’s still waking up, so he’s a sort of woozy. Focus on asking him his last name, if we can pull up his account we can see his allergies and get him some meds, but if he doesn't want to give it up, we need to know about the medicines.”

“What do I tell him when he starts asking questions?”

“We’re going to test his reflexes as soon as we get his medicine sorted but before it kicks in, though they may not be fully comprehensive on the total movement and reflex he can get back.” He stopped outside of the door, and peering in through the glass, you could see the young boy. The hair from the top of his head was shaved away, around the sides too, black locks were gone and bandaging wrapping his head. He was clad in a gown, and the blankets were tucked up around his body, staring up at the rod as he frowned, looking entirely displaced. “Press the button on the side of his bed when you’re ready for us to come in, I’ll wait at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

He dipped his head in a nod, taking a step back, and you entered the room. He lifted his head slowly, confusion on his features for a second as you clicked the door shut, before he was huffing again. 

“Hey, kiddo, how you feelin’?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, words a little slurred, and you took a seat beside his bed, pulling the chair over, and his head rolled from one side to the other, cheek pressing to the pillow to look at you, but his gaze was unfocused. “My arm is itchy.”

“That’s just your drip line for meds, you’ll be fine.” He made a shocked face, as though you’d reveal the secrets of the universe to him, before his face was screwing up again.

“I hurt a bit too. Everywhere.”

“I know, and we can get you some meds, alright?” He nodded his head, silence falling around you both again, and he was using one hand to scratch at the bedding, toying with the loose thread in the beige blanket, and sighed. “You gonna’ tell me your last name, so we can get you registered and checked in on the system?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll call my foster parents.” Your heart stopped for a moment in your chest, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse for him, you found out the poor kid was in the system, no wonder he’d turned to family wherever he could get it. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Don’t you think they’re worried? You’re going to be here for a while.”

“They’ll be disappointed in me.” He whispered, and you reached out, taking the young boy’s hand in your own, and squeezing lightly. “They’ll bring my little sister, she thinks I’m brave and strong.”

“And she’ll still think that!” He huffed, rolling his eye sin denial and tuning to stare back up at the ceiling. “I get how it feels to not want to let someone down, and to feel alone. I have moved between so many firehouses to find my home, and I’m still looking. I have, like, no friends outside of work.”

“What about your blond friend?”

“He’s a work friend, that doesn't count.” You teased, and he turned to look at you again.

“Do you hang out outside of work?” You paused, thinking on the people who were filling the waiting room right now, simply to support you, and you wondered if that counted, but the boy seemed to be going on anyway; “See, outside friends.”

“Alright, smart ass, the point is that I understand how you feel, and you should let me call your parents, so that you can have people who love you here with you. What do you say?” He was quiet, the moment dragging on, and as the cogs in the clock ticked loudly, the ‘second’ hand moving around, and as the third minute of silence passed you by, you gave up on any hope, You wondered if he’d fallen asleep, his eyes having slipped shut, and you squeezed his hand a little, his hand squeezing back after a few moments, signalling he was awake. 

“Edge.”

“Huh?” You perked up a little, your elbow having been resting on the bed to support your head on your fist, before you were moving to look up at him. 

“My name is Aaron Edge. I’m already in the system, I had asthma as a kid.” You cheered a little, reaching around for the handle instantly and pressing the button for the nurse’s desk. 

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The door opened a second later, a short red-head nurse escorting Doctor Hale, his brows raising a little as they came in, and you gave him a subtle nod. “This is Aaron Edge, and he’d love some painkillers now.”

“We’ll get that sorted out. This is nurse Martin, she’ll be looking after you, Mr Edge.” She left the room a second later, heading away to get it sorted out, and the doctor took a step closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy? You gave us a scare there, but you're brave, and I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“I have a headache, and I feel itchy. Is that just my nerves?”

He tried to push himself up a little in the bed, his arms giving way under the pressure, and you moved, helping him sit up so you could position his pillows behind him to help him sit up. “Well, actually, that’s the beginning of the withdrawal. It’s not going to be great, but you’re young. We can get you in a great rehab program, and whatever you were on we can get you off. You’re young, you still have prospects ahead of you. It’ll be a tough road, you think you can do it?”

His hand tightened around yours once again, and he turned, vulnerability written on his face. You gave him a nod, and he stared at you for a second longer, before returning to give those same gestures to the doctor. 

“Now, I just need to run a final test, alright?” Producing the pen from his pocket, he lifted up the blanket to reveal both of the boy’s feet, and held the end to the pen, never popping the button to reveal the inked tip. “Relax your foot for me.”

He did so and he dragged the tip of the pen up along the sensitive underfoot, everything still for a second, before his toes twitched, and you let out a little cheer, the boy in the bed jumping in shock. “What?”

“You still have movement in that foot?”

“Did I not before?” He panicked, sitting up further to peer down at his legs, and it seemed that in his drowsy state, he was only just becoming aware of the cast wrapped around his leg. “What about the other one?”

The cast sealed over most of his foot, but Derek reached down with the pen, dragging it along the space under his toes, and there was no movement. He did it again, still no reaction, and you nibbled on your lower lip. “Tell me when you feel something?”

Moving the blanket from his body, his leg was exposed, the cast ending just below his knee. He poked at the knee cap, then a rough inch further up, moving in inch segments as you waited, before his leg finally flinched just after the pen pressed over his mid-thigh. 

“Well, we can get you into some physical therapy, and see how the healing of your leg goes, and what happens after that.”

Tucking the pen back away, the red-headed nurse entered the room once again, a needle and a small glass jar in her hand, and she was ready to add some medicine to the bag for him. “I’ve called your family, and they’re on their way. I’ve got some medicine for you now.” You squeezed his hand again lightly, letting go as the nurse moved to start setting him up a new line for his medicine, and Derek was busy filling out details on the chart that sat at the end of his bed. 

“I’m going to go back to my team now, alright?” The kid turned to look at you, nodding his head slowly. “You keep your promise this time, alright? I believe in you, do it for your little sister. Be better.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” 

You ran your hand over his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. As the medicine began to kick in, nurse Martin began to talk to Aaron about his family, and what had been said on the phone, and for the third time tonight, you were navigating the ICU wing halls. Stepping back into the waiting room, all eyes turned to you again, brows raising, and you nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. 

“He’s going to be okay, and his family is on the way.”

A chorus of cheers took up around the room, and you nodded your head watching as they all began to get to their feet, coming over to offer their congratulations and comforts about how worried you’d been, and how much better you must be feeling, which was completely true. 

Newt cupped your face, pressing a large and wet kiss to your forehead, and you scowled, wiping the mark on your skin. “I think you need a drink, love.”

“Kenny’s Bar?” Gally offered, and a series of acknowledgements and agreements going up around the room. You’d heard them talking about that bar before, it seemed to be a house favourite but you’d never been along with them before, and it felt like some kind of initiation ritual or rite of passage. 

“You should go and change first. Get comfy, I’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, if you guys go on ahead, I’ll wait.” Thomas stood to the side, scratching at the back of his neck as he met your eye, shrugging a little before looking around the small group gathered around you, who seemed equally as shocked as you were. “Seriously, I mean it. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do?” You questioned dumbly, and he fixed you with a pointed look, before you nodded your head. “Right, sure, yeah, okay. I can work with that, I guess. I mean, if you don’t see me in the next twelve hours, you know who I was with last.”

“Uh-huh.” Newt eyes his friend sceptically, the two seeming to have a silent conversation all with that eye contact, before Newt was rounding everyone up. “Go get changed, don’t take too long, we’ll see you soon.”

He hugged you gently, before guiding the rest of the team out of the building, pats on your arm and squeezes of your hand as they all passed by and discussed who would be designated drivers and drop everyone else at home, each discussing driving their cars home and coming along to collect them as they went. You waved Newt’s bag at Thomas a little, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, and he nodded his head, tension forming between you both as you slipped away to find the bathrooms. 

You were already learning your way around the halls of this building well, locating them easily enough, and stepping inside. Pulling out the contents of the beg, you sealed yourself inside one of the cubicles, putting the lid down and taking a seat on top of it. Toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the floor, you were wiggling out of your crisp uniform trousers, slipping into your leggings, bouncing as you tugged them up your legs and wiggling as you got comfortable. With some simple sneakers and your hoodie on, you were feeling much more relaxed and comfortable. 

Stuffing everything else inside of the bag, you zipped it up, heading back to the waiting room, and finding Thomas with his hands shoved into his pockets, your bag on his shoulder, and he offered you what looked only mildly like a forced smile as you made your presence known. 

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded his head, letting you go through the door first as you stepped into the halls and back towards the elevator, total silence sitting in the space between you both. As he pressed the button, it was almost immediately ready for you, and you stood on opposite sides of the box as you waited for the doors to close again and sink back to the lobby. “So is this the part where you decide the hatred is too much, and actually kill me?”

He laughed, a lightweight and short, but genuine, laugh. Looking up to you, he shook his head a little, amusement still sparking in his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I don’t necessarily like you, but that's because I don’t know you, and I didn’t really give myself the chance. We got off on the wrong foot, and that's partially my fault.”

“It’s mostly your fault.”

“It’s, like, fifty percent my fault!” He argued, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head. 

“Ninety.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fine.” You huffed, surrendering to the deal again, and he gave a toothy grin. “Go on with what you were saying.”

The doors chimed as they opened up, and you fell into step beside him as the two of you began to head towards the doors to the building, letting him guide you as he headed towards his car, trying to form his words, and you waited patiently. “Look, the point is, I know you’ve been a good partner to Newt. Especially today. You went down there to look after that kid because you knew Newt couldn't take it, and while he’d never admit that to either of us, we both know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We flipped a coin, and I lost.”

“Do you always flip winning sides over to take a loss?” He questioned, clicking his keys as the sleek black car came into view, and your face flushed with warmth, not having known anyone else had seen that. “Exactly my point. I know I’ve given you a hard time. I have my reasons, okay? It fucking sucks, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you understand, maybe you don’t, but I’m trying to apologise, okay?”

He held the door open for you, the passenger seat readily available, and you dropped your bag into the footwell, standing in the way but not taking a seat as you stared up at him. “Okay. I forgive you. I probably shouldn't have been so uptight, but I was hurt too, and I didn’t take that well, so I guess this is me apologising as well.”

“So, we’re cool, now?”

“Sure.” 

He nodded, the two of you staring at each other for a moment longer, and that same dreadfully awkward tension settled over the part of you as neither of you knew quite what to say. Just because you’d called a ceasefire, didn’t mean that there was a sudden connection, it didn't mean that pain and resentment were gone immediately, it just meant that you had agreed to process and move on from it together, instead of dwelling and letting it fester. “Her name was Teresa.”

“What?”

Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he was staring at the ground, arms resting on top of the door, and he was picking at his nails. “The last paramedic, the reason I was so mad.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I owe you an explanation, so I guess I’m forcing myself to.” He sighed, running a hand through already messy hair. “She was.. a wildcard. Passionate and funny and just this real source of energy, you know? Kinda’ like you. She skipped out on us all of a sudden before shift one day, a better offer somewhere else, she didn’t tell us, but she just up and left. I was hurt, I thought I meant something to her.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas..”

“No, I am. Because all my suffering was emotional. She was Newt’s partner, he had to try and handle a case on his own because we couldn't get a replacement in before a call came, and that's the day he injured his leg. He fell through a couple of burning floors, top to bottom of the building, shattered his leg like that kid. Nobody knew where he was, he had no partner to call it in. Minho found him, unconscious from smoke inhalation and carried him out.” He let out a shaky breath, and you dared to reach out, placing a hand over his as they sat joined, and squeezing lightly. “I don’t blame myself for the accident, it had nothing to do with me. But, for whatever your own reasons are, I know you’ve jumped between houses a lot, and I was worried about Newt again. He’s my best friend.”

“I promise you, I won’t ever do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Teresa would either, but then a better offer came along.” He sighed, lifting a thumb to rest over one of your fingers and stroke lightly as he sought his one comfort from your touch, and you squeezed his hands once again. “I shouldn't have compared you to her, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, I don’t even know you.”

Quit consumed you both once again, and there was nothing else to be said, only the weight of his confession hanging in the air, before you were perking up a little, realising how to gently move on and bring his mood back up. “You any good at pool?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know, pool. In bars. Does this bar have one?” You encouraged, his eyes meeting yours again and brows furrowing with confusion. 

“Yeah, it does.”

“Well, you said you didn’t know anything about me. First thing to learn is that I’m amazing at pool.” He stood up a little more, smiling softly as he took your bait to move on from the conversation, and there was a slight twinkle of mischief in those honey-brown eyes. “Winner buys drinks?”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal, but only if we play darts afterwards. At which I will kick your ass, because I am fucking great at it.”

“You’re on, Thomas.” He chuckled, letting you step into the car and shutting the door behind you, the conversation being stored away for now, to think about when you were alone and process the details, but for now, you had bonding to do, with your teammates; for the first time yet, you genuinely considered the possibility of setting up roots somewhere, and making real friends that would last. 

[wildlyglittering]

The Ones Before

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you again to those liking, re-blogging and commenting on my fic’s, I really do appreciate it. 

I’m loving all the ACOSF inspired fic’s and fanarts that are being produced - and definitely all the critique!!

I hope you enjoy!

***

A hand pressed against his bicep as a low, husky voice murmured in his ear.

“General.”

The owner of that voice, an attractive red-haired female, placed a glass of dark liquid in front of him and squeezed her fingers around his arm.

Cassian’s muscles automatically flexed and the voice turned into a breathless giggle. “On the house,” she whispered, her mouth moving closer to his ear. Perhaps it was his imagination but it seemed that she had pushed her breasts against him so he would feel their firm swell against his shoulder.

He turned to her with a smile so charming that her face lit up like solstice lights. “Thank you,” he said, “but I can’t accept.”

Those ruby red lips of hers turned from a grin into a pout and once upon a time Cassian would have eased her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before asking if there was anything he could do to put a smile back on her face.

Once upon a time. Not now.

Despite his rejection, she was undeterred.

“It’s our finest liquor, General. It’s incredibly silky as it goes down.” It was definitely not in his imagination that he saw the twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure it is,” he said with a wink, “but let me rephrase myself – I won’t accept.”

The twinkle, much like the smile, disappeared. She frowned before snatching the glass and storming off, Cassian catching her stamp her foot as she left as though she were a petulant child and not a fae of likely over a century old.

Cassian chuckled and turned back to the table, picking up the drink he had. The beverage was sickly sweet and made from fruits that were imported into Night from Spring. It was Elain’s favourite and not at all Cassian’s. There were times when he missed the sharpness of wine or the spice of whisky but he reminded himself of what he gained by no longer drinking.

Early winter had come to Velaris and the city was bustling, its occupants rushing around hard at work or preparing for the solstice. Cassian was doing neither; a rare idle day off had lain ahead of him when he’d woken that morning.

The skies had been a bright, albeit pale, blue to start but had grown steadily gloomier before turning into an ashen grey with fat clouds that poured the rains down. The rain wasn’t the soft kind but the sort that smashed against the stones with such force that drops rebounded from the ground and back into the air.

A misty haze drifted around the footsteps of all the rushing fae, their shrieks filling the street as those without coverings ran for shelter from one building to another.

Cassian had been caught out when it started. The first rumble of thunder occurred when he was crossing the bridge and he looked down to see small droplets on the back of his hand. He stood, watching as the rain lashed into the river, mesmerised by the circles the drops created. His hair was drenched and he shook the strands around his head, laughing.

Storms never bothered him, the only reason he moved indoors was because he took up too much space outside for those who didn’t find getting soaked as delightful as he did. That, and his pending companion wouldn’t be too impressed to be made to hang around in the rain.

The café he settled in gave him a decent view of the streets and a prime view of the bridge ahead. Rainwater dripped from his hair when he tied it into a bun and he’d ordered himself his drink, delivered by an older female who wasn’t remotely interested in Cassian.

Fresh warm bread scented the place as the waitresses carried large slices, liberally buttered and served with thick broths in deep bowls, to surrounding tables. Despite the smell, he was content to drink his cordial and observe the world beyond the windows.

The clinking of plates from the table next to him drew his attention and he looked over to see the red-haired fae clearing crockery for the next customers. Although she was working, she was clearly keeping an eye on Cassian, probably waiting to see if he’d change her mind at her offer.

With her coquettish glances and the angle in which she now exposed her cleavage, it wasn’t only a drink she was offering.

A time existed once, when he would have charmed her and they would have removed themselves into the backroom of the café or even a room in the apartments above. Because he was the General, they would never have been reprimanded even if it left the café one employee down.

Admittedly something about the serving fae had captured his attention. Yes, flirtations from an attractive female were always flattering but he had entertained her smiles a bit more than he should have done in the circumstances.

The thrashing of the rain grew louder when the door to the café opened and a fae couple walked in laughing about their soaking clothes. The red-head walked past Cassian to greet them and as she did, her dress deliberately slipped, leaving a pale freckled shoulder to his view.

A memory flashed through Cassian’s mind and in an instant, he could place why she captured his attention so. It was a memory so dusty on the shelves of his brain that he was surprised it was even in the archives.

He was centuries old and he’d spent that time in a variety of ways. Chasing after attainable and unattainable females and fucking a fair few was very much on the list.

But everyone, even he, the fierce Lord of Bloodshed and General of the Night Court’s armies had to begin somewhere.

He’d lost his virginity not to a fellow Illyrian but a fae. She hadn’t been a female of strength or status and considering as Cassian was a bastard runt at the time, he couldn’t have even fathomed those females would ever be an option.

There had been a war. There was always a war.

The troop of Illyrians were on the outskirts of the Night Court and were setting camp around one of the smaller towns. A tavern with warm lights and a warmer hearth was tucked into one of the streets and he was sick of sleeping in the filth. The mud oozed its way into his fingernails and onto his hair and worryingly close to the fresh, open wounds he’d sustained while fighting.

Cassian had fought an Illyrian, broader and older than him and one that would have been stronger too if Cassian hadn’t been desperate. Cassian had pounded him into the ground, knuckles connecting harshly with bone, until the male had acquiesced, giving up the three gold coins Cassian wanted.

He’d sloped off to the tavern after his win, to bathe his body and tend his wounds in one of their boarding rooms. He wanted a decent night’s sleep someplace clean and comfortable and, if he’d had any coin left over, a hot meal.

The Illyrian’s in the tavern were either already in their own boarding rooms for the night, passed out in front of the drinking room fire or still drinking in darkened corners. If they saw Cassian, they paid him no mind, he was a tall thing with growing muscles but still on the wrong side of scrawny.

The only fae that looked at him was the female behind the bar.

She looked to be his age but where his skin was dark, hers was fair and where his was a mottled collection of yellow and black bruises hers was as smooth as cream. She had a mass of red hair which tumbled past her shoulders.

“What will this get me?” he asked and placed the coins on the counter.

She’d told him about a small room at the back he could take and the rest would pay for some slices of mutton. And that was all, she stressed, nothing else.

Cassian merely grunted at her, too tired and hungry to care about anything else that she may have implied.

They must have been used to Illyrian guests as their smallest lodging was still room enough for him and his wings. The bed took up most of the space and a narrow window gave him a view of the courtyard he didn’t care to see. When the food was ready the same red-haired fae brought it up to him and told him she would collect the plate in an hour.

Cassian tore into the meat and bread like a starved animal and when she came back to collect the plate as promised he nodded his thanks and carried on with his task. She’d paused by the door, hesitating.

His leathers and shirt were off and he sat, bare chested on the bed wrapping gauze around his middle with inexperienced hands, cursing when it slipped away.

“Here,” she said, “let me help.”

Her fingers were soft. It had been so long since he’d been touched by a female in any kind of manner. When he was a boy he longed for the touch of a mother but he was no longer a boy and a mother’s touch wasn’t on his mind anymore.

Her fingertips dipped and tucked around his skin, wrapping and folding the gauze so it held firm. All throughout she kept glancing from her task to see him watching her.

“You’re handsome,” she told him, “it’s in a rough way but you have a gentleness in your eyes.”

Cassian closed his eyes as her fingertips traced down his belly and lower and he shuddered when they dipped inside his leathers. Her lips placed a gentle kiss to the bruise on his cheekbone and then used her free hand to turn his face to hers.

Their kisses were slow, unpractised and wet. Their tongues sliding over each other until somehow, she was on her back on his small bed and he was nestled on top of her. When she guided his hand up her skirts and in between her thighs he discovered something else wet and his body hummed.

He didn’t make love to her but it wasn’t fucking either.

He was unskilled but made up for it with enthusiasm and he watched as the moonlit danced across her bare skin, highlighting the splattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest.

Cassian slept like the dead that night never knowing whether he’d passed out before she left or if she’d crept away in the night. Either way, in the morning she was gone and he was alone.

Despite the fact that he’d taken his pleasure but hadn’t managed to give her hers, she’d placed extra gauze on the wooden table by the bed along with a parcel of food, carefully wrapped up for him to take away.

She’d never asked for his name and hadn’t given hers either.

The continued laughing of the couple brought Cassian back to the café. That red-haired fae from the tavern would now be centuries old, like him, if she were still alive. The town that she lived in had grown to the size of a small city.

Whether the tavern still existed, Cassian didn’t know. Whether she was alive, Cassian wouldn’t know.

He was a nobody back then but it was no surprise that the red-haired fae in this café knew who he was.

Most, if not all, of the city knew who he was. Predominantly he was the esteemed General who had protected and fought for Velaris for centuries and a member of the Inner Circle, one of their High Lord’s most trusted confidantes.

The other facet of his reputation, and likely what the serving fae was interested in, wasn’t so much his prowess in battle as it was in bed. Cassian, and every female since the first, had one Illyrian female to thank for that.

Elvira.

By the time he’d met her he’d grown into a warrior of some esteem. Still a foot soldier and placed in the lowest ranks where Rhys’ father wanted him but the previous High Lord of Night couldn’t crush Cassian’s desire to succeed nor his natural talent at doing so.

He was broader by this point, the burgeoning muscles now in full growth and he ambled into camp with his war wounds now badges of pride.

Cassian was a long way off his nickname of Lord of Bloodshed but whispers spread amongst the camps of an Illyrian warrior, not even a century old, who was feared and revered in equal measure.

His success fed him even if Rhys’ father, nervous at the suggestion that Cassian was the reincarnation of the Illyrian’s first warrior, tried to starve him from his accomplishments.

Elvira had been in that camp, wings clipped and eyes hard. An immediate attraction existed between them and Cassian wanted her.

Luckily, she also wanted him.

After their first time, laying on the camp bed in his tent, he was cocky. You’re blessed, he told her, you’re in the bed of the best Illyrian. Her scoff followed by the comment about him not being the best Illyrian in bed wounded his pride.

He didn’t lick his wounds for long. Elvira was keen to teach and Cassian keen to learn and he liked to prove a quick study.

Cassian learnt the only way he could learn; through trial and error but with not much room for error. Soon he had it so Elvira panted desperately for her release, her fingers slipping on his skin for grip. Then, when they lay on the camp bed, their bodies coated in their mingled sweat, Elvira had no breath for comments.

Elvira didn’t do gentle and she never considered their acts as making love. Neither did Cassian. They were lessons in the art of fucking.

But some lessons were the hardest to learn.

Much like him, she was filled with rage and it exploded in a temper that was as hot as it was quick. Often their arguments were deliberate just so Cassian could fuck her anger out of her but when together they were flame and neither carried enough sweetness for the other to make their time anything close to joyful.

In the end they both fucked others and neither cared. As quickly as they came together, they fell apart and she drifted away to another camp.

Elvira was dead now. A name on a long list of Illyrians who perished in war. There had been so many that Cassian couldn’t remember which one it was.

Cassian let out a quiet sigh. His drink was now cloying, tasting too sweet against the bitter memories and he fought the temptation to have something stronger.

He had numerous encounters over the centuries and not all as sad as Elvira. In the sands of time, he’d had lovers who’d lasted hours and lovers who’d lasted months. There were those he left and those where they left each other.

Sometimes he wasn’t willing to let go first, they were rare, but they happened.

Mor came to mind. The difference was that he’d pocketed her away in a corner of his heart, one that held Az, Rhys and Feyre and even Amren - when he was feeling gracious.

Mor was the only lover who became a friend.

The night they spent together she was at her most beautiful. The bravado she would later have and that he would love was still developing. She lay back on his bed, the flames crackling outside his tent and her golden hair fanned across his pillow, a pale blush bloomed on her creamy skin.

Cassian was a means to an end that night but in truth, so was Mor. They became a tool for each other’s temporary destruction but then they became a tool for each other’s re-birth. He would always love Mor and she him.

There was only one other female from his past that he could say he adored for a time.

High fae were visiting Velaris from Dawn and she was one of the nobles, invited to the House of Wind as a special courtesy. She dressed in soft sunrise pinks and oranges, her hair a soft golden-brown caramel and she had sharp grey eyes.

Her appearance was gentle but she had her own mind and would speak it, although her opinions, even the forthright ones, were always tempered with kindness.

Cassian was older, sharper, more rough-hewn than before. He felt battle scarred and weary on a daily basis but at that moment he was amongst friends, drinking wine that tinted their lips ruby red and throwing back their heads in boisterous laughter.

The reason behind the Dawn Court’s political visit was long forgotten but Cassian would always remember her.

She strode over to him, her beautiful face with cheekbones sharper than any blade but holding a tender smile.

“My name,” she told him, “is Lyla. Yours?”

He’d introduced himself and, like the gentleman he wasn’t, kissed her palm.

“I’d like a drink Cassian and a tour of the balcony if you would.”

His grin was borderline feral.

Lyla smelt like jasmine and roses and every chance Cassian had he pressed his nose into her skin, inhaling as deep as he could to capture it into his lungs forever. That night he showed her the Night Court stars and the next, his scars.

Every night after was spent in his bed.

When the Dawn Court left to continue their tour, Lyla stayed behind for almost a year.

Mor teased Cassian relentlessly. “Is she yours?” she jested. “Is this it for our beloved Cassian? Lost forever in the endless drudgery of matehood?”

He’d laughed it off but secretly hoped it was.

He’d sometimes dream of a figure and the image that passed through his mind was always one with golden-brown hair and grey eyes. In his dreams he always tried to reach her, this female who was permanently one step away. Every time he got close, she seemed to slip down a corridor of a labyrinth she’d built up around her.

At times he would get close enough to touch the strands of her hair and as she turned a corner, he would glimpse a striking cheekbone and chilling glare.

On waking he would reach for Lyla, warm and supple in the bed next to him. “You were running from me again,” he murmured and placed hot kisses down her throat.

“I would never,” she gasped as he drew closer, unlacing the front of her nightgown and bearing her breasts.

“Hmm, but you did,” and a nipple would disappear into his wet mouth as he slid warm fingers up her thigh. She squirmed delightfully and the sun would break over Night, filling the room.

“And you glared at me,” he would continue as his mouth travelled down her body as he lifted the nightgown up. Cassian would nuzzle his face at the juncture between her legs, and languidly lick her as though he were eating cream from a spoon.

“Oh, I would never.”

Cassian waited for the mate bond to snap but it never did. After another half year had passed, he realised that he didn’t want it to.

Lyla was too good for him.

He licked honey from her body and couldn’t distinguish whether the sweetness was that or her skin. Her hands, smooth as butter, caressed his, snagging on the coarseness of his palms. She would talk about her friends and family, eyes drifting to the windows in longing while patiently spending all her time with his.

Cassian watched as Lyla pined for home.

“Perhaps,” she’d asked him, “Dawn would be a home for you too?”

It would never be and they both knew it. Cassian also understood that while it wasn’t love for him, it was for her. Maybe it could have grown in time but he wondered if it was fair for to Lyla to wait while Cassian forced it to root.

It could be years, Cassian told himself. Or decades. Centuries even. Time is nothing when you are immortal.

Eventually the sweetness would have turned to sorrow while Lyla waited for something that may never happen and that’s why Cassian told her to go. No, it wasn’t love but it still hurt.  

Years later, possibly a hundred of them, he was on a visit to Dawn and enquired about her. Thesan had surprised him by making arrangements and there she was, visiting his guest suite one afternoon as beautiful as ever.

She had mated to a Peregryn. She’d smiled at Cassian, her familiar happy smile and said, “I’ve always liked winged males.”

Cassian’s hug lifted her from the ground and no more was to be said.  

Cassian’s reverie was broken by the chime of the door as more and more fae rushed in. The sky outside had now darkened to charcoal and the rain was showing no sign of slowing. Inside the café, the fae lights lit up and flickered around the trailing ivy draped across the walls.

Another couple had entered and chose to sit in the alcove to Cassian’s left, pressed as close as could be decent in public. Cassian observed them for a second and felt his lips twitch into a smile. The years had turned him into a sap.

There had been too many females to count; multiple hair colours, eye colours and skin tones. A variety of accents and scents.

Then her but before her, during the time in which they sized each other up like dogs of war, there was another.

Cassian rubbed his hand over his face. That year held a long, cold winter and an unrelenting hot summer. Both were filled with anger and vile words. It was no wonder Cassian sought comfort in the arms of someone who wanted to comfort him.

He’d been simultaneously dealing with the discontent within the camps that grew from rebellion into civil war and a personal, much smaller scale rebellion at the request of his High Lord and Lady. Nursing a wounded ego, wounded wrist and what appeared to be a wounded heart he fled back to Velaris to find solace in the drinks at Rita’s.

A beautiful blonde had approached him. She recognised him, had knowledge of his reputation and knew what she wanted. It suited him just fine.

He’d fucked her against his bedroom wall in the House of Wind. He’d fucked her on his bed, against the silk sheets that were luxury in comparison to the rough blankets in his Illyrian cabin. He fucked her from behind and she rode him until her knees gave out. Cassian made sure it lasted the entire night and the next morning her voice was hoarse.

It made him feel better. For a moment.

Cassian hadn’t bothered washing the fae’s scent from him when he flew back to the cabin. It was a vindicative move but felt like a victory when he saw the reaction it had.

Was it worth it? It didn’t matter now. It had been so long ago, half a century - perhaps more.  

That blonde, the one whose name he couldn’t remember because ultimately it was never of significance, was the last female who would grace his bed before the one who mattered did.

That female, he’d said once, was the last female I fucked before the last female I would ever fuck. Cassian grinned at that memory and the subsequent reaction from the other fae in the conversation.

You coarse bastard – you refer to what we do in our bedroom as fucking? I’m your mate. Give it a more respectful name. Her eyes had narrowed and her glare was ice, her posture rigid.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Cassian nodded “whatever you say.” He decided to not mention how, on the morning of that conversation, when they were performing the very act that apparently required some reverential anointment, she had begged him to ‘fuck her harder.’

The current colour of the sky reminded him of her, mainly of the dresses she wore; deep grey embroidered with silver thread, but also of her eyes. Those blue-grey eyes would change shade dependent on her mood. Blue when contented and grey went irritated.

Whether it was magic or a trick of the light Cassian didn’t know but they were often bluer than grey most days.

A crack of lighting and rumble of thunder turned into shrieks as fae ran from the bridge to get out of the storm. All the while Cassian sat at his table in front of the window watching,

He once lied that he wasn’t concerned about who she lost her virginity too, he’d taken the virginity of many but there had been a time when he thought he would be involved in hers too. There was a sadness in that train of thought, that he hadn’t been the one to give her an experience worthy of who she was.

Their first time together was filled with resentment and anger so it was the other times that held more meaning. He remembered when they were on the mountain and the rain drops shone in her hair like jewels. He was overwhelmingly consumed with love for her.

There was time after time where they fell into each other, desperate for the feel of each other’s skin that they shredded through clothes. There had been the soft times where he pressed his mouth against hers, looking into her eyes while their bodies joined.

There had been that very morning and the night before. And the night before that one. She was hungry for everything these days and he grinned at the thought.

On the bridge a group of fae scattered, not to escape the weather but to make way for someone approaching. It wasn’t that they moved out of fear although she did still carry a certain reputation, but an element of her presence commanded respect.

Cassian’s grin turned into a chuckle as she moved nearer. She was using her magic as a barrier against the rain and instead of it hitting her, it lashed out at anyone too near. Despite this, the bottom of her dress was soaked and she wore a scowl on her face only Cassian found charming.

He waved the red-haired fae over and her face lit up until she realised who was heading their way.

“A bowl of your best stew please,” he gestured towards the window, “she hungry.” He paused, “And grumpy.”

Colour leeched from the fae’s face and she rushed off quicker than he’d ever seen anyone move. The door chimed again to announce its newest arrival.

Nesta. His Nesta. The only female he would ever lay beside again, the only female he would want to lay beside again.  

He stood to greet her and she glided over to him, an act which was getting more difficult for her each day. “This weather,” she bit out, “ridiculous. It makes everyone ridiculous.”

He cupped her cold face in his palms and leant forward, kissing her forehead. When he pulled away, she gave a little sigh.

His ever so slightly mellowing Nesta.

He got her settled and the serving fae placed a bowl in front of her before making a hasty retreat. “Thank goodness,” Nesta said, “I’m starving.”

Cassian was content to watch as she picked up her spoon and tucked in. Loose strands of hair framed her face and there was the hint of some freckles on her nose, remnants from the summer when she went to visit Elain.

He would be content to watch her forever.

Reaching out with a hand, he pressed his open palm against her growing stomach. Nesta didn’t break stride, one hand spooning stew into her mouth while the other came to rest on his, their fingers curling together.

Cassian knew when they’d conceived.

It had been one of their visits to Illyria, Cassian for routine training and inspection and Nesta to get some space.

It had happened on the third day.

Nothing unusual had occurred, just simple domesticity in the cabin they shared. Nesta looked so lovely by the fire, her hair loose around her shoulders while she read. A thick blanket was tucked around her and her entire pose indicated nothing but pure relaxation aside from when she occasionally quirked an eyebrow.

That, and the dusky blush on her cheeks, was how Cassian recognised she was reading on of her erotic stories.

He’d placed an open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder. Nesta smelt like the smoke from the fire but tasted as fresh as mint. The little gasps she made as he continued down her body gave him all the encouragement he needed and she buried her fingers in his hair, the book falling with a thud.

Whatever the characters in her story were doing, Cassian could do better.

Soon it was nothing but their naked bodies pressed against each other, sweat coated skin slipping against skin. The firelight danced around them, shadows highlighting the curves of Nesta’s body as she writhed beneath him.

He was on her, in her, around her. His winged body taking up space on the rug. Nesta, his proper Nesta, who stood spine straight and unsmiling in public had sucked his thumb into her mouth, tongue flickering against his flesh, her pupils so large her eyes were black.

Cassian fucked her so hard that when her release came, she arched her back wide off the ground. He’d grabbed her thighs and hoisted her upwards, opening her up further so he could drive in deeper.

Afterwards they lay in front of the glowing embers, sweat cooling and he kissed her breathless because he never wanted to not be kissing her.

The rest of their time in Illyria was filled with duties that took Cassian away and it was a few days after their return to Velaris that he noticed a change in them both. A slight alteration of her scent and a distinct primal urge within him to tear apart any male who looked at her.

Cassian felt their baby shift underneath his palm, moving around for space, maybe even stretching its developing wings.

Nesta made a contented noise, food devoured. She rested her other hand against her stomach and leant back in her chair, looking out the window. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to sit further into the café, the alcove looks cosy.”

“I like watching the city.”

Nesta squeezed his fingers as the baby shifted particularly firmly. She sighed and Cassian saw her look out towards the bridge. “There’s not much to see in this spot.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian said. “All this time, I was waiting for you.”

[jadelynlace]

a dead woman tells no tales / vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter four / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head. 

specific chapter content warning(s): mentions of blood, torture (aftermath), suicide and sexual content below the cut (female receiving oral, during her cycle). also note that I included a favorite quote of mine per their characterization and dynamic.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

Noticing the blue sky, it stung in your mind the same shade Ivar’s eyes had been the last night you saw him. Preoccupation with the thoughts of torture—wine red blood slipping between your fingers as shone to Ivar while his absurd laughter overtakes the vicinity—you keep a fair distance from him as he spun the tales back from his own memory. You had no prior knowledge of the day you two were in the field, overcome with sudden whispers in your ears that the visions you saw so clearly dancing on your closed eyelids were no longer there. That they were not real. Stumbled together in a stew of colliding past details, but you two always went to that forest, you two always snuck away, you two always took swords and daggers to each other for practice, you always kissed his cheek when you were to head back and he would always grab you face to plant your lips on his instead. Your mind knew up to that, then your head spoke of the rocks, how your spine felt along their backing, leaves at your feet with Ivar looking over you—but he was standing as he gazed—he could not stand long enough, even then, to examine your injuries to gather if he should carry you back or bring back the aid.

What Ivar told you was a far fetched tale of haggard details, how he told you then of his plans to follow where he was destined, how he would not let you raid, battle alongside him. How you were to wait, or pass time with others who were better than the crippled boy you so loved. How you stopped meeting him in the forest to practice and how when he went days without word from you, sight of you, he went to that spot in the forest once more. Your legs swinging from the ledge as he could see the sunshine in your hair lighting it like a fire, a brief turn back to him with the softest smile he remembers, and then you fell forwards. Dropping his swords and crawling across the ground to see you on the rocks below, eyes dead yet still stuck on him. By the time he made haste back, few in his wake there was a shadow of crimson on the slate but you were gone. Ivar went on with his troops so plainly disturbed by what he watched he had spent every night since locked in a dream of its repetition.

For days now, you wanted no sight of him, no word, no touch. You begged the Gods for silence, to answer you and gift upon you the details you did not remember. You wanted the great wings of the overhead birds to carry you back in time to re-watch the story, to see where Ivar had pushed you, but the longer you harped on such instances, the clearer his story unraveled in your mind.

The stars were powerful above you as your feet carried you to the overgrown area you had spent too long trying to stray from. How the sky gathered out before you as you looked up through cracklings of branches while simply laying among the brush. How the darkness spoke to you of your sadness, your directory of losing Ivar to consume you into a guilt that you were not good enough for him. Enough to fight with him. For him and his crippled legs, that you were not enough. The moon was vacant from the sky, the slithers of a blanket of blackness coated the woods and you alike as you could suddenly hear the whimpers of a woman. Sitting up slowly, your dagger in your grip your mind told you that you were seeing the young girl you remembered to be, stuck on the cold stone crying to the immortals above to set Ivar’s mind in the right path, to make you stronger, or to just keep him safe on the voyage. You hear bitter sarcasm spoken back, an evil spirit answering your voice in deep pity, and then as you try to look away from your own body sitting perched, everything lightens. Your head is on a swivel as the unclear figure looms in the distance and you know that crooked stance to belong to Ivar. You watch how he approaches you. You watch yourself smile back so gently. You watch him with his eyes on you. You watch yourself fall forwards. You watch Ivar drop, hastily maneuvering himself to the ledge and you watch him scream. Your body shoots up in the forest as if it was pulled back like an arrow, your chest heaving as the night terror passes back through your vision and you know now Ivar was telling the truth.

*

You had met cunning women before, serpents of lies who leech, return to the grounds like the nine lives of a feline, but Freydis holds a spot in your mind that fits not of that. There is a vileness about her, the way her blonde hair curls across her breasts, how her hips have widened from bringing forth a child Ivar was so hopeful to teach as his own. As she sees you in Ivar quarters, a brief wave of confusion passes down the bridge of her nose before she raises it up towards the structure’s ceiling.

“Has he wed you?” She asks but you scoff in reply. “Has he promised you the ends of our world? His devotion? Has he promised to change from the monster that he is?” Your head tips slightly in interest, longing to see how far this woman may crawl to spite the name of the man she hurt. “Has he promised to stop the terrible things he does?” But her mouth closes too soon for your liking.

“I am not here to wed Ivar the Boneless,” You answer.

“Then why are you here before me?” Freydis asks as you finally smile.

“To watch you bleed,”

*

You peeled Freydis’ skin like a cloth. The pits where her eyes once lived housed the curve of your dagger, you carved holes where out leapt her organs and pooled red paste along the floor. The height of her lungs through her chest, how the hair on her head could make wigs to barter, the bones could be gathered for handles on your wardrobe. While Freydis had been untangled like a scrunched ball of yarn, you remain of skin and bones, unchanged. It was art, how Freydis’ perished. It was art how you held the red soaked blade to Ivar’s tongue as he lapped the blood away from the forged metal. It was art how the soak of the wet fabrics took the day of torture from your hands as Ivar washed you in the river.

“You have gifted me love, despite the horror,” Ivar says out of nowhere during the silence of the water across your bodies. “I thought I would not want your love unless you really knew how repulsive I am. But you still love me even as you know of it,”

“I jumped, Ivar,” You then whisper. “I remember now,”

“I know,”

“I jumped because I was confused; how you spoke of my skills but would not let me raid alongside you. How you wanted me to find happiness with another man who was not you; but if it was not you, then who else was going to love me?” You’re unsure of the wetness across your face to be from the droplets of wet hair, or the tears from your lashes, Ivar’s arms heavily around you.

“Tell me every terrible thing you have done since that jump, Y/N. And I let me love you still,”

Sunlight dries both of you, heated skin tickled across the grass as you two are there to lay far longer than deemed appropriate. Wisps of flowers along your thighs as the wind become the only noise in your ears before the beat from within Ivar’s chest comes next. You covet the time alone with Ivar, how you two would spend the afternoons in search of creatures in the clouds, how he has changed to become a man of tough steel. Your monthly blood came not soon after Freydis was drained of hers, still streaking your inner thighs despite how long you spend changing your linens. Another wave of pressure nudges just top of your womanhood and you hiss slightly, maneuvering off of the fur to stand level and hope it will drain more. Your nudity along the bed catches Ivar first when he enters, across a plain of fabric still cleaning the crimson from your skin.

“I assumed I got it all in the water,” Ivar states when he is on the furs.

“It is my blood, Ivar,” You whisper back, his head turning to catch your gaze. “My monthly blood, I am not hurt,” You assure him. He pulls a fur to cover your shoulders, taking his time to unlatch the beginning parts of the casts, watchful to see if your eyes linger on how he works. “I will take them off if you would like,” You say softly but he snaps his disapproval of your quick idea. You compensate the moment of silence by tending back to yourself, ready to toss the rag for another one and pray the bleeding does not last longer than it should. There’s a new cloth next to your knee before you’re able to rise for another one. As you lay back, Ivar still sits, swinging the tied limbs over the bed as you cast eyes up to the ceiling. The first stroke of the wet cloth on your skin at the end of Ivar’s hand jolts you, curling your knees together and away from him.

“I can not work if you do not stay open,” Ivar says to you, a raise of his brow in challenge.

“You do not clean me,” You say back, climbing forwards to grab the cloth but Ivar holds it too high for your reach at your angle. “Ivar do not be childish,”

“I will clean you,” He states. “How is cleaning you now different than in the river?”

“Because that was blood of another—blood from a battle, this blood is mine, and mine only. I will clean it,” You say back but he still keeps his arm stuck though the air.

“I will clean my queen,” Ivar then says. “Let me,”

“I am not your queen,” You huff back, you arms dropping to bring you back to your position of laying. It would be tale of lies if his words did not catch you with your guard down. You did not plan, not now, to wed Ivar. But the first few breaths after his statement makes those thoughts fade like the sunset. “As you wish,” You finally say, rolling your eyes to take in the vicinity and turning your head away from him. He provides no movements, transfixed on the slight color change that takes over the lips of your cunt with the leeched moon cycle. How it had caressed your legs’ inner flesh, over the scar he had asked of and how it sticks against you. He remembers how Freydis’ blood tasted on your blade, and Ivar wonders how much sweeter yours must be flavored. The next brush against your skin is warm, and you remember the cloth to have gone frigid. Your head cranes quickly to see Ivar between your legs, looking back to you as his tongue drags closer to your middle. His chest heaves as his arms curl around your bent legs, rolling himself to lay between them as his tongue moves the same. A quick rush of air enters your mouth before his lips are against your cunt, slowly tasting the crimson that has stained you. His moan comes low from in his chest, eyes since closed as his hands pull at you further to spread, tingling a peeking pleasure against you as he laps. You don’t notice right away how your nails dig against the furs, how they move to dance over your own chest or how the old pulse in your abdomen has been overruled by bliss. His tongue is warm still as his mouth studies you, drinking you, and as you moan back Ivar replies with his own. His name is hot against your mouth when your spine arches, but he shows no hints of stopping, trying to grip roughly against your thighs as they shake, twist and turn with your hips as a creep of your release moves closer. He does not pull back until you have screamed his name as a chant as you come, raking your nails against your breasts in attempts to quiet yourself but it pitiful how unsuccessful you are. He only looks up at you as your breathing slows, his mouth stained with your blood and release as he cleans it with the back of his own hand. His eyes now almost as dark as the night sky as he crawls back over you and he is all you feel.

Tagged:

@smileysam13579  @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @grimeundglow @another-bryk-in-the-wall​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @revolution-starter

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/fandom/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[whispersafterdusk]

Prompt #23: Soul

The bath felt long, long overdue, even though it had barely been two days since he'd last soaked in one; living (or, RE-living) the downfall of a civilization, battling Ascians and spectral warriors...when you were rapidly pivoting from one catastrophe to the next it felt like months rather than hours.  When he'd finally had time to catch his breath, to contemplate, to rest, the first thing Sylnan had wanted was a bath.  A very...very hot bath.  And solitude.

It thankfully had only taken a simple request and now, dripping and with pruned fingers, he found himself staring over at the mirror that adorned the far wall, where his armor, weapons, and guitar hung on racks and pegs.  All he could see was...himself.  Just himself.  And all he could hear was the rustle of cloth as he dried himself, the splash of water as a precariously balanced bar of soap finally fell back into the tub, and the peculiar sound moist skin made when it was peeled up from a smooth floor.

Once close enough he reached out to touch his reflection, running his fingers over the smooth glass.

Just him.

So then...how had Seto seen...

Sylnan lowered his head and gently thunked his forehead into the mirror.  He half-expected to turn around and find Ardbert waiting on him, as he'd done so many times before.  Despite...despite everything that had happened, he hoped that that had truly not been the end of the man -- he didn't want it to have been his end.  Ardbert had been dead for an age even before Sylnan had come to the First, and they'd become quite good friends and learned a great deal about and from one another; that in the end it had fallen on Ardbert to sacrifice what was left of himself because Sylnan simply hadn't been strong enough...it felt like failure.  Or perhaps it wouldn't feel so much like a failure if Ardbert would, or could, just show himself one more time.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Sylnan jumped; he had a towel around his waist and nothing else - not exactly presentable.

"Who's there?"

"'tis only I," came Urianger's response, barely heard due to Sylnan's distance from the thick door.

"...is it urgent?" Sylnan called, padding slowly toward his bed, where his fresh clothes were laid out.

"Not immediately so."

"That's not an answer -- hang on, let me at least get my dignity covered."

He dressed quickly and then opened the door; Urianger stood on the other side, neutral expression giving way to a small smile.

"What's on fire this time?" Sylnan asked, waving him into the room.

Urianger came in and didn't answer until he stood by the table, looking over the untouched meal that sat there.  "Nothing.  Are you well?"

"Well enough.  Why?"  Urianger gestured at the food and Sylnan sighed.  "I was...going to get to it."

"Is it not to your liking?"

Sylnan snorted loudly.  "Please.  I feel we've known one another long enough to know I have yet to meet a food I didn't care for.  It just...slipped my mind, is all.  The bath ran a bit longer than intended."  Slowly the man looked between the table, the bath, and Sylnan -- he didn't need to speak for Sylnan to hear - no, feel - the doubt radiating off him.  "All right, all right, fine -- I wasn't hungry.  Too...caught up inside my own head, I suppose."

"Do you wish for an ear?"

He brushed wet hair out of his face.  "It's just - you don't see or sense anything different about me, do you?"

Urianger shook his head.  "Neither myself nor Y'shtola detected anything amiss.  Why?"

"It's...Ardbert.  I can't stop thinking of him -- or maybe, thinking of me, all things considered.  The things we've learned, we've found, the questions I've got, and yet it boils down to feeling as though I failed him.  He suffered for years, he deserves a peaceful rest knowing his legacy was redeemed, and yet-"  Sylnan stopped and let out a sigh that trailed into a raspberry.  "Seto saw him one last time so I feel there's still SOMETHING left of him, inside.  But damn me if I know how to separate us again so he goes to his earned rest."

Urianger listened silently, and at first all he offered was a nod; he settled into a chair at the table, bracing his elbows against the wood and steepling his fingers together before looking up at him from behind his hands.  "I see, and also hear those things you've left unspoken, as they have been upon my mind as well."

Sylnan gave his hair one last rub with the towel and tossed it on the floor beside the tub, then went over to the bed; beneath the pillow he pulled out a bright orange crystal and ran his finger over the delicate carving on its front.  "If I could just let go of him...let him move on..."

As a silence fell Sylnan came over to sit across from Urianger, setting the stone on the table between them.  Urianger reached out to gently take it, turning it over between his fingers.

"...there is much to think about, to be certain.  However things may go in the future, whatever form of existence our friend finds himself in now, I hope he holds close the fact that his bravery and sacrifices saved not only his world, but ours."

Sylnan smiled.  "Yes...he did do that.  I just wish I could tell him directly."

Urianger returned the smile, then glanced to the door.  "I did come to tell you that our expedition has been arranged, and we set out anon."

"Oh?  When exactly?"

"Tomorrow morning.  Knowing Thancred, 'tis like to be at dawn or near enough to it."

"Ah.  I shall be there, of course."

With a nod Urianger stood and headed for the door; he paused within the doorway to look back to Sylnan again.  "Should anything weigh your thoughts further, I am willing to listen."

"I know and I appreciate it, even if I fear you might think me a bit mad if I tried to put anything into words.  It's been...quite the experience."

Sylnan watched as Urianger's gaze moved pointedly to where the guitar hung.

"You'll forgive me if I do not believe you unable to properly arrange thy words."

"Not everything is a song, friend."

"That has never stopped you before."

Sylnan made a shooing motion.  "I'll see you in the morning, bright and unfortunately early."

The man smiled and turned, the door shutting softly behind him.  His bath done, Sylnan walked over to the window and threw it wide open, looking out into the countryside outside the Crystarium.

A world at peace, thanks to the sacrifice of a heroic soul.

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[agentrouka-blog]

@ ygritte hate post. In broad strokes, we agree Jon and Sansa are on parallel journeys, there is also plenty of parallels between Hound's sexual assault night with Jon and Ygritte (steel kiss, hand on face, and so on). (1/3)

Then Jon gets into it at the water pool, that is his "unkiss", no doubt. Notice though, the details about him getting riled up by sex red hair, she saying she is half-fish, debating fucking your own sister. I'm forgetting stuff of course. I'm sure that chapter is rife with that. (2/3)

Jonsa fans have speculated over Unkiss being a cover for another kiss (always with the cousins, the blood and fire cloak, and so forth). It could be that cave means much the same for him. Like said they are on parallel journeys and there's all those throwbacks to each other. (3/3)

So like Sansa, Jon is repressing something there. Something that happened in the winterfell pools. Bran remembers bathing with his sisters, but unlike Bran (who did saw OSHA getting out of one in that segment), Jon saw something that was a revelation. Like Florian when he saw Jonquil bathing with her sisters. Something red and then wanted to kiss, not downstairs but upstairs. Maybe he did... and maybe Ned caught him at it, because he later dreams of being caught there being innapropriate. (4/3)

In the dream he screams he will never father a abstard, he hates being one for they are lustful creatures born of lust and lies. Like lusting after their sisters. Its not like he is a Targaryen! Distraught, Jon decides to prove his nature wrong. He is not a deviant because he is a bastard lusting after his sister! So he decides to go to the Nights Watch, where he'll be chaste ever. Maybe. Kind of creepy but funny. It all comes together too, all those tidbits that are otherwise scattered. (5/3)

PS: Six maidens in the pool... Six Stark children. Not seven for once either way. And so Jon says in the show "we should have never left Winterfell" because it echoes the We shouldn't have left the cave. And Jon says they'll go back and Yggrite yaps You Know Nothing, but he was right. Jon will go back with the real redhead Sansa, back to Winterfell real pools. (6/3)

Thank you!! This ask really sent my brain whirring.

I already like the idea of the Unkiss drawing from a repressed memory, but I hadn’t noticed how the Ygritte memory-edit might interlock with that. 

We have this confirmation that they were fairly natural and relaxed about nudity among children:

"Might be there isn't." She grinned. "What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?"

"I have so." Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he'd seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. "You've got a lot of scars." (ACOK, Bran II) 

Hundreds of times. We know Sansa associated hot water in a bath with Winterfell. 

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

So does Jon:

It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Then we have the image of the Water Gardens.

It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer's day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day." (…) 

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. 

(ADWD, The Watcher)

And we know that the children of all ranks played together in the godswood, too. 

He had watched wistfully while the Walders contested with Turnip the cook's boy and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra. The Walders had decreed that Bran should be the judge and decide whether or not people had said "Mayhaps," but as soon as they started playing they forgot all about him.

The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. (ACOK, Bran I)

It’s fair to conclude that the Jon and the Starklings may indeed have not just played but also bathed together in the godswood. 

There is an interesting association with Maidenpool, which is tied to the romance of Florian and Jonquil.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

"What are you doing?" Brienne demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

(ASOS, Jaime III)

Jonquil bathed with ther sisters, when Florian first glimpsed her.

The pool becomes filthy and spoiled. Like Sansa’s bathwater, but also like the muddy Winterfell pools. Choked with corpses?

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red.  (ASOS, Jon VI)

The memory edit and the switch toward “love” in the cave is mirrored in this rather defiant dream, that recalls the pools at home, his father’s watching face, but also the laughter at home in the godswood. A pool in a sacred place spoiled with death. 

A memory spoiled by trauma.

Dany, who I would argue is a character strongly foreshadowed in Ygritte, has her own association with sacred pools.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion's blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on.  (AGOT, Daenerys V)

This recalls Ygritte in the pools and Sansa in her filthy bath. But the presence of the blood of a horse slaughtered for her to eat its heart, the presence of the Stallion that Mounts the World, the prophecy and the things we know comes after... all that is ominous and the kiss of the cold is unlikely to be tender. 

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

"Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

or..

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. (ASOS, Jon I)

or...

Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS, Catelyn VII)

The layers in this… 

Anyway, there’s foreshadowing to Dany in the Ygritte mess, but it’s not exactly happy, while the Sansa connections in there tend to be positive. Sweet and foul all mixed up.

Sansa “remembering” the Unkiss in relation to kissing children (Margaery’s Girls, Sweetrobin) and with “awful” memories (Myranda’s wedding night)  has that same air of mixing something rotten with something that had been perhaps sweet but confusing. I.e. covering a traumatic event with something else. 

Then there’s another interesting association with the incest peach.

As she sat in the common room in her stupid girl clothes, Arya remembered what Syrio Forel had told her, the trick of looking and seeing what was there. When she looked, she saw more serving wenches than any inn could want, and most of them young and comely. And come evenfall, lots of men started coming and going at the Peach. They did not linger long in the common room, not even when Tom took out his woodharp and began to sing "Six Maids in a Pool." The wooden steps were old and steep, and creaked something fierce whenever one of the men took a girl upstairs. "I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry.

 (ASOS, Arya V)

Right after this they meet Gendry’s half-sister Bella, a “peach” at the Peach.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night. 

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

While the bell recalls Dany, we should remember that 

Sansa plays “the high harp and the bells” (AGOT, Arya I) 

“Bella” translates to Beauty 

this scene is an unsubtle shout-out to Jon stalking out of the welcoming feast after Benjen teased him about fathering bastards and knowing a woman. After calling Sansa radiant. (AGOT, Jon I) 

So the Dany hints are joined by the Sansa hints. The Dany hints are negative (bells = battle), the Sansa ones positive (bells = music). Why are the Sansa hints there at all?

Before anyone goes “Jonrya!”, remember:

For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ."

"She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." (ASOS, Arya V)

Arya is not a peach, she is a sister. Little sister. 

And there’s this:

He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.  (AGOT, Bran II)

Jon only tastes the cold when silver-haired Val tastes sweetness in the air, but way up high the winter peach makes the air taste sweet, too. 

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." (ACOK, Daenerys II)

But foul smells might cover sweet ones, too. The Unkiss covers a bitter trauma, but perhaps it was drawn from a more innocent kiss in the past.

The naked red-haired girl by the water might trigger a rewrite of Jon’s perception of Ygritte, but it might draw that from a different kind of confusion, surrounding the same memories that feed Sansa’s editing.

The godswood is certainly a stage for kissing:

As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been — she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. (…)

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have.  (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Memories that flood back, young children, innocent games that have consequences much later on, a specific Connection drawn to the Starklings and the Winterfell godswood.

More kissing:

 "I won't! I saw you kissing in the snow. She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

and yet more...

Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. Later, older, he had soaked his bruises in the hot springs after many a session in the yard with Robb and Jory and Jon Snow. In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. The first time he had ever kissed a girl had been here. Later, a different girl had made a man of him upon a ragged quilt in the shade of that tall grey-green sentinel. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Starklings, kissing and the hot springs all in a paragraph.

I would say there is material here. If GRRM wants to write about Sansa and Jon sharing a memory that involves the hot springs, kissing and references to Florian and Jonquil, he will have planted the hints. It would certainly be a bit poetic if both of them used the same memory soup to create their trauma responses.

**

Before anyone tries to accuse me of hypocrisy when it comes to age gaps, abuse etc. I do not think this was a case of Jon perving on his young sister. Cat was 12 when she played kissing games with a much younger Petyr and Lysa, and I don’t think we are supposed to consider this a threesome. It’s child’s play. That’s my angle here.