#like this body knows the hormones and shit are wrong and keeps rejecting it but that doesn’t Help any | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lexosaurus · 3 years

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Invisobang: Morge pt 2

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

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

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

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some amazing accompanying art by @ghostkiin

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

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

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

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

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

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

Danny felt his aura increase.

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

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

Ancients, Vlad was such an asshole.

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up. I won’t let you do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go play in traffic.”

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

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

“Well? I don’t have all day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Danny flinched.

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

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

“I can assure you I do not know.”

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

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

“My—my, uh...body?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t my fault!”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” Danny stood automatically.

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

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

Putting his remains in danger of ruin?

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

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

This was wrong.

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

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

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

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

“No, Vlad. I’m serious. You can’t—”

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

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

“Good day, Danny Phantom.”

Plasmius shut the portal, and Danny was alone.

---

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

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

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

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

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

She opened the folder and leafed through the files.

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

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

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

“He felt threatened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in my twenty years in this field.”

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

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

Oh.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

“But we’re not ghosts.”

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

“I assume that’s unusual.”

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

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

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

---

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

Trouble, trouble, trouble, it seemed to whisper.

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

He was powerless. Alone.

Scared.

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

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

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

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

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

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

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

The voices were too loud.

The dull pang wasn’t so dull anymore.

Trouble, trouble, go now, go now.

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

Go now, go now, go now.

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

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

Go to the morgue.

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

Go now.

No.

Go now, go now, GO NOW.

No, he couldn’t.

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

It stabbed his core.

Go now.

He stood from his chair, knocking it back.

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

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

Protect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I have no choice.”

Green overtook his vision, and Danny Fenton simply disappeared.

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

That vindictive, lonely asshole.

Who was Plasmius to encroach on what was his?

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

Protect his haunt.

Protect his people.

Protect.

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

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

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

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

Weak.

“Phantom, stand down!”

Not a chance.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t try to get out of this.”

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

Ectoplasm surged throughout his body. “Make me.”

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

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

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

He was dying, wasn’t he?

Again.

Would he have a second body?

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

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

He was dying.

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

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

“What—?” Danny gasped.

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

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

His body wasn’t safe. Not anymore.

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

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

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

“Phantom.”

“No.”

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

Towards the city.

He needed to end this.

---

Sarah felt the chill first.

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

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

“I don’t care about the police!”

The room grew cold.

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

Phantom looked awful.

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

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

Or who he felt wronged him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room grew even colder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are they afraid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“It’s so messed up.”

“Then tell me.”

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

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

“Wait—”

But he was already gone.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And? What do you think?” Mark asked.

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

Abrams snorted. “Jesus, Jacob.”

“What? I’m right!”

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

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

Mark rolled his eyes. “She’s four.”

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

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

“Take care!”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck.”

“And you.”

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

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

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

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

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

Which meant Mark had to widen his search.

How wonderful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waving at the camera.

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

His name was listed as Daniel.

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

Holy shit.

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

It just wasn’t possible.

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

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

This was impossible.

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

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

Mark was just seeing things.

There was no way that this was him.

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

It wasn’t possible.

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

Phantom was losing it.

And Mark could end this.

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

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

“Another time,” he said.

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

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

Not some impossibility.

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

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

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

But this was Phantom. He wasn’t human.

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

Mark was right.

---

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

He was terrified.

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

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

“The beginning, maybe,” Jacob said.

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

And instantly, Sarah knew.

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

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

Which Phantom didn’t seem remotely ready to give.

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

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

“You’re Daniel Fenton,” Mark said.

She heard Jacob suck in a breath.

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

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

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

“What happened?” Mark asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one moved.

“You’re shitting me,” Jacob guffawed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t talking about your parents.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Danny agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah blinked, and her and Mark exchanged a glance.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

“I protect myself just fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah kid, we got your back.”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good boy!” Danny praised.

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

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

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

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

“You’re kidding. Really?”

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

“That’s good.”

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

“Have you taken him up on it?”

“No. Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah grinned down at the duo.

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

---

Thanks for reading!

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

173 notes · View notes

smutsonian · 3 years

Note

Dark!bucky X pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

dark!bucky x pregnant reader with someone else’s baby

warnings: darkish, smut, obsession, possessiveness, some violence, stalker!bucky, manipulation, asshole ex, i dont do crack but i was on crack when i wrote this but i dont do crack, not prrofread

word count: 1.4k

an: so i have no idea how to make a headcanon so this is an attempt pls go easy on me im a lil bitch

masterlist

- Dark bucky with a pregnant reader having a baby that’s not his will probably be an obsessed dark bonky barnacle

- Like fresh out of hydra bucky who’s so lost but then he sees you, a pregnant woman all alone, carrying bags of groceries.

- He’d be so mesmerized by your glow that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from walking towards you and helping you.

- It’s like he’s never seen something so pure but then there you are, walking around with this light surrounding you. Like a goddess in Bucky’s eyes.

- He would be a terrific actor because you wouldn’t even notice his accent and how does this guy able to speak a lot of words just like that? He’s suddenly a friendly dude. Far from the assassin described all over the news.

- He won’t ask about the lack of a partner by your side but he can easily manipulate the conversation to that topic.

- “How come a lady like yourself is all on your own?”

- And just like that, you tell him your life story. Maybe it’s because of the hormones that you just wanted to rant about your horrible partner that left you the minute you told him the news or maybe it’s because you felt so safe with this hot stranger… A big mistake on your side, to be honest. Or is it?

- Bucky would listen to every word you’d say while he memorizes every single detail about you. The way your lips move when you talk, the way you would lick your lips when you’ve been talking nonstop. How you smell; he’ll inch closer to you just to get a whiff and he’ll be so intoxicated.

- He’ll be walking you back to your home and that will be the start of something…

- Bucky would be watching your every move. He’d call it watching over you but dark bonky is bonkers.

- And he’ll see you interacting with children at the cafe, at the bakery, anywhere and his heart will melt at how you’re so good with children.

- Then he’ll see how your stomach will grow bigger as the child inside grows and this guy’s protectiveness will grow as well…

- Obsessed and protective bucky is a lot to take in

- BUT obsessed, protective, jealous, AND horny bucky will be the death of all vaginas.

- He’d watch as your asshole ex-boyfriend comes back, trying to win you back and bucky would just wait for how you’ll react while his whole body heats up with anger, hungry for murder. Preferably your ex-boyfriend.

- But then bucky would be all giddy and would wear a grin all the time when he sees you reject the asshole, telling him that you’ve fallen for someone else.

- That grin would soon fall when this asshole of an ex of yours calls you names such as a slut, whore, and whatnot.

- That grin comes back when bucky finally deals with that ex-boyfriend.

- Would you look at that? Bucky answers your call the next day, crying your heart out because your asshole ex came back which hurt your feelings and a very hormonal pregnant woman can’t just go through all that.

- Bucky is there to the rescue because he’s at your door in a blink with a lot of comfort food.

- Your heart melts at that and you’d fall for him deeper every moment he’s with you.

- How can a guy be so perfect?

- You’d secretly wish he’s the father of your unborn child.

- That wish wouldn’t be much of a dream because bucky would confess his love to you and dadadada would you look at that! You’d fall even MORE because of how he kissed your bump, promising you and the baby that he’ll take good care of you.

- Could you be more in love? This man would always talk to your bump and will always be at your service.

- You whine from back pain? This guy will give you the best massage ever.

- Cravings? No problem because this guy will fill your pantry until the whole grocery is moved into your home. The home that became bucky’s as well.

- Of course, due to pregnancy hormones, you’d be hungry for some action and you best believe that bucky will not let his girl wait.

- He’d give you everything.

- He’d see you whining, noticing how you’ve been grumpy the whole day and he’ll act oblivious but he exactly knows what’s happening. He can practically smell your fluids, duh.

- “What’s wrong, doll?” His voice would be extra sultry and you would just blame it on your hormones but this mf is doing it on purpose.

- You’d try to play it cool but this man will do everything that’ll make you so very hot and bothered.

- “How about a massage?” He’ll over, already running his hands over your stiff shoulders and earning a moan from you.

- He only smirks as he plays your body like a fiddle.

- Then all of a sudden, you’re naked.

- He’d cloth you with oil, claiming that it’ll feel good and lord have mercy it does feel good.

- He’d start from your back, going lower and lower until his focus is on your ass.

- Bucky’s pants will get tighter as the smell of your arousal invades his senses and how about that? Now bucky is naked as well.

- He spreads your cheeks before inhaling your scent more.

- He’d admire the sounds you’re making as he devours that pussae.

- Cumming once will not be enough because he wouldn’t stop until you’re begging for his cock.

- “PLEASE BUCKY! I need it!” You’d scream out but that’s not enough for this fucker.

- “Tell me what you want, baby…” He’ll be sucking on your neck, continuously pulling moans from you.

- “I need your cock in my pussy…” You finally whisper, breathing heavily and squealing in ecstasy as his cock finally enters your begging cunt.

- “AAHH fuck!” Bucky would be having visions inside his head as soon as he gets that magical pussy skkskksks because he’s never felt this way before.

- He’d be rutting into you like a starved caveman and you’d be rutting your ass back against him, just as hungry as he is.

- You just feel so good around his cock. Your walls are so snug and so wet, bucky would fucking die for that pussae.

- After a few minutes, or maybe hours idk y’all are a different type of horny…

- You’ve cum a lot of times and bucky has spilled his seed inside you over and over…

- You’d be cuddling and this man is wrapped around you like a fuckin’ koala.

- He won’t let you get away unless you’re in an uncomfortable position. He’d let you adjust but then he’ll be back to cradling you.

- He’s palm would be stroking your belly.

- “I can’t wait for our baby to come,” he’ll whisper in your ear and you know you’ve already fallen in love with this man but fuck it. You’re deeper in it so gluck.

- You’d let him kiss your face and you’d tell him how thankful you are that you’ve met him.

- Then he’s like ‘no IM thankful for YOU’ kind of shit.

- “You know… After giving birth…” You’ll trail off, making bucky wait in anticipation but he already knows what’s coming.

- “I would want to have your baby…” You’ll say shyly but bucky’s having none of that. He’ll be peppering kisses all over your face, almost crying in joy at the words you just said.

- “I fucking love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He’ll stare at you and you’ll stare right back at him.

- “Marry me.” He’ll say suddenly.

- Bucky almost feels guilty when you start to cry but you assure him that those were tears of joy and you’d just keep nodding your head.

- “Yes, I’ll marry you!” You’d share a kiss before going back to cuddling.

- Bucky would be watching you as you doze off and he’ll be admiring you as you start to fall asleep.

- “I love you,” he’ll say before he lets his cheeks fall on the top of your head.

- “I love you too, bucky,”bucky’s heart melts at your sleepy voice as he sleeps peacefully which he was only able to do when he’s with you.

- Bucky would be proud of himself for being able to orchestrate everything and he’s not even guilty about it because, in the end, he was able to have you.

- And soon enough, you’ll be having a big family with him. He’ll make sure of that.

----

an: i think i fucked up at some point lol sorry

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Bucky Fics: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes smut #dark fic #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!fic #dark!bucky barnes x reader #pregnant!reader #headcanon #bucky barnes headcanon

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witch-without-gender · 2 years

Note

youre just homophobic, there isnt much else to it. not everyone can be bisexual. not everyone can be attracted to the other sex's genitalia or body. i dont need to call myself superlesbian or some shit because being a lesbian alone should be enough to say "im a female who likes pussy and only pussy" but yall homophobes have ruined that to validate your nonexistant ~genders~ (as in, gender itself isnt a real thing). i can tell you dont think homosexuality is an innate and natural thing. i can tell you think all people have the capacity to be bisexual and experience attraction to the opposite sex.

males and females have different bone structures, especially in the face, and im not at all attracted to male faces. most trans woman still have visibly male bone structure and are therefore not sexually attractive to me (or other homosexual women). even trans women who do have passing facial structures still either have a penis or a faux vagina that isnt even self lubricating, so again, not attractive to real lesbians (aka homosexual woman). id also like to mention to you that if you do your research, trans women will never be able to carry children because their bodies literally dont and cant produce the hormones needed to keep a fetus alive. not to even mention that a male body would almost certainly reject have a uterus put into it.

and btw, lots of (actual homosexual) lesbians would be willing to date a trans person if hes FtM! because sexuality is based in a person's SEX, not something as made-up as gender.

why do you feel the need to help pressure homosexual women into dating people who are male? why isnt it good enough for bisexual women to date trans women? why do us lesbians need to validate them by pretending wed date dick-havers? why dont you realize it would be traumatic for an actual homosexual women to be in sexual contact with a penis?

There’s so much wrong with this I don’t even know where to start. But I guess I’ll start with the fact that claiming to be able to know if someone is biologically male/female is both sexist AND racist. This is literally how you get cis women, mainly cis women of color, being accused of being trans in sports. A lot of them just naturally have higher testosterone levels, which affects both their performance and appearance and because of people like you, they get scrutinized.

As for the “non self lubricating vagina” crap, vaginal dryness is a thing a lot of cis women experience. Sure it’s not exactly the same thing, but are you really gonna dislike a woman based solely on the fact that she’s dry? Bc that sounds pretty stupid to me.

And again, I stated it as a hypothetical. I love how y’all just prove over and over again that you don’t actually read anyone else’s arguments and just throw the same, stale, disproven bullshit at us over and over again.

I haven’t met a single lesbian who would actually date a trans man. Most that I’ve met just acknowledge that trans men are men, and one just hated trans people on the basis of our being trans. Also, just to be that person, if you consider yourself a lesbian but would still find yourself attracted to a trans man who has had bottom surgery, congrats you like dick lmfao.

I don’t want to pressure anyone into dating anyone else. I just want exclusionists to stop treating trans people like a monolith. And you’re doing that thing terfs do where they act as if every trans woman has a penis. News flash, bottom surgery still exists. You were just talking abt trans women with vaginas 5 seconds ago. How do they all now suddenly have dicks again?

Also just hilarious that you’re calling me, a pansexual queer, homophobic. Oh but do go ahead and be panphobic. Please tell me all about how I’m actually bisexual (as if bisexuality doesn’t also include all genders literally in the bisexual manifesto) or straight. Please tell me what my sexuality actually is just like you claim I’m doing to you.

Anyway, seriously get off anon so I can block you or I will stop answering these. I’m tired of having the same argument over and over again with you misogynistic, racist, transphobic fucks. Get over it or get bent.

#asks #terf #terf tw #transphobia #transphobia tw #transmisoginy #transmisogny tw #racism #racism tw

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redsbrainrot · 3 years

Text

Gruvia Week - Discovery

This is my first time positing on here lol - go easy on me please

Warning: minor smutty themes

_ _ _

"Juvia, you feeling alright?"

Juvia, sat on a bench in the guildhall next to Levy and Gajeel, continued to rock back and forth in her seat with her arms clenched around her stomach. In Levy's lap was placed one of the twins in her hold, giddy and babbling while the one Gajeel was cradled into his shoulder and fast asleep. Therefore their conversation had to remain quiet or the six month old baby would awake screaming.

"Juvia's okay," She mumbles, "I think I just ate something weird."

Levy and Gajeel glance at each other, "Do you feel sick?" Levy asks.

She nods, "A little."

"Weren't you feeling crappy yesterday?" Gajeel adds.

"A bit." Juvia would bend her truths to save her friends from worrying too much.

For the past four days, Juvia had been experiencing mild nausea. Every day it appeared to be more frequent, this day being the worse.

"Come on," Levy stands up and carefully hands over the twin she had to Gajeel, "I'll take you home."

Levy walks Juvia down the sunsetting street to the apartment Juvia shared with her boyfriend, who was currently out on a long lasting job, leaving Juvia with a feeling of absence in her apartment, and peacefully waiting for him to return in a months time.

Juvia frantically gets out her keys to unlock the door, a sensation of rush bursting through her veins. As soon as she enters, her direction is in a locked path directly towards the sink as it was the closest thing for her to unleash half digested food from her stomach.

Levy quickly grabs a chunk of Juvia's wavy blue locks to save them from being stuck together by portions of puke while her hand eases her by rubbing circular patterns on Juvia's back. After Juvia retracts her position from over the sink, she sinks to the ground, exhausted and somewhat hungry again.

"Juvia, how long have you been feeling like this?" Levy questions, dropping next to her.

"A few days."

"Are you sure it's something you ate?"

Juvia's eyes widen a little, peering up towards Levy's face. She hadn't exactly thought what it could be. Truthfully, she was denying what it most definitely was. Juvia's an intelligent woman, and can tell the difference between an illness and... the other topic.

Juvia begins to twiddle her thumbs in nervousness as her nose buries into the skirt of her dress on top of her knees, "Juvia's not exactly sure..." She confesses.

Levy's next query would for sure strike something, "Is your period late?"

That one didn't actually enter Juvia's mind. She mutters a sequence of dates and numbers to herself, counting on her fingers in concentration. "Shit!" Juvia cursed on rare occasions.

"Is that a yes?"

Eyes wider than ever, she nods. "Two weeks late!"

Levy knew all these symptoms. Juvia had been oversleeping and coming to the guild at later times in the day, the nausea, the missed periods... It wasn't hard to calculate. She pushes herself from the floor and taking Juvia's hand with her, taking her towards the bedroom and implying her to sit on the bed, as this will be pretty heart stopping.

She takes her hands into hold, and kneeling in front of the puzzled blunette, her voice gentle and calm, in attempt to keep things light hearted, "Juvia, I think you're pregnant."

Her eyes slant to the side, taking in the life changing information that may be a high possibility. "No..." She says under her breath, "Gray-sama and Juvia aren't even married yet... not even engaged." Juvia likes to keep traditions in mind.

"Doesn't mean it's not a possibility. All the evidence is right in front of you, you can't possibly deny it. Plus you've always dreamed of having kids with Gray. This can be a good thing if you want it to be. If not, that's totally fine too."

Juvia and Gray hadn't discussed kids more than once. At least alone together and not in a teasing situation surrounded by their guild-mates.

"Have you got any pregnancy tests here?"

Juvia shakes her head in reply.

"I'll go out and get you one." She breaks the contact, exchanging a smile with her as she heads out the door.

Juvia falls into her bed, glaring at the ceiling as she processes the situation. The chances of it being true were actually quite high. The two of them were very sexually active, yet also taking precautions. Most of the time. Once or twice, Gray may have relied on the withdrawal method. A few weeks before Gray left for his job along with Natsu, Lucy and Erza, the two of them went out to stargaze. Mere touches were grazed on each others skin. Those touches becoming more lewd, lewd gestures forming into kisses, and eventually, the kisses leading to sex under the midnight sky.

Juvia's hands slap to her face in utter embarrassment, and stupidity flowing through her mind. No contraception which was one hundred percent effective existed, and they increased the chances of conceiving by using the worst method possible.

Juvia unconditionally loves her Gray-sama, and even though it took some time, the feeling was completely mutual. However, Juvia had planned out her life with Gray. First moving in together, which had already been achieved. Second, waiting for the day he proposes (she doesn't have the guts to do it herself). Third, the day the two lovebirds finally get married. Last but not least, babies.

Juvia had strong mother instincts, she was born to be a mother. What made her dream bigger about it was the fact Gray would one day be a father to them.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, Levy returns with a plastic bag. Containing some comfort food and of course a pregnancy test.

Juvia hesitantly takes the test, and heads inside the bathroom.

She follows the instructions while her heart beats worryingly fast. In fear of the answer, she slaps the test into Levy's hand while they wait a few minutes for the result, not wanting to see for herself.

"Juv..." Levy calls after a few minutes.

Juvia peaks up from her slouch as she sat on the end of the bed, her teeth grinding with anticipation.

"It's positive."

Juvia had trouble believing it. She was actually pregnant? Even though she was going to beat herself up for not being more careful, a hint of joy sprung out of nowhere. Hormones, perhaps?

A brief smile emerges on Juvia's round, porcelain face, while her eyes are screaming. She's actually, after all these years, going to have a baby with the man she's wanted to the most. Just a little bit earlier than she had originally planned.

Gray doesn't return for another month. After this, she wouldn't be able to bare another moment with him not knowing.

"When does Gray get back?"

"Just over a month... I don't know what I want to do..."

_ _ _

On the couch, dressed in her boyfriend's shirt and a pair of shorts, Juvia sat in peace and comfort while skimming the pages of one of her favourite books to pass time. Gray's arrival was due that day. Juvia had a burst of anticipation to see her boyfriend after so long, but coated with fear in addition.

Juvia slams her book as she catches the sound of keys turning the locks. After discovering she's pregnant with her Gray-sama's baby, she'd spent the previous month reading pregnancy books, making space for the baby in the spare bedroom, which was previously used as a storage room which would grow like mould. For the majority, she'd be sleeping and having naps three times a day, and throwing up anything that'd enter her body. Her cravings were wild, her tongue rejected almost all of her favourite foods, including her most adored Gray buns.

Juvia'a smile lightens Gray's life up as he opens the door. His jacket is immediately stripped without a thought and his arms around her body, first pulling her closer to him and their lips briefly locking for a sweet moment. Juvia's hands crawl up to his neck, she retracts her lips for a second and tugs him back for an even deeper, more tender one.

"Fuck," Gray curses in a breath, "I've missed these lips," He kisses her once more, "I've missed you."

He makes her squeak as he grabs her thighs. Juvia loops her legs around his waist as an immediate reaction, giggling and melting into the strong, hungry kisses. Gray's tongue surprises her as he licks her bottom lip, needing to meet with hers. By how he was moving towards the bedroom, tugging his teeth at her lip and occasionally licking, his crotch pressed right against hers, she knew what he wanted and was aware he wanted it now.

"Gray..." She pants, breaking the kiss.

Gray ignores her, assuming her words are more of a moan and slips his tongue inside her mouth. She allows his tongue to take control of her mouth, being distracted by his taste and moving into a moment of bliss. Then reality slaps her in the face as her back hits a door.

"Gray, I need to talk to you." Worried and out of breath, her usual third person switches to first.

Gray's lips halt their work, his eyes opening and hands becoming looser, dropping her to the ground delicately.

"Are you okay?" His fingers brush through her bangs, tracing to the side of her porcelain face.

She nods, retaining a smile and she takes his hand, turning around and opening the door to their bedroom. She takes them to a bed, this time for conversational purposes, not making hot, sweet love.

Holding his hand, her eyes flutter close, mouth intaking a deep breath, releasing a sigh a second after. "Remember that time, you and Juvia were out in the fields outside of town, stargazing?"

Gray's smirk startles her, "Oh yeah, I remember that night." He recalls the sex immediately.

"You also remember making love then?" She urges the memory, and a possible yearning sensation in Gray's boxers.

"Yes?" He took note something was wrong rather quickly.

"And how you had to pull out since Juvia wasn't on the pill that week, and we didn't have a condom?"

He nods, eyes narrowing.

"Well," She chokes on her words, unable to confess immediately, "you may have pulled out a moment too late..."

She pressures herself inside her own head "Spit it out, Juvia!". She'd had the perfect pep talk from Levy, and was convinced she'd have no trouble revealing her pregnancy.

Luckily, words didn't have to be used. A more convenient way was also possible for her.

Juvia lifts up her sweater, having a tighter t-shirt underneath. She holds the top of Gray's hand, and guides it to her stomach, having him feel her bump, confessing her pregnancy in a nonverbal way.

Gray's eyes break from hers, darting to her stomach and widening, his reaction unreadable from Juvia's perspective.

Juvia's concern over his reaction rises, as he wasn't uttering a sound. About to panic, scream of how she had the worst feeling in the world she knew he'd be against it, Gray's free hand holds the other side of her small bump. The anxiety in his eyes had faded, and gazing with awe in replacement.

"Gray-sama?" Juvia says, after many silent moments of listening to each others breaths.

"There's actually... a baby us in there?"

Having him say "a baby us" melted Juvia's heart. Out of all the possible ways Gray could've responded it, that she was not expecting. "Yes. What do you think?"

He doesn't respond straight away, continuing to gaze at her bump, his hands trailing over it and lightly caressing. He catches Juvia off guard when his lips swiftly kiss hers. He places excited, soft, joyful kisses from her lips, to the corner of her mouth, cheeks and forehead. Juvia's unable to contain a smile, giggling into the final heartfelt, impassioned kiss. Her arm loops around his neck, deepening their kiss, while his hand is at the back of her neck and one staying on her bump.

"Gray-sama is happy?" Her eyes widen with joy.

"Yes!" He exclaims while kissing her once more.

She pulls away, out of breath with a hyper voice, "Gray-sama wants to have a baby with Juvia?"

He pushes himself further back, regaining some control, taking her hands into his, "Well... Yeah. We've been together for two years. I know we both thought marriage would come first - I'll be honest, having a baby right now will be scary as we weren't trying for one and it's just happened. I know I don't bring up the thought of us having a child together often, as it's more of a you thing..." He pauses, nervously taking a bite at his lip, "But I knew we'd end up having one eventually. If you're happy with one now, so am I."

Juvia's face had blushed immensely red throughout his words. There's no way in hell Gray would confess that in front of the entire guild. Having him say it to her face, while holding her hands, was just enough for her.

_ _ _

Two days had passed. Gray and Juvia spent the weekend together, discussing their excitement over the baby, and mainly catching up on the past two months apart.

First night back, Gray's sleep was muddled and would wake up at least three times during the night. His emotions were complicated to explain, but he could sum them up and admit his happiness. The news may have not fully kicked in, and he was shocked of how Juvia seemed to be able to relax, sit peacefully on a couch and read books. Yet again, she had just spent a month by herself well aware of what was growing inside her.

The two agreed they'd wait a few weeks before fully announcing it to the guild, plus Gray's shyness. However, an infamous dragon slayer had other plans.

Juvia was clothed in baggier clothes than normal, concealing her bump as her tighter dresses were incapable of that. Gray, Natsu and Lucy were sat at a table in the centre of the guild. Natsu throwing unintentional flirtatious comments at Lucy, and would receive relatively harsh slaps in the bicep in return.

"Hi everyone." Juvia sweetly announces herself as she slides beside Gray, discretely grasping his fingers as she's sat down.

"Hey, Juvia." Natsu grins, which soon disappears as his nose begins to twitch.

"Something wrong?" Gray questions.

He nods, his sniffing becoming more obvious, "Can you smell that?"

"I can't." Gray shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Juvia.

"We don't have the nose of a beast like you," Lucy giggles, "What is it?"

Natsu leans forward, following his scent with his sight in attempt to locate it, which his glare ends on Juvia. "It's you!"

She jumps at his forwardness, gripping Gray's hand firmer. "Huh?"

"There's something different about you... new perfume?" She shakes her head in response, "It may be the dress, never seen you in something so loose."

"Watch your mouth, pervert." Gray growls as he takes Natsu's innocent comment more crudely.

"You're calling me a pervert!?" Natsu immediately bites back.

Lucy slaps her hand to Natsu's shoulder, pushing him back into the seat, "It doesn't take much for you to get riled up, does it?"

"Seriously though," He flounces out his hands towards Juvia, "Something is different! I can smell it!" Lucy sighs and hushes him as his bellowing was grabbing the rest of the guilds attention.

Juvia and Gray eye each other in fear. Natsu may not have the IQ of a genius, however his nose is powerful enough to sense any form of change. Lucy quickly takes note of the glance they exchange, figuring out by the scent and the stares, something is certainly up.

"Wait..." Her eyes narrow in query, "Is something actually different, Juvia?" Her choice of tone more calm than Natsu's, easing the two of them.

Juvia's eyes slant as her leg bounces in anxiety. Announcing her pregnancy five days earlier than planned would certainly drive Gray crazy. He hasn't mentally prepared himself for the attention and congrats as he's soon to be a father.

"Well..."

"Juvia!" Gray objects.

Juvia releases a frustrated breath, "Gray-sama, there's no harm-"

"I'm not ready to tell yet!"

"You're pregnant."

Juvia and Gray's heated stare breaks as Natsu points a finger at them, shockingly figuring out their secret much quicker than expected.

Lost for words, the two gape like blank minded sheep.

"I'm right, right?"

Gray's opinion on Natsu is still pretty low, even though over the past years it had risen. How on earth did he figure it out in the snap of his fingers!?

In Juvia's head, it made sense. He wouldn't ask if they were engaged as her scent would remained the same. With the evidence of looser clothes, the scent, secrecy, there's no hiding her pregnancy from him!

"Yes... Juvia is pregnant." Getting it off her chest to her closest friends, minus Gajeel who already knew, was a relief. Her confession initiated a smile to tug at her delicate lips, watching the two with stars in their eyes as they take in the information, while Gray slams his face into the palms of his hands.

"You sneaky little fucker!" Natsu's method of congratulations are somewhat unique, "Nice!"

"Oh my god!" Lucy squeals in delight as her hands hyperly applaud, "I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you," Juvia caresses her bump under the table, "We weren't planning on one of course. But Juvia thinks she's ready for a baby, and so does Gray-sama."

Gray pulls himself up from the grave of his hands, admitting a smile to Juvia, taking her hand and placing his lips on her knuckles. He may not express his love for her much in public, but that tiny gesture said it all.

"Yeah... I am."

_ _ _

#gruvia week #fairy tail #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #writing #gruvia #gruvia+fanfiction

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Text

Next up on our list my lovelies is Paul! A special thank you to @trescharmant-mydear for helping me with brainstorming ideas when writers block had me stumped! I hope you fang babes all enjoy the next boy in our child birth saga!

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [2/4]

Paul

The whole pregnancy thing was undoubtedly a massive shock when you had finally told him. At first he wasn’t even sure it was his. Granted you slugged him for even suggesting you had been having an affair but he couldn’t help it! The idea of impregnation was pretty much impossible as far as they knew. He had no heartbeat, the blood in his veins was dead and black, he kind of assumed by that point his gun was shooting blanks. That is until you began rejecting anything that wasn’t blood or meat. Every day he could see more of that reality coming into play. At first he thought maybe he had just imagined it, but when your stomach grew in really sank in.

He was terrified beyond belief knowing he’d soon be responsible for a living, breathing thing- er baby- guh! The word freaked him out. No one even warned him what came with it. Well, Dwayne tried to but those books were nasty. Especially the pictures. Paul tried his best to sit through them but it just stressed him out! There wouldn’t be a doctor! There would be no sterilized hospital bed where a team of nurses would be on standby if there were complications- hell, they wouldn’t be able to know if there even were any complications! That’s what scared him more than anything. You both were utterly in the dark. Were you healthy? Was the baby healthy? Could this kill you if they weren't careful? Ultrasounds were out too, so he couldn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. The uncertainty of it all was torture!

The only way he knew they were still alive was from his own bizarre connection to them. Sure his mental powers were never as clean cut as David’s, but he could still feel their emotions inside you. It was raw. There were no clear thoughts. Even the emotions would pile over each other. Hungry, tired, anxious, hyper, mad, happy. It was almost like there was more than one consciousness in there, but he just figured it was your own heartbeat and emotions clouding the baby's.

Hormones were wild between you both. You wanted sex more than you ever had before, and at first he was all for it. Being the mother of his unborn child brought out a desire that was utterly foreign to him. Yeah he loved you to death before, but now… he couldn't keep his hands off of you. The first few months it was wild, but the bigger you got the more worried he was that something could happen if he lost control. Okay, well, as long as he was careful right? But, things did not go exactly to plan when a firm kick pressed on his erm… Needless to say it certainly freaked him out. Then came the morning sickness.

Fuck whatever liar came up with that name. “Morning”? Try morning, noon, night, and the ass crack of dawn. Twenty-four seven. He hated seeing you hugging a trash bin, panting between excruciating heaves that made your stomach spasm. Paul could only hold your hair back while you gurgled out sobs. It was even harder knowing he was partially responsible for putting you in this position to begin with. Afterwards he’d carry you back to your bed. Yeah, bed. All the guys had felt that you needed something way better than a couch to crash on. There were more pillows and blankets than you could count. Piles on the bed, scattered on the floor, stacked up in the corners. With a bit of searching they’d found a pocket-cave branching just off their own that kept you out of sight and even better, nearby. What Paul really couldn’t account for was how frickin’ clumsy you were!

Oops you just banged your knee! Well looks like you accidentally nicked your hand while peeling a freaking apple! Paul nearly ripped a guys head off for bumping into you on the boardwalk just to cut in line with his stupid friends. Eventually he just refused to leave your side during the second trimester when he found a bruise on your stomach. You didn’t have the heart to tell him those were from the baby kicking. While the guys went hunting he’d just lay beside you in bed gushing over your taut belly. The baby always stirred when he spoke, even more so when he’d serenade them. His voice always made your face heat up, and inside you could feel your child eagerly pressing up. While Paul was certainly uneasy about his encroaching parenthood he was over the moon the first time the baby really kicked. Even if it seemed scary he was so excited he could hardly sleep most nights. Every day he'd wonder when they'd get here, bombarding you with thousands of questions.

"Do you think they'll have your eyes? I bet if it's a boy he'll be a bad ass like his dad, huh," he asked. There was almost a glee to his voice, it was so adorable to watch him shed that panic for just a moment to fantasize about the baby. Anything. Teaching them to play guitar, taking them on their first hunt. He didn't care if it was a boy or girl. Part of you really hoped it'd be a little girl.

“They probably won’t get any eye color until the fifth month I think,” you’d remind him, flipping through the aged pages of a baby book. "I do know if it is a boy he's gonna be so much like you."

"Unless it's a girl," he pondered, tapping your belly like it was an over ripe melon, watching it stirr with life. "Oh god you'll break so many hearts. But no boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Only dad."

"Babe thats not gonna be for years," you assured, petting his head. "You can't keep them from dating when they're old enough."

"Uh, the fuck I can't," he retorted, his hand kicked again. "Yeah I said it. No dating for you"

As they grew you could feel something was.. Off. Granted you couldn’t do much to check but, it almost felt like there was more than one heartbeat...

Your due date was slowly rolling closer as summer shed it's long, hot days for the chilled season of autumn. Tonight was a late, stormy October night. Most of Santa Carla was holed up at home hoping it wouldn’t rain tomorrow on Halloween. Paul grumbled slurping at a blood bag laying on his side as he propped his head on his hand, currently bored out of his mind while you carved at a pumpkin with Marko.

“I think it needs more teeth,” you’d say to yourself out loud.

Marko peeked over, titling his head to the side. “More eyes too.”

All the guys decided to stay back tonight. It wasn’t just the rain, all of them were nervous to leave you alone. None of them were doctors, but even they could tell your stomach was much bigger than expected. Dwayne was flipping through an old book while David had just gotten back from a hunt.

Ever since you hit your third trimester each of them took turns gathering blood. A few blood bags alone would not cover it for four hungry vampires and an honorary vamp who had a ton of cravings. Instead they'd carry four or five empty milk jugs that'd be filled to the brim with sloshing, goopy red fluid.

"Guys, you oughta go get something to eat, you don't need to watch me twenty-four seven," you insist, carefully dragging the knife through the thick gourd's flesh.

"This wasn't up for debate last time, it’s still not now," David retorted, tossing one of the jugs Dwayne's way. Marko caught a second one, eagerly knocking back a swig. The sight made you want to throw up again. It was slow, like a thick molasses dyed crimson with globs of congealed plasma. Okay looking at the pumpkin again before you had to puke.

"Don't worry about us, Y/N," Marko insisted with red stained teeth, tossing the now half empty jug to Paul. "It's only a few more months. Blood is blood."

Paul stood up, swooping behind you with his arms around your shoulders. "Speakin' of blood kitten, you need to eat." You looked at the jug as he set it on the table and immediately scrunched up your nose. Now, it'd been seven and a half months of drinking it, so you'd gotten used to the bizarre taste of salty, vinegary cherries with a metallic aftertaste. It always made your body heat up, the feeling itself was better than any booze you'd tried. But the texture. Oh god the fricking texture! Blobby, goopy, slimy- no!

"Uuuugh," you hesitated, only to have Marko push it towards you. “Can’t I just have a raw steak or something, it’s not nearly as gnarly as straight blood.”

"Don't be picky, you need to eat."

You glanced back at Paul who was just pouting behind you. "Come on babes, drink up."

Once again. Thick, soupy but warm fluids ran down the back of your throat. Everything felt heated, spreading from your stomach to each of your limbs. This time you felt an ache in the base of your abdomen. It was enough to incite a small gasp. And with that suddenly each of them had sat up.

"What's wrong, what's going on," Paul quickly asked, placing a hand over your stomach.

Marko had stood up, looking at you with a furrowed brow. "Is it-?"

"Guys, guys," you interrupt. "I'm okay, I swear. It was just a cramp."

It wasn't even a surprise when Paul lifted you up again bridal-style. "Paul,c’mon, I’m fine, really."

"Nope, nope I am not even risking that shit babes. C'mon kitten I'll lay with ya," he insisted, kicking anything on the floor out of his way. But again it ached. This time it lasted two minutes. You clung to him, trying to take a breath. This wasn’t your average false contraction that would only occur maybe every hour. "Paul- Paul it's not stopping."

"Wait wait wait what," Paul asked in rapid following, gently setting you down. Marko had gotten up to help you stand with Paul on the other side. A sharp pain wrapped around your waist. Now another two minutes. It was enough to make you double over with your hands over your stomach.

"Shit oh shit wait hold on." Paul was in a panic. He wasn't ready! The baby wasn't supposed to be there for another month! It was too soon!

You, on the other hand, were far too busy trying to keep yourself standing. It wasn't just your abdomen. It was your stomach, all the way up your back, your womb felt like it was being torn open from inside. Dwayne jumped over the sofa when the two blondes failed to move, lifting you up. Your jeans were soaked, sharp pains were faster, harder, any time another contraction squeeze you let out an agonized cry.

They all made a mad dash for your room, propping you up against a pile of pillows. "No, no wait, don't look," you insisted to the others as Paul tried to help you get your soggy jeans off.

"I'm about to help you push a baby out, and you're getting embarrassed by us seeing your underwear," Dwayne questioned

"Shut up, turn your fuckin head," Paul snapped. Carefully he draped a blanket over your legs, pulling off your jeans. There was utter fear across his face. He was so afraid of what this could do to you.

"Hey.. its okay," you assured him, cupping his face. Well, okay was a bit of an overstatement. Still, the tender touch seemed to provide some small ease as he placed his hand over yours. Again, you assured him it'd all be okay. Marko came running in with a bucket of warm water, David was grumbling about carrying over a mountain of towels, Dwayne leaned over Paul tapping him hard on the back of his shoulder. "Paul you need to check how dilated she is."

"WHAT?"

It was time for both of you chiming in disbelief. "No no, wait Dwayne man, I can't-!"

"If she pushes before she's ready, the baby will get hurt in the process," he interrupted him, grabbing Paul by his shoulders. "You gotta do it, man, I can't do it for you."

"The fuck, why me?!"

"Paul?!" It was your turn to question his logic and the blonde threw up his hands, clutching at his head trying to think.

"I'm sorry! I'm panicking!"

"Dude Paul," Marko shouted.

"What?!"

"Listen, man, this can't be good for either of them. Nut up, dude," he assured him, patting his back. Paul looked at you, still trembling on your bed. You were just as scared as him, bottom lip trembling, he could even see your shoulders shaking. "...okay…"

The feeling was so uncomfortable. You couldn't even focus between the throbbing pains that shot up your back and the tearing pull between your legs. Tears burned your eyes, you thought you might pass out. Marko was rapidly wiping away sweat from your face, letting you hold his hand. Even if you broke it, unlikely, it'd heal in an hour anyways.

"Okay how many fingers can you manage," Dwayne asked, getting a strange look from Paul. "Just tell me how many, you asshole.:

"It's like, all my fingers man I dunno what that means."

"Go to her man, I got this," he assured, pushing him up to you. Paul climbed up on the bed beside you holding you tightly in his arms with your shoulder nestled against his armpit with one arm over your shoulder and the other you immediately snatched his hand, panting rapidly. "Shh slow down baby, slow down."

"God it fucking hurts," you whine, throwing your head back on the pillow. Blood stained the bed, a thick pink-red spot on the blanket spreading out. Your face was completely flushed as a tight pressure slowly dragged down your back that made your toes curl. If Paul wasn't pinning you in place you would be writhing. There was a horrid fire in your body, there were no words left in you, only screams. Dwayne's urges to push were muffled, the ache in you back slowly pulled lower until you were able to hear them. A thick gurgle followed by high pitched, raspy wailing. While Dwayne had pulled the infant into a thick, fluffy towel something felt wrong. It still hurt. Your stomach felt no relief, in fact you felt it pull and ache again. "Wa...wait i.. no it's-it's not done, I'm not done," you whimper in a panic.

"Wait what the hell do you mean you aren’t done?! I thought there was just one?!”

Paul looked over at Dwayne, who in turn ran to David and passed the swaddled newborn his way much to his dismay. “Just hold them for a minute man, we weren’t exactly expecting more!

“I got it,” Marko volunteered, climbing off to bed to hold the baby carefully in his grasp. Your screams tore through, a second wave of pain reviving old agony. There was little relief as the same horrid tension in your back spread out. Paul coaxed you through it, but somehow it hurt even worse than before.

“No,” you cried, shaking your head. Your face burned, tears streaming down your face leaving your vision completely blurry. “No no no, I can’t, let me go! I can't, I can’t! Paul, I can’t-!”

“Baby, listen you can do this! You got this, yes you fucking do,” he yelled over you holding your head to his shoulder. “Listen to me. C’mon you fucking got this, kitten! Don’t you give up, don’t you dare fucking give up now!”

With everything you had you screamed until your throat felt raw, pushing as hard as you could until finally, finally… it stopped. A huge wave of relief made your muscles go limp. Two. You just had given birth. To twins. The realization had finally hit Paul asw he looked up at Marko still holding his first born. “Are they…”

“Dude, you got a girl,” he beamed, carefully passing the swollen new born half-awake clinging to the towel. Occasionally her grey eyes squinted open, making trembling whimpers until she nestled back into sleep.

You managed to catch your breath, Marko helping you lay down while Dwayne circled around with your son. A boy too. You couldn’t help but laugh through tears, finally able to see his face after so many months of waiting. Paul couldn’t even hold back tears, laughing like an idiot as he pulled you both in his arms. “Fuck man… oh shit I’m a fucking dad,” he choked out, trying to hide his tears.

“Let it out man,” Marko teased, patting his shoulders.

“Shit man I can't stop crying... they’re so perfect.” Paul ran a hand gently over his son’s head still softly crying in your arms, watching him soothed as he clung to his finger. He looked you in the eyes, both of you just in utter awe that you brought not one, but two lives to the world. Nothing but tears and smiles between you. It was October 31st, 2 am, and you had spent the past four and a half hours of Hell to bring your twins (Girl Name) and (Boy name). Paul could not even fathom the amount of love he was feeling, trailing kisses all over your lips and cheeks. “Happy Halloween, kitten.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, laying your head back against his chest just unable to tear your eyes away from your beautiful new family after so many hours of grueling pain, so much waiting, in the end it was worth more than either of you had ever dreamed.

“Happy Halloween, babe…”

122 notes · View notes

darawonplease · 4 years

Text

trauma. ch3 - it could’ve been anyone.

The more Jiwon avoids getting involved, the more he’s captured by the woman he considered just a bubbly hoobae.

characters. Eun Jiwon x Sandara Park

warnings. swearing

a.n. I’ve been working on this chapter as soon as I finished posting the previous one and I seriously had too much going on so I heavily edited it to make it more manageable.

Thanks to another poll on twitter I finally decided the title for this chapter!

“it could’ve been anyone” was the most popular choice.

chapter 3, it could’ve been anyone.

[dara pov]

The tent bar in the distance started blurring out, my vision started to spin before my very eyes. I tried hard to walk straight in front of me, in the attempt to reach Jiwon-oppa who was distanced himself to have a call with my phone.

“P-please don’t call Wonjun-ssi…”. I pleaded him, tugging the fabric on his sleeve to catch his attention.

“Wonjun-ssi? Who is he?”.

“M-mana-".

“Is he your manager?”.

“N-ne..my manager-nim… I’ll be in t-trouble and I don’t want to bother him, it’s late”.

He glanced at me, furrowing his brows. It felt as if he was debating whether to help me hide this unscheduled night outing or just call Wonjun-ssi and get over it.

Lately I started to avoid riding the company’s car, I had proof they monitored me 24/7 and it bothered me so much. I was already locked up in my flat and having them control my every movement just made me feel suffocated.

“I’ll call a cab for you then, is that okay?”.

My heart overflowed with gratitude; I couldn’t believe he’d accept to do that so readily, even going to the lengths of calling himself when I could’ve done that myself.

oppa is so kind...

He probably felt pity for me, knowing how much my manager would scold me for bothering him at this hour because I was drunk.

i’m such a bad girl huhu~

sneaking out from wonjun-ssi kekeke~

chaerin-ah, look out for the new gizibe in town!

I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on Jiwon-oppa’s figure.

“Yes, we’re in the street in front of the market”. He gave instructions on the phone.

why is everything moving in front of me?

I could swear I was standing perfectly still but, If I closed my eyes, I’d be almost sure to be the passenger on a rocky boat ride.

“A-ah!”. I tripped onto seemingly nothing and crashed against Jiwon-oppa, who immediately held onto me.

My face slammed onto his chest; I couldn’t help but inhale the musky cologne he wore, as I buried my face in his hoodie.

♥ kung kung kung kung kung kung ♥

His heart beat incredibly fast, I could hear it pounding in my ears. Anything else muted as I focused on the sound hammering in his chest.

omo? what am I doing?

why am I being like this?

i shouldn’t fall for him

don't fall for him dara.

just don’t.

I swallowed up, the soju still intoxicating my body. I knew that the liquor gave me the courage I honestly didn’t want to possess.

I hated falling so hard for him when he didn’t even look at me.

I hated the fact that he gave me courage.

don't be a fool.

The guilt I felt for making him feel uncomfortable because of my stupid feelings. But then again, why did he invite me out if he wanted to avoid me so bad?

What if he was yet another man to play with my innocence?

Guilt, sadness, rage and soju mixed up inside my stomach, coming out of my mouth as incomprehensible murmurs as I tugged on his hoodie.

I’m so foolish, please forgive me.

I’m so foolish for falling for someone who doesn’t even look at me.

“I-I’m sorry Jiwon-oppa…”. The words I locked deep down came out as I thought of them.

“W-what do you mean?”. His husky voice lurked in my ears because of our bodies being so close together.

“I’m sorry for liking you this much”.

My entire being was invested in discomfort, dizzy and dazed, my mouth moved by itself.

“I-If you don’t like me back just say it!”. I tried screaming at the top of my lungs, but the dryness in my throat prevented me from doing so. A croaky whisper came out of my lips instead, as I buried my face in his clothes even deeper, to hide my tears.

“I…”.

I slammed my fist onto his chest, one time, two times, stronger after every attempt; he did not move an inch.

“D-DON’T PLAY ME, JUST BECAUSE I LIKE YOU!”.

My fist flew in the air once again, ready to hit him out of frustration, but he swiftly blocked my arm with his right hand, holding my wrist firmly.

“w-why’d you bother me if you don’t want me...?”. I muttered under my breath.

“Stop it”.

I looked up at him, trying to find his face in the blurry mess I saw through my eyes.

“y-you s-stop playing with me…”.

My pleading was blocked by the urge to cry, tears were already spilling from my eyes, not matter how hard I tried to keep them locked away.

“That’s not it”. He stated, still holding my arm.

“THEN WHY, S-STUPID EUN CHODING! WHY WOULD-“.

Jiwon-oppa suddenly let go of my hand, pulling me into a tight embrace instead.

I could hear it again, his heart pounding like crazy, even if he looked perfectly calm.

“m-mwo…?”.

He rested his chin onto my head, caressing my back slowly, like a father that is trying to calm down his own kid.

“I’m not”. He repeated.

I broke the embrace and stepped back, still uncertain of his sincerity.

He stepped towards me, slowly, before looking away for a second and biting his lips.

what is he doing?

His hand gently cupped my cheek, his gaze slowly moving from my eyes to my scrubbed lips.

No matter how chilly that night was, his skin against mine felt feverish.

He bent down slightly, never diverting his gaze from me. His face became closer and closer towards me, I could feel his slow breathing.

[jiwon pov]

~ H O N K ~

The taxi driver honked, startling Sandara, who stepped back with her wobbly legs.

way to ruin the moment, huh?

It was fascinating how that girl made me lose control over my actions.

first, she makes me flee from the studio and then she brings me to kiss her when really, I wanted to reject her?

this girl is really something else.

I was debating myself whether it was the soju in my bloodstream moving my body or the hormones. Deep down I knew those were just petty excuses.

No matter how lonely and drunk I was, I never managed to do those sorts of things, even when beautiful women tempted me. I just couldn’t.

All I could see was Sooyeon’s face. Even quickly peeking at other women made me feel unfaithful, even after years and years had passed from our divorce, the moment our love withered.

That was the first time the memory I had of her didn’t interrupt me from getting closer to another women.

no way.

i'm fucking tipsy.

It may have been for the best. It would’ve been wrong to do anything since she was so wasted, I didn’t want to take advantage of Dara in that way.

I shook my head and walked towards the car while the driver slowly rolled down his window. Dara closely followed me, stumbling on her feet.

“Ok so this is the address-…”.

I instructed the taxi driver to take care of her until she arrived home safely, he nodded after I handed him a decent amount of money for the ride, he really couldn’t hide the joy on his face as soon as he reached for the bills.

“T-thank you… -“. Dara mumbled, looking at me with watery eyes.

“I trust you to go back home safely, can you do that?”.

“N-ne oppa”.

“Take care”.

The driver got out of the taxi to help her get into the backseat as I waved them goodbye. It was for the best, separating prevented me from doing anything I could regret tomorrow morning.

was I really going to kiss her?

what's gotten into me?

i must be crazy.

With the task at hand handled I started walking the other direction, wondering what time I’d be home.

I knew I had another day of recording ahead of me and drinking and smoking weren’t exactly the best preparations for that, added to the fact I was still in the centre of Seoul, 30 minutes away from my apartment.

I sighed as I headed towards the main street; I could stop a taxi from the side of the road because calling one wasn’t a choice. My phone was dead, that’s why I lent dara’s to call her a cab.

~ parararing parararing ~

“What?”.

I reached inside the pocket of my coat, grabbing the phone that was vibrating in it.

Manager-nim ~

7 missed calls.

this must be Dara’s phone.

sandara's phone.

ack- what a fool, I haven’t returned it yet.

“Aish- how could I forget that?!”. I panicked on the spot.

I was so focused calming her down that I totally forgot to give her back the phone.

I rushed back, hoping with all my being for the cab to still be there.

“AAAAAAAAH!”.

A terrorizing scream almost made me shit in my pants, stopping me in my tracks.

“What the hell is going on today?”. I thought to myself.

“STOP IT!”.

I quickly scanned the street for the source of noise, the sidewalk was deserted, all I could see were two figures in the distance.

oh no.

“DON’T TOUCH ME YOU PIG”.

It was Dara who was struggling, trying to take the driver’s disgusting hands off of her with all of her force.

I immediately bolted towards the piece of shit, my blood boiling with rage as I witnessed him wrapping his arms around her small figure.

“SON OF A BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?!”.

“I-I didn’t do a thing”. He excused himself, removing his claws from the poor girl after seeing me come back with such speed.

“PERVERT!”.

I was ready to make the fool spit his own blood, ignoring all of the consequences that would’ve come with that but Dara stepped back as soon as he released his grip on her body and slapped him so hard that the sound reverberated in all of the plaza, leaving a red mark on his cheek.

yeah.

i should remind myself not to make her angry.

The driver fell on his ass, his face badly distorted by the pain.

Shocked by the whole situation the coward crawled to his seat, starting the engine of his car and quickly leaving the scene, still holding his cheek in pain.

“GET LOST YOU BASTARD!”. I yelled like a crazy person, in the middle of the road, as the car drove away.

I turned my attention back to Dara, her body trembled as she hugged herself.

how could I leave her alone with that dirty ajhussi?

how could I do that?

I felt sorry for letting her go so easily, for letting her become a prey of the night. Had she been assaulted? Had she been molested? I wouldn’t had forgiven myself for being so reckless.

Dara dropped to the floor, crying her eyes out. Her sobbing only increased the guilt I felt.

“W-why do I always have to be men’s prey?...” she sniffled, uselessly trying to dry the tears that were cascading down her face.

She probably experienced that kind of harassment quite often. I could see why wolves would prey on such an innocent bunny. The fact she wasn’t great at drinking being another reason why she probably looked so appetizing to those animals.

had I payed attention…

had I been more careful.

i’ll become a lion and protect you.

no.

It’s not my business.

but it’s my fault…

I knelt to the ground to approach her, hesitating in patting her back. I sucked at comforting people.

I couldn’t believe I almost gave her away to a dirty bastard. I couldn’t forgive myself after seeing her break down like that.

“A-are you okay?!”.

She ignored my questions and rubbed her eyes only to get back up, wobbling towards the bus stop.

what is she trying to do?

“Hold up, I’ll call another taxi”.

“D-don’t, oppa”. Her voice was still so croaky for crying so much, both times being my fault.

“W-wait!”. I yelled, following her as she stumbled around.

She tripped on her feet, landing on her ass.

“I’ll go call another taxi, stay here, ok?”. I signaled her to stay where she was with my hand while I walked the opposite way.

She simply nodded.

I rushed to the main street, hoping that she’d be okay for the few seconds I felt her alone. A taxi approached me as I called one at the end of the sidewalk.

I instructed the cab driver to drive into the inner venue as he stopped his car near me to listen.

I then sprinted back to Dara, who was still sitting in the same spot I left her. I heaved a sigh of relief as she wasn’t kidnapped in that small window of time I didn’t check up on her.

“Come on up, grab my hand”. She extended her arm and grasped my palm, helping herself stand up again.

“What if it happens again?”, she whispered in my ear.

“That won’t happen”.

“H-how can you be so sure?”.

She looked at me with her swollen eyes.

“Because I’ll be right here”.

[…]

I kept attentive all the way, I couldn’t let any other accident happen. I was focused on the road, making sure we were going in the right direction when her head dropped on my shoulder suddenly.

I turned to look at her who fell asleep peacefully. I couldn’t wrap my head around how pretty she looked in such a vulnerable state. People usually look their worst when sleeping. The night lights illuminated her small and delicate face.

I spent the entire way trying to stay perfectly still, not to interfere with her nap, no matter how incredibly uncomfortable I felt in that position. That was the least I could do for her after making her experience such a terrible night.

[…]

A couple of turns and I saw the arcade on my left; that was the sign we were near her flat.

I looked back at her, it was so hard to bring myself to interrupt her serene slumber.

“…hey…we’re here”, I gently whispered while tapping on her shoulder to help her wake up.

[…]

The condo she lived in was a tall building, certainly fit to a celebrity. I lived in a similar structure too.

I fished out the keys out of her bag and opened the gate to the building, she held my arm tightly, trying hard to walk at my speed.

A tall guard stood by the door. He glared at me as he recognized Dara by my side.

The lobby looked like the entrance of a hotel: it wasn’t pretentious or decorated with statues and gold chandeliers, however I could tell each and every piece of furniture was very expensive. How? Just trust me.

If I leave her here, she’d be capable to sleep in the hallway.

She barely stood up by herself, i just couldn’t shake the guilt out of my body. I needed to take her to her bed myself. I wasn’t going to leave her alone again.

“32th floor”. She mumbled as we got into the elevator.

She kept resting her head on the wall; I could tell how exhausted she was. It was a miracle she was still standing on her own two feet. Or kind of.

The floor we landed on had a long-ass beige carpet running all through the hallway. I looked around, not sure If we were in an actual hotel or something.

my condo doesn’t look as nice as this tho.

Dara pointed at the last door on the right. She was so tired she barely opened her mouth since we hopped on the taxi.

I opened the door to her flat with the keys still in my hands.

She crawled inside, only to flop onto the floor. Carefully removing my shoes, I entered the apartment too, remembering to lock the door after me.

An herbal smell filled my nose, she probably had an aroma diffuser somewhere in the living room.

maybe I should get one too.

I turned on the lampstand beside her couch and helped her take off her sneakers, they were those kicks GD customized.

they sure are close, without a doubt.

I quietly looked around; somehow the interior of her flat perfectly suited dara’s bubbly personality. There were many cute displays and colorful frames all over the walls.

~ meeeow ~

A cat approached me, it looked more like a miniature tiger.

“You must be… what was your name again?”.

I paused, scratching my head and trying hard to remember her pet’s name.

“Dadoong-i? Was it Dadoong-i?”.

I knelt to the ground to scratch his head as he kept circling my leg, purring and meowing.

“I stole your owner for a couple of hours, aren’t you mad at me?”.

He kept purring, ignoring the conversation I was trying to have with him.

“You don’t understand me, right? It’s okay”. I chuckled by myself.

I knew it was incredibly rude of me to explore her house without her consent, but I couldn’t restrain myself from giving in to the curiosity.

What struck me the most was the presence of multiple frames which contained old photos of 2NE1. I could recognize some of the live performances they were taken at. I remember bumping into them on music show back in the day, when I still used to do the MC.

she probably misses those days.

“S-so hot…”. I heard her whining and turned my attention towards her. She was removing her jacket; the warmth of the alcohol probably giving her a hard time.

“Let me help you”.

I grabbed her jacket and laid it onto the side of her couch.

I looked back at her as she struggled to remove her sweater, the shirt underneath stuck to it revealed her fit belly and chest.

“W-WAIT!”. I stuttered, covering my eyes to give her privacy.

“I’m still here- don’t remove all of your clothes yet!”. I reminded her before she could actually strip.

She crawled towards me and started tugging on the sleeve of my coat. “… p-please bring me clothes”.

“E-eh? How am I supposed to find those?!”.

She slumped back onto the floor, ignoring my questions.

Resigned at my caretaker role I opened various doors in search for her bedroom or closet.

bingo.

I quietly entered the bedroom and scanned it thoroughly to find her dresser. I couldn’t help but notice the rabbit plushie laid on her bed.

“What was his name again?”.

I remembered from watching a couple 2NE1TV episodes on the tv back in the day, that bunny plushie was Dara’s favorite one.

I started opening every drawer one by one until I stumbled on some cute pink panties with a cartoon hippo on the front.

“Cute…”, I giggled.

I opened the next one only to find some red lace panties.

“U-urgh...”.

I felt my cheeks become red like tomatoes. I closed shut the drawer and brought my hands to my face to contain my embarrassment.

“W-what am I doing?”. I mumbled.

she’s a grown-ass woman, it shouldn’t be surprising if she wore stuff like this. right?!

does she wear this on a daily basis or for special occasions?

can it be that she-…?

I removed the coat and hoodie I wore as I felt sweat dribble from my forehead, my body was getting hot at those less than holy thoughts.

whoo.

what am I thinking?

I resumed my mission and opened the next drawer to find a bunch of t-shirts folded up neatly. I took a random one and immediately rushed back to the living room.

She extended her arm to grab the shirt.

“P-please turn around …".

I quickly faced the wall to give her the privacy to undress. I could hear her fumbling with her hoodie, her bracelets clinking as they touched the ground while she was removing her clothes sitting on the floor.

“Are you okay?”- I slowly turned around, still covering my face with my palms.

With the corner of my eyes I noticed the sexy line running down her slim back, as she was inserting her head in the large white tee I threw her a couple of seconds before.

I swallowed my saliva and shook my head to remove those thoughts from my head. It wasn’t right for me to have those kinds of thoughts. I was just tipsy. That was all.

“Are you good?”. I faced her again

She started shivering while staring at the slightly open window; the curtain was flowing because of the small breeze that the small gap let in.

I got up and calmly walked towards the window, closing it after checking the view of Seoul’s night that was hidden behind the white curtain.

so that’s what she admires every night before going to sleep…

“I shall go then-“. I hurriedly tried to get to the door.

“p-please…”.

She tugged on the leg on my pants, signaling to stay.

Taking care of others when they were drunk wasn’t my forte, it was usually the other way around. I was the heavy drinker of the bunch. I refused to take on the role of the sober friend who takes everyone home. It wasn’t my style at all.

what am I going to do?

The guilt for the taxi driver accident motivated me enough to stay and take care of her. I felt like it was all my fault: the sudden date, her getting too drunk, the disgusting pig driver. It was only right to check up on her for a while but part of me wanted to run out of the door as soon as possible.

i’m a wolf too.

this sudden urge to put my claws around you…

aren’t you scared?

can I really take care of you?

Dara kept shivering; her small figure trembled under the dim lampshade light.

I rushed to her room again, keeping my feet light not to disturb her, and grabbed the blanket at the end of her bed, kidnapping the bunny plushie in the process too.

Meanwhile, she climbed on the leather couch, struggling a bit. She curled up as I put the blanket over her. I decided to place the rabbit by her side, which she immediately hugged.

A slight smile appeared on her face as she snuggled up in her new sleeping spot. I sat at the end of the couch, right beside her. I couldn’t help but stare at the sleeping beauty, expecting her to come up with some ugly expression.

It was unreal, she was indeed too pretty to be sleeping so peacefully after drinking so many glasses of soju.

I peeked out of the window, wondering what I was going to do.

Was I supposed to spend the night there to look after her? Did I need to cook some hungover soup? We were barely friends, yet I entered her house. Wasn’t that so inappropriate?

I thought of Suwon, Jaeduck and Jaijin’s faces and immediately wanted to smash them for putting me in such a hard spot. They were the masterminds of that disastrous night.

fucking idiots.

It suddenly struck me.

“I don’t really like drinking”.

She mentioned it that day we ate tteobokki together on our YouTube date. I felt so dumb for remembering that statement a little too late.

she could’ve stopped me tho.

She never once refused a drink I poured her.

impossible.

can it be?

“Dara-yah, you didn’t have to do that…”.

I moved a rogue strand of hair that was dangling in front of her face out of the way, admiring how incredibly tranquil her expression was.

It looked as if she had no problems in the world.

That’s what I used to think before that night. A bubbly and carefree girl.

Who knew that a couple of drops of soju were able to unlock her worries and unexplored thoughts? In a night I had discovered the same things others found out in a year. She was a reserved person, just like me.

That night she made me hop a rollercoaster of mixed emotions.

what is even this girl?

I thought I had figured her out already.

She was just a talented hoobae, nothing more nothing less. I told myself not to get involved but there I was.

In her flat.

I brought both of my hand to my face, trying to make out the situation I was in.

“Ayt...”.

A deep sigh left my mouth, yet again.

i’m here just because she’s drunk.

what kind of man leaves a poor girl drunk on the streets?

It’s because she’s a girl, not because she’s dara.

of course. that’s why I’m here.

i’m not a heartless bastard.

It could’ve been anyone.

“Stop playing with me!”.

I could not remove her cries and pleading from my head. That’s why I wanted to avoid her in the first place. Not to disappoint her. I blamed those three pricks for trapping me in that situation.

She was begging me not to play with her feelings and yet I was so close to kissing her, even if I my purpose all night was to reject her.

really...what had gotten into me?

maybe i’m a bastard after all.

[...]

A ray of light shyly invaded the darkness of the living room, hitting my eyes.

I woke up, startled.

i must’ve passed out on the couch.

I rubbed my eyes, refusing to believe I had spent the entire night at my hoobae’s place.

fuck. what time is it?

I turned to my left; Dara was still sleeping peacefully.

I still had a hard time believing that the same girl who was yelling at me the night before was the same one sleeping so peacefully on the couch.

Ack-

The hangover was always the worst part of every drinking experience. My head felt a thousand pounds heavier just resting on my shoulder.

~ bzzzz bzzzzz bzzzzz ~

The loud buzzing of the doorbell ringed in my head like a tennis balls bouncing in an empty room.

I stood up and dragged my whole body to the entrance.

“DARA-SSI DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I’VE CALLED YOU? HOW COME YOU DIDN’T REPLY TO NONE OF MY CALLS-…”.

huh?

A man appeared right behind the door, his brows furrowed, creating a multitude of wrinkles on his forehead.

“And who the hell are you?!”. He shouted, expecting someone else to open the door.

I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, not wanting his yells to wake up the hungover girl still sleeping on the couch.

“Why the hell are you yelling at this hour of the day?”. I whined while checking if the hallway was empty, pretty annoyed by his sudden presence.

“I’m her manager. What are you doing in her apartment?!”.

I tilted my head at the man, who kept stomping his feet. Everything sounded muffled, as if a mine had just exploded right beside me. His words came out of my ears without being registered.

“W-what are you talking about all of a sudden?”. I blurted out.

He ignored me and proceeded to quietly opened the door; probably spying on the inside of the flat only to find Dara passed out on the couch.

“What have you done to her?”. He struck me again with a fulminating gaze but all I could do was raise my eyebrow, ignoring his banters.

He got closer to me, probably sniffing my stink of alcohol mixed with Dara’s scent, it was so strong I could smell it too.

“I KNEW IT! YOU DISGUSTING ANIMALS ALWAYS LURE HER LIKE THIS!”.

“What-“.

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and slammed me against the door with full force.

“YOU’RE A DISGUSTING ANIMAL, LEAVE HER BE”.

“I BROUGHT HER HERE SAFELY, WHAT NON-SENSE ARE YOU SPOUTING?!”. – I defended myself.

“YOU BROUGHT HER HERE TO SATISFY YOUR DISGUSTING EGO”. The dude clenched his teeth, as the rage inside him boiled up to the limit.

“I BROUGHT HER HERE BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T WANT TO CALL YOU!”.

He slowly released his grip.

His eyes opening wide at the sudden revelation.

“W-what?”.

A look of disbelief appeared on his face as he stepped back from me.

“That’s right, why are you getting so worked up for?”.

He remained silent, still processing the information I gave him.

“Why do you care about her private life so much, anyway? Just focus on your work”.

I rolled my eyes at him, who felt betrayed by his own confidence.

“Tsk- Stay away from her”.

He shoved me aside, with his hand, making me crash against the wall on the other side.

this bastard-

He didn’t lose a second and quickly got inside the flat, locking me out of it.

this did not just happen.

for fuck’s sake.

“MY JACKET YOU BASTARD!”.

I smashed my fist onto the door repeatedly, the blood going to my head.

I dropped onto the ground as the door opened and smashed against my nose.

My coat and hoodie were thrown away out of the door.

“NOW GET LOST!”.

His annoying voice came out from behind the door before closing shut again.

p.s. this chapter is so short compared to the other ones because of me being indecisive over the plot. because of uni i’m hella busy but i’ll try to update as much as I can. thank you for being so patient, kind and also interested in my work! It’s not much but it’s fun to create something that can be enjoyable for all of you dara/jiwon/darawon stans ~

feedback is always welcome!

thanks for tuning in!

previous chapter. ⋆ next chapter. ⋆ masterlist.

#SECHSKIES #EUNJIWON #SANDARAPARK #2NE1 #FANFICTION #IMAGINE #DARAWON #YG #YGFAMILY

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werevulvi · 4 years

Text

At this point I feel like I'm just floating between two identities. Like what does it really matter what I decide to call myself? Says the desperate and jaded. I feel like I need to juggle my two different perspectives for a while. I will mostly use tumblr for it when I lean more gender critical, and probably use fb instead when I lean more towards trans thinking, until I figure this shit out for sure. Thus, I will keep being a dysphoric woman here on tumblr, and nonbinary on my fb account. That way I can juggle my two conflicting sides without feeling too much pressure to "just make sense already."

To clarify, my views are mainly gender critical, but it wouldn't be wrong to say that I'm still flirting with TRA views on gender, dysphoria and transition. Essentially, bio sex is the only actually scientifically proven and tangible thing about this all. Laws etc should be based on sex. Sexual attraction is based on sex. Then dysphoria is also a real medical condition, like it's an actual distress and I don't think it's solely caused by social factors. There are lots of different types of dysphoria, alright. As for gender, however... I don't believe in it, but... basically I just respect that other people have an inner sense of gender (like that's their interpretation of their feelings) while I'm still highly critical of WHY they have that interpretation. And I can’t fit myself into my old thinking of gender at all anymore. It is completely alien to me. The spell has broken and I cannot cast it again.

As for my dysphoria, basically what I'm dealing with is (a probably very rare kind of) atypical dysphoria. I like some aspects of female on my body, but not all. I like some aspects of male on my body, but not all. I feel like I should look like a hybrid of male and female, and I feel both belonging and disconnect to/from womanhood and manhood. It is a constant push and pull in both directions, uncomfortably kneading me into a serene middle-ground. That middle-ground is not a compromise; it is a very peaceful and harmonic place for me to be. It's where I'm relieved of my dysphoria. I used to avoid it my whole life, until I finally stopped fighting myself. There is tranquility here, at this inbetween, that I didn't know existed. I'm clearly dysphoric, but I am not FtM - I'm FtX. I do not give a single fuck if you think nonbinary is real or not. What I'm telling you now is: this is my dysphoria and it simply is what it is. Then what you wish to call it and what I wish to call it does not matter.

Anyhow. I just wanted to give that little debrief of my dysphoria so that you'd hopefully understand why I'm struggling so much with labels, because it's not so straight-forward. Another thing I very much want to clarify is that labels are means of communication for me - NOT identity. Just like I use the label lesbian to communicate what my sexual orientation is. That has a clear purpose. For the same reason we call ourselves men or women: it has a clear purpose. Then my question to myself, my oh so eternal question, is: what is the best label for me to communicate to others what I am and/or how I wish to be perceived?

Problem 1: What I wish to communicate (that I'm a bio female person who's happily transitioned) is not the same as what I wish to be seen as (person of indeterminate gender.)

I don't know how to feel about that what I'm mostly assumed to be a male who identifies as a woman. Do I feel bad, ashamed or guilty, for looking like a bad stereotype of trans women? Yes. I think I fear that I will come across as mocking trans women, because my looks are deliberate. I feel bad for copying gnc men. My affinity for feminine stuff like lipstick and dresses, and my absolute refusal to let go of those things, makes me feel guilty in a feminist sense. I don't believe that the way I use femininity is harmful for myself, because I've adapted it to fit my needs of comfort as well as my social goals with it. It is not sexual, it is not restraining or hindering. It is not adhering to societal standards of beauty - if anything it's mocking that.

Yes, I am mocking femininity, but I also use it because it makes me feel less naked, and more expressive. I'm always accompanying my femininity with strong masculine features such as deliberately visible facial hair and body hair, etc. My femininity is not my womanhood, but it is a highly important way for me to express my personality, symbolically. I do not want for people to oogle my naked body, or a careless sack of clothing that I've rushed into - I want for them to see my personality, so that they'll get an idea of who I am before talking to me. But despite all that... I still feel guilty for being genuinely feminine. How can I be authentic, if no matter where I turn, I feel guilt, shame, or fear?

Problem 2: As soon as I claim the nonbinary label I miss calling myself a woman, and as soon as I claim myself as a woman, I miss calling myself nonbinary.

Do I have a gender? Yes and no. It depends on how I look at it. Do I need to have a gender? Not really, but it's easier in most aspects of socialising if I do, because of my appearance. Do I want to have a gender? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.

I feel like I went into the gender store and bought too many. Now I sit here with a useless pile of trash that cost a fortune. I am terrified to get rid of it. There will be consequences if I do. I've been building up to this moment for almost two years. I am still building up to it. The pile is stinking and I need to take it out to the garbage disposal, but I can't make myself do it. What if I'll need it later? I'm too nostalgic for my own good.

Problem 3: When I don't want to have a gender I'm a proud woman based on my sex, but when I do want a gender, nonbinary feels more right. I can't really make a gender in my brain and then stick to it. I keep picking it up, then tossing it away, then picking it up, then tossing it away, and so on. I want to have the gender cake and eat it at the same time. Sometimes I feel proud to be woman, who takes testosterone and loves her lesbian pussy. But then it gets increasingly uncomfortable and I'd just rather not be anything specific. Then I flip to view myself as a hybrid of man and woman and that feels comfortable and uplifting. Until it doesn't anymore and I miss taking pride in being a woman, and I just don't know what the fuck is up with that.

Perhaps my "identity" is split off from my dysphoria? I dunno what I meant with that thought. Perhaps it came from my lack of social dysphoria. It's just social anxiety over looking weird.

Oh I wish I could try living in a perfect society with no sexism, and see if I'd then always be comfortable with calling myself a woman and freely be this bearded, deep-voiced, charming lady in a gothy dress, wine red lipstick and a pearl necklace, with no need to beat myself up for not being "woman enough." Because I worry that is why I keep reaching for the nonbinary label. Maybe it is out of fear? Maybe the reason I feel good about calling myself nonbinary is rooted in just wanting to be left alone to be a beautifully virilized woman, because I'm never given the chance to be that kinda woman.

It breaks my heart. You know that? You should.

No matter how much testosterone I take and no matter how much I love the effects of it... I am forever female and I love that too. No way in this despicable hell... would I ever want my sex erased. It's profoundly important to me, and such is my transition. I think that is why I stand with one foot in self-loving and the other in the medical result of dysphoria. My body is a cocktail of this and that, a little bit tit for tat, and I revel in its strange combination of exquisite flavours.

I feel like I have transcended the concept of gender, but as a happily transitioned, dysphoric woman, I have a very hard time conveying that to the rest of my little world, and the world at large. What is a woman who is happily transitioned to a goal that falsely mimmics the visual effects of certain intersex and hormonal conditions? Who am I to glorify the visual results of others' suffering? Oh I dunno, but I probably have more respect for them than I do for myself, if that counts as an excuse.

What am I? And how do I move forward in society, as honestly as possible?

What I am... is in the eye of the beholder. Depending on your ideology, you will have a different opinion (boldly assuming that you'd even care at all) but what I think is... there is no one correct answer. Thus, in my desperate search for that one true answer, I cannot win. All I can do is pick whatever makes me the most comfortable, but the only thing that would soothe me is the ultimate truth. (No, that's not it. Keep scrambling.)

I have become a biologist obsessed with finding the truth of God with a microscope. No wonder people are beginning to question my sanity.

("Are you okay?" Uhm no, I don't think so.)

What I need to figure out, is if gender serves me, and if "woman" serves me. But they both do, and I have to make a choice. There I stand, finding that they both serve me, unable to make a choice.

(Somewhere around here, I started going off on a tangent and lost myself in the endless whirls of my heart and mind. So I rolled back the tape, and here I am again. The rest in an over-write.)

How do I see myself? I see myself both as a woman and as nonbinary. Sometimes I need my gender, sometimes I don't. What I am is still the same, but there are many different ways to label me correctly, and THAT is what chafes at me.

Problem 4: I do not want to have a politically charged label. Woman has become a political statement for me, because of my appearance contradicting that statement, and the statement contradicts my dysphoria. It being so politically charged makes me uncomfortable. I wish to just exist as a woman, not declare myself as one. Nonbinary is equally a political statement, of rejecting gender norms which are harmful to everyone. Nonbinary strips the bearer of their sex, and releases the pressure on them to conform. There is the catch. Woman, instead strips the bearer of the freedom to not conform, but releases the pressure of gender. And there I think I've hit the nail on the head. What I wish for... is a label which does not strip me of my sex, nor forces me into conformity to look like my sex. Woman should be that label, but the only way it can ever be... is to put on that armour and fight for it, which I don't want to.

The label woman is too heavy for me, as a male-passing female, to bear in this gender-obsessed world - while nonbinary feels like a betrayal, both to myself and all other women. Nonbinary feels like a happy fantasy, until it shatters upon my realisation that it is not real. Woman feels like the powerful authenticity from the bottom of my chromosomes, until reality hits that it's a very difficult label for me to wear. Then I run away scared into my happy fantasy, but I am tired of continuously shattering and rebuilding myself.

What I want is to fully embrace my womanhood, without running back to the trans community again and again, to cry about how cruel reality is, and please validate my special trans feelings, which of course... the zombies do. I feel like I have Stockholm Syndrome for the trans community. I feel hurt by its sexism and homophobia, which is aimed directly at me as a gender-breaking woman and as a female-exclusive lesbian, yet I keep running back to it, pleading for validation as the utter coward I am! Because I am terrified of being a woman and a lesbian in the real world... while looking like this. I love the way I look, but I am scared and I am ashamed of facing my reflection with pride, as a woman. Because that means something more. It doesn't "just" mean that I'm female, it also means that when I with pride call myself a woman... I am reclaiming the one thing which I ought not to. No one shames a trans man or dysphoric enby for wanting a beard and loving taking testosterone... but the second a "cis" woman does? You know that is different. Cis is a lie, but I am real. I'm a woman, and I love testosterone flowing through my veins. My true beliefs... lie with radfem, and I'm only "making space" for gender in those beliefs to not hurt my loved ones' feelings.

How am I supposed to handle and move beyond this? Will it ever get easier?

Problem 5: It's not the nonbinary bush I have been beating around... it's the radfem bush. I have not been honest about my sense of self, anywhere else than here on tumblr. I do not want a gender label on my feelings. Gender is so harmful and I need to stop being its martyr. Can I accept and respect other people for having genders? Sure, whatever, I don't particularly care what people choose to call their feelings, as long as laws aren't being built around those feelings. But I can't for the life of me stop squirming at the idea of ME having a gender again. It is uncomfortable. Get the fucking parasite off me! Gender has been poisoning me again lately. It was a mistake to look into it again. It has been clouding my vision, because I forgot what truly matters: To look like whichever gender expression I wish, to act out whichever gender role I want, to treat my dysphoria however I see fit for myself, but not to lie about what I am: female=woman.

Problem 6: I am free without gender, but I am also incredibly vulnerable. As if I was completely naked before the whole world. Then even wearing a clown suit feels better in comparison.

Solution: I need to break up with the trans community. That toxic relationship has been going on for way too long now. I don't care if I lose all of my friends over it. I need to break free, and liberate my womanhood, because I have been shackling her. No matter how hard it is. I need to face my fear, guilt and shame. I need to tell myself that it's okay to hurt, but that it will get better. I need to stop reaching for nonbinary whenever I feel scared and ashamed to be a woman. I can cry about how hard it is... but never give up.

My dysphoria does not define me, and I refuse to let it.

#gender critical #gnc female #reclaiming womanhood #gender dysphoria #battling the nonbinary label #i ended up tumbling down into some deep thinking again #i cried several times writing and editing this #if only i could just get my shit together #radfem #transition #former trans man

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thecloserkin · 4 years

Text

book review: Carolyn Slaughter, Relations (1976)

Genre: Gothic psychological suspense

Is it the main pairing: yes

Is it canon: yes

Is it explicit: yes

Is it endgame: no

Is it shippable: yes

Bottom line: I read this concurrently with Wuthering Heights and allow me to play sommelier—10/10 recommend this wine pairing for maximum gothic extraness. tw: suicide

There’s boatloads of sex but this is not a horny story. It’s a lyrical story—in the sense of expressing direct, spontaneous feeling. Not that a story couldn’t be both (Wuthering Heights is both horny and lyrical) but I actually want to spend a minute defending this book to my past self. The first time I read it, I was unimpressed because Relations wasn’t much of a Love Story. You know the kind I’m talking about, you know the beats you’d expect it to hit: here is a pair of siblings tOrMeNtEd by their iLLiCiT pAsSiOn!!! I mean, the mode isn’t always tragic or dark but even the cream-puff versions of this arc entail some sort of line being crossed or feelings being caught. We are used to characters who begin in initial-state, a journey brings them to end-state and a clear delta separates the two conditions. This book says: fuck that. Fuck change. Fuck growth. My best days are behind me and I’m ok with that because now my brother is lost to me and I give zero fucks about anything else. We have a novel steeped in the symbolism of winter (the season of loss & deadness that is impermeable to change). Our pregnant heroine dreads her impending due date, in part because the child is not her beloved brother’s; but mostly because having a baby is just about the biggest change a body can be subjected to, and she’s actively averse to change. All she wants is her brother back. If you’re looking for characters to fall in love, as in transition from feeling one way to feeling another way, this is most likely not the book for you. But I enjoyed it a whole helluva lot and let me tell you why.

The predominant note of this story is MELANCHOLY. It’s backwards-looking rather than forward-looking, things just keep getting worse and worse for our protagonist and yet she’s unapologetic about what she did: she loved her brother, loves him still and always will. What I admire is that she is steadfast in the face of remorseless despair. Compare these quotes, this one from near the beginning: “I feel listless, often close to tears. I am beset by fiendish pangs.” This is from near the end: “I am hollow, clanging with emptiness; there is no solution.” Do you see what I mean by no delta between initial-state and end-state? I think there is an important distinction between this book and Forbidden, which holds out the promise of a happy ending only to snatch it away at the last minute, in that Relations puts its cards on the table & promises no such thing. It’s melancholy all the way down (well, three-quarters of the way down it transpires this book is in fact a high-concept Folgercest prequel I SHIT YOU NOT friends read it yourself).

In the novel’s present, our girl Catherine is entombed in a emotionally sterile marriage; in the past she grows up warmed by the sun of her brother Christopher’s regard & affection. Slaughter chooses to locate these strands at two crucial points in Cathy’s development—age ten (prepubescent) and age thirty (the age at which women’s “biological clocks” start ticking—this is relevant because Slaughter is writing in the 1970s even if Cathy is living in the late Victorian Era). We should note here that Christopher is older than Catherine by two years, aka the universally acknowledged INCEST SWEET SPOT (I know some of you favor twincest but you are WRONG and I will prove it in my forthcoming monograph on the topic). At age ten, Cathy and Christopher have intercourse for the first time after stumbling on their father’s secret porn stash. The sex is more mechanical than enjoyable, and that’s the point: they start banging out of curiosity, keep banging out of habit, and only later do hormones and feelings kick in. Ten- and twelve-year-olds just don’t get horny the way older kids do, and that is, again, the entire point. Slaughter structures it so the sex happens first (in the very first flashback chapter). The feelings don’t follow, the feelings don’t emerge, the feelings were there all along. What the sex does is seal a secret between the two of them, the secret of their father’s porn stash (hidden in an abandoned wing of the house).

If we turn back to the present, we find Catherine yoked to a man who excites zero feelings in her. By her own admission she married him because “I found him pleasant to listen to and he never made any demands upon me.”These are the qualities that recommend a husband to her—that he impose no psychic demands whatsoever! All her energies are already absorbed in reminiscence lol. We find out he proposed to her with a speech worthy of Pride & Prejudice’s Mr. Collins, and that he possesses not a particle of passion. Which is exactly how Cathy wanted it:

I entered the marriage in a state of apathy; simply undergoing it because of Mamma’s pressure, and because there seemed no other real alternative apart from marriage open to me.

We were married in the winter of my thirtieth year.

I walked down the aisle in a state of complete inertia, my sense muffled by the laudanum … I wished with all my heart he could have been my brother.

File away that glancing reference to winter; more on that later. For now please focus on how numb she is—not discontent, just apathetic. Cathy insists the present brings her nothing but pain and insists she doesn’t regret the choices that brought her here. She’s unrepentant about loving Chris, and explicitly rejects the conventional moral framing that would view her past self as “sinning” and her present self as “redeemed”:

I could not rid myself of the old and over-riding passion of my childhood. I decided eventually that no one would ever, could ever, be what my brother had been to me.

If I could have felt then, and now, that there was some evil in what we did, then I could have borne it. But I could find no evil in it.

I would not be so oppressed if I could but feel my past was wicked and scandalous. If I believed that, i could gladly submit to the institution or the grave. But some buoyant spirit within me keeps insisting that what I had was fine, and contained elements of true beauty.

“The institution or the grave,” she says. Those are the choices. If you want to have Thoughts and Feelings and not just a Body, then your lot as a woman is to end up either in a sanitarium or dead in childbed. Only when she looks back at her childhood does Cathy perceive a time when it was different, when Christopher, at least, saw her as a whole-ass person. Yes, this is another entry in dr. thecloserkin’s ongoing “Incest vs. the Patriarchy” series; if you guys thought I was going to stay off my bullshit for more than ten minutes then joke’s on you hahaha. Here are some quotes that show she was getting her emotional needs met as a child (she’s borderline suicidal as an adult):

leaves me with only the memory of such complete intimacy. It is beyond my reach now, and perhaps I shall never agin recapture it though I live to be ninety.

there was no discord in our interests and desires.

We talked all the time. We never ran out of conversation; I never grew tired of his speech.

It never occurred to me…that we would not always be together. There seemed no need for anyone else—he filled out my present and my past.

Ok so if everything was so idyllic back then what the heck happened? How did it all fall apart? Slaughter withholds the crucial revelatory scene until close to the end, but the story up till then is permeated by a very Gothic sense of creeping dread. The elephant on the horizon is change. Cathy and Chris are on the precipice of puberty, which portends seismic changes in their bodies, and the accompanying changes in their roles as they inch toward adulthood. Cathy doesn’t handle it well:

the old fear. A fear of things changing; of his face looking at me in an unfamiliar way; of our world altering and growing cold about me.

There seemed no question why it should not always continue in this way, and no reason why our bodies or our minds should change or suddenly not fit.

Our life became a little cloister: and I never wanted to leave it. The idea of change haunted me.

I was insisting, always, like a child, the nothing must change; nothing must happen to destroy our life together.

And here is where I connect her fear of change with her favorite season, winter:

I was afraid of change. It seemed menacing. I realized the sadness and bleakness of the winter really suited my nature best. It made me feel more real; sadness now seemed more real than happiness; more permanent, and therefore easier to bear.

the seasons change and find me the same. Nothing touches me, nothing makes me laugh or weep. I have no real substance.

OMG SHE’S A FUCKING REVENANT

”You are so thin. Your limbs are slim as these winter branches.”

I have touched my roots, my beginnings, the things that have formed me.

This book is an anti-change pro-winter manifesto. Winter is the season of desolation, where nothing grows, and if there is one change she adjures above all others it’s the life presently taking root within her womb:

If I am a seed about to burst, if I am to flower, the old seed, my Self, must die. Some new thing will grow out of me; but I must perish. I cannot have it; I cannot allow it to happen. I must protect myself from this that would devour me.

My body continued to change according to its own will, nothing could shift the determined embryo within me … I cannot bear the thought of this thing growing within me, living off my blood … I feel nothing but doom, and a great fear if this shall finally come to pass.

The progress of her pregnancy is literally making her mentally ill. I want to link this horror imagery to child!Cathy’s musings on the decomposition of her father’s corpse:

I wondered if all the flesh had fallen off by this time. I imagined his bones growing into the wood of the coffin, and the trees growing into his skull, the roots twisting around his rotting limbs.

People who read this passage and think “this is a really tight horror aesthetic but what is it doing in the middle of my luscious love story” are missing the point. This is a horror story. But instead of framing the incest as the impure act that violates and threatens our accepted categories, we are invited to view the pregnancy as a gross & unnatural hijacking of Cathy’s body. Her body’s fecundity defeats and puzzles her. She actually tells us about her nightmare wedding before she tells us about her real wedding; in her nightmare she looks at her bridegroom and:

transfixed with horror because he is without the male member — all that resides in the space between his thighs is a burnt-out stub—like the hacked branch of a tree deadened and blacked by many winters.

So far we’ve had body horror associated with (1) her father (2) her husband (3) her unborn baby. Notice who’s not on this list? Notice who she always thinks of with tenderness? Notice who doesn’t ever evoke an iota of fear or horror in Cathy? That’s right! Her brother. The whole incestuous affair is really an own-goal on patriarchy’s part, because the same doctor who warns Cathy’s mother against Cathy’s “wild and unnatural attachment to her brother” goes on to say:

Little girls, Madam, are the scourge of the earth. They have no future, but to grow into that unhealthy state of womanhood, with its unclean festerings and grotesque swellings of the abdomen. I would that little girls could always stay the pure young things they are before the age of eight.

This is some next-level IT WAS EVE’S FAULT SHE ATE THE APPLE spin. Can you blame Cathy for taking this venerable authority figure at his word, and staying “pure” by staying a child, by warding off womanhood and childbearing altogether? goodforher.jpg

Real quick here are some lighthearted episodes from their childhood since it’s not all doom and gloom: Christopher marches next door to confront the Frenchman who is maybe sleeping with their mom and is definitely perving on Cathy. Christopher returns the Frenchman’s gift of silk stockings with a grand declaration of “My sister Catherine has no need for these.” That’s right shut him down Chris!!! Also: Cathy falls into a frozen pond and Christopher rescues her. Their negligent mother blames Christopher. Cathy is shaking with pneumonia and all she wants to do is “make the sad look leave my brother’s sweet face.” Christopher refuses to leave her side until she rallies from the fever. He is thirteen:

I think that Christopher and I half-died together in that terrible week, and afterward, when the terror had passed, we were never quite the children we had been before.

Congrats kids you have undertaken a symbolic journey to the underworld!!!! Good job.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

It wouldn’t be a real incest story without a third sibling, an odd-man-out who helps us triangulate our main pairing’s relationship. Edward is a sociopath and a bully. Parents playing favorites always wreaks havoc with children’s sense of self-worth, but I think in this case it’s 90% down to Edward just being a bad egg (fwiw their father, when he was alive, did favor Christopher). Edward is a peripheral figure for most of their childhood; he appears only to “bang on our door to tell us to be silent for our giggling kept him awake.” That’s right, our door—teenage Catherine and Christopher share not just a room but a bed (!). Edward resurfaces as an adult to beg for Catherine’s intercession with his wife. He married an heiress, and now he seems to have soured on her. He talks about her “malady” and her “hysterical nonsense.” She has “phantom confinements.” They are “phantom” because she is barren. Sir you are literally a Victorian dude named Edward who keeps his mad wife locked up in the attic, you can sit allllll the way down. A heavily pregnant Catherine rolls up to Edward’s house just in time to witness his wife’s suicide: ”I had to make sure there was nothing inside me,” explains the poor woman, lying in a pool of blood after cutting her abdomen open with a knife. This seems fine. This whole society seems fine, right? Catherine reflects: “Ill-health or madness was her only solution, married as she was to a man who so complacently felt himself her superior” and “We are sepulchered alive in this close world, and want more room.” If this applies to her sister-in-law’s tragic fate it applies with equal force to her own situation. Cathy may not be physically barren but her inner life is empty af.

I’m going to talk about the breakup now. The climax of this book is the last time Cathy and Chris have sex. Contrast the arc of many slow-burn stories where the climax is the first time the main pairing has sex. Cathy’s menses doesn’t even arrive until after the incestuous affair is over! And what precipitates the breakup? Well, their mother decides to take the family on a seaside vacation. This is the summer when everything changes (Cathy’s favorite season is winter, and she abhors change). As for what changes, exactly, it’s kind of unclear? Wasn’t like they got caught having beach sex (which they had a ton of). The forces of change are wholly internal. They’re growing up. They’re waking up to the existence of social taboos that will brand their love “unnatural” & worse. As readers we can see that Catherine and Christopher’s attachment is as natural as breathing, and it’s actually the Incest Is Icky crowd that’s drawing harmful artificial boundaries. What happens is there’s a local girl who has obvious designs on Chris. She’s a nonentity but the mere existence of someone outside of Catherine and Christopher, someone who views one of them as an object of sexual desire, sort of punctures the bubble they’ve hitherto been living in. They can’t pretend society doesn’t exist or that what they’re doing isn’t immoral by its lights:

”We have never felt bad before. It just happened and there was no harm in it. I see no harm in it now—I cannot feel suddenly that it is wrong … but even if it is, why does it signify? Nobody knows.” ”Yes, but why does nobody know? It must be because we have deliberately tried to hide it?”

Christopher is the one who unilaterally decides that incest is wrongdirtybad and it has to end. Christopher is the one who seeks out Rando Local Girl and fucks her just to prove how serious he is about ending it with Cathy, which imo was inflicting a pointlessly cruel injury for no reason?? Wtf Chris I thought you were one of the good ones. What I love about Cathy is the steadfastness of her conviction—she accepts Christopher’s decision but she is far from convinced by his reasoning, his deference to social norms. Here’s Cathy’s take: “it seems to me that to live in a way that is contrary to one’s own nature, to live in a way that is false, that is the evil. The discontent grows like a cancer.” Authenticity ought to count for something, no? But these kids and their beautiful love are ultimately outmatched by, and broken by, the weight of social mores:

I could not bear to think of anything changing. I wanted it to stay the same dear way it had always been; ever since I could remember … but the spell was broken; we could not pretend any more. We had to stop being children. “Please. Once more.”

And that’s the breakup scene. It’s devastating. Cathy keeps staring at this one beauty mark on Christopher’s familiar well-loved face and she’s crying and I’m crying too. Recall that they’re still sharing a room/a bed up to this point? “The first night alone was the worst,” says Cathy. Imagine losing the person who is your whole world….overnight. Oof. There’s a time-jump of a few years, and Chris announces he’s off to—I think South Africa? I think this is around the time of the Boer War? I didn’t make any detailed notes and I’ll be damned if I’m going to fish for my copy of the book just to confirm what we already know, that it’s the 1800’s and the sun never set on the British Empire:

”I must get away from here and see something different; begin again…I cannot imagine a day without your face, or your sweet companionship. I do love you. But this must be for the best.”

Christopher goes off to doing colonial-settler stuff, initially. Here’s his first letter home:

I want you to be happy and grow up straight without me.

As opposed to growing up crooked, or growing up gay?? Here are subsequent letters where he seems to have done a complete 180:

thought it would be simpler to be away from you, from the constant temptation. It is not. My nightmares terrify me, they are eating my brain. I don’t know how long this can last.

AND THEN he writes he’ll be coming home for Christmas! I must’ve missed the memo where this story turns into a straight-up Folgers fic but that’s about where we are. It’s literally Folgercest. He goes to Africa explicitly to get away from her. Time and distance cannot suppress their feelings. He comes home to find her still waiting for him:

”Why have you clung to me, or rather the memory of me. For surely the memory is better than this twisted, pathetic creature before you?” “I have found no one better,” I said simply.

Asdfdfkdfjd this reunion scene is heartbreaking bc Christopher and Catherine are barely five minutes in each other’s company before Edward intrudes, claims to have found them in a compromising position, claims to have suspected all along about the incest, almost comes to blows with Christopher, tells him to get out. And Chris does. Cathy doesn’t even get to say goodbye. Edward’s presence is so clearly a case of entrapment—he was expecting Chris to come to her, he was expecting to catch them doing something “inappropriate” even though it sounds like they were only embracing—that there is no doubt in my mind Edward’s intent was to hurt Cathy and Chris, rather than to protect Cathy’s reputation or whatever bullshit he was spouting. We have seen from Edward’s abuse of his wife that he is no kind of moral authority. He does, however, succeed in “making me feel unclean, and dirt was attaching itself to me with every foul word he said.” In this scene Edward is handy synecdoche for patriarchy, which berates Cathy with accusations of sinfulness while actively stifling her every creative impulse and intellectual endeavor. If this book has a villain (and I don’t think it does; it’s not that kind of book) Edward is it. I find that edifying. It’s not Cathy’s husband who’s the primary antagonist standing in the way of her self-actualization—the husband is no more than an empty suit—it’s her other brother. One brother saves her and the other damns her.

After Edward runs Chris off and Chris goes back to Africa there are a few more letters, including this one: “that nothing has changed in my heart. That I love you with the passion of our youth, with the strength of all these long, long years.” Thank you for the affirmation Chris! I needed it even if Cathy didn’t. But the war is ramping up and Chris is headed into a combat zone and the odds of his survival do not look good. Cathy is already preparing to grieve him. She’s also preparing to go into labor any day now. These two threads, her brother’s impending death and her child’s impending birth, merge in the final pages of the book where Cathy is just clearly SO OVER IT:

I have nothing to fight, yet the waiting is most terrible … I have nothing to do but wait. I have nothing to leave.

It is hard to go on. How can I escape this life, this round of boredom and other births? O, that I could be ten and happy!

That’s the end but come on. Raise your hand if you don’t think this girl will 100% yeet herself into the sea and they’ll rule it “postpartum depression”? Anybody? No?

#book review #carolyn slaughter

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everythinghurtsand-imdying · 5 years

Text

Prompt Request!

Prompt- Starker Hurt/Comfort- Peter is being bullied at school and is suicidal. Teacher Tony knows something is wrong and confronts him and Peter breaks down.. lots of hugs/kisses and Tony praising Peter and letting him know how much he cares! Please!!

- From the lovely @blackwater101

- CW: Bullying, blood, angst, underage?¿¿

~~~

The first time Tony notices a shift in Peter's mood, he thinks little of it. He had only known the kid for a few weeks - and while being completely enamoured by him - understood that kids his age went through phases. It was probably just the hormones kicking in and the stress of school. Peter was definitely his favourite, he tried not to have any but he was just so irresistible, working so hard when his other classmates didn't give two shits. He seemed genuinely interested in physics and Tony couldn't help but warm up to him, especially when the kid would stay after class to ask for extra reading. He was smart and nerdy, didn't have many friends; of course he was going to have a few down days.

But those down days turned to weeks, into months and Peter stopped staying after class to talk to Tony. Was he hurt? Yes but the kid probably had better things to do than stick around and talk to an old man about Coloumb's Law.

Then Peter Parker started showing up late for class. Now that was something Tony hadn't been expecting, he had pinched himself the first time it had happened just to be sure. But no, the kid walked in with his hair and clothes a little ruffled. He must have been running to class, Tony thought and left him be. But then it became something of a regular occurrence and any time the teacher tried to bring it up, the younger would hang his head in shame and mumble an apology. He had promised Peter several times that he could speak to him about anything and the blatant rejection hurt, but what could he do? He wasn't going to force it out of the kid. All he could do was wait and keep an eye on him.

Months had past and Tony was about ready to give up, accepting his favourite student's new fate as one of those edgy emo kids that didn't like to talk to adults. He was halfway through a class on the laws of heat transference (boring, I know) and Peter hadn't shown up at all. His seat looked oddly empty at the front, the man kept glancing to it as though the kid would suddenly appear out of thin air.

End of the class came and went and Tony was left to mull in silence in his classroom. Well, however silent it could be considering his room was facing out into the courtyard and the students were currently enjoying their lunch break on a hot sunny Wednesday. The knock at the door was barely acknowledged, Tony much to deep in his own thoughts to really process his environment. But then the familiar creak of the door filled the space and the teacher looked up from his chair behind the desk. Had a student left their bag or was it another teacher here to aimlessly flirt with him?

Neither. Instead, a very pale and small form stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the handle so hard it looked like it hurt. Tony hadn't even realised who it was until a familiar voice croaked out, "Mr. Stark?" Peter stood in the door way, his shoes dirty, parts of his trousers ripped and his shirt a complete mess of dirt and... Was that blood? Wide eyes traced upward to find a constant trickle escaping from Peter's nose, his lip also bust and what looked to be the beginnings of a terrible black eye blooming on his left cheek.

Tony is up and moving before he can realise what his body is doing. "What happened?" He breathed out, standing merely inches away from the kid. Shit, up close you could see more little scratches and bruises and it made Tony feel something cold and dark he hadn't felt in a long time.

"It's, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. I just wanted to apologise for not coming to class." God, even his voice was trembling, the same way his knees and bottom lip were. If the tears welling in his eyes were anything to go by, it didn't seem to be nothing. Narrowed eyes and a fierce look had Peter letting out a little squeak, jumping back and shaking his head. "I just-just tripped and fell." He tried lamely, knowing very well that it wasn't going to be enough.

"Come here, Peter." Tony used the same tone one might use on a frightened deer frozen in the road. He was afraid that the kid would turn around and hightail it out before he could get anymore information from him. Fortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, Peter listened to him and shuffled forward very slowly until they were only inches away. The older man carefully knelt down, ignoring the way his knees clicked in favour of carefully holding Peter's chin between two fingers. He was close enough to feel the others unsteady breath against his skin and God, what he wouldn't give to stroke a hand down that sore looking cheek. But he would be professional, he wanted Peter to be able to trust him.

"I'll ask you again, Peter. What happened?" He said, this time his voice was a little strained with a warning tone. As much as he wanted to coddle the boy, he was also desperate for the truth. Desperate to hopefully find that none of the scenarios floating around his head were actually true. But rather than a response, Peter just let out the most broken noise Tony had ever heard and wrapped his arms around the man's neck, throwing himself against the broad chest there.

Tony was shocked, having not expected such an outburst. Peter nuzzled his way into the man's neck, letting out all his emotions in violent, choking sobs and all Tony could do was replay that horrible sad noise in his mind. He never wanted to hear anything as broken as that again.

Peter was warm against him and that helped to bring him back to reality, enough so that he wrapped his arms around the kid's shoulders and held him close. Words were pouring from his mouth before he could even recognise what he was saying, "It's okay, Peter. I'm here, no one's going to hurt you. I've got you, you're safe with me." He said anything that came to mind, hoping it would help calm the kid as he let a hand carefully rub soothing circles into his back.

They stayed like that for a while, holding each other close in the confines of the classroom. Tony wasn't sure when he had started pressing feather-light kisses to Peter's temple, but it seemed to be the most effective method of calming him down, so he continued. His knees ached from how they were bending and just when he thought about pulling away, Peter did it before him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, it's not important. I promise I won't be late to class again." Even now, even after the terrified outburst and the tear tracks staining his pretty cheeks, the student tried to play it off as nothing. And that hurt.

"Tell me, Pete. You're hurt, that's not nothing to me." The same dominant but soft tone returned and it had the kid biting his already sore lip, as though he was considering his options. Tony took this moment to shuffle and sit on the floor, knees crossed and staring intently at Peter. This wasn't something he could worm his way out of with puppy-dog eyes.

"It's just Flash and his friends..." The never-ending silence was broken by Peter's voice, barely even there and unsure. "I think Flash has trouble at home and I guess he gets mad and needs to take it out on someone."

Tony's jaw clenched, hands flexing by his side with the urge to wrap his hands around Flash Thompson's neck. Yeah, he knew the kid. He was smart, pretty similar to Peter but a pain in the ass. He reminded the teacher of himself when he was younger - but the Stark didn't have to work for the top grades, unlike Thompson, he thought smugly. "Peter, that's no excuse for him to hurt you. You might have issues at home but I don't see you swinging punches."

That pulled a sigh from the kid's lips and he looked down at his teacher on the floor, tugging at the sleeve end of his shirt. "I know, but... He gets mad at me too, for- for getting better grades than him. He says that I don't deserve them, that it's just luck." He tore his gaze away now, biting down on his bottom lip once again as it began to tremble. "Maybe he's right..."

Should Tony have done what he did next? Absolutely not. Would he have stopped the second Peter asked him to? Absolutely yes. He couldn't help himself, he was just so full of so many conflicting emotions at hearing Peter's confession.

"Awh, baby." Tony sighed softly and grabbed Peter's hand, pulling him down onto his lap.

He immediately wrapped his arms around the kid, one hand coming up to bury deep in his hair. He didn't even think about what he was doing - his body had been on autopilot - until the kid beneath him froze up.

Shit, shit, shit fuck, shit. He'd just ruined any trust Peter had with him, now he was never going to be able to talk about his problems again an-.

Peter letting out another quiet sob and buried his face into Tony's chest, shaking hands coming up to wrap around his neck again. The kid squirmed in his lap, pushing himself impossibly closer to the other like he wanted to be absorbed in his chest. Surely, just surely, the student could hear how hard and fast his teacher's heart thumped against his ribcage. But Peter made no effort to comment, only sniffling and letting out little gasps for air as he clung to his mentor.

"They're wrong, Pete. You're smart and incredible, you're so independent and you work so hard." Tony's mouth finally began to work again, and it began to babble all sorts of comforting words and encouragements. Anything he could think about came out. Coos of praise and reminding Peter of just how damn amazing he was. Smart, talented, amazing, beautiful, clever, witty and other variations of the same adjectives were used a lot as the man stroked his hair.

"Pete, you're brilliant, you know that?" Tony tried, pulling Peter away from his chest so he could look him in the eyes. Even now, with red puffy eyes, a bleeding nose and bruises for days, he looked beautiful. "You're the smartest kid I know, and you're gonna be so successful that you can pay someone to wipe your ass."

Peter choked out a giggle, heat flushing across his already red face as he listened to his teacher's words. "I don't know if I want that, Mr. Stark." He replied, unable to keep the shy grin off his face. It grew when he heard the most wonderful sound - Tony laughing slightly. He was addicted already.

"You say that now, princess. But I bet when you're too rich to remember my name, you'll be too busy to wipe your butt." Tony teased, glad the mood was lightening a little. He adjusted Peter on his lap so the kid was sat sideways, legs hanging off his own as oppose to the almost straddling position they had earlier.

"I'll never forget you, Mr. Stark." Peter promised, eyes wide with something Tony couldn't comprehend. His heart ached, one small hand coming to rest over the larger one pressed to the to floor. "Never, Mr. Stark."

Tony could have died happy. He couldn't remove his smile, even as he pressed a final kiss to Peter's forehead. "C'mon, kid, let's get that nose cleaned up."

#starker #tony stark #peter parker #prompt request #angst and fluff #lots of fluff rly

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lavender-lotion · 5 years

Text

To Me, You Are (What I've Always Wanted)

Allison is panting, her breath being stolen by Stiles’ lips, her heartbeat matching the erratic beat that his fingers are tapping out on her thighs where they’re stretched over his. Her knees are sinking into the couch, forcing their bodies together, not allowing any space between them, and it causes panic to ebb up.

This is the first time they’ve done this. It’s not the first time they’ve made out—there have been a few instances in the Jeep and against bedroom doors and hidden away between classes—but Allison has never before sat in Stiles’ lap. When she crawled onto it tonight, she hadn’t realized it would put their crotches so close together. She blames the wide span of Stiles’ fingers and how his hands feel against her hips for not thinking of what their position would mean.

Until now, she’s been careful to keep their hips from touching too much. Stiles has never seemed to mind—hell, he hasn’t done anything to make her feel rushed in any way—and he has always backed off when she became uncomfortable. Allison had clearly been distracted when she swung a leg over both of Stiles’, sitting on his lap without breaking their kiss and tangling her fingers in his hair.

Now, she pulls off, her own arousal making her feel like she’s going to cry as guilt eats her up and makes her eyes water. She takes a deep, steadying breath and rests their foreheads together, keeping her eyes closed so she doesn’t have to see him.

“You—you know I haven’t had surgery, right?” Allison tells him, fear racing up her belly as guilt makes her throat too tight to swallow. She should have told him sooner, should have told him as soon as he invited her over and asked her to stay the night.

Stiles blinks up at her, his eyes unfocused, hazy and glassy, his own breath coming in quick, short bursts. A little bead of pride climbs up her stomach at having put that look there, though she’s too worried to focus on it.

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p’, and then he’s leaning back up even as Allison tries to scramble away, thoughts racing faster than her heartbeat, and thinking you should have told him, why didn’t you, so stupid he’s never going to want you, that’s so unfair, you led him on and now he’s going to ask you to leave, you should have known—“Where’re you going?” Stiles asks, his brows pulling down in confusion. His hold on her thighs tightens, keeping her in his lap and not letting her move away.

“I—” the words get trapped up in her throat, terror forcing her teeth to clank together as her mouth shuts. She doesn’t know what to say, what to do.

“Hey, Ally,” his words are whisper soft and so, so gentle that a sob bubbles up from her chest. His hands, when they tuck her hair behind her ears and trace over her cheeks, are gentler. “It’s okay. It’s totally, 100%, a-okay.”

“But I, I didn’t tell you—”

“I mean...I guess I sort of assumed? Just because, like, you’re still seventeen and I’m not even sure they would do that yet,” Stiles explains, his hands rubbing soothingly up and down her thighs. She’s still on his lap, but they aren’t pressed up together like they were.

“You aren’t upset?”

“Babe, my hot as hell girlfriend is sitting in my lap. Why would I be upset about anything right now?”

Allison blushes. Her cheeks go warm even as a pleased little smile slips onto her lips. When she leans back down, Stiles meets her excitedly, and after a moment of languid kissing she shuffles forward, rollings her hips so that they’re completely pressed together, the friction making them both gasp.

***

“Hey! Hey, Allison, wait up!” Stiles’ voice echoed around the parking lot, and Allison turned back in time to catch him running up to her. His face was red, bright and splotchy in a way that made her heart flutter, and his eyes were wide. “I, uhm, was wondering if, shit if...uh, if I could walk you to your car?”

Allison looked down the parking lot to where her car was parked only four spots away, then back to Stiles’ smile—boyishly hopeful and very pretty. She agreed with a nod of her head, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide her own, answering grin.

They’d only walked a few, short steps before Stiles let out a whistling breath through his teeth.

“So...I had a lot of fun tonight,” Stiles told her, his words far more serious than they needed to be.

“I did too,” she said, her own cheeks getting warm. It wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t even close to a lie, actually. Allison had an amazing time, even if the night hadn’t been anything like she’d been expecting.

Hell, Allison hadn’t even wanted to go bowling tonight, not after...not after the text messages from Scott had stopped, her own turning green as soon as she sent them. She’d had boys block her number before, so she knew what it looked like when it happened.

The last thing she had wanted to do was go out, but Lydia had shown up at her front door and had somehow gotten past her hovering father and into her room. She had taken one look at her, studying the mascara-tracked cheeks and the puffy eyes, and opened her arms without even knowing what was wrong.

Allison blubbered out an explanation into Lydia’s shoulder and the girl had done nothing more than hold her even tighter. When she finally pulled away, she had dabbed Allison’s wet cheeks and told her, no room in her tone to argue, that they were going out and they were going to have fun.

Allison had had no idea what to expect when they pulled up in Jackson’s Porsche, but Stiles’ blue Jeep hadn’t been it. His posture had been stiff and his voice had been hesitant when he asked if they still wanted his company since Scott couldn’t make it. Lydia had shrugged, Jackson had scoffed, and Allison ---had offered him a small smile.

Now, hours later, Allison could honestly say she had an amazing time, even if the sting of Scott’s rejection was still strong. She focused back on Stiles, and she noticed that he was rubbing his hands together as he bounced on the balls of his feet, mumbling under his breath as he seemed to work himself up. Allison remained silent as she tried not to let dread pool up in her stomach.

“Uhm...so Scott kinda told me what you told him? And...fuck, I’m really sorry, Ally, but I think he may have told other people too? I told him not to, I swear, and if he spread it around, I’m totally going to kick his ass, really—”

“You don’t have to do that,” she jumped in, because he didn’t. She...she didn’t blame Scott, not really. It hurt, it always hurts, but she didn’t blame him (though fuck him for blocking her, that dick).

“Right. Well. Uhm, I wanted to ask if you, if maybe...and I had wanted to at first, too, really, but then Scott had swooped in and you guys were talking all the time, and you’re way outta my league, anyway, so why would I even try, b-but I—” Allison giggled as Stiles tripped over his words, and his already flushed face darkened. “Ohmygod, could you please stop being so freaking adorable? I’m trying to ask you out!”

Allison laughed outright, giddy, her smile pulling at her cheeks until they hurt. She nodded and made a little go-on gesture. “So. Yeah. Date. With me? Would want to go out? Sometime? With me. On a date. In a date-like capacity?”

Allison laughed again, her heart feeling so full it felt like her chest was going to split open, and she stepped forward, Stiles’ voice dying out as soon as she was in his space. He was pleasantly taller than her, tall enough that she had to look up at him to meet his eyes, and his eyes looked gold in the parking lot lighting.

“Yes, Stiles, we can go on a second date, but only if you end this one with a kiss,” she had dared to say, completely breathless, and Stiles’ eyes had gone wide, his mouth dropping open.

There had been a moment, one long, terrifying moment, when Stiles had done nothing, but then he had stepped forward and his lips had been so sweet against hers that nothing else had mattered.

***

Allison rolls her hips down again, her dick dragging against Stiles’ stomach as her ass rolls against the hard line of his cock. It feels so good, so much better than she could have ever thought, and it’s all heightened by having Stiles’ tongue in her mouth. She can hardly believe that this is happening, that Stiles wants this to happen.

He is so hard under her, and he’s making the same punched-out moans that she is, only an octave or so deeper and sounding sexier than any porn Allison has ever watched. She keeps licking into his mouth, their tongues lazily swiping against one another. Tension is building in her belly, and her entire body is overly warm, only spurred on by Stiles’ own body heat.

“Do you—do you wanna go upstairs?” Stiles pulls away to ask, dragging her bottom lip out with his teeth, nibbling on the flesh before letting go. Allison whines and nods, not able to find her voice.

When she stands, her knees are shaky. She almost falls, but then Stiles is there, big hands holding her hips and pulling their bodies flush, once again dragging their hips together. “Fuck,” he swears, panting open-mouthed against her forehead. “Jesus, this feels so fucking good.”

Allison makes a little high-pitched noise of agreement. She’s a little surprised that she’s still hard (things haven’t worked quite like they’re supposed to since she started hormones) but she is not complaining. She’s never been this aroused in her life, that she can be sure of, and Stiles is warm and solid under her hands.

“Upstairs?” she asks, because as good as this is she wants, needs, more.

Stiles nods against her mouth, hands sliding around to hold in her a hug for a long minute. It’s a chance for them to breathe, and Allison gladly takes the moment he’s offering. She calms down, a little, her arousal turning into a low burning heat instead of the forest fire that it had been, and she can breathe, taking breaths that fill her chest nicely.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, pulling back. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he says, “I, uh, almost came.”

She groans again, pulling back so she can press in for another heated kiss. The knowledge goes straight to her dick and makes it twitch, and she moans loudly when a spurt of precome leaks out of her. “Upstairs,” she begs, pulling Stiles with her as she walks backwards, “Upstairs, Stiles, c’mon.”

He lets her, trailing after her dutifully when she turns around. Allison skips up the steps, laughing loudly when Stiles grabs a handful of her ass. His hand is so big that a thousand thoughts rush into her head at once, leaving her so dizzy with arousal that she has to stop. Stiles climbs onto the step with her, feet on either side of hers, and he presses so tightly against her back that it feels like he’s trying to force them into one.

He bites into her shoulder, so suddenly that she cries out, and his hands wrap around her to hold her in place while he worries the spot with his teeth, sucking on the skin. His pressure falters, and she knows this is a first for them both. That this is all a first for them both.

Finally, he pulls off, mumbling a “fuck yeah” under his breath that makes her laugh. She knows that she must have a bruise, and the knowledge only turns her on more, pushing her to finally continue up the stairs. As soon as Stiles steps into his bedroom after her, she backs him against the door, closing it by pressing him into it.

They kiss, more, hips pressed together in a way that’s becoming mind-numbingly familiar, but is still so good.

“Can I undress you?” he asks seriously, and the question sounds like more than it is.

She nods all the same, letting Stiles crowd close and kiss her sweetly. His fingers are shaking as they toy with the hem of her shirt, and Allison runs a hand down his buzzed scalp in hopes of calming him. His fingers don’t stop shaking, but he does pull her shirt over her head. Stiles’ sharp intake of breath is flattering, and she doesn’t feel insecure—at least not yet.

Her bralette is lacy and pink, something she had bought on a whim, and Stiles’ fingers trace the edges of the lace gently. Her breasts aren’t big, but they’re big considering she used to have nothing there, and Stiles’ hands cup them nicely. Slowly, he slips the fabric off, leaving her chest bare to his hungry eyes.

When his mouth closes over her nipple, she gasps, arching back into his mouth. Her hands come up to grab onto his head, wondering when he even moved to begin with. She has enough mind to grab his shirt, rucking it over his head and then getting lost in staring. Stiles’ stomach is soft, a line of dark hair trailing out of his jeans. The hard line of his dick is very obvious now, and her mouth waters with want.

Her fingers fumble on his belt buckle.

“Is this okay?” he asks, breathless, and Allison nods before taking off both of their pants.

***

Because their first date had been on a Friday, Allison hadn’t had to deal with anything for an entire weekend. The next morning Stiles had shown up with a small, cheap looking bouquet of flowers that he had apologized for even as Allison had trimmed the stems and put them in a vase. Her dad had looked at them with a raised brow but a happy frown, and he had said nothing more than “be safe” when they left the house.

Stiles had taken her to his favourite arcade, and then a diner for lunch, and then back to his house where they watched a movie on the couch, holding hands the entire time. It had been one of the best days of Allison’s life, and she smiled during the entire adventure. Stiles walked to her front door after driving her home, and he had slowly, so slowly, backed her up against the side of her house and kissed her softly, and then harder, exploring her mouth.

She had only pulled away because she had gotten hard, and she had thanked everything holy that her shirt was long enough to cover her crotch as she pulled back with a few more soft, sweet kisses pressed against her lips.

They had texted until it was no longer Saturday and instead early Sunday, before Allison passed out. She had woken up to half a dozen sweet goodnight texts that she screenshotted, if only to prove to herself that she had really received them. An hour or so later, Stiles had called her, in answer to the good morning text she sent, and they talked for three hours until Chris called her down for dinner. Once Allison was finished eating she was back on her phone, and they texted for another few hours before she forced herself to go to sleep.

She had woken up to more cute good morning texts, rolling onto her stomach and hiding her face in her pillows as she squealed stupidly. She got dressed in a haze, picking out clothes that she knew looked good, just so she could see how Stiles would look at her. Allison thought of nothing but Stiles on the drive to school, knowing that she was being ridiculous but not at all caring.

It wasn’t until Allison walked through the front doors that everything that happened on Friday came back to her. Stiles words echoed in her mind, but I think he may have told other people too running over and over in her head as people stared, their eyes following her as she walked down the hall.

Stiles was already waiting at her locker, and she only had a moment of hesitation until she walked into the hug he offered her. She felt ridiculous when she started to cry, silently, but she couldn't help it. It was all too familiar, the hushed whispering and the mean stares. She couldn't handle an environment like her old school, not after finally getting out.

“Are you okay?” he asked into her hair, and Allison shook her head even as her eyes burned.

He hugged her tighter, rubbing her back, and he turned them so she was pressed into the lockers and he was shielding her from the hall. Allison tangled her fingers into Stiles’ shirt, not wanting to let go. They stood like that, quietly, as the hall whispered around them and Allison tried to ignore the cruel sound of gossip.

“Stilinski!” Jackson called, and Allison pulled back just enough that she could see Jackson storm down the hall. He stopped in front of them, his face angry. “Stilinski, why the fuck would McCall do that?” Jackson growled, and Allison felt a surge of affection for the jock when she realized he was angry on her behalf.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, pulling back a little more but keeping Allison tucked close with an arm around her waist. It made Allison feel a little better, even though her frown deepened at the tone in Stiles’ voice.

“What the fuck do you mean what do I mean? He fucking told like, everyone dude!”

Allison had watched, wide-eyed, as Stiles’ face went red and his eyes went angry in a way that Allison had never before seen. Knowing that the anger wasn’t directed at her was the only thing that kept her from being afraid, and she held her breath when Stiles turned to her. His eyes softened, just a little, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“If you’d excuse me, m’lady, I’ve got a dick bag to talk to.”

Stiles didn’t wait for either of them to answer. He untangled himself from Allison, carefully, before he stalked off, his shoulders squared and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. Allison had no idea what was about to happen, and fear bubbled up in her stomach. She turned to Jackson to find the jock watching her, a soft look on her face that she hadn’t seen before.

“Should we go after him?” Allison asked, her eyes still wide as she stared after his retreating back.

Jackson sighed, loudly, but said, “Probably. Last time something like this happened...Stiles was been a freshman and the other guy a senior. It—it didn’t end well, for the senior.” and followed Allison when she took off after Stiles.

When she rounded the corner that Stiles had disappeared around, she saw Scott backed up against his locker, hands held up in front of him. Stiles was talking to him quietly, his face twisted into something angry and unpleasant. They edged closer, ignoring the growing crowd of students and walking forward until Allison could hear what they were saying.

“Scott, bro, what the fuck?” Stiles’ voice raised into a question. His hands shook at his sides.

“Stiles, huh—”

“What the fuck did you do? How the hell could you tell people what Allison told you? Fuck Scott, I even told you not to!”

“Dude, it’s not my fault he’s a—

“Don’t you dare call my girlfriend a guy, you fucking dick,” Stiles said, his voice dropping in volume but sounding no less threatening. A hand tangled with her own and she turned to find Lydia there, offering her support.

“Y-your girlfriend? Dude, that’s a dude, you know that ri—” Scott didn’t get to finish, because suddenly Stiles’ first had hit his face, knuckles connecting with his jaw and sending Scott’s head flying to the side. His whole body followed, pushed back into the lockers with the force of Stiles’ right hook.

“Don’t you dare call my girlfriend a guy, you fucking dick,” he repeated, his tone final.

Then he was in front of her, bloodied knuckles right in front of her eyes as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Ally. Do you want me to take you home?”

She nodded, unable to find her voice. Allison let Stiles twine their fingers together, following him out into the parking lot. She didn’t say anything, but when they got to the Jeep she pulled Stiles close and held him so tightly it almost hurt, for so long that by the time she pulled away her arms were numb.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling silly for crying but not being able to stop. Stiles shrugged, so she kissed him and kissed him.

***

She has to bite down a wave of insecurity, feeling open and vulnerable and exposed, when she is suddenly bare. Her dick is hairless and very hard, flushed red at the tip and sticking straight up, just under her belly button. She focuses on looking at him: his dick is longer and thicker than hers, not that she minds, and is surrounded by a patch of dark, curly hairs. The head is wet with precome, more than Allison has ever produced, and he’s circumcised.

She likes it.

“Oh, you’re not cut,” Stiles says, his brows furrowing together. “That is so fucking hot.”

Allison’s mind screeches to a halt, and she asks, “What?”

“Is it weird to say your penis is pretty? I don’t mean it anyway at all, I swear, it just is. Like, look at it?” Stiles rambles, hands making aborted motions before she finally steps closer. Her cock bobs, hitting the crease of Stiles’ hip, and she groans when her head drags along Stiles’ skin. “Fuck, oh my god.”

Stiles pushes her onto the bed, and she laughs, bouncing, before her voice cuts off into a dirty moan when Stiles drops to his knees. He hits the carpet hard enough that she winces, but he doesn't seem phased at all. She doesn’t feel great, all of her insecurities bubbling together in her stomach, but Stiles is staring at her with eyes darker than she has ever seen, his mouth dropped open.

“I’ve never sucked a dick before, but I’ve also never eaten anyone out, and sucking dick kind of seems easier? Since, like, I have one too, ya know?” he says, and while it might be the obvious continuation of him dropping to her knees, she still feels like she’s being left behind.

“Wha—”

“Do you have any idea how much I want to go down on you? It’s been like, my top jerk-off material since we went bowling,” Stiles tells her with a grin that makes her throb. When he sees it happen, his grin gets wider.

“But—”

“The mechanics are gonna be a bit different, yeah, but I still wanna make you come on my tongue. Or, like in my mouth? What’s the equivalent for a penis?”

Allison moans, picturing exactly that—Stiles mouth wrapped around her dick, his lips flushed and swollen as he swallows her down. She groans again, rolling her hips forward into nothing. Stiles’ hands travel up her thighs, pushing her legs apart so he can shuffle closer. Her calves press against his torso, and he doesn’t stop until he’s right there in between her legs.

She leans down to kiss him, unable to stop herself, and gets lost in the kiss. Eventually, though, Stiles pulls off with an impatient sounding noise

“So can I blow you?” he asks, but then he goes silent as his eyes widen. “Oh my god, do you want me to say eat you out? Would that be better?”

“No,” Allison gasps, rolling her hips upwards again, just the thought of him doing that making her ass clench around nothing. “No, only say eat me out if you’re eating me out.”

“Holy fuck I can do that? You’ll let me do that?” Stiles asks, sounding for all intentions like an overeager puppy, or a kid on Christmas. Allison laughs, breathless, when Stiles wraps a hand around her length.

When he closes his mouth around the head, Allison is pretty sure she dies, a little. The wet heat of his mouth feels better than anything she has ever felt in her entire life, and she makes a choked, gurgling sort of noise that she would be embarrassed by if her entire world wasn’t Stiles’ mouth on her dick.

She has no idea if he’s doing good—really, he probably isn’t—but it feels so good she doesn’t care. His teeth scrape, occasionally, but she softly reminds him to cover them every time it happens. He starts going faster, his hand pumping the base of her dick as he bobs up and down along the top half, flicking out his tongue and digging under her foreskin in a way that has Allison shivering, thighs shaking as pressure builds and builds.

She comes embarrassingly quickly, not able to do anything more than whine in the back of her throat before she’s coming down Stiles’ throat without warning. Allison watches with wide eyes as a trickle of her come slips past his lips and dribbles down onto his chin, and a moment later she’s sliding off the floor to lick into his mouth.

He hasn’t swallowed, not completely, so her own come floods her mouth. She moans, scrambling back into his lap as she kisses him, their tongues swiping together messily. Another bead of come spurts from her dick, still hard and aching, but her entire body feels so good that she isn’t even sure what’s going on. She rolls her hips into the crease of his thigh, feeling his own dick press against her stomach.

She hardly touches his dick before he’s coming, shooting warm over her stomach and her hand, soaking her thighs as he comes and comes and comes. The thought makes her groan, and she runs a hand through the mess, rubbing his come into her skin and then into his. Their kiss devolves into nothing more than sharing of air, both of them fucked out as they breathe through their afterglow.

After a while, he pulls back. He doesn’t say anything at first, staring at her with so much affection it makes her eyes sting. It’s almost too much, but she doesn’t look away. Rather, she stares back, knowing her eyes show much the same.

“Holy fucking shit you’re the hottest thing to ever exist,” Stiles says reverently, his eyes shining seriously. “I am the luckiest guy in the entire world, what even.”

Allison laughs, leaning forward for another kiss, and she can’t help but feel like she might be the luckiest girl, too.

***

Read on AO3 here!

#lavenderlotion #stallison #stiles stilinski #allison argent #teen wolf #my writing #trans female character #mtf #trans #trans character #smut #fanfiction #chris argent #jackson whittemore #lydia martin #bad friend scott mccall #scott mccall is a bad friend

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