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wonlouvre · 3 years

Text

more for forever | k. mg.

pairing: editor-in-chief mingyu x female reader genre: fluff, a little bit of angst, cliché (in the sense that mingyu is rich and likes to spoil his girlfriend) warnings: mentions of insecurity, food word count: 2.8k

💌: this is just pure indulgence and i really hope you all like this! please wait for wonwoo because i have something in store for him too ;) again, this is cliché please forgive me. please tell me what you think about it hehe i love reading your comments, feedbacks and tags! also a big thank you to @minkwans for sharing their ideas and giving this oneshot life! <3

The name Kim Mingyu didn’t ring a bell before. Not until his executive assistant reached out to you because apparently, the photographer slash writer read one of your blog posts and wanted you to take part for their sixth year anniversary issue. You know the famous magazine and publishing company, which is why you thought it was a scam or a ploy to steal your money. It’s a stupid assumption but you can’t blame your mind imagining the worse because you are not a fashion blogger at all. Why would a fashion magazine want you to write an article for them?

Sure, you regularly write and post blog entries on your website. But you write about your dog, your recently bought tea coaster and sometimes your skincare routine. Okay, maybe your occasional outfit of the day as well but nothing in detail. Again, why do they want you to write for them?

Kim Mingyu answered your questions and uncertainties when he personally emailed his contact details to you. You didn’t have to bite, but it didn’t hurt to confirm at the same time. You dialed the number and he indeed proved you wrong. He invited you for a meeting at his office and you accepted.

Your visits to high-rise buildings, much more to the luxurious office of an executive, is rare to never. You were jaw slacked when your eyes took in the crisp architecture. The design, the furniture, the color, the everything was beyond what you could have imagined a publishing company’s headquarters could be.

The meeting was nothing but short of an interview. He asked about your blog (which does not even have its own domain by the way), he asked what else you write about, he asked about your desk job (which doesn’t pay much but enough for you to get by), he asked if you have any background about fashion and one last question about your dog, Max, before talking about his proposal.

To be honest, Mingyu’s offer was tempting. For one article, the commission would be enough for you to move out of your current apartment and move to a brand new and fully-furnished one. But you remained true to yourself and without thinking twice, you declined.

You can tell that the editor-in-chief and his assistant, who stood beside him all throughout, was surprised by the looks on their faces. But Mingyu respected your decision and didn’t pursue any further. You took your stand from the chair and sincerely thanked him for the time and opportunity. You thought that would be it but when he followed suit with your actions and reached his hand out, it was your turn to be surprised.

You didn’t hesitate to mirror him and shake his hand, firmly. After that, you’d figure that it’s the end and that you’ll probably get to see a glimpse of him only through your television or phone. But Mingyu proved you wrong once again when he sent an unexpected email three days later asking why.

What might be the reason why you didn’t accept his offer?

You believed he deserved an explanation of your personal reasons so you disclosed them. And just like that the conversation on that email thread naturally progressed and eventually deepened. The professional emails became casual text messages, the text messages became phone calls, and the phone calls became actual face to face dates at late hours of the evening because he usually clocks out at 9 o’clock.

The rest, as they say, was in the hands of history.

Your first date with Mingyu was particularly odd. It was at a traditional Korean restaurant owned by one of his friends who introduced himself as Angel even though his real name is Jeonghan. You didn’t question him or anyone else why because that’s none of your business. But back to the date. It was odd because you have never been to a restaurant that’s completely empty and dead silent before (aside of course, from the typical music played in the background). You asked Mingyu if such an occurrence is normal and he just plainly answered that he rented the whole place all to yourselves. You have always known he’s rich. However, you didn’t believe that booking the whole restaurant was necessary.

Nonetheless, that first date, in some way, was special for you because there were no distractions. You enjoyed his company and you can tell he enjoyed yours too because he’s quick to mention a second date and it didn’t take a heartbeat for you to say yes.

But, by far, Mingyu inviting you to the behind the scenes of the making of the sixth anniversary issue that you turned down writing for is one of the most memorable dates the two of you had. It was out of the blue and you two were having difficulty in syncing your schedules. He was beginning to get busier and busier as the anniversary neared and the only way he could think of still making time for you is inviting you to his office. He called you and asked if you’re free to have lunch together. And you, being attracted to the handsome and tall man, didn’t hesitate to say yes.

He was in the middle of ending his morning meeting when you arrived and you were almost caught off-guard when all eyes were suddenly on you, making you feel small. But Mingyu didn't care as his smile beamed, immediately standing up from his chair to walk towards you. The rest of his staff were still in the midst of walking out of his office when he grasped your hand to pull you inside and you have never felt so shy your whole life.

Since then, he made you tag along to the creative process and you witnessed how hands on he was with every article, every photo, every brand, every trend and every detail that goes to the magazine that he has built and loved with his blood, sweat and tears. He’s beyond dedicated in finding and doing what’s best for the magazine and most importantly, its loyal readers.

You can tell that he really is deserving of everything that he has and is still receiving.

Mingyu being perfect also applies to your relationship. He’s always present despite being booked with fittings, meetings, photoshoots and business travels twenty-nine days of the month. He never fails to call, never fails to answer your calls. He never fails to offer the warmest hugs and the softest kisses. Well, he fails to be on time during your dates sometimes but he never once stood you up and his cuddles when he sleeps over are enough to apologize for the lost time.

The only flaw he has is that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. Most especially at times where he wants to shower his love in ways that cost more than your paycheck in a year.

Here are some examples:

You know that Mingyu pays attention to every word you say. Even if you just mentioned a passing topic, he will do his best to keep those in mind. With that being said, you mentioned once that you want to renovate the extra bedroom of your apartment and turn it into a study where you could work someday. Your boyfriend, being the rich man he is, offered to hire and pay a team that could help you bring the design you envisioned into life.

That was during the first few months of your relationship and you were flabbergasted by how easy it was for him to do or much less say. Needless to say, you immediately turned him down and he respected that (but of course, he pouted about it like a child all throughout the day).

But wait, there’s more.

Do you remember how you mentioned that Mingyu travels frequently? Yes? Well, Mingyu always books an extra ticket for you just in case you want to join him. Sometimes it’s not even about the flight ticket anymore. It’s about him stopping by your apartment to pick you up unexpectedly as if France is only a drive away.

It’s unbelievable, really. That’s why you always close the door on his face. But of course, you don’t forget to give him a long kiss and “stay safe” or “I’ll miss you” farewell. Mingyu, ever the good boy he is, lets you win and just return your kisses a little longer for the days he won’t be able to do so.

Mingyu’s intentions are pure and you’re well aware that the man that you love is only doing this because it’s simple, he loves you. He wants what’s best for you, he wants to give you what you deserve. You can never blame him for being out of touch from reality at times, but you can learn and grow with him. Although of course, he still needs a scolding and a wake up call every now and then.

Anything else? Yes.

You didn’t take into consideration that he’d remember, but one night while the two of you were about to fall asleep, you sleepily mumbled about your dreams of attending graduate school. It was a mere whisper in the late night against his chest and you even thought that he wouldn’t hear you at all because his eyes were already closed. You honestly didn’t expect that he’d send you brochures of different universities who offer various programs the following day. You had to calm him down as he excitedly talked you through it. You even had to shut him up with your lips and explain that you don’t have the time to study at the moment with your current job. He tried to encourage you with praises and admiration of your dedication, skills and knowledge. But no, you didn’t buy it and that’s the end of discussion.

The gifts, however, are something that Mingyu is not giving up on. The first few instances he gave you gifts whether it be a high-end handbag, shoes, clothing, and even jewelry, you allowed him. Because there were only a few. But along the way, the gifts got bigger and more frequent. You had to sit him down to set limitations. It was a long conversation of him trying to get the upper hand. But you didn’t let him outsmart you with his hugs and kisses. It was either he was going to tone it down with the gifts or no gifts at all.

Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you can’t avoid getting insecure and afraid that the euphoric time you share with Mingyu is not meant to last. At some point, the fact that he's one of the youngest successful editor-in-chiefs of a multi-million earning magazine got overwhelming. You can’t help but feel that you’re no match for him. And again, you hate that your mind gets clouded with ideas that you’re just a charity case he enjoys spending his money on. Of course, you believe that he doesn’t look at you in that way.

It’s you who thinks so.

“Hey.”

You release the bite on your bottom lip at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. Your lost eyes shoot to the stove where he’s cooking and you notice that he’s about done so you should set the table.

You didn’t even answer Mingyu’s call which concerns him. He wipes the sauce off his hands on the apron he’s wearing and holds your waist before you could even round the corner to the cabinets.

His warmth snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes blink up to him and he just raises his eyebrows at you.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks and lowers the heat of the conduction.

“Nothing, nothing,” you lie, shaking your head, “Let me get the plates. I’m quite hungry.”

You try escaping his strong arms and gaze, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist tighter. Your palms automatically land on his chest and the lean muscles make you gulp.

“I’m going to ask again and this time, I want you to tell me the truth,” he says in a serious yet gentle tone. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh and lean your forehead against his chest. Mingyu also sighs and kisses the top of your head. It’s better to tell him now because you’re not going to get anywhere if you’re just going to keep it to yourself. It will be unfair for him too and that’s not what you want.

“I just don’t feel so good about myself over the past few days,” you finally voice out. You sound weak, but Mingyu can hear you loud and clear. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Mingyu had to pull away and hold your shoulders to search your eyes, his frown showing disbelief and sadness both at the same time. “Did I do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, no,” you quickly say and hold his cheeks. “You did absolutely nothing. It’s just all in my head.”

Mingyu becomes silent and you wish you could just drop it because the regret and embarrassment is slowly dawning upon you. You wish you didn’t bring it up anymore because why would you burden him with your problems?

But Mingyu proves you wrong once again by holding your hand and carefully tugging you to sit on the dining table, saying softly, “Come on. Let’s talk about it.”

And talk you did. You let out your concerns, worries, fears and insecurities. You bore it all without hiding or masking anything. A tear or two slipped once or twice and some words were interrupted by your hiccups, but Mingyu was patient. He listened and held your hand, promising you that it’s okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be worried. It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of him. It’s okay to trust him because he loves you.

Mingyu loves you and his words and actions assure you that it’s okay to love him too.

When there were no more words left to say, the two of you shared a comfortable silence. The weight on your shoulders and the sick feeling in your stomach immediately vanished and you have never felt so relieved. You have never felt so free and loved. You can’t believe that Kim Mingyu is real.

“I know that this is unwarranted,” Mingyu breaks the silence after a while, “but I want you to know that I don’t think of you in any of those ways. To me, you’re the person I love and I am happy with regardless of our different upbringings, different jobs. Those don’t matter to the time and love we share together.”

“I know,” you affirm and kiss his cheek.

Mingyu nods and smiles against the palm of your hand when a memory suddenly pops in his mind. “I’m not sure if I have told you this already. But the blog entry of yours that caught my attention is about your first ever blog post.”

Your eyes widen at his confession. You have never heard of this before. “You mean the one where I talked about why I love writing so much?”

Your boyfriend smiles and nods. “That one.”

“Gosh. That’s so embarrassing,” you groan and palm your face.

“What do you mean embarrassing?” He argues, taking your hand to hold again. “That post was one of the most genuine posts that I have ever read. You explained, word by word, your passion, love and dedication to writing in the most honest way possible. Who wouldn’t be moved?”

You pout and unbeknownst to you, that makes his heart squeeze in adoration.

“It’s not that special,” you mumble, eyes on your intertwined hands.

“It is to me though.”

Mingyu’s eyes are dreamy and glossy as you meet them again and you could never be more in love. He holds your arms, coaxing you to stand up to straddle his lap. You giggle when he protectively wraps his arms around your waist. His nose scrunches when it grazes yours, but upon meeting his lips you feel it exhale a breath of relief.

You kissed and kissed and kissed. But when Max barks at the two of you, reminding you of the dinner you’re supposed to eat and share with him, the two of you burst into laughter before reluctantly detaching from each other.

“You doting over me with material things is a perk,” you humor him and he gives you his signature giggle. “But, I wouldn’t trade sharing the same bed, cooking meals or taking care of Max together over any of those.”

Mingyu nods gives you one last yet long kiss, a promise that there’s more for later.

More for forever.

---

a/n 2: this was supposed to be the header/poster of this story but it was too big lol

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vitaliskravtsov · 2 years

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snowstorm

A Kent Parson & Jeff “Swoops” Troy fic; ~550 words; G; rather soft

and yes, let’s ignore the fact that this is almost entirely improbable. maybe they’ve just gotten really unlucky with the weather since kent signed? anyway.

Jeff "Swoops" Troy has seen Kent Parson cry more times than he knows Kent Parson wants anyone to have seen him cry.

He's also seen Kent Parson absolutely livid, completely wasted, and utterly, wholly wrecked.

He has never, ever seen anyone- Kent Parson or otherwise- so opinionated about a snowstorm.

It would be fine if they weren't flying out at 6 in the morning to get back to Vegas. It would be fine if "Kent Parson caring more about a snowstorm than he does hockey, lately" didn't mean that there were three weather stations playing simultaneously with Kent commandeering Swoops' phone and laptop to use to check five different weather websites and keep an eye on the radar.

Funny thing, though.

Kent Parson doesn't do things halfway, and Swoops just. Wants. To. Sleep.

"Come to bed, Parse. You'll find out in the morning," he declares at 11, when he's starting to fade.

"I haven't seen real snow in years, Swoops," Parse retorts, and okay- Swoops can sympathize with actually wanting to watch it fall from the sky, wanting to see something real instead of seeing it already there and leaving before more can fall.

"15 more minutes," Swoops mumbles into his bed covers. Kent nods like he's actually paying attention to his assistant captain.

Half an hour later, Swoops is wrestling his captain for the remote to the TV.

"We- have- to- get- up- in- four- hours," he grits out as they roll across Parse's bed. "Turn- it- off!"

The remote goes flying across the room and Swoops lunges for it, reaching his hand around it and shutting off the TV before Kent can stop him.

He zips it into his suitcase. Just in case.

"Go to sleep, Parse."

The lights go off.

Swoops is almost, almost asleep when he sees Parse move out of the corner of his eye. He digs himself out of his bed, crosses the empty space between the beds, and flops on top of Parse, who's still trying to keep quiet and mostly unnoticeable.

"Sleep."

Parse huffs out a sigh.

"Fine."

Swoops wakes up to his alarm blaring the duck song. Parse is passed out beneath him, dead to the world. Swoops pulls himself off, carefully, turns off the alarm just as it's crescendoing to unbearable levels- bum, bum, bum, got any - and replaces it carefully on the bedside table. He gets dressed in the dark and peeks out the window when he's finished.

At 3:15, he shakes Parse awake.

"Di' it snow," Parse slurs sleepily at him.

"Get dressed and I'll let you look," Swoops replies.

"Mmh," Parse grumbles, and rolls over.

"C'mon. Up."

There's a bit of grumping, but Kent hauls himself out of bed, turns on the lamp all by himself, and stumbles into a matching set of Aces warm-ups. Swoops tosses Kent's pajamas into his suitcase and has both of their cases by the door, ready to go.

The curtains open and there's a gasp of delight.

"It snowed, Swoops," Kent whispers.

"It's snowing," Jeff answers.

He's right. The snowflakes are falling, caught in the light cast onto the parking light by the streetlamps.

"Thank you," Parse says, voice soft.

Swoops nods, smiling. "Let's get on that plane."

"One more minute?"

One more minute turns into five, but they're not late anyway.

#omgcp #*mine #omg check please #check please #kent parson #jeff swoops troy #swoops #parswoops

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ratmonky · 3 years

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Tangible Phantom

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: non-con, invisible smexy time, stalking, breeding, mild gore

AO3 Link

The internet was a magnificent invention of humankind. It made everything easier. At the same time, it was accessible to almost anyone and it brought people together.

There were so many things one could find by typing some letters on a browser and with a click of a mouse.

Whether it be cute animal videos you could share with your friends, porn to watch late at night as your fingers slid inside your panties beneath the sheets, or disturbing images of people who had or were taking their last breath. You could find it all on the internet.

Morbid curiosity led you to the furthest parts of the internet like on strange websites where you could find pictures of deformed bodies.

There wasn’t any explanation on why they had been deformed like that but their death cause was all the same, heart failure.

Although you weren’t anything more than a normal citizen, you felt like what you were doing was wrong. Looking at those images and scrolling down to see more of the distorted faces of what used to be people who had a family, a life, and goals that you would never know about should have been enough to make you click away. Yet, you always found yourself logging into your laptop every night to check if there were more.

It wasn’t illegal nor it was hurting anyone. It was just… unethical. Somewhat felt like you were feeling guilty of what happened even though you had nothing to do with any of these people.

Nevertheless, it made you wonder if you would feel the same way if those people were someone you knew. Or if it were you.

Pfft.

As if that would ever happen.

~~~

It was a late night when you were walking the same route to your place with your mind clouded by what to eat once you got home. The streets were rather silent at this time of the night, no cars passed or a single soul was outside, so the only noise was your footsteps that echoed in the empty street.

Although you were only about a full two minutes away from arriving at your place, you suddenly stopped in shock when you saw a dark figure sitting in the dark under the bridge you had to walk through.

Alone at night, standing stiffly in the dark, looking desperately down at your phone screen and then to the man, you considered turning back and walking to the nearest bus station. You could stay at your friend’s place again rather than take your chance to walk past someone who looked like a predator waiting for its prey.

You considered calling one of your friends and being on the phone with them until you arrived home. Decidedly, you called your friend’s phone but they didn’t answer. If it was them calling you, you would answer right away, they knew how you didn’t call anyone without a reason.

While the phone was ringing again, you kept muttering under your breath about how much you were going to yell at them once they answered you but they never picked up.

Your other friend wasn’t in town and you could never call your friend to ask if her brother could escort you to your place again, you only made everyone question your sanity when you asked for favors like that.

You made everyone around you uncomfortable, they think you were out of your mind. Why were you so scared of walking past a possibly homeless man?

This was why most of your friends hated you, this was why they didn’t answer your calls anymore.

Huffing in annoyance and disappointment, you put your phone against your ear to pretend to be on the phone with your father as you started walking again.

The man noticed you, you saw his head moving when the sound of your footsteps alarmed him of your presence, all of his attention was on you now.

You tried ignoring the instincts that told you to turn back and run away.

It was probably just a homeless man.

There was no way that he would try to do anything to you.

You were just overreacting like you always did.

You refused to acknowledge the man’s existence as you increased your speed to pass him as soon as possible and go on with your night like you weren’t already having a panic attack.

The man was doing nothing but watching you intently, he hadn’t moved.

Yeah, you were just overreacting before.

“Yes, I’ll be home soon, dad! I’m walking!” you started basically yelling, hoping that your acting was believable.

Maybe not.

The man got up, blocking your path.

Startled, your hand gripped tighter on your purse and you started yelling to your phone. “Dad! Can you come outside the building and wait for me?! I’m right around the corner once I pass the bridge!”

You were scared to look at the man. As if you didn’t notice him getting up, you ignored his presence and tried to walk around him but he stepped to the side to block your way again.

This time, your lips started trembling in fear, you actually were believing you were talking to your father. “Dad, I’m scared, please come get me!”

“I can see that you’re not on the phone,” a husky voice said. “Your phone screen is lit up.”

You shrieked upon him talking to you. When his hand reached for your face, you jerked away and took a couple of steps back.

“Don’t touch me!” you screamed, your eyes finally meeting his eyes that were sparkling with vicious intent. “I’ll call the police!”

Ignoring your threat, he took a step closer towards you which only made you panic more.

You looked for an exit. To your right was a concrete wall and to your left was the large sewer gate. Running past the man was impossible.

“Stay away from me!” You turned on your heels to make a bolt towards the sewers but the man was faster than you. He grabbed you by your hair and pulled your back flush against his chest.

You started to scream as you struggled in the man’s hold. It was barely midnight, someone would hear your screams for help.

Normally an attacker would chicken out if their victim was struggling and screaming this much but your attacker seemed to not have a care in the world if he would get caught or not.

As he started dragging you towards the sewer gate, you shook your body violently, kicking helplessly in the air and yelling on top of your lungs.

He started shushing you and clapped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while proceeded to drag you further inside the sewers.

This was the end, wasn’t it?

~~~

On a regular night, Mahito usually read his book to the sounds of the rats or the water splashing sounds in the sewers. The steady and faint noises were enough to lull him to sleep but tonight his peace was disturbed.

A woman was screaming for her life. Something he heard more often than regular since it was usually him who was the cause of their screams. This woman’s screams were echoing in the sewers, being muffled by something as a man’s voice kept shushing.

Out of curiosity, he put his book down and walked to the source of the loud noises.

It took him barely a minute to find you and your attacker. The man had you under him, his chest pressing on your back as he was hastily pulling his pants down.

“Oh, how amusing,” Mahito chuckled, getting closer to watch your face stained with tears.

He crouched right next to your face, humming cutely. “You’re quite adorable,” he said, his hand reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Really my type.”

“Help!”

Your sudden yell made Mahito pull his hand back. Whew, you had startled him.

“Nobody will hear you,” the man assured with a breathy laugh, his hand rubbing guiding his cock between your thighs.

Mahito pouted his lips and tilted his head to the side. “It’s no fun when I’m left out, you know.”

The man was busy pulling your panties to the side.

“Please, please, please don’t!”

“Don’t ignore me,” Mahito furrowed his brows and tapped on the man’s shoulder.

You were still struggling under the man’s weight when he suddenly stopped moving. With a burst of an adrenaline rush, you pushed yourself up from the concrete and threw your attacker tumbling back.

Almost immediately you got up on your feet and swung your purse at the man, hitting him in the face with your eyes closed shut in fear.

The impact made a splash sound as if you had hit something soggy. What? Your eyes hesitantly opened and it took you a long moment to register what you were seeing.

“Wow.” Mahito stood beside you with a smile on his face. “He looks nice like that, don’t you think?”

You dropped your purse.

Your mouth opened to scream but what were you going to gain from it? You closed it back again.

It looked unreal, nothing like the photos you had seen online. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t.

“Heeeeyyyy~” Mahito stood in front of you, waving a hand to your face. “I don’t even get thanks?”

The man’s disfigured body and face were covered in blood. The sight was enough to cause trauma and make any normal person collapse on their knees, heaving. His body was twisted to the point you couldn’t tell if he was a human or not.

What you were seeing wasn’t human.

You couldn’t tell if it was a human.

Your brain disconnected it from your mind that he was a real, living, and breathing person only a couple of seconds ago.

The fact that you couldn’t even process what you were seeing right in front of you made you burst into a peal of hysterical laughter.

Mahito took a step back. “Ah, you’re one of those who goes insane…” He shrugged, watching you lose your sanity was fun too. His eyes landed on the panties which were halfway down on your thighs that you hadn’t even bothered to pull up and then his stare landed on your unevenly hoisted skirt. A grin spread on his face.

Your laughter died down quickly and sobbing replaced it. You couldn’t stop your tears. Your vision was getting blurry from your tears and you tried to revive your brain to think of what to do next.

Could you just leave this man here?

Even though he attacked you with full intention to rape you, it… it was wrong to leave him like this.

He was dead. Disfigured. Not human.

There was nothing you could do. Whatever caused this man to turn into this inhuman thing could have happened to you.

You felt a shiver run down your spine and up your shoulders. As if the cool evening breeze had hands, the chilly air caressed your skin.

A quiet sob left your lips and you lifted your hand to wipe your tears but stopped when something firm pressed on your back.

“You’re definitely my type,” Mahito snickered, pulling his hand back.

With a shriek you jumped forward, whipping your head around to look behind you. There was nothing.

You had to be going insane.

You put a hand against your forehead and looked around the sewers. The most logical thing to do was to leave. This rapist deserved to rot here, you didn’t care. You wouldn’t care. You knew you couldn’t care less.

“Heeey~~ I’m Mahito, your savior.” He poked your nose and you itched where he had touched you. “You should thank me for saving youuuu!”

Once you got home to your bed, you would browse on the websites to stare at disfigured humans like him. This was nothing. You had seen worse on the internet. You didn’t care.

Mahito crouched down to open your purse. He looked around your stuff and tried to find something that had your name on it but it was futile.

You weren’t going to wake up tomorrow and think about its face.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked.

No, you weren’t going to remember about this thing the day after tomorrow.

“Hellloooo~~ What’s your name?”

Definitely, you weren’t going to think about this thing whenever you closed your eyes.

“What’s your name?” Mahito put his hand on your shoulder. You reacted to his touch and flinched but didn’t answer him. “Ugh! This is the third time I’m asking, sweetheart.”

You were being paranoid, that was for sure.

It felt like ghostly hands were touching you.

“Let’s see how far we can go before you see me.” Mahito grabbed you by your shoulders and pushed you down.

Fear came rushing back and you started screaming. Something you couldn’t see had tackled you on the cold concrete. This wasn’t a figment of your imagination, this was real.

“You know, a friend of mine said that humans can see curses when they’re in a life or death situation.” His large hands massaged your shoulders as he spoke. “I wanna see if we can have fun together even when you can’t see me.”

Your breathing became uneven and you started struggling against the unknown force holding you down.

Mahito moved his hands to your shoulder blades and slid them lower until he grabbed you by your hips. You gasped when he pressed himself against you. “Oh, so you can feel this .” He slowly grinded against you.

Your hands balled up to fists and you pressed your forehead against the cold concrete. There was something on top of you, something firm and thick was pressing on you. You were rocking back and forth with a very familiar feeling of a cock on your ass.

Mahito’s grinding became harder to get a reaction out of you. He pushed his growing clothed erection against your ass to explicitly stimulate the movement of fucking you.

You bit your lips to hold back a moan. You hadn’t gone insane yet, there was something humping you. There was a small moment where you tried to move and crawl away from this entity but your body became frozen when you felt your skirt was getting hiked up.

“You’re so cute~” He pulled his own pants down. “Very pretty.”

The weight on top of you disappeared, taking the opportunity you tried crawling away but your body got flipped around.

Now, you were facing the ceiling of the sewers with nobody in sight yet there were hands fondling your tits.

“Stop,” you whimpered. “Please.”

Mahito smirked, getting his face awfully close to yours. He let his tongue loll out from his mouth and licked your lips.

You let out a startled scream, you tried kicking your invisible attacker but it was useless to even try. You couldn’t fight something you couldn’t see.

“Mm, you taste so sweet,” he whispered. His lips pressed against yours experimentally and bit your bottom lip. You reacted by turning your face to the side.

Boring.

Having had pulled his pants down before, Mahito grabbed his fully erect cock. He stroked it from the base to the pink tip glistening with precum as he relished on your view.

“I really wanna know the name of my cute new doll.” He used a free hand to spread your legs, although you tried fighting back, he quickly outpowered you. He pouted when you didn’t say anything regarding what he had said.

“Please,” you whispered, starting to pray for whoever was listening. Your hand went between your legs to cover yourself but it stopped midway when you felt something firm press and move against your clit. An involuntary moan left your lips.

Mahito chuckled at your reaction and tapped his cock on your clit before dragging the tip between your folds to cover it with your juices. “You’re wet only because of me, right?” he asked, smirking.

Your lips parted as he lined himself up on your entrance. He waited until your tense body relaxed and shoved his cock inside you in one go once he caught you off guard.

You let out another moan but it got muffled by Mahito’s lips. While you were tensing and yelping because of the girth of his cock stretching you out, he was snaking his tongue inside your mouth with dark amusement.

Whether it be because of fear or pleasure, your gummy walls were clenching around his cock. It was more than enough to let Mahito know that he could move now.

Pulling his hips back and face back, he slammed into you abruptly to force a moan out of you. However, you didn’t make a sound. He looked down at you to notice how you were pressing your lips together, refusing to make it fun.

He sighed but didn’t let it ruin the mood. Instead, he frantically started fucking you. His hips surged forward with frenzy, he was whispering praises but you heard none of them.

Your pussy was being forcefully stretched by something thick and firm, you didn’t know exactly what it was but you also knew. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

It moved in and out of your pussy, stroking only the right spots and massaging your gummy walls enticingly. Your juices were gushing out of your hole that was being fucked, making disgustingly wet sounds.

One of your hands went to your pussy, unable to fight back the entity, you tried blocking it with your hand from ravishing you.

A sharp thrust of his hips was all it took to make you squirm and fall back on the concrete.

Mahito put a hand on your clit and started rubbing tight circles on your nub as he continued his animalistic pace to hammer into your pussy.

Arching your back, you moaned. Your pussy was spasming around his cock, begging for more.

“At least your body is honest.” Mahito watched you convulse in pleasure with a chuckle. He pushed your legs up to your chest and began pounding deeper in your pussy.

Your eyes rolled up, hands trying to grab onto something to steady yourself but there was nothing on the concrete. This was it, you were close.

“Do you think a cursed spirit and a human can make a baby?” His pace slackened, your clenching walls had caught him by surprise. He chuckled before languidly answering his own question. “Let’s try and see, yeah? Whaddaya say, sweetie?”

You quivered when his cock kissed your cervix. Your mouth gaped open in a silent moan as your orgasm shook you to your core.

“Haha, you look so needy and dumb!” Mahito’s cock twitched inside you, he groaned loudly. He tried holding himself back and stealing a couple more thrusts into your pussy before the fun ended but his thrusts had started becoming shaky. His hips lurched forward one last time, pushing as far as he could to spill his seed deep inside your womb and filled your pussy until it overflowed.

Mahito pulled back and held your hips up to hold his seed inside you without letting another drop go to waste. This was going to be one of his experiments, he decided with a sickening smile on his face.

You were far too exhausted to feel anything other than the warmth that filled your tummy.

The rest… was a blur.

~~~

Although what happened that night was supposed to be traumatic, nowadays; you found yourself feeling a lot safer walking home at night. Whenever someone followed you or someone with malicious intent tried getting near you, there was a guardian angel that stopped them with a small price of you letting it indulge in your slick heat.

#i suck at writing endings but whateva #tell me what you think #i literallt wrote this after i posted that commission fic and just finished it #mahito x reader

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starksinner · 3 years

Text

Rest

Summary: Charles takes care of you after a job goes terribly wrong.

Pairing: Charles Smith x Reader

Warnings: Heavy depictions of Violence, Blood, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Fluff, Implications of Sexual Harassment/Assault, Mention of Dissociation

Author's Note: I haven't written in what feels like a lifetime, so I apologize if this is a mess. Either way, the lack of Charles Smith fics across this website and others is downright a crime, so this is my "fine, I'll do it myself" moment. I hope I do some justice to (one of) the best characters in the Red Dead universe. I hope you enjoy reading, y'all!

AO3 Link

The bruised grass of The Heartlands scrape against the skin of your ankles and calloused feet as you are led from the wide-open prairies into the privacy of an austere and diminutive forest.

The air is moist with remnants of rainfall. Petrichor and the scent of nature tickles your senses as your bare feet meet the soiled ground of the woods.

In your mind, loud and boisterous, rumbles an orchestra of deafening thunder and screaming. The pounding of your head originates from the open and festering wounds that continuously pulsate from the split skin of your sensitive scalp — seething and oozing.

Your hands tremble as they are softly caressed and held within the palms of another, the caring touch calming and guiding as you find yourself threatening to slip off the face of the Earth.

When Charles whispers your name, the most delicate reminder of your existence, you can’t help but whine and whimper pathetically. You force your eyes shut as you fester in a cloud of anger and pride, condemning your humanity and the fragility of your own body as a soaring pain runs up the curve of your torso.

You breathe heavily as you groan and peer down at Charles’ language of love: touch — his ethereal touch, displayed by the tender interconnection of his fingers with your own. A familiar scarlet liquid has crept and dried into the small crevices of your fingers, serving as a grisly reminder of the evening’s barbarous events.

“Men love underestimatin’ a woman in a frilly dress,” you splutter softly, the task of speaking suddenly foreign. “Used their idiocy t’my advantage, but I ain’t too sure the price was worth it.”

Charles gives you a look that reflects that of solemnity rather than one of silent derision. You, like many individuals whose identities cause them persecution, prefer to be given a look that serves as a reminder of the severity of a situation rather than a look of belittlement. That look — the one of silent derision — is well known to you as you’ve watched it be used by men as a means of reprimanding and reminding women of their weakness, naivete, and disorder of hysteria.

Charles wasn’t most men, though. Charles was fair, liberal, and wise — no matter how much he’d quietly argue with you over such labels. He admired and encouraged your strength, both in the physical and intellectual sense. Before you even understood your love for him, you had viewed him as a mystical wonder — an actual man among men. He never viewed you as lesser or judged you unjustly. He took you as you were — in all your strength and all your weakness, with all your stubbornness and all your recklessness.

“You were only protecting yourself,” he asserts calmly, his brown eyes observing yours. ”Those men were...savages. They would’ve killed us if you didn’t hurt them first.”

Like most situations that have transpired the past couple of months, Charles held his head and was right — you knew he was right.

Haphazardly, you grip onto Charles’ hands harder, willing off the tears of discomfort that blur your irises.

“I...I don’t know where my dress stops and where I begin,” you murmur, frowning as you see his features drop sadly.

A deep maroon, the dress you wear is tailored to attract the eyes of desperate men and curious travelers. The bodice is silk and accessorized with a corset that shapes and accentuates that of which men drool and desire. Now, the lengthy ruby material is ripped and caked in pools of dried blood and other human materials you dare not to think about.

Your arms, neck, and chest are redder than the dress, dried patches of red and brown mementos from your slain enemies. You crave ripping off your skin and ridding yourself of the deadly feeling and sight of your sins.

“Camp is right over the hills through here,” Charles notes, pressing his fingers lightly under your chin. “Close your eyes and just focus on your breathing. Let me carry you, love.”

You melt into his soft touch, your face scrunching in defeat as a loud sob escapes you. “I hate killing, Charles. I hate it and I hate myself for it. It was...me or them, I know. That man said he wanted me to...I just…”

“I know,” he whispers. Without any trouble, as if you were a mere pelican feather, Charles hooks his arm under your knees and holds you to his chest. He swiftly carries you through the woods and into the open plains, navigating his way back to Horseshoe Overlook. He gently coos and whispers into your ear sweet assurances as you cry justly. “Nearly there, love.”

---

You felt dissociated from your own body as Charles helped you strip out of your ruined dress, kissing, caressing, and whispering to you all the right things. He helped you wash yourself by a nearby lake, lathering your skin with soap and pressing soft kisses against any apparent scratches and blooming bruises.

What was supposed to be a quick con job just north of Valentine, turned into a full fledged bloodbath. Your role was a simple and tired one — dressed as a rich simpleton, you were to distract some revenue agents and pose as a woman found lost on her wary travels. Charles, the silent hunter, would rummage through the agents’ wagons in search of the lock box that you had on good authority was carrying a wealthy prize.

It was easy — a con that you’ve been participating in since your rebel days with Arthur, both of you incredibly spry and dramatic in your teen years.

Things took a drastic turn as you spotted a third wagon headed in Charles’ direction, just as you were chatting up and charming a lanky looking agent. In a last attempt at distraction, you placed your hand against the agent’s chest and began flirting with him, making his eyes wander to your red painted lips and nearly exposed chest.

Alas, the third wagon of revenue agents had spotted Charles — causing a boom of gunshots and shouts to echo across the plains. Your body immediately tensed until you spotted your love hiding behind a boulder, shooting off his Springfield Rifle into the growing crowd of agents. You acted on pure instinct as you swiftly reached under your skirt, gripping your knife, and slicing the throat of the agent in front of you. His blood splattered across your face as he choked, whined, and fell to the ground at your feet. You grabbed the Bolt Action Rifle from his dead grip and began firing into the agents around you, covering yourself behind one of the large wagons.

It wasn’t until you heard Charles struggle and shout that things took a gory route. He was fighting against a brawny agent that had pinned him to the ground, both men grunting and punching for dominance. You no longer considered your own wellbeing as you kicked off your shoes and sprinted towards him, shooting the agent straight in the head and another three of them as they screamed and barreled towards the both of you. You took hold of the left side of the field while Charles ran to another empty boulder and flanked the right. Both of you fought to pick off the pack of revenue agents that had seemingly swarmed the area, reloading your guns and bearing the pain of flesh wounds resulting from incoming bullets.

Just as you thought you were in the clear, the air was knocked straight out of your lungs as your head smashed against the side of the wagon and you were pushed, face first, into the solid ground.

“You enjoy playing with guns, sweet thing?” The man on top of you grunted and gripped your neck as you thrashed and struggled below him. He dropped his knee against your lower spine, causing a mantra of curses to pass your lips as you promised death upon him.

“You got some mouth on you,” he groaned into your ear, holding you down harder as you continued to scream and fight beneath him. “I’m gonna take you in. Teach you how to kneel an’ please me good with my dick in your mouth, sweet thing.”

Suddenly, the commotion of gunshots leapt into a dreary silence, causing the man above you to turn his attention to the sudden absence of noise.

In your panic, you heard Charles scream your name.

With all your strength, you growled and practically bucked the agent off of you, reaching forward for your knife and whipping around to kick the man where it truly hurts the most.

The coward wailed on the ground and gripped his manhood, cursing you out as he shuffled backwards in fear. You spat and stalked towards him, your chest heaving and your eyes only seeing red. You pressed your right foot into the agent’s abdomen, hard, squatting down and positioning the tip of your blade near his chest.

“I hope hell burns extra hot for you, sweet thing.” You sneered at his visible fear and hurled the blade into the man’s chest — over and over, you plunged your knife into the agent’s body as blood poured from his mouth and he gaped at you with wide, dying eyes.

Blood poured from your scalp down to your face, your side screamed in agony, every inch of your skin was matted with blood that wasn’t your own — you stabbed until you physically felt the soul of the man beneath you leave his body.

That’s how Charles had found you, still and motionless, covered in blood and lost in your head as he called out for you and led you away from the strew of dead bodies.

---

“I need you,” you speak softly, breaking the night’s silence. You and Charles were under the protection of your tent: he’d been crafting poultice for your inflamed wounds while you’d been attempting to find pleasure in a bowl of Pearson’s stew. Your mind couldn’t stop racing and mulling over the day’s events.

You craved a distraction. You craved Charles.

“Charles?”

“Not tonight,” he murmurs. He speaks with an unwavering finality but with no anger, upset, or aggression. “You need rest. The both of us.”

You frown, like a child. “I just...I’m…”

“I know.” He places the cloth he was working with down and shuffles his way over to you, gripping the blanket by your feet and putting it over your body. He wordlessly noticed you had been shivering, wrapped only in your thin chemise. “When we’ve both recovered, we can share each other...It’s been a long day and I don’t want the love I have for you to pose as a distraction from the pain.”

You snuggle into his side, basking in his scent of ginseng and cedar, and nod against him. He was right, he was always right. “I...I love you, Charles. So, so much. You’re...everything and more to me.”

“And you to me.” He presses his lips against your temple, making sure not to touch the bandages against your scalp. He too takes in your scent, sprinkles of honey and peaches, a smell that proves to be his home and final landing.

He watches your eyelids flutter shut and lets you lay against your shared mattress, pressing a final day’s kiss against your warmed cheek. He is satisfied by your peaceful reflection. “I’ll wake you in the morning for coffee, my love. Get some rest now.”

Charles' sweet whispers are your last rememberings of the day as you drift off into a calming dreamland.

#charles smith #charles smith x reader #charles smith x you #charles smith x oc #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan #fanfiction #writing #ao3

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anxiousstark · 3 years

Text

S3 18 | The Insatiable Divine Move

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE | KO-FI

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 6908

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, blood, stabs, drugs, death, sex, handjobs, dirty talk, clothing humping, swearing (always), etc.

A/N: Hello there. I’m back. Thank you so much for understanding that I couldn’t upload these last two weeks. But here I am. Two chapters in one and a little surprise at the end. Stiles and Y/N are starting to explore their relationship in other aspects. Enjoy <3.

↪ PLEASE RESPECT MY WORK. DON’T COPY, TRANSLATE OR CLAIM THEM AS YOURS. NOT ON THIS WEBSITE OR ANOTHER. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED.

Scott helped Stiles walk back to the living room as Noshiko stood there. "Do you recognize me, hmm?"

Stiles nodded his head as Kira appeared, begging her mother to stop. "It's okay." He stepped closer to the woman. "I'm the one who asked her to come."

"You're the one who's going to get stabbed with swords." She glanced at her mother. "Mom, don't do this to him."

"It's already done." Her eyes were focused on Stiles. I was confused by what was going on, until two shadows appeared, grabbing Stiles's from the back of his ear. I quickly tried to step forward, but Melissa and Scott kept me in place, even if I begged them to let me go. I needed to help him. I needed to save him. "Look behind his ear."

I didn't hesitate to fall onto my knees, my hands rubbing Stiles's back while the others looked behind his ear. "It worked." My brother sighed.

"So, I'm actually me?" His body shook while he glanced at Kira's mother.

"More you than the Nogitsune."

"Can The Oni find him?"

"Tomorrow night. It's too close to dawn now."

"Can they kill him?"

"It depends on how strong he is."

"What about Lydia? Why would he take her?" I intervened in the conversation.

Noshiko glanced at me. "He would only take her for an advantage."

"You mean her power?" It was my brother's turn to ask.

"The power of a Banshee."

Stiles's body continued shaking. "I will bring something warm." Getting up from the ground, I walked near-by Noshiko, her hand clenching my arm. I furrowed my eyebrows while meeting her gaze.

"You were stronger and more determined than me." She made a gesture to Stiles, letting me know that she was talking about how she couldn't save Rhys. But was Stiles safe? "However, onis are powerful, and something will end up happening."

"Then, I will try my best," I whispered. "But no one is touching Stiles anymore." I flashed my eyes. "They will have to get over my dead body." She smirked, nodding her head.

"Hey," I swirled around. "Hide those ice blue for me." I laughed, and maybe I looked crazy at that moment as tears fell down my cheek at the same time. But that was the first thing I've heard coming from the real Stiles in a long time.

Scott opened the door of Noah's office, waiting for him to turn around and see the person he was so desperate to find. "If I could just find my keys." I had a little smile on my face as Mr Stilinski muttered those words to himself.

"In your coffee cup." Noah quickly swirled around as the unmistakable voice of his son resonated through the room. "You always drop them in your empty cup."

Noah blinked a couple of times as he tried to guess if the young boy standing in front of him was his son. The real one, not the one possessed y an old spirit fed by vengeance and chaos.

My brother and I nodded our heads, letting him know that it was him. The older Stilisnki didn't hesitate to drop his coat to the floor, almost tripping with his chair as he ran to his son. They both engulfed each other, breezing in. They swayed from side to side, clutching each other.

"Hey dad," Stiles's voice was deeper from all the crazy things that have been going on. But we could discern the happiness he felt to be back.

When they both parted, Noah glanced at my brother once again. "Is it over?"

I sighed. "Not yet."

We explained what had happened during the last hours. Especially, highlighting the fact that Lydia was missing. She was probably taken by Void. Mr Stilinski had informed us that they had an APB out on Lydia's car. Every unit on the road was looking for her. However, there was nothing more we could do. Void had taken Lydia for a reason. "Okay. What would a Nogitsune need with a Banshee?"

"I don't know," Stiles shook his head as he rested his butt on his father¡s desk. "Lydia's pretty good at finding dead bodies. Maybe he needs to find a body?"

"Scott," Noah glanced at my brother once again. "You know more about this than all of us." I gripped Scott's hand, knowing he felt pressured by all the things we were going through. "You said you got the whole story from Noshiko?"

"I was there too," I added, nodding my head. "But that happened during World War II. Like 70 years ago."

"Wait. What did you say?" Stiles asked while his gaze was lost.

"Noshiko told us about the internment camp..." My brother answered.

"No, before that." His eyes squinted as he looked at his father. "You said, the whole story." Scott and I nodded our head as he seemed to recall something. "There's a girl at Eichen House. Her name's Meredith. I think she might be able to help."

Sheriff had informed Parrish to call Eichen House. As soon as he did, Parrish entered Noah's office where we were waiting. "Sheriff, Meredith Walker."

"She's still there?"

"Yeah, but they moved her to the Closed Unit."

"Why?" The hazel-eyed boy asked.

"They said behavioural issues."

"What issues?"

"She wouldn't stop screaming." Both boys glanced at me as I bit my lower lip.

I hummed to myself as I sat on a chair. My phone rested on top of the table as I scrolled down through pictures, trying to distract myself. However, Stiles who had been sleeping got up from the couch as if he couldn't breathe.

I ran to him, grabbing his arms to steady him. "You okay?" I heard my brother asking what happened, but I ignored him as I was focused on Stiles.

"What happened? How long was I out?" His breathing was laboured.

"Just a couple of hours." My brother replied. "You should sit down."

He shook his head. "Where's my Dad?" He started blinking faster.

"He's at Eichen House, questioning everyone. Looking for Meredith." I replied, caressing my thumb on the palm of his hand. I glanced back at my brother. "We promised him we wouldn't let you out of our sight."

"Okay," He started playing with my fingers. "What about the others?"

"Allison, Isaac, the Twins, they're all looking for Lydia."

"It's starting to feel like we're waiting for a ransom call."

"We'll find her." Stiles let my hands go as he scratched his arms, grabbing his jacket that had been resting on the couch. "You all right?"

"Yeah. I don't know why, I just can't seem to get warm." His lower lip trembled as his skin became paler.

"Maybe you should sit down. Take it easy." Scott's hand touched Stiles's one, his veins becoming black. "You're in pain." I furrowed my eyebrows.

"It's not that bad. Just more like a dull ache.

"Where?"

"Sort of everywhere."

"Stiles, you're freezing," I added, worried as my hands grazed his skin while he sat on the couch.

My brother sighed, sitting down next to him. "Tell me the truth. How much does it really hurt?" He was interrupted as his phone vibrated inside one of the pockets of his jeans. "It's Kira."

And Kira had news for us, not really sure if they were good or bad. But Meredith was in class. However, when we arrived at school, the people from the asylum had been called and they tried to get Meredith. Surprisingly enough, Coach helped us. Therefore, Meredith was in Stiles's jeep with us now.

"Okay, where is Lydia?"

"Who's Lydia?" We sighed, frustrated. Then, she glanced at me. "Woah," There was a big smile on her face as she tried to get a closer look at mine. "You are a siren."

"H-How do you-."

"My aunt was a siren." She smiled. "I thought you guys were extinct." She seemed to giggle for a couple of seconds as she glanced at Stiles. "Is she the girl you are in love with? Y/N?" I shyly looked at the boy sitting next to me. "He would talk about you in his sleep sometimes."

"We didn't share a ro-."

"I have good hearing."

As soon as Scott opened the door to our house we were met with Rafe McCall. "What are you doing here?" My brother asked as our sperm-donor was standing in front of Isaac.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Free period. We're doing group study." Stiles intervened.

Rafe's eyes rested on the girl. "Who's she?"

"She's my girlfriend." Stiles's blabbed as he placed his arm on her shoulders. My eyes widened as I glanced at him.

"You're not my type." I chuckled as she tried to get away from the hazel-eyed boy who I was going to kill for making such a stupid excuse.

"Well, obviously we have a lot to talk about." He looked at me as I crossed my arms and smirked. You are dead, Stiles. "We should maybe take this upstairs."

"Well, for what I know, you are dating Y/N." He crossed his arms too, which made me uncross mine as I could see similarities between us.

"He was just joking," I added, pinching my boyfriend's arm. "Nice excuse," I whispered to him.

"I've missed you and I can't think properly, that's why it was a bad one." He smiled back.

"You are not getting away from this one." I shook my head with a sheepishly smile on my face.

"He's my type." I snapped my head towards Isaac, who was laughing due to my banter with my boyfriend.

"Okay," I smirked. "Isaac, you can come too." I giggled as the curly-haired boy got up from the chair. "He is single, between." Isaac punched my arm playfully.

"Isaac and Stiles can go," Rafe spoke. "But I want Scott and Y/N here for a couple of minutes." I sighed.

"Hey, Dad, I'll explain all of this later," Scott begged as I stayed silent.

"I don't care that you're not in school. I know your grades are fine." He nodded his head. "Same goes for you, Y/N. All I want to do is talk."

"Now's really not a good time." I snapped.

Scott's voice was softer. "Dad, can't we do this tomorrow?

"That's actually something I've been saying for a long time. Come here." We followed him, standing in front of the stairs. However, he kneeled down. "You see this? This indent in the floor... that was from your head." I leant closer to my brother, not liking where this story seemed to go. "The night before I moved out your mother and I were fighting." Scott kneeled too. "You came out of your room. I grabbed you by the wrist. You pulled back." Rafe's eyes were teary. "And you fell." I gasped. This was what Stiles knew, right? "We watched you tumble down those stairs. You were out for probably 20 seconds. When you came to, you didn't remember a thing. Your mom told me to be out by the morning. That was the last time I ever had a drink." I felt like I shouldn't be listening to that conversation. "And that's why I left."

"I'm going to-." Before I could leave them alone, Rafe gently clutched my wrist.

"It was wrong, what I did with you was wrong on so many levels and I don't have any excuse." He sighed. "I truly am sorry even though I know that it's not enough for you, and will never be." His voice trembled. "I couldn't be with your mother anymore. She was crazy and she wasn't scared to throw a bottle at me every time she had one of her mood changes. And I know that it's more of a reason for you to think I am an asshole because-."

"Because even though you knew she was crazy, you left me there."

"Yeah," He nodded his head. "But I didn't know you were mine." I furrowed my eyebrows. "She was sleeping with multiple men, which I got to know after knowing she was pregnant. She said she believed you were another man's child." He sighed. "I know I did the same to Melissa," He glanced at Scott for a couple of seconds. "She said the other men were just some kind of revenge because I had another family and that it didn't matter to her. She was convinced we could start a family and that we could pretend you were my child."

"What?"

"When she went to jail...Well, before she did. She contacted me." His eyes were even wetter than before. "The judge was searching for your father to give him your custody in case he was in a better condition than your mother. She told him that I was the father, and I didn't want her to look like a liar. And I felt bad because I left you there with your mother, even if you weren't my child. So I said that I was your father and with my job, they didn't take the investigation further."

"So you aren't my-."

"I'm not sure if I'm honest." My eyes got teary. They got teary because I had gotten so attached to Scott that there wasn't a reality in my mind where he wasn't my big brother, even if it was just for a couple of months. "I always sent money. That's why your mom's friend could take care of you with the job she had." True, she was just a cashier that didn't get paid much. I never thought about all the things she bought and how we could afford them.

"So maybe," I tried to take a deep breath as I glanced at my brother. "So maybe Scott isn't my brother?" Rafe seemed surprised by my question, nodding his head. "Can we...Can we get one of those tests done? I want to know." He nodded his head.

It still wasn't an excuse. He was the one who decided to say he was my father. Even if he wasn't, he took that responsibility, and he should have acted like one.

I felt my brother's hand squeezing mine. "Okay, dad. Let me show you something." He moved to another part of the room, pulling me along while Rafe followed us. "See the edge of this window sill. When I got my first skateboard I slid right into it. Broke my collarbone." He wandered to another place, pointing at the object. "This used to be glass. Until I fell on top of it trying to catch a lacrosse ball from Stiles. I got three stitches on my cheek." He let my hand go to point at the place where he got the stitches. "This house is full of accidents." He shook his head. "The stairs? Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was worse. But I healed. I don't need your apology. So... See you at graduation. Or whenever you decide to show up again."

"Sco-." Before I could pronounce his name, he pulled me once again with him. We left Rafe McCall standing in the living room with a lost look on his face.

Isaac and Stiles were able to guess where Lydia was after talking to Meredith. Scott had phoned Allison, wanting her to meet us. Therefore, the four of us were now driving towards the place, hoping to meet the Argent girl there.

"All right, I'll say it." I glanced to my side as Issac coughed. "You look like you're dying. You're pale, thin and you look like you're getting worse. And we're all sitting here thinking it." He was right. I couldn't help but glance at the boy driving. He looked sick. He looked like he was dying. "When we find the other you, is he gonna look like he's getting better?

"What happens if he gets hurt?" My brother asked while glancing at his best friend.

"You mean if he dies, do I die?" He sighed, staring at the rearview mirror to look at me for a couple of seconds. "I don't care." My heart dropped. "Just so long as no else dies because of me." Before I could interrupt, he continued. "I remember everything I did, Scott. I remember pushing that sword into you. I remember twisting it." He shook his head. "I remember hitting your sister in the head and making her bleed because she was trying to help you. I remember both of your blood staining my hands."

"It wasn't you."

"Yeah, but I remember it." His voice cracked. "You guys gotta promise me. You can't let anyone else get hurt because of me."

"We can't promise that," I whispered. "We all know that being involved in all of this means that something could go wrong. But I'm not letting you get hurt neither, Stiles." Our eyes met again, and I discerned his quick blinking to hide the tears that invaded his eyes.

As soon as we arrived, Allison and Kira were already waiting there. We glanced at each other, noticing that we were scared. We never knew how a situation like this could end. "We've done this before, guys. A couple of weeks ago we were standing around just like this and we saved Malia, remember?" My brother tried to comfort us, even though he was terrified too. "That was a total stranger. This is Lydia."

"I'm here to save my best friend." Allison hurriedly added.

"I came to save mine." My brother glanced at the sick-looking boy whose hand was clutching mine.

"I'm here for both," I emphasized the last word, trying to hint that I would do whatever I could to bring Stiles back with me. An alive and free Stiles.

"I just didn't feel like doing any homework." I couldn't help but chuckle as Isaac answered.

Then, we entered the place, just to find Kira's mom standing there with a couple of those shadows or demons standing behind her. "Kira, turn around and go home. Take your friends with you."

I nodded at my brother and my boyfriend, giving them the signal to go find Lydia while we stayed where we had to.

"I can't." We walked closer to her mother, Allison preparing her arrows. "When I looked at the game I realized who I was actually playing. You."

The Argent girl raised her bow. "Call them off."

"You think you could take him alive?" Her gaze went to me. "You think you can save him?"

"What if we can?" I asked, stepping a little closer.

"I tried something like it 70 years ago. Your friend is gone."

"I told you before, ma'am." I gritted my teeth. "I'm not you and Stiles isn't Rhys. We might be able to save him." I chuckled. "Why are you so opposed to the idea of us trying to save him? Is it jealousy? Or rage because you couldn't save Rhys?"

"He is going, dear."

"Are you sure?" Kira stepped closer to me and her mother. "Or if Stiles doesn't have to die. Maybe Rhys didn't have to die either?"

Noshiko chuckled as the demons behind her prepared their swords. "I see I'm no longer the Fox now, Kira. You are. But the Nogitsune is still my demon to bury." Then, the figures behind her vanished and Kira's mom gasped, worrying us due to the fear, decorating her expression.

"What does that mean?" Isaac dared to speak up as we breathed heavily.

"It means there's been a change in ownership." We turned around as we heard another voice. One we knew too well. A couple of meters away, Void was standing with his hands joined together in front of him. The shadows behind his figure. "Now they belong to me."

That's when we saw ourselves in danger. The shadows ran to us with their swords prepared. Kira was using the katana to protect herself as grunts fell from her mouth. One against two.

Isaac was able to pull one of the shadows to the ground, flashing his eyes and teeth. His werewolf form was taking the lead, trying to scare off the adumbrations. However, he quickly got up from the one he had pushed to the ground as another one ran to him. Isaac used his nails to scratch his middle part, throwing him against a wall.

However, that one seemed not to be affected as he quickly raised his sword. Thankfully, Allison had shot one of her arrows, disarming the monster.

I gritted my teeth as tried to be as closer as possible to Isaac, defending each other's back and taking into account my lack of knowledge related to my supernatural abilities. However, I was glad after receiving some basic defence movements from Kira as I gripped one of the demons' sword tightly between my hands.

I panted as I hit one of those things with the sword, trying to push him as far away from me and Isaac as possible. "How do we stop them?" The curly-haired's voice resonated through the darkness as he glanced at Noshiko.

"You can't!"

He had been distracted, and even though his back was protected by me, his chest wasn't. One of them slashed his stomach and I saw the blood spurting everywhere.

"Isaac!" I gasped. However, when I tried to defend him from the shadow who had gashed his stomach, I received the same outcome as it slashed my knee. Nevertheless, I continued trying to protect Isaac and myself. But we still received some cuts. Especially the boy who was now kneeling on the floor.

I was kicked on the chest by one of the others, falling on my butt and wheezing as the air seemed to escape my lungs. Then, an arrow pierced the chest of that demon, saving Isaac from the last blow. The blow that could have killed him.

A light came out of his chest from where he had been hit by Allison, and then, he vanished into thin air.

I breathed calmly this time, turning around to glance at the Argent girl. I offered her a little smile as she was chuckling, relieved because she had saved Isaac and because the monster had vanished.

However, time seemed to slow down. It looked like a slow-motion that you could not stop. I screamed, I screamed her name trying to warn her because I wasn't strong enough to get up from the floor. I tried, I tried getting up while droplets of tears fell down my cheeks.

My knee begged me to lay back on the floor, but I couldn't. I couldn't lay down on the floor. And I couldn't save Allison as she was stabbed by another shadow. Right in the middle of her stomach. Her mouth was wide open. I heard a scream, Lydia. She knew what had happened.

I ran to her as she fell into my arms, glancing at me. "A-Allison," My eyes were teary as my trembling hands moved the locks of air out of her face. "Allison, w-we need to stop the blood." I started taking my jacket off, pressing it against her stomach. I glanced around as Void had disappeared and the shadows vanished. "We need to do something. CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I screamed out when I saw the others just looking at me. Accepting the Argent girl's fate.

"Well," She chuckled. "N-now you can't have my head on your w-wall." I chuckled as I continued crying. That's what I've told her. The flashback invaded my mind.

I nodded my head. “I’m going to slowly try and forgive you and your family for everything you’ve done to my brother and the people I love.” I swallowed. “But I swear to god, I will not hesitate to-.”

“To have my head on your wall.” She finished for me. I smirked, getting up, going back to my seat next to Stiles. “I’m sorry for the arrow.”

“Well, you know. Every time I look at it I will remember the badass bitch you can be.” I offered her a laugh, which she appreciated.

"B-but you have a reminder of m-me." No, I didn't want a reminder. I wanted her with us. I wanted Allison alive with us.

Before I could say anything, I heard someone falling on their knees next to me and Allison was taken from my arms. Now she was in the arms where she used to belong. Kira ran to her mother as Isaac was badly hurt, mouth wide open as he glanced at the girl he had fallen in love with.

I stayed there, next to them as my brother placed his hand on top of Allison's hand. "I-I can't take your pain." I gulped as I touched his elbow. He glanced at me to later glance at Allison after I made a gesture.

Allison Argent's eyes were wide open as she glanced at the sky, and her chest wasn't raising up and down anymore. "It's because it doesn't hurt." Her voice cracked.

"No."

She nodded her head. "It's okay." She cried. "It's okay." My brother's face was the perfect expression of pain. A pain that couldn't be described. "It's perfect. I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I ever loved. The person I'll always love." My brother held her closer as he sobbed. "I love you. Scott. Scott McCall."

"Don't, please, don't. Allison don't, please."

"You have to tell my dad. And you have to tell my dad. Tell him." She begged as her mouth filled with her own blood. Her last puffs of air left her body as she slowly closed her eyes. As we mourned the death of a friend, a sister and a first love.

I sobbed, placing my hand on my mouth to not make any noise. My head rested on my brother's shoulder, trying to give him as much comfort as I could, which wasn't much because...

Allison Argent was dead.

But of course, our pain didn't end there. We had to testify about Allison's death, which seemed impossible as we didn't know what to say without looking crazy.

Stiles was still looking as pale as ever. Dark circles under his eyes as if he was dying. Stiles was dying and I couldn't help but have negative thinking. I couldn't lose him. And even worse, Void was there. Void was somewhere. Perhaps hurting someone or feeding himself with chaos and agony.

Now, we were standing in front of the BHHS building. Kira and Scott were ready to open the doors when Stiles stopped them. "Scott, hold on." Lydia and I were helping him stand up. "I know what you're all thinking. If this works, it might kill me, too. But even if it does, you have to go through with it. Stick with the plan, okay?"

"The plan is to save you," I added, glancing up at him.

"That's the plan I'm going with." My brother replied.

Opening the doors, we were met with a white place filled with snow. It looked like some type of garden with Japanese decorations and it was decorated with a blanket of snow. The doors closed behind us and I shuffled closer to Stiles as I shivered.

We turned around again as we heard footsteps. Rhys. The Nogitsune was standing there. But as quickly as he could, he got closer to us, ignoring Kira who prepared her sword.

"Like I promised, Stiles." His voice started to sound like a broken recording. "We're going to kill all of them. One by one." Onis appeared, surrounding us.

"What the hell is this? Where are we?" Scott asked as I glanced around.

"Between life and death," Nogitsune answered.

"Bardo."

"But there are no peaceful deities here, Lydia." He mocked us. "You're dying, Stiles. And now everyone you care about is dying, too." He started circling us.

"What?" The boy next to me gulped. "What do you mean?"

"I've captured almost all of the territories on the board, Stiles. The hospital. The sheriff's station." I rested my hand on top of Stiles's shoulder as his body shuffled closer to me unconsciously. "And now the animal clinic." He chuckled. "Do you know the ritual of seppuku, Stiles?"

"No, and I don't want to." As Nogitsune got closer to us, Stiles's body moved in front of me.

"When a samurai disembowels himself with his own sword to maintain his honour, but that's not the cut that kills him. The killing stroke is made by his kaishakunin, who beheads the samurai with his own katana." The snow fell on top of our heads as Stiles brought me even closer to his body. His right hand resting on my waist. "Scott...Scott is your kaishakunin. I'm going to make your best friend kill you, Stiles. And you're going to let him. Because just like you, they're all going to die. Everyone touched by an Oni's blade. Unless Scott kills you first." All of us had teary eyes, but not as much as Stiles.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" I clutched Stiles closer to me as I didn't want him to get closer to the monster standing in front of us.

"To win the game."

Stiles grabbed Lydia and me, getting us in a safe place while Scott and Kira fought the Onis. However, one of the Onis disarmed Kira. And I was shocked when Stiles grabbed the sword, pointing it at himself. Ready to die for our safety.

"Stiles," I whispered.

"What if it saves you? What if it saves all of you?" I saw the point of the blade against his clothed stomach, shock filling my body.

"What if it's just another trick?" Lydia asked. She was scared. We all were.

"No more tricks, Lydia. End it, Scott. Let your friend fall on his own sword. Do for him what he cannot do for himself. Do it, Scott." My body shook but also the body of Stiles. "Be his kaishakunin. Give up the game. You have no moves left."

Stiles seemed to realize something as he stopped pointing the sword to himself. "I do." He passed the object to Kira. "A divine move." His arms brought me closer to his body once again. "Stop fighting them." His voice was loud. "It's an illusion. You have to stop fighting them. It looks real and it feels real, but Scott, you gotta trust me, it's an illusion."

We started walking towards Nogitsune and the Onis. One of them raised his sword, cutting my brother's chest, but we continued walking, ignoring the damage done. My brother and Kira received the most pain as Stiles kept me and Lydia closer to his body, trying to avoid any pain towards us. Then, my brother pushed Nogitsune against the doors we had entered from before. The next thing we knew, we were back at school.

There was no blood, no pain. "We're okay. We're..." Before my brother could finish his sentence, he was pushed against the lockers by Void. Kira was brutally hit as she fell unconscious to the floor. "This was my game." His voice was raspy. "You think you can beat me at my game?" His gaze was mostly directed to Stiles.

"Divine move." I placed Lydia behind me as Stiles put me behind him. "Divine move." Void rapidly got closer to us as we stepped back as quickly. "You think you have any moves at all? You can kill the Oni. But me? Me? I'm A THOUSAND YEARS OLD. YOU CAN'T KILL ME!"

"But we can change you," I replied as he stopped his movements, glancing at me.

"You forgot about the scroll," Stiles added as his body shuffled next to mine.

"The Shugendo scroll."

"Change the host." Void whispered.

"You can't be a fox and a wolf." Stiles lightly smirked as my brother appeared from behind, biting his forearm as Void screamed out of rage and agony. Then, Kira pierced his chest from behind with the sword.

Void fell to the ground, his mouth opened as a fly left from deep inside his body. Then, Isaac appeared, catching the fly, avoiding the insect to go inside someone else. Void continued convulsing, and then he just dissolved.

Stiles's body got far from mine and as I glanced to my side I saw that he had passed out. Nevertheless, when he finally opened his eyes we couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"Oh, God, I fainted, didn't I?" We all chuckled. Stiles Stilinski was back. "We're alive. We all alive?"

My brother answered even though I knew he wanted to say that not all. "Yeah. We're okay."

"I-Is it over?" I was scared of asking such a question. But I needed to hear an answer. I needed to be sure that I could close my eyes without expecting blood covering my hands as soon as I would have opened them.

They all glanced at each other, nodding.

"Here you go." Mr Stilinski placed some blankets on top of Stiles's bed. "It's going to be a cold night so I will leave some blankets here in case you both get cold at night." He walked closer to his son, giving him a small hug. "Good night." Then, he stepped closer to me, kissing my forehead.

"Thank you for letting me stay here tonight." I shyly whispered as he embraced me.

"Ugh, stop thanking me. You are part of this family. Whatever you need, just tell us." He closed Stiles's bedroom door behind himself when he left.

"Let's get into bed," Stiles whispered as he let me get in the bed first, knowing that I preferred sleeping to the closest place to the wall, feeling protected by the wall and his body. "Want to watch a film?" We both were sitting on his bed together. I nodded my head. "Oh, there's a Robin Hood film..." He trailed off as he glanced at my face. "Yeah, maybe not now." He changed the channel again. "Oh, The Mummy." He shook his head. "We better turn this off." I chuckled, nodding my head.

I sighed, deciding to lay on my left side and examining his face. He laid in the same position as our legs slowly intertwined under the blankets. My hand slowly trailed up, resting on his cheek. "I was so scared of losing you." I chuckled, shaking my head. "And I'm sure you were in a worse position than me. Are you okay?" My thumb rubbing the bone of his cheek.

He offered me a tiny smile. "I will be. And I feel better now that I'm here with you." His voice came out in a whisper. "Did he...Void, you know?"

"No," I continued rubbing his cheek. "He didn't touch me at all."

He sighed in relief. "He was infatuated by you." He bit his lower lip. "Like I had no control over my body but I could see and hear as if I was in control. But he was the one controlling my own body. Whenever you were there he would say something...about you."

"It's okay." I tried to calm him down. "I'm here, Stiles. And most importantly, you are here too." I moved closer to his body as he did the same. "Stiles," My voice shook as our lips grazed each other. "I want you."

His eyes widened. "I've never-."

"I know," I nodded feeling flustered. "Me neither. And I'm scared to do it so soon but I want to get closer." I closed my eyes, feeling even more embarrassed than before. "I'm sorry, forget what I said. I just-."

"You want to build it up? Like, go slowly until we, Uhm, yeah?" I nodded my head, glad he understood but flustered for having such an idea in my head. "So hypothetically talking what would you want to do?" His hips swayed closer to mine, making me gulp.

"M-Maybe touch, uhm." I giggled due to the embarrassment I was feeling. "Touch each other?" I whispered, unsure of how he would feel about my idea.

I heard him gulping as he quickly nodded his head. I sighed in relief. "Yeah, yeah, okay, now?" I shrugged my head, nodding. "How do we...do it?"

I gathered a little courage as the hand that was resting on his cheek trailed down. My fingers grazed his covered chest until they stopped right at the start of his pyjama pants. I glanced at him, asking for permission as he nodded his head. My fingers slowly slipped inside his pants and boxers. My body shook in anticipation as I continued going lower. He was trimmed, I could feel it.

He wasn't hard yet. But as soon as my fingers freed him from his boxers, he got hard on my hand. "Shit, your hands are freezing." He pulled his pants and boxers a little further so it wouldn't bother us.

"I'm so sorry." Before I could take my hand away from his member, he wrapped his hand around mine.

"It does feel good." I gulped, nodding my head. His gaze was fixed on me as I started moving my hand up and down at a slow pace. "Use your thumb for the tip, press on it." I did as he instructed, examining how his face transformed into an open-mouth expression of pleasure. "Y-yeah, just like that."

My hand decided to go faster, gripping his shaft tightly as my thumb didn't forget to press against his tip. Stiles closed his eyes, placing his left arm on top of his face as he tried to drown his moans. His hips seemed to lose control as they moved against my hand, trying to go quicker.

"Stiles," My other hand decided to grab his testicles, massaging them. He finally moaned aloud, taking his arm off his face to glance at me. His cheeks were red and his forehead was covered by sweat. "I want to see your face and hear you." My shy voice didn't correlate with my actions.

"Agh, I'm so embarrassed." His hips stopped moving and his hand grabbed my wrist to stop my actions.

"W-Why?"

"I-It's the first time someone touches me like that." He blushed. "I normally do this one my own, you know. Because I am a young boy who is horny constan-."

"Stiles." I laughed.

"I've never been touched by another person like this and I have really strong feelings for you and I've been imagining this for a long time and-." I sent him a confused look. "If you continue I'm going to cum already."

"It's okay," I whispered, freeing my hand from his grasp. My hand started moving up and down again as my other hand played with his sack. "Cum, Stiles." My lips grazed his, kissing him deeply. His left hand gripped my side, clutching it strongly as his hips moved faster, fucking himself on my hand. "Let it go, Stiles. Don't be scared to explode. Do it." He groaned against my lips. I glanced down at his hips bucked against my hand until my hand got wet as a trail of cum fell down my hand.

He moaned, which made my pulse go lower than the place where it should be. He rode his high as cum continued dripping down his tip to my hand. "I-I forgot." He gasped. "I cum a lot." I nodded, surprised. "Now you." He took his pants off, cleaning using to clean my hand. Then, he placed his boxers back on.

"It's okay, Stiles."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I want you to get a release too." He coughed. "And I want to t-touch you." He gulped as his fingers didn't waste time, lowering my pants down and playing with the hem of my panties.

"Ugh," I grumbled, covering my face. "I'm so embarrassed." I was sure I looked as flustered as I felt.

"It's alright. If you want me to do it-." I nodded my head, signalling that I wanted it even though I was all flushed. "Alright." His fingers lowered down. The tips of his finger were a little cold, but the contrast against my hot core was amazing. His other hand lowered my panties as the hand touching my clit, started circling it, slowly. "C-Can you guide me?"

"Just play with it, add pressure sometimes." I sighed as two of his fingers circled it slowly, applying pressure on it sometimes. I gasped when his two fingers started going down, recollecting some of the juices between my lips as he trailed up to add pressure all over again.

"Want it faster?" He whispered as we had totally forgotten his dad was at home. I ground myself against his hand as he cupped my heat, letting me grind on him. "Does it feel good?" He glanced at my hand, which was clutching his arm as I shuffled closer to him so I could rub myself against his hand.

"Wait," I gasped. I forced him to lay down on his back as I sat on top of him.

"W-What are you-." He moaned as I rubbed my core against his clothed dick. "O-okay, that feels, uhh." His hands gripped my waist as he helped me grind against his. My pace quickly fastened with the help of his hands guiding me. "I'm going to, again."

I nodded my head, going faster and trying to contain my moans as low as possible. "Me too." My hands were pressed against his chest as I rode to both of our highs, our faces getting closer, moaning in each other's mouths.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker - @brithedemonspawn - @weirdowithnobeardo - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @azayamari - @poguestyle17 - @bibliophilewednesday - @10minutesofscreentime - @momentitodebruh - @drikawinchester - @perrytheplatypus11 - @my-soul-is-the-moon - @linkpk88 - @royalreadery - @sweetest-serpent01 - @teenwaywardasgardian - @sadcupofcoffee - @maliyamay - @seninjakitey - @tairisceana - @thegirlwhoimagined - @mackingjj - @daphnen21 - @malfoystilinskii05 - @caitsymichelle13 -

People in bold means it doesn’t let me tag them.

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Note

All the HCs and side materials aside, who do you think was closer to Levi, Erwin or Hange? While there was this acker host thing with Erwin but it was debunked. Meanwhile he hasn't even acknowledged Hange's sacrifice even once so theres that too.

Oh god, so yes I have wanted to answer this ask for a while, thought of pushing it until night time today but I got locked out of the office though thirty minutes before my shift so let me just cope with the stress by giving my feedback on this because I feel like I have already explained my side to a lot of people but I’d rather have it immortalized in my blog at this point.

Okay first question

Who do you think was closer to Levi, Erwin or Hange?

I find this question thought provoking but I don’t like these types of questions because they tend to start fights? And they tend to cause unnecessary drama both in real life and online. And relationships are so hard to quantify like of course there's a clear line between acquaintance and best friend but the nuances between siblings, lover, best friend and parent are a little more complex because we all have a lot of people we care about deeply but can we easily say who we love more?

(this is still a great question though anon, thank you for asking it.)

It’s literally like the epitome of asking ur parents “who’s your favorite child” or “who do you love more your best friend for so many years or your girl friend of like two years who you met, clicked then realized they were the love of your life.” Who will you save when in a burning building? your wife? Or your parents? Or your siblings? Your best friend?

Such problematic questions which I think a lot of us in our lives would rather never have to answer, especially in front of our loved ones.

I am not making assumptions about what type of relationship Levi had with Erwin or what type of relationship Levi had with Hange in this post because I don’t wanna start shipping wars in this very peaceful website. (But, I ship Levihan and will probably die with this ship close to my heart so you can make assumptions about my opinions on Levi and Hange’s relationship based on that.)

But the point is, Erurihan has always been special. Levi held a lot of people close to his heart over the years but I found that trio to have notably been the closest and Erwin and Hange have changed Levi’s lives the most.

Would Levi have played favorites between them?? NO. Because Erwin and Hange were such different people that putting them side by side and thinking “who did Levi love more” is like comparing apples to oranges, putting them side by side and thinking which fruit tastes better.

Because Hange and Erwin offered different things to Levi. Literally, Erwin became that next purpose for Levi after he lost his two best friends. He saw wonder in Erwin’s eyes, he saw a leader, he saw someone who can guide him to a bigger purpose and he trusted Erwin so deeply and Erwin trusted him back and even as a Levihan fan, I might actually admit that early on in the series, Levi was probably much closer to Erwin than Hange. Fine I admit it he probably was.

But Hange offered something else to Levi. While Erwin offered a path, Hange offered wonder, curiosity. She offered Levi things to think about beyond the survey corps job. I mean Erwin was practically married to his job right. Hange was practically married to her job too but I found Hange more... approachable? Warmer overall? I mean if you actually see Eren’s interactions with the three of them or you watch from Season 1, you would realize that Hange was really the most approachable survey corps veteran from the start (other than petra).

And I think Levi really appreciated that part of her and saw it as something worth entertaining. He completely believed in Erwin, Erwin gave him a purpose in life but Hange was the one who added color to it, she actually added something beyond that purpose. She made him feel things he probably wouldn’t have felt elsewhere.

Annoyance? Anger? Defeat at how someone could be so enthusiastic and dense? Curiosity? Someone who might have made him think that maybe, soldiering and survey corps-ing and almost being eaten by titans everyday wasn’t so bad. And maybe there is joy in the domestic in betweens?

Another thing, here’s what Hange had that Erwin didn’t have, she had the luxury of time, she also had the luxury of circumstances on her side, of having been the only one left out of the veterans for Levi to cling on to. This made it more natural for a deeper friendship and relationship to develop between the two. So if Hange is closer to Levi than Erwin is, then it’s because of the circumstances that it made it so, post season 3.

If Erwin lived, the dynamics of erurihan would have definitely developed differently. But I never considered the possibiliy of Erwin living instead of Hange since Levi picking Armin just felt really in character and right for me. So yeah, it’ll probably stay a shallow speculation until the end haha.

And about this second question...

“Meanwhile he hasn't even acknowledged Hange's sacrifice even once so theres that too.”

Yo. Just a reminder, Hange died like roughly an hour or two ago manga time. Levi is literally internally bleeding, the shit show just never stopped for a second and for some reason people are expecting Levi to give a nod at Hange’s death.

Okay yes, she did mean a lot to him. But lemme give you the explanation which has been sticking to me for a really long time.

Levi is clowning. Like literally, I don’t think he has even acknowledged that Hange is dead yet. We have concrete hints that he is. After ‘dedicate your heart’ he just walked away and didn’t look back. It’s in the fact that he didn’t even look out the window to watch her die and in the fact that his last words were “see you later” like I’m pretty sure he’s thinking to himself “Yeah, like I know she is probably gonna die objectively but… Just, what if… she lives??

Just like all of us Hange stans in the website yo with our beast titan theory, Levi is just the biggest clown of us all (since he is the biggest Hange stan anyway...). He decided (unconsciously or consciously) to ‘pretend’ that Hange’s still alive maybe until the end of the war just so that he could possibly function at least (?).

I mean I’m pretty sure we’ve all done this in our lives. Especially when we’ve lost someone we’ve loved dearly or maybe when we’re saying good bye to someone in the airport where we’re just laughing our heads off with that person all the way until the departure gate when they say good bye and we only break down when we’re home alone. Like I’m pretty sure it’s similar for people who have lost someone, kept themselves busy with funeral preparations and memorial services and only start experiencing the loss when they go back to normal life and realize they have to clean out someone’s bedroom or fix their daily routine to adjust to the loss of that loved one.

Maybe Levi will finally acknowledge it when everything goes back to normal and he finds Hange’s office empty and he realizes he doesn’t have his buddy to have tea with every night. And if Yams decides not to write or insert that, I’ll probably just speculate it myself and keep this theory alive.

I actually wrote a drabble about this a long time ago. You can read it here.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

#levihan #eruri #erurihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith #meta

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anauthore · 3 years

Text

Escape From Halloweentown {Jack Skellington x Reader} CHAPTER 1

Summary: When a game of hide-and-seek goes wrong, you find yourself lost in the woods without a way home. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, you suddenly find yourself in a far bigger predicament than you ever thought you would be- and it’s not just because you can’t seem to find your little brother.

**Pairing: **Reader / Jack Skellington. A very slow burn fic.

NOTE: This is a full-length fanfic! If you don’t want to read chapter by chapter on tumblr, please use the following links to read in a different format / on a different website!

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You had thought the doors in the trees lead to a cozy, hollow trunk, or even just a black-filled void of some solid decorative substance. Of course, once you found yourself launched onto the ground in front of you, sprawled out after trying and failing to break your fall, you quickly came to realize that that obviously was not the case.

You grunted, wheezing in the air you’d just had knocked out of you. Once you managed to scramble to your feet, you brushed yourself off, picking the pebbles and other woodland debris from your stinging palms and knees. The inflicted areas burned, and you idly ran your fingertips over the little divots they’d made into your skin before you turned around to face the door. Or rather, doors.

They still were attached to the circle of trees you’d found in the beginning, all towering over you by miles as they stood stoic and unmoving as trees always are. Out of both a burning curiosity and an insatiable impulse, you reached forward toward the gleaming knob to twist it, yet it was as stiff as a board. You furrowed a brow, trying yet again, but it didn’t move.

It didn’t move.

You looked beyond the massive trunk in front of you and out toward the horizon, where the sun had just started to come up. The entirety of the sky was painted a fruitful orange, and despite the beauty of the picture, you were more confused than you’d ever been before. The sun, as warmth-emanating as it was, sat there, climbing in a direction opposite of where it had just been moments before.

You blinked. And then you blinked again.

And then you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your fists, digging the ends of your nails into your palms to ground you with some semblance of pain.

It was almost too easy to convince yourself that everything you’d just experienced was, in fact, a dream- yet still you found yourself trying your hardest to cling to the façade. It definitely seemed more real than the reality that was currently right in front of your closed eyes in the moment.

You sighed, and when the sun didn’t revert back to the other side of you, and the doorknob still didn’t turn, you gave up.

You turned on your heel, tentatively at first, but then started to walk away. You didn't know where you would end up, but using this newfound daylight for something other than trying to convince yourself you were crazy is the best you could do. You crunched browned leaves under your shoes, their steady rhythm keeping you going.

Crunch crunch crunch crunch…

You breathed in and out to the beat of your own footfalls, so lost in the monotony that you didn't even realize there had been a dirt path bare of grass and leaves before you. You'd been so focused on figuring out what had just happened that the transition into silence didn't even faze you, so when you finally did notice you were actually heading somewhere, you were surprised.

Your pace quickened, excitement coursing through your veins. Maybe there was a town nearby, or at the very least, someone's backyard. As long as you had somewhere to go, you could make it work.

The trees started to thin, as did the grass and underbrush that had surrounded you nearly the entirety of your journey. The forest itself pushed back, and ahead you could make out gnarled buildings that curled and rose toward the grey sky. Although the architecture was odd, especially by modern standards, you couldn't help but smile. It was a town! There had to be people here that could help you, and if you were lucky enough, maybe you’d find someone who’d seen your brother.

The clouds fogged the distant towers, making it seem so far away. You didn’t let that deter you, however; you passed the opening in the trees and met a dull graveyard with twisted tombstones and gnarled wording carved into them. You furrowed a brow and stopped for a moment, taking in the sight before you. These stones were surely unlike any you’ve ever seen, the lettering curling in such a way that you couldn’t make out what it said other than the dates in which these people had died: 1743, 1820, 1789, 1650, etc, etc.

Your eyebrows raised and mouth parted to breath, surprise etched in your features. You didn’t live in the north, where the pilgrims settled and died as early as the 1600s, and you didn’t know of anywhere around that could remotely match these dates of death. It was astounding to you that there had been people living here during that time- and then your shock turned to wonderment. The headstones all had one thing in common, aside from the material they were made of; none of the dates had passed the mid-1900s. Where were you? And what kind of town looks like this, with old buildings and outdated graveyards?

Shaking off the oddness of the situation, you left the line of tombs, only glancing back a couple times to make sure that you’d seen the dates correctly. You trudged on until the blackened iron fence that enclosed the rest of the graveyard came into view, the gate pointed and an unmistakable jack-o-lantern etched into it’s bars. It was propped open, it’s bottom hinge broken and the butt of the gate sunk into the dirt. From the path, you could see stones, and eventually a cobble route that was indistinguishable from the stone archway and wall that closed in the uncanny town in all its glory.

The alleyways were mostly empty, save for an occasional statue you mistook as a person. There was no litter among the lines of houses; just empty trash cans, rusting bars on windows, and locked doors to accompany the already peculiar feeling of the place. In the distance, the crashing waves of the somehow-running fountain gave some life to the town center. This, of course, was one of your only indications that there were people here at all; why would the fountain be running if there wasn’t anyone to manage it? Everything was clean, too- so this place must be a town of hermits, with outdated traditions and their own ancestors in their graves.

You sighed, and noticed the sun still creeping over the horizon. It hadn’t taken you long at all to get here, and usually that would be a good thing, but now that you were perched on the fountain’s edge looking at the vastly differing houses around you, you weren’t so sure that this place would be of any help. If anything, you were scared. You very plainly not even a full-fledged adult yet, but here you were, in the middle of God knows where looking for your little brother where he didn’t seem to be.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you instinctively sniffed to get rid of the stinging sensation. You were here for your brother, and no one else. That meant that, despite the scary situation, you would go door to door and ask for help if you had to. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

All the houses here were menacing in their own way, so, as you did when you chose a direction to walk in, you just turned toward a house and decided to walk toward it. You breathed in and made your way to this particular house’s stairs, stepping up one to plant three loud knocks on the front of a surprisingly sturdy wooden door.

You stared at the outside of the building. The windows didn’t have bars, like the others; instead, there were rotting boards covering the openings. The more that you looked at the exterior, the more you realized that there would be no way for any semblance of light to creep in, which made you raise an eyebrow in question. A moment more passed, and you knocked again, growing impatient with this empty village. Right as your knuckles brushed against the door for the third time, it swung open, revealing the dark interior and a tall, thin man clad in black standing before you.

“Yes?”

His voice was high, but it fell and rose as though it were a teen greeting her friend in a sing-songy way. You gave him a once-over, realizing that not only was this man inhabiting a house that could be compared to an abandoned lot, but he was also dressed as a vampire… in the middle of November.

“Uh, I was looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”

He had to squint to see you against the light of the outside, but even so you could tell he was looking you up and down. Though you had no idea what was going through his mind, you could tell that he was probably just as confused as you.

When he didn’t reply, you decided to elaborate; “We were playing in the forest, and he got lost. I don’t know if he ended up here, but could I at least use your phone? To tell my dad I’m safe. Mine’s dead, I can’t reach him.” You stopped yourself before you continued to ramble on, biting your tongue and hoping he could help you.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you thought that he might not respond at all. You opened your mouth to speak once more and the door closed in your face. You had no time to be shocked before it opened once more, creaking on its ancient hinges. He stepped back and gestured behind him, his cape draped over his arm as if he were Count Dracula.

You bowed your head and thanked him as you stepped into the very dimly lit room, the only source of light coming from an old lamp that sat in the corner of the room, which seemed to be nearly burnt out. You glanced about and saw that it wasn’t just this man’s costume that was vampire themed…

His décor was littered with Victorian era styles, a large coffin in the corner next to the lamp, slightly larger than the lopsided grandfather clock that sat next to it. It didn’t seem to be running, but you wouldn’t be able to tell even if it was. Wary, you seated yourself on the edge of the couch, hands folded in your lap as you watched the vampire-enthusiast close the door gently and look at you. Your eyes took a moment or so to adjust, but once they did, you realized that the interior of this place was nearly as dreary as the rest of the town.

“So, what did you want again, dear?”

You cleared your throat, nervousness coursing through you. “To use your phone, if that’s alright.”

He cocked a brow and glanced to the side, thinking before he responded in a hushed tone; “Let me see if I have one to use… just give me a moment.”

He was gone, around the corner and down what you thought was a hallway- it was too dark to really see anything, but you figured since he lived in this house, he had memorized its layout perfectly. You sighed, twiddling your thumbs as you waited, still thinking about the man’s obsession with the popularized blood-sucking creature.

He returned, floating across his carpeted floor with no phone in hand. Trailing behind him were two shorter figures, both dressed the same as he was with long black capes and an equally dark robe. You couldn’t tell if they were related, or just friends, but they all seemed to have one thing in common; the idolization of the vampire. This, of course, worried you some. What if they were to try and suck your blood? Or maybe they were some sort of killer posse? If that were the case, though, then surely this town wouldn’t be as empty as it was. Surely, you thought, they’d already have done something to me by now.

The tallest one- the one which had answered the door for you- informed you that these were, indeed, his brothers. They were both shorter than he, albeit heavier and wider. You smiled half-heartedly as a greeting and looked back to the original.

“So, did you find a phone?”

“A phone? What’s that, Prince?” One of the brothers drawled, his voice as old and scratchy as the other’s.

“Well, no, I didn’t. But I know someone who can.” He elected to ignore the previous question and instead followed it up with a request from the other two; “Go get Jack. He’ll know what to do.”

With a curt nod, the brothers practically floated out of the front door, arms over their heads as a classic vampire would most likely do to shield themselves from the sunlight. The tallest stayed- Prince, he had been called. He didn’t sit down, as you were, nor did he really move from his standing place.. The silence in the room settled, thick and heavy, until you were so fed up with it that you decided you had to speak to preserve your own sanity.

“Uh, I like this room. It looks very nice- it’s really unique.” You smiled a thin-lipped smile and looked to him, gauging his reaction. He had already been staring at you- you chalked it up to him having not had guests in a long while. He nodded, not smiling when he responded; “I like it too.”

You didn’t like the tension, nor did you enjoy just sitting around, however you needed a phone. Or at the very least, someone more capable of getting you one than Prince. Summoning all your patience, you waited.

You were lucky that you didn’t have to wait very much longer. You’d been bouncing your leg and fiddling with the dead skin on your fingers the entire time, and you didn’t want to seem too nervous or scared. You had a feeling that it might’ve been rolling off you in waves, so you tried your best to stifle the urges.

Your ears perked up after a minute or so more, alerted to a crunching sound outside of the door. Both you and Prince looked at it before it was pushed open by the shortest brother, who bumbled inside ungracefully, followed by his other similarly dressed family member. You looked passed him, expecting another vampire, or maybe even a normal human person, but what stood in the archway was so much more than what you were expecting.

It was a skeleton.

#anauthore #tnbc #the nightmare before christmas #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction on tumblr #tnbc fanfiction #the nightmare before christmas fanfiction #chapter 2 #escape from halloweentown #lost in halloweentown

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vs-redemption · 4 years

Note

May I please have BNHA scenarios of how any characters you think would fit would dealing with a haunting with their paranormal loving partner? Thank you

A/N: I had so much fun writing these! I decided to do three characters: Twice, Mirko, and Todoroki. They’re all under the cut since it’s three different stories. I hope you enjoy!

Dealing with a Haunting (Twice, Mirko, and Todoroki x Paranormal Loving!Reader)

Warning: Mentions of scary Halloween themes like death and murder related to the huantings.

Twice (Jin Bubaigawara)

“Hey Jin!” You skip up to your boyfriend with an innocent smile on your face. It was always the best way to get his guard down if you had to ask him for something. Not that it was hard to get him to go along with your ideas anyway. He could never resist doing things for the people he cared about. “I finally decided what I want for my birthday.”

“Really? What is it?” He perks up at your words, eager to find out what it was that would make you happy. “Took you long enough!”

You smile, knowing there was no reason to be offended by the second comment. He pulls you into a hug as you reach up to put a hand on each side of his face. Your touch reminds him that he has no reason to fear splitting apart. “I want to spend the night in a haunted hotel,” you tell him, causing him to go bug eyed for a moment.

“Uh uh! No Way!” he shakes his head before leaning in close, “anything for you, baby!” You smile victoriously. He would need no further convincing. He knew you loved anything paranormal, and there was no way he was going to let you go somewhere potentially dangerous by yourself.

An alarm on your phone alerts you once it is 3am on the night of your birthday. You hop off the hotel bed which was still perfectly made since you had no intention of sleeping. Your boyfriend, however, had drifted off in the room’s armchair in the middle of the movie you’d put on a few hours before.

“Jin, wake up!” You shake his shoulder and he wakes up with a startle. “It’s dead time! Let’s go!” You don’t wait for him to reply as you open up your suitcase to grab your flashlight and camera. You remember to hand Jin a mask to wear over his head so that he’d feel a little more confident.

“Are you sure about this?” He whispers as you both tiptoe out into the darkened hallway.

“Of course!” You assure him. “I’ve been wanting to come here for years! Thank you so much for doing this with me.” You lean toward him to give him a peck on the cheek before making your way down to the first floor of the hotel. Your footsteps echo around the stairwell and you feel Jin slip his hand into yours.

“Are you scared already?” you ask him in amusement.

“Oh course not!” He defends himself before puffing out his chest, “I’m your brave protector!” You laugh at his false bravado as you lead him toward the empty swimming pool.

“They say a pair of twins died in this pool,” you tell your boyfriend as you flick on your flashlight and let it illuminate the calm water in front of you. “Every year, on the same day as their death, people claim to hear the sound of children laughing and running around this area.” You turn around and give him your best creepy smile, “tonight is the 10 year anniversary.”

“Stop it,” Jin was definitely getting spooked now, “I don’t believe you.”

As soon as he muttered those words, you felt a small breeze brush past you both with the faint sound of a giggle floating through the air. You quickly reach for your camera, hoping to capture some evidence of what was happening, but Jin completely freaked out. He scoops you into his arms and runs as fast as he can from the pool area. Once you’re far enough away, he sets you down and takes your hand again. “Your story was real!” He gasps, “Let’s get out of here!” Jin takes you back to your room to get the rest of your stuff before checking out as fast as humanly possible.

Mirko (Rumi Usagiyama)

You had been a fan of everything and anything paranormal since before you could remember. You had grown up watching all the different ghost hunting programs on TV and always found yourself watching live ghost cams in your free time. Over the years, you’d collected all sorts of gadgets like EMF readers, thermal cameras, and digital voice recorders. Recently, you had even started your own paranormal investigation website where you posted videos of your own ghost hunting adventures. It was the hobby you were most passionate about. When the Halloween season finally came around, you decided to a special vlog including your pro hero girlfriend, Mirko.

“Sorry, I know you’re into all the spooky stuff, but it’s not really my thing,” She flips her long silver hair over her shoulder before pointing a confident thumb to her chest. “I’ve literally made it my job not to be afraid of anything.” You let out a laugh at her predictable response.

“You don’t have to be scared,” you tell her. “I just thought it was something fun we could do to get into the Halloween spirit!” The rabbit hero puts a hand to her chin in thought before shrugging her shoulders.

“All right, I don’t see any harm in it,” she gives in quickly since, if nothing else, it was a chance to spend more time with you. She knew she’d made the right decision by the way your face had lit up with excitement. You both were thrill seekers, which is what had brought you two together in the first place.

What she hadn’t predicted at all, was that you would be dragging her to a graveyard on the night of Halloween. You’d set up some cameras around the area during the day, then went back with Mirko after the sun had set.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” Mirko had the EMF reader in her hand as she followed you through the rows of headstones. It was a little chilly outside and she looked really cute bundled up in her fluffy coat and gloves.

“Supposedly, ghosts are able to effect magnetic frequencies,” you explain excitedly while scanning the area with your thermal camera. “The device you’re holding will let us know if there are any disturbances in the electromagnetic energy around here.”

“Right,” her intense red eyes glanced around the graveyard as if daring something to come set off the device.

“You know you can’t take down a spirit with brute force, right Rumi?” You ask her in amusement while continuing your walk among the headstones. A slight mist had started to form over the ground and the temperature of the air seemed to drop suddenly. The tiny machine in Mirko’s hand began emitting a high pitched whine that made the hero tense up and go on alert.

“What’s happening?” she asks urgently. She didn’t sound scared, just ready to go toe to toe with anything dangerous that might appear.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to your lips before grabbing your voice recorder. You hit the record button and start asking questions like “Is anyone there?” and “If there’s a spirit present, give us a sign.” The EMF reader goes silent again and you glance over at Mirko. Her eyes are wide and her fluffy rabbit ears are straight up in the air.

“Something just moved past me and touched my hair,” she whispers as a smirk grows on her face. Abruptly, she snatches the recorder out of your hand. “All right ghost!” She challenges, “You wanna play? You don’t know who you’re messing with!”

“Rumi!” You can’t help but laugh even though the things you were suddenly experiencing were really quite extraordinary.

“Point the camera over there,” Mirko suddenly points across the graveyard. “By that tree.”

“Oh!” You gasp when the thermal camera picks up on a patch of cold in the exact spot Mirko had indicated. How had she known? “There’s something over there!” Mirko looked victorious before bouncing off in that direction, going too fast for you to keep up thanks to her large bunny feet.

“This is going to be great for your website!” she calls out behind her but the cold spot on the camera disappeared before reached the tree. You shake your head in amusement, wondering if bringing your girlfriend had been a good idea after all. She was going to scare all the ghosts away.

“It’s gone now,” you call over to her. The disappointment in your voice brought Mirko back to your side in a flash.

“Don’t worry!” She promises while putting an arm around you, “We’re going to track down every single ghost in this graveyard, even if we have to stay out here all night!” For someone who’d said ghosts weren’t her thing, Mirko was sure getting into it.

Shoto Todoroki

Getting a pro hero to take a vacation was borderline impossible. You’d been begging your boyfriend, Shoto Todoroki, to take some time off for years, but he was always reluctant to leave his job for more than a day or two at a time. You understood his need to be on standby in case of a major villain attack or big natural disaster. He hated the thought of not being there to save an innocent life or have the back of one of his fellow heroes. He still made sure to spend time with you every day, and you were content with taking small weekend trips with him when you could.

The routine had become familiar and comfortable, so it came as a huge shock to you when Todoroki showed up after work one day with two plane tickets in his hand. Not only were you going on an extended vacation with your boyfriend for the first time, but he’d also chosen New Orleans as the destination. You’d been dreaming of going there since you were a child. It was a city with a history full of vampires, witches, ghosts, and plenty of other supernatural entities. You were happy that your boyfriend had remembered, and surprised that he’d be willing to go along for the journey.

“I booked us a private tour at a haunted house tonight,” Shoto says causally as you unpack your bags at the first hotel. You look over at him in surprise. He was intently reading a brochure about the best ghost tours in the city.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Shoto?” You ask and he turns to look at you. “It might be really scary.”

“The ghosts don’t really exist,” he comes over and sits next to you on the bed. “But I think it’s an interesting way to learn about the history here.” If he was so sure, you weren’t going to try to change his mind. You were just happy that he was doing all this for you.

Once the tour started, you found yourself thankful that your boyfriend had paid for the private walkthrough. Some of the effect would have been lost if there’d been a huge group of people trying to squeeze through the dimly lit rooms and hallways. The tour guide was fantastic at setting the mood as well, explaining the stories of each haunting with just enough suspenseful flair.

“The previous owners of this house have reported repeatedly seeing a woman in a white dress standing by that window,” he explains. “They say she matches the description of a woman who died here, murdered by her lover who’d gone crazy after coming home from the war.”

At the beginning of the tour, Todoroki had curiously wandered around each room, investigating different items and asking questions. Now that you were deeper into the house though, he seemed less willing to stray too far from your side. You noticed he kept looking over his shoulder.

“Sometimes,” The tour guide continues, “When I’m closing up at night, I hear footsteps following me down this hallway even though I’m the only one here.”

“Really?” You ask, fascinated. “Have you ever seen anything?” You feel Shoto come up right behind you and put a hand on your waist.

“Yes!” The tour guide says dramatically, “I’ve often caught glimpses of a man’s face looking at me through mirrors or around corners.” The grip on your waist gets a little tighter.

“Are you okay, Shoto?” You ask, not understanding why he was being so clingy. It wasn’t like him at all.

“I’m fine,” he says but doesn’t let go of you.

“Oh!” The tour guide’s eyes suddenly go wide and he puts up his hands to ask for quiet. “Do you hear that?” You strain your ears and cover your mouth when the faint sound of a piano could be heard from somewhere nearby. The tour guide beckons you to follow him until you reach the room that was the source of the sound. You peek in the doorway and gasp when you see the keys of a grand piano playing by themselves.

“Look over there,” The tour guide suddenly whispers and you and Todoroki glance over to the corner of the room where a dark figure stood, barely visible in the shadows.

“Wow!” you were amazed but the grip your boyfriend had on you was almost getting uncomfortable now. You look up at him to see poorly concealed terror all over his face. You felt bad that he was reacting so badly so you took his hand into your own. “Most of it is tricks set up to excite the tourists,” you tell him to try and ease his fears.

The guide continues the tour after a moment but the sound of heavy footsteps suddenly come stomping down the hallway and move right past your small group. Todoroki’s eyes follow the sound as it fades out behind him. He actually starts to push you forward after that. “Please walk faster,” he tells you firmly.

You both were relieved when the tour was over. You’d enjoyed all the spooky experiences, but your poor boyfriend had not enjoyed even a moment of it. It was safe to say you wouldn’t be doing any more private haunted tours with him for the rest of the trip.

#mirko x reader #twice x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mirko #rumi usagiyama #bnha twice #jin bubaigawara #shoto todoroki #mha #bnha #writing requests #Cindy's Writing

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i-am-not-a-who-i-am-a-what · 3 years

Text

there was a moment from yesterday’s episode that set off so many alarm bells in my head and i haven’t seen anyone talking about it yet so i’m going to get my thoughts out there. i’m putting the majority of this post under a readmore bc it got very long thanks to all the transcript quotes i pulled but i really want to know what everyone else thinks about the Implications™

BASIRA

Okay. So… what do we know about Hill Top Road?

ARCHIVIST

Not much.

BASIRA

Another blind spot?

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s – I could look at it, but it… it was… it was like a… a hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a, a great height, like you’re being pulled into the abyss?

BASIRA

Kind of?

ARCHIVIST

[Getting lost in thought] Well it was… was like that. Normally I can see it, see the… webs, and feel the power of The Spider emanating from it, but… as I would look… it’s like my mind…. follows the paths of The Web,

[STATIC RISES]

the strands going down and… out… [Catching self] It’s quite disorientating.

[STATIC FADES]

my first thought after hearing this exchange was “huh, that sounds eerily similar to the description of the table the not-them was trapped in.” here it is from mag 3 - across the street:

I’d become enraptured by the table on which he’d placed my tea. It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole.

my first instinct was that this was some foreshadowing for jon meeting some kind of horrible fate, because well... remember what happened the last time someone got mesmerized by the table?

SASHA

Oh, hey. I’ve found… I’ve found that table you were talking about. Don’t really see what all the fuss is about. Just a… basic… optical illusion. Nothing special… just… just a… wait…

[Hushed and panicked] Jon! Jon, I think there’s someone here. Hello? I see you. Show yourself!

but then i started thinking more about why the table specifically would be referenced, and i remembered the earliest we see it used as artifact of the web, and where: with raymond fielding in hill top road in mag 59 - recluse:

On Sunday evenings, however, we’d all gather for the evening meal, and before we sat down to eat, he would remove the bright white tablecloth that covered it, and we’d gather around the dark wood. I remember it was carved in all sorts of strange swirling designs and patterns. It felt like if you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the center, to some deep truth, if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it.

it was while i was checking the transcripts to find the above quote that i also remembered the hole in center of the table that the web pattern leads towards wasn’t always empty - it used to contain a box, and that box contained an apple.

again from again from mag 59:

The center of the table looked, at first, like it was simply part of the wooden top, but if you looked closely, as I did so often, you could see an outline marking the very middle as a small, square box, carved with patterns just like the ones that laced their way over the rest of the table. I don’t remember how long we sat around the table those evenings, nor do I have any memory of what we might have eaten.

...

I reached over and pulled the wooden square from the center of the table. On its own, it appeared to be a small wooden box, and the lid opened smoothly, as my hands moved in a practiced motion. Inside was an apple, green and fresh and still wet with morning dew.

I knew I was going to eat it. I could feel tears desperately trying to push themselves out of my eyes, but I instead decided not to cry. I placed the box down on the table, reached over, and picked up the apple.

the box from the center of the table makes its first appearance in the very first hill top road statement, mag 8 - burned out, where we learn that apparently the apple was full of spiders.

considering the web’s predilection for filling it’s victim’s bodies with spiders (carlos vittery, annabell cane, the spider husks trevor encountered, the victim of the chelicerae website, the old woman in annabell’s statement, francis, etc.) i think this goes a ways to explain what happened to raymond’s other victims, and what would have happened to mag 59′s statement giver if he’d bitten into the apple:

They lay still now, wrapped in their sticky cocoons. Their bodies seemed warped and bloated in a way I didn’t recognize. But that’s only because at that point in my life, I had never before seen a spider egg sac.

more importantly though, we also learn that the box was buried under the burnt up tree in hill top road’s garden, the one whose uprooting was implied to be linked to agnes’s death:

STATEMENT

At that moment I made my decision. It was easy, like destroying this tree was the only thing to do, the only path to follow ... When the tree lay on its side, uprooted and powerless, I gazed into the hole where it had sat and noticed something lying there in the dirt.

Climbing down, I retrieved what turned out to be a small wooden box, about six inches square, with an intricate pattern carved along the outside. Engraved lines covered it, warping and weaving together, making it hard to look away.

...

ARCHIVIST

Except… We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

and keep in mind that the only reason the statement giver in mag 59 didn’t eat the apple, didn’t succumb to the web... was agnes’s kiss:

As the man in the suit told me to follow him in a clipped BBC accent, Agnes walked over, and gestured for me to lean down and listen to her. I did so, but instead of a conspiratorial whisper, she just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off down the hall.

...

All at once, my cheek erupted in pain. It was like someone had pressed a hot branding iron into my face, and I could swear that I heard the flesh sizzle as I let out a scream and fell to my knees. I raised my hands to my face and realized in that moment two very important things. The first is that my face seemed to be untouched; I could feel no injury or burn. The second was that raising my hand had been a truly voluntary act. I had willed it myself, and whatever power had been gripping me, tugging me into its web, I was free of it.

at this point you’re probably wondering why i think all this is relevant in terms of what might happen with hill top road, and i have two potential ideas:

my first idea has to do with the theory that agnes is lingering on as a ghost. this theory isn’t mine, i first encountered it shortly after mag 167 - curiosity aired through this post’s attempt to fix what bits of the timeline were thrown out of wack by the new info. if anyone has any other posts or general thoughts about this theory feel free to share them, i’d love to read them!

this theory is relevant to my speculation that agnes might finally make an appearance because she might have been the ghost seen by one of the statement givers in mag 100 - i guess you had to be there:

MARTIN

Right. Right.

[THROAT CLEARING]

Statement of Lynne Hammond, er, recorded 2nd of May 2017, regarding…

Uh, what, what’s this one about?

LYNNE

I saw a ghost.

MARTIN

O-kay.. Regarding a… a ghost. Statement begins.

who appeared as one of the cultists in mag 190 - scavengers:

MARTIN

[Puzzled] Celia?

CELIA

Probably. The, um… place I was trapped in, they took my name. I never got it back. But I like Celia, so… yeah! Celia it is.

MARTIN

Uh… H-Hello… Celia.

and was recognized and directly confirmed to be the same person by martin in mag 191 - what we lose:

MARTIN

…

Hey, I meant to ask. Do you recognise that woman, Celia?

ARCHIVIST

Um… no, I, I don’t think so. Why?

MARTIN

I’d swear she gave a statement once.

having her only pop up in mag 190 would have just been a fun easter egg, but having martin directly call out her presence the next episode sounds to me like jonny telling the audience to pay attention, to remember that her statement had to do with the ghost of a young woman on fire who might have been agnes.

my second idea involves web lighter.

over various statements throughout the previous four seasons we’ve been shown that the web and the desolation have been at war, and hill top road has been their battlefield. the best examples of this come from mag 139 - chosen and mag 149 - infectious doubts respectively.

on the one hand we have agnes being planted in hill top road by the cult of the lightless flame in an effort to both control her powers and derail the web’s plans, which seems to begin the conflict:

The compromise we came to was Hill Top Road. We knew it was a stronghold of the Web, full of other children Agnes’ age. We would supervise from a distance, but were confident she would be in no danger. The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.

and on the other we have the web binding gertrude to agnes, thus thwarting the desolation’s ritual, which also involved hill top road:

ARTHUR

Alright. Agnes. How’d you do it? Never did understand it, not really.

GERTRUDE

Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations

...

So, I began researching what I thought was a counter-ritual of sorts. Like I said, I was young, naive. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I thought was a piece of blind good luck when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hill Top Road, containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair.

wouldn’t it seem symbolic, fitting with the dream logic we’ve been working with all season (and that the fears have always tended to work with), if what ended the metaphysical war was an artifact touched by both the web and the desolation?

say perhaps... a device that creates fire while being marked by a symbol of the spider? one that just so happened to be delivered to the institute at the same time as a certain table?

TIM

Er, what is it?

ARCHIVIST

A lighter. An old Zippo.

TIM

You smoke?

ARCHIVIST

No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive!

TIM

Okay. Is there anything unusual about it?

ARCHIVIST

Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You?

TIM

Ah no. No.

ARCHIVIST

Well… show it to the others, see what they think. You said there was something else as well?

TIM

Oh, ah yes, yeah, it was sent straight to the Artefact Storage, a table of some sort. Ah, looks old. Quite pretty, though. Fascinating design on it.

all signs point to the best hope of escaping whatever plans the web has for jon lying with the desolation, or at least with fire, and who should be waiting in hill top road than someone who’s been known to burn statements in the past... and someone who, as of mag 162 - a cozy cabin, was the last person to mention the lighter:

MARTIN

So, should we destroy it? Before we go?

[THE CABIN CREAKS VERY LOUDLY.]

ARCHIVIST

I honestly don’t know if we can.

[HE SIGHS.]

MARTIN

Mm.

ARCHIVIST

Besides, there’s – far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think.

MARTIN

We’re not even gonna try? Look, we’ve got your lighter; maybe if we just –

i haven’t even begun to touch on the multiple instances of spiral marked individuals interacting with hill top road, or the potential role of the rift leading from the world without the institute to the reality with the institute from mag 114 - cracked foundations, or the foreshadowing we’ve gotten throughout this season that the archive might be destroyed by fire and how it’s looking more and more like that means jon might die, or the significance of the tapes and what power might be behind them...

but it’s nearing five in the morning where i am and i’ve been working on this frankly gargantuan post since about midnight, so i’m going to let more meta-inclined minds take it from here. tell me what you think! where do you agree with me, where do you think i’ve gone astray? hell, tell me if you think i’m just spinning my wheels, this is the first real theory post i’ve ever made so i might be completely off base, at least i tried lol.

tl;dr:

the call back to the imagery surrounding the web table and its long history with hill top road and the desolation is leading me to believe that whatever plans the web has in hill top road for jon, fire is going to have a significant role in whether or not the web gets what it wants; either agnes herself might finally make an appearance or the web lighter might finally come into play.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #mag 195 spoilers #sorry if this is incoherent i had it all typed up and formatted nicely and then this hellsite just deleted the whole thing #i'm not usually one to theory craft (tho i have utmost respect for those who are) so i have no idea if i'm just reading too deeply #this is the most pepe silvia ass post i've ever written

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Paranoia

This is a Dabi fanfic and it's way longer than anticipated and I don't know if you guys like it but it was on my mind the whole day and I kinda really wanted to write it. Hope you enjoy it.

Synopsis: Reader plays truth or dare and visits a website on the dark web. It goes all downhill from then on. Non-quirk AU.

Note: I have no idea how this whole thing with the dark web works so don't bother too much if it's wrong. Also, friends' reaction is a little weird but oh well. I'm also reeeeally bad with giving characters names so....yeah...you'll see.

Warning: Anxiety, mental abuse

Word count: 3.8k

It was a silly idea but you and your friends did this stupid truth or dare thing and now it was your turn. Since you’ve chosen truth the last time, now it had to be dare. One of your friends dared you to log into the Dark Web. You were confused since you had no idea on how you were supposed to do this. You were not really tech savvy nor have you been interested in visiting the deep, dark part of the internet before. But your friend assured you that he knew how to get access (how and why, you didn’t want to question) and that it was rather funny to see what kind of thing you could find there.

Reluctantly, you agreed, a mistake you would regret later. You opened your laptop, signed in and let you friend show you how to get access to a website on the Dark Web. Your other friends gathered around the two of you, watching with curiosity. “How do you know how to get in?” one of them wanted to know but he just shrugged, grinning to himself. “I got curious one day. Don’t worry.” He answered and the other cackled, taking another sip from their beer.

You weren’t so sure about this whole situation. Maybe it was because it was your laptop, maybe it was because you didn’t feel too keen on doing something ‘illegal’. Was it even illegal? Or was it just illegal to buy something from there? You had no idea. Nevertheless, was there a heavy lump in your stomach but you didn’t want to back down now.

He opened a link and a website opened. It didn’t look like much but it looked shady anyways. Your friends made wide eyes and pointed at a link and challenged you to open it. Your friend made room for you to sit in front of the screen, a huge grin on his face. “C’mon, Y/n! Open it!” they animated you and you gave in, clicking the link. A dark window opened with a chatroom. Messages popped up, a conversation between strangers.

You read the messages but didn’t do anything beyond it. “You need to say something, too!” your friends told you but you didn’t want to. “I don’t know…” you said but before you could say anything else one of them started typing. “Hey!” you yelled but were too late to push her away and prevent her from sending the short text.

I hope nothing shady’s going on here.

“Are you out of your mind? Why did you send that?” you demanded to know but she simple giggled. “Relax. It’s not like they’re gonna take this seriously.” Another one said but her eyes were glued to the screen, anticipating an answer. But there was none – at least not to your message. Instead, they went on with their conversation which was kind of boring to read. “Maybe this is just a normal website and he is just messing with us.” “Hey! This website is legit! I once saw one asking for child pornography!” he defended himself but the others were not convinced. “Sure. Let’s get goin’. It’s your turn with truth or dare anyways, Dai-chan.”

He mumbled to himself, annoyed that they didn’t believe him that this site was legit but let it go and put an arm around his girlfriend, moving back to the sofa with her, others following. Your eyes were still glued to the screen and you were about to close the window and forget about the who thing, when a small window popped up. It simply read:

Hope you join us again.

It’s been two weeks since you and your friends had this truth or dare night and after you closed the website and shut the laptop close the night went on pleasantly. You forgot about this whole ‘Dark Web’ and moved on with your life, by now also convinced Daisuke was messing with you guys.

You were sitting in class, listening to the professor talk about the history of capitalism, it’s pros and cons but you were barely listening. You were way more interested in this episode of “Haikyuu!!” your friend introduced you to and since then you were hooked. You listened to it with your earphones, not bothering to cover it up. You were emotionally completely invested in the game when a small window popped up, indicating a chat request. You had no idea which website this was coming from and ignored it, clicked the small ‘x’ and kept watching the episode.

A couple minutes later another message; this time you got curious. The website you were watching the episode at was none of those shady websites where half naked women were advertising for some porn website and women who were ‘less than a mile away’. So, this should be something different. A little hesitantly, you opened the chat box and a window opened, revealing a black screen with two bubbles – the two messages that had been sent before.

Hi.

You never came back.

You were confused and locked around the room. Everyone was either looking at their laptops, writing something down or flat out sleeping with their heads on the table. No one was looking your way.

Who are you?

It didn’t take long for the person to answer.

Are you bored?

He completely ignored your question but before you could type in a reply another message popped up.

Or why else would you be watching an anime during class?

You stopped dead in your tracks and stared at the screen. Your eyes darted around the room once again, you even turned around but no one was looking at you, not even a small glance. This must be a joke you thought to yourself and you gave a small huff.

Stop it, Daisuke. You can’t freak me out again.

No reply. Satisfied, you smiled to yourself and closed the window again, making a mental note to slap the shit out of him later.

“Why would you send me those creepy messages?!” you confronted Daisuke and he raised his hands in defense, confusion plastered all over his face. “What’re you talking about?” he wanted to know, his girlfriend holding on to his arm, looking similarly confused. “You sent me those creepy messages during class, didn’t you?” He chuckled nervously but shook his head no. “What messages are you talking about? He was with me the whole time.” She defended him and you huffed, not convinced. “Sure. You had your fun but please, don’t do this again. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

When you got back to your apartment, you took out your keys, unlocked the door, opened it and locked it behind you again. You were a little paranoid since you’ve moved here, a lot of break-ins happened in the neighborhood over the last couple of months. To top it all off, you lived on the first floor, easy access to your apartment from the sidewalk. But it was cheap and one of the few places you could actually afford with your crappy job.

Your shoes flew across the hallway and you made your way over to the small kitchen, checking for anything edible but to no surprised it was empty. A sigh left your mouth, not wanting to go out again and get something to eat. So, pizza delivery should do for tonight, even though it would be the third night in a row.

When the pizza finally arrived you sat yourself in front of your TV and watched some random series, not actually interested in the content itself but you needed the background noise to start your assignment later.

Your phone screen lit up, indicating a new message. You grabbed your phone but dropped it once your read the message. Your heart started racing, threatening to either burst out your chest or stop beating completely. Your body got cold and you started to shiver.

Do you like watching that shit?

You put the piece of pizza away and got up, storming from window to window, looking outside and the closing the curtains once you made sure no one was there. You stalked back to the sofa and picked up your phone from the floor, reading the message again. Surely, this had to be a joke, right? Your friends were just messing with you, right?

You opened the text with trembling fingers. You didn’t know the number that was displayed on top of the message. Maybe Daisuke bought a sim card just to scare you? But why would he do that? He wasn’t the type to do this, especially since his girlfriend would reprimand him for doing that.

Who are you?

Not a minute later you got a reply.

You can call me Dabi.

Dabi? Obviously, a fake name but you wouldn’t ask him for his real name. Hell, you didn’t want to answer him at all again and were tempted to just block this number. But the next message flew right in.

How you doin’?

Did he really try to do small talk?

Stop messaging me!

And that was it. No messages anymore. Maybe it was one of your friends after all. Still, the anxiety still remained.

In the middle of the night you woke up to your phone vibrating, the bright screen blinding you. You pressed your eyes together and opened them again, trying to recognize the number that was calling you at this ungodly hour. When your eyes got used to the brightness you looked at the scree – unknown number. Annoyed, you put the phone aside again and were relieved when it finally stopped ringing. The room turned dark again and you closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep again.

Your phone screen lit up once more, this time another text. You didn’t bother checking it and fell asleep instead, being consumed by complete darkness until the next morning when your alarm went off.

You didn’t check your phone until you sitting in a seat on the bus, surrounded by strangers who were on their ways to work as well. The small red symbol indicated a voice mail. You dialed the number to your voicemail and waited until the automatic announcement signalized the new voice mail. You tried to hear anything but there was just the rush of wind and a faint breathing. Then it was over. Confused, you deleted it, thinking it must’ve been an accident. But your mind wandered back to the night before and the texts. You checked the number from the texts and the one from the voicemail.

You could see the number that was used to text you but not the one from the missed call and the voicemail. So, you had no proof that it was the same number. It made you feel uneasy nevertheless.

What were you looking for?

The message came out of nowhere. The same number as last night. Why? Why was that person texting you? Hadn’t you made it clear that you wanted to be left alone?

Leave me alone.

It’s dangerous on those websites. Ye never know what people you might encounter.

You snorted. Yeah, people like you.

Like you?

It was bold of you to answer but by this point you were more annoyed by that person than scared. How fast your feelings could change…

Like me? I’m pretty harmless.

A short pause before another text came in.

What were you looking for?

He asked again, not leaving it alone. You were about to type in an answer when you stopped. Why didn’t you question it before? Why didn’t you question some stranger suddenly starting to chat you up on the dark web and not long after continued to text you on your phone? It clicked and you chuckled like someone who had just solved a mystery.

Good try but I know it’s you, Daisuke. Quit making up fake names.

You got off the bus and felt your phone vibrate.

What makes you think I’m Daisuke?

You shook your head in disbelief. Why was he keeping this act up? He was there when you entered this website, he was there when your friend sent this message to the group chat and he probably also saw the private message you got before closing the window.

Stop it already. I don’t trust the others doing that shit and you were there when we went on that stupid side. You just want to scare me.

No reply. Now, I’ve got you finally!

Would you believe me if I told you I’m not Daisuke?

This was getting ridiculous.

Please, just leave me alone. I’m about to start work. See you tonight and you better not text me again from this number. It’s getting annoying.

You were invited to a party at night, all of your friends were going as well. You were tired from work but didn’t want to miss out on the fun. You got ready at home. Tight jeans, a cute shirt and pumps – subtle but not too prude. You did your make-up in a cute but sexy way, highlighting your eyes and putting on lipstick. Content with your outfit you left the apartment once your friend’s car showed up, locking the door twice.

“Why would you keep texting me?!” you yelled at Daisuke when you met him at the party. He was making out with his girl, both already drunk. “What?” his eyes were unfocused when you hold your phone screen up in his face. He squinted his eyes to read the texts before he started chuckling. “Why woulddi texxxt you somethn’ like that?” he slurred, a derpy smile on his lips. Frustrated, you threw your hands in the air and stomped off, annoyed by this whole shenanigan. But okay, you would prove that it was him!

You walked off to the side where it was quieter, eyes on Daisuke and his girlfriend, and called the number from the text. It rang twice before someone picked up.

You froze in place. Daisuke was not holding his phone. Rather the opposite; his hands were occupied with moving under his girl’s shirt, groping her breasts shamelessly.

You didn’t dare speak up, a huge lump in your throat. You heard a slow breath from the other side of the phone but nothing more.

“You havin’ fun at the party, Y/n?”

You screamed and dropped your phone, clutching your hands together, bringing them up to your face. Your whole body trembled and you stared at the bright phone screen, the time counting up, indicating the still active call. A few people were looking at you bewildered but didn’t seem to care too much.

Slowly, you picked up the phone again, bringing it back to your ear.

“No need to scream.”

A dark chuckle resonated trough the phone. It sounded amused but it was more than unnerving.

“W-who are you?” You asked with a meek voice. You pressed your back to the wall behind you for support but unable to just hang up the phone.

“Rude to just forget someone’s name. Didn’t take you as this type of girl.”

Dabi, that was his name, you remembered.

“H-how did you get my number?” you demanded to know, insecurity almost oozing out of your voice. Another chuckle, this time a little more sinister.

“You really wanna know?”

Did you? Probably not, but you still answered yes.

“Not gonna tell ya.”

There was another pause before he started speaking again.

“The jeans look good on you. Turn around so I can take a better look.”

Your knees gave in and you started crying, phone clutching in your hand but not able to end the call. The people around you started to look worried and got closer, asking if you were okay.

“You’re usually not supposed to cry when receiving a compliment. You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’. Can you say thank you, Y/n?”

“Leave me alone!” you yelled at the phone and threw it across the room. It smashed against the opposite wall and you saw the screen go black. You pressed your knees against your chest, tears running down your face. Who was this man? Why was he watching you?

Your friends rushed over, worry written all over their faces. “Y/n! Y/n! What’s wrong?” they asked, some of them stroking your back but you couldn’t pull yourself together. The music had stopped and a cluster of people had formed around you.

“Someone is watching me…” you whispered so only your friends could hear. One of them grabbed your phone from the opposite wall and walked over towards you, phone in hand and ready to hand it to you.

“I don’t think it’s broken. You can probably just start it again.” He said and hold it out for you to grab. Hesitantly, you grabbed it but didn’t turn it on.

“C-can you just drive me home, please?” you asked your friend with teary eyes and shaky voice. Concerned, she nodded and helped you up. Some of them insisted on staying with you but you said no. You just wanted to barricade yourself in your apartment and only leave when it was bright outside again.

On your way home you turned on your phone but there were no new messages. But you were far from feeling relieved. Only once you were home and locked every door, every window and hid under your blanket would you feel somewhat safe again. But not right now, not when you were outside and still visible for anyone to see.

“I need to stop at the gas station real quick. You can wait here.” Your friend said and pulled up next to the entrance. She probably wanted to buy some cigarettes. You stayed in the car when your phone vibrated once again. Tears formed in your eyes again; you felt hopeless when you slowly opened the message. There was a picture. It was dark but there was light in the distance. You looked closer and recognized the place.

Without thinking you jumped out the car and started running. You knew you were close to your home, not too far away. You heard your friend call from the distance but you didn’t stop, just ran straight into the forest next to the station which would eventually lead you right to your home. Sticks scratched against your skin, thick roots of trees made you stumble but you always caught yourself.

Your phone started ringing and you could see that it was your friend calling. But you didn’t answer. Instead, you kept on running until you could see houses in the distance. Almost. Just a couple hundred yards.

You crossed the street, fumbling with your keys and needing more than one attempt to unlock the door, looking over your shoulder over and over again to make sure that there wasn’t anyone here.

Tears blurred your vision but finally you managed to unlock your apartment door and closed it right behind you, locking it as often as you could. Before you could feel at least some sort of relief you ran to the windows, checked if they were closed and closed the curtains. Then, and only then did you sink to the floor, starting to sob uncontrollably. Why was this happening? What have you done to deserve this? It was just a stupid dare, why is he targeting me?

A small buzzing sound led your focus to your phone. You didn’t want to look but you had to, regretting it instantaneously. A moan of agony made its way out of the depth of your body. You didn’t want to answer but your hand moved on its own.

“Glad you made it home safely.”

“FUCK OFF! I’M GONNA CALL THE POLICE!!!” you screamed, sure you woke up some of the other residents. Good, you thought. The more people awake the more likely it was that he didn’t do anything funny. His tone changed.

“No, you won’t.” he sounded self-assured, as if he knew exactly how you would behave.

“Cause if you do I have to hurt you.” He said it as if he was talking about the weather, nonchalantly.

“Y-You said you were harmless.” You argued, sounding pathetic. You crawled over the floor to the furthest corner of the room where you could watch the door to your apartment.

“Did I?”

He sounded musing as if he tried to remember.

“Guess it was a lie then.”

“What do you want?” you pleaded but you didn’t get an answer to your question.

“Are you sure you locked the door?”

The sudden question had you widen your eyes. Have you? Of course! It was the first thing you did! But did you really lock it?

“Maybe you should check it.”

You didn’t want to. Maybe he was standing right in front of your door, waiting for you to open it. But what if you didn’t lock the door? Anxiety took over your thinking and you crawled over to the door, checking the handle. Relieve filled your body when you realized it was, indeed, locked.

“Guess you locked it after all. Do you have your keys?”

Keys? You looked up at the small table where you usually kept your keys. No keys. Dread filled you and you wanted to curl up into a ball. Was he in your apartment? Your heard him chuckle again.

“Don’t worry. I don’t have your keys. You probably dropped them somewhere.”

Your eyes wandered over the floor and there they were, next to the bathroom door. How they got there was beyond you but you couldn’t care less. They were there and that was all that mattered.

“Leave me alone. Please!” a high pitched voice you didn’t recognize as your own echoed through the apartment.

“Leave me alone.”

He mocked you.

“But okay. I will leave you alone. If you can tell me where I am right now.”

It clicked and he had hung up. Your head shot up and you looked around. He was in here! You knew it! Or was he messing with you? But how did he know where your keys were? He could’ve guessed. But you should’ve been able to hear him if he actually was in your apartment. He just wanted to make you more and more paranoid.

You got up, knees weak and barely supporting your body weight. Fear clung to your body like a second skin and you tried to keep your mind from racing a thousand miles a minute by telling yourself that he was bluffing. Still, you moved from room to room, turning on the lights and checking every single room.

No one in sight. He’s not here. You felt a burden fall off your back and relief flooded your senses instead. He was just bluffing.

You slowly calmed down but didn’t go to bed until you couldn’t keep your eyes open again. You were almost asleep when your phone vibrated on the night stand. You were too tired to open the message and instead drifted into a dreamless sleep.

You forgot to check the closet.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi imagine #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #non-quirk AU

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kinglazrus · 4 years

Text

What You’ve Become

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kiinotasha: Jazz and Danny swap ages, she is the younger sibling he is the older one. All the other kids have their ages changed accordingly. (Those in Danny’s year would still be in his year)

Summary: Two years after the first ghost appears in Amity Park, Jazz Fenton sees a face she never thought she'd see again.

Word count: 12726

Jazz keeps her head down as she checks out her book. She usually avoid the public library if she can, but there are only so many psychology papers you can read online before you hit a paywall. All the good ones are locked tight on websites made for scholars, not high schoolers. The one downside of devouring ever psych text she can get her hands on for two years running is that, at a certain point, she has to leave the house to do it.

When she started at Casper High just a few months ago, she went to their library. It offered her privacy from all the prying eyes and hushed whispers, since most students didn't like spending time under the librarian's eagle eyes. But the school's selection was rather... lacking, which forced Jazz to seek out other avenues. Namely, the public library. Which shouldn't be so daunting, because she loves books and this building used to be her home away from home.

But that was two years ago. Now, when she goes to the library, it's no longer a safe haven. Now, when she walks through its doors, people see her and stare. That's the problem with Amity Park. It isn't a small town, but it's not a big city either. Everyone knows someone who knows someone else who knows you.

Which means everyone knows poor Jasmine, the last Fenton in Amity Park.

As she passes her library card over to the clerk, she catches their grim, pitying smile and quickly looks away. She fixes her gaze on the counter for the rest of the transaction. The second it's over, she takes her library card and the textbook and flees. She can feel the librarian's stare burning into her back as she leaves the building. It's hard to ignore. Marching across the parking lot, she heads for an old green Volvo, yanking open the passenger door when she reaches it. She throws herself into the seat and slams the door shut.

"Didn't have the book you wanted?" her best friend, Spike, asks from the back of the car. He doesn't look at her, instead focusing on the soles of his platform boots, picking mud out of the grooves.

Jazz slams the book down on the console.

Spike's gaze jumps up at the noise. "Oh," he says, eyes falling on the book. His expression, a default disaffected scowl, doesn't change, but he starts toying with his eyebrow ring, spinning it around. It's a subtle Jazz has become well accustomed to over the past two years.

"Fuck 'em," Spike says. He slouches forward, dropping his hand into his lap, and raises his middle finger in the library's direction.

"That would be an unsanitary and highly inappropriate response," Tucker quips from the driver's seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

Jazz wrinkles her nose. "Please never say anything like that again."

"No promises." He cackles at Jazz's expression. When he looks over his shoulder to start backing out, he catches Spike's deepening scowl, and grins even wider. "Sorry, kid, I got a goth best friend, too. That kind of look doesn't work on me."

"I told you to stop calling me that," Spike says.

Tucker hums, pretending to think deeply, and bares his teeth in a teasing smile. "Nah."

"You know, he had a goth phase," Jazz whispers.

"We don't talk about that!"

Jazz keeps talking about it. She eagerly regales Spike with the time she walked into the bathroom and found Danny painstakingly doing Tucker's eyeliner. She's halfway through Tucker's first disastrous attempt at wearing platform boots when a droning alarm goes off, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Turning away from the back seat, she leans her head against her window and tips her head back, peering up at a white and black siren hanging off a streetlight.

"Aw, man." Tucker sighs and turns his blinker on, pulling over to the side of the road. The car in front of them does the same, along with a truck passing on the other side of the road. None of them can pull all the way over, because of the vehicles parked parallel up and down the street, but there's a sizeable gap right down the middle of the road.

"Think we'll see some action?" Spike asks.

"I bet it's just that box dude or something," Tucker says as he rolls down his window.

Jazz slaps her hands over her ears as the siren gets louder and elbows Tucker's shoulder. "Close the window!" she shouts.

He doesn't have to. A second later, the siren cuts out. All three passengers strain their ears, listening for any sounds of fighting. It's completely silent.

"False alarm?" Jazz suggests.

"The Guys in White don't do false alarms. Could be the box guy," Tucker says. He hoists himself halfway out the window, slapping his arm down on top of the car to keep himself balanced, and waves at the truck across from them.

The driver rolls down the window.

"Hey! My radio's busted, is there any broadcast going out right now?" Tucker calls.

The driver looks down, fiddling with something, then looks back up and shakes his head.

"Thanks!"

"See? False alarm," Jazz says. "Get back in the car."

"Jazz, you are way too young to be sounding like my mother," Tucker says, ignoring her request. He looks up and down the street, head swiveling as he scans the skies. Completely empty. "Okay, maybe you're right."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than a green blur goes shooting past, flying so fast the car rocks. Tucker yelps, losing his grip on the car, and would have toppled out the window if Jazz and Spike hadn't lunged forward to catch him. Tucker chokes as Jazz grabs the back of his shirt, his collar cutting against his windpipe. Spike snags Tucker's belt. Together, they haul the older boy back into the car.

"Okay!" Tucker says, rubbing his throat and coughing a few times. "Not the box dude!"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he glares out his window to the truck across from them. "'No broadcast' my ass."

"You should just get the Ghost Watch app," Jazz says, already pulling out her phone. She flicks through the apps until she finds one whose icon features a ghost holding binoculars.

"Like hell I'm gonna do that. The government can already spy on my through my phone, I'm gonna make it worse by downloading one of their apps," Tucker sneers.

"If they're already watching, then why does it matter?" Spike asks.

Tucker takes a breath, then pauses. "Huh," he says.

While he struggles to come up with an answer, Jazz opens the Ghost Watch app. Sure enough, as soon as it loads, she's met with a red exclamation point. Tapping the icon, she turns her volume up and holds her phone out.

"–class four entity. Agents have been dispatched to take care of the threat. Phantom protocol is in place. Please remain in your homes or vehicles or you will face criminal charges for interfering with a G.I.W. Operation. Thank you. Attention Amity Park. We are under threat by a class four entity. Agents have been dispatched–"

Jazz mutes the broadcast and raises and eyebrow in Tucker's direction.

"Shut up," he says. "You're the one who thought it was a false alarm."

"You're the one who can't afford to fix his radio," Spike points out.

"Well, maybe, I should start charging you since I'm apparently turning into your chauffeur. I'm sure your moms would be so happy to know your abusing my kind heart."

"Sounds fake."

"Boys, stop it," Jazz snaps. "Let's just wait for this to be over so we can go home, okay?"

Spike and Tucker share a look and nod in unison.

With an annoyed huff, Jazz pulls her new textbook into her lap and cracks it open. She might as well read to pass time, there's no telling how long this will take. Sometimes the G.I.W. have the situation under control in minutes, other times the city's on lockdown for hours. Hopefully, with the Phantom protocol in effect, it'll be a short wait.

Jazz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Don't think about it, she tells herself. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

"Jazz, if this is about–"

"Let me stop you right there, Tucker," Jazz says. She stares resolutely down at her book, refusing to lift her gaze. "It's not about anything. I just want to go home, okay?"

"Okay," Tucker says. She can tell he doesn't believe her. That's fine, as long as he lets it drop.

—

Danny was dead. Or he was dying. Jazz didn't know which and she didn't know how to help. She was frozen at the bottom of the stairs, every inch of her trembling, too shocked—too scared—to do anything.

Her big brother was slumped in his best friend's arms, skin blistered and bleeding. His right hand was smoking, the sleeve of his jumpsuit burnt away. A strange green substance oozed out of him, staining Tucker's sweater. He was dead. He had to be dead.

"Danny! Danny!" Tucker shouted desperately, slowly lowering Danny to the floor. He leaned over Danny's prone form, hands hovering just above his blistered body. "Shit, shit, Danny, no. Sam, what do we do?"

Jazz's gaze jumped from her brother—her burnt, broken, probably dead brother—to Sam. She had collapsed on her knees a few feet away, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. She looked like she was about to throw up, or pass out, or both.

"I–I–" Sam stuttered. It was all she managed before she turned to the side and retched all over the lab floor.

Jazz finally regained control of her limbs then. Seeing Tucker and Sam, who were older and supposed to be smarter, lost and panicking spurred her to move. She rushed across the lab, her socks slipping on the smooth tiles, and almost slid right into Sam.

"Sam, Sam, where's your phone?" Jazz asked. She couldn't believe how steady her voice sounded. Inside, she panicked. Inside, she screamed that her brother was dead, and she was scared, and why weren't their parents home, why was the portal that wasn't supposed to work suddenly on, glowing so brightly it hurt her eyes? Why, why, why?

"Sam!" Jazz shrieked when the older girl didn't respond.

Sam flinched, spitting on the floor and wiping her mouth on her arm, and turned to Jazz. "Jazz," she said. Her dark eyes flickered over to Danny, then back at Jazz, and a fresh wave of horror filled them. "Go upstairs. You should go upstairs."

"Your phone!" Jazz pleaded. She didn't have the patience to wait, instead reaching into Sam's pocket herself and snatching her phone. Jazz backed away and dialled.

"911, what's your emergency?" a smooth voice answered.

"My brother was in an accident. He's hurt, really badly, and I– I don't know if he's breathing," Jazz said.

At her words, Tucker lowered his head to Danny's chest. Everyone held still, afraid to move or even breathe. Jazz could hear the operator saying something, but his words fell on deaf ears as she waited, anxious, for Tucker to say something.

"Fuck," Tucker said. He shot upright, hands hovering over Danny's chest, then pulled back. "Sam! I don't know CPR, do you know CPR?"

Sam scrambled toward Danny, her knees slipping in his blood—why was there so much blood? She shoved Tucker aside and straddled Danny's waist, kneeling over him, and started chest compressions.

Tears welled in Jazz's eyes. She sobbed and turned away.

"Are you alright? Please answer me. I need your location to send an ambulance."

"He, he's not breathing, and his, his heart's not beating," Jazz said. She hiccupped and squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn't help. She could still hear Sam panting heavily as she tried to keep Danny's heart beating. "His friend is doing CPR."

"Okay, that's good. What's your name? How old are you?"

"I'm Jazz Fenton, I'm twelve years old. My brother is Danny, he's sixteen. We're at Fenton Works at the corner of Cordia and Lennex," Jazz recited. It was oddly calming. Nothing more than simple rote memory, but it helped. It would help Danny.

"Fentons."

"Yes?"

The line was silent. Jazz bit her lip, wondering if the operator hung up, which would be incredibly unprofessional and also probably send her into a panic. She was certain the only reason she hadn't fallen to her knees in tears right then was that, as long as she was on the phone, she was helping. She had something to do. She was making sure Danny would be okay because he was going to be okay, he had to be.

A quiet huff caught Jazz's attention. She clung to the phone with both hands, pressing it against her ears, and barely heard the operator mutter, "Of course," on the other side of the line.

Jazz didn't want to be on the phone anymore.

"An ambulance is on the way," the operator said, louder. "Stay calm until then. Is there anyone else home with you? Your parents?"

"No. Thank you, goodbye."

—

"Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and–"

"I hate that voice. So. Much," Spike says, glaring at the siren.

Jazz can't blame him. The siren started spewing the city-wide warning almost five minutes ago and hasn't stopped since. There hasn't been another sign of the ghost, or any G.I.W. for that matter. It doesn't exactly mean much, because they could be anywhere in the city, but it makes the so-called safety protocols seem highly unnecessary. Besides, wouldn't they be safer in a building rather than as sitting ducks in the middle of the road?

The guy in the truck must have thought so, because he ditched his vehicle almost a full minute ago and disappeared inside a bar up the street. Jazz thinks he had the right idea, minus the bar part. It's always better to be somewhere you're comfortable during an emergency, even if it only provides slight relief.

"We could just, you know, drive home," Spike suggests.

"Great idea, until we get caught in the middle of a ghost fight," Tucker says. "Then your moms would kill me."

"No. The ghosts would kill you."

"Delightful."

"My moms would obliterate your ghost."

Tucker groans in distress, but Jazz can tell he's seriously considering Spike's suggestion. He keeps lifting his hand off his leg, toward the keys, before letting it fall back to his knee. "Who thought having a ghost infested city would be so damn boring?" he asks.

"You mean you don't enjoy sharing this plane of existence with pale shades of people long dead, forced to stay on this Earth by their own anguish and tumultuous emotions?" Spike asks.

"No. No, I don't."

"I do."

"Of course, you would."

Jazz ignores the boys, flipping to the next page in her textbook. It's a fairly new branch of psychology, focused on ghosts and their mental processes. Its surprisingly thorough. A stamp on the first page marks it as a G.I.W. endorsed text. It makes her wonder how many of the ghosts they catch become study subjects. With how comprehensive the textbook is, they must have been observing ghosts for a long time.

Unbidden thoughts of the Phantom leap to the front of Jazz's mind. Her grip on the textbook tightens, nails digging into the cover.

"Okay, I'm getting out," Spike says, breaking Jazz out of her thoughts.

"No, you aren't," Tucker says.

"Yeah, I am." Spike pulls on his door handle and starts pushing the door open.

"Your arrest record," Tucker says, rolling his eyes. Halfway through the motion, he freezes. "Actually, no, get back in the car."

"Asking nicely won't make me."

"Spike! Get back in the damn car!" Tucker shouts. The alarm in his voice makes Jazz look up from her book. The next second, the street beside them explodes in a shower of concrete.

"Shit!" Spike ducks, narrowly missing being brained by a fist-sized rock. In his panic, he dives to the side rather than back inside the car.

"Seriously!" Tucker shouts. He throws his door open and leaps out, Jazz following suit on her side of the car. She squints, covering her mouth with her arm, trying to keep the dust out. As Tucker goes for Spike, Jazz watches the middle of the road. She sees something moving in the cloud of dust.

The sound of a roaring engine draws Jazz's attention to the corner of the block, just in time to see a bulky armoured truck rip around the corner. On top of the cab, a row of bright green lights flash as the truck tears down the street. It comes to a stop fifty metres from the crater. The cab doors are thrown open by two bald men in white suits. They jump out onto the road, raising sleek white and blue guns that look out of place outside a sci-fi filmset.

One of them, the taller of the two, sees Jazz and calls down the road, "Return to your vehicle or face the charges."

"But my friend!" Jazz calls back. She looks to where Spike had fallen and finds the road empty. Panic shoots through her, until she hears someone clearing their throat and drops her gaze to the sidewalk.

Tucker and Spike are huddled behind the next car down, out of sight of the G.I.W.

"Return to your vehicle, now!" the agent demands again.

Jazz obeys. As soon as she's inside with the door shut, she climbs over the console into the front seat. The cloud of dust in the middle of the street is almost gone now, the silhouette of whoever—or whatever—is inside more defined.

It looks like a regular person, but with sharper angles. A sharp chin, broad shoulders, wide chest. Before the dust can settle complete, the ghost shoots forward, too fast to see, and slams into the G.I.W. truck, the front of cab crumpling in It goes skidding across the road, tires squealing, leaving thick black lines in their wake.

It's still sliding when the ghost zooms back and slams into it again, this time from the side. The sidewall caves and the truck tips onto its side.

"Damn it, the asset!" the shorter agent shouts.

Both men open fire, but every shot misses, the ghost flying too fast for them to catch. The shorter agent curses again and grabs something from inside their suit, tossing it on the ground. The object, a small cube, hits the ground and an antenna pops out of the top. A ping, not unlike a sonar pulse, songs from the cube and a wave of blue energy cascades outwards.

When it hits the ghost's blurred form, the ghost goes flying. Jazz shouts in surprise and ducks as it soars toward her. There's a loud crash, but Tucker's car does little more than shake. Lifting her head, she sees the ghost has hit the car behind her. Her heart leaps into her throat as she searches for Tucker and Spike amongst the wreckage.

It takes her a few seconds to fine them, but they're safe and sounded, hiding in the shadows of a convenience store doorway. The sign on the door says closed, and it must be locked, so they can't slip inside out of danger, but they're hidden at least.

The crumpled car creaks. Jazz's gaze jumps back to it and she gets her first good look at the ghost. It doesn't look like any of the ghost's she's ever glimpsed. Rather than an animalistic, amorphous form, it looks like a large mechanical man. With green fire for a mullet and goatee, apparently.

"Surrender, ghost!" the taller agent yells.

"Release him!" the ghost demands in a deep, layered voice.

The G.I.W. share a look.

"Agent O," the short one says. "Release the asset."

The mechanical ghost grins. But, judging by Agent O's grim but eager expression, the ghost isn't going to like what happens. Agent O holds their wrist out and presses a button on their watch. A heavy clunk reaches Jazz's ears. Everyone's focus snaps to the overturned truck as the back door slides open. A thin blue shield wavers over the open door before snapping away.

Jazz peers into the shadows of the covered truck bed. Slowly, a figure emerges. They float through the open door, body twisting to they don't brush the sides of the van, and hovers in the air.

It's the first time Jazz has ever seen the G.I.W. secret weapon, and the key component of the Phantom protocol: Phantom themselves. They wear a baggy white jumpsuit, the G.I.W. logo emblazoned across their chest in a slightly darker off-white. Not an inch of skin is visible, a mask clamped tightly over their lower face, round goggles covering their eyes, and a loose hood pulled over their head. They hold themselves awkwardly, arms raised in front of their chest, fingers curling toward their face. Thick cuffs bind their forearms together, forcing this strange pose upon them. Similar cuffs bind their ankles.

Their head turns slowly as they scan the street, the lenses of their goggles flaring. One is blue, the other green. They stop when they face Tucker's car.

Jazz's breath hitches. She presses one against the window, her other falling to the door handle. The ghost mimics her, spreading their fingers, although their palms are turned the wrong way.

She's never seen Phantom before. She's never seen their face. But she knows exactly what she would find under that mask. She pops the door open, lowering one foot to the pavement, ignoring the danger of the ghost to her left.

"Phantom!" Agent O snaps. He presses another button his watch. The cuffs on Phantom's legs fall to the found with a thud, cracking the pavement when they hit it. His arms stay bound. Another press, another button, and a collar around Phantom's neck, hidden by their pose, sparks dangerously.

Agent O points to the mechanical ghost. "Go hunt!"

—

Jazz waited out in the hallway, where her parents told her to be. She sat on a hard, plastic chair, tapping her feet on the tiled floor. It must have been freshly buffed, because when she leaned forward, she could see her reflection on the gleaming ceramic. The tiles were marbled white and pink, the colours blending together in milky swirls, and when she stared right at it, it looked like her face was covered in scars.

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, almost expecting to feel puckered, raised skin where the marbled pink cuts across her pale face. She wondered if Danny would have scars.

"Jazzypants?"

Her head snapped up and she was surprised to see Jack, her father, standing before her. A burly man who took up nearly half the hallway, he didn't exactly have the lightest steps, but she didn't even notice him arrive. He crouched so they were eye to eye, hunching his shoulders to take up as little space as possible, and touched her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jazz glanced to the side, toward the closed double doors with the words "STAFF ONLY" plastered across them in big, bold letters. "I'm fine. Is Danny okay?" she asked.

"He's okay," Jack said. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "The doctors are still working on him, but they said he's gonna be fine."

Jazz didn't match Jack's smile. She tried, but it felt weak and flimsy, and she let it fall away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Jack's smile tightened. "Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened. Danny's gonna be okay, but he got really hurt, and that made some people worry. So, they want to talk to you, so they know they don't have to worry."

Jazz frowned. "You don't have to talk like that. I'm not eight. Who are they?"

Jack laughed, but it was soft and humorless. "Right, you've always been so grown up. Are you okay to talk to them?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and pushed off her chair, standing up. She barely reached Jack's elbow.

With his hand on her back, Jack guided her out of the waiting room. They turned down a quiet hallway, farther from the hospital's entrance, and headed toward a bench set into an. It was small and private. A woman in a blazer and slacks waited there, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

The woman's hair was tied back in a ponytail, smooth against her head, but cascading into a waterfall of dark curls at the nape of her neck. Jazz touched her own hair, red and pin straight. She always wanted curly hair like that, especially after seeing pictures of her mother in college.

Jack cleared his throat as they approached. The woman looked up. She smiled warmly at Jazz, scooting down the bench as if to make room, even though it was a fairly large bench and there was lots of space. Jazz sat down on the very end, as far from the woman as she could get.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenton. I know you may want to stay, but this needs to be a private conversation, so I know you aren't influencing anything she says," the woman said.

"Right," Jack said. He gave Jazz one last pat, then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

"Hello, Jasmine," the woman said, drawing Jazz's attention back. "I'm Jamila Faizan. You can call my Jamila. I'm a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

Jazz nodded, eyeing the woman warily. She had nothing against social workers, but she heard people threaten her parents with them before. It made her uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about what life is like at home, okay?" Jamila asked.

"It's fine."

Jamila smiled. "Of course. It might seem that way, but your brother got really hurt in your parent's lab, and I need to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. I just want to make sure you're safe at home."

Jazz bit her lip. She knew her home life wasn't exactly normal. How many twelve-year-olds had a lab in their basement? But they had good parents, and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened.

"How often do you go into your parents' lab?" Jamila asked.

"Not a lot. I don't like it down there that much, it's really cold."

"Do you parents ever bring you down there?"

"Sometimes, if they want to show us something interesting."

"Okay. Are you allowed down there any time?"

Jazz shifted in her seat, tucking her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting. "Mom or dad has to be with us if we go down there," she said. She quickly added, "But I don't want to go down there, anyway, unless they want to show us something. So it's okay."

Jamila hummed. "How are you at school?"

"Good. I get all A's," Jazz said, a little thrown by the topic change.

"And your brother?"

"He doesn't really like school. I don't think it's a good learning environment for him, so he doesn't really get good grades."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes." Jazz narrowed her eyes at Jamila. "Are you trying to take us away?"

"I'm only trying to make sure you're safe, healthy, and happy," Jamila said.

"I will be once I know my brother's okay."

"I've been told he's going to pull through just fine," Jamila said, giving Jazz a placating smile.

"Then, then I don't see what the problem is. He's okay, I'm okay. It was just an accident. So, I'm going back to my parents, where I will be safe, healthy, and happy, okay? Okay." Jazz got up and walked away before Jamila could say anything else. It wasn't like the social worker could stop her.

—

The asphalt beneath Phantom cracks as they shoot through the air toward the ghost.

"Phantom, wait!" the ghost protests, holding up his hands. He jumps into the air, arcing over Phantom. A gun pops out of his shoulder and fires a green net. The net snaps out, heading right for Phantom.

Jazz doesn't even know how to begin describing what Phantom's body does to dodge the net. Only their arms and head stay solid, the rest of their body twisting, and morphing, and stretching so the next passes harmlessly through them. Their torso and legs snap back into existence as if they hadn't just melted into an amorphous cloud and Phantom continues unhindered. They slam into the mechanical ghost, wrapping one leg around the ghost's arm, the other around their neck.

Electricity crackles up Phantom's spine and shocks the ghost, making the whole suit go slack. Phantom drives the ghost into the ground, crouching over him. A low moan builds in their throat.

Jazz automatically covers her ears. She may have never seen Phantom in action before, but she's definitely heard their signature attack. And had to deal with the damage it leaves behind.

Just before the wail reaches its glass-shattering, tree-tearing, foundation-shaking crescendo, the mechanical ghost shouts, "Sorry!" and launches a mini-rocket out of his arm. It hits Phantom and explodes, blasting them straight across the street.

Jazz winces when they collide with the sidewalk, a sharp crack echoing down the street.

"Stop fighting!" The mechanical ghost holds up their hands as Phantom peels themselves off the crumbled sidewalk. "It's me, Skulker!"

Phantom answers by smacking something on the side of their mask. Green fumes start pouring out the front. Reaching up, their fingers curl around their collar, yanking it down as far as it'll go, and they thrust their head forward. Ectoplasm spews from the mast. It roars outward, a mesmerizing mix of gas and flames that seeps into the air.

As Phantom leaps forward, the ectoplasm pours over a nearby mailbox. The ectoplasm turns liquid the second it touches the mailbox, coating it in a thick slime, melting through the metal. Watching the metal bubble and ooze, Jazz swallows nervously.

She's reminded quite suddenly that Phantom is a tool for the G.I.W. The supreme weapon. The thing they throw at every passing threat. Thinking back to her textbook, she wonders how much of that information was garnered from Phantom. They would certainly make an impressive specimen, not that Jazz wants to think of them like that. But it's undeniable.

The way they move is otherworldly.

Every time Skulker dodges, Phantom's head snaps toward him, lightning fast, as ectoplasm spits from their mask. They mutate their body into grotesque shapes at a moment's notice, deforming and contorting as needed. It's hard to watch them. Not just because of the brutal display, with Skulker's protests falling on deaf ears, but because their body can't seem to settle. It's constantly moving, blurring, flickering. The only time they look completely solid is when their whole body crackles and electricity arcs off them.

Phantom's ectoplasm spews over Skulker's arm. Skulker yelps, forced to flee, and tries to shake off both the acidic sludge and his feral tail.

And Phantom really is feral. They follow, relentless, remorseless, moving like a wild animal prowling after its prey. Every attack is a pounce, a noxious cloud of ectoplasm following their every move. It's both mesmerizing and horrifying. The only word Jazz can use to properly describe them is monster.

—

Two hours after speaking with Jamila, Danny was out of surgery. Jazz was on her own when a nurse came over to deliver the news. Her parents were off with the social worker, had been for some time. The nurse was hesitant to give Jazz the news on her own, but she bullied the man with tear-filled eyes until he caved in.

Danny's surgery was a success. They fixed the rupture in his hear, stopped the bleeding, and now he was sleeping. He would be for a while because his body needed to heal, but once he woke up, he would be good as new.

The nurse waited with Jazz for her parents to return. When they came walking down the hallway, accompanied by Jamila, Jazz hopped out of her seat and ran forward to give them the good news. She faltered when she saw her parents' expressions.

Her mother's eyes were red from crying. Seeing that unsettled Jazz. She had never seen her mother cry before, and even if she didn't actually witness it now, knowing it happened threw her off balance. She knew parents cried too. They were regular people with all kinds of emotions; but, still, they weren't supposed to cry.

Jazz stopped at arm's length, watching them warily.

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie reached down and hugged Jazz.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"You're going to be staying with someone else for a little bit," she said.

Jazz pulled away. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," Jamila interrupted, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz wanted to throw it off. "Maddie," Jamila continued.

"Please, call me Dr. Fenton," Jazz's mother said, a bitter smile cutting across her face.

"Dr. Fenton," Jamila amended coolly. "May I?"

Jazz felt helpless as Maddie stepped away, instantly missing her comforting presence. Jamila took her place, crouching down to Jazz's level.

"I really am sorry, but I can't let you return to Fenton Works until I know you'll really be safe there. I want you to go home with your parents, I really do, but I want to keep you out of danger more."

"I'm not in danger," Jazz insisted.

"Tonight's events prove otherwise. I was contacted by both the hospital and the dispatch operator you spoke to. It's only temporary. Until I'm sure your parents can take proper care of you. I've made arrangements with a foster home for now."

"Do you really have to do this?" Maddie asked.

"Mom," Jazz said. She reached out, searching for Maddie's hand, squeezing it until Maddie looked at her. "I'll be okay. It's just for now, right? You guys can set everything straight and then we can all go home together with Danny

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie pulled Jazz into another firm hug. "It's not right."

"But it's okay, isn't it? Ms. Faizan can do her work, and she'll see that, and everything will be fine by the time Danny wakes up." Jazz motioned for her father, who quickly joined the hug. It was tight, and warm, and Jazz never wanted to let go, but she had to after a few seconds.

Danny always went on and on about how grown up Jazz was, how she acted so much like an adult even though she was four years younger than him. If she was as mature as Danny always said, then she could do this. She could be grown up right now and be okay with all of this.

She could go with Jamila now, and later, she could go home with Danny.

—

The fight is taking too long. Despite dealing with ghosts for two years now, Jazz has never seen a real fight. If it's someone minor, a single agent is all it takes to swoop in and clean things up before anything bad happens. Mildly destructive ghosts require a few agents, who sometimes block off whole sections of the city, pushing citizens back until the problem is dealt with. Usually, this takes no more than half an hour, although the aftermath of the fight affects the city for days.

But when they send in Phantom, the fight ends before it really begins. Swift, effective, and destructive. Bringing in Phantom means bringing in the big guns.

But they're not so swift today. The minutes drag on, the ghosts caught in a stalemate. It takes Jazz far too long to notice the problem: Phantom is distracted. They keep pulling back at the last moment, holding off from delivering the finishing blow. She doesn't think it's to spare the ghost they're fighting. It's the result, but it's not the reason. Each attack aims to kill, up until the moment it doesn't.

Because Phantom's head keeps swivelling. Toward her. As soon as Jazz realizes this, she scrambles out of the car, ignoring the agents shouting at her to get back inside, and runs over to Tucker and Spike.

"What are you doing?" Tucker asks. His head jerks up and down as he looks between Jazz and the G.I.W. agents. He waves his arms emphatically at the short agent. "He's coming this way now!"

"I don't care. Tucker!" Jazz grabs Tucker by the front of his shirt and pulls him down. She shoves his head forward and points at Phantom. "Do you see it?"

Tucker's face twists in confusion, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow. "They're... looking at us.

"Yeah."

Phantom snarls, finally managing to get a hold on Skulker, and rips his arm out of the socket, tearing into the limb like a rabid animal. There's only wires inside, thank god.

Tucker pales. "I don't know about you, but... I don't think I want its attention."

"Tucker! He's not an it!" Jazz protests.

"Phantom is a ghost, Jazz. I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here," Tucker says.

"Don't you remember what I told you? What happened after you left?"

Tucker stares at her. A few seconds later, realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. Yeah! I do! Do you think–"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. "

"Jazz, if it is, I don't think..." Tucker trails off. He gives Jazz a pointed look as Phantom screeches and dissolves into a black cloud, reforming behind Skulker. They swing their arms down on Skulker's head, smashing him into the ground.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Spike asks. "All I see is a pissed off government goon heading our way."

"Phantom," Tucker and Jazz chorus. Jazz adds, "They keep looking over here."

She can't help the hope that swells in her chest. Two years. Two whole years since the ghosts came, since the G.I.W. took over, since it happened. Two years of stares and whispers behind her back.

Look at that girl, isn't it a shame what happened?

I heard they tried to shoot her too.

I bet he ran away because he couldn't stand to see her.

"So?"

"The hospital," Jazz stresses.

"Oh. Oh!" Spike glances at Jazz from the corner of his eye. "That's good, right? It means they're, you know?"

"He... if they are... if it is." Jazz fumbles over her words, but Tucker seems to understand. He gives her shoulder a reassuring pat.

He didn't run away, Jazz thinks. He didn't mean to leave her. She leans into Tucker, torn between crying out of grief or relief.

Spike taps Jazz's other shoulder. "Hey, this is super gross and touching and all, but we're fucked," he said with a jerk of his chin, motioning to the approaching agent.

—

The Miller family was nice enough. Max and Hannah treated her well. They had fostered their son, Spike, before adopting him when he was six. Jazz only saw him once her first day in the apartment, and he immediately reminded her of Sam, with his black clothes and dark makeup, but a little more punk thanks to his mohawk.

He left Jazz alone for the most part, which she was more thankful for than anything.

Max and Hannah told Jazz they would do their best for her, and that they hoped Danny would be okay, and they would give her whatever she needed to make it through this tough time. The way they talked annoyed Jazz a little. They weren't patronizing, but they acted like they knew exactly what she needed when they didn’t.

They thought she needed a soft bed, a good meal, and a comforting smile, but she really just needed her brother.

The first day at the Millers, Jazz occupied herself with her memoirs. She had been working on them the day of the accident, until the power cut out and Danny's scream filled the house, so loud it made her ears ache. She put in her headphones to drown out the residual scream in her head and got down to work.

Before... it happened, she had been writing down her significant childhood memories. The earliest ones weren't full memories, more like snatches of moments. Danny's soft hand in hers. A small hand rubbing her back after a nightmare. The glow of her star nightlight, which originally belonged to Danny, but he passed it on to her when he learned it made her sleep through the night better. She only learned this fact a few months ago, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

The memories got stronger after that. Her first time seeing Santa, she was four, Danny was eight, and he took her across town on his own to the mall. Danny teaching her to ride a bike, because their parents were too busy in the lab. Danny making cupcakes for her birthday, because their parents were away at a convention. Danny helping her with her homework, even though he wasn't very good at it, but he still tried his best.

Jazz's pen paused. All her best memories had Danny in them. It wasn't that she had no good memories with her parents, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized they weren't really there as much as they thought they were.

"It's fine," she told herself. She pressed her pen into the page, intending to keep writing, but she couldn't stop thinking.

How many kids learned to cook at eight years old because their parents sometimes forgot to feed them? How many kids were more of a parent to their little sister than their actual parents? How many kids lived above a lab full of dangerous chemicals and volatile weaponry, and were told to clean said lab as part of their chores?

Jazz could think of at least one: Danny. Would things be the other way if she were older? Would she take Danny out on Christmas day so they didn't have to hear their parents fighting about a fat man in a red suit? Would she have been forced to grow up too fast?

She didn't want Danny to be her dad. She wanted her father to be her dad.

"Jazz?"

She jumped, hand shooting across the page, pen ripping the paper in half, tearing through her carefully penned memories and the photocopied photograph taped in the corner.

"Oh, shit, sorry. Was that important?" Spike asked. He held one of the house phones, pressing against his chest.

"Language," Jazz said softly, staring forlornly at the ruined page. The pages beneath were ruined, too, a heavy black line cutting across the first few.

"Weirdo," Spike said. "Anyway, Mom—that's Hannah—wanted me to tell you that social worker is coming on Friday so you can visit your brother."

Muffled noise comes from the phone, and Spike raises to his ear. He listened a moment, nodded, then lowered it again. "And she's sorry they can't take you sooner, but they work during visitor hours, and they don't want you walking through the city on your own," he recited.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

Spike looked at her funny, cocking his head. "Because it isn't safe."

"Oh." Jazz would be perfectly fine with going on her own. She needed to see Danny with her own eyes, to make sure he was okay. The nurse said he was, but she had to see it for herself. She had to be certain.

Her second day with the Millers, she couldn't bring herself to work on her memoirs again, so she occupied herself with the collection of books in their office. A lot of it was literature, some classic, some poetry, some plays. Jazz gravitated toward the single shelf of textbooks, particularly the psychology. She didn't know much about the field, but something about understanding brains and how they worked fascinated her.

She stayed holed up in the office all day.

Her third day with the Millers was Friday. She waited for Jamila to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Jamila never showed up.

Her fourth day, she learned about the monster that attacked the mall, sending everyone into a panic. It glowed and couldn't be hurt by anything anyone threw at them, until Maddie and Jack showed up with the volatile weapons they made Danny clean and put the monster—ghost—down. All Jazz cared about was why no one was with Danny in case he woke up.

Her fifth day, Jazz thought, and thought, and didn't stop thinking until she couldn't stop thinking about why her parents didn't seem to care as much as they were supposed to.

On the sixth day, Jamila said she could finally see Danny tomorrow. For the first time in a week, it felt like everything would be alright.

—

Spike panics. Jazz knows he panics because he grabs her wrist and makes a break for it before the agent even reaches them.

"Spike!" Jazz stumbles, almost tripping, and tries to resist. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the agent giving chase. Until Tucker surges after him and tackles his legs. They both go down.

Spike yanks on her arm, forcing Jazz to run faster, and drags her around the corner of the block.

"What was that?" Jazz asks. She grabs her hair. "Tucker's going to get arrested!"

"So were we! You heard what the emergency broadcast said. You know how many laws we're breaking being 'out of our vehicle?'" Spike shouts back. "All of them!"

"They aren't real laws!" And they aren't. They're a guideline of what to do in ghostly emergencies, and the G.I.W. treat every ghost like an emergency. Although, considering the destruction they had just run from, this was a real emergency.

"Funny, doesn't stop them from arresting people!"

Jazz rips her hand out of Spike's grip. "I can't leave them behind!"

Spike stops and turns. His scowl is softer, and he bites his lip, looking at Jazz with worry.

She glares back at him, refusing to move. "I can't."

"This isn't about Tucker, is it?" he asks. He doesn't need Jazz to answer. She doesn't need to give him one. He sighs, pressing a hand to his cheek, one finger spinning his eyebrow ring. After a long moment, he says, "Fine."

Jazz feels a wave of relief that has her grinning.

"Don't expect me to tackle a government agent for you, though. That's all Foley."

They turn back around, sprinting down the street. Overhead, Phantom and Skulker are still battling it out. Skulker's lagging, the plating of his suit warped and melted. The missing arm definitely doesn't help. But Phantom's not looking so good either. A few lucky shots from Skulker's plethora of hidden guns had left them burnt and bleeding.

Can it really be called bleeding? Ectoplasm, rather than blood, seeps out of Phantom's wounds, indistinguishable from the substance dripping from his mask. A wound on their torso slows them down the most, a large scorch mark stretching from the bottom of their ribcage, across their stomach, to their hip on the other side of their body.

Every time it looks like they're about to slow down, the collar on their neck sparks. Phantom hisses in pain each time and dives back into the hunt with renewed vigour.

Jazz forces herself to look away when Spike grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind the same crumpled car Skulker destroyed earlier. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions her forward, and together they peer around the bumper and look down the street.

The agent has Tucker pinned on a nearby car. Straining her ears, Jazz can just barely hear what he's saying over the grunts and snarls of the fighting ghosts. "You're under arrest for assaulting a G.I.W. agent and interfering with a government operation."

"Come on, Mr. K, that's not cool," Tucker says.

"Agent K. And neither was assaulting me. G.I.W. operations are a matter of national security."

"It's a green blob in a metal suit, fucking chill!"

Agent K pulls out a pair of cuffs and slaps them on Tucker's wrists, keeping him pinned with a hand on his back. Agent K's focus drifts up toward the fight and scowls. Seeing his hesitance, Jazz realizes Agent K isn't going to move Tucker until the fight is done. Too much debris is flying everywhere and it's safer behind the cars than anywhere else. Agent O seems to have found cover, too, behind the overturned truck. He stands there with his gun lowered, hand poised over his watch.

Jazz looks back to Tucker. Neither he nor Agent K has noticed her and Spike yet. "Okay," she says. "I know what to do."

"No," Spike says.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"No. We're not tackling a G.I.W. agent."

Jazz gives him a pleading look, with wide eyes and a small pout.

"No, we're not tackling him!"

Jazz doesn't give him much of a choice. She charges, dashing out from behind the car.

"Son of a biiitch!" Spike shouts, sprinting past her. Agent K hears Spike and turns to face him, but none of his government training could prepare him for the pure shock value of a sickly looking punk goth kid charging at him at full speed. Spike barrels into the agent's chest, throwing him off Tucker and down to the sidewalk.

Jazz is about to throw herself on top of the pile when a loud crash and a panicked cry stops her.

"No, Phantom, no! It's me! Remember? Stop!"

She jerks back at the sound of Skulker's steadily rising voice and peeks over the car Tucker had been pinned against. Skulker lies on the ground in the middle of the road, Phantom hovering far above him. But something's off. Specifically, Skulker's head. It lies a foot away from his body, the eyes dull and expression completely blank.

"Please!"

Jazz's gaze snaps up to Phantom. In his hands, he holds something small and green, and Tucker's words come floating back to her: a blob in a metal suit. Phantom holds Skulker's real form inches from their face, clutched tightly in their hands.

"No!" Jazz cries, jumping out into the street. Everyone freezes, their heads swivelling toward her, and she falters.

"Jazz, what are you doing?" Tucker hisses.

She doesn't know. Phantom is a dangerous, powerful ghost. There's nothing she can actually do to make him stop. There's no real reason she should even try to stop him. In Amity Park, ghosts are like rabid wild animals. They come in, destroy stuff, and then they get put down. Jazz has never met someone who felt sorry for the ghosts.

But she had also never really met a ghost before. And she had never heard one scream and beg for its life as it tries to help the very thing that is going to kill it. She can't watch that. She can't just stand here and witness Phantom squeezing the life—the afterlife—out of this little ghost that says he wants to help.

Whoever this Skulker is, she can't let that happen.

Whoever Jazz suspects Phantom might be, she can't let them do it.

She can't tell if Phantom is looking at her, but she thinks they are. Even as Skulker wriggles and squirms, popping out of their grip, Phantom stays focused on her. A small smile touches Jazz's lips. In the corner of her eye, Skulker flies down to his suit, free to escape.

Jazz takes a step forward. A burly arm loops around her waist and hoists her off her feet, dragging her back.

"Hey! Stop!" Jazz squirms, feet kicking in the air, and throws her head back. She hits Agent K's chin, but he doesn't falter.

"Hey, calm down! It's not safe out here!" Agent K says, his arm tightening around her midsection.

Jazz gasps. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Agent K's hold immediately loosens. "Sorry. But what's with you kids, tackling people trying to help you?"

"Wait, what?" Jazz asks, confused.

Suddenly, white fills her vision. Jazz feels a burning, crackling heat, then she's falling, and Agent K her screams. She rolls on the ground, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and looks over her shoulder.

Phantom has Agent K pinned against a convenience store window, arms pressed against his throat. Their body blurs as they move, leaning in closer. The glass cracks. With a great heave, the window shatters. Phantom sends Agent K flying through the store, flipping over rows of shelves. He crashes into a row of coolers at the back and falls to the floor.

Phantom spins around and faces Jazz. Up close, they look even more feral, ectoplasm dripping like saliva through a series of jagged slots in their mask. The lenses of their goggles are cracked, but the eyes behind them glow so brightly it hurts to look right at them.

Phantom's collar sizzles and they cry out as the shock courses through them. Turning away from Jazz, they lock onto Agent O and howls. Jazz blinks and Phantom is all the way cross the street, roaring in Agent O's face, immersing him in a haze of ectoplasm.

Agent O drops to the ground, clutching their throat.

"No," Jazz whispers, horrified.

Phantom turns back to her. They stumble forward. Jazz takes a step back. As if that's some signal, Phantom lunges toward her. Jazz screams and drops to the ground, crawling toward the sidewalk.

"Phantom, stand down!" Agent K shouts as he clambers out of the broken shop window His demand is met with a roar of ectoplasm that soars right over Jazz. She screams again, folding her arms over her head, but can't do anything against the blistering heat.

Jazz crawls faster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she's able. She heads for Tucker and Spike, both of them wearing cuffs now, but Phantom cuts in front of her. Backpedalling fast, her arms flail as she pivots and runs the other way.

A hazy mist surrounds Jazz and she shudders, a tingling chill passing through her. Phantom reforms in front of her, too close for her for her to stop in time. A green blast soaring over her shoulder saves her. It bursts against Phantom's chest and throws them back.

"Run!" Agent K shouts, training his gun oh Phantom.

Jazz doesn't question she order. She doesn't wait for Phantom to get back. She already knows they will. No matter what Agent K does, Phantom will come after her. She's their prey now.

—

Everything was not alright.

Monday night, Spike once again passed along the message that Jazz would be seeing her brother the next day, a full week after she'd seen him last. This time, Jamila actually showed up, apologizing for Wednesday, citing the chaos at the mall and the havoc it wreaked throughout the city in general. She brought with her the good news that Danny was awake, had been since Friday.

"I'm sorry no one informed you sooner. There were some complications at the hospital," Jamila had said.

Those foreboding words quelled Jazz's excitement but couldn't snuff it out completely. She would finally get to see for herself that Danny was fine. But when she got to the hospital, the nurse said she wasn't allowed to see him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He's in for tests right now," the nurse said. She turned to Jamila and continued, as if Jazz wasn't there. "We contacted an expert. Apparently, this is something the government's dealt with before. I don't really understand it, but his parents will be seeing him soon, and Jasmine can see him after that."

That was how Jazz ended up in the waiting room, on her own, again. Jamila had gone off to find her parents and speak to them about Danny's situation, whatever that was. Everyone was treating her like she didn't need to know anything, but she was twelve! She was mature, and smart, and she could handle whatever they were keeping from her.

"It's not fair," she muttered.

"Damn right. Although I have no idea what you're actually talking about."

Jazz looked up and saw Tucker claiming the chair next to her. There was no blood on him, and for one wild moment, Jazz realized she expected to see some. It was the first time she'd seen him since the accident, and for some reason, she pictured him frozen in that moment back at the lab, clothes stained red and green.

"Uh, you good?" Tucker asked.

Jazz stared a moment longer, taking in his pale face. "Are you?"

"Ha, you caught me. I don't really like hospitals," Tucker said. He glanced around the room warily and slumped in his chair. "But I heard they were letting you see him today, so I thought. I don't know. Maybe I could sneak in."

"Who told you?"

"Spike."

Jazz blinked in surprise.

"His moms used to babysit me, and my mom watched Spike to return the favour sometimes. When I heard you were with the Millers, I kind of asked him to keep an eye on you for me," Tucker said, smiling sheepishly. "Got to make sure you're alright for Danny."

"Thanks, I guess," Jazz said. She peered closer at Tucker. More than pale, he looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping, and it made her wonder. "What... what happened? In the lab."

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"I think it does."

"What difference will it make?"

"Because then I'll know."

"That won't—"

"Tucker, please." Jazz wasn't mad. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just looked at Tucker, feeling helpless and lost.

"Sam thought it'd be cool to go inside," Tucker muttered.

"Oh." Danny would do anything Sam asked, whether she meant him to or not. Everyone knew it.

"Yeah," Tucker said.

"She hasn't come to see him, has she?"

"She feels guilty."

Jazz didn't know how to respond to that. A small part of her was mad at Sam, but at the same time Jazz knew it wasn't completely her fault.

Silence fell between her and Tucker as she sank into her thoughts. Jazz didn't know how it was with other siblings, but Danny's best friend had always been such a staple in her life that she didn't mind being alone with him. He was almost like a second big brother, although Danny would be the undisputed best.

Tucker stayed with her until Jamila returned. She wore a wary smile and gave Tucker a questioning glance.

"I'm Danny's friend," Tucker said, answering her unasked question.

"I see. I'm sorry, but I've been told only family can see him at this time. His should be seeing him now," Jamila said.

"You're not family."

"Due to the nature of the situation, I am his medical proxy."

It was amazing how Jamila could sum everything up without actually explaining anything useful. Jazz wanted to snap at her, but she held back. After all the thinking she had done about her parents, she was no longer certain how she felt about Jamila. Maybe the woman really did want to help.

"It's fine, Tucker. You can just get Spike to tell you all about my visit," Jazz said.

"Oh, that's cold," Tucker said. He pushed himself up and stretched his arms above his head, then let them flop back down at his sides. "I guess I can leave Danny in your capable hands. Give him hell for scaring us like that."

"That's the plan."

Jazz waited until Tucker was gone before turning to Jamila and motioning for her to lead the way. Soon, all her fretting would be over. She could confirm with her own eyes that Danny wasn't still bleeding out on the floor, and maybe even get one of his comforting smiles. Maybe he would even come with her to stay at the Millers until everything got sorted out with their parents. If it got sorted out.

Before they rounded the corner into Danny's hallway, Jamila took Jazz aside and spoke to her softly.

"Something happened on Friday that the doctors can't really explain," she started. "Your brother appears healthy, but he's... different. And I just want to prepare you for that."

Determined, Jazz nodded.

Jamila looked relieved, her wide brown eyes softening, and she smiled. "Okay. Let's go see your brother."

They turned the corner. Nothing happened. Which made sense, because it was just a hallway, and the door to Danny's room was further down. But Jazz was so tense that the brightly lit hospital hallway felt out of place. A long, foreboding corridor would have been more appropriate.

Hospital staff bustled about. A couple patients were stretching their legs. Some visitors had claimed benches that were interspersed along the hall, none of them too interesting. A woman in a pretty blue dress, a man in a white suit, two teenagers with watery eyes and red noses. Jazz wondered who they were all here for.

They were halfway down the hall when a door burst open and a nurse stuck his head out.

"Security!" he shouted.

"That's not my son!"

Jamila's arm curled around Jazz's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. The way Jamila's hold on her tightened when a security guard went rushing by told her exactly who's room that was. Her fears were confirmed when Maddie and Jack backed out of the open door, herded toward the security guard by the nurse. Danny's door closed behind them.

Jazz twisted, breaking free of Jamila's grip, and ran toward her parents.

"Mom, what's going on? What's wrong?" she asked.

Maddie turned to Jazz and her face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She was barely holding it together "Oh, honey. Danny's... Danny's gone, sweetie."

"No." That wasn't right. Jamila just said Danny was fine. What could have happened in that short time? She refused to believe it.

"No!" she repeated, louder.

Maddie reached out to her. Jazz ducked under her arm, skipping out of reach. She glanced at Jamila, the nurse, the guard, checking to see if any of them would stop her. None of them moved.

"Stop, Jazz!" Jack shouted, taking a step forward.

The security guard stopped him, getting in Jack's way and holding out his arms. "Sir, I will remove you form the building," the guard said.

"Jasmine, do not go in there," Maddie said in a scolding, motherly tone

Jazz went in. She whipped the door open, spinning around and slamming it shut. There was no lock. A quick peek through the window confirmed the guard was still holding her parents back. Satisfied they weren’t going to barge in and drag her out of there, Jazz turned.

She froze. The person sitting on the bed had a familiar head of messy hair, but it faded to white half-way through. His eyes swirled blue and green, the colours constantly shifting, pushing against each other, battling for dominance. When he raised his hand and waved, his arm blurred, trailed by an afterimage.

Bandages crawl up his right arm, wrapping stiffly around his fingers, and winding all the way up to his shoulder, stopping just before the sleeve of his blue gown. She's only seen it once, but Jazz knows there's a gauze patch on his shoulder under that sleeve. A matching patch is plastered against his neck. Thin, spidery blisters creep along his jaw, but don't go much further than that.

His face is sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes looking bruised. The blood is gone. The green goo is gone.

"Jazz!" There was a slight echo to his voice. He beamed. "About time you got here. I was starting to think you didn't care."

There was no mistaking that smile or that teasing voice. Jazz ran forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest.

"Danny!" Jazz cried out, already tearing up. Because it was Danny. He looked different, and he felt different—cold—but it was him.

"You are not gonna believe what's on the other side of that portal, took a lot of work to get back here–"

"Get back?"

"–but here I am!" Danny threw up his arms, grinning even wider.

Jazz noticed his teeth looked a little sharper. "What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, man, you're not gonna believe it. So, the portal turns on, right? And then everything just goes all." Danny waved his hands around. "Hold on, wait, I had it before. Everything just goes all," he snapped his fingers and electricity crackled down his arm, "like that!"

Jazz jumped away from him, staring at his arm as the electricity fizzled out.

Danny's smile slipped. "Oh. You're scared too, aren't you? Mom and Dad... they didn't take it well either."

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door banged open. Startled, she whipped around and backed up until her hip bumped the side of Danny's bed. Maddie stood in the doorway, holding a silver and green gun. An ectogun, Jazz recalled. Her parents made them to fight ghosts, if they ever saw one.

"Jazz, get away from it!" Maddie said. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

"Mom," Jazz said.

"That's not Danny!"

"That's kind of rude," Danny muttered.

"Mom, what are you doing!" Jazz slid in front of Danny, holding out her arms the same way the security guard had.

The barrel of Maddie's gun dipped as she watched Jazz, disbelief written across her face. It looked like she was going to stop. To Jazz, it looked like Maddie was about to reconsider. Until Jazz felt Danny's hand on her shoulder. Maddie's disbelief was drowned out by a furious snarl fueled by grief and rage.

Everything happened so fast.

Danny shoved Jazz out of the way just before the bang. She tripped into a chair by his bed, smacking her head on the armrest. The world went fuzzy for a moment. There wa a shout, and a thump, and her mother started wearing. A stampede of feet come running.

When Jazz's vision cleared, she saw Maddie on the ground, pinned by the same security guard from before, reaching for her gun. No less than three new guards had Jack pinned out in the hallway. The nurse was speaking frantically into a phone. The man in the white suit tapped the nurse's shoulder, holding out his hand for the phone, jerking his chin toward the room. The nurse relinquished the phone without protest.

Jazz crawled backward, away from the chaos, and almost fell when her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Danny on the floor, bleeding.

—

Jazz has been afraid many times in her life. When she was little, walking through the house in the dark. When she sat in the backseat of the RV while her father had the wheel. When she sat in the hospital, alone waiting to hear if Danny was alive or dead. When she realized he was gone from her life forever.

None of that compares to how she feels now. Her heart beats against her ribs, moments from bursting out of her chest. Her lungs burn and her throat feels tight and she struggles to breathe. Her senses narrow until all she can see is what's in front of her, all she can hear is Phantom inches behind her, all she can feel is the icy heat they give off, so cold it burns.

Jazz makes the mistake of looking back to check how close Phantom is. Practically nose to nose, the green and blue lenses of his goggles are all she sees. She shrieks and stumbles. Phantom reaches out to catch her, latching on to her hair, yanking her head back. She cries out again, tears springing to her eyes.

Phantom jerks away from her, releasing her hair, and raises their hands to their face. They start moaning. Jazz takes off, the ominous wail building behind her. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tries to shut it out. The distraught cry grows louder and louder until the ground shakes, and windows rattle, and a wave of green energy blasts Jazz off her feet.

She soars through the air, screaming, arms wrapping around her head. She hits the ground hard and curls into a ball. Phantoms wail tears into her, a painfully familiar cry of pain amplified a hundred times over, fueled by the power of ectoplasm.

Her ears ring long after it ends, so loud that she doesn’t even realize Phantom's stopped until she notices the ground isn't shaking anymore. She rolls onto her back and lifts her head. Phantom stumbles toward her, clutching their still-bleeding wounds. Gas pours from their mask, ectoplasm erupting from the slits every time they breathe.

Fear keeps her pinned. The only thing Jazz can do is weep, her heart slowly cracking as Phantom edges closer, vicious and unrelenting, not a single shred of humanity with them.

"Please stop!" Jazz wails. "This isn't you! Just stop. See me! Stop being so stupid!"

Phantom's breath rattles as they loom over her.

Jazz screams, "Danny!"

—

Jazz waited until two a.m. before slipping out of her hospital room. A nurse had given her slippers before final rounds, so she wasn't walking barefoot, but they made a loud slapping noise if she didn't walk carefully enough. She stuck close to the wall, one hand on the plastic rail that stretched down the length of the hallway.

Danny was only one room over, but it would only take a second for a nurse to walk around the corner, see Jazz up and about, and usher her back into her room. She slipped through Danny's door, quiet as possible, and tiptoed over to his bed. There was a new swathe of bandages on his left forearm, to go with his growling collection.

Maddie had missed hitting anything vital, but whatever was in her gun sent Danny into a seizure. The police came and took Jack and Maddie away after that, and Danny's doctor admitted Jazz with a concussion. She was only meant to be there one night, and she didn't want to spend it alone.

Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it toward Danny's bed, one inch at a time. It made a high-pitched squeak every time she pulled it forward. Nobody came barging in, despite the loud noise, and soon enough she had the fhair right where she wanted it.

She was about to sit down when Danny opened his eyes.

"You could have just picked it up," he said.

"You were awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was funny."

Jazz crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

"Aw, come on, I'm sorry. Turn around."

She did, albeit reluctantly, and found Danny had kicked the covers off and shuffled over to the edge of the bed.

"Come on," he said.

"I'm not eight."

"Congratulations. Come on."

Jazz rolled her eyes and climbed in. Using Danny's arm as a pillow, she settled next to him, just like when they were little and she used to come to him after having a bad dream. They would stare up at the stars on his ceiling while he pointed out constellations to her.

There were no stars to point out now but sitting next to him still brought comfort. Danny was all she ever had, and he was all she would ever need.

"Are we gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Totally." Jazz could hear Danny's smile in his weird, new, echoing voice. "I talked to Jamila earlier. She told me about the Millers."

"Are you coming there too?"

"Yeah. Jamila's already made the arrangements. You and me? We're gonna be okay as long as we're together." Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You should head back to your room before someone finds you missing. I'll be right here if you need me."

Jazz nodded, sliding out of the bed. Danny gives her one last smile before she left. On the way back to her room, she paused. The hallway wasn't empty anymore. Someone stood at the very end of it, watching her. It was the man in the white suit.

Jazz waited to see if he would do something. He only stared. Breaking their little stand-off first, she lowered her head and slipped through her door, rushing over to her bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she curled on her side. It didn't take her long to relax, though, Danny's last comforting words echoing in her head. She drifted off with a smile on her face, thinking of how much better things would be from here on out.

When Jazz woke up in the morning, Danny was gone.

—

Phantom's stopped.

Afraid to move, Jazz holds herself perfectly still for a few long seconds, but no attack comes. She opens her eyes and looks up.

Phantom looms over her, seething. Ectoplasm drips from their mask like toxic drool. Their breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each pant. They don't even have the strength to holds his arms up so the cuffs don't strain his elbows. Their whole body shakes.

A glob ectoplasm drops to the ground by Jazz's foot, a few specks splashing against her ankle. It burns. She flinches, scrambling back, but Phantom doesn't move. Warily, she pushes herself up onto her knees. When Phantom doesn't react, she gets on her feet, slowly rising out of a crouch. Phantom just stands there.

She should be running. She should take advantage of this reprieve and whatever caused it and get the hell out of there. Over Phantom's shoulder, she spies Spike, Tucker, and Agent K running down the street. They're waving their arms and yelling, probably telling her to get away while she can.

She moves closer to Phantom. Reaching out, she grabs their hood and pulls it down. Their hair is mostly white, but at the roots, there's the thinnest line of black. Now that she's close, she sees how the mask digs into his cheeks and goes for that next. It probably hurts.

It takes her a moment to find the locking mechanism. It rests at the nape of their neck, a simple latch without a key. Cruelly simplistic. She has to get in close to reach up and around their head, and Phantom flinches when her arms circle them.

She freezes, expecting them to attack, or leap away, but they don't. She flicks the latch. The mask doesn't fall away as she though it would, but it's looser now. Carefully, she pries the mask open and pulls it off. It resists, for a moment, so stuck to Phantom's face, but eventually gives. She tosses it away as soon as it's off and can barely hold in her gasp.

A deep imprint cuts across Phantom's cheeks and nose. Ectoplasm smears the lower half of Phantom's face, blisters surrounding their lips. She didn't think a ghost's own ectoplasm could hurt them but looking at how thin the slots in the mask are, it probably takes a lot of pressure to push it all out.

Jazz touches Phantom's cheek, her thumb tracing their jaw, wiping away some of the ectoplasm to reveal a series of thin red lines branching across their skin.

Phantom's shaking has stopped, but Jazz's hands tremble as she reaches for their goggles. She pushes them up to their forehead. The eyes that stare back at her are wild, pupils stretched wide. They look right through her, uncomprehending, but she recognizes them instantly. One has a little more green, the other more blue, but both colours swirl in each iris.

Jazz squeezes her eyes shut. She can't hold back her tears any longer, pressing her head against Phantom's shoulder. She wraps her arms around her brother's neck and sobs.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfic #jazz fenton #ageswap au #tumblroneshots

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

Fortune’s Rule, Part 2

Here’s the second part of story. You can find the first part here. Damian does make his appearance in this one! I *think* the next part will be the final one.

Pairing: Damian Priest x OFC

Word count: 3,268

Content advisory: Nothing for this part, unless you count some references to the violent bits in the first part.

50 days.

You spin the plastic coin on the table in front of you and sip your beer while you contemplate it. The coin says 30 days because it counts from when you first started Narcotics Anonymous, but really it’s 50 days since you’ve taken any kind of drug except alcohol. You know that you’re not supposed to touch that either but it’s not like you’re getting dead drunk. Just a drink to take the edge off. You work in a bar. It would be a bummer for the clients and the rest of the staff if you refused to drink anything at all. Besides, alcohol was never the problem. The other stuff was the problem.

Still, you’ve avoided mentioning anything about working in a bar or having a few drinks a week to anyone at your NA meetings. You’ve told them that you’re a waitress at a restaurant. That’s almost the same thing.

You look around the cramped room that’s become home. It came furnished and the landlord lets you pay in cash every week, which is the arrangement you need, but it’s not exactly thrilling to come back to at the end of a shift. There’s a small table that looks like it’s out of the seventies that just barely fits between the end of the bed and the wall. And you have to be careful to push the sole chair all the way in when you get up or it blocks the door. There’s one grimy window that looks out onto the fire escape and the alley below where homeless people and hookers come to relieve themselves or take whatever drugs they’ve managed to get their hands on.

It’s irritating that you know you could actually afford a better place; not an expensive place but an actual apartment. Between the amount remaining in the bag you grabbed from the sinking car and the salary you’re pulling down from work (although that’s under the table), you’re doing better than the residents of this shithole building. But getting an apartment would mean putting your name on a lease, getting a credit check, declaring income. That’s still not safe. You don’t know if that will ever be safe.

45 days ago, you’d come to in the night lying face down in the woods, moss and twigs and dirt stuck to your skin everywhere. You felt like someone was pounding a railway spike into your forehead and when you touched the point where the pain was centered, you could feel a cut. Your arms hurt. Your ribs hurt. Your knees hurt. You were soaking wet. But you were awake and you had a bag of money underneath you.

The moon was so bright that it illuminated the area around you, not that it helped much. You were in the wild. After a few minutes, you became aware of some unnatural noise coming from near the river and squinted to see what was there.

The commotion was coming from the far side of the river, the whirring of a heavy engine and the grinding of tires against the ground, followed by men’s voices. This repeated a few times and you crept forward, staying on your stomach, to get a better look. That’s when you’d seen the lights. Flashlights, the flashing amber light of the tow truck, the blue and red of a police car parked a little further back. You had to squint because the lights hurt your eyes but squinting hurt even more. But gradually, you’d been able to see what was happening: they were pulling the car out of the river. It was agonizingly slow work but inch by inch, your boyfriend’s car was rising from its murky resting place.

“Shit!” yells one of the men. “Stop it, cut the engine, we got a body!”

A body. Just one? Or just one that they could see? Did one person escape? Was there another body in the river? Did they know that this accident was connected to a drug crime? Did they even know about what had happened at that downtrodden little house, the one you’d fled?

You never knew.

You’d curled up next to a fallen tree trunk and tried to stay warm for the rest of the night. The pain in your head kept you from falling asleep and early the next morning, you’d started walking. You didn’t go back to the apartment you’d shared with Johnnie. You didn’t even go back to the town. You’d kept walking parallel to the highway, occasionally checking road signs to get your bearings. You’d walked for five days. You rested as little as possible, although the longer you walked, the more rest you needed. You drank water from streams or springs when you could find them, or directly out of the river. You ate leaves. You ate tree bark. You ate dirt. You hadn’t known enough to try the berries or mushrooms you saw along the way.

After five days, you finally reached the city. You’d been there before but not in years. It was far enough away from your town to be a hassle to get to. It was far enough away for you to disappear and be safe.

You’d sat down at a fountain downtown and washed yourself off as best you could. Then you’d gone to the first greasy spoon you found and ate a huge breakfast. Then you’d found your way to the part of town where seedy landlords rented rooms to people who didn’t want to answer questions.

For two weeks, you’d barely left your room and even then, you only left after dark. You expected the police to arrive at any time and haul you back home to face charges or at least to answer a lot of questions but it never happened. After those two weeks had passed, you knew there was no chance that the story was still in the news, if it ever had been, and you’d started to look for a job. You also joined Narcotics Anonymous. You went to meetings in the evening. You worked at night. After a month, you still felt uneasy that people might get too good a look at you, that someone was going to come for you.

You take another gulp of your beer and touch your forehead. The cut has healed but it’s never stopped hurting. The pain wakes you up some days, bad enough to bring you to tears. But whatever damage you suffered, it’s going to have to get better on its own because going to a hospital is too risky. In case of an absolute emergency, you have your sister’s old driver’s license that you used to use to get into bars when you were underage.

Unconsciously, your hand falls to the leather bag at your feet. You’d replaced the satchel the day after you’d found this place. Nothing fancy, just an old messenger bag but it was sturdier and had a good thick double zipper. The bag went everywhere you went, no exceptions. You slept with your arms wrapped around it. It was a little lighter than it had been but there was still plenty left. You’d never even bothered to count it. You bought what you needed and very little else: cheap food, thrift store clothes, a few cans of beer from the corner store.

Your head throbs for a while, enough that the vision in your left eye goes a bit blurry, but then it subsides, as it always does. You’ve got this, you tell yourself. You made it out of the car. You made it out of the woods. You’ve bought yourself the time you need to figure out what to do next, how to make your life into something.

Rather than climb into bed, you open a second beer. You can tell this is one of those nights that you need to stay awake until your body simply can’t handle it anymore. If you let yourself drift off to sleep, you can tell that the nightmares are going to come, the nightmares where you’re back near the river, trying to lift yourself but your head hurts too much and your soaked body is too heavy. And as you’re trying to get up, you see them: Cynthia crawls from the river, her body shattered and bloated, her eyes opaque, and nearby you can see Johnnie staring at you. His face is unchanged, but there’s blood streaming from his nose and mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes stay locked on you as Cynthia creeps ever closer, snarling and sobbing.

The best thing about your job is that you get some actual human interaction. You’re happy to talk to the regulars and to the ones who just stop in. It’s not a glamorous place but it’s a few steps above a true dive. There’s a long-standing clientele, people who were coming here before the current owner bought the place. But young people are showing up with increasing frequency, people desperate to find cheap rents and willing to take a chance on a neighborhood that’s still pretty scary. In a few years, this whole area is going to be gentrified and places like the one where you work will be hip hotspots and if you want to stay unknown, you’ll have to move somewhere else. Perhaps by then, you’ll be able to live something like a normal life. Perhaps you’ll find a way to a decent apartment and you’ll be able to make actual friends. Until then, you make friendly chit chat with the motley mix of patrons and keep yourself to yourself.

By law, you’re allowed to stay open until two but by about twelve-thirty or so, it’s always empty. Your boss has told you to lock up whenever it gets dead and trusts that you won’t just keep the place open to get an extra hour or two of pay. And you’ve never once taken advantage of him. Your nest egg means you don’t have to.

But sometimes, you’ll lock the door and pour yourself a drink (that you pay for) and sit in silence, watching the streets through the tinted windows, the cars of hollering college kids, the prostitutes hurling insults at drivers who disrespect them, the occasional wide-eyed suburbanites and tourists who came because a couple of edgy websites recommended a couple of nearby restaurants for a sort of “authentic” experience of the city.

Mostly, though, you find yourself watching for Him.

You don’t know who he is. You don’t even know his name, much less his back story, but the second you see him, it’s like there’s nothing else that exists. He seems to own, or at least be in charge of, the place across the street, the shop that advertises tarot, palmistry, charms, amulets, books of secret knowledge, and more. It has an inappropriate-seeming neon sign that screams “FORTUNES TOLD” and there’s a collection of strange trinkets in the window in front of a black curtain that obscures the interior.

Whatever goes on in there, the place keeps the weirdest schedule you’ve ever seen. You’ve taken to casing it, dropping by work when you’re not really needed so that you can try to discern a pattern, but there is none. Sometimes, the place is open in the afternoons. Sometimes, it opens in the early evening, around when your shift starts. Often, it opens during the night, or right at the end of your shift. Sometimes, it stays open all night, which you know because a couple of times you’ve sat here waiting it out. Other times, it’s like the place only opens for an hour or two.

The erratic schedule doesn’t seem to bother customers, though. They’ll show up whenever, sometimes visiting the bar and waiting until they see the sign flicker to life. Whenever he’s there, people show up. Especially women.

You can’t blame them for that. The first time you saw him, it was like all the oxygen was sucked out of your body. Your head started to throb a little and you shivered, despite the fact that it was summer. There he was, tall and muscular, his sleeveless shirt showing off his powerful arms, marked with tattoos. His dark hair was shaved at the sides but cascaded past his shoulders. He’s given to running his long fingers through it, the movement consciously slow and sensual, as if he knows he has an audience. Sometimes, he’ll come out and smoke a cigarette on the doorstep, stretching out every part of his long frame in a way that leaves your throat dry.

He seems to know a lot of the people who come to see him, or perhaps that’s just part of the act: he wants people to think he’s been waiting for them.

Tonight, it’s close to one when he shows up, casual as ever, and your eyes are fixed to him as he opens the security door and disappears inside. A moment later, the neon sign flickers to life. You bite down on your thumb as you imagine yourself crossing the street as if you’re just curious because you work so close, telling him that there’s a man you’re intrigued by but are too shy to approach, and asking him to do a reading to tell you if there’s a chance for you.

You’ve imagined this before. You’ve imagined this a lot. It’s a fantasy you’ve thought about many nights in your gross little room, thinking of how he’d grab you and throw you down on the table, tarot cards scattering everywhere, maybe The Lovers falling next to the two of you as you indulge your wild passions…

Once he’s been inside for a few minutes, you finish wiping up, packing the bottles into boxes for return, counting the cash, and starting the dishwasher. Your tasks completed, you head out, locking the door behind you. It’s only when you cut an inadvertent glance across the street that you see him on the step, eyes fixed on you.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and smiles at you, and you give him what you hope is a natural looking smile in return.

You start to head down the street when you hear a deep voice behind you.

“Nice night.”

He grins again when you turn to look at him, like he’s pleased he caught your attention.

“Yeah,” you answer, “very nice.”

The two of you lock eyes for a long moment and just as you start to leave, he speaks again.

“You should come by sometime. I’ll tell you your future.”

“I don’t know if I believe in that,” you stammer.

“Give it a shot. It’s on the house.”

He drops his cigarette and grinds it into the pavement with his heel, giving you another wicked grin as he steps back into the shop. And part of you wants to go rushing in after him but you stop yourself, because on the off chance that he is the real deal, you don’t want to risk anyone finding out who and what you really are. Better to go back to your dank little room and imagine what could happen from the safety of your bed. Which is exactly what you’re going to do.

A couple of nights later, he ups the ante.

Around eleven, he saunters into the bar like he owns the place and gives you a look like he can’t believe you haven’t taken him up on his offer.

It’s not busy but there are a few guys lined up along the bar and two or three clusters of people at the tables, and you’re on your own, which makes it tricky because all you want to do is crawl on top of him and tell him all the nasty thoughts you’ve had about him. This is made worse by the fact that he doesn’t ever seem to take his eyes off you, shifting however he has to in order to make sure he’s always got you in his field of vision. He’s being incredibly obvious and doesn’t seem to care.

“So what can I get you tonight?” you greet him brightly, trying to choke back your nervousness.

“You know how to make a whiskey sour?” he asks in a voice that’s almost unnaturally deep and earthy.

“Yeah, honey, I think I can figure it out.”

“Well, give it a try but I’ll warn you, I’m a pretty fussy guy when it comes to cocktails.”

“Oh good,” you sigh, “a critic.”

Truthfully, you don’t remember exactly what goes into a whiskey sour and you have to Google it. Then there’s the fun of finding the right ingredients, although you’re pleased to find out that the bar actually has them. You resist the urge to make a test one for yourself because you wouldn’t know what it was supposed to taste like anyway and whiskey has never been your thing.

When you go to place it on the bar in front of him, you feel a soft tremor run through your body, like you’re afraid of his judgment but also because, looking into his dark eyes, you feel this sense of fate. Yes, you’re attracted to him. You’re very attracted to him and you haven’t felt that in a while. And you have a bit of interest in what it is he does, whether he believes there’s magic and power in the things he sells or if he’s just making a few bucks off gullible people. You even catch yourself wondering if he could be the real deal.

He notices your hand shaking and gives a wry smile.

“Am I scaring you?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” you snap back, more curtly than you intended.

He raises his glass to you. “Here’s to the power of a good, long rest.”

Your head starts to throb a little and unconsciously, you touch your forehead, willing it to stop.

“Must have been a hell of an accident.”

That’s enough to distract you and you turn to face him again. “I’m sorry?”

“You just flinched like you were in pain and you touched your head. There’s a little scar where you touched it. So I’m guessing you were in an accident not too far back.”

You’d thought that the scar was healed enough that other people wouldn’t notice. No one had mentioned it to you but now you figure they were just being polite.

“Just a bump on the head. I made out ok.”

“But maybe someone else didn’t?”

Once again, your whole body shakes and this time, it’s like your skeleton becomes hot, burning hot, your ribs especially pressing with the force of iron tongs into your chest.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you hiss, hardly able to make sound.

He keeps smiling his mysterious little smile and takes a long sip of his drink. “This is pretty good. Especially for someone who hasn’t made one before.”

“I never said that I hadn’t made one before. Just like I never said I was in an accident with someone else.”

He takes another deep swallow of the cocktail and rises to leave. “But I’m right about both, aren’t I?” Seeing your scowl, he continues, “I’m Damian and I have a gift for knowing things about people. If you wanna see how much of a gift, like I said, you should come by and let me read your fortune.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You try to sound casual but you know, even before he smiles triumphantly, that you’re going to accept his invitation as soon as you close up for the night.

#damian priest fanfic #damian priest imagine #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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