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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

Text

With You Always

***So I really really really love this idea, but I'm going to tweak it just a little bit so rather than only seeing them in mirrors, MC can just always see them when the brothers aren't around. This one is going to take place after they return to the human realm. I'm also going to be using he/him pronouns for the crush that'll be mentioned. I figured since all the dateables in the game identify as male, it'd be a safe bet. Thank you so so much for this creative request @gender-less-lemon (also I freaking love your profile picture. Monster Camp/Prom is hilarious)***

Summary: An average day of high school with MC...and the seven pact manifestations that haunt their vision.

TW: Bullying You were awoken not by an alarm, or your guardian, or even some random noise from outside, but rather a phantom gnawing on your arm. With a groan, you blinked open your eyes and saw just your regular old room, with one minor difference; a spectral red bear was happily teething on your elbow. You chuckled and pet the manifestation, noting the brightly glowing symbol of gluttony resting in its stomach. "Okay, Beel," you mumbled to yourself as you dragged yourself out of bed, pushing the purple translucent calf sleeping on your stomach, in the process. "I hear you." Ever since you had returned to the human realm, you had been followed around by spectral manifestations of the seven pacts that you owned. By the looks of things, no one else could see them, and they only appeared when the connected sin was active or needed, but it helped you feel less alone. You missed the brothers more than you had anticipated. It was more than a little bit of a culture shock to go from being loved and spoiled every day to being the misfit in your high school. Speaking of which, you needed to get going if you weren't going to be late. As you rushed around our room frantically grabbing the things you needed to get ready, the calf-like manifestation of sloth sat on your bed mooing in complaint. You sent a glare over to it as you finished collecting your belongings. "Trust me, I rather stay home and sleep too, buddy. But I have to go." Grabbing some fruit on your way out the door, you just managed to make it to school on time. Now it was simply a matter of surviving the day.

In all honesty, you preferred RAD to high school. In RAD, the subjects were interesting and grasped your attention without any problems at all. You had friends, even outside of the brothers. Sure there were always demons that would talk down about the kid human that clung to the demon lords, but you had the brothers to protect you. It was nice.

Now that you were back in the human world, you had none of that. In fact, you were even more of a misfit than when you were before. The teenager that vanished for a year and came back weirder than before; that was you. At first, you couldn't get people to leave you alone, but once they realized you weren't going to give them answers they backed off. You would occasionally laugh or whisper to the manifestations, which would earn you some more than weird looks, but you didn't care. These weird little ghost-like creatures were one of the only things you had connecting you to the Devildom. They meant more to you than anything else. As you entered your classroom, you had to bite back a laugh at the sight of one of your classmates looking around in confusion as, unknown to them, a golden yellow crow flapped around their head and pecked at the shiny earrings they were wearing. You took your seat in the back of the classroom and watch in amusement as the crow continued pecking at the various belongings of students, causing subtle chaos and confusion. Leave it to Mammon to make your day even when he wasn't actually there. Your teacher walked in and sat down in his chair. "Alright, class. Today we're going to continue with our history presentations. Remember these were subjects of your choice, so I do hope that you can at least pretend to be interested," he sighed and pulled out a clipboard. "Looks like the next person presenting is...MC." You winced and looked down at your notes. The topic was definitely one you were confident in, but to present it in front of your class. What if no one liked it? What if people laughed? What if- You felt a nudge on your arm. You glanced over to see a dazzling blue peacock, straightening its long neck out high as it puffed out its chest. The pride manifestation gestured forward with its head and almost seemed to smile at you. You smiled gently as you felt warmth grow from his pact mark on your inner wrist and stood up beside the peacock. It cawed and began to strut forward, leading the way to the front of the class. The mental image of Lucifer doing the same almost caused you to burst out laughing. You finally turned to the class and held your head up proudly as you began to speak. "My presentation today will be on biblical demonology and the way it has evolved throughout the eons of its existence." It was the best presentation you had ever given in your life. Riding off of the high from history class, the day seemed to fly by. Before you knew it was time for lunch. The bear was back, this time just softly moaning it continued butting your back with its head in an attempt to get you to go to the cafeteria faster. With one particularly heard shove, you were sent stumbling forward, directly into the chest of someone. "I'm so sorry! I'm a total clutz. I just tripped, I hadn't meant to-" you cut yourself off as you looked up and noticed you were looking at your crush. Your jaw snapped shut as you felt your face suddenly become uncomfortably hot. He smiled and waved off the apology. "It's alright. Just an accident right?" Your face became even hotter as you noticed a bright pink rabbit jumping up and down happily behind him. "I- Uh...Ehm...Y-Yeah! Yeah, t-totally an accident. I'm seat so I should go find my hungry. I-I mean!" He chuckled and nodded. "No worries, I get what you're trying to say. Enjoy your seat, MC," he gave you a wink, causing you to squeak as he walked off. You glared down at the rabbit running happy circles around your feet and the red bear that was sulking guiltily in a corner. "I blame you two for this." With an embarrassed huff, you entered the cafeteria and found yourself instantly wanting to walk back out. Everyone was laughing and talking with one another in their friend groups at their tables. Some gossiped eagerly over a magazine. Others sat silently with one another while they gamed or read books. There was even a table where a group of theatre kids were drumming out a soundtrack beat on the table while singing their favourite

songs. You ducked your head down and grabbed a tray of food before moving to the lonely table in the back, doing your best to ignore the giant orange snake that slithered between the tables, occasionally hissing and tripping students. You tried not to think of how you could be just like those groups of laughing friends, if only you were still at RAD. Your heart ached as you thought about the brothers. Maybe you could call them tonight. You let out a heavy sigh as you stood up and went to leave. You had almost made it to the door when a familiar face stopped you. Standing just a couple inches taller than you, surrounded by their groupies, was your tormentor, Taylor. You weren't entirely sure why they hated you so much. You just knew that they did, and that it got even worse when you came back from the Devildom. Taylor smirked with their arms crossed over their chest. "Where do you think your going? You haven't come to say hello yet." You scoffed and tried to walk past them. "Leave me alone, Taylor. I'm not in the mood for this today," before you could get very far, you were harshly onto the floor, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped and glared up at them. "What the fuck?!" The bully just sneered down at you. "You may not be in the mood for this, but I am. You know I heard about your weirdo presentation. Demons? Really? What are you, a satanist?" Their word choice was really ironic, for at that moment you noticed the large, white unicorn with flaming green hair and eyes appear behind them. The beast stomped its hooves and whinnied dangerously. You gulped nervously and looked up at Taylor. "Even if I was, it's not your business. I just find the topic interesting is all." You went to stand up, and therefore force the angry horse with a horn away from Taylor, but were stopped as they placed their foot on top of your chest. "I bet that's why you have all those weird tattoos, huh? What did you run away and join a cult for a year? Freak!" You could feel Satan's pact mark on the back of your neck grow hotter and hotter to the point that you were concerned the manifestation may be trying to summon him. Your eyes widen as you noticed it back up a few steps and point its horn at Taylor. You knew that the creatures normally could do small interactions with others, such as tripping or pushing, but you had never seen them attempt anything so violent. You couldn't just let it kill someone. "STOP!" The cafeteria fell quiet, but you weren't looking at them or even Taylor, you were looking at the unicorn. The manifestation neighed in frustration and jumped around, but obeyed your command. You slumped in relief. Looking back over to Taylor, you found them glaring down at you like you were nothing but a bug. They opened their mouth to degrade you even further when a teacher finally stepped forward. "What is happening here?" You walked over to the unicorn while Taylor fed the teacher a handful of lies. You leaned over to the manifestation and whispered under your breath. "Thank you for trying to protect me, but you can't hurt people. Just leave it be." The creature snorted and nuzzled your shoulder. In comparison to the hectic lunch hour, the rest of the day passed by with ease. In no time at all, you were back home in your room. You had just plopped onto your bed, when you heard a familiar ringtone. You smiled brightly and quickly grabbed your D.D.D. before immediately answering the phone. "Hello?" "Oh, you answered that quite quickly," you grinned at the surprise in Satan's tone. "I was just calling to-" "IS THAT MC?! GIMME!!!" You laughed as the sounds of Satan yelling and running from Mammon came through the other end. There was a yelp, a bang, and a victorious whoop before you could hear the device get picked up by someone. "'Hey MC! How was your day? I hope you didn't miss the great Mammon too badly. N-Not that I've missed you or anything just wanted to know how you're doin' is all." Belphie's purple calf climbed its way into your lap once more as you gently patted its head.

"I miss you too, Mammon. And today wasn't bad. I'd say it was pretty average overall." You could hear Satan growl in the background before there was a loud thud followed by a scream from Mammon. Satan took the phone back. "Just average you say? Nothing special?" You frowned and narrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "No, why?" To your right, the unicorn neighed softly and plopped down beside your bed. "Well, I could've sworn I felt our pact become triggered at some point today and...Well in all honesty I was concerned. We worry about you getting hurt without us there with you, MC." You couldn't help but smile softly as one by one each of the manifestations of your pacts made their way to your bed and laid down. "I know," you replied affectionately. "Though I'm never completely alone. So long as I have my pacts, you guys will always be with me." ***This was such an interesting concept to toy around with. I hope this wasn't too confusing and actually makes sense 😅😅 Thanks again for the amazing request @gender-less-lemon!***

Taglist @thegrimgrinningghost

@henry-and-the-seven-lords

@satans-beloved-riv

@cosmixbun

@sufzku

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fic #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me demon brothers #obey me pacts #obey me requests #teen reader #teen mc #b requests

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seita · 3 years

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— reacting to your death.

includes: oikawa, iwaizumi, matsukawa, hanamaki, + kyoutani.

+ this is childhood friend!reader.

tw: major character death, grieving, blood and violence mention.

p a r t o n e ;;

⤿ part two: next (coming soon!)

-ˋˏ seijoh ˎˊ-

— tooru oikawa.

to tooru, the best course of action is to ignore it.

ignore the hurt, ignore the pain.

ignore the news completely.

in his mind, you’re just on vacation. or maybe you’re mad at him and ignoring him. you’ll come back.

he makes up scenarios and reasons in his head for why you’re not around. iwaizumi is angry, always yelling at him for being an idiot when he brings you up. but he doesn’t understand why.

he won’t talk about it. he doesn’t even acknowledge you’re gone until the funeral.

his hands are clasped in front of himself. the suit is uncomfortable and he doesn’t want to approach the casket. iwaizumi stands beside him, a sharp scowl plastered on his face.

“are you finally ready to face it?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet so the grieving people around them aren’t disturbed.

oikawa huffs out a laugh but it’s shaky -- watery. he’s trying so hard not to cry that it’s making his throat close up painfully. iwaizumi relaxes beside him with a sigh, his shoulders sagging before placing his hand on the taller’s shoulder.

“she wouldn’t want you to ignore it, shittykawa,” oikawa wants to laugh at his friend using that name even in the current situation.

typical iwaizumi.

always a pillar. always trying to be the strong one.

suddenly, oikawa finds himself wondering what your place in their little dynamic was. it feels like he can’t even remember you properly. it’d only been a few days since they lost you and it already feels like he’s...

“i don’t want to forget her,” oikawa suddenly chokes out, unable to stop his tears from falling finally.

“well then don’t dumbass,” iwaizumi’s voice was breaking, choked as he cried but oikawa didn’t want to look because he didn’t want to see his other friend falling apart as well.

— hajime iwaizumi.

he does not have good coping methods. his first and most immediately reaction is denial. he doesn’t want to believe what he’s hearing, so he just...doesn’t.

he assumes everyone is lying to him. there’s no way he could lose you. you’d been his friend since you were children; it’d always been you, iwa, and oikawa. so how could you possibly just be...gone?

the answer? you couldn’t.

that’s what he chose to believe, anyway.

“what are you talking about, shittykawa?” he snaps, refusing to pull his nose from his notes, “i think this has to be your worst joke yet.”

“it’s not a joke,” oikawa sighs, shuffling on his feet as he sniffles. if iwa chanced a look up at him, he’d see his friend had been crying for hours. but he wouldn’t look. because he didn’t want to see it, “her mom tried calling you...couldn’t get a hold of you. so i thought i’d...”

iwa slammed his notebook down, glaring straight ahead, “i told you to stop playing these stupid fucking jokes on me. it’s not funny.”

“iwa-”

“get the fuck out,” iwa jumped to his feet, grabbing the other brunette by the shirt.

the fabric creaked as it stretched. but oikawa didn’t put up a fight, letting iwaizumi toss him out of his bedroom door. he hit the floor with a thud before wincing at the deafening slam of the bedroom door.

iwaizumi sit back down, pulling up your text message. he had never answered your text asking if he would be alright studying on his own today. he had meant to answer but just forgot. his thumbs moved across the keyboard, eyes blurring with tears as he typed.

“come over. we can hang out together, okay?”

— issei matsukawa.

he was the first to admit that he wasn’t the best friend to have. he was sort of ghosty and a bit unreliable. he doesn’t mean to be. you knew that. he knew you did.

so there’s no way you would be upset with him, right? not for what he did.

he lets his own guilt eat him alive. even if everyone on earth told him it wasn’t hit fault -- he still puts every ounce of blame upon himself.

he lets it eat him alive. he thinks he deserves it.

because he let you down.

he stared at his phone. sometimes he could clearly see what he was looking at and other times it felt like he blacked out.

it was your text thread.

it wasn’t unusual for him to ghost you. he was never very talkative. you liked to tease him about it from time to time.

still, looking back, he could have at least responded this one time.

he doesn’t even remember what he was doing. probably nothing as important as it felt at the time.

“can you come pick me up?” it was a simple question. he hadn’t even bothered to ask where you were. if he had, he would have known you were only 10 minutes by car. it would have taken no time at all to stop what he was doing and go get you.

he wonders how long you had stared at his read receipt, wondering if he was going to come. he’ll never know.

he’ll never know the answer to why you were out so late. why you needed him to pick you up. how you felt in your last moments. he wondered if you thought of him then. if you blamed him. if you were sad or hurt by his ignoring you.

why didn’t he just go get you? why didn’t he answer you?

if he had, you would still be safe.

he wishes he could talk to you again. tell you that he was sorry. he didn’t know how important it was. he didn’t know you were scared -- that you weren’t safe.

he wanted to apologize, tell you that whatever stupid shit he was doing was nowhere near as important as you were.

he wanted to know if you had thought about him in your last moments -- the one person you had reached out to for help.

only for him to fail you.

he just wishes you knew that he didn’t mean to let you die.

— takahiro hanamaki.

it’s gotta be a joke, right?

ha-ha really funny. come out now.

when you don’t he’s confused. this really isn’t funny.

you can’t be gone. you can’t. because he needs you.

who else is going to help him during exams. or laugh at his terrible jokes. or make him feel better when he has his heart broken. what about when he’s sick? who will make him that amazing soup that always has him better in a day?

he refuses to let you go. he can’t be without you. it’s just not realistic.

so just...come out of wherever you’re hiding now, okay?

he tries to force the smile to remain in place as he stares at the unfamiliar faces in front of him.

“what um...what do you mean?” he laughs nervously, placing his hand to rub nervously on the back of his neck.

they repeat the news. it goes in one ear and out the other. he laughs, ignoring the confused look on their faces.

he takes a few steps back, shaking his head.

“that’s a...real funny joke. i’m just gonna...” he feels tears stinging at his eyes but he doesn’t know why. it’s obviously just a joke. he doesn’t want to be that dork who cries over a practical joke, “go call her now.”

they don’t try to call him back, pity on their faces as he slumps away, phone in hand as he dials your number. he’s pretty sure he’s far enough away when he starts crying at the sound of your voicemail.

— kentarou kyotani.

kyoutani copes violently. if there is one thing he doesn’t like, it’s change. and there’s no bigger change than losing someone you’ve known your entire life.

he didn’t have many friends -- really you were the only one he was comfortable actually giving that title. so without you, he had no one. he refused to let you go.

anger builds and builds.

and without you there to mellow him out like you usually do...it explodes.

there’s a fist sized dent in the wall. or maybe 4. his knuckles are busted open and bleeding but he doesn’t feel the pain. his shoulders are heaving but even after lashing out he doesn’t feel better.

what is he supposed to do?

usually he calls you.

usually you come waltzing into his bedroom with a frown, ‘kenta, you can’t do that!’ you’d scold him. but you wouldn’t.

he knew you wouldn’t.

but that didn’t stop him from hoping.

god, he wanted you to walk in so bad. even if you didn’t knock. sometimes he would get so mad at you for that. but right now, he would give anything to hear his bedroom door fly open.

he held his fist close to his chest, squeezing his eyes closed to keep himself from crying. he never cried. he didn’t want to start now. he clenched his jaw together aimed his fist at the wall again, a large cracking noise coming from the plaster as if caved under the pressure.

then, almost as if it were out of his best dreams, the door clicked open. he whirled around with wide eyes, hope sparkling within them.

only to find the troubled face of tsukishima there instead of you.

kyoutani finally allowed himself to cry.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #matsukawa x reader #hanamaki x reader #kyoutani x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #issei matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #takahiro hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro x reader #kyotani kentaro x reader #kentaro kyotani x reader

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fe-fictions · 2 years

Note

Do you have any Lon’qu to reupload?

(A cup of Lon'qu argument angst, perhaps?)

You didn’t quite remember what the argument was about, or how it even started. It was something about a battle formation and your positioning being too dangerous, but even that was vague.

You just recalled the shouting back and forth, the anger in Lon’qu’s eyes and him glaring daggers at you.

You were so upset with him you walked away; you couldn’t even be in the same house as him, anymore. You stormed out despite Lon’qu demanding you come back, and slammed the door behind you. Then you were alone, in the Feroxi cold.

It wasn’t quite chilly enough to soothe your temper, though. It would take a long while before you were okay with heading back.

For now, you just wanted to be alone with your thoughts.

It shocked you to no end how aggressive Lon’qu could be. He was a very patient, affectionate and considerate man.

But when his temper flared, then it was just a brutal beatdown regardless of how strong his opponent is.

Lon’qu shouting was enough in itself to shock you out of a debate with him- it happened so very rarely...

To hear him raise his voice was uncomfortable.

You needed to cool down, but so did he. So storming out seemed like the best option.

He could brood to himself until he simmered down, and you could be alone with your thoughts run until you were ready to return.

Your husband, who, as you started to regain your calm, had terrible separation anxiety since you disappeared three years ago.

Your husband who loved you dearly, and wished to protect you from any and all harm.

Even if it meant fighting with you to the point of both of you frothing at the mouth.

Lon’qu wanted you to be safe. You sighed to yourself, knowing that his intentions were good. Of course they were.

The world’s most stoic man wouldn’t have a petty argument with you over something trivial.

The chill of the air became even colder, suddenly, and you looked up, finding a threatening dark cloud looming overhead.

You frowned; of course a snowstorm was rolling in.

By the looks of it, you didn’t have a whole lot of time before you’d be buried in waist-deep snow.

So you turned back to the house, starting back down the path through town and returning to your home.

You weren’t entirely sure you were ready to go back, but if all else failed you could make space in another room.

At least until he was calm...as well as yourself, because you were still annoyed with the lack of trust from your husband.

You understood him, but...you were a capable fighter. He didn’t need to worry so much. At the very least, neither of you needed to defend your pride so violently you would kick yourself out.

You cringed some, realizing that your actions, without the heatedness behind them...may not have been the best course.

Yours and his both...you said mean things to each other, but even if you both needed space, you didn’t want to leave him behind.

Thankfully, you wouldn’t have left him for very long. The house came into view just as the thicker snow started coming in. You sighed to yourself, trying to will away any and all stress as you returned to the door.

You could be calm, and rational, and respectful of your husband. You didn’t have to agree with him, but you were sure you could find a compromise. Anything that would make him feel more at ease.

And you would be able to work, as well. You paused at the door, and took a deep breath. This was fine. It had been a long while since the fight, anyways. Maybe he’d already forgotten, or-

“Robin!!”

You started at Lon’qu’s exclamation, finding the door suddenly yanked open and your husband staring at you wide-eyed .

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Lon’qu,” You managed to eek his name out, but he wouldn’t even let you give a proper reply.

Not only that, but he was clearly still unhappy.

What you didn’t expect was for him to yank you into the house and slam the door shut, holding you flush against his chest.

You gasped at how tightly he squeezed you.

He didn’t say anything for nearly two minutes, just holding you. Hugging you as close as possible.

It wasn’t comfortable, but it was pleasant, albeit confusing.

You weren’t even sure what to do; you wanted to hug him back, deep down, but you were still so...upset.

Frustrated that he didn’t appreciate or even see how much skill and value you had.

“I’m sorry.”

All right, maybe he saw it a little.

He buried his nose in your hair, somehow managing you draw you even closer.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

You sighed a little puff of exasperated air, but you felt just as guilty for the volume. Your hands came up his back, settling over his shoulder blades.

He was incredibly tense.

“I’m...sorry, too.” You whispered against him, “I shouldn’t have yelled back.”

“Don’t be stupid.” His voice cracked. “I overreacted.”

It was hearing someone as stoic and proud as Lon’qu admitting he was wrong that really piled on the guilt for you. After all, he wasn’t the only one who was shouting.

“I did, too.” You countered him fairly, and drew back to see if you could catch his gaze.

His eyes remained averted, unable to meet yours.

He stared at your body, taking in the soaking boots and pants, and how your coat still hung heavy with ice that had yet to melt.

“I made you storm out into a blizzard.” Lon’qu said in a smaller voice, thick with remorse.

You frowned, suddenly recognizing the expression he was wearing, earlier.

That was a man terrified he condemned his wife to death. He was going out to get you before you got lost in the snow.

No wonder he was clinging to you so tightly.

“My love,” Your fingers warmed as they closed around his calloused hands. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have stormed out. I should’ve talked to you like a mature adult, but I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“I did, too.” He protested, holding your hands to his chest. “I shouldn’t have been so against your plan. I know you can fight well, and you don’t need me all the time, and I know...all that. I do.”

“Then...why are you so against it?” You asked him far more gently than you had when you were frustrated.

Lon’qu’s lips thinned, and he shrugged.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, instead motioning for you to take off your soaked, freezing clothes.

He peeled the coat from your body, helping you unclasp the belts around your waist.

“Lon’qu?”

“It’s foolish.” He scoffed to himself, “It’s not any fault of your own.”

“Change into something dry.”

“I can still hear you from the bedroom.” You suggested that he keep talking with your tone. Lon’qu exhaled heavily, but he relented all the same, taking your coat to the fireplace and draping it over the grate to dry from the crackling heat.

“I just...I...d-don’t like it when you fight, now.”

“Now?”

“I never did, but I...I r-really don’t like it now.” He said with a grimace, “I know you’re capable, you best me half the time we spar- you’re a good fighter. But you’re my wife. And you also...left. For a long time.”

You didn’t respond as you pulled the dry trousers on. Instead you listened for another breath, waiting for him to continue his confession.

He barely found the words. His hand lingered on the coat, the cold numbing his fingers as he stared into the flames.

“I keep losing the people I love. The people who mean everything to me. It can't happen again. I got lucky you came back at all. Given my history...you shouldn’t have.”

“Hey.” You stood in the doorway, locking eyes with your husband.

He shook his head, shrugging again.

“I shouldn’t have gotten a second chance with you. I don’t care how long after you came back, Robin, I...can’t...do that again.”

You closed the distance between you in four steps. Your arms came around his neck and you kissed him, over and over, melting into his embrace as his hands gripped your tunic.

He clutched onto you, reveling in every touch of your lips against his.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered against him, “I know you can’t go through it again. I know.”

“It’s foolish.” He repeated, but you shook your head.

“No. You have every right to feel that way. I just thought since I came back, everything would go back to normal. I should have realized you were angry because you were scared.”

“I’m not...it wasn’t scared, I...just...don’t want to…” He trailed off, fists clenched as tight as his jaw was, trying desperately to salvage his pride.

“It’s okay.” You murmured, kissing him softly, lingering. “I’m sorry I didn’t consider your feelings. I don’t have to go out there. I will gladly stay safe if you'll feel at ease.”

“I don’t want to stop you from fighting, Robin. I know how much you love it.” He says, “And I...l-love to watch you fight. But it’s…” “It’s risky.” You murmured, stroking his cheek tenderly. “I know, love. You’re right. The last thing I want is to hurt you. If you don’t want me to fight out there, then I won’t.”

“I want you to fight by my side.” He responded, far more firm. “I don’t want you to stop being strong. I just want you to stay with me for as long as I can possibly keep you.”

“Okay.” You nodded, giving him a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.”

“I’m sorry, too.” “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do. ...Do...do you?”

You beamed. “Of course I do.”

#lon'qu #robin #fe 13 #fire emblem awakening #lonbin #lon'qu x robin #angst #hurt and comfort #argument prompt #fluff #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!mu #fem!robin #f!robin

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch.

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death.

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave.

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air.

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough.

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die.

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town.

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper.

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light.

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally.

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock.

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

#danny phantom #my writing #i made a headcanon post and immeaditly said 'i have to write this'#and then I did #tw: suicide mention #there is a non described background death of an OC #opinions are like assholes #everyone has one #and *everyone* has an opinion on how phantom died #some are reasonably close and some are waaaay far off #but they wonder and gossip and argue when the kid cant hear #its human nature

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curlynerd · 3 years

Text

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #userstarry #deanwinchesteradjacent #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #katie writes things #long post

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jingyismom · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men.

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock.

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze.

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes.

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right.

#my fic #mdzsnet #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed fanfic #imported from twitter and unedited #just thought i'd share here because the concept of lwj experiencing harassment during sunshot is...too real now that i've thought of it #idk this isn't a complete thing with a plot it's just #something that could have happened #easily i think #maybe some day i'll formalize this and use it for the lead up to yllz smut?

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imaginedisish · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Advocate (Tenet) Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: I’ll Try Anything Once

A/N: Hi guys! So this sort of feels like a filler chapter, but I hope you still all enjoy it :) And ps...this chapter is based on I’ll Try Anything Once by Julian Casablancas (it’s derived from one of the Strokes’ demos I think)

Summary: You and Neil land in London to some majorly unfortunate circumstances that are too overwhelming for you to handle, but Neil is done letting you get hurt.

Warnings: Death, guns, gunshot wounds, explosions, violence/murder (implied more or less), cursing, minor angst maybe, and yay fluff!

Word Count: 4,191

“Hey,” A voice whispers softly; the familiar sound encourages you to lift your eyelids. “(Y/N), we’re about to land,” The voice whispers again as you feel yourself slowly rocking back and forth. You groggily open your eyes.

The cabin of the plane is dark except for a few scattered overhead reading lights. You notice that your head is still resting against Neil’s chest as his warm hold envelopes you, keeping you pressed tightly against him. A tickle twitches in your stomach as you feel the plane drop down closer to the ground. The tickle quickly turns to terror as you remember where you’re headed. You feel your heart rapidly beat in your chest. You take a deep breath, hoping to suppress your paralyzing fears of being back out in the field.

Neil’s calming voice grounds you. “Are you alright?” He asks, his arms tightening around you. The airplane drops some more, causing the tickle in your stomach to continue.

“I’m not sure,” You respond honestly as you try and swallow your fear in your throat. Of course, it doesn’t work. The airplane drops again, and you pull slightly away from Neil to look out the window. Lights twinkle below you, and you can see Heathrow Airport in the near distance.

The seat creaks a bit as Neil moves closer to you. His cheek brushes up against yours as he peers out the window. His closeness was comforting.

Neil sighs. “I know you don’t want to be here, (Y/N),” Neil says as his right arm wraps around your shoulders again, stealing your attention away from the lights of the towns below. “But it’s going to be okay. We’ll get in, get what we need, get rid of who we don’t, and get out.” He shoots a smirk in your direction.

The plane grows even closer to the ground but the tickles disappear, and nausea fills your stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick,” You complain. Anxiety courses through your veins, worsening your current state.

Neil, with his arm still around your shoulders, shakes his head and pulls you away from the window. “You’re not throwing up here,” He says, chuckling a bit. “Or I’ll be doubled over with you.” You find yourself laughing too, but it’s no surprise. That’s simply what Neil does to you. He makes everything seem like it could be…

Okay.

You were too wrapped up in thoughts of Neil to notice when the wheels of the plane came crashing on the ground. The sound of skid marks screeching against the tarmac gave way for the anxiety to settle back down into your stomach. You shudder, imagining all the things that could go wrong. All the stupid little things that could go horribly, horribly wrong.

You watch as everyone begins to stand up from their seats, walking out into the aisle and grabbing their things from the overhead compartments. Neil gives you a final squeeze before letting go and following suit with the rest of the people on the plane. You look back out the window for a second, contemplating whether or not being in Tenet is worth it at all. There’s so much danger, so much death, so much fear.

And my own father is the enemy, You think.

“Are you ready, love?” Neil calls, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You shrug and stand up from the seat, hunching over ever so slightly as to not smack your head against the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ll ever be, so I might as well just jump without looking, right?”

Neil smiles sadly, almost as if to apologize. “Then I’ll be ready for you, and I’ll catch you when you fall.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his reassurance, despite the sardonic nature of your comment. “Neil I-,” You say, carefully stepping out into the aisle. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Don’t thank me,” Neil starts, seemingly minimizing his ability to change your entire mood. “This is what friends are for.”

Right, friends.

Neil guides you out of the plane and onto the bridge. After a short walk, you enter the airport.

It’s a ghost town. Some people are sleeping, slumped over in uncomfortable, stiff chairs waiting for their flight. You had forgotten that the time had changed. You look down at your phone to see that your New York time zone has already been switched to London’s.

3:56 AM

It only takes a few shuffles out to the main concourse for you to recognize how exhausted you are in spite of your ability to sleep on the plane. After all, that had been the most sleep you had gotten since the…accident.

You and Neil walk in silence for a while. It isn’t an awkward silence. It’s the comfortable, relaxing kind. It’s the kind of silence shared by two people who don’t need to talk to share how much they enjoy the other’s company. You take in all the shops and food stores as an attempt to keep yourself distracted from the terror of the mission.

You step onto an escalator, and your attention finally lands on Neil’s face. You had studied it a million times, as odd as that sounds, but you couldn’t help it. You liked looking at him. You liked getting confirmation that he was in fact real and was in fact with you.

“Hey,” You finally speak up. “Aren’t we in your hometown now?”

You watch as Neil’s cheeks lift and the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yeah,” He says back. “I guess we are.” His eyes rest on yours for a second before they flicker down to your lips. It catches you off guard, but the moment is gone just as soon as it begins as you’re forced to step off the escalator. You enter the baggage claim area and head straight towards the exit of the airport.

Conveniently waiting outside the doors is a black town car. You look to Neil, making sure it’s the right one. Neil nods, silently confirming that this is a part of the plan. You open the door and plop onto the seat. You hear Neil open and close the trunk before he takes his spot next to you in the car.

“We live in a twilight world,” Neil says. But there’s no answer.

You clear your throat nervously, reaching underneath your black, baggy, menswear dress pants, clutching onto the small revolver tied against your calf. “He said, we live in a twilight world.”

There’s no answer again. You take the revolver out, aiming it at the man. You look over at Neil and notice that his shirt is undone; he had already taken his gun out. He always kept it under his shirt, attached to his chest. He hunches over, slowly moving towards the man through the center console.

The man’s hat is titled over his forehead. Neil takes it off.

Neil parts his lips. “Fuck,” His voice is shallow. “He’s dead. He’s got a bullet in the center of his forehead,” There’s a panic in Neil’s voice. He looks up to the windshield, and you follow his gaze. There’s no point of entry, no shattered glass.

“So someone else has already been here,” You remark. Neil’s eyes widen as he moves the man’s shirt over a bit.

That’s when the light beeping noise starts.

“SHIT!” Neil screams. “Get out of the car! NOW!” He opens the door on your side of the car and practically shoves you out. You stumble, barely able to catch your balance when your feet hit the ground. Neil sprints to the trunk, opening it up and grabbing the luggage.

You follow behind him, tugging on his arm, trying to pull him away. “The luggage, really?” You shout in disbelief.

Neil secures both bags in his right hand, and grabs your wrist with his left. You both break out into a sprint. “We need to take cover,” Neil says in between breaths, his eyes frantically searching around the taxi area. “Do you see-,”

BOOM!

“FUCK!” Neil yells, practically tripping over his feet as the concrete vibrates violently below. He catches his balance just before he can face plant into the ground.

The car explodes behind you. The heat of the flames radiate on your back. You don’t dare look behind you; you keep running.

You and Neil finally reach a parking lot, and stop for a break.

“What the hell was that?” You whisper, angrily grabbing Neil by the collar and bringing him in between two minivans for cover, just in case anyone had followed you or was planning to attack.

Neil grabs your waist in return, brining you even closer to him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you realize how close you are to him. “They must know we’re here,” Neil says. His eyes are still wide and his breathing is still heavy.

“And the suitcases?” You question with heavy concern, and even frustration, in your voice. “Do you not have firefighters come into your elementary schools in England? Do you not get taught that stuff can be replaced and human beings can’t be?” Your whisper turns into more of an angry shout.

Neil shakes his head in disapproval. “There are explosives in my suitcase, (Y/N). If they detonated we would be dead,” He says, panic still evident in his voice, and a bit of anger as well.

You nod, loosening your grip on his collar. “I’m sorry I just,” You pause, knowing full well what had just come over you. “I just didn’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.” You feel your eyes becoming glossy. This was the very thing you were afraid of. You were almost blown to bits, and worse than that, Neil could’ve died. The mission was already failing, and it hadn’t even truly started yet.

You shut your eyes tightly, and a few tears roll down your cheeks.

Neil swallows hard, his arms still resting on your waist. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t know. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.” Neil pulls you into an embrace.

“It’s okay,” You mumble quietly into his chest.

You let him hold you in silence for a few moments. You needed to process things. You needed to ground yourself. You needed this second with Neil.

You feel yourself dozing off a bit in Neil’s arms. Visions of a bed with a plush comforter and satin sheets play over in your head. It had to be almost 4:30 in the morning at this point.

“How are we going to get to the hotel?” You ask, longing for a good night’s sleep. “And what if they know what hotel we’re staying in?”

Neil pulls apart from you and reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. “I’ll call TP and figure out what we’re supposed to do.” Neil types in his passcode, presses on the screen a few times, and lifts his phone up to his ear.

You look up into the night sky to distract yourself. The stars twinkle lightly, but there’s too much light pollution to get a good look. The cold wind nips at you roughly. You turn to face Neil. He’s pacing back and forth about twenty feet away from you. You try and tune into what he’s saying.

“They fucking know we’re here, what am I supposed to do?” The frustration in his voice is clear. He waits for a response.

“Yeah, she’s alright I guess, but you shouldn’t have forced her out into the field this early,” He pauses again. “No I don’t care that you’re the boss, she wasn’t ready when she left this afternoon and she definitely isn’t ready now!”

Silence, and then another sentence. “No, I’m not letting my feelings get in the way, that’s not what this is.”

Feelings?

“I mean of course it’s because I care about her, you know how I feel…” He trails off, and walks a bit farther away from you. What he says next, you can’t hear.

After a few seconds, he starts to walk back, still keeping a bit of a distance. “Alright, we’ll head over there now,” Neil looks up at you and winks, confirming that there’s some sort of plan set in place.

Neil turns his back to you. “And I swear to God,” He whispers, thinking you can’t hear him, “If she dies, I’m going to kill you.”

A shiver rolls down your spine at his words. You knew Neil cared about you, but you didn’t know he would threaten TP for you, even if it was just a sarcastic threat.

But this wasn’t a joke.

“Yeah okay. Thanks,” Neil says finally. “Talk to you later.” He takes the phone away from his ear and presses the red button to hang up. He walks back over to you. You’re still overwhelmed by what Neil had said on the phone, but you push those thoughts to the back of your head.

You yawn listlessly. “So what’s going to happen?” You ask, ready to crash to the ground in exhaustion.

Neil smiles. He picks up the luggage in his right hand again, and points to the other side of the parking lot. You notice a separate lot filled with rental cars. “TP put in a favor and we’re getting our own car. Looks like you’ll have to deal with my driving.”

You can’t help but smile back at him. You didn’t mind Neil’s driving at all, to be honest. You felt safe when Neil drove. But then again, you felt safe with Neil no matter what he did.

“It’s just on the other side of the lot,” Neil reassures. You roll your eyes at the thought of more walking, but you figured it may be a good time to talk about what you had just heard Neil say on the phone.

Before you can think of something to say, Neil loops his left arm around your waist. His fingers settle on the exposed skin underneath your oversized blazer. Your nerves tingle underneath his touch, and any thoughts you had before disappear from your mind.

After a few seconds, you force yourself to think back to the phone call. “Neil? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Neil says back, smiling down at you.

“The phone call you just had, with TP,” You pause, trying to find the right words.

Neil shakes his head. “Whatever you heard, don’t worry about it, please. I know what I’m doing,” He pauses and pulls you closer to him. "You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright. ” You’re not entirely content with his answer, but it’s enough for now.

After a five minute walk, you finally reach the rental lot. Neil walks over to the man inside of the tiny cube shaped building. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but a set of keys are exchanged, and Neil motions for you to follow him. You begrudgingly pick up your pace to catch up with him.

“What kind of car is it?” You ask. Neil presses the panic button once, and the headlights of a black, Porsche 911 flash across your face.

You go to get into the car, approaching the door on your left hand side, forgetting you’re now in Europe. Neil smirks at you, grabs your hand, and brings you to the other side of the car. He sets the luggage down on the ground, and opens your door, letting you slip inside. Normally, you would have a cheeky response to Neil opening the door for you, but you were too tired now. Neil grabs the luggage, and walks around the other side of the car. He opens his door and puts the luggage in the back seat.

Neil puts the key into the ignition and starts the car. He takes out his phone, and through your blurry vision, you watch as he slides his finger around.

“What are you doing?” You ask. Your voice is barely above a whisper and it’s filled with tiredness. “Just drive,” You order sarcastically, nudging Neil with your elbow. Your sarcasm melts away when you remember the gravity of the situation. “What if they’re already here? What if they’re looking for us?”

Neil puts his phone in the cupholder, and rests his hand on your thigh. “I’m just setting up the GPS and choosing some music, love,” Neil says. “Take a deep breath. TP just arranged for us to stay at a different hotel, and he has eyes and ears everywhere. We’ll be alright.”

Ten decisions shape your life,

You’ll be aware of 5 about,

7 ways to go to school,

Either you’re noticed or left out.

“I love this song,” You say, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I know,” Neil says. “Try to sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.” His voice is calming, and you almost do as he says, but you remember where you are. You wanted to look at the city. You wanted to see it before all the chaos began. You had been to London plenty of times before, but leaving the United States still excited you, even though you were rarely there at all anymore.

When I said "I can see me in your eyes,”

You said "I can see you in my pants,”

That's not just friendship that's romance too.

You like music we can dance to.

The highway goes on for a while, looking reminiscent of highways in America. Grass and trees line the black concrete. There’s no light save for a few street lamps. Each time you start to doze off, you force yourself to wake up. The feeling of Neil’s thumb drawing circles on your thigh doesn’t make it too hard.

Sit me down,

Shut me up,

I'll calm down,

And I'll get along with you.

The trees melt into industrial areas. Car dealerships, stores, apartments, hotels. And finally, after a few more minutes, you’ve hit Central London. The lights are bright and the buildings are beautiful.

Don't don't don't don't it's not safe no more,

I've got to see you one more time.

Neil pulls into a parking garage and finds an open spot. “We’re here,” He says, squeezing your thigh lightly.

You unbuckle your seat belt, carefully open the door, and slide out of the car. Neil grabs the two duffle bags and gets out after you. You head inside the hotel, and Neil checks in. He grabs the keycard and ushers you into the elevator.

The second you enter the lift, worry fills Neil’s face. His brows furrow and he shuts his eyes as he lets his head hit the wall behind him.

“Neil?” You ask. “What’s going on?” Maybe it was the jet lag, or maybe it was the exhaustion, but you feel more confident than usual. You step towards him and grab his hands in yours.

Neil takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry we’re here,” He says, his eyes still closed, as if he’s too guilty to face you. “I didn’t want to do the mission yet. I really wanted to wait. I know you aren’t ready yet. I just-,”

You wrap your arms around Neil, and hold him tightly against your body. “I’ll be alright Neil, I promise.” His arms wrap around your body in response. You pull away from him slightly, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You look up into his eyes, down to his lips, and back into his eyes again. Neil brings his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath against your lips.

“(Y/N), I need to-,”

The conversation is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator and the giggles of a drunken couple as they step inside.

The woman speaks up. “Sssorry for interrupting, loves,” She slurs, cackling a bit. Her boyfriend joins in and cackles with her. Neil politely smiles and nods. He picks up the luggage yet again with one hand, grabbing your wrist with the other. He pulls you outside the elevator and into the hallway.

Your heart is still beating wildly in your chest. “Neil, you had something you needed to say?”

But the moment is over. He shakes his head. “We can talk about it some other time, I don’t want to overwhelm you. Enough has happened tonight.” Your heart sinks in your chest. Neil swallows, glancing back over towards the elevator. “And those people seemed off. We should really get inside the room.” You nod, agreeing, and allow Neil to take hold of your hand and guide you down the hall to the suite.

You finally approach the room.

505.

“This is us,” Neil says, setting the luggage on the ground to swipe the keycard. The door unlocks, and Neil press down on the handle. You enter the dully lit room, and immediately flop onto the king bed. Neil smirks at you from the doorway.

He walks inside, and you sigh in relief. “This is so nice,” You murmur, sliding your black converse off your feet. You push yourself further onto the bed so that your head rests on a pillow.

“We should probably shower,” Neil says, crossing the room. He places the duffle bags on the desk by the window. He takes his suit jacket off.

You chuckle. “What, like, together?” You erupt into laughter. There was something about being so unbelievably tired and jet lagged that made you a completely different person. It was like being drunk.

Neil shakes his head and smiles widely. “If that’s what you want,” He retorts.

Oh? Is he flirting with me? He can’t be.

“I-I think I’m t-too tired for a shower a-at all,” You stutter, not sure what else to say.

“Me too,” Neil says. He begins to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt one by one. Suddenly, his chest is completely exposed. You feel heat rising to your cheeks.

He undoes his belt, unzips his fly, and steps out of his trousers. He’s only wearing his boxers now. You had seen him like this a million times, but it still caught you by surprise. He walks over to the other side of the bed, grabs a pillow, and drops it on the ground. He grabs the throw blanket at the edge of the bed and drops it on the ground as well.

You furrow your brows, confused by his actions. “What are you doing?” You ask.

Neil’s blue gaze meets yours. “Setting up camp,” He jokes, sending a smile your way.

You breathe deeply, still riding out on the confidence that being sleep deprived gave you. “Why don’t you sleep in the bed with me?”

Neil inhales sharply. “I don’t want to bother you. You’re exhausted.”

“I think I’d sleep better if you were with me, actually.” You let the words come right out, no regrets. “You make me feel safe, Neil,” You confess.

Neil smiles and bends down, grabbing the pillow and the blanket, placing them back on the bed. He lifts the covers and slides in. You get underneath the covers too. You don’t realize how close you are to Neil until you turn onto your side to face him.

“I’m glad I make you feel safe, (Y/N),” Neil finally responds. Your heart feels like it might burst. You and Neil had shared a bed in the past, but you had only ever been this close inside of one a handful of times before. “You have no idea how much I care about you.”

“You have no idea how much I care about you, Neil,” You say.

Neil pushes himself up a bit, and presses a kiss against your forehead. You’re stunned. “Goodnight, (Y/N),” Neil says, and he reaches over to turn off the lamp next to his nightstand. The room goes pitch black.

“Goodnight, Neil,” You say. Neil turns over to the other side and you do the same. You stay like that for a few minutes, before tossing and turning a few times. Seconds ago you were comfortable, and now you weren’t.

As you laid alone in your thoughts, your anxieties all began to flood back to you. How the fuck am I going to do this? How is this mission going to turn out? This is going to be absolutely impossible. What if something happens to Neil? Your mind races with thoughts. You turn a few more times before you feel a hand on your waist.

“I thought you were exhausted,” Neil snickers.

“I am but-,”

Neil cuts you off. “But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing?”

You turn around to face him. “Unfortunately, no.”

Neil wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into his bare chest. “Is this okay?” He asks.

“Y-yes,” You stutter, pressing your face into the center of his chest.

And finally, for the first night in over a month, you were able to sleep, nightmare free.

So why not try it all,

If you only remember it once?

Sit me down,

Shut me up,

I'll calm down,

And I'll get along with you.

>>>>>Chapter 3

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darks-ink · 3 years

Text

Ephemeral

Prompt: Tucker Ghouly thought this was going to be a good, peaceful day. That thought is crushed when not one, not two, but three portals open, depositing the halfa versions of his two best friends (and his best friend’s sister?) into this world. Why are they here? And how are they going to return to their home worlds? Prompt by: @bibliophilea Word count: 4,175

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

“This patrol has been very calm,” Tucker muttered, raising himself higher in the air like that would reveal some sort of hidden ambush. “Suspiciously calm.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Danny grumbled, rolling his eyes. One of his hands wandered to the ecto-gun hidden under his black jacket.

Something in Tucker’s chest seized—his core, he knew instantly—and he jerked to a halt. So did both of his friends, coming to a stand-still a step behind him. A green spark flickered in front of them.

“Too late,” Sam grunted, pulling her own small ecto-gun out of its holster. “This one is on you, Tuck.”

“When isn’t it?” he bit back, but lit up his fists with roiling violet ectoplasm anyway. Whatever this was, whether it would be hostile or not, he was ready.

The spark spluttered, and for a moment it seemed to extinguish entirely. Then, with a terrible ripping sound—a sound which seemed to echo in Tucker’s very core—the green extended, like a tear through reality.

A portal into the Ghost Zone.

The surface of the portal wavered, then parted way as a single humanoid ghost stumbled through. Literally stumbled through, feet on the ground, almost tripping on the edge of the portal as it immediately closed behind the ghost.

And then the noise came again, and then a third time, as two more portals opened up, just to the side of where the first had been. And, again, the portals both released a single humanoid ghost before immediately closing again.

“What the hell,” Danny muttered behind him, and Tucker could only heartily agree. At least he didn’t seem to be the only one confused by the going-ons, as the first ghost to stumble through was also watching the newcomers.

Or he had been, because the ghost’s gaze had snapped towards Tucker—and more importantly, Danny—when his friend had spoken.

Bright green eyes blinked at the two of them, and Tucker was struck with a sense of familiarity. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to see through the glowing eyes, the innate difference in appearance caused by the mild glow of a ghost, before he could place the face.

The ghost was an exact copy of Danny. Or, more accurately, of a hypothetical ghost version of Danny, since his hair was as white as Tucker’s was in his ghost form, and his usual blue eyes replaced with green.

He ripped his eyes away from Danny’s ghostly doppelganger to look at the other two ghosts, and felt his stomach flip. One of them was undeniably Sam’s copy, with white hair and vivid cyan eyes. The other took him a moment longer to place, before he realized she looked like a younger version of Danny’s sister Jazz.

“Huh,” Sam mumbled, stepping up to Tucker’s other shoulder. All three ghosts’ eyes followed the movement. “This is… odd.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the ghostly version of Danny said. Despite the echo, his voice was undeniably Danny’s. “So, uh. I guess none of you were responsible for the creation of that portal?” He paused, looking over his shoulder at the other two ghosts. “Or, those portals, since there were multiple?”

“Definitely not,” Tucker confirmed, and let the ectoplasm gathering in his fists sizzle out. None of the ghosts seemed hostile, and he didn’t really feel much for fighting his friends’ duplicates.

“I didn’t do it either,” the young Jazz said, her golden eyes narrowed and her purple hair flickering violently in a manner that reminded Tucker uncomfortably of Ember.

“Me neither,” Sam’s doppelganger piped up, crossing her arms. “So, Danny, you up to something?”

Ghostly Danny flinched and pulled a face that Tucker immediately placed as guilty. “Uhhh…”

“Why is my ghost version a disaster?” Danny loudly complained, leaning against Tucker’s shoulder now that he had—without noticing it himself—come low enough to the ground for Danny to reach.

“Just be glad that he’s wearing black,” Sam put in, leaning around Tucker’s other side to watch her own ghostly copy. “Since apparently everyone else has been forced into brightly colored jumpsuits.”

“Stop dodging the point,” the younger Jazz snapped, before whirling around to her ghostly brother. “What did you do, big brother?”

“Big brother?” both Danny’s echoed, eyeing her. When she growled, the ghostly Danny raised his hands placatingly and added on, “I didn’t— Okay, I might’ve, but I didn’t mean to!”

“Illuminating,” Sam’s ghostly double muttered, shaking her head. “Please stop dodging around the point, Danny.”

Luminescent green eyes rolled as Danny’s copy lowered his hands again. “Okay, so I might have been trying to open a portal to the Ghost Zone. I was just trying to reach a friend!”

“And you somehow missed catastrophically,” Sam concluded, now also leaning on Tucker. He was starting to feel slightly used. “You know what? That checks out.”

“Wow,” Danny muttered, pressing a hand against his chest. “I’m hurt, Sam. Right in my poor black heart.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you three!” Jazz snarled, her glow flickering brighter for a moment before it settled again. “That explains how Danny got here, but what about us?” She gestured at herself and Sam’s ghostly version. “Why are Sam and I here?”

“The connection between Danny’s world and this one must’ve destabilized something.” Sam’s ghost frowned, brows drawing together in thought. “Or maybe something about how he reached for a friend drew us in too?”

All five of them looked at the ghostly Danny, whose shoulders slowly but steadily climbed up to his ears.

“Sorry?” he said, sounding uncertain. “Uh. Whoops?”

Danny snorted, then shook his head. “Maybe we should move somewhere a little more private while we figure this out, since it doesn’t seem like you folks are intent on causing trouble.”

“We can go to my place, since we actually have a shot at privacy there,” Sam offered, stepping away from Tucker. “The three of us will need to go through the front door. Can I assume you three can find the way to the greenhouse yourselves?”

Sam’s ghostly double raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage that. We’ll be right there.”

“Just know that if you don’t show up, we will hunt you down,” Danny threatened, holding a single finger in their direction. “You’re not safe just because you look like us.”

“Yeah, yeah, we hear you loud and clear,” Danny’s double replied, waving him off almost casually. “Get going.”

They went.

---

By the time Tucker, Sam, and Danny made it to Sam’s greenhouse, the three ghosts had already arrived. True to expectations, Sam’s double was checking out the plants. The other two, ghostly Danny and Jazz, seemed to be frowning at each other.

Tucker cleared his throat the moment he stepped inside, ignoring the way his core pulled in his chest. He had very little experience dealing with ghosts while human, and felt distinctly disarmed. If they attacked, he would need precious moments to transform.

But that was if they attacked, which he highly doubted.

“Oh,” ghost Danny said, with a tone of heavy understanding. “We’re all half-ghosts, then. That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Tucker muttered, only halfheartedly venomous. “No, I guess it does. Can we start with introductions?”

Jazz nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “There is too much overlap in the names, I think. Should all half-ghosts go by our ghost names, then? Since I assume we all have one?”

The half-ghost version (apparently?) of Sam turned away from the plant she’d been looking at. “I’m Manes, then. And can I just say that this is a damn impressive greenhouse.”

“Thanks,” the actual Sam answered with a snort and a pleased smile. “It’s a good place to hide away from my parents.”

Half-ghost Danny shook his head, the expression on his face somewhere between hurt and cheered. His Sam must be the same about plants, then. “I’m Phantom.”

“Specter,” half-ghost Jazz chipped in, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Tucker kind of got it. Somehow, they all went with a similar theme on names, yet lacked overlap entirely. “I went with Ghouley, but considering that I’m the only Tucker around, you can just call me Tucker.”

“Where is your sense of camaraderie, Tuck?” Phantom asked, grinning impishly. “We’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

“So it seems,” he allowed with a grumble, rolling his eyes. “Am I supposed to shift to my ghost form as well, or are you all gonna shift back to human, or…?”

The other three exchanged brief glances before Manes shrugged, a ring of white light forming around her waist. The light swept away cyan eyes and a green suit, leaving her in a rather generic shirt and skirt combo, the same green and purple he knew from his own Sam, and her usual purple eyes blinking back at him.

Phantom huffed but followed her, letting his own transformation wash away the black jumpsuit and green eyes, replacing them with a white and red shirt and ordinary jeans, sky blue eyes like the Danny right behind Tucker.

With the other two transformed, Specter rolled her eyes but also shifted, her golden eyes turning teal and her purple ponytail coming down to cascade red hair over her shoulders—just like the Jazz Tucker knew, if a little younger.

“So they are all half-ghosts,” Danny jibed, gesturing at the three… the three alternate versions of his friends. And Jazz. “That’s good to know.”

“This was a test?” Phantom asked, raising his own eyebrow and looking eerily like Danny. Tucker was kind of starting to wish he had just shifted back to his ghost form for this. “I guess that that’s fair. I don’t think I would’ve trusted it either, if I was in your shoes.”

“Okay, not this isn’t nice and all,” Specter interrupted, sounded not at all sorry for doing so, “but can we please focus on the whole”—she gestured around them—“this thing?”

“She has a point,” Sam allowed, stepping further into the greenhouse. “We’re still working on the assumption that Phantom somehow did this?”

The boy in question made a face but didn’t deny it. “I was just trying to open a portal. I don’t know how it went this wrong!”

“Was this your first time opening a portal?” Manes asked, leaning forward with an expression of curiosity on her face. “If so, what made you so certain you could do it?”

“I’ve seen a future version of myself do it,” Phantom explained with a dismissively casual shrug. “I managed at least one of the other powers I saw him do, so I figured portal making wasn’t out of the question either.”

Tucker felt himself frown at that. He’d seen a future version of himself? Sure, the three of them had run into all sorts of weird ghost stuff, but that? That wasn’t something he was familiar with.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one, because Manes also frowned. Specter, it seemed, did recognize the events, if vaguely, because she nodded understandingly.

“I’ve seen something similar,” she allowed. “But I never successfully opened a portal, either, despite what I’ve seen her do.”

“Weird.” Phantom shook his head, like he was clearing his thoughts. “I don’t know why Specter and I saw a future and you two didn’t, and I don’t know what went wrong with my attempt, either. I figured that if I messed it up it just wouldn’t work, not”—he gestured vaguely, much like Specter had before—“not this.”

“Must’ve been some weird Fenton thing,” Manes commented, her frown wiped away in favor of a grin. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that sets you apart from Specter, if she just couldn’t do it and you tore open the fabric of reality to tap into alternate dimensions.”

Phantom flapped his hands aggravatedly, and despite the oddness of the situation, Tucker was secretly kind of glad of how easy it was to read him and Manes. Specter was more troublesome—he didn’t spend a lot of time around Jazz—but his friends? Piece of cake.

“I don’t know, okay?” Phantom snapped, his eyes briefly flickering green. Really aggravated, then. Good to know. “I don’t know how I screwed up this badly! I didn’t even know it was possible for ghosts to open portals to different realities!”

“And you can’t think of anything that might work?” Specter pressed, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “No ghost artifacts or anything?”

That ground Phantom to a halt. “Uh. Hm…” His brow creased as he thought, muttering to himself under his breath, until… “The Reality Gauntlet could’ve done it, maybe?”

“The what?” Tucker blurted out automatically. That sounded like some kind of superhero comic device, not an actual ghost artifact.

“The Reality Gauntlet?” Phantom repeated, like that alone could explain everything. “Big metal glove, fits four gems? Can alter the fabric of reality?”

Tucker shook his head in negative, and was oddly relieved to see not only Manes but also Specter answer in negative.

“No one else has dealt with it?” Phantom asked, incredulous.

“That must’ve been it, then,” Danny concluded, humming to himself. “The Gauntlet must’ve done it.”

“But that’s impossible,” Phantom countered, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I destroyed it months ago.”

“And, assuming the timelines are roughly equal, your core would’ve been young enough to absorb the energy released from a broken ghost artifact,” Sam bit back. “What were you thinking, Phantom?”

“That it was too dangerous to leave hanging around!” Phantom’s eyes glowed green once more, but it was quickly repressed, and he continued in a quieter, more morose tone. “Freakshow already used it against my friends and family once. I couldn’t leave it hanging around for him—or someone else—to try again.”

That… checked out. Tucker might’ve done the same, if he had been in Phantom’s shoes. Danny definitely would’ve. “Okay, so now what?”

“We ask Clockwork?” Phantom suggested with a loose shrug. “He’s usually helpful for this sort of thing.”

Clockwork? That was a ghost name if Tucker had ever heard one, but not one he was familiar with. From Manes’ expression, neither was she.

He wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or not, that his universe and Manes’ were so similar when the Fentons’ universes were so different. It was like they were somehow significantly different from the Fentons. Was it because Sam and he weren’t the kids of ghost hunters? Somehow?

“Clockwork is the ghost of time, though.” Specter huffed, rolling her eyes at Phantom. “Besides, we’re in a different universe entirely, and it looks like Ghouley doesn’t know him. Clockwork probably won’t know any of us, never mind care enough to help.”

“Why can’t we just go and grab the Reality Gauntlet?” Manes asked. “If that’s the thing powerful enough to break through the fabric of reality, surely we can just use the one in this universe to make portals back?”

Phantom made a face at that. “I’m not sure where it is. I think Freakshow might’ve stolen in from the Guys in White, but I’m not 100% sure on that.”

Eugh. Yeah, that explained the face. “So that’s out too,” Tucker concluded, trying not to feel too down about it. At least he wasn’t stuck in a different reality altogether. But if there was no way to return the three other half-ghosts home… That was bound to become messy.

“Why can’t Phantom just try again?” Sam asked, a tone of genuine curiosity in her voice. “If we’re all pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the portals in the first place, maybe he can open up portals back, too.”

“Using a power he can’t control?” Manes returned, but she cocked her head in thought. “But I guess that it’s worth a shot.”

“We could try doing it together?” Specter suggested, placing a hand on Phantom’s shoulder. “We’re all half-ghosts, and we’re all here for some reason, right? If Phantom’s power brought us here, maybe we can combine all our powers to make the portals back?”

Danny huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think that that’s how ghost powers work, is it?”

The look he got from Specter could only be described as imperial. “Friendship—love—is all we have on our side, it seems. It brought us here, it can damn well bring us back, too.”

“That’s fair,” Danny allowed with a snort.

“I guess we’d better wait until it’s dark.” Tucker pulled out his phone, grimacing at the time. “Why don’t we all call our parents that we’re staying here and order in some food?”

Phantom shrugged, then sat down on a stool hanging out in the greenhouse. “Sounds good to me.”

“Same,” Specter said, following his example. Manes shrugged and nodded her approval as well.

“We could talk a little about the differences between our realities.” Danny stepped forward to nudge Phantom. “I, for one, would really like to know why you’re wearing white.”

“What am I, a goth?” Phantom laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve got Sam for that.”

Oh yeah, they would get through the time well enough, Tucker thought.

---

“I think it’s late enough,” Specter muttered, and Tucker jerked out of the drowse he’d fallen into. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he followed her gaze to outside the greenhouse.

“Looks like it,” he agreed with a yawn. “Let’s all sneak off to the park, then.”

The other half-ghosts—and Danny and Sam—pushed themselves out of their seats as well, getting to their feet slowly. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten tired while waiting.

Actually, it made perfect sense that all his fellow half-ghosts got as little sleep as he did. Ghost hunting was bad for your sleep rhythm, he knew.

Tucker waved Danny over closer, then pushed a camera into his hand. “Can you film the thing for me?”

Danny snorted but nodded. “Of course, Tuck. Just don’t get yourself sucked into an alternate reality, please?”

“I’ll try,” he promised wryly, then nodded at the other half-ghosts, who had gathered into a sorta-kinda circle around the two of them. “I think the best plan is for all of us to fly there together. Two of us can carry Sam and Danny to sneak them in with us.”

Manes shrugged and stepped forward. “I can carry my counterpart, and Phantom can take Danny.”

“You’re volunteering my services?” Phantom squawked, then shook his head and stepped forward as well. “Sure, whatever. Yeah, I’ll carry this universe’s version of myself, no problem.”

Getting a nod of approval from Danny and Sam, Tucker figured it was all satisfied and shrugged. “If everyone’s fine with that. Let’s get going, then.”

He shifted into his ghost form before he finished the sentence, the other three half-ghosts following his example.

But, man, Tucker really hoped this would work. Having the other three stick around might be helpful in the whole ghost hunting business, but it was weird to see what his friends would look like as ghosts. Or, as half-ghosts at least, since he knew they all looked rather human compared to most other ghosts.

Phantom easily scooped up Danny, despite his earlier protests, and Manes was quick to follow suit and pick up Sam.

Tucker, not quite sure why he was their lead—because this was his universe, maybe?—pushed himself off of the ground, flickering intangible for a moment to exit the greenhouse. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to make sure the others followed, because he could feel them, faintly, trailing just a little behind him.

Good thing that it was too dark for people to tell who they were carrying, because that would be awkward. If people questioned Ghouley about the other ghosts he could at least sorta-kinda tell the truth and say they were his friends, but if they had seen Sam or Danny with them? That was asking for trouble, for sure.

Before he knew it they had arrived at the park, all of them touching down silently. They must’ve looked like a fright, their glowing eyes piercing through the dark, but it looked abandoned enough.

Which was exactly what they had counted on, since the park was closed at night, but you never knew.

Sam and Danny were released by Manes and Phantom, trailing away to the edge of the square where they had landed. Making sure they stayed out of the way of whatever was going to happen here.

Good. That made Tucker feel better. If this somehow went catastrophically wrong… at least they would be safe.

Specter reached forward, suddenly, grabbing Phantom’s hand and linking their fingers together. Then, with her free hand, she gestured Manes over.

Clearly the other half-ghost caught on quicker than Tucker or Phantom, because she grabbed Specter’s free hand and then reached for Tucker. Following their example, he linked his hand with Manes’ offered hand, and then grabbed Phantom’s, completing the circle.

“This is stupid,” the half-ghost in question muttered, glaring venomously at the ground between them. “I’m pretty sure I used my hands to open the first portal.”

“Well, what else do you want us to do to offer our strength? Put our hands on your back?” Specter snorted, the smile in her voice undeniable. “Just try it, ghost-boy.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, then closed them. Took a deep breath. For a moment, it looked like nothing happened, but then…

Then, Tucker could feel the swell of power in the air. Could feel it waver through Phantom, down their connected hand. Could feel the energy running through his own core, through his hand to Manes.

Could feel the pulses of— of whatever it was going through all of them at once.

And, as a terrible but familiar shredding sort of noise sounded, the energy fled from them all at once. Phantom pulled himself free from Tucker’s hold—not that Tucker tried to stop him—and stepped closer to one of the three portals that had opened up.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Tucker muttered to himself, and he heard Manes snort next to him. Quickly he let go of her hand as well, and watched her step closer to one of the portals as well. A different one than Phantom’s.

“I think it did,” Specter said thoughtfully, moving towards the third portal. “It… calls to me, almost?”

Manes hummed in agreement. Rather than reply, Phantom just stuck his head through the portal he’d been looking at. Tucker flinched automatically, but Phantom pulled himself back out before he could move closer.

“It looks right,” Phantom agreed, cautiously. “It feels right, too. But it’s hard to say. From what I’ve seen, this Amity Park looks just like mine, and I assume so do yours.”

“Yeah.” Manes shrugged, then. “We’ll just have to hope for the best, then. If this didn’t work we didn’t have any alternative plans anyway, so…”

Specter snorted. “That’s true, unfortunately.” She took her eyes off of the portal to look at Tucker—and at Sam and Danny, who had crept in closer. “Thanks for the hospitality, and,” she turned to shoot looks at Phantom and Manes, “thank all of you for the experience.”

“Yes, what she said,” Manes agreed, a smile creeping onto her face. “Thank you all for the help as well.”

Phantom nodded. “Yeah, uh. Sorry for causing this, probably? And thanks to uh, all of you.” He nodded again, this time to Tucker and his friends, then stepped towards his portal. And paused.

“Uh, maybe you two should leave first? I don’t want to risk yours closing if I’m gone.”

Manes clapped him on the shoulder, then, still smiling, stepped through her portal. The moment she was gone from their sight, the swirling green mass pulled together and disappeared like it had never been there at all.

“Good luck,” Specter wished Phantom, and then floated through her portal. Once more, it immediately closed behind her.

Phantom nodded at them. “Seriously. Sorry for the mess, and thanks.”

“Just go, dude.” Tucker waved, and with a grin, Phantom stepped through the last portal.

He waited for a few moments after the portal had closed. When no new portals popped up, he sighed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. “Man, I really hope that worked out fine.”

“They’ll be fine,” Sam said, then nudged him. “They’ll have the help of their friends.”

Tucker hummed, then turned to Danny. “You got that, right?”

“Of course I got it,” Danny scoffed, shaking his head. “I’d be crazy not to. Yeah, I got it.”

Tucker nodded, then turned to look at the empty space again. The place where the other half-ghosts had just been.

“I really hope that nothing else crazy like this happens, because I really don’t think I can handle that.” He sighed. “And… I hope that they’re all okay.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Danny bumped his other shoulder, taking the opposite side of Sam. “Now come on, let’s get some sleep. You need it.”

“Wow,” Tucker mumbled back, already turning around again. “Hurtful.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #dp fanfic #tucker foley #danny fenton #sam manson #jazz fenton #dark writes

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yourclownpal · 3 years

Text

A comprehensive list of all my Ghost au's

this post will be talking about all of the ghost au's ive created or co-created including talking about ghost au's from old fandom's that i am no longer in. if you want to ask about any of my au's my ask box and dm's are always open this includes the hermitcraft au but keep it to a minimum please also if any of the creator's of the characters have said that they arent comfortable with what im making ( with proof ofc) i will edit or delete what is needed to fit in the boundaries also another thing this is a long post if you just want the art go under the cut! this post will discuss how each au works and basic plot stuff about them the fandoms in this post are hermitcraft, epithet erased, and dsmp okay first things first-

my hermitcraft au (what a pity)-

On my old tumblr account I made a few posts about it along with a fanfic which never got finished due to me not wanting to interact with the fandom any more due to personal reasons and also I'm not very good at writing imo but I think I'm ready to talk about it again. Just keep in mind i will most likely not talk about this fandom ever again at least not on here again for personal preference : -) it was about season 6 Grian since he was who i was hyperfixating on at the time, being haunted by the ghosts of Sam and Taurtis, both of them from the old roleplay series' Yandere High School, and Tokyo Soul, and taurtis from Grians old-ish smp Evo. Since I never finished the fanfiction nobody but me and close friends ever got to hear the full story i had planned but now you will i guess. It was mainly just grian stressing about Sam and Taurtis being ghosts and him worrying about being crazy, though he would still join the hippies during the area 77 war he would be significantly more stressed especially when finding out that Sam and Taurtis have been possessing his body during the night, he’s more worried about Sam though because of his track record back in the other servers( yhs and ts) it was going to be that Sam (although death isn't permanent) would go on a killing spree in Grians body which would cause the area 77 guys to put him in the facility to see what's going on with him, and it didn't get further then that. My favorite part of this au much like all of my au’s were the design elements i had for it which i'll have under the cut with the other designs. Now for a rundown of how the ghost physics work in this world, in typical ghost fashion Sam and Taurtis were not able to touch or move anything, but they were able to interact with Grian, him being the only person who could see/hear/or touch them. Their only super natural abilities is being able to possess Grian.

Okay! Time for my Epithet Erased au!: Unlike what a pity this one doesn't have a name or a fanfic to go with it as said before i'm not exactly a writer but i have talked about it a bit before on this account along with posting the designs and general concept but i'll go more in depth here! As said in my original post this au was a co-creation with my best friend and sibling @brocolibean so go check bun out ^^ Unlike ‘What a Pity’ it was more lighthearted and comedy centric because it dealt with a bit more and also the original show is a comedy. This au didn't include the character’s epithets so they are all humans. This will also include talking about house each ghost died so if your uncomfortable hearing about that you might want to skip the ghosts portion Just like the original post I'll separate the story summary into 3 parts with intervals in between to talk about the ghosts. First we have the Banzai boys part of the story. Giovanni, Spike, Dark Star, Crusher, Flame Thrower, Car Crash, and Ben all decide to move into a house together so they could all easily split the rent since its close to their collage, the house, which they get for cheap, is aa very old house with sketchy history. But it's a huge house for cheap so they don't complain they encounter the ghosts very early on living in the house and they swear to figure out how they died so they can get their memory back! The ghosts, Molly, Sylvie, Trixie, and Pheonica have no memory! All they know is that there are ghosts! They are connected to the property of this house but if you where to get something- like perhaps a stone from the property the ghost is still technically attached to it therefore the ghost can go with you anywhere Speaking of- -Phoenicia Fleecity is one of the last ghosts to show herself, her body is found in the overgrown garden flowers growing over her skeleton, she is from the victorian era making her the oldest out of the ghosts though he death is the most mysterious -Molly Blindeff is the first ghost the group meets her decomposed body is found buried in the floorboards of the living room, found when gio decided that the house needed renovation and taking matters into his own hands, she died via blunt force trauma i will not be going into detail here because i'm still thinking of doing something with this au she died in the early 2000’s -Sylvester Ashling is the second ghost to show himself though he didn't want to, his body was found in the bottom of the pond in the backyard of the house in the garden. His body while it was decomposing and falling apart was still intact, bloated from drowning. Again i wont go into detail but this wasn't an accident time of death is unknown -Trixie Roughhouse is the third person to show themselves to the Banzai Blasters she is found in the bushes in the backyard her face disfigured from some sort of explosion unlike the others it seems like it was purely an accident, like sylvie their time of death is unknown Mera Salamin is the collages part time librarian nicknamed “the library witch” she started seeing her ghost after obtaining a neck bow with a blue pendant from a pawnshop she got it cause it was pretty and didn't expect a himbo to come along with it -Indus Tarbella is a ghost who is attached to the pendant and bow Mera wear it used to be his own until he was decapitated wearing it through he was properly buried he has no troublesome memories about what happened even after seeing his body he’s just happy to be with Mera Percival King is a security guard at the college and one of the best at that, she wields a story she got from a pawn shop as its her preferred weapon she takes her job very seriously -Ramsey and Zora both died by the same sword while fighting neither remember who wielded the sword, even after death they hate each other and hate being bound together even more Everyone ends up meeting and finding out they all have ghost hijinks ensue. The way ghosts work in this world is a bit strange I'll admit but it's one of my favorites. The ghosts can interact with the human world(menma style) but

they can only talk to the others who can see them (the Banzai Blasters, mera and percy) and the ghosts can interact with each other ghosts in this au attach themselves to an item or property that has someway to do with their death, the kids in the property, Indus it's the bow, and the sword duo is well, the sword Percy carries. As alluded to from before Gio and the rest of the boys end up carrying a bit of the property with them in the form of friendship bracelets four for each of them which makes 28 different bracelets so the kids can decide who to follow around for the day.i talked about how percy and Mera’s items work enough but i would like to mention that Indus does most of the heavy lifting around the library but becaus enoone else can see indus they assume she’s magical, the glowing pendant doesn't help.

The last two au’s i want to talk about are both dream smp au’s

though i've never talked about them online until now, again thanks to @brocolibean for letting me brain vomit my way through these au’s and helping me out with things i love them please check him out I'll be honest i'm so scared of this fandom so i'm afraid to talk about my au’s please be nice to me Also this is all roleplay and fiction!<3 The first one i'll talking about is the dsmp ghost hunters au Sam runs a company where groups of people hunt ghosts for money! Those groups being Phil, Technoblade, Wilbur,Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo Dream, George, Sapnap, Quackity, Karl Bad, ant, Skeppy, and Puffy There’s most likely more but there the only people i can think of at this moment The only canonical ghost being Schlatt This au doesn't have a proper story perse it's more about gags and stuff about the different character fighting over ghosts for money but the story stuff i do have- Sbi family dynamic is real here you can rejoice, Phil adopts Tubbo after his dad (Schlatt) kicks the bucket and fucking dies , Tubbo befriend’s Ranboo some mysterious teen who just desperately needs a job so he- and the rest of the Minecraft family help him get one- though they find out Ranboo isnt as human as he was made out to be and he finds out he’s this worlds version of angels called ender’s and he’s there to protect Tubbo and Tommy which explains why the more violent ghosts start being less violent at the arrival of Ranboo joining their team. Bad isn't human either being a demon his entire group know’s plus quackity. Quackity found out but squirting him with holy water through a water gun but don't worry he promised not to tell anyone; -) Bad and Ranboo know about each other because they see each other as their true forms The minecraft fam found out about Schlatt being a ghost through Tommy- despite Tubbo telling him not to- telling them from calling up and paying for them to investigate their own house saying “technically i didn't tell them” they ended up not getting rid of Schlatt though I'm not going to talk about how the ghosts here work because it's not super important to the plot

The second au is another ghost au where the main characters are ghosts themselves,

like the others its mainly lighthearted and comedic with dark attributes The plot surrounds the sbi family moving into a new house and Tommy finding out it's being haunted by two ghost’s. Those ghosts being Tubbo and Ranboo This au isn't fully figured out but I know that he found out he was haunted by sending a selfie to someone(possibly Drista and Purpled? Since there are only other minors who were part of the dsmp lore? But ultimately idk) and them being like “yo i didn't know you had friends” and him being like “?????” Tubbo died from a boiler exploding and Ranboo died from drowning (which are apparently my two favorite deaths) this also doesn't have an official story? It was just an excuse to make ghost designs with a bit of a story without the commitment As said before it's a sbi au but also a Dadschlatt au cuz I like Dadschlatt au’s. The main story bits i have are background stuff for Tubbo and Ranboo which ill elaborate now The house was originally meant to be just a summer home because it had a large lake in the backyard Ranboo’s family would go there often but that doesn't mean his family liked him very much because of his heterochromia, Vitiligo, and his height his family thought he was strayed from god and drowned him Tubbo died during sleep while Schlatt wasn't home either out drinking or just at work he came home to the house being partially blown up and his son nowhere to be seen he calls Puffy out of fear and she calls the cops. He moves away and most likely starts drinking a bit more. The house gets rebuilt and now the sbi live there hijinks ensue! The ghosts in this au work in a simpler manor only Tommy can see them unless a photo is taken but even then they are blurred, they can float and go through walls and their ability to touch things is limited Ranboo’s memory is worse then Tubbo’s but Tubbo’s isn’t much better.

below the cut will be designs and stuff be safe pal's- there will be minor/cartoony blood-

rip me exposing my old art on this account also i'm ripping these from my fucking amino account that i don't use but still have the password too

gonna do the original what a pity drawins first them ill show a more recent rendition because i hate the old drawings

these are the old drawins i hate them

then,,, i just drew them,,,,, fuck these guys/j

thses are the old sprite edits of these four! trixies design is the only one that really changed

the ded;-; i couldnt fit him on the page

there he is! ft indus and very much alive mera(who i cant figure out how to FUCKING DRAW-)

gay's get wilbur'd/j

they lookin for ghosts

the whole fmaily is here but its quality is shit

these bitches dead! good for them,,, good for them,,,,,,/j/rp

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

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Prompt: Batfam prompt coming your way if you want it! Entirely up to you! How about Dick goes out with a cold/flu/fever, because he cares more about the people he's saving than himself, and Jason and Tim have to catch him, beat the bad guys, and bring Dick home to rest and get alllll sorts of brotherly love?

It’s the drool that wakes Tim, the uncomfortable dampness pooling at the corner of his mouth. He comes to slowly, consciousness bringing with it an evident twinge across his lower back. A groan grows deep in his throat, wakefulness reminding him that he’s been hunched over a computer in the Cave for hours, leaving him feeling far older than he actually is. He contemplates nodding back off, fleeing from the lingering need for caffeine, but then there’s a scoff too close to his face, and he cracks an eye open to see Damian frowning at him.

“You’re repulsive, Drake.”

Tim sits up with a yawn and narrows his eyes into a dull glare, too tired to hold much heat across his eyes. He throws his arms over his head, lacing his fingers and arching his back into a much-needed stretch. “At least I’m not a demon spawn.”

Damian scoffs and pulls off his domino, a small yawn slipping past his lips.

“Did you just get back?”

“Father and I returned twenty-three minutes ago.”

Tim slumps back against the chair, working around the small, admitting thought that he actually needs to sleep in a real bed for more than an hour if he wants to continue operating as a human. He rubs at his bleary eyes. “How was it? Quiet?”

“Our territory was. We bumped into Grayson about an hour ago. He was tipped off about a potential metahuman ring.”

Tim hums, eyes slipping shut, but then his sleep-riddled mind clears, and he jerks forward, eyes flying open. “Wait, what? Dick’s out?” He scans the room, noticing a distinct lack of Nightwing material.

“Of course he’s out.” Damian’s voice is annoyingly matter of fact, and Tim hops to his feet and crosses his arm, frown sharp.

“Damian, he’s sick.”

“Grayson is more than capable of working through illness, Drake. He’s been trained to withstand—”

“—anything. Yeah, I know,” Tim finishes, a worried bite to his tone. Bruce trained all of his bats to withstand illness, to work through ailments, to find an inner balance between exertion and fatigue. Still, he had checked Dick’s fever earlier, and it was worryingly high, resting at 102.3 degrees. He also knew that Dick was itching to explore the anonymous tip about the metahuman ring, and Tim had meant to keep Dick from leaving. Falling asleep over a large monitor was not a part of his nightly plans.

He leans over and taps into the comms on the computer, only faintly aware of Damian slipping up behind him. “Red Robin to Nightwing.” He waits, scanning the connection, waiting for a quiver in the flat audio line. “Come in, Nightwing.”

“He’s probably busy, Drake, making himself useful unlike—”

“Shut it,” Tim spits out, whipping a sharp glare over his shoulder before turning back to the computer. “Dick, answer the damn comm.”

There’s a drawn-out rasp of a breath that flicks across the audio line, a few, harsh coughs following. “Language, little wing.”

Tim wants to feel relieved, but Dick sounds exhausted, winded, his voice cracking and an octave lower than usual. “Jesus, Dick! What the hell are you doing?”

Dick sighs over the comm, and Tim taps loudly at the computer until he’s pulling up a visual of Dick sagged against a wall, chest heaving deeply as if he’s just run a marathon.

“I’ve got to look into this, Tim. A second tip came in. There’s movement at the shipping dock— very large boxes that are being transported to the warehouse that’s housing the metahuman ring.”

Tim taps a few more keys, pulling up a vitals scan that shows Dick’s temperature elevated to 102.6 degrees. “Dick, your fever’s rising. You need to—”

“I’ll be quick; I swear. I’ve gotta run.”

The comm goes dead, and Tim can see Dick pulling the earpiece from his ear and slipping it into his utility belt. He watches a moment longer, eyes studying Dick’s surroundings, each street sign, each flickering streetlight, until he swipes off the feed and whips around, moving past Damian to suit up.

“You’re going out?”

“Someone has to drag his stupid ass back here.” Tim exhaustion is teasing at his mind, and he shakes his head as he begins to dress into his uniform.

“I’ll go—”

“—straight to bed,” Tim finishes, arching one brow, daring Damian to argue.

“Drake, you do not have the authority to order me around. Do you honestly think you’re capable of bringing Grayson back alone?”

“No,” Tim admits, fiddling with the comm in his ear before pulling his attention down to his phone. “He’s too bull-headed.”

“Well, what’s your plan then, Drake?”

“I call in someone even more bull-headed.

***

Tim swallows back a flinch when Jason drops down beside him with a loud thump, having travelled by roof apparently.

“Replacement.”

“Hood,” Tim greets, matching Jason’s tone, eyes trained to the warehouse across the street.

“You sent out an SOS.”

“I did.” Tim narrows his eyes, domino moving along the sharp movement. He pulls his gaze upward until he spots a familiar tuft of dark hair peering over the edge of the roof. “You made good time.”

“Because you sent out an SOS,” Jason presses.

“Worried?” Tim asks, arching one brow, and Jason swats him hard on the back of the head.

“In your dreams, Replacement. I was hoping to come in guns a-blazing.” Jason ghosts his hands over the guns in his holsters, fingers itching for a need to shoot.

“You’ll get your chance,” Tim mutters, nodding toward the roof. “First, we have to stop this idiot.”

“This is Dick Brain’s territory,” Jason reminds Tim flatly, eyes slowly following Dick’s careful movements on the roof. “Why are we—” He stops when Tim patches an audio message that reads out Dick’s vitals, his frown deepening along each word. “Okay,” he drags out. “Point taken. What’s the plan?”

“I’m kind of making it up as I go,” Tim admits, standing from his crouch. He pulls out his grapple hook and aims it toward the edge of the roof, close to Dick’s peering face. He pulls the trigger and waits for the weightless tug.

“That’s my type of plan.”

Tim hears Jason laughing behind him as he shoots forward, going airborne, wind whipping tightly around him until he’s barrel rolling onto the roof, with Jason landing on his feet beside him mere seconds later.

Tim’s quick to dodge the sudden swing of a baton at his head, stumbling backward against Jason’s chest, and Jason’s a lot faster, reaching over Tim’s shoulder, fingers snagging Dick’s wrist mid second swing.

“Easy, dumbass. Are you trying to smash your baby bro’s head in?” Jason’s growl is deep in Tim’s ear, and Tim stills, watching carefully as it takes longer than it should for Dick’s face to fall into recognition.

“Jay…?” Dick turns to cough into the crook of his arm, harsh, grating coughs that leave Tim wincing as he pulls for another vital scan, finding Dick’s temperature tipping toward 103 degrees.

“Good to see you too, Dickie Bird.” Jason mutters, and Tim slips toward Dick, pressing a hand to his shoulder, Dick’s muscles shaking under his palm.

“Dick, you need to go back to the manor. At this rate, you’re going to need an IV.” Tim keeps his voice steady, but when Dick jerks away from him, he frowns, making to step forward only not able to when Jason wraps an annoyingly strong arm around his waist.

“Tim, don’t, you can’t…” Dick’s coughing again, and Jason’s dragging Tim backward despite Tim’s thrashing.

“Jason, what the hell?”

“No spleen. Remember?” Jason pokes at Tim’s side, and Tim sighs loudly, slumping against Jason’s grip.

“Dick will listen to you,” Tim tries, twisting around to face Jason, mind plotting through his sporadic plan. “All he wants is to make things better between you both.” He keeps his voice quiet, studying Jason’s covered frown and narrow eyes that are glued to Dick.

“What’s happening in the warehouse?”

“Metahuman trafficking,” Tim answers, and Jason tenses before him, just as Tim expected he would.

Tim could have taken Damian; hell, he could have made Bruce come, but Jason’s the key. Aside from the fact that Dick would drop just about anything if it means he can mend another thread of he and Jason’s frayed relationship, Tim’s also acutely aware of Jason’s violent need to protect Gotham’s youth, hitting too close to home of a damaged childhood.

There’s also, Tim thinks, the small fact that Jason will do anything for Dick, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Tim knows. Dick was, and always will be, who Jason looks up to the most.

“You play dirty,” Jason growls, catching onto Tim’s reasoning. He slips both guns from his holsters, aiming one at Dick’s forehead. “Stay here, dumbass.”

“Wait, Jay—”

“Did I stutter?” Jason bites out, cocking a brow. He waits for Dick to argue, and predictably, Dick doesn’t, instead sagging to the ground as if his legs can no longer support his weight.

“Good,” he mutters, pulling a sharp gaze to Tim. “Ready to go fuck up some motherfuckers?”

“You’re the only person who can make that sentence sound decent.” Tim brings out his bo staff, fingers tightening around it, his lips curling into a smile that almost matches the wild one Jason’s wielding.

“Ha. Guns a-blazing time?”

Nodding, Tim watches as Jason leaps off the roof, and he spares a glance to see Dick curled in on himself, shaking and coughing, before he leaps off, hoping to end this as soon as possible.

***

Tim shoots a grapple hook back up to the roof when GCPD arrives, flying forward and finding Dick asleep, face scrunched up in a clear show of pain that Tim frowns out. He takes the brief moment free of Jason’s strong grip to crouch before Dick, feeling his forehead, hand slipping down to check his pulse. His vital scan report isn’t any worse than before; however, it’s not any better either.

“Geez, Dick,” Tim mumbles under his breath, waiting for the familiar arm around his waist when Jason finally makes it up to the roof. He moves with Jason, not wishing to start a second struggle, not when Dick’s the main priority.

Jason nudges Dick with his boot, and Dick stirs under the touch, coughing sharply, a gravely groan following. “Jay…”

“He’s completely out of it,” Jason mutters, frowning, and Tim swallows back the sudden jerk of panic threatening to climb up his throat. Jason sounds worried, and that alone leaves Tim afraid.

“We should get him back. Can you…?”

“You want me to carry him all the way back to the manor?” Jason spits out, both brows arched into a high curve. “Not happening.”

“I could call Bruce,” Tim starts, forcing away the smile that wants to stretch across his lips at the narrow glare Jason shoots him. “But once I mention that you’re with me, he’ll be here in minutes. You probably won’t make it around the block before he shows up.”

Jason’s hands curl into fists at his sides. Tim holds his stare, unfazed by the sheer annoyance behind Jason’s domino, and finally, Jason breaks with a long, loud groan, turning to hoist Dick onto his back with a grunt.

“Really fucking dirty, Replacement.”

***

Alfred helps get Dick set up with an IV in med-bay, the older man working wordlessly diligently, worried but not vocalizing as much. Tim assists when needed, keeping one eye on Dick but the other on Jason, who’s been eerily silent in the corner of the room, watching, a frown etched sharply across his lips.

“Are you going to tell Bruce?” Tim asks quietly when Alfred finishes.

“Master Bruce already knows,” Alfred informs, briefly flicking his gaze toward Jason. “Out of respect, he’ll keep his distance for a few hours.”

Tim translates in his head: Bruce doesn’t want to scare Jason off. He nods, thankful, and the second Alfred slips out of the room, he shuffles over to the bed and drops onto it, waving off the hiss of his name from Jason as he curls into Dick’s side.

“I take medicine, you know. Daily. To prevent shit.”

“Tell that to literally every single infection that’s knocked you on your ass for days since saying adios to your spleen,” Jason grunts, dragging a chair close to Dick’s bed. “Don’t expect me to play nursemaid when you get sick.”

Tim lifts his head, eyes flat. “That mere thought is going to make me sick.”

“Ditto.”

Tim whips his gaze down to see Dick blinking slowly at him, a small, lazy smile pulling at his lips. He’s faintly aware that Jason’s shot to the edge of his seat and his leaned forward, putting himself closer to the bed.

“Dick? How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m going to get you sick,” Dick grumbles, and Tim rolls his eyes, tucking himself back down against Dick’s side.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words, kid,” Jason mutters, leaning back and propping his feet onto the edge of Dick’s bed, smiling easily at the tired, yet annoyed look Dick shoots him.

“The metahumans…”

“All safe,” Jason responds, thumbing at the book resting in his lap. “GCPD’s on it.”

Dick’s face relaxes, a deep sigh releasing through parted lips. “Thank you.” He shifts, wrapping his arm around Tim’s back, pulling his brother closer to him. “Are you staying?” he asks, nodding to the book in Jason’s lap.

“Until I’m sure you aren’t taking a page out of my book.”

Dick’s eyes drag up to the ceiling, the muted weight behind Jason’s words pushing against his chest, a reminder that Jason will always process his death and resurrection, not something he can resolve. “Will you read to me?”

“What are you, ten?” Jason teases, arching a single brow, a challenge that Dick takes with an innocently large bat of his lashes.

“You won’t read to your dear, sick brother?”

“So cruel, Jay,” Tim mutters, voice edging toward sleep.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jason groans, flipping open The Hobbit. “I hate both of you.” He scans the first sentence, whipping a quick gaze back toward the two. “No interrupting. I haven’t read this yet.” He starts reading, voice lightening as he loses himself in the book, and he makes it seven pages in before he spares a glance to see Dick and Tim sleeping, faces annoyingly soft and innocent. A smile he doesn’t fight pulls at his lips, and he closes the book and nudges his chair closer to the bed until he can hunch over, pillowing his head on the edge of Dick’s bed. He’s certain his back will curse his entire being when he wakes, but for now, he’ll take the twinge of discomfort for this silent, almost vulnerable, moment with the birds…

With his brothers.

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tamakiamajikistentacles · 3 years

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Disappearance 1: The Beginning {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Been working on this one for a while so I’m eager to know what everyone thinks!

Disappearance Masterlist

Slinging a towel around the back of his neck he looked out at the group of men in front of him beginning to pack up their gym bags. Some had their soaked hair held back with sweatbands while others dabbed at their faces with their own towels, the sign of a class well spent.

“You all did well,” he said loudly, catching their attention. “We’ll meet back here on Wednesday to work on more escape techniques for violent physical attacks. That’s our focus from here on out since this is your last full week of this course and next Monday will be our last meeting. Get home safe and get some rest, the work ain’t done yet.”

He smirked at the excited affirmatives shouted back as they continued to pack up—“You got it, Bakugo sensei!” and “See you Wednesday, sir!”

When everyone was gone he made his way into the small men’s locker room of the community center and pulled his civilian clothes out of his locker to change into. He also grabbed his work bag and hefted it over his shoulder as he closed the tiny locker, spinning the combination lock haphazardly.

The cool breeze felt amazing on his flushed skin as he exited the building and began his walk to the train station, the need to keep his quirk under control lifting slightly now that he was in open air; he let out a few small pops as he walked, the discharge soothing. It made him antsy to build up so much sweat and not be able to burn it off.

Most of what he’d built up during class had been taken care of by the time he reached the station and boarded his train, the stops scrolling on an LED board. It wasn’t a long journey with only six stops passing before he was stepping onto another platform, the still present breeze ruffling his hair as he set out for his building.

He wished that opening the door and stepping into the darkened apartment brought some sort of relief to him. The only positive he had was the silent appearance of the brown tabby cat at the end of the genkan, green eyes shining in the shadows as he toed off his shoes.

Flipping on the light he approached her and have her head an affectionate pat, smiling softly at the tiny mewl he received in return. “Hi, Miki.”

Setting his bag aside he made sure the door was locked behind him before checking over all the windows and the balcony doors. Miki watched him move around the room and then followed him into the bathroom as he started the shower, jumping up onto the counter and curling up in the sink.

The warmth of the water felt amazing on his sore muscles, a full day of patrol and both of his classes back to back having worn him out. In reality he should’ve been used to it since it was his schedule every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to teach self-defense for the 5:30 women’s class and the 7:30 men’s class at the community center. It had been his schedule for over three years yet his body simply wouldn’t adjust.

Lacking adjustment seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life over the past few years if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t adjusted to living alone, at least not fully. He wasn’t surprised when the apartment was empty at the end of the day but there were times he still got down two plates for the extra portion he’d long ago become accustomed to making. He started the night in the middle of the bed but inevitably drifted to the right side as he slept, as if making room for a body to lie beside him that never took their place.

It’s just how his life went now.

His fellow heroes were very good at keeping villains in check. They were also very good at pushing his buttons. Deku in particular (to the surprise of no one) fit these facts better than anyone else he’d ever known.

They had been out on a team up assignment for a small-time villain group that had recently been formed under a similar doctrine as the Paranormal Liberation Front, something commonplace since the original organization had folded years ago. The hero players from Deku’s agency included him, Shoto, and Uravity while his own were himself, Red Riot, and Chargebolt.

It was a simple mission that took thirty-six hours to complete and when they all entered Deku’s agency all twenty-two members of the villain group were on their way to a maximum-security prison.

As the heads of the two agencies involved, he and Deku were holed up in his office discussing the reports they would need to provide for the raid and arrests when the bullshit started with flushed cheeks and a slight stutter.

“Kacchan… you’re not yourself,” he began hesitantly.

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to meet his and his face went bright red.

“I just—you’re too clinical about all this! What happened to the Dynamight that finished one raid and would rather blast off to the next instead of sit down and do a report? You used to take hours to calm down after a fight but now? You drop your shoulders, throw your gauntlets, and start the boring part. Then it’s onto the next like you’re checking off a list!”

“You’re criticizing me for growing up and dealing with all aspects of my damn job? You do the same fucking thing!”

“I always have!”

He clicked his tongue and stood from the chair, grabbing his notes for the report and jamming them into his hero bag as he turned to the door. “I’m not listening to this bullshit.”

“Kacchan, it’s not bullshit!”

He made his way down the short hallway and into the lobby area where he could see the lavender haired secretary keeping an eye on the camera flashes beyond the front door. He braced himself to face the vultures, a long sigh heaving his shoulders.

Deku had followed him, though, and tried continuing the conversation, “You’ve been getting worse and we can all see it!”

“I ain’t getting worse at my job you fuckin’ nerd,” he ground out, patience rapidly thinning.

“You’re not worse, you’re detached,” he argued. “You’re letting your personal life affect your hero life and when you’re detached you’re more likely to make a mistake!”

“I don’t have a damn personal life, there’s nothing to affect my being Dynamight!” he hissed, mindful of the secretary’s probable interest in hero gossip.

"Exactly! Kacchan, you can't keep hurting yourself like this. I liked Chiasa as much as anyone and I thought she was good for you, but you're in pain. It's been four years and you've barely faced the fact that she's gone."

"Do you know what I've faced?" he asked quietly, the low tone more frightening than any threat he’d ever bellowed. "The hurt. The hurt to hope that one day she's going to come back to that apartment when every statistic out there says that's essentially impossible. Do you know what's painful? Watching you and Uraraka get married without having Chiasa beside me so I can tell her that it'll be us next. I'm very fucking aware that she's gone and I've tried to deal with that but I can't have closure when the entire thing doesn't make any sense in the first place. I stay in that apartment because I hope every day that I'll find the missing piece of the puzzle for how or why she disappeared.”

Deku’s jaw dropped, his lips twitching uselessly as they tried to form a response to the raw pain in the admission. It was enough to make him scoff—leave it to the nerd who still cried at the drop of a hat to not be able to handle someone else’s emotions.

“Send your report to my people by tomorrow morning. Hikari will take care of it,” he said dismissively, turning to exit the small agency lobby. He didn’t have the time or the patience to wait for some bumbling attempt at a discussion about feelings.

“Hik—but—wha—Kacchan!” came the sputter behind him but he continued walking until the double doors closed behind him and the sunshine was warming his skin. He wasn’t going to have that conversation go any farther today, especially not with Deku.

Outside the building both Kirishima and Kaminari were taking press questions alongside Uravity, their personalities best for the public and hellbent on fielding everything they could to make his life easier as the microphones and camera’s rounded on him.

“THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!” Kirishima all but bellowed, catching all of the media attention as he parted them with his larger stature as the three men made their way to the waiting company car. “Those will be all the questions for today!”

Katsuki was so fucking thankful for the redhead.

The three heroes slid into the car and began their journey across town to his agency, the plush seats welcoming after the tiring past two days they’d had. It seemed like this had also caused both Kirishima and Kaminari to, for once, forego conversation and the ride was silent. He was actually able to attempt to relax but the ghost of his conversation with Deku lingered uncomfortably in his mind.

When they pulled up to the agency building it seemed that the media had either beaten them there or sent out their cohorts to intercept them. Regardless of who or how they got there, he cursed them internally from behind the tinted window.

“I don’t wanna talk to them again,” Kaminari whined as he scrubbed his hands across his face.

“It’ll be easy, man, all we gotta do is say we’ve already given our statements to the press,” Kirishima assured with a tired smile. “I’ll handle ‘em.”

Thankful wasn’t a strong enough word when it came to him.

They exited the car and true to his word Kirishima shot down the inquiries politely and with a smile as he paved the way towards the large set of doors. Inside the lobby was so much quieter. A silent nod of greeting from his secretary Hikari welcomed them and he returned it, informing her that reports for the mission would be coming over from Deku’s agency by the morning.

Kaminari headed straight for the locker room to change and get his phone, surely ready to break out in hives since he hadn’t spoken to Jiro in over a day. Kirishima surprisingly didn’t follow, instead choosing to walk with him to his office where he planned to finish his half of the paperwork.

The redhead all but collapsed into one of the chairs opposite the desk as he rounded it and sat in his ageing office chair. The cracked leather was a comfort after a long few days.

But it was too quiet.

“Spit it out.”

Kirishima wasn’t surprised by the gruff order. “You and Midoriya went over that report pretty quick.”

“Wasn’t hard.”

“And you looked pissed when you came outside. Like, more than usual after talking to him.”

“He had some shit to say.”

He fixed him with one of his concerned puppy-eyed looks. “Some shit we’ve all been thinking, Bakugo. Some shit that needs addressed before things get bad. We’re worried about you.”

His lip curled up in a sneer. Maybe he wasn’t as thankful for him as he originally thought.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, man, but you don’t see how much you’ve changed in the last few years. Between throwing yourself into work and extra cases and the community service stuff, you’ve practically lost yourself.”

“I’m still exactly who I’m supposed to be,” he snapped. “I’m Dynamight, the last number one hero and the best fuckin’ thing to happen to this damn hero system since All Might in his prime!”

“Yes you are,” he agreed. “But we’re worried that you’re doing too much and losing focus, and you lose focus in a fight against a villain for one second and you’re done!”

“I don’t lose focus,” he ground out, eyes narrowed.

“And we don’t want you to!”

He stared at his longtime friend for a long moment before simply advising, “Get out.”

“Bak—”

“I said. Get. Out,” he repeated. “Deku’s one thing but you? Get the fuck out.”

Kirishima sighed in defeat as he stood and made his way to the door of the office. “We’re just worried about you, you know?”

He stayed silent as he began working on the report once again, the lead weight on his chest getting just a bit heavier when he heard another sigh and retreating footsteps.

Of course they cared and of course they worried but what the hell was the use? He was getting his work done, saving people and fighting villains, and he was doing well in the eyes of the public. Less surly than in his earlier hero career he was still far from the talk show host’s dream guest, but he did the rounds when necessary. He was good professionally.

Personally… well, he didn’t exactly have a personal life anymore, did he? It was a bitter musing to consider but a true one nonetheless.

Another night coming home to a dark apartment, another mewled greeting from Miki, and another feeling of hollow sadness awaited him. It felt even worse after the two emotional ambushes he’d endured during the day. He didn’t need more reminders that she was gone and that he was alone now—that was ever-present.

As if to make him feel worse, he found Miki curled up in the linen basket next to the sofa, head low and morose as she laid atop the green blanket that haunted them both.

“I know,” he sighed when he saw her, “I miss her too.”

It had been a bad fucking day on patrol.

Normally any day he got to blast a villain straight into quirk cancelling cuffs was a good one but not when they had a quirk like Phantom Hands. The bitch had been able to create a dozen ghostly grey hands that followed her every direction; it hadn’t been a problem until they were around his neck and squeezing hard enough to cut off his air supply, but even before the pressure was applied he had panicked enough to lose his breath on his own.

The feel of anyone or anything foreign around his neck had been a problem for almost a decade by then but it just wasn’t something he could shake. He’d tried his own exposure therapy and at one point even consulted a therapist about the issue, but the trauma of his teenage years persisted.

Red Riot was the one to take the villain down and allow him to breathe which, of course he was—wasn’t exactly manly to let your best friend suffer. His complaints and insults aside, he was grateful for the air that filled his lungs as soon as he had her in the cuffs.

But it was still a shit day.

He only wanted to be home and in the kitchen starting the ginger pork recipe his girlfriend had requested they try making sometime that week. “They” really meant he cooked and she stirred what he directed, but he enjoyed it regardless. His schedule didn’t often give them extended time together and when it did she possibly could be in the middle of a project that she couldn’t walk away from. So he cherished the domestic moments they had when he could and always looked forward to them.

Relief flooded him as soon as he had the apartment door open and a tiny brown kitten trotted up to him, putting her paws on his shin and batting at his knee.

“Ease up on the claws, Miki,” he said, gently guiding her down on all fours. She chirped and butted her head against his hand, purring happily when he scratched under her chin.

He half expected his girlfriend to pop around the corner from the bedroom and start teasing him like usual, baby talking about how much of a daddy’s girl the kitten was despite him being reluctant to get her in the first place. But instead, it was quiet.

Noting that the lights were off, he caught sight of her blanket pooled in the corner of the couch and absently started folding it, dropping it into the small basket with the others before heading into their bedroom. Normally when he came home to a dark apartment it was because she was sleeping off a headache; for someone who worked on a computer almost every day, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Except that the bedroom was empty. And so was the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the office.

Coming back into the living area his eyes swept across the room. He took in what he hadn’t noticed before: the half full mug of green tea on the kotatsu with one of her novels next to it, her reading glasses perched on the arm of the couch, her cellphone facedown and dipping between the cushions.

A pit began to form in his stomach as he glanced back at the genkan where her shoes still sat untouched. He thought back to her wallet on the bedside table where it had been since they went out the weekend before and the open closet door from when he had gotten dressed that morning, not a single thing different than when left.

He did another lap around the apartment checking all three windows and the balcony doors to find that they were all locked. Their front door was keycard access only and he knew they were the only two who had them, his in the pocket of his work bag and hers sitting on their dresser. The apartment was essentially a fortress accessible only to them.

So why the hell did it look like she’d vanished into thin air?

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

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jetsetlife138 · 4 years

Note

prompt no. 14,15, and 19 for Sadistic/Obsessive! Alastor x Fem!Reader?

14) “I’m gonna end up breaking your little heart in two.”

15) “I still remember the way you tasted.”

19) “This is my nightmare.”

Pairing: Sadistic / Obsessive!Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Cannibalism

You stirred uncomfortably, slowly starting to regain consciousness. You mind was groggy and clouded with confusion as you tried to remember where you were. Swallowing hard, you inhaled deeply before prying your eyes open where you were greeted by an unwelcoming bright light. It was then you realized that you were sprawled out on a soft surface, restricted by restraints.

Allowing your eyes to adjust, you discovered that you were in a bedroom and you had been confined to a bed. There didn’t appear to be any windows; only a single door, which was closed.Weakly, you pulled at the ropes binding you to the bedposts to no avail. Glancing down at your body, you were shocked to discover that you were no longer in your own clothes, but had been dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts. Holy shit. You had been kidnapped. In Hell. To be fair, you should have known that this could be a possibility. After all, you were in Hell. Pretty much anything was legal, including kidnapping. But to think that it would ever happen to you was unfathomable.

A loud knock at the door startled you. “Hello! Darling? Are you awake?”

Without a reply, your captor entered the room. Aaaaand, fuck. It was the Radio Demon… or Alastor, as very few knew him as. One of the most powerful beings that Hell had ever seen. Your hopes in getting out of here alive had just been eradicated. “Good morning!” he beamed when he saw that you were finally cognizant. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was actually morning considering there weren’t any windows and you had been knocked out for an unknown amount of time.The demon walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. You swallowed hard as you noticed the hungry look stirring in his blood-red eyes. Alastor bit his bottom lip as he gazed over your body before stretching out his arm to reach under your loose t-shirt to stroke your stomach with his sharp nails. Your breath hitched as you flinched away from the unexpected contact with Alastor’s fingers.

Alastor’s seemingly permanent smile widened as he enjoyed the feeling of your skin underneath the pads of his fingers. “Have a nice nap?” he asked gently, still raking his nails lightly across your tummy. It was difficult for the demon to focus considering he was absolutely mesmerized by your beauty. He could hardly believe that after all this time, he was freely touching the girl he adored so much. He tilted his head subtly, concentrating on the way your chest slowly rose and fell with each nervous breath.

Alastor continued to stare at you, waiting for any kind of response and sighed when you failed to speak. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you would talk to me, sweetheart. I know you’re confused right now, but that’s no reason to be rude.”

You didn’t know what you could possibly say. It felt as though anything you said would make your situation worse. Alastor was clearly mentally unstable and dangerous. Trying to keep your voice steady, you addressed him cautiously. “I’m sorry,” you croaked out, voice still groggy from drowsiness. “I just… um… I don’t understand why I’m here. I’m sure people are wondering where I am. They’re going to be looking for me.”

Alastor met your assumption with a smirk and replied, “Oh, darling, don’t think about that right now. You and I are the only two creatures that exist within the nine Circles of Hell, and that’s how it’s going to be for a while.”

“H-how long is a while?”

Without altering his expression or faltering in his grin,Alastor’s feather-light touches across your belly turned painful as he dug his nails into the soft, sensitive flesh. You hissed in pain while Alastor hastily removed his hand, clearly unhappy.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked in a sickly sweet voice, contradictory to his smile.

Swallowing hard, you started to shake involuntarily. You had been doing so well in keeping your stress and panic under control, but with the way that Alastor was looking at you, you felt your strength fading. You couldn’t bring yourself to reply in fear of how your answer might trigger Alastor further.

Alastor wasn’t going to let that slide. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be infatuated with someone, my dear?” he asked his object of affection with a challenging stare. His red eyes were blazing and you wanted to sink lower into the bed to get as much distance between yourself and Alastor’s frightening demeanor as possible.

In a falsely sweet voice, Alastor continued, “No? Allow me to enlighten you. It’s like suffocating. Your love for this creature is so great that it often feels like you cannot breathe. You are utterly unable to think about anything else and every decision you make is based on them. It can wreck someone such as myself, causing us to do terrible things.”

Now panicking, you attempted to sputter out an apology. “I-I’m sorry, s-sir. I don’t-”

“No, sweetheart, you’re not,” Alastor snapped, cutting you off. “But you will be.”

Your shaking became more prevalent as Alastor got up from the bed. It was a struggle to try and keep your panicked breathing under control but you knew that there was really no use in trying to put on a brave face. You were terrified.

“I’m gonna end up breaking your little heart in two,” Alastor promised, a sinister gleam in his eyes.

The demon then took it upon himself to lift up and straddle your hips. “So, my darling… are you ready to begin?”

You hesitated before replying, “B-begin what?”“I still remember the way you tasted…” Alastor thought aloud to himself, ignoring your question as he licked his lips at a distant memory.Fighting back tears, you asked. “What the hell are you talking about?” Snapping out of his daze, Alastor’s eyes flickered to your own. “You don’t recall, do you?” he questioned. Shaking your head in response, you were nervous to hear what he had remembered that you hadn’t. “When you first arrived here in Hell, you were a bloodied mess,” he began as he gripped the collar of your shirt in his hands. “I couldn’t help myself. You smelled so divine. I needed your blood inside of me.”

The Radio Demon then pulled on the fabric of your shirt, ripping it down the middle to expose your chest. You yelped at the sudden aggressive action, not expecting that at all. Licking his lips with longing, Alastor took a moment to allow his eyes to wander over your skin. It was getting more and more difficult to keep himself in check with you so easily accessible.

“Alastor, please,” you begged, thinking of anything that you could possibly say to dissuade Alastor from whatever it was that he had planned. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Hush now, darling. We’re just getting started,” Alastor insisted.

Keeping true to his promise, without warning, Alastor then leaned in and bit down directly over your collarbone. You shuddered violently, but you didn’t scream. Alastor would have praised your self-control had he not been so mesmerized by your blood filling his mouth and seeping down onto the bed. Lifting slightly, he ran his tongue over the wound, making you hiss in pain when he dug the tip of his tongue into the bleeding flesh.

For the next fifteen minutes, Alastor continued to gnaw at your skin, licking and kissing over the wounds, completely enthralled with your pain tolerance and with the way you tasted. Alastor had never done anything like this before and he was so moved that he was able to share this special connection with you.

Though it was difficult, you tried as hard as you could to concentrate on anything else but the pain. There was nothing else that you could do. With every new bite ripping into your flesh, you would involuntarily convulse with the occasional “fuck” and “shit” falling from your lips at the agonizing intrusion. You were basically being eaten alive slowly and meticulously by a psychopath and you tried everything he could to distract yourself and think of anything else but the pain.

Your plan worked for awhile until you noticed Alastor making his way down to your thighs and started running his fingers over your hips. Snapping your attention back to the Radio Demon, you looked down with pleading eyes, not at all liking the idea of Alastor being near your vagina with those sharp teeth.

Alastor kneeled at the edge of the bed, his fingers ghosting over your legs, looking over his work. He had made sure not to make the bites too deep. He didn’t want to scar his obsession’s perfect body. He simply wanted to make them deep enough to show you how painful love can be and how deeply his own love ran for you.

“Alastor, please don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want… just… Please, don’t. This is my nightmare…” The last part was meant more for yourself than for him, but you couldn’t help but speak your mind at a time like this.

Though it was difficult, you tried to keep from grimacing when Alastor crawled back up and leaned in to place a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth before shimmying down your torso and latching his fingers into the top of your shorts, tugging at them slightly. Your entire body tensed as you glanced down at Alastor, terror overcoming you. “W-what are you doing?”

Alastor’s grin grew to an unnatural length as he met your horrified expression with an eager one of his own. “I’m going to eat you out, my dear.”

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #dark fic #prompt requests #radio demon #the radio demon

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i-am-a-passenger · 4 years

Text

Bedtime

In an act of pure irony I wrote this instead of sleeping last night and finished it today. Anyway not a Simon in sight just Grace living in the moment.

summary: Grace gets some unexpected comfort from her normally cold and distant mother. note: this takes place after Grace has returned home after getting her exit.

Grace tossed around in her sleep as her dream tortured her. She’d had nightmares her entire time on the train- of the steward, the ghoms and all the other terrifying things she’d had to face. But it had been alright because in the morning Simon had always been there to comfort her.

But now it was Simon that haunted her nightmares like a ghost. Sometimes appearing as the innocent seeming friend she’d wanted him to be, but mostly as the violent person he’d always really been. When she closed her eyes he was always waiting for her in her mind, ready to twist and distort her in the one place she should be safe from him. She’s escaped from the train and she’d escaped from him but she would always have to carry the mental scars of what he did with her.

When he was a boy he’d promised he’d always be with her but she hadn’t wanted it to happen like that.

Grace jolted awake and lay there gasping. A single crack of light fell on her as the door opened. She turned her head and saw her mother standing silhouetted in the doorway. She was wrapped in a lilac silk dressing down with her sleeping bonnet askew on her head and her wide white eyes shining in her frightened face.

“Grace?” she asked softly, “Grace are you alright?”

Grace didn’t say anything.

Her mother slowly made her way to the bed and knelt down on the floor to be eye level with her. Grace braced herself for a scolding.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.

“I don't know!” Grace said defensively, “There's so much that was wrong I don't even know where to start. There's so much you don't know about me. And there's so much I don't know if you can ever understand.”

Her mother had been what got her on the train. At the time Grace had assumed the neglect she suffered was something normal, or even worse, something she deserved. It wasn’t until she had other children to look after that she realised how badly she’d been treated. The Apex kids talked about the parents that they’d left behind and they didn’t use words like “closed off” “absent” “never there for me” “disapproving” “unsupportive” “strict” and the other multitude of adjectives Grace could come up with off the top of her head. They would talk about parents that simply loved them. No strings attached, no conditions, just simply… loved them.

A loving parent was a difficult role for Grace to fill and she felt huge guilt over the harm she’d caused those children, but at least she could safely say she’d never put them through what she went through. She’d never isolated them, never belittled them and never made them feel so desperate to escape that they’d jump on a train that pulled up out of nowhere and stay there for eight years.

Anger bubbled up inside her as she remembered the train and Simon and everything that he put her through. If it hadn't been for her mother none of that would have happened to her. If her mother had just done her job as a parent she wouldn’t be here covered in sweat in a bedroom she hadn’t slept in in years. She’d be in college or work or somewhere else- maybe a famous dancer already. It was ironic that the same person who had such grandiose plans for her had ruined her future.

Grace’s mother reached out a hand to touch her as her daughter silently fumed but dropped it. She fiddled with the expensive bed sheet as she thought of what to say to her. All those years Grace had been away and she refused to give her any details- she’d thought Grace was just wary of her, or still processing what happened, or something else. It hadn’t occurred to her that she just didn’t know where to start.

“Maybe you can just take it one thing at a time?”

“How?” Grace snapped. Of course her mother thought it was so easy to just start- just pick a trauma at random Grace, was that what she was trying to say? “How am I meant to start?”

“How about you start with whatever’s bothering you.”

Grace fiddled with her blanket and then dropped it as soon as she realised what she was doing. That was a mannerism her mother had. While it was just a tiny thing the way she’d so easily and thoughtlessly copied her was distressing. She didn’t ever want to be like her mother, not anymore. And she hadn’t for a long time.

But… her mother wasn’t like she remembered her. She wasn’t being cold towards her, she hadn’t chastised her for her hairstyle or clothes even once and here she was now- kneeling next to her bed and doing what she would’ve scoffed at as a “Nanny’s job” years ago. Grace had always operated by figuring people out and then carefully choosing how to interact with them. But she couldn’t figure her mother out anymore. And it scared her. “It's bothering me that you're being so nice.” she stated flatly.

Her mother was taken aback and she sadly drew her dressing down around her. She sighed. “I know I… haven’t been the nicest mother to you in the past but I am who I am Grace. I can't give you more than that.”

“I never asked for more than that!” Grace shot back, “I always wanted you- the real you. I never asked for you to be perfect or talented or-or better than other people for me to love you. That was always you. I was who I was but you wanted more.” Grace stopped speaking and fought back the tears that had stubbornly welled up in her eyes. She’d spent so many years striving for everyone’s approval- so many wasted years. “And now that I like who I am I'm not gonna let you take it away from me again.”

“You were wronged.” Her mother admitted quietly.

“I know. I know I was wronged.” Grace muttered. “I already know that it's not my fault- even though everyone else seems to think it is. It doesn't make it any easier.” Then again, neither had denying it.

“I'm sorry.” her mother said hoarsely.

“I'm sorry for me too.” Grace said flippantly.

Grace turned away and waited for her to leave.

“I really am sorry Grace.” her mother whispered, “Looking back there’s a lot I should’ve done differently. I always thought I was giving you the best but I realise now there was a lot I didn’t give you. We were never very close and I always thought that when you were older I could make it up to you. I didn’t know that our time together was nearly over. I didn’t know that you were going to grow up without me.” she admitted and wiped her nose with her sleeve quickly.

Grace had rolled back over to look at her mother pityingly while she poured her heart out. As she looked at her she started to notice little things- her mother had always had the most expensive well done nails but now her hands ended in her natural fingernails and there were coffee stains going down the side of her gown. Maybe it was the dark, or the lack of makeup but her mother’s face was more wrinkled and worn than she remembered. It was more genuine somehow.

Her mother delicately dabbed at the sides of her eyes with her sleeve and Grace smiled. It seemed some things would never change.

“I know things were hard for you, and that you’ve been through so much but what did you think I was doing the eight years you were gone?” she continued in a broken voice, “You think they went by quickly? I spent all those years pouring over everything that I’d done and said just wishing I could go back and stop you from leaving that police station.” Her mother covered her face but Grace still caught sight of the tears in her eyes. She breathed shakily for a while and then whispered, “Money can’t buy you your child back.”

Her mother touched her face and hair as if to reassure herself that Grace was real and back with her. “Which is why I’m so happy you’re back. So please don’t leave me alone again.”

Grace had been the caretaker in most of her relationships- with Simon, the Apex, Hazel so she instinctively thought of how to comfort her. But then she stopped. Why should she? That wasn’t what her mother was here for. She hadn’t come here to grovel to her, she was here because she was… worried about her. It was an unfamiliar concept to Grace but it was true. She looked at her mother, who was intently staring at her with concern.

It was her turn to be taken care of now.

“There's another thing that's bothering me.” Grace admitted. Her mother raised her eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

“I… this is the first time in a long while that I've slept alone. I mean in a room alone. First there was…” Grace decided she wasn’t ready to talk about Simon so she trailed off uncomfortably, “and then there was the Apex kids. And now that I'm by myself again I don't know how to do it. It's…”

Without the comforting sound of their breathing, their warmth and their presence Grace felt exposed. She felt vulnerable. She felt lonely.

“I don't want to be alone.” she confessed.

Grace’s mother lay down beside her. Slowly, Grace reached out her hand and closed the distance between them as her mother said the words she should’ve said eight years ago: “I’m here for you.”

#infinity train #grace infinity train #infinity train book 3 #grace monroe #infinity train fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #uhhhh yeeeaaahhh

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maruzzewrites · 4 years

Note

You write Yandere Jojo?? I would like something with Josuke since there needs to be more of him. Maybe number 15 of your yandere prompts?

15. “If you leave me, I’ll die!”

Content warnings: yandere content, obsessive behavior, a bit creepy?, it’s Josuke so making him yandere is criminal in itself.

Sweet as he was, Josuke was the kind of guy who would never lead someone on. Even with all the admirers and the girls who used to cling to him when he was around his school, much to Okuyasu’s annoyance, he never allowed himself to torture them with pretend interest. He was flattered, he would show it too, but he would gently reject them if they came onto him.

It was a shame, too. Josuke wasn’t one to actively pursue a love interest and he never really had those rosy feelings blooming inside his chest, but he actually desired to experience something as tender as a pure love. Yet, he spent his high school years without the company of a significant other. He loved his friends, he truly did, but seeing Koichi having a cozy and lovely relationship while he was left behind made an odd feeling grow inside of him. Like envy, but with a vague numbness that he couldn’t place.

That aside, his days after the whole business with ghosts and serial killers were peaceful and filled with jovial youth. Before he could really think about it, high school had come to an end and he was attempting to join the police force. He thought he could honor his beloved grandfather that way, but he never really considered how difficult the whole process could be. His mother even tried to help him out with the preparation for the exam, but he simply lacked some requirements.

When Josuke was informed that his application had been rejected, he was upset enough that he punched the mail box right in front of his house. With trembling hands, he repaired it with the help of Crazy Diamond and then, letting the frustration taking hold again, he collapsed on his knees on the street and sat down on the edge of the sidewalk. He was aware that it was foolish to lose hope so quickly, but the disappointment was born from the commitment and the anticipation of a good few days waiting for the answer. The rejection felt like a cold shower, as if a confirmation that his effort and sacrifice had never been enough.

Utterly bleak and uncharacteristically devasted, Josuke moped on the lone street with the piece of paper in his hands and his head hanging low. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see the only person walking down the street, but he heard the footstep stopping somewhere around him. He opened his eyes and raised his head to see someone standing still in front of him, a light hue of worry painted over their face. The stranger raised their hand to wave, but they didn’t even give Josuke the possibility of greeting them or asking them if he could help in any way. They simply approached him and curl up to get on his eye level.

“Did something happen?” Their voice wasn’t familiar at all, so they weren’t someone Josuke met once or twice just to forget them. Despite looking around his age, he couldn’t be sure, he could feel some type of heat crawling under his skin and settle on his cheeks and ears. He thanked the tan he managed to get with the sunny days he spent taking care of the garden because he was sure it was helping with the blush that colored his face in that moment.

“It’s nothing!” He was quick to deflect the question, but the stranger’s eyes shined with compassion at his attempt to hide his obvious distress. Josuke squirmed a bit, but didn’t wait for the concerned outsider to continue with their questioning before he could get some more words in, to reassure them before they even managed to detect more than he would let out, “It’s really nothing serious! I’m just being a bit childish, don’t you worry!”

The stranger looked at him, silent for a while, before letting themselves sit down on the street. Josuke went to drag them near him, so they could be safer on the sidewalk, before they hummed in thought and tilted their head. They scanned his face one last time before speaking, “Is it because of that piece of paper?”

Josuke was surprised, to say the least. All in all, it would be obvious he got bad news with the letter he was holding between his fingers, now lightly crumpled. He averted his eyes, embarrassed by the way they were looking at him and by his silly situation. He figured this person didn’t mind him venting about his frustrations, but letting it out with someone he didn’t know at all was too uncomfortable for a private matter like that. No matter how public it seemed or how superficial it actually was, Josuke felt it too close to his heart to really open up.

“It’s nothing.” His voice had finality in it, an edge he usually didn’t carry. He was saddened at the sound of his own words, but he wasn’t sure how to process both the delusion and the prying of a stranger he never met before in his private affairs. Who did that, anyway? He turned his head and let out a sigh, reminding himself to calm down before lashing out at the person in front of him

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” their voice came again. Gentle, and unaltered in their kindness, their words reached him and forced his head to turn again, facing their gaze. Josuke felt an odd, unknown weight in his chest and an empty sensation in his stomach, close to anxiety but with a different impression. The stranger lips stretched into a small, intimate smile, so sweet and sympathetic, just like their voice, “But promise me you will tell someone else what bothers you. You look like someone who has people he can count on.”

Josuke didn’t know how to react. This interaction was odd, abnormal, he should be awkward around this stranger who wanted to know too much, who stopped in the middle of the street to be nosy. Yet, he only felt his cheeks heat up for the second time in a handful of minutes and thank whoever was generous enough to grant him a decent tan so that he could hide the blush that was spreading over the bridge of his nose. He looked away, once again, embarrassed, “Do I? I’m nothing special.”

He let out a nervous chuckle to accompany his words and, in response, the stranger giggled as well. Their laugh was probably average, nothing out of the ordinary, but Josuke’s ears were captivated by the sound. Youthful, spontaneous and, more importantly, because of him. He felt somewhat special when that thought surfaced, but attempted to mentally dissipate it. The stranger, however, made the attempt useless with their words, “That’s not true. You have kind eyes, I’m sure you have a kind soul too.”

That was correct, wasn’t it? Most people pointed at him, thinking he was a delinquent because of his hairstyle and his clothes. Even his mother started to complain about him keeping the pompadour after the end of high school, blaming that choice for his problems in finding a good job that wasn’t occasional or short-lived. Yet, this stranger didn’t think so. Josuke liked to think he was a pure soul as well, if his Stand was any indication, and the confirmation from someone he didn’t even know was making his heart pump quickly, loud and overwhelming.

“Well, I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” the stranger stood up, Josuke followed their movements with his eyes. His heart jumped in his chest when they started to clean up before turning around to leave. He wasn’t sure what he would do. Could he stop them? Change his mind and let them in? He still felt oddly unwilling to say his worries out loud, but now it was because he didn’t want this person to think less of him for such silly matters. It was stupid to worry so much about it anyway, so they would simply scoff at him for finding him desperate for trivial things like his rejection. Before they started to walk away, they looked down at Josuke, “Don’t dismiss your feelings, alright? People you care about will want to know.”

With that, they started to walk down the street at a slow pace, calm and relaxed. Josuke watched their figure for a few seconds, lost in thought. People he cared about, loved ones, would worry about him, that was true. They would comfort him and make sure he was alright, even if he was prone to underplay his own feelings to spare theirs. Even that person was like that. Even that person cared. They cared about him, Josuke, someone they never met before and, for all they knew, could be a dangerous criminal despairing over a failure in their next heist.

Yes, a dangerous criminal. Josuke’s eyes slipped from their back to their hands. Were they beautiful? Would they have been in danger, a few years back? He couldn’t tell, with the lack of a twisted mind, when he could only see them with kind eyes and a kind soul. But others wouldn’t see them like that, would they? He should know, he met people who could be vile and evil in a matter of months. People who would suffocate a compassionate person like that stranger. They deserved so much better. And he could be better, he really could.

Before he could stop himself, he run after them and grabbed their arm. It wasn’t violent or forceful, but they yelped all the same and whipped their entire body in his direction, eyes open wide to stare at his face. Their terrified look melted into confusion, then their eyes dropped to watch his hand gripping their wrist. They started to tug their arm, attempting to break free from his hold, but Josuke tightened his clutch. They started to plead him to let them go and their other hand went to free their arm, resting over his own. He felt butterflies in his stomach at that.

“You can’t go! If you leave me, you will die!” The stranger shot him a glare at those words, their eyes filled with terror and resentment, but Josuke didn’t want to see it directed at him. They were scared because of what could be out there, ready to prey on someone so tender, and kind, and pure. But he was there, and just like he protected Morioh once, years ago, he was willing to protect this person too, “I will die, if you go!”

Their attempts grew more desperate as he continued to speak, until their hand flew to his shoulder and Josuke’s hold faltered because of the surprise of the contact. He didn’t manage to tighten it again in time before they could run away, their steps frantic and fast this time, their figure disappearing behind a corner. Luckily, a piece of their sleeve stayed in his hand, tore from the shirt they were wearing. Josuke’s hands trembled, and he looked at the only trail they left behind.

He was lucky, in that sense. He let out a shaky breath and clutched the fabric. It would be okay, he was there to protect them from the monsters that populated the world and they would thank him, eventually. He was sure of it, because they could see his kind soul, after all.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #i had this ready yesterday but tumblr showed me the middle finger #so y'all get this now instead #Anonymous

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