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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Adoption

Based on a prompt by @fabnamessuggestedbytumbler for the Phic Phight! An excuse for Lost Time fluff? Don't mind if I do...

The Ghost Zone had a legal system. A court system. A prison system. A police system. A set of established rules. There were even lawyers.

In theory.

In reality the courts (Observants) refused to look at anything that wasn't world ending. Every group had their own, private prison. The police made up their own rules and, even then, broke them regularly. The actual rules had gone several hundred years without an update and referred to places, organizations, and customs that no longer existed. The lawyers were all clinically depressed. That's what happens when there's no active, unifying head of state for hundreds of years.

Still. Every so often a sufficiently foolish ghost, possessed of a brave purpose, would attempt to navigate the ruins of the legal system. Few made it out alive.

(True, being ghosts, they didn't necessarily go into it alive, but it's the thought that counts.)

But those who did make it out (metaphorically) alive, did so with prizes... well, not great enough, but something enough to convince others to make the attempt. Hence Clockwork's current location and headache.

"Sign the paper, Walker," snapped Clockwork.

"That would be against the rules," said Walker, leaning back in his stupid chair. Clockwork's nonexistent spine hurt just from looking at it.

Maybe he should give himself a spine, just so he'd have a reason to feel this way.

"How," he began, "would it be against the rules? This form needs to be signed by a law enforcement official that has seen or witnessed conclusive evidence the child in question being abused by their natural parents. That is you."

"Yes, but the law enforcement officer must first get a warrant approved by an appropriate court in order to collect such evidence," countered Walker.

"Not if the official came across the evidence or act of abuse while pursuing a different case or simply following standard operating procedure. You saw them shoot at him. His mother put a gun to his head. Have mercy, Walker. I know you don't like him, but he is a child who needs guidance. Not a criminal."

"He's a criminal in my books," said Walker.

"What he did was hardly a crime."

"Jailbreak is a crime!"

"Not if one is unjustly imprisoned," said Clockwork. "He was attempting to remove the foreign object." No matter that possessing material-plane items wasn't an actual crime.

"He let others escape!"

"And what were they imprisoned for?"

Walker grumbled. "Some of them are dangerous, and even he knew that," said Walker, nodding at the file spread over his desk.

"Consider it a cry for help. While you were watching him," stalking him, Clockwork did not say, "on the material plane, did he really strike you as criminally inclined? Or perhaps he was simply confused and scared? One thousand years is a very long time in human terms. The targets of his Obsession would have died. Even if he did commit a misdemeanor, he would have rightly been granted clemency, or at least had his sentence deferred."

Walker frowned.

"That's not what this is about, is it? You covering up a mistake?"

"No," said Walker.

Clockwork blinked, quickly running through potential futures. "No one will care that you crossed the veil without authorization. No one who can do anything about it, in any case."

"There'll be an investigation if I sign that there piece of paper. What's the big deal, anyway? Like you said, humans don't live that long. Just wait fifty years."

"They almost ended him," said Clockwork. "He's a child. Do you really want that on your conscience? With the knowledge that you could have stopped it?"

Sighing, Walker picked up his pen.

Danny went to school. Mainly, he went because he didn't know what else to do. He needed the routine, even if the routine was a lie and he felt like trash.

"You could have stayed," whispered Sam, as his hand inched towards the bandages on his chest for the fifth time that morning. "They wouldn't have noticed you."

Danny shook his head. His hand shook more. He put it back in his lap. "It wouldn't have been right. Besides, I need a passing grade in this class, right?" He couldn't get another F, or his parents would kill him, except- except- except-

They had already tried to kill him.

Everything had gone so much worse than he had ever imagined- No. That wasn't quite right. It had gone- It had...

At least he hadn't been cut open.

(Much.)

"Mr. Fenton?"

Danny jumped, banging his knees painfully on the underside of his desk. He looked up, wildly, tensing himself to flee, only the fact that he was currently human keeping his powers from activating.

(Well, that and... what had been done to him.)

When had Mr. Lancer gotten there?

"What?" he asked, breathlessly.

"Are- Are you alright, Mr. Fenton?"

"I'm fine," Danny said. He wasn't. His ghost half was urging him to go find a nice, dark, quiet, safe corner to hide in, preferably one in the Ghost Zone, his heart was hammering out of his chest, he'd spent the night not-sleeping in one of the guestrooms in Sam's house, and that was before even touching on his injuries.

He forced a smile. Mr. Lancer was one of the few teachers who hadn't given up on him, which was alternately touching and frustrating.

"You look sick," said Mr. Lancer. "Are you sure you don't want to call home?"

Danny's heart stuttered, his core painfully cold. "I'm sure," he said.

"Today is a project day," said Mr. Lancer. "You wouldn't be missing anything in this class, and I can talk to your other teachers."

"No, I'm fine."

The legal clerk for the family court was the kind of ghost who seemed to have fused with her role. The sleeves and collar of her shirt melded seamlessly with her skin. Her nails were brass pen nibs. The lenses of her glasses were part of her face.

She lived in either the basement or the attic of this particular building, depending on how one oriented themselves, among barely-organized stacks of books and papers. There were parchment scrolls and stone tablets, too, the later often re-purposed as elements of the room's furniture. Green-marbled filing cabinets grew out of the walls, and electronic somethings glittered out of the shadows.

The clerk had been reviewing Clockwork's paperwork for literal days. Rather, she would have been, if Clockwork hadn't surreptitiously dropped a time medallion around her neck and stopped time.

She hummed, thoughtfully. "In this document, you are using the pronoun tsai to refer to the adoptee. Are you certain you don't mean tusui? Or perhaps chahe?"

"Absolutely," said Clockwork. The intimation that he wasn't fluent in nchabhatsi was insulting. On the other hand, the requirement for that particular piece of paperwork to be in the language was also, in his opinion, rather ridiculous. Many ghosts, especially the recently dead, did not know nchabhatsi.

"The adoptee is liminal?"

"Yes," said Clockwork.

"Hmm." She stood up and flew from her desk to an inverted bookshelf anchored to the ceiling. From a box she took a huge sheaf of papers, and blew an amount of dust from them that was unhealthy even to a ghost. "It has been a while since we used these," she said, giving Clockwork a faded-ivory smile. "You'll need to fill these out and have them notarized by the proper officials before you can proceed. Liminal spirits are so rare, after all! They require special care. Oh!" Her hands fluttered. "And I'll have to get in contact with our liminality expert. That may take some time."

"If you can give me their name," said Clockwork, "I will take care of it." He gingerly took the stack of slightly-decayed paper. Had it really been so long since a partly-human child had been adopted? Probably.

"Oh, you're such a dear," said the clerk, not noticing the sudden absence of the medallion around her neck. "But that paperwork won't do itself, and-"

"It's done," said Clockwork. Fulfilling some of the new requirements had been more challenging than others and avoiding a paradox had taken considerable self-control, but what good were his temporal abilities if he couldn't use them for personal gain now and again? None at all.

"Ah," said the clerk.

Familiar, and very loud, voices spilled from the hallway near the office. Danny, one hand on his locker, trying to remember his combination, froze like a deer in headlights. His heartbeat picked up, his core buzzed frantically. He couldn't move. Grey crept in along the edges of his vision.

"... not him. It was never him! He's dead-"

"Mrs. Fenton, Mr. Fenton, I'm not sure what you're getting at, here, but your son has been at school all day, and we-"

"A ghost killed him and took his place! It's been playing a sick game with us this whole time!"

"Danny would never have gotten grades like this. We should have noticed the lower intellect right away, if nothing else."

"That's-" spluttered Mr. Lancer. "You- Daniel's work is exemplary, what little of it he turns in. I'm going to have to ask you to go back to the office-"

"No! Not until that piece of ectoplasmic scum is wiped from the face of the Earth!"

"Danny," said Tucker, much closer. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Right. Ghostly super hearing. Tucker and Sam, staring at him with concern, couldn't know.

"They're here," he managed, the words like sandpaper in his throat.

Sam uttered a word that would have sent her mother into a screeching fit. "We need to get you out of here," she said putting a hand on his back and pushing him down the hall.

"I'll run interference," said Tucker. "Make sure they can't follow you in the GAV."

"Good thinking," said Sam.

"Call me when you're safe," said Tucker, peeling off, presumably to hack the GAV.

"Danny, breathe," ordered Sam, as she propelled him through the double doors at the back of the school. "We're going to get you through this."

Clockwork had resorted to trapping the legal complex in a massive temporal bubble. Not the neatest solution, true, and it seemed to encourage the various functionaries, regulators, and bureaucrats to take even more time to process even the simplest request, but at least it would keep Daniel's suffering in the meantime to a minimum.

However, that didn't change the fact that he had been bouncing back and forth between the various floors of the building like a ping-pong ball, never getting closer to the solitary family court judge, for well over a subjective year. He was exhausted, frustrated, and he missed Daniel.

"You will be able to provide steady, stable access to the adoptee's preferred haunt?" asked his present interviewer.

"Yes," said Clockwork, dully. The room was ringed with runes that prevented deception of any kind.

"You will be able to provide shelter adequate for both his ghostly and human form?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. He had answered these questions so many times before.

"You have taken the mandated class on liminality?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. He was beginning to understand why other ghosts just gave up and sought extralegal solutions.

"You are aware of a liminal spirit's developmental and emotional needs?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. This was just so boring.

"And are you able to satisfy those needs?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. If only it would end.

The interviewer nodded. "Then we're done here," he said.

"Ye- What? Does that mean I can see the judge?" asked Clockwork, hopefully.

"No. That means that your adoption motion can move on to the next stage," said the interviewer. "Our liminality expert will examine your arrangements and determine whether or not they are sufficient, and we will contact law enforcement to follow up on your claim that the adoptee is being abused."

Clockwork bit back a groan. At least he was making progress.

They cut through the empty field behind the school, angling back toward the surrounding neighborhood. The grass came up to their chests, except where there were holes, mounds, and gouges from ghost fights. When there was one in the school, Danny tried to bring it out here, so people wouldn't get hurt.

He wasn't often successful.

Sam led the way. Danny felt- He felt ashamed. If his powers were working, he would be able to fly them away, or at least turn them invisible. This would all be so much easier. He could have taken care of himself, and Sam and Tucker wouldn't get in trouble, because they would definitely get in trouble for this. But he couldn't.

He couldn't even convince his parents that he was himself. He had to screw that up, too.

Before, he had thought, worse case scenario would be that they'd try to 'fix' him, to remove his ghost half, or maybe they'd think he was overshadowed. At least, he'd convinced himself of that, convinced himself that dissection would be off the table if he ever told them, that they would still love him. Maybe they might still want to do tests, but they'd love him. They wouldn't want to hurt him.

But he had been so, so wrong. They didn't believe him. They thought he had killed himself, replaced himself.

They had tried to cut him open.

(They succeeded.)

His core shuddered at the memory.

At least, though, there hadn't been any ghost attacks today. He wouldn't have been able to fight anything stronger than the Box Ghost. Heck, he might have lost to the Box Ghost. Like this, he would have to leave the ghosts to his parents, Valerie, or the GIW, none of which were particularly good options for the hunters, the ghosts, or the innocent bystanders of Amity Park.

His core pulsed uncomfortably at the thought of any of them getting hurt, including his parents.

He flinched. His core had been very jumpy, very active ever since... it... happened. Usually it only did this while he was in ghost form, and was otherwise almost dormant.

"Are you okay?" asked Sam. "Is it hurting?" She was the one who had bandaged him up last night.

"We can't stop now," said Danny.

Sam flattened her lips. "That isn't an answer. As soon as we get somewhere quiet, I'm checking you out, okay?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

When they reached the short fence, Sam gave him a boost to get over and they made their way into the suburb. There was a small library branch down the road a ways. It had a small family bathroom that Sam and Tucker had patched Danny up in before. It would be a good place to regroup before trying to put as much distance between them and Danny's parents as possible.

"We could take the city bus, I think," said Sam. "There's a stop outside the library. Maybe we could go to Elmerton?"

"Maybe," said Danny.

"Any ETA on Jazz since last night?"

Danny shook his head. "She couldn't get a flight. She's taking a Greyhound. Won't be here 'til-"

There was a beep. Danny stopped breathing. That could have been anything, a phone, a watch, a car, something from a building, but something about it tickled at Danny's brain as wrong.

"There is a ghost twenty feet in front of you."

The whine of a charging ectogun-

Sam slammed into his side, and they both fell. Danny felt the cut on his chest begin to bleed again, and he curled around it protectively. It hurt so much more than it should, and Danny wondered if that was because ghosts were ultimately shaped by their minds and his was in so much pain right now.

His parents had just shot at him. From behind. Not ghost him, Phantom him, either. Human him.

They hated him. All of him. Not just half of him.

His ghost sense went off. Because things could always get worse for Danny and the universe apparently hated him.

He struggled into a sitting position and blinked, confused. There were people surrounding him, protecting him, standing between him and his parents. Sam was shouting. Danny couldn't make out what she was saying, what anyone was saying, not with his heart pounding in his ears.

"Kid," said one man, shaking his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Danny considered that. "No," he said, finally.

The man pulled a phone from his pocket and began saying something about calling the hospital. Normally, Danny would be worried about that, but he was looking for the ghosts. It was possible one of the more benevolent spirits that haunted Amity Park had happened across the scene, but, somehow, Danny doubted it.

His ghost sense went off again. He whimpered.

His people were in danger.

Ghosts usually came for him (he was leading them here, an evil ghost, causing all this trouble, murderer), or at least attacked him first, to get rid of him as a threat. He staggered to his feet. He had to get away. Still clutching his chest, he turned and bolted.

Almost at once, he was surrounded by ghosts in police gear. Walker's goons. Definitely stronger than the Box Ghost. Still, he was going to at least try to fight. He put his fists up. Maybe some of them would be dumb enough not to phase out of the way of his stupid human punches.

Then Walker himself descended from the sky.

"Daniel," he said, stiffly.

"Walker," returned Danny. A small part of him was grateful that Walker hadn't called him Phantom and spilled his secret. It was strange, but no ghost had ever seemed particularly inclined to do that, despite how easy it would have been.

"We have a court order to take you into custody," said Walker. "Someone wants to ask you a few questions."

Danny decided today's mood was 'pointless bravado and defiance.' "And why would I want to come with- whoa."

As Danny talked, Walker had taken a piece of paper with strange symbols written on it in green ink out from the inside pocket of his jacket. The symbols made his head spin... Or maybe that was just his injuries catching up with him. His left leg was trembling, and he wasn't sure how much longer it would hold out.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and focused on Walker. "I have no idea what that says."

Walker sighed. "Just come quietly, son. Make it easier on yourself."

Danny swallowed his discomfort at being called 'son.' "You won't hurt anyone else?" he asked.

"I'm just here for you."

There really wasn't much of a choice. Whether he went quietly or got himself beaten up even more, Walker would win and carry him off. Anyone could see that. Besides, ghost prison might be a better alternative than getting dissected by his parents.

He raised his hands in front of him, wrists together. "Go ahead, then," said Danny, flatly.

Walker nodded, and the goons converged on him. The cuffs they put around his wrists glowed green, but they had weight in a way most purely ghostly things didn't. Danny doubted that he'd be able to phase his way out of them, human or ghost. Then they picked him up and the whole swarm started to fly away.

"Yes, this is my lair," said Clockwork. "I can, however, duplicate and be both here and at the secondary residence I acquired expressly for the purpose of ensuring continuity of Daniel's human life."

The 'liminality expert' grunted. "He's still been here, though, hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. "He has."

"And he might be here again in the future."

"Yes. I do plan to have him here, for short periods of time."

"And later, when he sheds his human life?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I need to know, are these up to OSHA standards? Your entire lair needs to be up to OSHA standards."

"They're time viewers and tools for unraveling paradoxes. OSHA, even the OSHA of the far future, does not regulate these items," said Clockwork. "Why, in the name of time, do you even need to know? Surely, OSHA didn't even exist the last time a liminal child was adopted."

"Well," said the expert, slightly sheepish. "No. But regulations state that all residences must be safe for children by both human and ghost standards."

"Then OSHA is not what you should be using," said Clockwork. "OSHA is the set of rules for occupational health and safety."

"Ah," said the expert. "Then we can move right along to the next check mark, shall we?"

"Hi," said a cheerful voice.

Danny looked up from his contemplation of the examination room table and glared balefully at the ghost who had just entered the door. They didn't seem to be affected. But then, why would they be? Danny was handcuffed to the table and clearly not a threat.

"I'm the interviewer," said the featureless ghost. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No," said Danny.

"Well," said the interviewer, "I work for the eighth authorized family court of the Infinite Realms, we're actually the only one right now, but there used to be more, and a little while ago, an adoption request was filed on your behalf."

Danny blinked and made a face. "You mean, someone stole my identity in ghost court?"

"No, no," said the interviewer, waving one amorphous hand. "Not at all. I mean to say, I ghost filed a request to legally adopt you."

"Who?" asked Danny. "Not Vlad?" Vlad was the only ghost he could think of who had demonstrated any interest in adopting him.

"No, that's not the name listed here."

"Plasmius?" asked Danny, still cringing internally.

"No."

"Then who?"

"Clockwork."

"What, seriously?" Danny liked Clockwork, and he liked to think that Clockwork liked him back, that they were friends, but the older ghost always seemed somewhat aloof.

"Yes, he was very serious. Now. I have a number of questions I need to ask you." They took out a small, glowing crystal, and set it on the table. "Do you know what this is?"

"No?" said Danny.

"It's a record crystal," said the ghost. "But one of its other functions is that it can sense deception, and record when in an interview it is being used. Go ahead, say something you know is false."

"I... like toast?"

The crystal's glow dimmed slightly before returning to its previous level.

"There, see? Very useful, don't you think?"

"I guess," said Danny. He didn't know how to feel about this. Any of this. What would ghost adoption even mean? He trusted Clockwork, but this felt like too much, too fast. He hadn't even properly processed what had happened with his parents a few hours ago.

"Right. So. We'll start with an easy one, then. Is your name Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom, also known as Danny Phantom, or simply Danny or Phantom?"

"Yes," said Danny, eyeing the crystal warily.

"And what would you prefer to go by, for the purposes of this interview?"

"Phantom," said Danny.

"Alright then, Phantom," said the interviewer, "could you please tell me where you primarily reside?"

"Fentonworks," said Danny, "in Amity Park." So far, he hadn't really had a reason to lie. All of this was common knowledge for both his human and ghostly acquaintances.

"And what would you consider to be your haunt?"

"My what?"

"Your haunt. The territory that you have metaphysically claimed."

"I- I don't really understand."

"Is there an area that you feel compelled to defend against hostile persons? An area in which non-hostile ghosts defer to you?"

"I- Yeah. I guess. Amity Park. And some of the bits around it, too."

"The entire city?"

"I guess? I don't know," said Danny. "Is that weird?"

"It would be unusual," said the interviewer.

Danny really wished the interviewer had an expression he could read. Or even just something approximating a face.

"Now, do you feel safe in your home? In 'Fentonworks?'"

The correct answer to that question would be no, but he wasn't sure he should answer. What if this was some kind of elaborate trick?

"We can come back to that," said the interviewer. "Are there any other places where you do feel safe?"

"I mean, sure?" said Danny. He fidgeted.

"Would you please share some of those places?"

"School, I guess?" Except that he got beaten up there all the time and his parents had hunted him down there and he had to escape and... Yeah.

The crystal dimmed. Danny grimaced.

"Ah," said the interviewer. "Anywhere else?"

"My friends houses," said Danny. "And the Far Frozen." To his relief, this time, the crystal stayed bright.

"Have you ever been to Clockwork's lair?"

"Yeah," said Danny. He slouched in the chair as much as possible. He wasn't sure he should be answering these questions, but he was. Maybe he should stop.

"Do you feel safe there?"

"Not at first, but now I do."

"I see. Why not at first?"

"Clockwork and I didn't meet on great terms and we sort of got into a fight." Maybe that would get the interviewer to stop. They'd decide Clockwork couldn't adopt him and leave. Did Danny want that? He wasn't sure.

"That's more common than one might expect. But you feel safe with him now?"

"Yes."

"Alright, moving on. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

There was a long, drawn out silence that managed to be skeptical despite the interviewer's lack of a face.

"I know I'm small," said Danny, insulted, "but I am sixteen."

"Excuse my indelicacy, but... how old were you when you died?"

Danny flushed. "Fourteen," he bit out.

"Then you're fourteen."

"It was two years ago. I'm sixteen."

"Fourteen is your natural age," said the ghost. "A ghost's natural age is the age they died at."

"Yeah, but I'm still half human. I'm still aging. So I'm sixteen."

The interviewer shook their head. "As a liminal spirit, your apparant age range is likely larger than a normal child's would be, but your natural age, your true age, is still fourteen. Based on records of liminals, the highest extent of your age range is most likely to be either twenty-one or twenty-eight. That's part of the reason we investigate official adoption request so thoroughly. The relationship may very well last for thousands of years, if not forever."

"Wait, are you saying I could live forever?" asked Danny, incredulous. This was not how he wanted to find out he was immortal. Heck, he didn't want to be immortal.

"I'll admit, my understanding of liminality isn't perfect, but I believe that is the case. Why? Is that problematic?"

"The results of the law enforcement investigation have come back," said the bureaucrat to whom Clockwork was currently assigned. "As well as an inquiry as to the opinion of the mortal law enforcement arm."

"And?" asked Clockwork. "Their findings?"

The bureaucrat, who had up until that point not displayed evidence that xe possessed any emotions whatsoever, made a face of extreme disgust. "When the officers found the child, the human parents were openly shooting at him. Other humans intervened for long enough for law enforcement to pick him up. Of course, they then felt the need to arrest him and carry him away in handcuffs... I have no idea why I keep at this job, really I don't."

Clockwork's core shifted in worry. His first impulse was to leap up and go comfort Daniel, but he suppressed it. If he left now, he would lose his place in line and have to start over.

"The public nature of the event means that the human police are now investigating the child's circumstances and may recommend that the child be removed from his human parents' custody. If you have a human identity and you are able to gain custody of him there, it will aid your case here."

"I am aware," said Clockwork.

"Well, then," xe said. "I believe this is all in order. Here is your ticket to see the judge. Just show it to the door. You know where it is?"

"I do," said Clockwork, rising.

He had walked by the door several times in his dealings with the various clerks and notaries. The room behind it lay directly in the heart of the family court building, all the other rooms and residents armor for this one.

The door itself was made of dark wood full of eye-shaped knots. As Clockwork approached the door, the eyes opened, watching him. He held up the ticket and the doors swung inward.

Inside was a courtroom, complete with benches, tables, a witness stand, a courtroom recorder, a judge's box, and a judge.

The judge was a one-eyed ghost in pale purple robes. She examined Clockwork.

"We had not foreseen this," she said. "Not until you filed the first motion."

"You were never able to see me clearly," said Clockwork, hoping this would not turn into a power play between himself and the Observants. "Did you receive the relevant paper work, your honor?"

"Yes," she said. "Take a seat, Lord Clockwork."

Clockwork flew to the front of the courtroom and settled himself in the applicant's chair.

The judge leaned forward. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because I love Daniel, and I believe he deserves more care and protection than he is currently receiving from his biological parents."

The judge waved a clawed hand. "Yes, yes. But you didn't have to go through all of this and get to me in order to do that. You could have just taken him. That's what most people do, nowadays. Ever since the King was sealed and our systems of governance began to decay."

"I believe it is the only way Daniel will truly be safe," said Clockwork, meeting her one eye calmly.

"You want to prevent us from 'interfering.'"

"That would be nice, yes," agreed Clockwork.

"You want this to be binding," accused the judge.

"You say that like it is a bad thing," said Clockwork. "But what else could induce him to fully remove himself from that situation? You see how they treat him. Have you looked at the medical report, yet?"

"I have," said the judge, looking at her desk. "Very well. All the paperwork is in order. I am approving you for a one-month trial period. At the end of the trial period, the status of the child will be assessed. If his state is found to be acceptable, the adoption will be approved and bound. If it is not, this court will take custody of him until such a time as an appropriate guardian can be found." She scribbled something on a piece of paper and then hit it with a stamp. "The probationary bond should be active. You may go."

"Thank you, your honor."

After the end of the interview, which had become much more distressing than Danny wanted to admit, one of Walker's goons showed up and took him away, to another room.

This room was different than any of the other rooms he had seen in Walker's prison. For one, the walls were a soft, pastel green with purple accents, not the harsh, neon pink of elsewhere in the facility. The chairs looked soft, and were arranged almost randomly, clustered in little groups, or around tables. There were colored pencils and crayons on and occasionally floating over the tables. A large basket sat in one corner, overflowing with toys of various sizes.

Alright. Danny was confused.

He let the goon- the... officer?- guide him into one of the chairs and put a stuffed rabbit on his lap.

"I- I don't understand," said Danny. "What's going on?"

"Didn't that interviewer guy tell you?"

"He said I was being adopted," said Danny, who still hadn't wrapped his head around that particular tidbit of information. "But I thought- I was under arrest?" He raised his cuffed hands. "You arrested me?"

"Those're just so you don't run away," said the ghost. He ruffled Danny's hair. "You're not under arrest. We're just waiting for the court to decide what to do with you."

"And what if they don't do anything with me?"

"Then it's up to the boss."

"Oh," said Danny, not liking the sound of that at all.

"But, if it helps, I think that the court probably will decide to do something with you."

It didn't really help, no.

"Do you want a lollipop?"

"Sure," said Danny. It wasn't like this day could get much weirder.

The ghost handed him a lime dumdum. Yeah. That was about what he expected there, honestly.

The sensation of a thick, weighted blanket being draped over his mind hit him with such intensity that he looked around, trying to see if someone had just wrapped him up in a blanket without him noticing. Tension bled out of his muscles, and his core finally stopped the angry/depressed/frightened/pained dance it was doing in his chest.

He felt... protected. Which was wrong, because he was in Walker's prison, and Walker would use any excuse he had to keep Danny imprisoned for a thousand years. Danny was not safe here. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

And yet, that feeling remained.

He brushed his fingers over the bandages over his chest. What was wrong with him? His parents hadn't even cut all the way through, but he was so messed up. He didn't understand.

This feeling... This 'safety'... It felt like a cruel joke more than anything else, only it was one he couldn't escape from because it was coming from inside him and he was calm but he was also crying.

"Oh, heck, do you not like lime? I think I have some green apples-?"

The door to the room opened, and Danny looked up. Before he could register who had come in, he was swept up into a hug.

He blinked into silky purple cloth. "Clockwork?" he croaked.

"I'm here," said Clockwork. "It's fine. You're safe now, Daniel."

Danny pushed away. Clockwork let him. "You're adopting me?" asked Danny.

"Yes," said Clockwork. "Unless you don't want me to."

"Why?" asked Danny. "I don't understand. I didn't think you liked me that much."

"I like you very much," reassured Clockwork. "I want you to be my family."

Danny sniffed. "Okay," he said. It wasn't as if he really had anywhere else to go. "Okay. But what about," he made an awkward gesture with his cuffed hands, "Amity Park?" The idea of leaving hurt, even worse than the cut on his chest.

"You won't have to leave," said Clockwork, soothingly. "You can still have your life there."

"I'll have to go back?" asked Danny, in alarm. Back to Fentonworks, where even the walls had it out for him with how much anti-ghost weaponry they had packed into them? He couldn't. Not after what his parents had done.

(A small part of him knew that wasn't what Clockwork had said, and that he was being irrational. That part of him was ignored.)

"No, no," said Clockwork. "I have a new place, just for you. If you'll let me show you?"

Very hesitantly, Danny nodded.

"Alright, good," said Clockwork. He turned to the police ghost. "Do you have the key for these? We really must be going."

"Yeah," said the ghost, producing the item. "The boss says that he expects you to teach the kid how to respect the law."

"Appropriately," said Clockwork, neutrally, unlocking the cuffs.

Danny felt an urge to hug Clockwork. So he did. Clockwork hugged him back, and rocked him back and forth, gently.

"Are you ready to go?" asked Clockwork.

"Yeah," said Danny.

With a gesture of his staff, Clockwork opened a portal.

Clockwork wanted custody of Danny. He wanted full custody of Danny. Legally. In both worlds.

This posed a bit of a challenge, as he did not legally exist on one of those two worlds. Thus, Clockwork had to establish a legal presence in the human world.

On the surface of it, this did not seem too difficult. Between his temporal powers, his minor shapeshifting abilities, and overshadowing, simply creating an identity was easy. The hard part was creating an identity that Daniel would not have encountered before, in order to avoid a paradox, while making it plausible that Daniel had encountered the identity before, for the purposes of dealing with mortal law.

In one timeline, the hill to the west of town stood empty of habitation, owned by the county but rendered unusable due to a dangerous failed mine on the site. In this timeline, however, the mine had never been built, and the property was instead owned by a reclusive hermit who went by the name of Charles Worth. The property had passed through many hands in the years before Mr. Worth had purchased it in his youth, and a stately, if somewhat faded, mansion sat at the hill's crest, overlooking Amity Park.

Charles Worth went to Amity Park only rarely, and for good reason. He was an albino, with red eyes, white hair, and even whiter skin, and superstitious people often thought the worst of him. In recent days, he had even been mistaken for a ghost.

'Mistaken.'

He rubbed Daniel's shoulders, and the child startled, pulling away from him again. Daniel had missed Clockwork's, admittedly minor, transformation, and now blinked up at his newly pale face, confused.

"Do you like my disguise?" asked Clockwork.

Daniel's eyes flicked up and down Clockwork, assessing, processing. He gave a tiny nod, and reattached himself. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Hickory Hill," said Clockwork.

Danny frowned, mouthing the words. "Isn't that owned by... Charles Worth. Charles- Oh. I get it."

Clockwork gave Danny a little squeeze. "Would you like to see inside?"

"Okay," said Danny.

The house, Danny had to acknowledge, as they approached the front door, looked haunted. As if some pale, frail, spirit might look out one of the lace-draped windows on the upper floor at any moment. As if there was a Gothic mystery just waiting to unfold. A murder mystery, maybe, full of forbid love and jealous lovers. Or the tale of a sickly heir to a great fortune.

Or that of an ancient ghost and his adopted half-living son.

Even before they stepped inside, Danny's ghost half had decided it loved the building.

The door, as Clockwork opened it, creaked in a loving sort of way, the tone low enough to be comforting instead of annoying. The entrance hall's floorboards did not creak under the weight of the ghosts, but Danny could tell that if a human tried to cross them, they would. He hoped the rest of the floors were like that.

He padded forward, daringly leaving the protection of Clockwork's cloak, examining all the dark nooks and crannies, the odd architectural choices arising from generations of additions, smiling at cold spots. Clockwork shut the door. Even then, there was a draft, curling around his ankles, cool and refreshing.

Danny smiled. It was small and strained, but it was a smile. "It's perfect," he said.

"Don't you want to see your room before you say that?" teased Clockwork.

"Yes," said Danny.

Clockwork led Danny to a staircase with an elaborately carved banister and began to climb. Danny followed eagerly. He had never thought his core would be so happy simply to have somewhere safe to exist.

It almost was enough to let him forget what his parents had done to him. He stopped, hand on his chest.

"Daniel?" said Clockwork. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Danny, automatically.

Clockwork frowned, the expression both familiar and foreign on Clockwork's falsely-human face. "Why don't we take a look at that, once we get to your room, alright?"

Danny nodded, swallowing back his irrational fear.

They went up, and Clockwork opened the door to a large room, much larger than the one he had back at Fentonworks. The bed was similarly large and equipped with curtains and enough blankets and pillows to turn it into a nest at a moment's notice. The walls and ceiling were painted a deep blue, with tiny green-white dots picking out a star map. The room also contained a number of carefully curated hiding places, areas where the dressers wardrobe or desk created blind spots and deep shadows. The floor was carpeted, but still icy.

It was an excellent room for a ghost (or half-ghost) like Danny.

He was too nervous to enjoy it.

Clockwork pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. It was a little strange to see Clockwork actually sitting and not floating or coiling. Actually-

"Can you have legs in ghost form?" asked Danny.

"I can," said Clockwork. "But typically I don't bother." He patted the bed. "Let's take a look at you."

Danny hesitated, holding his hands clasped in front of his chest. Clockwork's face went soft.

"I just want to make sure you are healing. I know this is difficult, but neither you nor I want things to get worse."

"I'm fine," said Danny. "I heal fast. It was just- It should be gone now. I've gotten worse."

"Is it?" asked Clockwork.

Danny could still feel it. "I don't know," said Danny.

Clockwork patted the bed again. Danny sat down and started fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

"Would you like help?" asked Clockwork.

"No," said Danny. He pulled his sweater off. Taking off his t-shirt was harder. Then there were just Sam's bandages. He bit his lip a the red and brown blotches staining them.

"Would you like to talk about it?" asked Clockwork, taking one end of the bandage and starting to unwind it.

"I don't know," said Danny. "I just- It's so stupid. I shouldn't have- They saw me walk through a door and- They don't even know I'm Phantom. They just-" Danny hiccuped. "They tried to cut me open. They pretended."

Clockwork pulled free the last layer of bandages. The long, shallow cut was still there, straight along his breast bone until the end, where it curved sharply right and tapered off. That was when Danny had jerked free of the restraints and ran.

"Why isn't it healing?" asked Danny.

"It isn't just a physical wound, Daniel. Ghosts are spiritual creatures."

"Oh," said Danny. It made a sick kind of sense. "So my core is really hurt? I thought I was just... That it was in my head."

Clockwork raised a hand to touch the bottom of the cut. "Your parents are important to you, and to your Obsession, your existence as a ghost. Of course their rejection would affect you." The cut began to knit itself together underneath Clockwork's fingers. Danny's core thrummed strangely at the touch. "I can heal your physical injuries."

"But not the mental ones, huh?" said Danny.

"You need time for that," said Clockwork, reaching the top of the cut.

"Good thing I have you, then."

"It is," said Clockwork. He leaned forward and kissed Danny on top of his head.

Danny ran his fingers up and down the newly healed cut. "So my powers aren't going to work until, what, I get over this?"

"That is one possibility," said Clockwork. "But everyone heals differently."

"Can't you tell?" asked Danny, reaching for his shirt.

"The more involved I am in an event, the more difficult it becomes for me to see its future," said Clockwork. "The timeline branches and splinters as I look at it. Also, it may surprise you, but you are fairly difficult to predict on your own."

"Oh," said Danny. He pulled his shirt on, ignoring how it caught on the dried blood on his skin. "So, what now? Should I just, I don't know, hide out here? I mean," he shifted, uncomfortably, "It's fine if I can't let anyone know I'm here, I get that, but I'd like to, um..."

"Live your life?"

Danny flinched. "As much as I can, yeah." He licked his lips. "Sam and Tucker didn't get in trouble, did they? They're fine?" He'd been so wrapped up in how miserable he was, he'd barely spared his friends a second thought, and now that guilt from that rained down on his head.

"They're fine. Due to the circumstances, they haven't gotten in any trouble at all, so stop that."

"What?"

"Feeling guilty. I know for a fact that the safety of others was your first consideration." Clockwork patted his shoulder. "As for your continued presence here on the mortal plane," Clockwork smiled, "would it surprise you to learn that I am in fact registered as a foster parent? I have even had a few children here, although not many stay for long."

"Really?" said Danny. "But... Wait, um. What about- What about Mom and Dad?"

"They were seen shooting at you in public after insisting that you were a ghost. They've been arrested."

Danny swallowed. "Are they going to be alright?"

Clockwork sighed and shifted so that he was sitting on the bed next to Danny. He put an arm around Danny's shoulders. "They'll be fine," he said. "But we should come up with a story about how you wound up here, hm? For the social workers."

During Daniel's periodic visits to Clockwork's lair, Clockwork had noted how tactile he was, how much he enjoyed hugs and other physical expressions of affection. After Daniel got past his initial hesitation concerning his new situation, that particular personality trait multiplied.

Clockwork suspected the Fentons were ultimately to blame. Their hostility towards Daniel's ghostly identity and their tendency to carry objects that could hurt Daniel precluded him from seeking comfort from them, and his friends and sister, while very remarkable, were children themselves. Their relationship with Daniel was different.

This meant that Daniel could and would spend long periods of time laying against Clockwork. Usually, he would be doing homework during those moments or talking to Clockwork about various ghostly things that he had never had a chance to learn about before.

Today, however, he was just sitting there, quietly, almost dozing.

"I'm not keeping you from doing things?" asked Daniel, abruptly. "Am I?"

"No," said Clockwork.

"You don't have to do time stuff?"

"I can make duplicates and also time travel. I can be wherever I need to be. But if you want space-"

"No," said Daniel. "This is good." He snuggled closer and startled as a ring of light flashed around his waist. He was, for the first time since before his parents had attacked him, a ghost. Clockwork, in turn, shed his human guise.

Daniel was blinking down at his gloved hands.

"What?" he asked.

"I think you finally relaxed," said Clockwork, ruffling Daniel's hair. The smaller ghost leaned into the touch, purring. "Your transformations might be a bit unpredictable for the next few days."

"Good thing it's a weekend, then, huh?"

Danny jittered nervously as he and Clockwork passed through the large, eye-covered doors. This time last week, strange ghosts had been in and out of Clockwork's house, asking questions, poking things, and staring. Clockwork said they were checking to see if everything was in order, if the adoption could become official.

Danny didn't really see why it being official mattered. The Ghost Zone didn't really have a government to speak of. Families that Danny had seen just sort of decided that they were families, and that was that. It seemed important to Clockwork, though, and Clockwork claimed that there were certain benefits, like strengthening connections... Danny didn't get it. Wouldn't their connections be strengthened anyway?

Clockwork guided Danny with small nudges, directing him to a seat in front of the judge, who stared down at them with her one enormous eye.

"I have decided to approve the adoption request regarding Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom," she said.

Danny felt Clockwork relax incrementally beside him. He smiled. The judge's pronouncement felt a little anticlimactic to him, but, well, whatever.

But the judge wasn't done speaking. "The child's familial bond with his biological parents will be severed. The familial bond will be established with his current guardian, known as Clockwork. On all levels legal, physical, metaphysical, metaphorical, emotional, mental, and spiritual, Clockwork will be the sole parent of Daniel Janus James Fenton-Phantom. Due to the child's status as a liminal spirit, the memories and associations stored in his human brain will not be altered, and he may still experience feelings, especially those of nostalgia, towards his former parents, however, this is expected to fade with time. Questions?"

Danny had rather a lot, actually. Clockwork hadn't quite explained it like this. "Wait, are you saying I'll forget my parents?"

"No," said the judge, in a rather condescending tone.

"You won't forget them," said Clockwork. "But your core won't recognize them as your parents anymore. It's so you'll be able to defend yourself." His tone was almost pleading. "Your relationship with your sister will, of course, be unaffected."

"Okay," said Danny. They clearly didn't see him as their son anymore, so... It wouldn't really change anything. He didn't like the idea of ghosts he didn't know messing around with his core, but he trusted Clockwork. Even if he was apparently really bad at explaining ghost adoption. "What about the other stuff? The physical, metaphysical part?"

"The severed bonds in your core are replaced with ones to your new parent. Similarly, new bonds will be established in your parent's core," explained the judge. "Are you satisfied?"

Clockwork gave Danny an encouraging smile.

"I- Yes. I'm satisfied," said Danny.

"Very well." The judge waved forward a seven armed bailiff who had been waiting in the corner of the room.

The bailiff carried two tall glasses and a large, covered pitcher. He set one glass each in front of Clockwork and Danny and poured a thick, white, faintly glowing liquid into each of them.

"What is it?" asked Danny.

"It is a potion designed to stop our cores from fighting the changes that are about to happen," said Clockwork.

Danny looked at the potion dubiously. "Like an anesthetic?"

"Like an anesthetic," agreed Clockwork. He had already picked up his cup. "Together?"

"Okay," said Danny, still doubtful.

He picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, watching Clockwork carefully over the rim. Clockwork tipped his cup back, and so did Danny.

The potion reminded him a lot of eggnog, except that it was thicker, heavier, sweeter, like it had been mixed with honey. Almost at once, that heaviness settled into Danny's bones, weighing him down, a sensation just to the left of sleep settled over him. He lowered the cup from his face, his grip on it going gentle. The bailiff caught it as it tipped over.

Clockwork reached over and gently, slowly, pulled him close. Then he went as limp as Danny.

Inside, Danny's core became open. Not open, as in vulnerable, but as in receptive. Listening. He felt soft. Malleable. Like someone could press their thumb into him, and it would leave an impression when he hardened again. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

The judge sighed with something like disapproval. "So mote it be." She raised a stamp up off her desk, brought it down, and things changed.

Or, at least, Danny did.

Clockwork, being the elder ghost, recovered faster from the potion than Daniel. There was no reason to stay at the court, so, after bidding a goodbye to the judge, he picked Daniel up and left, flying a polite distance before opening a portal back to their home outside Amity Park.

He settled Daniel down in his bed, phasing him beneath his covers and tucking him in. Daniel would need to sleep off the potion, as well as take time to adjust to the changes to his psyche, however minor they might be.

"I love you so much," said Clockwork, brushing Daniel's hair out of his face. Getting here had taken subjective years of work and planning but it was worth it, because now Daniel was his child, in every way that mattered.

Forever.

Yes, that ending line was a little bit ominous, but they're ghosts. They wouldn't be happy if it wasn't ominous!

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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dgcatanisiri · 4 years

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I have historically shied away from using the word, because it always feels like an overreaction, because, hey, I can power through, and it’s not a big deal, it’s not like we’re talking about something that genuinely makes me relive any actual trauma, right?

But... I think about the physical response I have, the depths that my anger and frustration go to, which I can often admit can hit excessive at times... I start thinking that it’s accurate to say that Liara is a trigger for bodily autonomy for me.

Like... Peebee and Cora both suffer from a lot of the same issues that Liara does in terms of focus, but neither of them draw the same sense of ire from me. They both have attention in the narrative that reaches excessive (particularly at the expense of other characters) - someone timed their character/romance content, and the two of them had the most in the game, while Gil (my preferred romance of my options) had the least. Peebee’s introduction is sitting on Ryder, while there’s the come on with her in the escape pod that I would legitimately refuse to even get in before it happens. Cora is... Well, I’ve been over how I don’t think she should have been a romance option at all because it just muddies her character arc.

And yet neither of them elicit the same kind of frustration I get with Liara.

Because with Liara... It is mandatory that we meld with her in ME1, multiple times. And if you even try to duck out of it, she badgers Shepard into it. The meld is explicitly said to be a part of the asari reproductive process, so we have Liara effectively coercing Shepard into having sex with her, and in front of others. Potentially multiple times.

Like... I’ve been public about how the big reason I don’t care for Bull’s romance is the fact that, being asexual, being specifically a sex-averse asexual, bondage is catapulting over my line at mach three. So what is effectively what amounts to public sex that has been coerced? Same damn thing.

Except the narrative thinks it’s fine. Hell, going off the damn Genesis comics, Shepard is supposed to LIKE it (which... NO, and fuck you BioWare).

The meld in general is deeply uncomfortable for me, considering that I honestly wouldn’t mind meld with people I consider close enough to be family, blood or not. And yet it’s mandated that Shepard do this with someone who is, in essence, a total stranger. Multiple times. In front of several people.

And then there’s the recovery of Shepard’s body. Which she sets off to do, wholly on her own, without even telling any of Shepard’s other friends. And proceeds to do so, only to hand it off to Cerberus, so they can perform their Frankensteinian mad science to bring Shepard back.

All because, and I’m using her words here, she “couldn’t let [Shepard] go.”

SHE decides what is to be done with Shepard. For HER. No care or consideration of what their wishes would be, she does it because she doesn’t want Shepard to be gone. Not even that she believes Shepard is the best chance for the galaxy, but because SHE wants Shepard alive. Uncharitably, but it comes across like saving Shepard is a choice she makes in the hopes that they will proceed to hold her close, declare their undying love for her, and they can run off into the sunset with a horde of blue babies at their side.

And the narrative again sees nothing wrong with it. In fact, it rewards her for it - she’s the only reunion in ME2 that results in a hug, no matter relationship status. She’s a stationary reunion we can have at any time, unlike Ashley/Kaidan, who get just a brief cameo. The one response that even approaches being upset about this act focuses only on the fact that she kept her involvement from Shepard, not what she had done specifically, and not just loops back around to the friendly “let me know if I can help” exit line, but also is “bugged” to not be accessible unless you take it the first time it appears. She gets a DLC that features her and Shepard running around and bickering like an old married couple. She joins back up with the Normandy and is immediately treated as Shepard’s XO. Multiple points in ME3 feature her as the person who Shepard can unburden themselves to - the ONLY person they can unburden themselves to. If you don’t take the opportunities to do so with her, there is no answer or equivalent with any other character.

Yes, obviously, we’re talking game mechanics and production costs with creating multiple branching conversations. I understand the real world rationale for these decisions. It does not change the fact that it still pushes this character who crosses my boundary lines into the spotlight.

Like... I have seen the negative consequences of someone making a choice for themselves because they couldn’t let someone they loved go. And while it obviously worked out fine in the games, worked out for the best in the case of Shepard, I saw the negative side effects of the idea of keeping someone alive for the sake of that .0001% that they’ll recover. The reality of the 99.9999% chance that they don’t recover and spend the rest of their lives in a situation that I classify as more a living death than anything else.

And yet the narrative only rewards Liara for her selfishness. Not once does anything in the writing stop to consider that anyone could view her actions as having been done for selfish reasons that came at Shepard’s expense, at the expense of whatever Shepard may have wanted - again, yeah, maybe it turned out for the best in terms of the galactic situation, but that doesn’t mean that it was RIGHT for her to do this. A positive result does not change the selfish motivations that led to the act being done.

Miranda, at least, calls out her hypocrisy of wanting to put a control chip in Shepard’s head after her father spent his life trying to control her. It’s part of Miranda’s character arc that she viewed rebuilding Shepard as a project, more her molding a work of art rather than a medical procedure on another person. But Liara... She just takes responsibility for consenting to this and no one ever asks “hey, Shepard, how do YOU feel about this friend of yours giving the go ahead on resurrecting you in defiance of all known science and nature?”

And all this... I wouldn’t mind it so much if we could just CALL OUT Liara’s actions. If the narrative would properly acknowledge “hey... this was kinda fucked up that she went after Shepard’s body like this wholly on her own, and then gave the go ahead to resurrect them for the chance to get them back,” I’d be a lot more okay with Liara. I still would keep her at arm’s length, but I’d feel like the game wasn’t gaslighting me, telling me that her actions are only to be rewarded, what’s your problem with her, here, we’re gonna immerse you in Liara content and help you get past these silly “issues” you have.

So, yeah. I have spent years trying to avoid using the word, given how loaded a term it’s become with how dismissive people have approached it, but... It is a trigger for me. Liara, as a character, triggers issues of bodily autonomy for me. She makes a choice for Shepard that is based on what SHE wants, not Shepard, and the narrative proceeds to reward her and frame her decisions and her actions as right and proper.

So for her to be the big reveal of the first trailer for the next Mass Effect is... NOT something I celebrate.

#dg rants #dg's problem with the liaramance #liara critical #dg plays mass effect

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 45: Martin Prime

“I Spy, with my mental eye, something that begins with…C.”

“Croft?”

“N—yes. Wait, how did you know that?” Jon sounded slightly indignant. “I didn’t even know you knew that word.”

Martin snorted. “Then you’re cheating.”

Jon sighed theatrically. “All right, fine, but which croft?”

“Hmm.” Martin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The one two hills over, with the stone fence that was falling down in places. The one you had a hard time not seeing as sinister.”

“Well done.” Jon cupped Martin’s cheek in his hand and gave him a gentle kiss. “Right, your turn. Let’s go with…hmm. Let’s say Gertrude’s storage unit.”

It was a silly and relatively pointless game, but Martin loved Jon so much for coming up with it. They’d played I Spy several times when they were in Scotland because Jon had misunderstood Martin’s attempt to explain the one helpful thing he’d been given during his brief stint in therapy, but it had helped both of them, so Martin hadn’t told Jon until much, much later that it wasn’t what he’d meant. Still, it had been fun to play, and it had given them a brief moment of levity during their trek through the fearscapes between their tiny haven of sanctuary in Scotland and their ultimate destination in London. Martin had joked about playing it at Christmas, and Jon had apparently taken that to heart.

He’d come up with this variant not long after, and they’d played it a few times since. One of them would select a location they were both familiar with, and the other had to try and remember what it looked like, then pick something to “spy”. One part game, one part memory exercise, it was a continual surprise to Martin how many little details he could still picture in his head.

He sometimes suspected Jon of changing his answers solely so Martin could be “correct,” in the same way that Martin had never had a favorite color until Jon had guessed it to be green, but at least it was a fun exercise.

“Right,” he said, trying to cast his mind back over the storage unit. That one would be trickier. There’d just been so much crammed into a relatively small space, and Martin had admittedly been a little distracted by relief over having Jon back and talking to him, seeming to actually enjoy his company. It was hard to focus on details beyond the plastic explosives crammed in the hard case.

“I Spy, with my mental eye—” he began.

Jon’s fingers suddenly touched Martin’s lips as he hissed a warning to stay quiet. Martin froze and held his breath, and then he heard what Jon did—voices in the corridor. They were muffled but distinct, which did at least mean it wasn’t someone who didn’t need to be down there, but…

After a moment, though, Martin caught a laugh that sounded familiar and relaxed. “It’s them.”

“That’s…not good. It’s the middle of the day.” There was a rustle as Jon got to his feet. “God, what happened now?”

Martin bit his lip. Being blind and living essentially underground meant his internal clock was a bit off, but he trusted Jon. If it was midday, that meant it was Wednesday; Past Jon had been gone less than two days. He was probably still in Beijing. Nothing bad had happened to Jon while he was in China, unless there was something he hadn’t told Martin, and he probably hadn’t even had time to get into Pu Songling yet. Which meant something had happened to one of the others. Best case scenario, they’d uncovered a statement that bothered them or they wanted clarification on. Worst-case…

The door opened, and Past Martin’s voice came in, obviously in the middle of a sentence. “—like I’m offering to show you a pipe of Amontillado we’re keeping down here, it’s—oh, hey, you’re up already, that’s good.”

“What’s happened? Did something go wrong?” Jon asked urgently.

“Depends on your definition of ‘wrong,’ I suppose.”

There was a slight, nearly imperceptible creak as the door opened wider, and then a short pause before a female voice that sounded rather familiar spoke. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Martin sat up a little straighter. “Melanie?”

He felt a surprising mix of delight and regret. He’d come to like the feisty firebrand in the short time they’d actually been able to get to know each other, despite the strain of the world having ended, and one thing he’d privately lamented when they’d made the decision to come back in time was that he wouldn’t get the chance to talk with her again, so having the opportunity was an unexpected pleasure. On the other hand, the fact that she was here and being brought down probably meant that she’d been trapped into working at the Institute, and that sent a stab of aching melancholy through his heart. They’d wanted so badly to keep her from turning bitter and angry…

She didn’t sound angry, though, at least not yet. Then again, their Melanie hadn’t at first either. “Are you clones or—you knew my name. What are you?”

Martin couldn’t help the grin that curled across his mouth, even as he got to his feet. “Me? Oh, I’m the Antichrist’s plus-one.”

The surprised laugh sounded like Tim’s. Melanie actually sounded delighted. “Does that mean he’s the Antichrist?”

“Assuming you’re pointing to Jon, yes.”

“Melanie.” Jon sounded like he was struggling to keep his composure. “It’s—it’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Getting initiated. Or hazed, maybe. Depends on how you want to call it.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Martin guessed Melanie had just folded her arms across her chest. “You’re looking at the newest Archival Assistant.”

“Oh, Melanie,” Jon murmured, his voice full of regret.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, evil fear things, spooky stories, you can check out any time you like but you can never leave, today we are canceling the Apocalypse, blah blah blah.”

“Any other pop culture references you want to throw out there?” Martin asked dryly.

He could imagine Melanie shrugging. “I mean, you might have to give me a minute to come up with a few. But they told me all about the crap they have to put up with. We have to put up with, I guess.” She paused. “So, neither of you really answered my question.”

“Melanie King, meet the Primes,” Tim said. “Jon and Martin, meet the crazy woman who knew what she was getting into and did it anyway. Ow!” he added, punctuated by the dull, wet smack of somebody being punched in the side. “Jeez, what were you, a boxer in another life?”

“You say that like I’m not a boxer in this one,” Melanie grumbled. “I just don’t compete is all. Prime whats?”

“So you know those pop culture references?” Past Martin said. “Here’s one more. They’re—they’re Jon and me, from the future. They’re the reason we’re trying to stop the Apocalypse. The reason we know we need to stop the Apocalypse,” he corrected himself. “Tim calls them the Primes, like—”

“Like Spock Prime. Got it. Okay.” Martin could picture Melanie’s scowl pretty clearly; it had been more or less her default expression for a while. “Well, then. Unless one of you can mind-meld, you’re going to have to prove that some other way.”

“No, fortunately, the ability to plant thoughts and memories in someone’s head is one I was spared.” Jon sighed heavily. “I—I don’t know if there’s anything I can…m-most of what I know about, about your future counterpart are things that haven’t happened yet, o-or the others could have told us.”

Martin pursed his lips as a thought occurred to him. “I can think of one thing, but you probably don’t want it bruited about.”

“I seriously doubt that there’s anything you can come up with I wouldn’t want them knowing.” There was a challenging edge to Melanie’s voice that was all too familiar.

“Melanie—” Sasha began. Great, everyone was there.

“No. You think you know some big secret about me, something I wouldn’t have told you until later? Fine. Say it. I look forward to being able to look you in the eye and tell you you’re wrong.”

Martin sighed in exasperation. “You got shot by a ghost while you were in India. In the leg. You told the doctors it was a—a mugging, right? They couldn’t find anything in the scans, but trust me when I say it’s probably still in there.”

There was another one of those long pauses. “Fuck.”

“I did warn you,” Martin pointed out.

“You did, and I should have listened.” Melanie snorted. “I mean, obviously. I’ve only been working here for three hours and I already know that’s the number one Archives rule: Always listen to Martin.”

“Excellent life advice, both in the Archives and out,” Tim agreed.

“Both of you shut up,” Past Martin muttered, but without a lot of heat behind it.

Martin laughed. “It really is good to—we have missed you, Melanie.”

“You guys must have had a really rough few years if we’ve known each other long enough for you to miss me,” Melanie said, but he could hear the smile in her voice anyway. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to meet you.”

There was a bit of an expectant silence before Jon made a flustered-sounding noise of surprise and tapped Martin’s arm. “She wants to shake.”

“He’s not an idiot,” Melanie snapped. “If he doesn’t—”

“No, I’m blind. Sorry, should have warned you.” Martin reached out and found Melanie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh.” The slight pull against Martin’s arm was the only clue he got before Melanie—at least he assumed it was Melanie—surged forward and hugged him instead. In his ear, she said, “You look like you need it.”

“Well, I’ll never say no.” Martin didn’t need physical contact quite the same way Jon did, but it did give him comfort to feel a friendly touch once in a while. And it was substantially more important now that he was blind to have a tactile connection to the world around him. He was just momentarily caught off-guard; he’d forgotten how much shorter than him Melanie was.

After a moment, Melanie pulled back. “Right. Do I get an explanation or is it ‘you’re from the future’ and we leave it at that?”

“We can explain. Right, Jon?” Martin added, raising an eyebrow in his fiancé’s direction.

“Right. Of course. Ha-have a seat.” Jon sounded like the entire situation had put him off balance. “We’ll see what we can do.”

In a lot of ways, it was easier than when they’d told their story to the crew the first time, close to a year ago now. First of all, the team was aware now of a lot of things they’d had to explain, and Melanie had lived through at least some of it, so there was less to catch up on. Second of all, Tim, Sasha, and Past Martin were able to help fill in a lot of details. Including some things even Jon and Martin hadn’t been aware of.

“And then the world ended,” Jon concluded, much as he had the previous year. “And Martin and I…well, eventually we decided to try and put it back.”

“By coming back in time? How’d you even know you could do that?” Melanie asked. “Is it in one of those statements up there?”

“No. N-no, I don’t—I don’t think so. I don’t know how the Keeper found out about that passage back. That wasn’t our original plan,” Jon said slowly. “I’m not completely sure we had a plan, come to think of it.”

“Head to London, kill Jonah Magnus, and hope for the best,” Martin said with a shrug. “Push the big red reset button. I don’t know. I think we were still figuring it out when we got there.”

He could hear the frown when Melanie spoke next. “Sorry, I’m new to all this, I’m sure you’ve been over it a lot, but—how did you know you could? Can’t imagine the big scary fear god that thinks it’s won just…giving you a map to all its vulnerable spots or whatever. How did you know there was even a way to fix it?”

“We didn’t,” Martin said simply. He felt Jon lean against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. “But we had to try.”

There was another long pause before Melanie spoke again, her voice almost too soft to be audible. “Who else survived? Besides you two?”

“What?” Jon asked with a frown.

Martin realized she had almost been too soft to be heard; he’d only caught it because he had to concentrate so hard. “You, Georgie, and Basira. And the Admiral. But in our timeline…Sasha’d been gone for years at that point, she died when Jane Prentiss attacked us. And our Tim died in the Unknowing. Once Daisy went over to the Hunt, we were the only ones left.”

“The whole rest of the world died?” Melanie demanded.

“No,” Jon said quickly. “No, not—not yet. They would have. Eventually. But no. After the Fears came through…the world divided largely into two categories. Watcher or Watched. You were either trapped in a fear’s domain or—or observing one.”

“So which one was I?”

“Neither. You and Georgie, you were both sort of…outside it. I don’t know that you were the only ones, either, but you were the only ones we knew about.” Jon paused, then added, “You kept going into domains and—rescuing people, actually. Or trying to. These tunnels are a blind spot, and that didn’t change even when the Institute became the literal center of the world. You and Georgie would run into a domain, get someone out, and bring them down here.”

“And inadvertently started a cult,” Martin added. He couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his mouth. “You hated it.”

“God, yeah, I would have. I swear, the worst part of Ghost Hunt UK is dealing with the fans. I just got into it to investigate the paranormal, not to be famous doing it.” Melanie sighed heavily. Martin felt bad for her. “So what happened to us? After you left. Did you erase the whole future timeline so none of it ever happened, or did the three of us have to either fix it ourselves or live in a post-apocalyptic hellscape for the rest of our natural lives?”

“I—I don’t know.” Jon sounded incredibly shaken.

Martin rubbed comfortingly at Jon’s shoulder. “We left before…we didn’t get to tell them we were going. The Keeper—the one who helped us get back in time—he promised he’d let them know what was going on, he said they’d be safe. As far as I know, we didn’t…that timeline still continued to its end. I just don’t know when its end was. And unfortunately, we never will. Personally, I think what would have happened is that when the Keeper told everyone that our plan went to hell and Jonah got away, your counterpart would have said ‘fuck this’, got a knife, and gone after him herself. She kept trying to kill him in our timeline and he saw her every time. I don’t doubt for a minute that she’d take advantage of the fact that he literally wouldn’t have been able to see her.”

“Why not?”

“Same reason he can’t see me. Because she was blind, she was immune to the Eye. And as hard as she was working on her anger, I think she knew how to turn it into a weapon. Also, she hated Jonah.” Martin sighed. “So yeah. We don’t know what happened to everybody in our timeline, but if anyone could fix it, it’d be our Melanie. Correcting the Apocalypse with a knife and sheer spite.”

“Damn right,” Melanie said. Someone turned a laugh into a hacking cough.

Jon sighed and leaned against Martin’s shoulder. Martin shifted slightly to settle him into a more comfortable position. After all these months, the movement was as natural as breathing. “I’m so sorry, Melanie. We—we’d hoped we could keep you out of all this.”

“Hey, don’t take away my right to choose. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did he ask?” Jon asked. “Or did he just hire you?”

“Of course he asked.” Melanie sounded exasperated. She dropped her voice to a lower register and did a very poor, mocking imitation of Elias’ drawl. “‘I understand that your show is on a hiatus, and with Jon off traveling, I’m sure Martin and the others could use some assistance. Jon spoke quite highly of your research abilities. Would you be interested in a paid position here in the Archives?’ I could have told him to fuck off if I’d really wanted to.”

Martin replayed the words in his head a couple of times. “Yeah, sounds like he flattered and dangled bait in front of you, but didn’t actually force you. Very carrot and stick.”

“So why did you say yes?” Sasha asked, sounding curious. “Knowing what you were getting into, more or less?”

Melanie sighed heavily—Martin was incredibly familiar with that sound—but to his mild surprise, it was Past Martin who answered. “She told us that, Sasha. Or at least indirectly. She—you said you started Ghost Hunt UK to investigate. And when we were having lunch before you left for India…I saw how animated you got when you were talking about that student film you did. The supernatural, the paranormal, it’s genuinely something you’re interested in. You agreed to join the Institute because it lets you do all that and get paid for it, with the added bonus of not having to deal with people if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, basically. And, you know, if I can help save the world, that’s a nice little plus, too.”

Martin heard the rustling of fabric, but he honestly couldn’t have said if it was a hug or a light shove or what, and Tim’s next words made him none the wiser. “Thought you couldn’t read minds.”

“I can’t. I just know people.” Past Martin’s voice softened. “I promise, Tim. I’m not developing any new abilities.”

From the way he said that, Martin could picture quite vividly what Tim’s face had to look like. It was probably somewhere between the way he’d looked when he’d brought Sasha her coffee after she’d been attacked by Michael and the way he’d looked when telling Martin what had happened to his brother—a mixture of concern and fear and maybe a little bit of heartbreak. Tim really did worry about the others developing powers from the Eye, but there was probably an additional layer here because it was Past Martin.

Martin did know people. He had a fairly intuitive sense for the mood of a room and the way people interacted. In his timeline it had led him to play peacemaker, or try to, attempting to mediate between Jon and their Tim. In this…go-round, he supposed…it mostly meant he was picking up on a lot of things that weren’t being said, or at least weren’t being said aloud. He’d heard the fabric rustling, the lighthearted banter, the genuine laughter. He’d picked up on the gentleness in Past Jon’s voice that reminded him of the way Jon had spoken to him so often after Prentiss attacked, after he’d been accused of murder, and especially during those agonizing months he’d been working with Peter Lukas and they’d been so close and yet so far apart. He’d noted the affection in Tim’s voice, the way he’d tried so hard to control his anger and fear and actually talk to them. And of course he knew himself, and by extension his past self, knew what he sounded like when he was trying to navigate a simple conversation without wearing his heart on his sleeve, when he was trying to throttle back an emotion he desperately wanted to express but didn’t think would be welcome…or safe.

He knew love when he heard it, and dear God, if it had been that obvious to him for so long, he was already mentally betting with himself against how long it would take Melanie to call them out on it. Because he also knew hidden love, and he was willing to venture that they weren’t trying to hide their relationship because they thought it was inappropriate in the workplace. He was willing to bet all three of them thought it was unrequited on their part and that they had to keep it hidden from the others lest they be shot down.

He’d never really thought about polyamory himself, but in retrospect, yeah, maybe he had had a bit of a crush on their Tim. At least for a while. That would never have gone anywhere, though.

“Do we need to get out of here?” Melanie asked. “I mean, is Big Nose McCreepy going to notice we left the Archives essentially abandoned?”

“No, we’ve got a bit,” Sasha said. “He’s supposed to be meeting some of the Institute donors for a lunch of some kind. He’s not on site and he’s going to be occupied for a good while. I’m kind of hoping he gets a little tipsy, too. Anyway, he thinks he’s got us over a barrel right now. He thinks he trapped you into the Institute, so he’s feeling smug enough that he’s not going to pay attention to us for a while. His plan is to give us the rest of the week, at least, to let you ‘settle in’ before—”

“Sasha!” Jon said sharply. He sat up so suddenly it almost pulled Martin off-balance.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Sasha inhaled abruptly. “I swear that wasn’t on purpose.”

“That’s—Christ, Sasha, you shouldn’t be able to do that from down here—”

“I didn’t—I Knew that before we came down. I’m pretty sure.” Sasha took another deep breath. “Right, okay. I don’t know who’s nominally in charge while Jon’s away, but—I think maybe I should take tomorrow off? Just to…recalibrate. Ground myself. Get some distance.”

“Take the rest of the week,” Tim suggested. “I don’t know who’s nominally in charge either, but—”

“I’ll stand in for your Jon,” Jon said. “Tim’s right. Take a good long weekend. Don’t think about the Institute, or the Archives, or the Fears. Just…I know it’s easier said than done, but try to distract yourself.”

“I think I have a way of doing that.” Sasha sounded thoughtful. Martin was pretty sure it was sincere.

“What do you do?” There was a hint of a challenge in Melanie’s voice, but also a good deal of curiosity. She was genuinely asking. “When it gets too much. What do you have that keeps you from—doing whatever it is you shouldn’t do?”

“Going out and pouncing random people to draw their traumas out of them,” Jon said dryly. “And I have Martin. He’s been my anchor for…much longer than I realized at the time. We’ll read or—or talk, or take a walk or something. We played cards a lot when we were in Scotland.”

“We were playing I Spy earlier,” Martin added.

Sasha snorted, but Past Martin seemed to actually understand. “Like a memory game type version?”

“Basically, yes. We pick someplace we both know—or knew—think about what was in it, and pick something for the other to try and guess. Five tries or less. And no mind-reading.”

“It’s still your turn,” Jon reminded him. “The storage unit.”

“Hmm.” Martin thought for a moment, then smiled as he remembered the one thing he’d fixated on while they were there. “I Spy, with my mental eye, something…brown.”

Jon made an exasperated noise. “I swear that must have been her favorite color. That could be anything.”

“Well, then, you’d best get guessing.”

“Fine.” Jon sighed heavily. “The…box full of dolls.”

“Nope. Guess again.”

“The book? The one we didn’t know what it was?”

“That was black.”

“It was—never mind.” Jon sighed again. “The notebook?”

Martin shook his head. “Come on, Jon, think. This is me we’re talking about. What would I have been looking at?”

“The…the frame on the painting with the dogs in it.”

“One guess left.”

“Give me one more hint.”

“It was the first thing that gave me hope in weeks.”

Jon was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, “I give up. I honestly, genuinely cannot think of anything that was brown that might fit the criteria you’ve given me. What do you spy?”

Martin’s smile widened. “Your eyes.”

There was a chorus of awws and exaggerated gagging sounds in equal measure from the other four, but from the way Jon took his face in both hands and kissed him, tenderly but thoroughly, Martin could tell that his choice had had the effect he wanted.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonmartim

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years

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The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 120 - Eye Contact

A cold and well-cleaned room, sterile metal tables that overflow with a gentle trickle of blood. The hearts that beat upon them spasm and spurt without any sort of rhythm, and were they to stand still for but a moment, it might become clear just how wrong they are in their construction. - Statement of Elias Bouchard

So when I first listened to this episode, I didn't realise that the statements referenced here are SPECIFICALLY those and ONLY those that Jon took himself. I also didn't remember what some of the references actually referred to. So I'm probably going to be spending this entire relisten going "Oh, that was THAT statement", starting with this bit, being clearly in reference to "Anatomy Class" (episode 34).

The doctor cannot bring himself to look at the tables, so instead, looks to the Archivist, whose eye watches him, and cannot close.

"Eye" singular sooo ... does dream!Jon appear as a cyclops? But no, I'm imagining him more as a three-eyed being. Two eyes closed in sleep, one Eye eternally open to watch.

Desperate, he tries to throw the apple at his observer, but it is too late. The doctor has forgotten how the elbows work, and wrenches it to the side with a sickening crack. He tries again to scream, but he hasn’t got the throat right, and the wheezing, half-choked gurgle that escapes would stir pity in the Archivist, if he had not heard it so many times before.

It's kind of fascinating to me that the doctor's nightmares focus not so much on the idea of inhuman strangers pretending to be human but on HIMSELF forgetting how to human. To be honest, that IS actually scarier, but not what I expected, exactly, given the origin of his nightmare.

He turns to see the familiar screen, the familiar woman beneath it. She looks up at him with an expression of recognition and weary dread. She types and types and types, her fingers a blur, flying across the keyboard, and yet never fast enough to outrun the relentless words that flow like dark water across the screen that stretches off into the sky.

Episode 65: Binary

He passes those places he can no longer watch – the silent wards of peeling skin, the empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children, the rusted train car that smells of eager, infectious hate.

Okay, so this one gave me trouble, so I ended up checking the Wiki to figure it out. The silent wards of peeling skin is Melanie's statement about the hospital. The empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children is Basira's statement about Rayner. The rusted train car is, once again, Melanie's statement. Why can he no longer access these? Basira and Melanie are both still alive, after all. Is it because they're being "protected" by their own Entities? But...

The rain is still there, though it is empty. The long and desolate road, slick with the downpour; a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open, and the too-familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box.

Daisy is about as Hunt as Hunt can be and has been for a long time, so why can he get to her nightmare just fine? So I don't get why Melanie's and Basira's nightmares aren't watchable.

Here he sees the train, twisted and pressed in on all sides, nothing but shrieking metal and cracked glass. He climbs inside, and takes his seat, mouth tasting of mud and soil, his eyes moving through the dust and grit unblinking.

Episode 71: Underground

He catches a glimpse of an advert above his seat: “Dig.”

"Dig" wasn't actually a statement taken by Jon, but then this nightmare is of the Buried, so it makes sense for it to be here anyway.

There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out.

This used to be Helen's nightmare, but of course Helen is now melded into the Distortion so yeah, going through that door would be one MESS of an experience.

The Archivist turns away. Behind him are the ants. They move like a terrible rolling wave along the hard-packed ground, and he can see every twitching antenna, every clenching mandible. Somewhere, underneath that twitching, burrowing mass, is the exterminator.

Episode 55: Pest Control

Before him rises an incinerator door, the glowing light of the flames curling around the cracks. With a wailing shriek, the door opens, and the burning silhouette that stands within is ingrained upon the Archivist’s racing mind. They smoke and sizzle, but still the worms crawl through her charred and pockmarked flesh, her now-singed red dress shifting with the movement beneath it.

Okay, this is interesting 'cause Jon is still in Jordan Kennedy's nightmare, but given how traumatised Jon was by Jane Prentiss, this may as well be his own. And his reaction to it as recounted by Elias actually does make it sound like this is one of the hardest dreams to watch because it hits so close to home.

When faced with her, he even longs for the terrible dream of the melted woman, who would see everything desolated without rhyme or reason. But she was beyond his reach the moment she knew he was there, so the Archivist can only stand and stare, as the hive goes about its infested, long-dead work.

Jude Perry (who somehow fucked off out of Beholding's reach)

The dark building is newer, but he knows it well; knows the two lost souls who creep through it with an alert hunger on their faces. He recognizes that look from the other hunter, whose dreams he has watched for so long. They stalk the darkness itself, and hope to catch and kill it before it can do the same to them. They see him watching, but they cannot catch his scent.

And this one is Julia and Trevor's nightmare.

At last, he is in the moonlit graveyard – the oldest of the dreams. It is peaceful, cool and damp, as the rolling, boggy fields stretch out in all directions. He hears her calling pathetically from the bottom of the graves, but by now he knows there is nothing he can do but stare. She begs to be released, to dream of this place no more, but there is nothing he can do.

And this is Episode 13: Alone.

Another dissection room, another figure standing in its centre – but this one is calm. She simply looks at him sadly, a pity in her face that burns him worse than any flame. More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment in what she sees in him.

Is this Georgie, then, who is beyond the reach of fear, even when she is still being watched?

Elias: Hello, Inspector. Martin. I’m, uh, sorry to hear about Tim

Until this point I was still hoping that Tim had somehow survived, despite the fact that the narrative was HEAVILY signposting that he wouldn't for multiple episodes.

Martin: You didn’t just see it in me? Elias: Honestly, I didn’t look. For all my power, I will admit I am not immune to making the occasional lazy assumption.

People keep making this mistake with Martin, don't they?

Peter: Oh, and if you want to talk to a counselor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.

Okay, but like, why exactly is the embodiment of isolating-yourself-and-never-talking-to-anyone-about-anything suggesting counselling? Is this something along the lines of ... making sure Martin doesn't actually talk to his friends and colleagues thing? Giving him an impersonal outlet that won't create the same sort of connection?

My impression of this episode

So I spent most of the first listen AND the relisten trying to figure out which reference goes with which statement, but actually, looking past the "spot the reference" game, this episode is very well written and when you let the horror of it sink in, it's really rather - well - horrific: all these people, endlessly relieving their trauma every night, including Jon who's being forced to watch and cannot look away. Where the overall plot is concerned: I did not imagine Martin getting Elias arrested or Peter Lukas becoming the new head of the Institute - at all. It is a pretty lovely set-up for the next season.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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The Moon Always Rises || Alcher & Ariana

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @zahneundklauen & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After disagreeing on how Adam should be handled, Alcher and Ariana finally talk. CONTENT: Abuse mentions, parental death

As much as Ariana wanted to stay put in her apartment that currently smelled like fresh baked cookies thanks to Athena, she knew she couldn’t avoid talking to Alcher forever. She had to make sure another attempt wouldn’t be made at Adam’s life. He wouldn’t give up this time and she couldn’t stand the thought of losing Layla. Her relationship with Alcher was still developing and she felt it was important they talked this out as much as she would have preferred to stay curled up on her couch pretending things weren’t even half as shitty as they currently were. That wasn’t going to fix anything though. If she wanted to move forward and find some sense of normalcy again, she’d have to keep this meeting with Alcher. It was hard to forget the malice of her actions and how shocked she’d been by claws contacting her face. The only other time she’d ever been hurt by someone she cared for like that was when Layla was hypnotized by that stupid fidget spinner and she hadn’t exactly been in her right mind then. This felt different. She’d been quick to place trust in Alcher and it all felt so fragile now. She wasn’t one to run from her problems though, so she walked into the Common with her head held high and tried to ignore what may be happening here in only a couple of times if Nell’s spell didn’t work. That was more than she could handle at this moment though so she sat at one of the picnic benches and waited for Alcher to arrive with her elbows resting on the table.

This was a pivotal moment. Of the two, Ariana had not been the one Alcher had figured would betray her. But it was obvious, now, that being raised by humans had made her soft, and it was going to take a gentle hand-- not the rough one she’d displayed at the peak-- to guide Ariana down the right path. But Alcher could do that. She would swallow her ire and make sure to keep her business to herself. They could approach the topic of hunters and their deaths later. Today, she was sitting on the public bus, surrounded by stenches that made her wish she could not smell at all, and surrounded by people who she wished she could remove from her vicinity. But with a broken leg, walking was impossible. So, she was here, suffering, just to see Ariana. When she arrived, she pulled out the crutch Jared had given her, and made her way through the park and over to the picnic benches where she’d spotted Ariana. She took a large inhale of the fresh air on her way and stopped a few feet short of where she was. “How are you feeling?” she asked, eyes falling on the marks on her face. Ariana was clearly upset about them, so Alcher winced when she saw them.

After what happened at Lyssa’s Peak, Ariana was unsure of how to respond to Alcher. Anger that her trust had been betrayed still lingered and wasn’t the easiest thing to suppress. As it stood, they were still wolves and the instinct to stick together was still present despite her anger. She could smell Alcher approaching before the woman stood in front of her, wincing at the sight of her face. It was something she’d found herself doing in the morning before she had opted to get rid of her mirrors though that had more to do with the woman inside calling her a murderer than anything else. She gave Alcher a curt nod in greeting and thought it over for a minute. She shrugged and simply answered, “Pretty shitty.” In that moment, she didn’t feel like placating Alcher and pretending she was doing better than she was. Everything was still a mess and the closer she got to the next full moon, the more worry seemed to take over her emotions. She scooted over on the bench giving Alcher room to sit with her. “Physically, I’m okay. Just have a lot to figure out I guess. How are you feeling?” It was obvious that she was still healing. She hadn’t wanted Alcher to get hurt, which was why she had avoided doing any serious harm to her. She couldn’t expect as much from Adam and Nell though. She had been the one to attack after all.

Tentatively, as if worried she might be overstepping bounds, Alcher approached the bench. Despite her lingering anger, Alcher appreciated Ariana’s honesty. She drew in a breath through her nose and exhaled softly. “Shitty sums it up,” she parroted, glancing sideways at Ariana. Hands folded stiffly in front of her. “I’m already missing one leg, and the witch broke my other,” she said, knowing Ariana valued honesty. She was keeping much from her, but she could tell her this truth. She leaned back, then, placing her palms on the cool table, looking out across the common. Her eyes did not show her much, blotchy colors, melding together. Browns and greys and light blues. She wondered how much longer her eyes would hold up for her. “I need to know why you defended him,” she spoke slowly, carefully, making sure to put a small hint of worry, concern in her voice. And she was worried and she was concerned-- just, perhaps, not in the way Ariana would suppose. She looked back over at her, as if deeply wounded and hiding the shame. “Why would you defend a hunter over your own kind?”

As much as Ariana wanted to feel bad that Alcher had been hurt that night, she had a difficult time looking over the fact it was her own malicious actions that had led to the injury. That led to the injuries of others she cared for. It wasn’t something she could just forget, but she wanted to move forward either way. “Hopefully, it’ll heal quickly. The moon will likely help,” she said in a tone that mirrored the uneasiness she was feeling. This was a difficult conversation to have in the midst of everything else, but she had to make Alcher see things a bit differently the same way she had with some of the hunters she knew. Her eyes followed Alcher’s for a moment and looked over the dull colors of brown and yellow that seemed to paint the landscape in front of them. Apparently, the trees were starting to be speckled with fiery colors, but she couldn’t tell. The answer Alcher needed wasn’t a simple one, but she would do her best to explain it. “Honestly, there are a lot of reasons I didn’t let you guys kill him. Most of which boil down to doing the right thing,” she started and found herself letting out a sigh. “First of all, it’s very explicitly against what Winn wanted. Winn understood why Adam did what he did. He’d admitted some things to Adam and he forgave Adam. Winn was there for me through a lot of really terrible times and honoring his dying wishes were important to me. There’s also the fact Adam straight up admitted he knew what he did was wrong and felt bad with it. He’s wrestling with this whole code thing and I think he’s coming around. More hunters and people in general realizing things aren’t quite as black and white as they seem is important if any of us are ever going to know peace and happiness.”

Ariana shook her head lightly and tried to find a better way to articulate it. While she wasn’t quite ready to talk about Celeste, especially not with the dreams she’d been escaping to in her game, she could try to make her understand the purpose she’d taken on for herself. She leaned against the wooden tabletop and explained, “This whole thing is so much bigger than whether he’s a hunter or we’re wolves. We’re all stuck in this cycle of violence and it’s stupid. Going back and forth killing each other isn’t going to make anything better. It just keeps this whole thing spinning. Adam’s starting to realize that. See that things aren’t quite as simple as a code that was made hundreds of years ago would like them to be. He regrets killing Winn. I think more people like Adam coming around to seeing us as people who make mistakes, grow, and change just like everyone else is an important part of things getting better. Not just for them. Or for us, but for everyone. Nothing’s going to change if we don’t all do better.”

Alcher listened to Ariana’s speech-- to her explanation of why she defended a hunter, of all people. Had he just been human, this talk wouldn’t even be happening. But hunter-- their injustice went far deeper than some ancient code. Humans created hunters to destroy the things they didn’t understand. Her father had taught them that and she refused to believe anything different. It was the only truth that existed. “So you believe that guilt absolves people,” she stated clearly, quietly. “That feeling remorse for an action taken should make up for what was done?” It made little sense to her, but, for Ariana, for another wolf, she supposed she could try. She contemplated a moment. Her father had always called her wise beyond her years, and told her that that was part of what made her a good pack leader. She seemed to always know what to say, and how to be diplomatic. White Crest, however, was proving that wrong. She needed to tread carefully here. “You are a better person than I if that is true. What I know is true, is that hunters have always come after our kind. For centuries we spent our lives hiding, defending ourselves, bending to their will. To the will of humans and those that didn’t understand us. And then they began to hunt us down. Killing us simply because of what we were. They called us monsters and took us from our homes and our families and slaughtered us by the hundreds. One hunter turning against that isn’t going to solve anything,” she explained, though her voice was low and quiet, “the death of one hunter won’t change anything.”

She shifted, leaning forward now, elbows balancing on knees. “I’d grown tired of waiting for hunters to come for me, to kill me, like they slaughtered my family, long ago. I lived in fear for years, wondering if I might wake one night to find them standing over my bed, vowing to kill me because of the wolf inside of me. Hunters took everything from me, so when I heard that one had taken something from you, from Layla-- from your pack-- I couldn’t help but feel that pain again. I never want another wolf to experience what I did, to have to know what that deep pain feels like. I know you lost your caretaker, Ariana, but this loss was-- a genocide.” She reached down and pulled up her pant leg, exposing her prosthetic leg. “They took my family, my pack, dozens of us-- and they took my leg. I still remember their cries as they all suffocated and burned to death in the very home I grew up in. I escaped because my older brother saved me, hid me in a back room where I crawled up the chimney and waited. I waited for hours.” She let the cloth fall back down. “How was I to know whether this hunter was prepared to do that or not? Layla’s anger felt so much like my own. Regret will not fix anything,” she finished quietly, “it only fosters more pain.”

When she turned to look back at Ariana, she found a tear in her own eye and wiped it with the back of her hand. “I only wanted to protect you, to protect Layla. I am sorry I failed you.” And the words were true. She had failed both of them, and herself, the second Ariana showed up to defend the hunter. “If you truly wish to end this cycle of violence, then how do you propose to handle hunters who do not share this view? What, then? Do we bow to them and let them destroy us? It’s not so simple as all that. Are we not owed the ability to live freely as well as any human?”

While it was a relief that Alcher was actually taking the time to try and listen to understand, it seemed it wasn’t quite resonating as Ariana would have hoped. She knew the dynamic of hunters and wolves was something that had been deeply ingrained in both sides for much longer than either of them had been alive. She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple. Guilt needs to be followed up with action, with choosing to be better.” She looked over to Alcher now still feeling a bit unsteady about this meeting. It was hard to see past everything that had happened, but they needed to move forward. “Adam doesn’t deserve to die for the same reason Winn didn’t deserve to die. Winn had done some terrible things, but he learned better and became better. Nothing will ever truly make up for the lives they have taken, but they both want and wanted to be better. Become a person that doesn’t cause others pain.” It seemed like it was sinking in more though Alcher couldn’t quite fully grasp what she meant. The kindness she’d experienced from hunters, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and banshees alike had painted the way she saw the world. As cruel as the world had been to her, there’d always been those who showed her care in her worst moments. It had been what pushed her forward, made her more determined to make the world just a little bit better. Sometimes, it felt a little too idealistic, even to her in the midst of everything happening with Lydia, but she had to try. For herself. For Celeste. For any future generations that came behind them. As she rested her chin in her palms, she said, “I try to be a good person as much as anyone else. I don’t want others to go through the pain I’ve gone through. I think, at the heart of things, you’re good, too. You have your whole mission of helping wolves. To an extent, that’s still true. I know some hunters will never change their ways, but I know enough who have shown me nothing but kindness that I believe things can get better for all of us. That maybe one day, people won’t keep losing the ones they love entirely too soon and too violently.” She shook her head and explained, “It only takes one person to start. To be better than those that came before them for it to spark change.”

There was a frown on her face as Alcher explained how she lost her family. Ariana was almost grateful that the night Celeste saved her had been a blur. She remembered howls and gunfire, but outside of that, she couldn’t recall much else. Seeing how Celeste died had left her haunted more nights than not. She let out a breath and looked to Alcher with her brows unfurrowed and her eyes soft. “I’m sorry about your family. I don’t really remember the night mine died because I was too young, but that really does sound terrible. I appreciate that you want to keep Layla and I safe. To look out for us. I really do, I just don’t think this is the way. I think Layla would have ended up regretting it. Her and Adam were friends aside from the fact Layla doesn’t like violence. Hell, she doesn’t even eat meat for most of the month. I saw how much accidentally killing someone destroyed her. I know she’s upset now and misses Winn, I do too, but this would have only made it worse. I don’t want to watch her spiral or do something reckless again. She’s my best friend and I’m supposed to look out for her on all counts, you know?” Ariana could understand how Alcher’s experience was so different from her own. A hunter never spared her, cared for her. Not the way Celeste had done for her and even Layla. It seemed wrong to bring that up now though. “I know he won’t. Well, not unless you literally try to kill him again but that becomes more self defense than anything. You couldn’t have known that, but you could have kept talking to me about it first instead of just signing off on me.”

Having this conversation over and over again was becoming exhausting. People seemed so committed to misunderstanding her intentions that Ariana found herself having to bite back the frustration. It wouldn’t help with her overall goal. “I’d never suggest you just let them come kill you. There’s a huge difference between self defense and specifically seeking someone out to kill them. There’s no reason anyone should just lay back and die. We deserve a chance at a happy life as much as anyone else.”

For all her youth, Ariana was wise beyond her years. Alcher was keenly aware of this. She was sharper than most, she understood intentions better than most. Her emotional intelligence far out wieghed most any other wolf Alcher had encountered, aside from herself and probably her mother. Alcher didn’t often find herself thinking of her mother and the tidbits of wisdom she had given her-- Alcher was much more like her father. Stalwart, astute, observant. She was great at understanding those around her and using words and actions to get them to follow her, to listen to her. Her mother had always favored Klaus, whomst Alcher distinctly remembered calling a crybaby for a large portion of their childhoods. He was sensitive, emotional, moody. The complete opposite of her, and this was why their father had picked Alcher to be his successor, to be the head of the family when the time came. Except, the time never came. And in the end, it was Klaus who had saved her. She was alive not out of pragmatism or leadership, but out of emotional response and love. She felt her heart ache for Klaus the most. “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” she mumbled quietly, and that was her only response to Ariana for the moment, as she listened again. Tried to understand why she felt the way she did, why she would want to defend a hunter. Why she thought not fighting would end the violence. Why she thought one person could make a difference.

But, in the end, was that not Alcher’s motivation, as well? To end the violence, one hunter at a time? Perhaps they were not so different. It was simply their methods that differed. Vastly. Uncompromisingly. She turned a sullen glance Ariana’s direction and pondered a moment longer. “I failed my family, Ariana, and I’m still making up for it. I traveled around helping out lost packs because I knew I needed to make up, somehow, for the loss. I felt beholden to that pain for so long. Layla might be young, as are you, but she is still responsible for her own decisions. She came to me, asking for this. If someone had come to me and offered me that opportunity, as a child, to look the hunters in the face who had hunted down my family, I would have taken it, too.” Instead, though, Alcher had had to hunt them down and find them herself. And then after, she’d still found she still missed her family. It wasn’t enough, their blood wasn’t enough. She’d needed more. And maybe, she though, Layla would want more, too. She was not so sure now. “Part of learning, part of growing, is figuring out what decisions to make, and living with those consequences. Whatever she decides now, I will stand by her. But,” and Alcher had to strain herself to stay relaxed as she said the next bit, “I will not go after your friend myself. But if he comes after me or Layla, I will not hesitate. You can tell him that.”

Ariana’s last words were not comforting. Alcher’s brow furrowed but she hid it behind a deflated sigh, brushing hands through her hair. Happiness was beyond her, she knew that much. She’d left it behind in the Canadian forest, buried with her mate. She stared at the red streaks on Ariana’s face, reaching out tentatively. “I am sorry I hurt you,” she said quietly, and a genuine guilt rose in her throat. Despite all his anger and discipline, not even her father had ever struck her across the face, “I have something that will help with the scarring, if you would like it. It’s an old family recipe, one that I’ve used myself many times.”

By all indication, the two wolves were reaching an understanding. Ariana had hoped for as much. How could she possibly help make things better if she couldn’t even sway other wolves to try and see her perspective? In all reality, they weren’t that different. They both wanted a better world for others like them. They’d both lost their families in terribly violent ways and were trying to honor them in the best ways they knew how. Nothing would ever take away their pain or bring their family back, but if one less wolf had to go through that brutal loss, the world would be all the better for it. She knew Alcher wanted the same thing. It was why she travelled around helping packs as best she could. “Exactly,” she said with a short nod as she didn’t have much more to add to the subject. They’d found some common ground which was all she hoped to come from this.

There was a small frown on her face still as she listened to Alcher. Better than most, Ariana knew how easy it was to blame yourself for the loss of loved ones. To hold on to some ounce of control that was nonexistent. Morgan had put it so well and she kept finding it to be more and more true. It didn’t lessen the blame she felt in regards to Sammy’s or even Celeste’s death, but it was a good reminder. “You didn’t fail your family,” Ariana said softly, “A friend told me this once and I’m inclined to believe her because I’ve found it to be true for myself. Blaming ourselves is easier because it gives us some fake idea that we had any control in what happened to us, that we have any control outside of our own actions. I’m still- I don’t know, I still wrestle with that, too, but I don’t think your family would believe you failed them.” While she didn’t doubt Layla had made her own choice there, she liked to think she knew Layla well enough to know that she’d eventually regret it. Anger had a funny way of clouding one’s judgment, this she knew better than most. “I know she’s responsible for her own choices, I do. I just think I know her well enough to know that eventually that choice would eat her up. Layla’s one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. I understand that choice, I really do. I’ve… thought of it myself a few times. Not necessarily with the hunters that killed my parents and sister-- that came down to self defense and protecting others, but what’s going on now. Part of me wants revenge, but I don’t think it’ll make me feel any better. Maybe it’d keep others safe, but I don’t know. I wish I could properly talk it over so I could figure it out.”

Her features softened as Alcher agreed to not go after Adam again without being provoked. Tension she didn’t realize had been building up in her seemed to fade away as her shoulders relaxed. “I appreciate that, Alcher. I really do. I can assure you he won’t be coming after you or Layla.” Was that in part due to the fact he was without powers at the moment? It could have been, but he did advise he owed her a favor. “I would never ask you to not defend yourself or Layla if it ever came to that. It does mean a lot to me that you won’t hurt him again otherwise,” she said earnestly. The marks on her face were long since forgotten until she mentioned it again. A remedy would be good. As badass as the scars looked, she did like her face. “I’d appreciate the remedy. I think the kids and my boss were a little more freaked out by it than anything else. I have a pretty high pain tolerance, it’s just… not the most professional look.”

Alcher was not sure she could believe Ariana’s words, that she did not fail her family, but she could not explain to her why. Not many truly understood, because not many lived the way her family did. They did not understand how their pack functioned. She understood that it was quite different from most modern packs, but they were more than just a pack-- they were family, by blood, by bond, by everything that mattered. Even the branch packs understood that. Alcher felt her body deflating, but tried her best to keep her composure. She’d built walls upon walls up inside of herself, she wondered if it was even possible to take them down, now, to let someone in. To have another pack, another family. She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to try-- to find something happy again, only to lose it. Not with so many hunters around, not with her two wolves the way they were. After a moment, Alcher smiled, morose and far off. “You do not know my father,” she said softly, shaking her head. Alcher almost couldn’t remember his voice, by this point, it had been so long. But she remembered the hard lines in his forehead and the color of his fur, and the way his whole body shifted when he was angry, whether he was wolf or man. “I suppose more than anything, I just miss them,” she admitted quietly.

Alcher paused. She thought for a moment, about how killing her family’s killers made her feel, about what her heart was telling her. “I can not speak for Layla, but I do not think killing those who have hurt us is about feeling better. I do not feel better about my family knowing their killers are dead as well, but rather, I feel better knowing they can not hurt anyone else like that. That they can not take away anyone else’s family,” she murmured quietly. “Perhaps that was what she was feeling. That tremendous loss weighed heavy on her soul, I could feel that much. Sometimes we make decisions we regret, but we must still carry them, and all the better if we have people there to carry them with us. That’s what I wish to be with her,” she looked to Ariana again, “with you. That’s all.”

Softly, she brushed the side of Ariana’s face with the claw marks, calloused fingers light on her skin. “I will drop it off for you tomorrow,” she said, smiling again, a little lighter this time, “it truly works wonders. My mother used to swear by it.” When their father got done punishing them or working them, their mother, soft and sweet and with the kindest eyes, would come in and heal them, with gentle hands and her family remedy. Alcher’s eyes saddened for a moment. Was she becoming more of her father than her mother? And...was that bad? “I promise I will never harm you like this again. It is...not the person I am or want to be,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not, but in the moment, it was the only thing she wanted to say.

While it was true Ariana didn’t know her father, she had to believe that if he loved her as he should have, that he’d be proud of Alcher no matter what. Even if Ariana didn’t love the way in which she stood by her convictions, she still stood by them. That was something that was worthy of respect. Maybe all parents didn’t show the same unconditional support Celeste had always provided her with, but even so, Ariana knew there was no way she could truly fail her family when Alcher seemed to take it upon herself to honor them everyday. Keep them alive in some way however small it was. Better than anyone, Ariana knew how important that was. “I don’t have to know him to know you didn’t fail him,” she said simply.

She listened as Alcher spoke even if she didn’t believe it to be true. Layla knew Adam. She had to know he didn’t go around killing supernatural people for no reason. It didn’t make killing Winn any more or less okay, but she knew it made Layla’s motives different than what Alcher was saying. There wasn’t much left to say on the matter so she simply nodded, “I do appreciate you supporting her the way you are. I don’t think she’s had a lot of that in her life. I still don’t agree it was the way to go about things, but I am happy she has someone like you. I’m glad I have someone like you, too.”

Alcher’s touch was gentle and caring despite the fact she was the one who caused the injury. She seemed genuinely sorry for it and Ariana smiled slightly at the mention of dropping by. She’d be alone most of the day tomorrow with no class or work and Athena back to classes. It wasn’t something she particularly looked forward to considering her own emotions left her distraught more often than not these days so she’d welcome the company. “I’ll see you then. And thank you. I understand things happen and you’re still important to me.” Things seemed a bit lighter now no longer having this weighing heavy on her heart. A pack had been something she’d always wanted and the thought of losing that had affected her more than she thought. There was some solace in knowing that some bonds weren’t so easily broken.

#the moon always rises #wickedswriting #abuse tw #parental death tw

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years

Text

About Time

Benoit Blanc x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: drinking, clubbing, (consensual, legal) age gap

Author’s Note: Hi love!! This request was SO MUCH FUN to write istg, Benoit Blanc thoughhhhhh. I hope you like it because you’re super nice and you have great taste in men obviously :)

Requested: by @tealaquinn, You’re literally an angel🥰Benoit Blanc needs more appreciation bcuz he’s a perfect gentleman❤️ so BBxreader where reader is in her late 20s, they’re besties, she knows him through her bff’s father. They met at a family party and became inseparable. Everyone keeps joking about them😂 BB&reader are chill w/h this😂maybe one day reader hints that he’s her perfect man but he can’t believe that lol they go to the club (song: Playing games by Summer Walker) & BB is like ‘wow’, maybe a make out sesh??

Summary: the request!

Genre: fluff

Song: Playing Games by Summer Walker

(not my gif)

When you were in high school you had never had a real best friend. Granted, you haven't really ever felt bad about that. You had a few close friends through your teen years and then your early twenties but you had never had a real best friend until Benoit.

Your friend Dolores had dinner at her house when you were about 26 or something and her dad had also invited over some friends. Her dad was super strict even if the two of you were technically adults now and had set up a whole seating arrangement for the evening. You were sat next to one of his friends, Benoit.

He was obviously more than a couple years your senior but you hit it off right away. He talked about how he was a detective and you listened intently to the stories he told about crazy cases he had been paid to work and you were enamored. You were witty and very interested in crime (as a research hobby you had to clarify) so when he talked about the crazy twists and turns you knew you had to see him again.

Dolores, annoyed you didn’t have a boyfriend and worried you were trying to hit on her dad's friend, reluctantly gave you Benoit's number and it was all history from there.

You were super close and at this point inseparable. It was nice, having him around or always being around him. You had never had someone like that before and he was already a perfect gentleman so it was as good as it could get really.

You sat on the floor of the living room in Benoit’s apartment. He was making coffee for the two of you as you watched TV, cuddled up in a blanket as the sound of Kitchen Nightmares played through the house. You were supposed to be looking for a movie to watch but you were too busy trying to figure out if Gordan Ramsey was going to kick the guy out of the kitchen or not.

Your phone rang and you picked it up, answering the call not even checking to see who it was.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Benoit called from the kitchen. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m on the phone!”

“Hey!” Dolores said on the other end. You smiled, propping up your head to be more comfortable to have a conversation.

“What’s up?” you asked, happy to hear from her. She had been on vacation for a bit and you hadn’t seen her around.

“Nothing, I was going to ask you where you were if you wanted to hang tonight or tomorrow but I head Mr.Blanc in the background,” she joked. You rolled your eyes.

“Benoit is making me some coffee.”

“Ah because he’s your boyfriend now?” she teased. You let out a little laugh and ignored the butterflies in your stomach. Sure you had a little crush on your friend but that wasn’t anything big enough to ruin your friendship over.

“No because a good friend makes you coffee, something you would know nothing about.” There was a knock on the door and you looked up but Benoit was already by the door, opening it up. Outside the door was Dolores’ father, making you laugh.

“Your dad is here,” you told her. She let out a huff.

“Tell him to bring me my burger king, we’re supposed to have dinner together.” You rolled your eyes and continued the conversation as Benoit stood outside the door.

“I have those papers you were looking for for that case,” he said, handing them over to Benoit. He raised an eyebrow, taking them and then thumbing through them.

“You are a lifesaver.”

“I see you’re hanging out with Dolores’ friend again,” he pointed out, ignoring the papers and the compliment. Benoit nodded, bringing his glasses off of his face to look at his friend.

“She’s supposed to pick a movie tonight.”

“So are you seeing her?” he teased and Benoit shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to think that way, especially in the age gap. While you were both consenting adults you were still younger than him by a considerable amount.

“No I’m not. Thank you for the papers again, you’ll be commended once I solve this case for good.”

Benoit walked back into the house, shutting the door behind him. You had hung up the phone and were now back to laying down and watching TV.

“Have you even looked at the movies?” he asked, grabbing your coffee cups and bringing them over. You shook your head, pointing at the TV.

“Chef Ramsey is throwing out the lettuce Benoit,” you said matter-of-factly, making him chuckle and sit beside you.

“The owner looks like your type,” he poked. You rolled your eyes, turning so you were facing him and the ceiling. He looked down at you. You pointed a finger at him.

“How do you know what my type is?”

“I’m a detective.”

“Maybe you’re my ideal man,” you said, shrugging. He raised an eyebrow and there was only a beat of silence before he took the remote from you to try and find a movie. Although he wouldn’t pretend those words didn’t stick with him, all through the movie.

A few days later you had accepted an invitation from Dolores to go out to the club with her and a bunch of her friends. When you told Benoit this and he told you that he hadn’t been to a club in ages you knew you had to drag him along.

You told him the time and the place (and to be a little bit late) to meet you and there he was, standing in front of a club he hadn’t seen since his own 20s. He wasn’t even sure if he should be there intruding but you had asked him to be there and even if he just popped in, he would see you.

He walked in and was immediately hit with the nostalgic atmosphere. College students and high school ones alike were downing drinks to head to the dance floor, the music blaring. You saw him before he saw you and you walked over there, excusing yourself from the conversation you were having.

“You clean up nice Benoit,” you said with a smile. He turned around and immediately got whiplash at the sight of you. He had seen you wearing your pjs, ready for work, ready for dinner. Your regular sweaters and jeans that he was so used to. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but a short party dress and a fancy jacket was not one of them.

“Wow,” he muttered, taking you in. You rolled your eyes, hitting his arm.

“Is the music slowing down your thought process detective?!” you yelled over the music and he let out a small laugh that you couldn’t hear but saw.

“You look wonderful!” he yelled. You did a curtsy, laughing.

“Thanks! You wanna get some drinks?!” He nodded and he followed you over to the bar. You shoved past some of the people and ordered him and you a drink, knowing what he wanted already.

You turned around, facing him again as you waited for the drinks. He was still taking in the place as a whole and you were having fun watching him do it. His mind was racing. His detective mind and his regular ‘you’ mind. They were melding and he wasn’t having fun with it.

You handed him his drink and he took it but it didn’t look like he was really looking at you. You waved a hand in front of his face and he turned to you.

“You goo-”

He stopped you by kissing you which surprised you to say the least. It was a perfect surprise. You put your drink back on the table and placed your hands on his cheeks, leaning over to be closer to him. He put his drink down too, grabbing your waist.

He pulled away abruptly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You grabbed his collar and pulled his lips back to yours. You didn’t taste like alcohol so he felt comfortable that you hadn’t had a drink before he came. You were clear headed and you were making out with him. You practically pushed him onto one of the free bar stools and against the counters as you kept on kissing him.

A few yards away, Dolores caught sight of you and Benoit, practically on top of each other. She smiled a little bit and pointed it out to one of the girls who knew about yours and Benoits friendships. She chuckled.

“It’s about damn time.”

Benoit Blanc: @stardancerluv

Daniel Craig: @records-and-stardust

#benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc imagines

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deoovat · 4 years

Note

any headcanons for your ot4 you wanna share? (also literally all your headcanons so far are amazing)

I’m happy you like themm omg ⁽つω⊂* ⁾ ♡

I do I do! It gets a little complicated here in Feelings Land for them but bare with me!

I feel like I gave to much of this away because I actually did want to turn my ot4 into a fic one day but meh, might as well get the ideas out my head. I can always AU it in the future.

-> Knuckles and Shadow would be dating first ofc, since they’re OTP but eventually down the line as years past Knuckles would probably recognize his affection for Sonic is becoming more romantic than platonic as they get older.

-> I can see Shadow not liking this at first because even though he and Sonic have become good friends over the years, he’s always held some kind of envy over Sonic with how at ease he is with his boyfriend when he had to learn to be the loving boyfriend he is now.

-> But Sonic is very thoughtful about how his friends feel and is Knuckles and Shadows' biggest supporter. So after a few (more like a lot) of heartfelt conversations with Knuckles and the blue idiot, discussing boundaries, comfort levels, and some trial dating, Shadow warms up to the idea.

-> He’s not attracted to Sonic in any way, shape, or form like he is attracted to Knuckles at first, but Sonic has a way on growing on people.

-> Watching Knuckles and Sonic interact is like watching two completely different storms that absolutely should not converge under any circumstance, meld into each other so effortlessly.

-> Have to be honest, Shadow is a little jealous at first. It took a lot of time for him and Knuckles to be like that. But of course, Sonic has experience under his belt. He’s known Knuckles far longer so it doesn't surprise him that they go just as good together romantically if not more so.

-> It takes a while but eventually Sonic and Shadow do become more fond of each other than just platonically. There’s a lot of boundaries between their relationship but the three of them work through it.

-> Sonic has a much easier time with this than his dark counterpart.

-> It takes a little bit under a year for the three of them to settle into something comfortable and lose the awkwardness around each other. After that, it’s ‘drive Knuckles nuts day’ almost every day the three of them happen to all be spending time together.

-> Sonic learns just how much of a little shit Shadow can be, with both surprises and elates him. He’s still much more on the reserved side of things but none the less, he has his moments where he humors the blue hedgehog in driving their echidna up a wall.

-> Same with Knuckles to be quite frank, only much worst. Shadow knew his boyfriend could be an imp from time to time, but he didn’t realize just how much of one he could me. Especially with Sonic around.

-> It’s safe to say the two of them drive him even more insane.

-> Rouge enters the picture a little later and it’s Sonic’s idea more than the other two.

-> Rouge is honestly the game changer of this dynamic. It challenges all of them the most.

-> Knuckles reaction goes something like “Are you kidding me?!” Nothing against Rouge herself, her and Knuckle are on good terms but Sonic brings it up just a year and a half after he found himself plopped between the two. “Just how many people are we adding here? Isn’t there a limit?!” ->To which Sonic just grins and responds “...I mean, we never really discussed a limit so-” -> Sonic likes Rouge in all honesty! He thinks she’s really pretty, funny and one of the only people he’ll admit being more charming than himself. He’s much more laid back about handling his feelings for other people than the other three so he is of course the most easy-going when it comes to the idea of adding her to their relationship.

-> Shadow is shocked but not in the same way he was when Sonic started to wiggle his way into their hearts. He’s more on the lines of curious about how his friend would react to such a thing. Shadow doesn’t object to it and is more open to the possibility since Sonic was probably his hardest hurdle to get through. Shadow respects Rouge and cares about her very much, so if he can warm up to Sonic of all people, being his boyfriend, then Rouge should be a walk in the park.

-> For Knuckles... it’s complicated. He liked her at one point when he was younger but not in a romantic sense. He admired her and found her stupidly attractive, in a way he never really viewed another girl before. (much to his embarrassment) but he wasn’t romantically or sexually interested in her back then. Plus, he doesn’t think Rouge is even the slightest bit interested in him. (Oh how wrong he is)

-> Rouge quite literally chokes on whatever she’s drinking when Sonic tells her about this.

-> Her feelings for Knuckles and Shadow are well known to the blue hero because again, he’s very good at reading people, but she didn’t know he knew that.

-> Surprisingly enough, Rouge and Sonic meld together way too easily when she joins the trio. Both Shadow and Knuckles are surprised by this.

-> At the time Rouge doesn’t have any romantic feelings for Sonic at first(Boy does that change, lemme tell you, they are joined at the hip later on) so it’s easier for her to just relax and be little shits together with him. With Shadow and Knuckles, however... yeah, it’s a lot of trial and error.

-> A lot, of trial and error. (She re-enters the relationship at least 2 to 3 times)

-> Rouge honestly doesn’t know how to juggle her feelings for both of them and the idea of polyamory was never an option that crossed her mind so she struggles the most.

-> Rouge doesn’t think it’s bad or anything and she’s all for having three boyfriends rather than just one... but it’s the fact that she has to deal with the feelings that really mess her up.

-> She’s not used to facing her feelings head-on and the L-word honestly terrifies her. And the three of them use the word quite often. It’s intimidating to say the least.

-> She really struggles showing romantic affection but not because she’s incapable but because she honestly fears rejection. She’s more of the jealous type (her and Shadow have that in common) and doesn’t understand how the three of them work in a relationship like Sonic did, so she struggles to integrate herself into the bunch the most.

-> To which Sonic treats with the patience of a saint.

-> Shadow finds it more amusing than anything.

-> But Knuckles well... he struggles. He doesn’t know what to do with someone like Rouge at first. She’s very different compared to the others and he doesn’t know how they’d work in a romantic sense at all.

-> Which in itself is an obstacle because Rouge fell for him first, so his rejection would hurt the worst.

-> For some time, they’re both walking on egg shells with each other.

-> Her lack of letting herself feel and be vulnerable and not being as blunt with her feelings as the rest of them are puts a strain between them. Knuckles is used to the two people he loves being upfront with him about their feelings. Rouge isn’t like that at all.

-> Knuckles is close to just giving up when the two of them get into a big argument and he questions if Rouge even like any of them or if she’s just doing this for fun. Rouge is already feeling more vulnerable than she’s ever felt in her life so she blurts out exactly how she feels about them. With tears and all, and it shocks out of all of them. It’s the first time any of them had seen her like that. Though this ends up being exactly what they needed to bridge that gap and luckily, in this argument, Knuckles was paying closer attention than in the previous ones. (Don’t worry they all hug and cuddle it out with a little bit more ugly crying coming from our lovable bat)

-> Honestly, Rouge entering their relationship challenges and changes Knuckles in many ways. Knuckles is affectionate towards the other two, but he recognizes that he needs to show Rouge that affection even more so, for her to feel safe opening up to him like that since her biggest flaw is that she fears rejection. Knuckles can’t read Rouge (It took him a while just to be able to read his boyfriends and that’s because they’re more upfront with him about their feelings) so in order for him to even begin to understand her, she needs to be able to talk to him.

-> And Knuckles does really care about her and wants to try harder before they decide to call it quits, now that they can actually get somewhere.

Jfc this was longer than I anticipated.

I’m gonna end it there, there's more to this but I might write this out fully one day if anything! Hope you liked them!

#my ot4 #idk what ship to tag this as xD #but yes #I LOVE ROUGE #MAN #MY GIRL DESERVES ALL THE BOYFRIENDS #even if she doesnt know how to handle them #asks

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liv-light-seer · 4 years

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Wondering Nights: Entry 11: Assistant Named Orion

Quick Pack update, I’m guessing the alpha put me on guard duty, by which I mean there is always a wolf with me. Each day one of the young wolves is with me throughout the day. I’m getting great use of the doggy door, which is a positive. Also, I’m pretty sure they want to get my wolf to hunt with them. They keep nudging me in both wolf and human form. I’m curious to see how this progresses. Although, I'm not really looking forward to hunting in general, just curious on how they would accept me more.

Justin and Brad hadn’t gotten off my back about having a housemate, they had called and texted me daily about it. Men! To get them off my back, I made and put the announcement for an assistant not a few short days ago and I already found someone who meets most of the requirements. My new assistant’s name is Orion. I hadn’t seen any issues during the interview process. In fact, the boys were around when I interviewed and seemed to think he was a good fit. They even said it would be cool to have him join the gaming group if he wanted. Orion accepted the position when I offered it and moved in within a couple of days. Over the first few days or so, things have been rocky, but are smoothing out slowly. I’m grateful that he is used to larger dogs, his family had many while he grew up. He seemed to think that the wolves are mine and that they are actually a large dog breeds, like I’m a breeder of some kind. He even greets them as if they could understand him.

Orion took the position as my assistant for his research degree. He is focusing on biological and environmental studies. Which given my research is exactly what he is studying. He, so far, has high grades and his professors gave him high praise as a student and his capabilities. The only reason why he stated that he took this position versus one at a high prodigious positioned place was because the research would be in both areas he is studying. All the other places would have been one or the other. No one offered him the challenge this would ensue. He knows I just switched my majors some time ago and even though I’m his senior in age, he is actually more of a senior in our research. But he doesn’t seem to mind that. I think given my parents and their credentials this will be beneficial for him and getting contacts in where he wants to go. It’s helpful to know that this was helpful for him as well as me. Mutual benefit, it's a good way to start a partnership.

Dad was surprisingly ok with Orion staying at my place. I think because he knows this is a professional relationship and that he has had female assistants throughout his career and nothing happened. When two scientists come together, it can become a hodgepodge of two minds melding into one. Which if you only have one side of the spectrum, you could miss some of the information. I think he was just as impressed with Orion’s credential as I was. It wouldn’t be long for him to go off and need an assistant of his own when he pursues his own work. I guess he believes I will be the same. Time will tell as the research progresses.

Mom wasn’t too happy that my assistant was male, nor was she happy that I’m letting him rent out one of the rooms upstairs. My tenacity for scheduling and enforcing rules has alleviated some of my mother’s issues. We have a strict curfew that I have enforced, especially given I don’t know how he will react to me being a wolf too. It helps that my wolf was able to communicate to the other wolves that I would like their help. I still can’t fully understand the communications between them, but one of the wolves will stay outside his room and make sure Orion stays there at night.

I’m hoping that I'll be able to pick up more on the wolves' communication and be able to understand what they are saying to one another through the many interactions with my wolf. I know my wolf is communicating my needs, but their language isn’t something that can be accessible to my human mind. I’m not sure if it is because I’m still thinking humanly during their interactions, or if I should relinquish even more of myself to be able to possibly understand. It’s an experiment, I’ve thought about doing, but too scared to enact. Maybe there is a pattern I’ll be able to pick up and be able to understand them better.

My wolf has no problem with Orion. Which unnerves me some. She has been very suspicious of anyone new or anyone who might be a threat. From the very beginning she was calm. Seems like she noticed something about him that I don’t know about. I’ve not been able to have a good communication with her, we are still able to sense moods from one another, but to understand the mindset fully hasn’t been there. I think her communicating with the wolves was a precaution because my emotions and stress are so high in not finding out. Or maybe she understands me more than I can understand her.

My only hope right now is that I will be able to get answers, and not screw up when having Orion checking my notes and data. My wish. I want to be able to communicate with my wolf to where we can both understand fully. She is a part of me now, I want to understand. Even if I find the cure, I won’t forget her, nor what she can teach me. I want to understand and maybe protect the wolves even after she is gone. If they don’t find me a threat. It’s not like me to get sentimental, but I’ve become quite attached to the wolves and will fight whoever tries to hurt them. But I need to understand them first, and hope they accept me still.

@catthewall

#wondering nights #nontraditional werewolves #werewolves

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eternaljouska · 5 years

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Days of Cats and Bears - Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt-Comfort

Warning: Self-Harm (The harmful thought and action, please proceed with caution), several expletives

Word Count: 5,450 (It was supposed to be 3k-ish hehe)

Note: Short Term 12 came to mind while writing this. Happy very late birthday uri cheonsa, Jeonghannie~ Happy late world mental health day, and happy birthday, Jiminnie, you’re also an angel. I love the title header, I love this story, and I hope you love it too. Enjoy!

“I don’t need this,” you spit out, your bloodshot eyes piercing through your caregiver’s bored ones. Your teeth are chattering and your body is shaking from your burning rage. “I know you think I’m a lost cause, but you’re wrong. I’m not a cause. I don’t need this. I don’t need you.”

Hyorin doesn’t say anything back. She turns around and leaves you with the echo of the creaking doors.

The next day, it’s Jeonghan who greets you good morning. Jeonghan is new in the facility; yesterday was his mini welcome party. But now they assigned him to you. You scoff, “You’re not Hyorin,” stating the obvious.

“You don’t like Hyorin,” he asserts as he grabs a seat on the edge of your bed.

Although that’s the truth, you brush his words away. There’s something more crucial than you disliking Hyorin, a question melding with the simmering anger inside your chest which makes your voice break at the end of your sentence. “Why, she gave up on me or something?” She’s not supposed to give up. It’s her fucking job. She’s not supposed to try and prove your point.

Jeonghan’s gaze captures yours for the long second it takes for you to look away. “No. I must tell you, she’s quite relieved that she’ll have a break, but no. I volunteered.”

He volunteered, and you don’t know whether to be glad or to be mad. Your thumbnail digs into the skin of your forefinger. And it only doubles the fury you’re curbing that the familiar act doesn’t give you any sensation at all. They’re blunt, your nails. Hyorin checks them every three days; she clips them too short for your liking. I’m not a cause. Does he think I’m some kind of a level-up challenge in a game that he needs to win?

“I know what you’re thinking. I—“

“You don’t,” you cut him.

Jeonghan closes his mouth, the gleam in his eyes undisturbed by your hostility. “Alright, I don’t. That’s true. Anyway, choose an animal.”

“What?” you mumble, his swift topic-changing catching you off-guard.

“Choose an animal. That’s how we learn about our mood from now on. For example, I’ll be a cat: belly full, lounging on the sofa, generally calm, and admittedly”—he leans forward, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper—“just a tiny bit sleepy.”

You scoff, more than a little bit amused by the new caregiver. The others are friendly—professional friendly, just a bunch of people slightly older than you who get a little cocky from the experience of being entitled to or responsible for something. But this guy, he seems to be actually enjoying his time, and that somehow calms the aggression flickering both in your chest and in your thumb. “That’s stupid,” you say briskly, and Jeonghan springs back up to his previous position as if your comment had physically slapped him on the face. “You made that? That’s even more complicated than the previous system.”

“I- I,“ he stutters, “I’m sad. I thought you would appreciate that.”

He’s dramatic, but that seems like fun.

“Appreciate the fact that you’re sad? Very much do,” you say as you bite back your smile.

“I want a cactus,” you confess. “I don’t need an ice cream cake.”

An ice cream cake was nice; it was good. And seeing that you’ve never had one in all these months you’ve stayed in the facility, you knew better to inhale it in one go before vocalizing your protest. You’ve always requested for a cactus before, but they deem it too dangerous. You know they don’t do their research this way. Even though your knowledge of the plant is rudimentary at best, you know that not all cacti are dangerous, as they put it.

It’s been only less than two weeks since Jeonghan became your assigned caregiver, and he’s managed to gift you an ice cream cake. He would give you all the credits, though. ‘Seven consecutive days of cats!’ he exclaimed as he made his grand appearance through your door less than an hour ago. A cat: belly full, lounging on the sofa, generally calm, and admittedly more than a tiny bit bored. So it makes all the sense in the world that you hang your hope of a cactus upon him. With the progress that you’ve made since his arrival here, they’ll certainly trust him, right?

And they do.

After a long—and unnecessary—discussion involving Jeonghan pleading and defending your case, he barges into your room five days later with a small box covered with white wrapping paper with chickens all over it. You’ve anxiously and expectantly waited for him and the news he’s bearing, and although it’s long since he threw away his modesty of knocking at your half-closed door, you find yourself jump from your seat in surprise when he does.

“What is that?”

“Hens-and-Chicks!” His face brightens, seemingly proud of what he has to offer you on his outstretched hand.

But you, on the other hand, are still having some difficulties to fully comprehend his blaring signals. “What?”

“You don’t know? You should know!”

“Again, what?”

“Hens. And. Chicks! A cactus,” he groans as he stomps his way to your bed. “For someone who’s adamant about wanting a cactus, you should’ve known what Hens-and-Chicks are. Argh, I’m so mad. I think I’m close to the bear level, oh my god, this is so disappointing. Ugh, you’re bringing my aggression level to the max.”

You snort, “You’re so dramatic.” You crawl closer to him and accept your present and carefully remove the tape from the wrapping paper. You despise it when people tear the wrapping paper almost as if they’ve buried a deep-running grudge towards it.

“That was supposed to be a good joke.” He nods at the wrapping paper that you set aside.

“What? This? This wrapping paper? Why, because you’re giving me Hens. And. Chicks! in a box wrapped in Hens. And. Chicks! wrapping paper?” You raise your brow at him, and when he feigns a scowl, you pat his head playfully. “A good one, Jeonghan. A good one.”

He watches you that afternoon. As you place the little pot close to the window and water it for the first time, you can feel his gaze that’s sticking to your back like your clothes on a summer day. You ignore it, too busy spooning waters for your new adoptee. You want to thank him, but what comes out of your mouth is a bark of ‘Why hadn’t this baby come sooner?’

Well, that’s the best he can get from you. But he’s fine with that.

Another week has passed, and you almost received the ice cream cake reward yesterday if only your cats hadn’t been interrupted by one dog. ‘It was one day, Jeonghan. One. Day. And that’s because Soonyoung was antagonizing my Henchi,’ you reasoned. Henchi, by the way, is how you call your plant—Hens-and-Chicks abbreviated, so creative.

Jeonghan had only chortled before he brought his hands forth from their hiding place behind his back, and you gasp, gleeful giggles bursting past your previously pouty lips. “I thought someone said ‘I don’t need an ice cream cake.’ Boy, oh boy, now that they have Henchi, I guess now we need the ice cream cake, after all. Anyway, what’s Henchi’s status?”

“Oh, so now it’s Henchi’s status all we care about? And for your information, I didn’t sound like that. Also, Henchi’s still a cactus, the last time I checked. And I’m still a cat.” You take the small plate from Jeonghan’s hand only to find out that something is slightly off from your ice cream cake. “No, scratch that. I’m a dog! Yoon Jeonghan, did you eat my ice cream cake? Ohoho, I think I’m gonna be a bear.”

The young man smiles triumphantly even though he realizes he might be murdered right on the spot because of what he did. “Yes, I—“

“What?! How dare you?!”

“Six-seventh of an ice cream cake for six of your cats. That’s what you—“ His words are interrupted by a shriek that quickly transforms into the laughter you’ve become familiar with—and extremely fond of if you have to add. “Hey! Stop hitting me! That will cost you your ice cream cake! Y/n!”

“No, I’m not gonna stop. You deserve this! You could’ve just cut it from the cake and ate it like that instead of eating straight from my cake.” You keep on hitting his back in spite of his numerous ‘ow!’ since you know that they are as fake as your attack.

“Y/n, stop it right now. I swear—“

“What is happening here?”

You both snap your head towards the door in the instant that you hear his voice, Mr. Choi, the facility’s supervisor. He and Hyorin are standing in the doorway, both giving you suspicious looks. “I’m sorry, we’re just playing games,” Jeonghan answers, immediate enough that you dare to hope they would believe him.

“You know we can’t have games that involve violence.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I will not use that game again.”

From the way he speaks, you know Jeonghan is nervous. And seeing that Mr. Choi only glanced at him once before continuously eyeing the melting ice cream cake atop your nightstands, you understand why.

Shit.

“You’re not supposed to give me the cake, were you?” you shout-whisper after the sound of Mr. Choi and Hyorin’s steps fade into the background as they walk farther.

Jeonghan averts your worried eyes and gives you the tiniest of a smile. “Just eat it, okay?”

Jeonghan is distant in the next few days. You change your animal daily, but he says nothing. So you spend all day sitting in front of Henchi, feeding it two spoons of water right after Jeonghan’s visit to clip your nails ends. Unlike Hyorin, he does it every four days.

You count Henchi’s bulbous leaves over and over again, every day, as you contemplate the changing in Jeonghan’s behavior. There’s no more cat day for you. It’s hard to feel full, calm, and bored when you’re a boiling pot of concern and temper. And now, dread also throws itself inside your pot, for you notice that when you’re about to water Henchi, the bottommost leaves are turning brown. The chair screeches at the haste of your standing up. “Jeonghan! Jeonghan! Jeong—“

“What happens?” he gasps out, breath heavy from the short run he obviously did to reach your room as soon as his legs allow.

“Henchi,” you sob. “It’s—it’s rotting. It’s dying.”

Jeonghan’s body sways out of balance when he takes his first step towards you. “Let me see,” he breathes out as he kneels to take a closer look at Henchi. He sticks his thumb and forefinger under the plant and pulls every brown leaf and tears them off the rest of your Hens-and-Chicks. You look at him warily but do not stop him, your thumb curling to dig its nail into your forefinger. And that action strikes you as familiar and at the same time, peculiar. You can’t remember the last time it happened. It’s been too long.

“Just, don’t water it for the next two weeks, and it’ll be fine.”

He disappears before you say thank you.

Six days after that, you are reduced into a quaking ball of sobs and whimpers. And that’s how Jeonghan finds you in the corner of your room behind the door.

“Y/n!” he calls out, terror dripping generously from his lips despite only saying a single word.

“Henchi… Jeonghan, Henchi…”

Today, you decided that you would water Henchi regardless of Jeonghan’s advice. Four days ago, you found the new bottommost layer of your plant to be rotting, so you plucked them off Henchi’s healthy body, leaving only four rosettes behind. Day after day, you worry your lips into the bite of your teeth and your skin into your nails. You haven’t watered your cactus in days, and the soil is visibly dry on the surface, so there shouldn’t be any reason for it to continue rotting.

Two days ago, Henchi has merely three rosettes left. That’s why when you woke up this morning you wondered whether underwatering could somehow be the reason why. But alas, when you picked up your glass of water and a spoon, you realized that there’s no plant to water anymore.

“Y/n,” Jeonghan coos after he saw that rot had successfully ousted the green flesh off Henchi’s rosettes. “Y/n, shh, stop crying now, it’s okay.”

You grit your teeth, preventing the scream imprisoned in your throat. “It’s not,” you seethe, trying to keep your volume low, lest other caregivers start to crowd in your room. “Henchi died because of me. It’s not okay.”

Jeonghan falls to both of his knees in front of you, his hands reaching out for yours, but you don’t let them. “Henchi,” he starts, “Henchi… you love Henchi too much it died.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, hear me, you- you watered it too much it died. See, water is your love, and the small plant could only take so much. Now, being loved is a burden, Y/n, even more than the act of loving itself.”

You know that those are white lies he’s using to assuage you. But somehow, you let yourself hung your hope upon him once again as you let his cold fingers grasp yours. You don’t need another death attached to your name. And right after that thought crosses your mind, your breath hitches.

“Have you been on Cocaine?”

“It’s none of your business, Y/n. Let me go.” Your younger brother has grown to be taller than you are, stronger than you are, but the hand that you hold is only shaking yours weakly, not enough to release it free. Little do you know, that is nothing but a camouflage for the tremble on his red knuckles. What you know is that the protective clutch his other hand has over his satchel must have hidden your answer.

“Give me your bag.”

“No, Y/n, let’s talk about this—“

“I said give me your bag!”

“Noona,” he pleads. He never calls you that, being only a year apart and so close to each other and whatnot. He only does it when he desperately wants something from you. “Please. I need to go. Let me go.”

“Jisung, how could you do that to yourself? To me?”

He cries. “Noona, please, we need to go. I’ll tell you later, I promise. I’ll stop. I’ll do whatever you want, but please, let’s—“

“Ya! Jisung, you bastard! Give me my money!”

Your attention moves from your brother’s wide eyes to the burly man calling out for his name. The man runs towards where both of you stand with overflowing vehemence, and that alone sends shivers down your back.

“Noona, run! Run, I said run!” Your brother’s urgency is clear through the way he speaks. You want to tell him that whoever that man is, he’s close, but then he shoves you with all of his might. “I’m sorry! I love you.”

The burly man surges towards your brother and punches him in the face. Again. And again. And you just stayed there, stunned. Until both men direct their attention to you and your brother cracks out, “Run!”

And you did.

You run to the nearest police station. But when the officer found your brother, it’s too late.

“Y/n? Hey, it’s okay, it’ll be—“

“Jeonghan?” You call him, the weight of your brother’s death growing bigger and bigger in your chest and the only thing stopping you from exploding is Jeonghan’s white lies you choose to believe. “Do you think that’s why he died? Jisung? Because I love him too much?”

Jeonghan reads into the line of your lips and the wide of your orbs, and he nods, smiling at the sliver of hope that he discovered there. But then your eyes are blinking, searching for truth on his gaze, and your lips are quivering, tears flowing freely until they disappear at the cusp of Jeonghan’s palms on your cheeks. “Is that why then?” Your voice is the weak flutter of a butterfly’s wings when you speak, and your face holds the agony of that same butterfly emerging from its chrysalis in the past, and Jeonghan wants nothing else for you to expand your wings and take your flight courageously already. “Is that why I’m not dead? Because- because—“

“Y/n—“

“No, listen, listen, that… I- nobody loves me. That- that’s… That’s why I’m here in the first place, right? Right?”

“No, no, no, Y/n, no. That’s not right. That’s not—“

“But that’s what you said earlier! Henchi”—you grab on the flesh of your arms and paw at it as you speak—“Henchi died—“

“Y/n, stop that, give me your hand. Y/n, hey, look at me. Look at me, I’m here. I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t die yet. We’re on the same page, Y/n. We’re still alive. But you know what, everybody’s gonna die. And I believe that’s because someday, everyone’s going to finally have it in their life. That person who loves you so much, you can’t help but share the burden of loving, together. And your brother, Y/n, he loved you so much and you loved him just as much, if not more. And let me tell you, Y/n, that much love is dangerous. You are loved, Y/n. You are loved.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” There’s something in his eyes that makes you want to sob even more—if only to prolong his stay and the comfort he offers. You’re certain; tomorrow he’ll be a stranger to the Jeonghan you first knew. “Come, give me your hand. Let’s clip your nails, alright? Trying to hurt yourself to quicken the arrival of death doesn’t make that person comes earlier to your life.”

Right before Jeonghan walks out of your room, you call him, “Jeonghan?”

“Yes?”

“Will you… will you wait with me? Will you stay with me until that person comes?”

Jeonghan only smiles.

It’s been eight days since they threw Henchi away; they didn’t let you keep Henchi’s plastic pot in your room. And you went berserk. Because Jeonghan didn’t even spare you a glance when that happened.

It enrages you, the way he only shows his reaction when you hurt yourself. You only want to know what happened—what changed so that he became so indifferent towards you. Was it the ice cream cake accident? Did Mr. Choi do something? You tried to confront him after they threw Henchi. And the next day. And the next day. But in the end, you got tired of trying. So you stop minding him. Or at the very least, stop minding him consciously.

It was two days ago that you got a breakdown. You bit your bottom lip through Jeonghan’s daily check-up, and he left after ten minutes of strangling silence. And when you set your lip free from your teeth, you dazed for a second from the metallic taste in your mouth. You laughed then. How stupid of you. They’ve clipped your nails blunt, but you’ve forgotten all about the sharp ivories stored behind the boundary of your lips. You latched them onto your arm, stronger and stronger until tears were blurring your sight and a purplish mark was left on their wake.

Jeonghan noticed the tremble on your harmed arm the next day he checked up on you, and although he was a ravenous, aggressive, and triggered bear, you were glad because he’s once again the man that you’re falling for.

And you’re sad. Because it seemed that the only way you’ll get to see the glimpse of that person was after you planted noxious violet on your skin.

You’re walking in the dim corridor to the kitchen to heat up a glass of milk in the microwave, trying to be as quiet as you can even though you know the microwave will surely kill the quiet you attempt for in such an obnoxious way you want to cease from existence. And yet, before the microwave has the chance to make true of your prediction, the creak of a door interrupts the silence first.

“Hyorin, did you hear yourself? Kissing in the facility would be strike one for you.”

Your heart beats violently at the sound of his voice. You hear it every day, but those words he utters on the daily, they’re like the voicemail greeting of a lost person. But more than anything, you want your heart to stop at the knowledge of who he’s talking to and what the conversation might be about. But in spite of your protesting heart, you tiptoe your way to the source of noise anyway.

“It’d be two for you, after that stupid ice cream cake,” Hyorin scoffs, “I don’t care.”

And you freeze, for Hyorin suddenly buries Jeonghan’s face in the shadow of her head, proving your latest prediction to be true. They kiss. And you thank all of the powers on the earth that you can still turn your body around not to witness your hope shrivels and dies in front of your eyes. You walk blindly back to the kitchen and slump down, leaning on the bottom shelf of the island as you cry. You bite the back of your left hand to suppress your sob. Burying your head on your knees, you clasp your other hand on your ear, refusing to hear the sound of the door opening and closing in a snap.

You don’t know how, but you made your way to your room. You blink. It’s funny. You feel more lifeless than any living person should be, but you can’t laugh, perhaps that’s the very first sign of death.

Jeonghan sees the bite mark, but he doesn’t bark. He whispers his questions, but you keep your silence. And that goes on for days. Until he explodes, and you shatter.

“What’s your status? Is it the bear?” It is clear that he’s trying to control himself, but his tone has long since mismatched the pastel color of his voice.

“What fucking bear Jeonghan? Polar bear? Sloth bear? Grizzly bear? This is fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Your eyes glint with fury, although perhaps it is your perpetual tears that catch the morning lights for the sake of giving out the illusion of life.

“What happened to you? Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know, Jeonghan. What happened to you?” He drops his gaze and falls quiet. “Oh, now you’re quiet.”

Your right hand is hiding under your blanket, blunt nail impressing crescents onto your skin. Jeonghan is hiding in front of you, and you want to find him, but one of your hands is too preoccupied and the other is too weak from the scar you inflicted.

“I don’t need this,” you mutter, your thought flying back to the time where Jeonghan had never set a step in your life. “Why don’t you just let me out? Fuck, you don’t even tell me what it takes to get out of this fucking facility.”

“We don’t want anyone to fake or manipulate their condition just to have us let them go.”

“But why? Why Jeonghan, why?” The first sob successfully tears itself out of your mouth, and you see a glimpse of the man whose hand you long to hold. Hatred is forming in your gut. Why? Why only now are you here? “Why am I here? Why? I want to go. I want to go!”

“Your parents want us to care for you.”

At his remote and mechanical answer, your nail digs deeper into your flesh, and in place of the scream bubbling in your throat, you laugh hysterically instead. “Oh, they won’t care.” You watch him watching you crumble. “How… How could I fucking live like this?”

“Y/n, give me your hand.”

“No. Tell me, how could I fucking live like this?” By now, you’re raising your voice since Jeonghan rushes to your side to uncover the hiding place of your furious fingers. “I said no! You think you’re helping, right? Right? Let me tell you this, you’re not! You made things worse! You made things fucking worse!”

Jeonghan catches your hand, and you scream, “Let me go! Fucking let me go! Let me out this fucking place! Why can’t you just let me out and—“

“Because you’re gonna fucking kill yourself, Y/n! That’s why!”

Silence falls with the weight of Jeonghan’s outburst. That’s true. You know that’s true. In fact, that’s the continuation of the sentence he interrupted.

The thin walls listen and words spread. Today is Jeonghan’s last strike.

The face that greets your day is not Jeonghan’s. It’s Hyorin’s. And you want to cry the tears your exhausted ducts can no longer excrete—after last night, you would think your body doesn’t have extra water to waste anymore. Jeonghan is gone.

You were about to close your eyes again, physically and mentally tired to deal with Hyorin, moreover since she only reminds you of that night in the corridor. But it’s the familiar image of chickens on a slick paper that rouses you up so quickly you could’ve collapsed back onto the bed from the pounding in your head. She tried to hide it behind her back, but it’s too late, you’ve seen it, a box very much like the one Jeonghan used to present Henchi.

“Morning. Let’s see your status,” Hyorin lets out, leaning her body on the wall just next to the door. Hyorin, she’s always so straightforward. You’ve always wondered why she works in the facility when she doesn’t seem to like what she’s doing—she doesn’t even bother to hide it. But in any case, you guess it’s good of her not to pretend.

Knowing that your status and the box she’s hiding must have a causative relationship, you decide to lie to her. “A cat. Just an exhausted cat,” you croak out.

But in turn, Hyorin frowns. “What do you mean a cat?” Her words are not hostile; they’re genuine confusion.

“What did Jeonghan say when he reports my status?”

“The usual one-to-ten scale. What do you mean? Did he not follow that method?”

You blink. “Don’t worry about that. He used the scale, but he had his additional method, just to make sure.”

Hyorin looks at you long before she hands the gift box to you, “From Jeonghan. Mr. Choi didn’t allow it at first, seeing how bad it was when your plant died. Doesn’t want to repeat that. But Jeonghan can be very persuasive,” she pauses, throwing her gaze away from you to the floor, “And I helped, too. I’m sorry. This is all my fault that Jeonghan’s gone. I’ve never really warmed up to anyone in this place, but it’s different with him. I think you’d agree to that.”

You nod. Jeonghan was different. But it doesn’t matter. He’s gone.

“And you’re right. This work is not for me. You’ve shouted at me, screaming all those words, and it’s only now that I realized the truth behind them. I’m sorry, Y/n. I guess I have a problem of my own. But anyway, this is my last day of work, and the least I can do for you is help Jeonghan convinced Mr. Choi about that present.” Hyorin tugs the edge of his lips into a small smile, and at that moment, your heart warms even a little. It’s like you’re seeing a different person standing in front of you. And suddenly, that warmth shoots up to your eyes, filling them with more tears you don’t know you still have. “Goodbye, Y/n. I hope you’ll find your peace within you.”

“Thank you,” you whispers, heart heavy with another farewell.

It’s another Hens-and-Chicks. You knew that from the second you laid your eyes on the wrapping paper. You sniffle, the memory only adds to your pain. There are two letters, one stamped with a cat sticker on the envelope and the other with a bear; you open the bear first.

Dear Y/n,

I have no idea what bear the bear on the bear sticker is. But it is a bear since it’s a bear sticker. And I wrote this because I’m half a bear, and I believe you are too. I’m sorry. I hurt you, and you hurt yourself because of me. I hope that doesn’t come out as cocky. But Y/n, I’m truly sorry. For the harsh words that I said and for the stranger that I’ve become. I’m sorry. Mr. Choi suspects that I treated you differently than the others, and I suspect that it’s true. I didn’t want to be relocated to a new facility because I want to be there for you. I want to wait with you. You asked me about it that day, but I couldn’t promise you anything because you see, here I am unpacking my stuff in a new facility (not now since I’m writing this, but probably at the time that you read this.) Despite wasting my time to be indifferent towards you, I’m still stupid enough to get relocated. You might be confused as to why everything happened. You know that we, the caregivers, have rules in the facility too, break three and you’re out. And you guessed it, I did. First is the ice cream cake, the third is the outburst, and the second involves Hyorin. She did something purposefully to add my strike; you never knew what a broken-hearted person’s capable of doing until they do it. But don’t be mad with her or yourself. It’s nobody’s fault but mine. Hyorin helped to get this confidential letter to go past Mr. Choi after all. She helps convince him about Hanchi, too, you see (for JeongHAN’s Hens-and-CHIcks—HA! I’m more creative than you!) I trust Hanchi in your care. I know you’ll do well (I printed out tips I found on the back of this letter. Also, Hanchi lives in Henchi’s pot. I saved it from the trashcan.) But don’t get too heartbroken if things don’t go the way you want them to be. Be gentle with your heart, Y/n. Be kind to yourself. Don’t bite, you don’t want them to start pulling out your teeth (I’m sorry, I’m laughing at the image of a toothless Y/n.)

The other envelope is your key. I can’t elaborate on that, but I know you’ll understand. This has been a long letter. I hope what I wrote here calms the bear in you, Y/n. See you on the other side. I’ll be there when you finally spread your wings and fly.

Sincerely,

Jeonghan

You bring the letter close to your chest before your free-falling tears manage to land themselves upon Jeonghan’s handwriting and ruin it. You want to revel in his words, read it over and over again and save it in the locket of your heart. You don’t want to open the other envelope, not yet. You don’t want the moment to end, but you know it’ll never end—not if it’s Jeonghan. He stays; he will stay with you no matter what. Through the letter he promised you he’ll wait with you, and you trust that he will. So you let your bear go into the wild and his letter back into its home.

The cat envelope saves one big folded poster, and you understand why the cat sticker is there. The envelope—or the poster—is a sanctuary for seven columns and fourteen rows of various cats in various poses. Several cats are missing from the first and last row. Frustration slowly crawls alongside the flow of your blood at your failure of comprehending Jeonghan’s words at the end of his letter. The other envelope is your key. You begin counting the number of cats modeling on your poster by then; there are ninety of them all. Ninety cats are your key.

The other envelope is your key. See you on the other side.

Ninety cats are your key.

And then it occurs to you just what Jeonghan means. You snort, eyes glimmering with both tears and newborn hope. That man and his wit.

That night you dream of your brother, a white cat sleeping on his lap. He strokes her clean furs lovingly, and you raise your head when he suddenly stops. He sees you and smiles. And you aren’t awakened with a jolt or a scream or a sob. That morning, you wake up with a smile. And you share the rare crescent of your lips with the new face who greets you.

Wait for me, Jeonghan, wait for me.

Note again: Is this the longest fic i’ve written so far?? This is how things turn out when you take your time on them, people. Also, Leo, if you read this, I freaked out when I saw that succulent ask you rb, but I didn’t tell you because I was writing this at that time and I give out no spo hehe.

Thank you for reading!

#yoon jeonghan #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #yoon jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan oneshot #jeonghan imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen oneshot #seventeen

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missmonsters2 · 5 years

Text

Tequila On Your Lips

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Prompt Request: Anonymous

- 4: Do you have any idea what this feels like?

- 6: We’re not just friends, and you fucking know it.

Note: Oh god, I love Wanda so much. I hope you enjoy this (and by enjoy I mean crying like me).

Warnings: Chest pains because angst. Also, leading up to sexy times (no smut) and then mentions of sexy times.

Count: 2839

Translations:

милый/milyj - Darling

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

If you could describe your relationship with Wanda, it would be called “in between.”

You were a little more than friends, but you weren’t dating.

And if you were honest with yourself, you don’t think you could cross that line with Wanda.

She was the forever type and that fucking scared you. You cared so much about Wanda and you truly valued your friendship with her. So the idea that you could somehow fuck that up scared you enough to not cross that line with her.

But it didn’t stop you guys from handholding, cuddling on the couch when watching movies, and she basically slept in your room every night.

If Wanda could describe her relationship with you, she would say “painful longing.”

She’s been in love with you for so long now. When you had first arrived to be recruited within the Avengers, you had spent so much time getting to know her, being there for her, genuinely connecting with her.

How the hell was she supposed to not fall in love with you?

Yet it felt like you were playing a game of tug-o-war with her. Sometimes you were so affectionate with her and you would allow her to hold hands with you, embrace you, enter your personal space. But when it felt like the relationship was going to move into the next step, you would become distant, putting boundaries around everything.

It was driving her insane. She didn’t want to ask you straight out because she was getting the vibe that you would pull away completely if she brought it. She was so tempted to just read your mind to see what was going on but she didn’t want to invade your privacy and break your trust.

So, she was left with the hot and cold behavior you put her through. She supposed it was better than nothing.

Currently, the two of you were sitting on the couch, watching b-rated horror movies. Wanda couldn’t understand your enjoyment of them, but she loved to sit there while you made commentary on it. She sat there cuddled into your side while your arm was wrapped around her, idly scratching her sculpt.

Wanda was nearly purring at the sensation and domestic feeling of it all.

“Why? Why would you split up? In what world would it make sense to split up when there’s a serial killer coming for you? Oh my god, these people deserve to die.” You were mumbling again and Wanda just smiled against your side, patting your stomach softly.

The peace was short-lasting when Tony, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Vision, Bucky, and Sam filled in the room.

They weren’t even surprised to see the two of you invading each other’s spaces. Everyone was quite aware of Wanda’s feeling for you. They were, in fact, wondering when you would pull your head out of your ass and admit you loved Wanda too.

“Okay, guys, it’s been a shitty week for us all with the last couple of missions. We’re so beat down and we need to go out. Get your asses ready to go clubbing, I’ve booked us VIP rooms.” Tony tells everyone, clapping his hands.

Steve, Bucky, and Sam look at each other before walking out of the room to get ready.

Clint and Natasha subtly grin at each other, thankful for the reprieve and made food first before deciding to get ready.

“Come on, Vision. You can’t go to the club floating around with a cape and giant stone sticking out of your forehead,” Tony says, motioning the android to follow along.

Vision looked down at himself with his eyebrow furrowed and frowned before floating along behind Tony.

You sighed, turning off the TV and Wanda groaned as she had to leave your warmth.

“I haven’t been to the club since I was 18,” you mumbled, not sure if you were looking forward to the outing or not.

“Don’t you have to be 21 to enter a club or bar?” Wanda asked with her brows scrunched together in confusion.

“Yeah,” You tell her with a smirk, not elaborating any further. The Witch simply laughed and slapped your arm playfully before she left to get ready

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

You were waiting downstairs with the guys as the girls had yet to finished. You had done your makeup but opted for a more casual look wearing black jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a leather jacket.

You were chatting with Steve about how dancing evolved and he would be kind of hard-pressed to find someone at the club they were going to who would do the kind of dancing he was thinking of.

Before you could say anything else, you caught a glimpse of Wanda and Natasha walking down the stairs behind Steve.

Your eyes landed on Wanda and your throat went dry.

She had her hair curled and half of it tied up, showing off her angular features. The tight red strapless dress she wore showed her slender figure and honestly, you were a little afraid of being unable to keep your hands to yourself.

She came down and immediately went up to you, holding onto your arm innocently, looking up at you with her long lashes.

You went a little stiff but smiled at her.

”You look amazing, Wanda,” you told her and she beamed at you.

Wanda had seen you looking at her, pupils dilating as you took her in and she couldn’t suppress her smirk.

“Thank you,” she said, taking your look in hungrily.

Tony ushered everyone out and into the limo. He immediately popped champagne for everyone and the conversations got louder as Natasha and Clint were on a mission to see who could out drink each other, going into Tony’s other liqueur collection.

“This is going to be a short night at this point,” you mused quietly to Wanda as you watched the two of them continuously take shots.

“You would be surprised, those two can drink heavily. Natasha always out drinks him though.” Wanda told you, angling her knees to touch yours.

“Is her liver okay?” You asked with mild horror as you watched her take her 7th shot in a row.

Wanda simply laughed and the sound made you smile.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

This was definitely the fanciest club you’ve ever been to in New York, though that didn’t stop a giant crowd being in the middle of the dance floor jumping and grinding against each other as the DJ played.

In the VIP room, Tony popped more champagne, most of it exploding on the floor. You and Wanda took shots together, smiling at the buzz you were starting to get. You smiled sympathetically at Steve and Bucky who didn’t bother trying to drink.

You weren’t even sure why Clint wanted to outdrink Natasha. It was physically impossible as she most likely didn’t feel the effects of it anyways.

You think Natasha just drinks for the taste.

After maybe one too many drinks or shots, Wanda was dragging you onto the dance floor. With the crowded floor, you were forced to stand exponentially close to Wanda. You were basically melded against her body and she hummed pleasantly as she put her hands around your neck and moved her body against you.

You were really feeling the buzz of the alcohol and Wanda grinding against you as she moved to the music wasn’t helping your cause.

You don’t know how long you were out on the floor for, all you could feel was the beat thumping against your skin and Wanda right against you.

Wanda has had enough of the games and the tequila shots were giving her a new confidence to seduce you. She would be damned if she let you escape her tonight. God, she loved the feeling of your hands on her hips as her back was pressed against you, and the way you would slide your hands up her body.

When you turned her around to face you, her body meeting yours perfectly, she angled her face close to yours, lips ghosting over your own as she teased you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you just felt...Wanda. When you opened your eyes, she was right there.

She was right there and she was everything you wanted, everything you ever wanted.

Your hands went to slide up her neck and into her hair as you pulled her close and collided your lips into hers.

Wanda moaned into your mouth as she enthusiastically returned the kiss, arms wrapped around you.

When you pulled apart, Wanda licked her lips.

“Take me home,” she mumbled against your lips. You were already grabbing her by the wrist as you led her out of the dance floor and away from the crowd.

You hailed a cab and tried to control yourself from literally taking her in the back seat of this taxi.

It didn’t help that Wanda was stroking your thigh and leaning against your side as she would nip at your neck and earlobe. You had to grab her hand and lace it together to placate her into behaving.

You were kissing the entire way into the compound, shredding and discarding clothing over the floor as you made your way onto your floor and room. You shut the door behind you with your heel, refusing to let your lips leave Wanda’s. She was pulling you forward until the back of her knees hit your bed and she was falling back onto it with you on top of her.

You let out a quiet yelp but it was enough to cause Wanda to giggle, which then caused you to giggle as well.

You were both breathing heavily, chest heaving, and you made no move to get off of Wanda.

“I want you, милый,” Wanda whispered, and you shuttered as her accent became more prominent.

“Do you want me too?” Wanda asked, bringing her fingers to lift your chin to look at her.

“Yes,” you hissed, your entire being exploding as you crashed your lips down onto Wanda again, your hand tracing her arms until it reached her fingers for you to lace together.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

The sun was shining through your open window, causing you to groan. Your head was pounding and your mouth felt dry.

You mumbled quietly to herself, pulling the blanket over your eyes as you shuffled closer to the warm body next to you.

You sighed contently but then paused.

Why could you feel a bare torso?

In fact, why could you feel so much bare skin?

You peeled your eyes opened and saw Wanda’s messy mane spread over your pillows, which wasn’t out of the ordinary as she slept in your room often.

You carefully lifted the blanket and nearly had a heart attacked seeing the both of you naked.

The images of last night came rushing back to you and you had to resist against screaming and jumping out of the bed.

The last thing you wanted to do was wake up Wanda. You carefully got out of your bed, grabbing the clothes you could find from the floor and exited your room quietly.

Jesus fucking Christ! Why the fuck did you do that? You were both drunk and now you’ve gone and crossed the line you said you wouldn’t cross.

Your face was contorted in anger with yourself as you went to find a shower.

You ended up avoiding Wanda all day by just literally not being at the compound

You didn’t answer her or anyone’s phone calls or text messages. When it was late at night, you tried to sneak back in, heading up to the roof. You weren’t sure if maybe Wanda was already in your room waiting for you.

Honestly, you weren’t even sure how long you could avoid her.

You let out a deep breath as you opened the door to the roof and climbed up the stairs.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed, hand to your chest as you found Wanda already standing there looking thoroughly unimpressed with you and upset.

“We need to talk,” Wanda said and you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

You swallowed, “okay.”

“You were avoiding me today,” Wanda says, arms crossed as she stood in front of you.

“I...” You started to say, but you didn’t know what to say.

“Last night...” Wanda started but you weren’t ready for this.

“Last night was a drunk mistake,” you say and Wanda’s breath hitches as you watch the hurt cross her eyes.

“Is that how you really feel?” She asks you and you hesitate because you don’t know if that’s how you feel.

On the one hand, last night was amazing, but on the other hand, you weren’t ready to try dating. What if it didn’t work out? You don’t think you could live without Wanda and you would rather keep her as a friend then date and have it not work out, and then not have her at all.

“Yes,” you finally say, “we’re just frien--”

“Don’t you fucking dare say that. We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” Wanda tells you, her brows her in an angry line as her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are watering because you’re breaking her heart.

You don’t know what to say because it’s true. You’ve always known that you weren’t just friends with her.

But what could you do?

Wanda scoffed unbelievably at you, eyes rolled to the side briefly before returning to you.

“Do you have any idea how this feels like?” She asks you. “Every time we’re together, I have to think about whether or not I can hold hands with you, cuddle you, be in your space. Sometimes you’re so affectionate with me and you make me think that you want more but just as quick as it happens, you get so distant. You’re breaking my heart.”

You swallowed painfully because christ, it was hurting you too.

“We can stop,” you tell Wanda, but that seems to break Wanda’s heart even more.

Hot angry tears are pouring for her eyes as she glares at you. “When I said I wanted you last night, I didn’t just mean at that moment. I wanted you in the morning too and everything after that. I love you, and you love me too. Don’t you dare lie to yourself about that.”

You feel a hot burning in the back of your eyes and in your throat, but you’re willing yourself to not cry.

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t risk losing you by changing what we have.”

Wanda put her hand on your arm, stepping a little closer. “You’re going to lose me anyways if we keep going like this.”

That breaks your heart. This is why you didn’t want to cross the line because now everything was falling apart and there was nothing you could do to fix it.

One drunken night with Wanda wasn’t worth your entire friendship with her.

Suddenly, you’re a little angry at Wanda. How could she try to force you to change your relationship? Why couldn’t she see what you guys had was enough?

Can’t she see how terrified you are?

Can’t she see it’s doomed if it doesn’t work out?

“Can you guarantee that we won’t break up?” You ask her. She opens her mouth to answer, but you’re not done.

“Can you promise me that if we break up, we can go exactly back to how we were before? Can you promise that it won’t change anything at all? Can you promise that if we break up and if I see someone new, it won't absolutely destroy you to see that? Because it would destroy me to see you move on if we date.”

You could live with her dating someone if you were just friends, you wouldn’t have that right to be angry. But if you dated and it somehow did work out and she started to see someone new? It would devastate you because she would’ve been yours, you would know what it would be like to have her. To watch someone else get that? You couldn’t bear to experience that.

Wanda is taken aback by your rapid fire of questions. The anger leaves her eyes but they remained narrowed as her brows are still furrowed.

She hesitates as she thinks about what you said.

You pull your arm away from her grasp, looking at her and hoping she understands how you feel. “You’re right, I do love you, but because I love you, I rather keep you as a friend that stays in my life no matter what. I wouldn’t be able to survive if we break up and everything changes. Let me know when being a friend is enough for you.”

Turning around, you leave, heart heavy and upset that everything was changing when you fought so hard for it to not.

And when Wanda didn’t call your name as you left, it broke your heart to reaffirm that you were right, you guys can’t be more.

#mm: my fics #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x ofc #Wanda Maximoff Imagine #Scarlet Witch Imagine #Scarlet Witch x Reader #mcu #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #genre: angst

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thecosmicsen · 4 years

Text

✮ ┆ HAPPY BIRTHDAY INÊS !!! @shesin

he is nervous. of course he is. birthdays are one of the biggest milestones of a relationship if not the top one when anniversaries are prioritised. had someone told him a few years back that he would be painstakingly agonising over his demon girlfriend’s one thousand something birthday, he would have thrown them a dirty look for their attempted jinx to curse his love life. but how the tables have turned, the love of his life is indeed a demon who defiantly stands opposed to the side of God who appointed Jaewoo himself directly. call them star-crossed lovers doomed to an ill fate, Jaewoo will beg to differ. none of the calamity prospects deter him when he knows himself for a fact that it is Inés’ hand he is meant to intertwine his fingers with and ardently commit the rest of his faithful adoring efforts towards. which is why he worries himself sick with the meticulous planning of his lover’s birthday, especially when she has no recollection of her birthdate to spend the day celebrating. everyday is my birthday, she had smugly informed Jaewoo with a flirtatious wink to accompany. nevertheless, she dutifully followed up on her promise to dig around and find out when she came into existence. finding out it was merely a few days before his own, he started meticulously stressing over the most intricate details and nitpicking at the underlying symbolism.

after telling her to go out and spend a little while away ( but not a place where she will forget about him he had to remind her as his heart constricts to think about Inés going off somewhere without him ), he gets to work right away and leaving himself till the last moment. triumphantly lighting the last candle, he observes the setup with a critiquing eye before skilfully interjecting all her presents on the table in a way that melds with the decor. naturally, he includes himself as a gift to her too but in the sense that he believes he can provide her with a little something for the day and he has to look the part too. dressing himself up takes up even more time than the preparation and implementation of the apartment’s birthday setup since he has a go at self-tied bondage with black silk ropes he brought for the occasion which tickles him underneath the suit he carefully wiggles into, already have a hard time with his exceptional sensitivity. trying to ignore how each of his movements is excruciatingly reminded of the silk ropes that rub across his skin with the barest friction, he grabs his phone to text her that she can come back now and begins to start the playlist he made to complete the overall glowing rosy ambience.

( KKT: love of my life sweetheart baby angel girlfriend Inés ) you now have permission to come back but let me know when you’re five minutes away please !! I love you 💕💖💝💞🧡💛💚💙🖤♥️😘💞💕💖💗❣️😍😍😍❣️💕💖💝💞🧡💛💚💙🖤♥️❣️

now he is left with nothing but his arrangements to be perceived by the love of his life. if he could easily sweat, his bangs would be matted down from his bouts of nervousness. to compose himself for the waiting game now, he grabs the handwritten he wrote for her to proofread it for the nth time to make sure he hasn’t oversaw any foolish mistakes. the letter reads as the following:

dear inés,

I sat down for the longest time with the pen in my hand and thought about how I could express the depth of what I feel for you in this moment. you might think that I have a way with knowing what my own emotions are and how to verbalise them but I also struggle with this sometimes as well. the truth is, I could compare how I feel for you with the ways of how the moon and stars never fail to make me feel comforted with their permanent presence in the sky makes me feel protected by a guardian angel who created something so beautiful. I could tell you that you bring back my memories of what it feels like to be happy when I was alive like the times I used to go out play in the park during the peak of the summer and how I’ll never forget the way how the stickiness of the melting ice-cream would drip with my sweat. or I could tell you that I could sit down right now and write four thousand letters to annually send to you for the next four thousand years and those words still never be enough to convey how much I love you with all my heart.

sometimes I wish we had met when I was still alive just so that my human body could have kissed your semblance and have a piece touched by you because I hate to think of an existence devoid of yours. I would like to believe that we did unknowingly cross paths before but I know for a fact that if we had, I would have felt the heavy presence of my soulmate nearby. that euphoria touching my soul probably would have stopped me from the end that I had but I still firmly believe that this is all fate. I don’t remember everything from my life before but I do remember that my overseeing sergeant used to tell us that the worst peak of training is something we should look forward to because it means nothing but anti-climatic resolution is heading right after and that nothing seems so bad in comparison. that’s how I feel at the moment when I have the guts to reflect over the little I remember about my time spent alive. it seemed like a never-ending dragged out battle but I received the decline of the aftermath with some peace when I found you and got to experience the type of love you possess to give to me.

but today is your birthday and we are going to celebrate your existence so let’s start off with some reasons why I love you !

♥️ you have the most unique affinity I say this because I haven’t met anyone who has the kind of self-assurance and confidence as you do. I have met a lot of people as my time spent over the last forty four years as an apparition but nobody even comes close to you. there are so many people who pretend to have full genuine confidence but it usually covers up something they hide about what they don’t like about themselves. you are the only one who doesn’t have this and I could tell straight from the start. it’s very sexy of you. I know you already know this but I wanted to let you know that your aura affected me from the very start because I always had this unshakeable feeling about you that you were special and you are special. how did I manage to find you? you’re one of a kind.

♥️ you have a hidden kindness in you you probably disagree with this but I haven’t forgotten about the time we went to the playground . . . well I convinced you to come with me. remember the little toddler who came up to us? I saw how soft your eyes got when you looked at him and the way how you waved him off. that natural gentleness threw me off guard but it was so raw and real in that moment that I couldn’t stop thinking about how a demon has a soft spot for babies. I got to know that you have a different type of kindness in you that you don’t show to everyone but since I’m lucky and got to witness it and even be a recipient of it, I feel so blessed to have it. you learnt my boundaries for a relationship and did your best to adapt for a monogamous relationship so your willingness to learn is something I am always so grateful for. there was a kindness in that too because you never got mad at me for saying those things and always did your best to make sure that I feel happy. I always see your efforts like how you put hot packets in my jackets till you got me a heated one or how you would give me a kiss when you could tell I was feeling down and needed one.

♥️ your bravery is incredible you are probably raising your brows at this one but you are very brave inés. I don’t know everything you have been through but you don’t let anyone intimidate you. but most importantly, you didn’t back out when you were at your most vulnerable and emotional state. I know it was probably the hardest thing for you to do was to call me up when your emotions were coming in full force again after having them repressed for years and years on end. it must have been so simple for you to be numb of such intense emotions for the most part. but then to be hit with something as powerful as that, especially when emotions are already as fickle as anything, to hit you back with its sheer intensity . . . it was not easy for you at all. I would have felt the need to shy away from the world but you took the chance with me to let you in your space during your weakest. and I see that as the most valiant form of bravery. nobody is as strong as you or have the guts to invite someone else in who you don’t know too much about either. well you knew me but it wasn’t like I was Cyril or anything where you knew me since forever. I really look up to you for that. and as you know, it changed my perspective of you indefinitely.

♥️ you are so driven to have what you want it just feels both inspirational and I can’t really lie, it makes my dick hard when I see you doing your business calls or chasing after what you want even if it’s something like going on a hunt for a body even though I wish I could be your eternal and endless supply of blood but that isn’t the case. you know your mind. you know you like money, sex and blood. you took that into consideration afterwards I confessed to you and asked you if you would be willing to be in a monogamous relationship with me and I’m still over the moon that you decided you wanted to have me. it’s another very attractive trait of yours which I know you know but you know yourself so well and how to get what you want and then you getting it . . . wow.

♥️ you chose love it speaks in your actions everyday. you choose to be with me every sunset. you text me when you’re away from home. you always greet me with hugs and kisses when we are back with each other again after a long day of running around doing our own thing. you know exactly what to say to comfort me and what not to say. you gave up centuries of habits you were doing before being in a relationship with me and gave up on your lifestyle so you could be with one annoying ghost who can’t even take a step out of Seoul. you continue to consciously make this sacrifice of the kind of life you led before so that we can be together and love each other so I hope you know that I understand the gravity of the condition I asked for you when I said I want to be with you but it can only happen monogamously. I wasn’t sure if you thought I was worth giving up your lifestyle for but you chose me and I’ll never be able to find the words that convey my gratitude and love for you that you gave up on that for me and only me.

I hope you can feel a lot of my love for you today and through the presents that I got for you !! I love you with my entire, heart, soul and body. I can’t wait to spend the rest of your birthdays together with you because your entire existence should be celebrated and worshipped everyday but a little bit more for your birthday. when can I meet your parents to thank them for bringing you into existence ? I’m so so happy and grateful that you are alive and by my side.

with lots and lots of love from your one and only adoring boyfriend, ahn jaewoo

the said presents include a locket heart neck [ v1 + v2 ] , long distance touch bar bracelets but to make it less ugly paired with matching ‘ love ’ bracelets , an album of polaroid memories , ring claws for her hunts to choke him with , personally handcrafted flower crown , a vial of his blood , this wallet with an extra lil surprise in it , reversible octopus plushie , advent calendar so she count down the days she gets to hunt *********** and lastly handmade assorted coupon card .

and finally, the almost sweating but groomed up mess of an apparition boyfriend perches himself in the middle of all the flower chaos with a single rose in his mouth in the paint me like one of your french girls position.

happy birthday Inés ♥️

#ngl this kinda felt like writing out a wattpad story #there is like a lot for me to explain behind his choices #but basically Jaewoo said #happy birthday #you gonna remember your mine everyday tho look at me :)) look at us <333 #will probably add more presents later #BUT HERE WE GO #TO THE BEST FEMALE OC AROUND #HAPPY BIRTHDAY INÉS #THANKS FOR CHOOSING THIS DUMBASS BOY #enjoy :)#shesin #* : ✮ ┆ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦 (𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠).

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canumoveurseatup-no · 6 years

Text

Lush pt.2

From my new miniseries Lush Life

Summary: You and Steve have now set the rules for your new relationship and things are going extremely well. With an influx of college work and trying to do well with your internship, you get too deep into your own head and Steve is there to help you release that stress.

Pairing: Dom!Steve x Black!SubCamGirl!Reader

WC: 4.7K

Warnings: 18+!!! daddy kink, Dom/sub dynamics, subspace, pain kink, tiny bit of angst, aftercare.

A/N: I think Lush is one of my pieces with the most notes and I’m just like WOAH! Thank you all for the support, I hope you all like this part just as much!! If you like it please leave verbal feedback and reblog

Lush’s Rules

Rule #1: Always be honest with Daddy

Rule #2: Don’t be afraid to safe word, you will not be punished for it.

Rule #3: Punishment will always fit your actions

Rule #4: Never exceed each other’s hard limits unless consented beforehand

Rule #5: Confide in Daddy when it comes to your stressors and personal matters

Rule #6: I may be your Dom but you set the pace, don’t be intimidated

Rule #7: Don’t be bratty. It will result in a punishment.

Daddy’s Rules

Rule #1: Be patient with me, I am new to this.

Rule #2: Don’t be afraid to safe word if I ask for something out of your comfort zone

Rule #3: Don’t be afraid to discipline me

Rule #4: Be honest and don’t be afraid to open up

————

After that night, you and Steve had set terms for each other and things were going smoothly. The team had been badgering him to let them know what he thought of Camgirl Clubhouse and all he said was “he found what he needed and was sticking with it”. While the other guys were talking about their favorites, Steve kept you a secret. They were practically begging him to let them know the details so they could search for the very cam model that pulled Steve out of his funk and turned him more happy go lucky more than usual.

-------

“Come on man, how was it?,” Sam urged, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Let’s just say it was more than I bargained for and it was better than I could have ever expected,” Steve smirked at the people interrogating him.

“Oh no, don’t cop out we need more than that,” Bucky nudged him.

You walked in the room, also very chipper but they didn’t expect anything less out of you as that’s how you were, “Hey guys, whatcha dooooin’?,” you smiled cutely at them with your notebook and folder in hand waiting for Happy as he drove you to campus. You’d told Tony thousands of times that you could drive yourself but he said it would give him peace of mind to know you’re getting to and from campus safely.

“Steve here busted a few last night thanks to some mystery camgirl and he won’t tell us who. It’s a bit selfish, we want in,” Nat crossed her arms and stared at Steve. You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to keep in a chuckle. So now you know where he got the idea of visiting the site from in the first place.

“Nat!,” Steve scolded, “Not everyone needs to know that,” Steve turned red as if he didn’t just fuck you into the next century last night. Smacking you back and forth between realms, and making you cry tears of ecstasy.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I have my own site that I like to visit and I had a great night as well. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Times have changed. Sex isn’t taboo anymore,” you winked at him and everyone turned back to you in question.

“And what site was that?,” Wanda asked but Vision grimaced at her, “What? I didn’t know there were specific sites for guy cam models,” she defended.

“We’ll talk later,” you told Wanda, knowing she’d probably forget about the conversation before you even came back.

Steve raised a brow at you and rolled his tongue in his cheek before biting it, crossing his arms. He knew you were playing games and he enjoyed the teasing.

“Anyway!,” you grabbed a breakfast shake and a fruit cup out of the fridge after your phone beeped from a notification to let you know Happy just arrived, “I’m glad you could finally relieve some stress Steve. It’s healthy,” you patted his shoulder before skipping out of the room. He watched as your ass and lovely thighs jiggled as you bounced and it reminded him of the way your skin rippled as you lied beneath him calling him Daddy like it was a prayer just 12 hours ago.

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

Things were great at first, you were following your rules, you weren’t being bratty and you and Steve were stable in your new relationship, giddy with the fact that it was more than just sex to the both of you. But then your semester hit you like a freight train. You were drowning in essays which you hashed out and did well on but then the internship and the reports were draining you. You were a workaholic and everyone could see that so when you’d run around after being at campus all day and not talk to anyone because you were trying to get shit done, they didn’t blink an eye. But because you and Steve had discussed your exclusive relationship and the dynamics, he wasn’t too fond of it. You were working yourself to death and weren’t acknowledging him and when you did you were bratty and Steve had strictly told you not to be bratty with him.

--------

“Who do you think you’re getting snippy with?,” Steve’s voice was low as he stepped close to you. No one was in the kitchen or near it, just you two.

“Who do you think you’re getting snippy with?,” you mocked.

Steve took another step close and wrapped his hand around your throat, not enough to have you panicking for air, but enough to let you know he wasn’t in the mood to play with your bratty antics.

“I’m gonna need you to get your shit together. You don’t take your bad attitude out on, Daddy,” he gritted through his teeth.

You huffed and his grip tightened a bit, expelling a whine from you, “I’m serious, Y/N. Don’t test me,”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you frowned.

“Not good enough. You wanna act bratty? Well fine, just know that brats don’t get to cum like good girls and looking at how you’re acting, you’re facing a lot of time without any play from me,” he released his grip on you

“That’s fine,” you shrugged, “I don’t need it,”

He did that damn thing with his tongue in cheek and biting the inside as he nodded again, “Remember that,” He kissed your forehead and walked away. You knew you just fucked up, but you were too deep to try and go back to fix it. You’d still get a punishment either way.

---------

But you were so deep in your own head that the specific rule had slipped your mind. You had accepted Steve as your dominant because you needed that structure in your life and you were finally getting it but with everything going on, you paid it no mind.

“Y/N, I’m gonna need you to take a break,” Steve came up behind you in the lab while Tony and Bruce took a lunch break, class was cancelled today so you took this as the chance to finish up those damned reports, “Not for me but for yourself, you’re running yourself into the dirt, baby,” His hands held your waist lightly and he kissed the back of your head. As much as you wanted to meld your body into his, you had to focus, “I-I can’t I’m almost finish, then I’ll take my break,”

You heard him sigh behind you and he turned you to look him in the eyes, “Baby, I’m not gonna ask again. You wanted structure, I’m trying to give it to you but you’re not listening,” Steve spoke in a stern tone and you felt a few bricks from your wall get chipped off.

You were so close to giving in but you had to finish, “I-I can’t, Stevie... just let me finish and I-,”

“You’re off to a bad start. First you’ve been acting bratty all week then when I ask you to take a break so you don’t drive yourself insane, you ignore it and talk back. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself with a punishment and not a fun one,” his nostrils flared and you gave him puppy dog eyes before biting your lip and turning back to your laptop to finish the report.

“Suit yourself,”

——-

And suited yourself you did. Now you found yourself in the corner of your bathroom with uncooked rice under your knees.

“Daddy, it hurts,” you whined. He had set a timer for 15 minutes in time out then you’d be done.

“Each time you whine I add a minute, each minute you spend quietly, I deduct two. It’s really up to you,” Steve sat on the edge of the tub with a smirk and you whined quietly. He knew you’d enjoy being spanked so he took another route. Kneeling on uncooked rice. You had set a list of punishments that you were okay with and though the idea of this was new to you, you were willing to try it. You felt yourself starting to sink back on your heels but Steve yanked you up straight by your collar, “Stay upright, baby or I add time,”

You were having a hard time following this. You felt tears prick your eyes as he stared back at you and that’s when you felt yourself starting to regress into subspace, you didn’t quite know that though as it never really happened to you before but with Steve, it happened naturally. In this moment, only you and Steve existed. Not the rice under your knees, not the dripping faucet from when Steve put water on your knees to make the rice stick, not even the TV playing in your room, it was just you two. You were so dizzy with thought that you didn’t realize he deducted your time because you were so quiet.

He brought you up to your feet and kissed your lips, barely touching them. You moved into him and your hands tangled in his shirt, “I need you, Daddy,” you huffed and you knew he’d deliver, but not without the price of sexual punishment as well. He carried you to the bed and locked the door, telling FRIDAY to turn on the soundproof setting before going into your closet and taking out your fuck machine. He removed your panties and big shirt, just admiring each inch of your body. He kissed your thighs and you sighed in content. You couldn’t really describe your headspace but it was like a big cloud that you just continued to sink down as the time passed and it felt wonderful.

He spread your legs and ran his finger up and down your slit, teasing your clit until he started to see you glisten with your juices. He leaned forward and gave your clit little licks in which you tried to close your legs to shy away from. He forced your legs open and spanked the inside of your thigh,

“Don’t do that. Stay open for, Daddy,”

“Y-yes, Daddy. I apologize,” your hands were by your head and they clenched into fists as he slowly ate you out. Your mind was like a corset and he was slowly unraveling the ribbon ties. He pushed two fingers into you and you sucked in a sharp breath, letting him please you. All that was on your mind was Steve. The man who quite literally, signed a ‘contract’ to be your Dominant and take care of you in every aspect, inside the bedroom and out. When it came to BDSM and your Dominant and submissive dynamics, it was more than just blindfolds and ball gags. It was a connection and bind that only the people in the relationship understood because each relationship is different.

He continued licking your clit as he pumped his fingers, you tangled your fingers in his hair but he wasn’t with you touching him right now. He removed his fingers from you and laced them with yours to keep your arms pinned. His face was buried in your pussy as you moved your hips again his mouth. He let you have your fun as you cursed out at the air about how good his mouth felt. “Daddy, may I cum?,” you asked. Your hips started to stutter as you were climbing the mountain that was your orgasm and was about to reach the peak. Steve smiled against you as he flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit, sucking your lips into his mouth and slurping all the juices you were giving him. He withdrew when he felt your walls flutter against his tongue, you were coming up on your first orgasm of the night, but like he said, brats don’t get to come like good girls. You cried out when you were denied, from this, you sunk further into that cloud. Haziness starting to take over completely.

He pulled you further to the edge of the bed and pushed your machine toward you. He spread your slick lips open and placed the head of the dildo right at your opening before taking the remote and turning it on. The machine starting to slowly fuck you and you tried to crawl backwards, away from it but Steve straddled your stomach and started playing with your hardened nipples.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby. No camera, no audience, just you and me and I’m gonna get you how I want you. So be a good girl and take it, I’ll reward you when I feel you’ve deserved it okay? Can you be a good girl for daddy?”

You peered up at him and your eyes glistened, your mouth hung slightly open before squeaking out an “Uh huh” and a small nod, “I- I promise I’ll be good, Daddy,”

“Good,” he wickedly smiled at you and turned up the pace of the machine, making it go faster.

“Oh G-God!,” the machine was hitting deep and hitting all the right spots, “I don’t wanna be a bad girl and cum w-without your permission, D-Daddy. Make it stop I’m gonna cuuuum,” you warned.

He pulled his cock out of pants and was jerking himself off right in front of your face, “Bet it doesn’t feel as good as Daddy now does it?,” He smirked darkly.

“N-nooo,”

He slapped his leaking head against your lips and you easily opened, knowing what he wanted. He leaned forward on the bed and straightened himself out, fucking your mouth as the machine fucked you. This was like a wet dream come true. His thighs and ass flexed as he fucked your face down into the bed. You gagged against him but that only encouraged him to go harder, his fingers curl into the bed comforter and his growls of pleasure resonated from deep within him, the way swears left his mouth had you close to cumming all over again.

“Such a good little whore taking my cock deep in your throat like this. Love the way you choke on me, your lungs begging for air,” he thrusts and your back arches with a gag.

He pulls out and huffs, swearing to himself before sitting up to straddle you again. He tugged at your nipples and twisted them making you yell out in slight pain. He slowed down the machine and leaned forward to attach his mouth to your nipples. He knew your nipples were highly sensitive and any contact could have you almost cumming right then and there. Teeth tugging, tongue swirling, you were moaning out for him to stop or else you’re gonna cum but he didn’t. He then turned up the machine and you were convulsing under him completely.

“Please Daddy! I don’t wanna be a bad girl, I wanna be good!,” easily overwhelmed in this state you got emotional and hid your face in your hands. You felt yourself gushing and cried out louder from the intensity. Steve didn’t slow down though, the sucking noises only got louder and the machine got turned up faster. The deliciously sloppy noises of the toy fucking you took over the ringing in your ears.

“Daddyyyy!!!,” you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away to look at you in your eyes. You were dazed and confused, it was like you were having an outer body experience. He stared back at you and noticed the glint, the look in your eyes was foreign but he was into it, it made his dick harder and he knew if something was up you’d safe word.

“I-I just came w-without your permission,” your bottom lip quivered but he only kissed you.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve decided to let you cum as much as you can tonight. Let me do my job and take care of you,”

He stopped the machine and pushed it away from you to crawl in between your legs and turn you around. You could hear him pulling his pants down all the way then felt his thick girth push into you. You gripped the sheets and felt yourself slip into your cloud even more. He held your hips and buried himself deep, this was different than the machine, this was real, this was your man’s dick fucking into you, fitting like a tailored suit and you felt your toes curl. You were panting and whining into the covers as he picked up the pace.

The way his dick rubbed perfectly against your soaking, ridged walls had your eyes rolling and the tears flowing. He took your hands and kept them latched behind your back and pulled you into him. Your head hung as your body had gone limp from the pleasure. He wrapped a hand around your throat and sat you up right.

“You’re my good girl aren’t you, baby?,” he grunted into your ear as he squeezed the sides of your throat. You felt your air supply shorten and your senses heighten. Your ass bounced against his pelvis at the fast pace he was going. He loved that, he loved the way the skin on his thighs stung as yours bounced off his from the way his body met yours.

“Daddy’s good girl,” you were almost incoherent and you felt yourself tighten around him again, “Pleeeaase! Please d-daddy ah!,” you tried to scream but it got lodged in your throat.

“Please what? Speak up, good girls speak up for what they want,”

Thing is, you couldn’t speak up. You were whining from the feeling and couldn’t speak. You were impressionable in this state so when he said that, you in turn felt like you were a bad girl because you didn’t speak up, couldn’t... speak up. You wanted to be a good girl for your Daddy, but you were feeling so much. “You’re so wet, baby. You feel so good. Cum for me again,”

“I- I- nnnnn,” your thighs shook as you came again, it trickled down your thighs, the shiver that ran through you didn’t match the feeling of your warm cum.

Steve had gone into his own headspace. He was connected with you and experiencing his own euphoria of seeing you in this state. He had to try and control himself harder than usual so he wouldn’t choke you so hard to the point you passed out, though you’d love that in this moment. You were practically inaudible and just weeping.

You were experiencing too much euphoria you had no choice but to cry, it’s like you died but were resurrected and all your senses were dialed to a thousand. Your sense of touch had your skin feeling like it was a soft pillow and every ounce of contact from Steve had you shivering and your skin tingling. Your sense of smell, you could smell his clean cologne along with the sweat of you two, you could smell the trace of wintergreen mints on his breath. Your sight, despite the tears, it’s like everything was in technicolor, so bright and vivid. Your sense of taste, you could taste him on you from when he kissed you, it was a sweet and subtle taste. Your hearing, you could hear the clock ticking, you could hear the cars way below the tower and the birds calling and flying by, you could hear the way Steve moaned and huffed, it sounded like he was in your head, it was all overwhelming you.

Steve pulled out and flipped you over on your back again, reentering you and you scratched down his back.

“H-hurt m-me, Daddy. I need I-it, I need it t-to let go,” you gasped and your eyes were having a hard time staying open, “Please!,”

Steve knew you were under a lot of stress right now so he half expected you to ask for that. He took a moment to pull back and asked you what color you were at, “G-g-gold,” Gold meant great and go ahead but he was still cautious. When you wrapped your legs around him he went harder and started biting along your neck and chest giving your nipples harsh nips. You begged him to slap you a few good times and he did just that. Cause your face to heat up from the contact. The sounds of him smacking you were like ad libs to the beat of the song that was your ass getting clapped by him, with your moans and his grunts as the the guitar riffs and the emotion behind it all being the meaning of the song itself. It was beautiful.

“F-fuck me harder, please! I won’t be a brat anymore I pr-promise, Daddy! I won’t be bad, I don’t wanna be bad!,” you sobbed into his shoulder and he went as hard as he could, chasing his own orgasm. Your vulnerability becoming his strength as he fucked little squeals out of you. You bit into his shoulder and softly mewled. All the endorphins rushed through your body like a stampede and you felt Steve getting ready to cum.

“Cum in m-me, Daddy. I n-need it,” you weren’t exactly thinking rationally but you were begging and you really wanted it. Subspace or not, you wanted him to cum deep in you and Steve knew if he did, he’d had to ask Bruce on where to get emergency contraceptive but he wasn’t gonna slow down his momentum with that thought.

“Fuck, baby. Y-you feel so good around Daddy’s cock like that. Taking me so well, so good. You’ve proven to daddy you’re not a bad girl, fuck!,” he threw his head back as he came and that’s when it hit you.

Your entire resolve came down and you hit the depths on your headspace and you were cumming endlessly, calling out for Steve and digging your nails into his arms.

“I don’t wanna be bad, Daddy! I promise I won’t be bad anymore! Please let me c-cum,” you were rambling as you hit the highest peak of all peaks. You were so dazed, you were still fucking yourself against him and whining out. “Did I make you happy, Daddy?, I won’t be a brat anymore. D-don’t wanna disappoint you,” you cried and you had Steve confused.

“You didn’t disappoint me, baby. Daddy just wanted you to take a break to take care of yourself,”

You just continued to hold him tight and cry.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you repeated, still rutting up against him, causing Steve to release his own whines from sensitivity

“Slow down, baby. Slow down,” Steve pulled back and held your wet face in his hands, “Calm down baby,”

“I won’t be a brat anymore... I- I just... it all has been hard and I..,”

“Baby,” he cooed, “Slow down. It is okay. Daddy is here to take all those thoughts away. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?,”

“Nooo!,” you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, “Just wanna feel you. Need to feel you,” you whispered.

He whispered loving words to calm you down, kissing down your neck and along your cheeks, he ran his hands along your body to soothe you as you just kept apologizing.

“You’re the best baby girl I could ever ask for. You didn’t disappoint Daddy, there’s no need to apologize. You made me very proud. You work so hard and I’m proud of you. Just promise me you’ll take breaks so you don’t break down like this okay?,” he kissed your nose as you had your eyes closed, softly rolling your head side to side.

“I promise and I promise I won’t be bratty anymore,” you pouted and he softly smiled, kissing your cute little pout.

“You’re fine, Y/N. I’ve got you, don’t worry. Just melt into Daddy. Trust me,”

You sighed and felt all your problems melt away as he continued to whisper in your ear. “I’m so lucky to have you as mine. So glad I’m your Daddy. You make me feel so many good things, I can’t thank you enough for being my good girl,”

You whimper at his words and raise up on your elbows, opening your eyes to find him staring intensely back at you. He looked so worried but so content at the same time.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He pulled out of you and the wet sounds filled the room. You softly groan as he does so and he just shushes you as he picks you up.

“FRIDAY, run the bathwater, please. Not too hot though,”

“Of course, Captain,”

-----------

“Looving you, has made my life so beautiful,” Steve softly sung to you as you slowly drank from your water bottle, “And everyday of my liiife, is filled with looving you. La la la la la,”

“La la la la la,” you joined him as he washed your back, “La la la la la, la la la laaa,”

“Duuun-duun du duu,” he continued, “Hit it,” he smiled

“Aaaaaahhh,” you finished with the high pitched squeal and he laughed at you, ringing the water of the wash cloth down your back.

“Thank you, Steve,” your voice was low but you used his real name to let him know you were back in the real world and no longer in your headspace.

“It’s nice to have you back,” Steve laughed. He pulled you up into his chest to kiss your shoulder, “How are you feeling?,”

“Relieved. Tension free. I’m sorry I’ve been so bratty. This is still new to me and I just-,”

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize for reacting like a normal human being and cracking under pressure. But your brattiness is something we will work on regardless,” He finished cleaning you up all over as you finished your snack of gummies and then you helped him wash himself with his own wash cloth..

Once the bubbles are off of you both, he drains the water and helps you stand up to dry you off. He swaddles you like a baby after wrapping his own towel around himself, once your teeth are brushed and your face is wash, he carries you into your room and softly placing you on the bed. He grabs your Johnson’s bedtime lotion and starts at your feet and moving his way up, working the lotion into your skin. He’s come to find out that this helps you after an intense scene in the bedroom and he’ll pull every stop to make sure you feel better and cared for. That is his priority.

He goes into your closet and finds a sweatshirt of his (that he had been looking for), takes it off the hanger and moves back to you to help you put it on. He helps you wrap your hair (courtesy to you spending a whole free day to teach him how to properly do it) and placed your bonnet on before getting himself ready to crawl in the bed beside you.

He had changed the sheets and covers so they had a fresh and clean lavender smell to them. He pulled you close to him and kissed your cheeks over and over until it elicited a laugh out of you.

“I am so lucky,” he smiled.

“No, I am,” you held his head and rubbed his scalp knowing it was his turn for aftercare. It’s not just the sub that needs aftercare, it’s the Dom as well as scenes take just as much out of them.

“You take such good care of me and I’m so thankful,” you kiss him between his eyebrows and you see his face heat up in a blush, “You’re the best Daddy anyone can ask for. I’m never letting you go,”

His smiled beamed at you as he kissed you one more time, “You’re stuck with me, baby doll,”

-----------

I hope this lived up to y’alls expectations. I know it’s not as dirty as part one but, there’s so much more dirty smut that’ll come out me very soon, so stay tuned.

If you like this, please leave verbal feedback and reblog!

Tags- @noire-griot @mbaku-babygirl @blackreaders-assemble @vozit @babybubastis @chonisberonica @majikmelanin @blowmymbackout @justsomemarvelspam @whothehellisbinky @joyofbebbanburg @spideys-wife @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @crawlingnightmares @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @yournonlocalpoc @mirajanestrauss1999 @fromlia-withlove @mokacoconut @curlyhairclub @livayah

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evoedbd · 4 years

Text

Innocence?

Summery: How could Zhora let that be destroyed? Worse, how could she prevent it? The more she thought, the more she realised that it was already unavoidable. Zoe was right, curse it. Solis wouldn’t stop with just Zhora, not after Wyst and Zoe had dug their heels in. They’d suffer too, no matter what Solis actually said. Zhora and Zoe have a discussion the night before they go after Solis. ************** Space. It was a word to invoke thought. A distance as much as a destination. So much of nothing it became something. Something became nothing. Infinite became irrelevant within a few strides and grew with time. Outer space was infinite. The void between life. A chasm to suspend reality. Poems sung of hanging the stars in the skies. Compared their gleam to diamonds, whispered their deepest desires on a star falling from the inky blankets of space. Science spoke of the stars as echoes of what had been. To see a star, sometimes, was to see when it had already died. The brightest beauty of something past. Something out of reach. Some viewed space as a negative, as something empty. Others viewed it as something full of possibility. As something to fill until space no longer existed. The space to hang a child’s painting on the wall. Space for flowers to grow. A place for a ship to dock... euphemism intended. The list of the ways space could be filled was immense, especially to someone as creative as Zhora. For Zhora, space simply was. At the moment, it was fucking freezing. Yes, the stars were beautiful. Yes, the distance between her and her target meant she would not die that day. The space between brain and heart would keep her alive. That didn’t eliminate the literal chill just outside the hull. It didn’t dismiss the loneliness embedded in her soul. Literal or emotional, it was cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. As so many did, she used space. With engines, the infinity of space shrunk into insignificant hours between planets. With plants and weapons, she filled her walls. With the shots from her rifle, she filled the distance between herself and the enemy. With contacts in every port, she filled other spaces... at least for a time. Some longer than others. Another euphemism intended. The one space she could never fill was that of loneliness. Of emotional emptiness so stabbing it could threaten to cut. Her mind resisted well. It was of stone. Uncompromising. In control. Ahead of the game. She had to be. If she wasn’t, she would be dead. Both her and her crew would pay. That was where her heart of glass came into play. So fragile was her heart that she protected it fiercely. When it came to heart or head, she chose her head. The death of friends was merely a dent in her business and profits. The angst of her crew would pass with the storm; all she had to do was hold tightly to her beliefs. Cling to that lifeline of logic and rationality. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her crew. She did. Truly. They were near her while she slept. They technically had unrestricted access to all her weapons, supplies and her quarters. It was very rare she locked her quarters anymore, not when Zoe could hack the security within a minute. Only her word kept them from acting out. Although, truthfully, her word didn’t always bind them. They disobeyed. Went over her head. Between her knees. Around her outstretched fingers. So long as it benefitted Zhora, no angle was too obscure for them to take. They practically lived on the phrase “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” Something which had only gotten worse since Zoe had taken the role of Engineer. The two other women aboard the ship were trouble together. It was a good thing Zhora was practically addicted to their brand of trouble. Anyone else might have done some serious damage to the Kid or the Cutie. That thought always made Zhora’s brows feel heavier and her teeth ache, even when she didn’t adopt a snarl. The thought of losing either Wyst or Zoe was...it churned more unpleasantly in her gut than any poisoning she had ever suffered. These girls were her crew. Her family. Her loves, aside from her weapons and adrenaline. She was efficient when she showered, providing she was alone. She cleaned quickly, washed her mermaid inspired hair, dried and dressed within the space of ten minutes. As it stood, she had no intention of entertaining guests. With 200,000 credits painted across her back, she wanted to keep herself clothed and ready. Sure, luring some company may be fun, whether it be the pleasure of touch or combat, yet Zhora had more to think about than just her own entertainment. It was dressed in her typical armored pants and crop top that she stepped back into her room, only to be greeted by a familiar sight. In the dim lighting of her quarters the light of her workbench was a supernova, dragging Zhora’s eyes. There, she found herself staring at Zoe Rayner’s shadowed back. The tight body suit she wore was standard Union Colony, yet it did leave very little to the imagination. The way the suits melded to their wearers put everything on display, every curve, muscle and bone. In Zoe’s case, it did wonders for the lithe woman’s back, and her backside. Zhora watched for a few moments, almost hypnotised by the steady undulating of Zoe’s sharp shoulder blades beneath the green fabric. Every time Zoe pulled a pin into alignment or moved to grasp another tool was a shadow dance, something for Zhora to feast her eyes on. Perhaps it could delay the inevitable. Zoe kept herself organised to perfection. On her left was where she had laid out the deconstructed weapon parts apparently by size and importance. Barrels, piping extensions, firing pins. Plasma packs. Electronics. Grips. Everything was so neat that it could only be an Engineer’s layout. To her right was an array of tools. Delicate tools, each laid out on black fabric that emphasised their pristine condition. Beyond Zoe’s instant reach, different components lingered, many pieces fused together in ways Zhora was not completely sure she could ever understand. Zoe’s brain was wired so differently from any engineer Zhora had ever worked with, yet the Colony Girl was an utter genius. Her unique brain and concepts had saved Zhora’s life numerous times, as well as allowed Zoe to bend countless rules. Namely, hacking her way into Zhora’s room when the Captain refused to communicate. “What are you doing, Cutie?” Zhora called as she approached, having to bite back a victorious smirk when Zoe gave a small eeeekkk of alarm. Zoe was an absolute image. One knee raised defensively as her other foot stretched for the ground. Bare toes barely grazed the floor, given the chair was designed for Zhora’s superior height. The Engineer had some form of screwdriver raised across her chest, wielding the tool like a weapon in her alarm. Zhora couldn’t help but let her smirk grow a little at the sight of Zoe’s heaving bosom, once more silently thankful for the Union Body Suits. As usual, no curve was left to imagination, and the way Zoe had twisted her hip in preparation of an attack left more than her breasts on display. The shapely curve of her hip and rump stretched the material, which also clung to her lean stomach. The clear panels gave Zhora a view of skin, nothing indecent. “Zhora! I was just... well. After the Ghost gun, I was seeing if I could make my pistol more reliable. Incase... incase. If anything goes wrong, I want to have a backup.” Zoe hurried to explain, relaxing from her improvised martial arts form to slumping in the chair. Relaxed, Zhora could see the strain in Zoe’s arms. The metaphoric weight on the Engineer’s shoulders which seemed to be affecting her quite literally. “Zoe-“ “Aside from the programming to the Ghost gun, I was thinking of taking similar coding and programming it into the attachable -“ Zoe continued to babble, waving her hands wildly as she spun around to face her components once more. Zhora wanted to follow along, she truly did, yet she was caught up in the perky engineer’s excitement. Zoe was magnetic once she became passionate; her energy was almost like an inferno swallowing all in its path. Somehow, Zoe became infectious when she was like this. The inferno never harmed those whom it consumed. Instead, it filled Zhora with a pleasant warmth; a feeling which radiated from the centre of her chest. This passion was for HER. Zoe was so dedicated to these weapons because the Engineer wanted to save Zhora. The Captain couldn’t fathom how she had earned such loyalty, only that she strove to earn it. That she kept waiting for Zoe to run. To leave. Still, Zoe stayed, striving further and further away from her safe life and into danger. All for Zhora. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.” Zhora found herself cutting Zoe off mid explanation. This caused Zoe to pause. The clink of a tool hitting the bench was the only warning Zhora had before she found herself staring straight into the steely face of Zoe Rayner. Deep brown eyes shone. No, shone implied too much softness. Zoe’s eyes blazed. They were the black holes which summoned Zhora’s gaze. The hardest edges of determination stole Zhora’s voice, even as Zoe’s soft brows furrowed in unspoken frustration. There it was. A brief moment where the two halves of Zoe warred. Her kindness and patience softened the blow, yet the fiery determination and outrage was akin to a sledgehammer into Zhora’s gut. Would Zoe offer another tongue lashing, or would her patience prevail? “I know what I have signed up for. I’m not a Little Colony Girl anymore. You’ve shown me how the Galaxy works. The truth of it.” It was a very true statement, Zhora realised. When she stared at Zoe, the Captain could no longer see the meek little colony girl. She saw her Engineer, a woman who could bring the Galaxy to its knees in prayer. Zoe was the stereotype of normal colony kid. Every common aspect of her seemed crafted to perfection, causing what should have been an ordinary looking girl to gleam amidst the stars. Honey and Gold had been mixed to create the perfect shade of blonde for Zoe. Her hair hung from its messy ponytail, always vibrant in its chaos. Zhora briefly wondered how much one would pay for such a treasure. The thought was banished. She didn’t want Zoe to become ruined for something as common as credits. “This isn’t something I can undo, Zoe. So far, everything has been something we could fix if you decided you wanted out. This... I can’t protect you from. If you regret this, I can’t...” Zhora almost hated herself. For the first time, control was completely out of Zhora’s grasp. She had been so careful, introducing the Outlaw life to Zoe in situations that wouldn’t scar the young Engineer. Zhora had executed her iron grip to ensure that Zoe wasn’t hurt. Wasn’t sullied beyond repair. Now, there was nothing to shield Zoe from the darkness. Zhora couldn’t sacrifice her own body to shield the girl, nor could she manipulate the situation so that Zoe wouldn’t suffer. What would happen when Zoe pulled the trigger? Would such an act break her? The very real possibility that this would destroy everything Zoe was weighed on Zhora’s heart. She couldn’t watch those fires in Zoe’s eyes die, nor see Zoe’s gentleness fade. Not the girl who spoke to her pistol and bandaged wounds with the gentlest hands. Zhora was placing her life in Zoe’s callused palms, along with the most dangerous weapon in the known Galaxies. Was Zhora worth it? “I know, Zhora. I tried to be bothered by it, but I’m not. Solis has hurt millions of people, and will continue to do so. She won’t stop trying to hurt you. I can’t let her take away the best thing to ever happen to me, okay? If it’s a choice between taking her life or watching you die, I’ll pull the trigger every time.” “Zoe. You’re taking a life. Not just in the heat of the moment, but premeditated. It’s not just a kill, it’s an assassination. I can’t as-“ “You really don’t get it do you? I love you. Wyst loves you. You’re our friend, and our Captain. We both owe you everything, and we WANT to help you. I can’t let you die. I won’t. The galaxy isn’t always nice, and I can’t always play nice if I want to protect what I love.” Zoe cut Zhora off with her impassioned speech, her eyes appearing to burn even darker. The Engineer trembled with the ferocity of her emotions. Zhora herself froze, reconciling the power Zoe emanated with their first meeting. Oh, how times had changed. “So, yeah. You’re not asking, I am telling you... I‘m ready. I’m doing it. Deal with it.” The Engineer concluded, spinning so that she could resume her work on the parts. For a long time, they remained silent. Zoe’s powerful words echoed in Zhora’s head, leaving the Captain staggering beneath their weight. Without realising it, Zhora found her fingers teasing the bottom of Zoe’s ponytail, taking in the softness of perfectly kept hair. It was another thing that made Zoe stand out. Her hair was natural, compared to the splashes of colour Wyst put through hers and the Blue to Green wash through Zhora’s hair. Zoe didn’t seem phased or distracted by Zhora’s fidgeting. Zoe’s hands remained remarkably steady as she worked. She had magnets dancing in their fields with such ease. A little flick would see those magnets dance; something which always drew a smile from Zoe. It was such an innocent thing to watch, magnets bouncing and Zoe smiling. The little giggles she let forth before licking her lips and settling down. Pink peeped out the corner of Zoe’s mouth, pinched between delicate lips. The tip of her tongue expressed so much. When she was annoyed, it ran across her lower lip; a cat’s tail swishing. When she was on the verge of success, the tip of her tongue peeped a little further out, chasing down victory. When Zoe paused to think, she rolled her tongue over the same place of her top lip for minutes on end. These little gestures were accompanied the adorably dorky scrunch of her nose, and a pursing of her lips to the right. Her left eye closed a little more than her right, yet her work remained unaffected. How could Zhora let that be destroyed? Worse, how could she prevent it? The more she thought, the more she realised that it was already unavoidable. Zoe was right, curse it. Solis wouldn’t stop with just Zhora, not after Wyst and Zoe had dug their heels in. They’d suffer too, no matter what Solis actually said. “I like the gumption, New Girl. Keep it up and I might let you have a look at some new designs.” Zhora eventually stated, breaking from her own dark musings. The surprise she felt at herself was echoed in Zoe’s wide eyes. “I’d like that.” Zoe’s response was level, yet she clearly couldn’t force herself to stop smiling. Zhora was thankful for the casualness of her response. It startled the Captain that she had even made such an offer. It was another breech in her security. Another door Zoe had hacked her way through, seemingly effortlessly. Offering such closeness was not Zhora. It was too hard to let people get this close. It made the inevitable loss too difficult to cast aside. Zhora couldn’t afford this. With Wyst, she had sworn it would be her only exception. Zoe made a liar out of her. That damned determined, fiery little colony girl. Damn Zoe, for being an actually interesting person. Damn Zoe for making Zhora actually care. Zhora may have been putting the most dangerous weapon created in Zoe’s hands, along with her own life, yet Zhora couldn’t help feeling as if she carried the most weight of them all. The weight of Zoe’s future. The weight of Zoe’s innocence.

#lovestruck voltage #voltage lovestruck #lovestruck #starship promise #zhora leonis #zhora x mc

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myhockeyworld87 · 5 years

Text

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 6

Requested: No

Word Count: 3922

Warning: Cursing

POV: Reader

Notes: Total fluff piece. Currently finishing part 7.

The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind; to call it a roller coaster of emotions would be too cliché. It was more like that carnival ride, the one called the Zipper; the long-armed ferris wheel type ride that held several free flipping cars, that caged your body in, as it rotated around and around. Spinning constantly, flipping you through the air when you would reach the peak of the arm; the ride left you giddy and nauseous all at the same time. In your teens, it was your favorite ride; now in your late twenties it was a metaphor for your life.

Last night you had no intentions of telling Tyler you were pregnant; in your circle of friends you were known as everyone’s confidant. The fact that you couldn’t keep your own secret wasn’t lost on you. There was no going back now, but what your next move with Tyler was going to be still had you guessing. From the moment you’d found out, you knew Tyler would be a part of the baby’s life; never questioned that. Clearly you hadn’t anticipated the joy he would experience; while not at first, it was quite evident at the end of the night he was excited about being a father.

So, here you were, sitting on your couch in an old pair of Dallas Stars sweats; eating ice cream straight from the container, while you watched your baby daddy play hockey. While said baby, could not be seen yet; you were obviously taking this mom indulging in her favorite foods’ thing seriously. The only thing missing was the pickles, and since they made you nauseous even before you were pregnant; you had an inkling you wouldn’t be running to the store any time soon. It felt good to watch the Stars play again; you’d blocked them out of your life, just as you had Tyler. Oh, you still kept in touch with some of the wives and girlfriends, not so much now; but the first few weeks you did. It felt odd sitting in front of the television, when it was a home game; the norm usually being sitting in the designated wags section. While you didn’t quite belong there anymore now; this didn’t feel quite right either. But really was there anything in between?

“Come on ref, that’s a fucking horrible call?” you yelled at the tv, then spooned another bite in your mouth, as you watched Rads get called on some bullshit high stick. Thankfully Tyler wasn’t on the penalty kill unit; it was added stress neither him or you needed. With about four minutes into the second, a bad turnover by the Kings had Tyler dangling the puck around the goalie. Weaving in and out looking for the perfect shot; you hadn’t realized you were on the edge of your seat. Faking to his left he shifted at the last minute, completely fooling Quick in the process; the puck skidded over the goal line, sounding the horn. “Score,” shouting at the empty living room, you cheered.

Finishing the game, and the container of ice cream, you turned off the tv and headed to bed. Weeks of sleeping, still hadn’t prepared you for this tired feeling pregnancy brought with it; your body was exhausted. Mentally however, you couldn’t make your mind stop spinning; thoughts of Tyler occupying them. When you met him, he’d been your Prince Charming; sweeping you off your feet into a love so grand there was no other possible ending then happily ever after. That Cinderella wasn’t knocked up at the end of movie, after the prince had cheated on her; was something Disney must have omitted. Being the heroine of this fairy tale was going to take more than a pair of glass slippers that was for sure; hopefully, in sleep you’d find a godmother, that brought you sage advice and wisdom instead of a dress.

When morning came however, you were no further ahead than you’d been the night before; so, getting up, you headed to work. The day went blessed easy in the morning; it was the afternoon that turned into a cluster fuck. First, Andrea brought you in a beautiful bouquet of red roses, long stemmed placed in an exquisite vase; they were the classic, something every woman dreams of receiving. It was who they were from that had you frowning. The card read simply, Hope you are feeling better, Always, Robert. Somehow you had pushed thoughts of him to the recesses of your brain. Despite his possessive nature, Robert deep down was a good person. He deserved to be told face to face, that things between the two of you weren’t going to happen.

The second time she walked in, Andrea wasn’t carrying anything; which didn’t disturb you; that was not until she held your office door open for not one, not two, not even three; but ten gorgeous arrangements of flowers; all in hues of lilac. That the color was a melding of both blues and pinks wasn’t lost on you; though it surprised you Tyler would come up with it. Delicate blooms of roses, hydrangea dotted with small sprigs of baby’s breath adorn most of the vases. However, one stood out, while it still contained roses, this one had a unique flower interlaced in it; star shaped little blossoms ran up and down the stem. What stood out was the fragrance, sweet smells of springtime filled the air; giving off an aroma of new beginnings.

Apparently, the florist had come along to deliver the massive number of flowers; she saw you take interest in the bloom. “It’s a hyacinth, the flower of forgiveness. In the world of magic, it is said to symbolize love and happiness as well as protect it’s recipient from harm.” Handing you the card that went with the arrangements, she turned to leave. It read simply, I’m sorry. I’ll never fuck up again. Love For All Eternity, Tyler. That’s when you noticed that damn single tear was back.

“Thank you, so much. They’re all so extraordinary.”

“Your welcome my dear. You must be very special and he must be extremely sorry. It’s not every day I get a call with such specific requests. Most men think the rose covers it all. But yours, he knew what he wanted before I could even make suggestions. Trust me they weren’t easy to find at this time of year either, or I would’ve done more than one bouquet.” She walked out the door, and that’s when you lost it. Dropping down into your chair, you sat there and sobbed. Sure, Tyler had sent you flowers after he cheated; now that you thought about it, they’d all been roses. Always in various shades and color, but always just vase after vase of roses. That he had specifically requested these for you this time, meant more to you than every rose he had ever bought you. Your heart melted a little more, the ice thawing so that even you weren’t sure if it existed. He’d said he was sorry, practically begged for your forgiveness, swore it wouldn’t happen again; you weren’t sure it was possible, but this, this was telling you that perhaps you should at least try. It wouldn’t be easy but maybe, just maybe if you did you both could find peace and be able to move forward together.

The hour you took to collect yourself, put you behind with work and had you staying later than you anticipated; which meant you were running late when Tyler showed up. The small apartment was something you rented on a month to month basis as you tried to determine what the best living arrangement for you and the baby would be; it was nowhere near the house you’d lived in with Ty. Running to the door to answer it; you were still in your work clothes. “Hi Ty! Sorry I got caught up at work and ran late. I just need to change.” He stepped into the apartment, taking in all the surroundings. It had been furnished when you rented it, everything very clinical and clean, nothing that spoke to the person that lived there. All your belongings still in storage. “Have a seat, do you want a drink or anything? God, I think I have some wine or something here, not that I’ll be joining you.”

“I’m good babe. I’m not drinking anymore either.”

You were halfway back the hall to your bedroom, when what he said actually registered in your brain. Sliding your heels off, you had to know more “What? Why aren’t you drinking?”

“I just…I don’t know. You can’t drink, I kind of feel like it’s something I can do with you; at least until the baby’s born.” No wonder you loved this man; that he wanted to do even something this tiny meant more than words could ever say. Entering the bedroom, you quickly grabbed a pair of jeans and a loose flowy top; thank god jeans were made with spandex in them nowadays, not knowing how many more times you’d be able to put them on this easily. Grabbing a pair of chunky wedged sandals, you headed back out to the living room; back to Tyler.

“So where are we headed?”

“I already told you, that’s a secret. You ready to go.” Excitement was radiating off of him; it was contagious.

“Yeah, I just want to grab a quick protein bar. I think someone’s feeling a little snackish.”

Chuckling he responded back, “Would that be you or the baby? Because I distinctly remember you used to always have snacks in that suitcase you call a purse.”

Playfully, you swatted his arm. “So, I like my snacks, nothing wrong with that. Besides I also remember a particular someone, who would dig in that so-called suitcase, for something to eat on a regular basis.”

“You got me there, babe. You did pack two didn’t you,” this while winking at you.

“Of course.” With that, the two of you strode out the door, to the car. Being ever the gentleman, Tyler came over and opened the door for you; that he took the seatbelt and proceed to buckle you in was new. “What are you doing? You know; I can buckle the seatbelt.”

“Just making sure you’re both safe and snug in here.” This over-protective thing was going to take some getting used to; though it did tear down yet another wall that you had built up against him.

The drive was silent; soft music playing in the background; nothing like the drives you used to take. When his hand would be in yours or on your thigh; music as loud as it could be, you both singing the whole way, Tyler mainly off key. Reaching your hand over you began to scan for a station you both enjoyed. “What, you didn’t like what I had on?”

“Ummm, no, not really. I thought we were in a freaking elevator,” chuckling you added “in a museum, run by dead people.”

“It’s supposed to be soothing and create a loving environment for the baby.” Raising an eyebrow, you looked at him, like he had just grown three heads.

“Where did you come up with that?”

“I read it in one of my daddy baby books.”

“Oh!,” it was the only response you could think of; your mind still grasping at the fact that he was reading a book for expecting fathers. That wall you thought about earlier was definitely crumbling now. “So, did you learn anything else,” this said while you worked your way back to the station with the elevator music on it.

“Hmm, that you should start to show soon. That the kid is the size of an apple, pear or orange; that seems to vary depending on what book I read. Oh, and that we should be able to find out the sex at that next ultrasound you mentioned.” He seemed to really be doing his homework. “Do you want to find out the sex?”

“Ummm, I hadn’t given it much thought. What do you want to do? I think it’s a decision we both have to make. Like I don’t think I could stand it, if you knew and I didn’t. It would drive me insane.” People always said that life was full of surprises; you kind of felt that statement contradictory. There truly weren’t many really authentic surprises left in life, but the miracle of life itself. However, knowing would make things so much easier, you’d be able to pick out the color of the baby’s room, buy all his or her clothes in appropriate colors, even have his or her name all ready. You really could go either way, and maybe this decision could be up to Tyler.

“Hmmm, I think it would be fun to know. I kind of remember one of the guys talking about doing a baby reveal or something; which sounds like a lot of fun.” Well that decision was made; we’d be finding out at the next ultrasound it seemed. “But you know, when are we ever gonna get a surprise like this. Maybe when we have the second one, we can find out the sex, but I think this first one I don’t want to know. If that’s ok with you?” Woah, and here you thought that there were no real surprises in life, that statement right there was one; first that he didn’t want to know, second, that he was already planning your next child, together.

Your stunned silence, had Tyler looking over at you wondering if you’d heard him. “Yeah, I agree, I don’t want to know. Unless it’s like super obvious or something.” Staring out the window, you tried not to focus on images his words evoked; a happy loving family, Tyler playing with your toddler on the floor of the living room, while you fed child number two. It was something you hadn’t let yourself think about; hadn’t seen this as your future after everything that had happened. But here, now, hearing his words; the picture was so real, you felt you could reach out and touch it. Shaking yourself, you brought yourself back to the present; seeing familiar homes pass by. “Are we going to the house?” While you’d made headway today; you weren’t completely sure you were ready to walk back into the home you once shared.

“Umm, no.” His short answer was all you received. A few more turns had you slowing down to the apparent destination. The large house loomed in front of you; recognition dawning on your face as the vehicle made its way through the gate. You’d been here before, probably driven past it over a hundred or more times; always with this same man by your side, but never up the drive to the house itself. To say that the look you gave him was questioning was an understatement. “Surprise!” That, that was the only word he said, it really didn’t give you any answers.

He seemed so pleased with himself; yet you had no clue as to why. “Ok, I’m gonna need a little more than that Ty. Surprise, what?”

“It’s the house, the one we always talked about raising our family in.”

“I can see that. Why are we here?”

“I bought it, for us.” He stated it that simply; smiling brilliantly at you. That you needed a deep cleansing breath before you even thought about replying back to him should have made him at least sense your mood; instead the lovable idiot just continued to smile.

Massaging your temple, from the headache you could feel forming; you spoke as calmly as possible. “You did what? Tyler, what the hell are you thinking?”

The smile that lit up his face dropped instantaneously. “I thought this could be a fresh start for us. Plus, we’ve always wanted this house. It came up on the market a few weeks ago; obviously I didn’t buy it then, we weren’t together. But I called yesterday and it was still for sale, so I had the realtor start working on everything, it’s practically ours.”

“We’re not together now Ty. Why would you have him start the whole process? What the hell were you thinking?” That wall, which had been crumbling before, was now being rebuilt by a dozen stonemasons; their incessant pounding making your brain hurt. “Is this some grand gesture to get me to forgive you?”

“Yes…no. God I can’t do anything fucking right with you; can I?” His head crashed against the back of the seat and he blew out a frustrated breath; hands clenching the steering wheel in front of him. “I’m trying here. I really am. Can you just go inside and look at the place? Not for me, hell not even for you; but for the baby?” The pleading sound in his voice had you halting progress on the barrier around your heart.

“Ok,” you relented; it wouldn’t hurt to just look at the place. The door to the house opened then and Tyler’s realtor stepped out; suit and tie all business like, ready to make the sale of the year. Opening the car door, you got out walking around, matching strides with Tyler. Greeting the realtor, you tried to keep an open mind; you’d dreamed about what the interior would look like, this was finally your chance to see it. The massive double doors opened to an understated entry way; an elegant dining room off to your right. The place was tastefully decorated; not ornate or too elaborate, more relaxed as if the people who lived here truly made this a home and not some decorated show piece. The office on the left, was light and airy, not heavy with wall to wall bookshelves; a family portrait hung above the fireplace. You couldn’t help but imagine your own family’s photo hanging there.

Continuing the tour, next you saw the kitchen; flashes of you baking and preparing meals for Tyler and your children popped into your head. It opened up to a family room; where you saw the kids playing with the dogs. Walking down the hall, you entered the master suite, enormous in size it looked out onto the pool; a king size bed fit easily into the room. Images of you and Tyler rolling around on the bed took control of your brain, arms entangled, bodies sweaty, moans filling the air; you looked away needing to shake the thoughts from your head. A sitting area off in the corner offered an opportunity to enjoy your coffee in the morning light. French doors leading outside to a private alcove overlooking the pool; a lounger large enough for two people covered most of the area. It was intimate, shielding its inhabitants from small prying eyes; a place the two of you could make love for hours on end. It was too much; you were standing outside and yet you needed air. Falling back on the sunbed you’d just sexually fantasied about being on with Tyler; you sat, taking deep breaths.

Tyler whispered something to the realtor, who strode back inside the house; leaving the two of you alone. Sitting beside you, he quietly asked, “you ok?”

It was a loaded question, physically you were fine; mentally you thought you were going to explode. “I don’t know Ty.” The look of concern that crossed his face, had you quickly following that up. “It’s not the baby, we’re ok. It’s just this…” waving your hand at the beautifully manicured landscape in front of you. “This is supposed to be our dream home and we’re just not in that place right now. I won’t lie to you; I wish we were.”

Taking his hand, he made soothing circles up and down your back; the movement evoking all those images from just moments ago. “Babe, we’re going to get there. I know it’ll be hard, but just try to have some faith in me.” Turning your head, you stared into his eyes, searching for the trust he spoke of; wanting so much more. There was hope there, hope for a future the two of you could build. Love, so much love it made you ache; even a tinge of sadness for what had been lost. Finally, you saw it, that small glimpse of faith; that it came from the reflection of your eyes in his, is what surprised you. His hand stopped; simultaneously your breathing sped up. Even though the small voice in the back of your brain told you not to surrender; you pressed forward anyway. Taking his face in the palm of your hands, you brought his lips to yours; it was a sweet caress, filled with promises. Slow and gentle, the kiss left you dizzy; neither one of you fighting for control, just relishing the touch of each other. Mouths fussed together as one; you could’ve stayed like this for hours, but softly you pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

His eyes were closed, lids hooded so you couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. Why you thought you’d be able to know what he was thinking, when you didn’t even know where your mind was; you couldn’t comprehend. All you knew was that it was a start; a tiny move in hopefully the right direction. Taking a second waiting for him to look at you; when he didn’t, finally you said, “I’m still not sure you should buy this place.”

Eyes flying open, he looked at you; grabbing your hands, he helped you to your feet. He drew you to the edge of the water by the pool. Standing behind you, he turned you to look at the expansive lawns. His hands encircled your waist, caressing your stomach, where your child grew. Resting his chin on your shoulder; he spoke, his voice low, “Can you see it? Right over where the water’s real shallow. The kids are splashing around with the dogs. I’m over there by the grill, cooking up some burgers for dinner. And right there,” pointing to edge of the pool. “You have our newest little one in your arms, rocking back and forth near the kids in case they need you.” That you could almost smell the burgers, bespoke of how vivid the image became in your head. You wanted, no needed it all; could only pray for it to become reality.

That’s when it happened, you weren’t entirely sure what it was at first; but then it fluttered again. “Did you feel that?”

“Was that the baby?”

Tears sprang to your eyes; only this time they were tears of joy. “Yeah, I really think it was.”

“Think he’ll do it again?”

“I don’t know, maybe? Wait did you say, him?”

“Did I? Hmmm, maybe I did.” Then as if the little one knew we were discussing him or her; it happened again. “I think he or she likes their new house.”

“Tyler, don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“Mmmm, too late, I already told the realtor to have the papers ready, for when we go back inside.” With that he took off running before you could smack him; playfully of course. Shaking your head at what had transpired in the last thirty minutes or so; you wandered around the property. Tyler, had gone inside, you assumed to sign said papers. Maybe, just maybe, he was right and this could be the new beginning you were searching for.

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