#everyone who’s ever told me ‘’you can just pick [substance] out & it’ll be fine’’ was in fact lying

[defilerwyrm]

Everyone who’s ever said “don’t worry, you can’t taste the [substance]” to me has been wrong. Like I don’t think they were lying per se; they were just completely incorrect

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (11)

Wc: 2.5k

“WHAT?”

“Y-yeah... she’s dating Juyeon.”

Minho ran his fingers through his hair, frowning as he leaned back against the couch.

“She fucking said she loved me...why would she do that?!” He said shakily, gritting his teeth.

Chan sighed, putting a hand on Minho’s arm.

“Look, shouldn’t you be glad that she’s finally moving on?”

“Why the fuck would I be glad?” He spat, glaring at Chan. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. You kept telling me you don’t deserve her. If you don’t want her, then at least let her be happy with someone else.”

“But...that’s the thing. I do want her. I want her so much it hurts.” He mumbled, peeling his eyes open and looking at Chan.

Chan stayed silent for a few minutes, sighing as he looked away. “Well then, why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

“I’ve already told you. She does deserve better. I just...didn’t think she would move on so soon. And with him, no less.” He growled, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t imagine you with Juyeon. It made him want to throw up.

“I think...I think I can accept that I’m not good enough for her. But, Chan?” He looked at the man, bottom lip quivering.

“I can’t live without her. I need her back in my life. She’s my best friend...it doesn’t matter if I can’t have her in the way I want to. I just want her back, even if all we’ll ever be is friends. It’ll be torture, but I’ll suppress my feelings if I have to. I’ve been doing it for all these years...”

Chan nodded, gripping his arm tighter. “Look bro, you’ll be fine. You and Y/n need closure. You two should talk.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me any more, though. I don’t know if she meant the things she said...but I can’t blame her. I was a dickhead too.”

“Hmm, right. Well, if you want your best friend back, just do something for her. Make her trust you again, and talk it out.”

“Right.” He nodded, putting a smile on. “I think...I think I can do that.”

“Good. I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He chuckled.

“No promises.” He chuckled, waving as Chan gave him a laugh, leaving.

He sighed, waiting for Chan to leave completely before he quickly pulled out his phone. He’d had enough. It was time for him to actually do something.

***

You drummed your fingers on the table as Juyeon turned around slightly, still stirring the pot of pasta on the stove. He gave you a wide smile.

You smiled at him, the expression on your face a stark contrast to the emotions rooted in you. “You really didn’t have to make lunch. I know how to cook, you know.”

“Yeah I know, but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t do something special for you on our first day as a couple?”

You tried to hide your grimace as he turned around. God, he was so sweet. It made you feel bad about yourself. What a shitty person you were.

I’m not doing this to make Minho jealous, or to rub it in his face that I’ve moved on. 

You kept reminding yourself that. 

I’m only doing this because I don’t want to let Juyeon down.

Right?

You were snapped out of your thoughts as Juyeon put a plate down in front of you. “Dig in, baby.” 

You winced at the nickname. smiling awkwardly as you spooned some of the pasta into your mouth. Fuck, too hot.

Juyeon saw the expression on your face, eyes widening before he quickly stood up to grab a glass of cold water, handing it to you. “Drink.”

You nodded, taking the glass and gulping down the cool liquid as the man opposite you stroked your hair.

“You okay? I should have warned you about the heat...” He said sadly, sighing.

“N-no. It’s okay.” You sighed, blowing on the food before you took another bite, humming at the taste.

“It’s good.” 

His eyes lit up at that, and he grinned. “Really?!”

You let out a giggle at that. He’s like a giant puppy, you noticed. It was kind of cute.

“Really.” 

He smiled, hesitating a little before reaching over to grab your hand gently. You gulped, turning slightly pink. His hand was warm, and you liked the feeling of his fingers wrapped around yours. 

***

Minho opened the door, quelling the hatred in him as he gave Rina a half-hearted smile.

He stepped aside. “Come in.”

She frowned. “No, thanks. First off, tell me why you called me here. Cause...I’m not having sex with you. Just because Y/n finally realized your true worth and left you, and is now with someone better doesn’t mean I’m going to come crawling back to-”

“I didn’t call you here to have sex with you.”

“Oh.” She turned red, pausing. “Well then, why did you?”

“I need to...set some things straight. Apologize for the way I treated you. I lost someone I truly loved, and now that I think about it, it was wrong of me to accuse you. I have no one to blame but myself.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Um, okay. I already knew that, but it’s good to hear you admit it.” Her gaze softened just a little bit. “Do you really love her?”

“Yeah.” He said softly. “It scared me at first, but now...not so much.”

“Hmm.” She sighed. “It was still a fake relationship though, right? My suspicions were correct?”

He rolled his eyes. “More or less, yeah.” He shook his head as he realized how immature it all was. “Look that day...I didn’t mean to...” He sighed, rubbing his forehead, glancing up at her.

“You know what? Just come in.”

The girl hesitated before nodding, following him into the apartment as he sat on the couch. She paused before sitting down as well.

“Y/n told me I’m a fuckboy w-without any substance. And...she isn’t wrong. The past few years did change me.”

He groaned. “I’ve never liked being vulnerable...and she makes me exactly that. I really don’t have an excuse for any of this. Yes, maybe I do think with my dick most of the time....but I’ve always tried to be a good best friend to her. Lately though, I’ve been a complete asshole.” 

He looked up at her. “You’re...hot. And there’s nothing wrong with you. I didn’t run away that day because I didn’t want to have sex with you, I went cause I forgot that I’d made plans with her. I never meant to hurt you or humiliate you.”

She sighed, picking at the hem of her dress. “You’re not the only one that’s vulnerable. You and I are more alike than you realize.”

“Look, I should have told you where I was going, and the reason I was leaving. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I’m just...sorry. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, to make up for it.”

She shook her head, “I don’t want anything, not anymore. My initial desire was just to see you hurt...and you are, now. So I guess I got what I wanted, but it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.”

Minho didn’t reply, still rubbing at his eyes. 

“I overreacted, so I’m sorry too.”

He peeled his eyes open. “You are?”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence for a bit as Rina patted his knee hesitantly before getting up.

“I don’t think I should stay any longer. But...Minho?”

“Mm?”

“Maybe you should talk to Y/n. If I was in your place, that’s what I’d do.”

He stayed silent, eyes still closed. She sighed before leaving, the sound of the door closing making him open his eyes again slowly.

Everyone was telling him to talk to her, but it was easier said than done. The two of you had never fought before, not with this intensity. Hadn’t spewed such intense hatred at each other.

He punched his thigh, letting out a groan as he felt the pain rake through him. It felt satisfying. It was what he deserved for hurting you. You, who’d been nothing but kind and patient for as long as he’d known you. Breaking you was no easy task..and that’s exactly what he’d done.

How does one become a better person? He thought. It surely doesn’t happen overnight.

But...I could try. Even though I’d never come close to the type of guy she deserves.

For now, he decided he needed to get his best friend back. Baby steps. He stood up, grabbing his jacket and putting it on.

***

You sighed as you fiddled with your guitar, liking the weight of it on your lap. It felt comforting. 

Usually, around this time in the evening, Minho and you would be watching a movie on this very couch. He’d have his head on your lap...and would be making snide comments all throughout the movie, annoying the fuck out of you and making you want to kiss him (at least to shut him up) at the same time.

Minho wasn’t here at the moment.

The doorbell rang. You frowned, looking at the clock as you set your guitar aside. It had only been about an hour since Juyeon had left, promising that he’d return early tomorrow.

You slipped off the sofa, making your way to the door and opening it.

“I thought you said you’d-”

You trailed off, mind going blank as you saw Minho with his hands in his pockets, staring at you.

“Y/n.” He stuttered.

You stayed silent, your hands still shivering slightly. It’d barely been a day since you’d last seen him, but it felt more like a whole year. 

He ran a hand through his hair, worriedly taking in your expression and shifting from one foot to the other.

“Can I come in?”

He took your prolonged silence as a yes, slowly pushing past you and making his way to sit on the couch.

You turned around slowly, trying to get your brain to work. “W-why are you here?”

“To apologize.”

“To me?”

“Who else, dummy?”

You paused, shaking your head and sitting down on the chair opposite it. “Go ahead.” You said tightly. For some reason, you could no longer feel the sadness or anger in you anymore. You just felt...blank.

He breathed in deeply. “Where do I start...”

He looked up at you, taking in your face and sighing. The confession was bubbling on the tip of his tongue...yet he couldn’t force it out. 

He shifted closer to you, internally relieved when you didn’t move away. “Y/n...”

“Hmm?” You sighed, heart beating a little faster, unable to comprehend just why he was looking at you like that.

“I...I...” He felt his chest constrict, his mouth open, but with no words coming out.

He closed his eyes. Nope. He couldn’t do it. It was too hard. 

“I heard about you dating Juyeon, and...”

You looked up at him, awaiting his response. Your heart started beating even faster...would he be jealous? You felt like a shitty person for wanting him to be...you were with Juyeon cause you like him. You told yourself that again and again as you waited for Minho to speak.

“I’m really happy for you.”

“Wait, you...you are?”

“Yeah. You two would be good together. I think he’d treat you well. He has my best friend seal of approval!” He slowly grinned, trying his best to not show just how frustrated he was with himself for being unable to choke out his real feelings. The smile slowly faded as he saw your devastated countenance.

“Um, I mean...sorry for assuming. I’m still your best friend, yeah? I don’t think either of us meant anything we said that night...r-right?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow and taking a deep breath.

You sighed, lump in your throat. “Uh, yeah. Totally. I didn’t mean all the bad things I said...and also what I said after.”

“You d-didn’t?” Minho asked, his heart quivering.

“Uh huh. I don’t...love you. Not in that way.” You lied. 

“O-oh.”

“Yeah...I thought I did, but I don’t think what I felt was love. I should have never told you in the first place, especially when we were so angry at each other. I shouldn’t have blurted it out, knowing I wasn’t completely sure about my feelings and what they were. But...recent events have confirmed it. I’m not in love with you, Minho, so don’t worry.” You laughed nervously, feeling like your pants would burst into a blazing inferno if you went on for any longer. 

He gulped, nodding and staring at his lap. “Ah. That’s...good to hear.”

“Yup.” You bit your lip, blinking back tears.

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before Minho turned to you again, holding his hand out. “Let’s move past this, shall we? Friends?”

You hesitated before taking his hand. “Yeah. Best friends.” You added.

He nodded, letting himself give you a weak smile. He’d come here to make up with you, and repair your friendship. But why did it feel like nothing was resolved? He felt empty. You didn’t have any feelings for him...and he couldn’t blame you. It was inevitable. He hated himself, and couldn’t imagine why someone as wonderful as you would ever fall in love someone like him. So...that definitely cleared things up. He was lucky enough to have you as his best friend.

You gazed down at your intertwined hands, unable to hold back the tears any more. Minho felt his heart break as he saw you cry. 

“Hey...don’t cry.” He said softly. He moved closer, hesitating before slowly pulling you into him, his arms wrapped around your waist. You cried into his chest, wetting his shirt as you let out your emotions, the very person who was holding you in his arms being the reason behind all of it. 

He pulled you away from his chest slowly, putting his finger under your chin and tipping it up, observing your face with tears of his own pooling in his eyes. 

“It’ll be okay.” He wiped your tears, his breath hitching as he felt his fingers brush across your soft cheeks. He cupped your cheek, gulping as he felt your heavy gaze on him.

The two of you were so close, and yet so far away...

Not being able to take the eye contact anymore, you buried your face back in his shirt, closing your eyes and letting him pull you into him further, engulfing you with his warmth and stroking your back. He rocked you back and forth slightly, your eyes closing, heady drowsiness settling itself in you as he continued the soothing action. He felt you fall asleep, sighing as he stretched his arm to grab the blanket thrown over the side of the sofa, wrapping it around your body and adjusting you against him in a more comfortable position. 

You mumbled sleepily, rubbing your cheek against his chest. He ruffled your hair fondly, smiling sadly as you slipped further into slumber.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

[kinglazrus]

What You’ve Become

Phic phight 2020

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

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

Word count: 12726

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jazz slams the book down on the console.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We don't talk about that!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"False alarm?" Jazz suggests.

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

The driver rolls down the window.

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

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

"Thanks!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds fake."

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

Spike and Tucker share a look and nod in unison.

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

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

"Jazz, if this is about­–"

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fentons."

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

"No. Thank you, goodbye."

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. The ghosts would kill you."

"Delightful."

"My moms would obliterate your ghost."

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

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

"No. No, I don't."

"I do."

"Of course, you would."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Asking nicely won't make me­."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Surrender, ghost!" the taller agent yells.

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

The G.I.W. share a look.

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

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

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

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

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

Jazz's breath hitches. She presses one against the window, her other falling to the door handle. The ghost mimics her, spreading their fingers, although their palms are turned the wrong way.

She's never seen Phantom before. She's never seen their face. But she knows exactly what she would find under that mask. She pops the door open, lowering one foot to the pavement, ignoring the danger of the ghost to her left.

"Phantom!" Agent O snaps. He presses another button his watch. The cuffs on Phantom's legs fall to the found with a thud, cracking the pavement when they hit it. His arms stay bound. Another press, another button, and a collar around Phantom's neck, hidden by their pose, sparks dangerously.

Agent O points to the mechanical ghost. "Go hunt!"

—

Jazz waited out in the hallway, where her parents told her to be. She sat on a hard, plastic chair, tapping her feet on the tiled floor. It must have been freshly buffed, because when she leaned forward, she could see her reflection on the gleaming ceramic. The tiles were marbled white and pink, the colours blending together in milky swirls, and when she stared right at it, it looked like her face was covered in scars.

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, almost expecting to feel puckered, raised skin where the marbled pink cuts across her pale face. She wondered if Danny would have scars.

"Jazzypants?"

Her head snapped up and she was surprised to see Jack, her father, standing before her. A burly man who took up nearly half the hallway, he didn't exactly have the lightest steps, but she didn't even notice him arrive. He crouched so they were eye to eye, hunching his shoulders to take up as little space as possible, and touched her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jazz glanced to the side, toward the closed double doors with the words "STAFF ONLY" plastered across them in big, bold letters. "I'm fine. Is Danny okay?" she asked.

"He's okay," Jack said. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "The doctors are still working on him, but they said he's gonna be fine."

Jazz didn't match Jack's smile. She tried, but it felt weak and flimsy, and she let it fall away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Jack's smile tightened. "Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened. Danny's gonna be okay, but he got really hurt, and that made some people worry. So, they want to talk to you, so they know they don't have to worry."

Jazz frowned. "You don't have to talk like that. I'm not eight. Who are they?"

Jack laughed, but it was soft and humorless. "Right, you've always been so grown up. Are you okay to talk to them?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and pushed off her chair, standing up. She barely reached Jack's elbow.

With his hand on her back, Jack guided her out of the waiting room. They turned down a quiet hallway, farther from the hospital's entrance, and headed toward a bench set into an. It was small and private. A woman in a blazer and slacks waited there, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

The woman's hair was tied back in a ponytail, smooth against her head, but cascading into a waterfall of dark curls at the nape of her neck. Jazz touched her own hair, red and pin straight. She always wanted curly hair like that, especially after seeing pictures of her mother in college.

Jack cleared his throat as they approached. The woman looked up. She smiled warmly at Jazz, scooting down the bench as if to make room, even though it was a fairly large bench and there was lots of space. Jazz sat down on the very end, as far from the woman as she could get.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenton. I know you may want to stay, but this needs to be a private conversation, so I know you aren't influencing anything she says," the woman said.

"Right," Jack said. He gave Jazz one last pat, then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

"Hello, Jasmine," the woman said, drawing Jazz's attention back. "I'm Jamila Faizan. You can call my Jamila. I'm a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

Jazz nodded, eyeing the woman warily. She had nothing against social workers, but she heard people threaten her parents with them before. It made her uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about what life is like at home, okay?" Jamila asked.

"It's fine."

Jamila smiled. "Of course. It might seem that way, but your brother got really hurt in your parent's lab, and I need to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. I just want to make sure you're safe at home."

Jazz bit her lip. She knew her home life wasn't exactly normal. How many twelve-year-olds had a lab in their basement? But they had good parents, and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened.

"How often do you go into your parents' lab?" Jamila asked.

"Not a lot. I don't like it down there that much, it's really cold."

"Do you parents ever bring you down there?"

"Sometimes, if they want to show us something interesting."

"Okay. Are you allowed down there any time?"

Jazz shifted in her seat, tucking her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting. "Mom or dad has to be with us if we go down there," she said. She quickly added, "But I don't want to go down there, anyway, unless they want to show us something. So it's okay."

Jamila hummed. "How are you at school?"

"Good. I get all A's," Jazz said, a little thrown by the topic change.

"And your brother?"

"He doesn't really like school. I don't think it's a good learning environment for him, so he doesn't really get good grades."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes." Jazz narrowed her eyes at Jamila. "Are you trying to take us away?"

"I'm only trying to make sure you're safe, healthy, and happy," Jamila said.

"I will be once I know my brother's okay."

"I've been told he's going to pull through just fine," Jamila said, giving Jazz a placating smile.

"Then, then I don't see what the problem is. He's okay, I'm okay. It was just an accident. So, I'm going back to my parents, where I will be safe, healthy, and happy, okay? Okay." Jazz got up and walked away before Jamila could say anything else. It wasn't like the social worker could stop her.

—

The asphalt beneath Phantom cracks as they shoot through the air toward the ghost.

"Phantom, wait!" the ghost protests, holding up his hands. He jumps into the air, arcing over Phantom. A gun pops out of his shoulder and fires a green net. The net snaps out, heading right for Phantom.

Jazz doesn't even know how to begin describing what Phantom's body does to dodge the net. Only their arms and head stay solid, the rest of their body twisting, and morphing, and stretching so the next passes harmlessly through them. Their torso and legs snap back into existence as if they hadn't just melted into an amorphous cloud and Phantom continues unhindered. They slam into the mechanical ghost, wrapping one leg around the ghost's arm, the other around their neck.

Electricity crackles up Phantom's spine and shocks the ghost, making the whole suit go slack. Phantom drives the ghost into the ground, crouching over him. A low moan builds in their throat.

Jazz automatically covers her ears. She may have never seen Phantom in action before, but she's definitely heard their signature attack. And had to deal with the damage it leaves behind.

Just before the wail reaches its glass-shattering, tree-tearing, foundation-shaking crescendo, the mechanical ghost shouts, "Sorry!" and launches a mini-rocket out of his arm. It hits Phantom and explodes, blasting them straight across the street.

Jazz winces when they collide with the sidewalk, a sharp crack echoing down the street.

"Stop fighting!" The mechanical ghost holds up their hands as Phantom peels themselves off the crumbled sidewalk. "It's me, Skulker!"

Phantom answers by smacking something on the side of their mask. Green fumes start pouring out the front. Reaching up, their fingers curl around their collar, yanking it down as far as it'll go, and they thrust their head forward. Ectoplasm spews from the mast. It roars outward, a mesmerizing mix of gas and flames that seeps into the air.

As Phantom leaps forward, the ectoplasm pours over a nearby mailbox. The ectoplasm turns liquid the second it touches the mailbox, coating it in a thick slime, melting through the metal. Watching the metal bubble and ooze, Jazz swallows nervously.

She's reminded quite suddenly that Phantom is a tool for the G.I.W. The supreme weapon. The thing they throw at every passing threat. Thinking back to her textbook, she wonders how much of that information was garnered from Phantom. They would certainly make an impressive specimen, not that Jazz wants to think of them like that. But it's undeniable.

The way they move is otherworldly.

Every time Skulker dodges, Phantom's head snaps toward him, lightning fast, as ectoplasm spits from their mask. They mutate their body into grotesque shapes at a moment's notice, deforming and contorting as needed. It's hard to watch them. Not just because of the brutal display, with Skulker's protests falling on deaf ears, but because their body can't seem to settle. It's constantly moving, blurring, flickering. The only time they look completely solid is when their whole body crackles and electricity arcs off them.

Phantom's ectoplasm spews over Skulker's arm. Skulker yelps, forced to flee, and tries to shake off both the acidic sludge and his feral tail.

And Phantom really is feral. They follow, relentless, remorseless, moving like a wild animal prowling after its prey. Every attack is a pounce, a noxious cloud of ectoplasm following their every move. It's both mesmerizing and horrifying. The only word Jazz can use to properly describe them is monster.

—

Two hours after speaking with Jamila, Danny was out of surgery. Jazz was on her own when a nurse came over to deliver the news. Her parents were off with the social worker, had been for some time. The nurse was hesitant to give Jazz the news on her own, but she bullied the man with tear-filled eyes until he caved in.

Danny's surgery was a success. They fixed the rupture in his hear, stopped the bleeding, and now he was sleeping. He would be for a while because his body needed to heal, but once he woke up, he would be good as new.

The nurse waited with Jazz for her parents to return. When they came walking down the hallway, accompanied by Jamila, Jazz hopped out of her seat and ran forward to give them the good news. She faltered when she saw her parents' expressions.

Her mother's eyes were red from crying. Seeing that unsettled Jazz. She had never seen her mother cry before, and even if she didn't actually witness it now, knowing it happened threw her off balance. She knew parents cried too. They were regular people with all kinds of emotions; but, still, they weren't supposed to cry.

Jazz stopped at arm's length, watching them warily.

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie reached down and hugged Jazz.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"You're going to be staying with someone else for a little bit," she said.

Jazz pulled away. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," Jamila interrupted, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz wanted to throw it off. "Maddie," Jamila continued.

"Please, call me Dr. Fenton," Jazz's mother said, a bitter smile cutting across her face.

"Dr. Fenton," Jamila amended coolly. "May I?"

Jazz felt helpless as Maddie stepped away, instantly missing her comforting presence. Jamila took her place, crouching down to Jazz's level.

"I really am sorry, but I can't let you return to Fenton Works until I know you'll really be safe there. I want you to go home with your parents, I really do, but I want to keep you out of danger more."

"I'm not in danger," Jazz insisted.

"Tonight's events prove otherwise. I was contacted by both the hospital and the dispatch operator you spoke to. It's only temporary. Until I'm sure your parents can take proper care of you. I've made arrangements with a foster home for now."

"Do you really have to do this?" Maddie asked.

"Mom," Jazz said. She reached out, searching for Maddie's hand, squeezing it until Maddie looked at her. "I'll be okay. It's just for now, right? You guys can set everything straight and then we can all go home together with Danny

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie pulled Jazz into another firm hug. "It's not right."

"But it's okay, isn't it? Ms. Faizan can do her work, and she'll see that, and everything will be fine by the time Danny wakes up." Jazz motioned for her father, who quickly joined the hug. It was tight, and warm, and Jazz never wanted to let go, but she had to after a few seconds.

Danny always went on and on about how grown up Jazz was, how she acted so much like an adult even though she was four years younger than him. If she was as mature as Danny always said, then she could do this. She could be grown up right now and be okay with all of this.

She could go with Jamila now, and later, she could go home with Danny.

—

The fight is taking too long. Despite dealing with ghosts for two years now, Jazz has never seen a real fight. If it's someone minor, a single agent is all it takes to swoop in and clean things up before anything bad happens. Mildly destructive ghosts require a few agents, who sometimes block off whole sections of the city, pushing citizens back until the problem is dealt with. Usually, this takes no more than half an hour, although the aftermath of the fight affects the city for days.

But when they send in Phantom, the fight ends before it really begins. Swift, effective, and destructive. Bringing in Phantom means bringing in the big guns.

But they're not so swift today. The minutes drag on, the ghosts caught in a stalemate. It takes Jazz far too long to notice the problem: Phantom is distracted. They keep pulling back at the last moment, holding off from delivering the finishing blow. She doesn't think it's to spare the ghost they're fighting. It's the result, but it's not the reason. Each attack aims to kill, up until the moment it doesn't.

Because Phantom's head keeps swivelling. Toward her. As soon as Jazz realizes this, she scrambles out of the car, ignoring the agents shouting at her to get back inside, and runs over to Tucker and Spike.

"What are you doing?" Tucker asks. His head jerks up and down as he looks between Jazz and the G.I.W. agents. He waves his arms emphatically at the short agent. "He's coming this way now!"

"I don't care. Tucker!" Jazz grabs Tucker by the front of his shirt and pulls him down. She shoves his head forward and points at Phantom. "Do you see it?"

Tucker's face twists in confusion, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow. "They're... looking at us.

"Yeah."

Phantom snarls, finally managing to get a hold on Skulker, and rips his arm out of the socket, tearing into the limb like a rabid animal. There's only wires inside, thank god.

Tucker pales. "I don't know about you, but... I don't think I want its attention."

"Tucker! He's not an it!" Jazz protests.

"Phantom is a ghost, Jazz. I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here," Tucker says.

"Don't you remember what I told you? What happened after you left?"

Tucker stares at her. A few seconds later, realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. Yeah! I do! Do you think–"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. "

"Jazz, if it is, I don't think..." Tucker trails off. He gives Jazz a pointed look as Phantom screeches and dissolves into a black cloud, reforming behind Skulker. They swing their arms down on Skulker's head, smashing him into the ground.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Spike asks. "All I see is a pissed off government goon heading our way."

"Phantom," Tucker and Jazz chorus. Jazz adds, "They keep looking over here."

She can't help the hope that swells in her chest. Two years. Two whole years since the ghosts came, since the G.I.W. took over, since it happened. Two years of stares and whispers behind her back.

Look at that girl, isn't it a shame what happened?

I heard they tried to shoot her too.

I bet he ran away because he couldn't stand to see her.

"So?"

"The hospital," Jazz stresses.

"Oh. Oh!" Spike glances at Jazz from the corner of his eye. "That's good, right? It means they're, you know?"

"He... if they are... if it is." Jazz fumbles over her words, but Tucker seems to understand. He gives her shoulder a reassuring pat.

He didn't run away, Jazz thinks. He didn't mean to leave her. She leans into Tucker, torn between crying out of grief or relief.

Spike taps Jazz's other shoulder. "Hey, this is super gross and touching and all, but we're fucked," he said with a jerk of his chin, motioning to the approaching agent.

—

The Miller family was nice enough. Max and Hannah treated her well. They had fostered their son, Spike, before adopting him when he was six. Jazz only saw him once her first day in the apartment, and he immediately reminded her of Sam, with his black clothes and dark makeup, but a little more punk thanks to his mohawk.

He left Jazz alone for the most part, which she was more thankful for than anything.

Max and Hannah told Jazz they would do their best for her, and that they hoped Danny would be okay, and they would give her whatever she needed to make it through this tough time. The way they talked annoyed Jazz a little. They weren't patronizing, but they acted like they knew exactly what she needed when they didn’t.

They thought she needed a soft bed, a good meal, and a comforting smile, but she really just needed her brother.

The first day at the Millers, Jazz occupied herself with her memoirs. She had been working on them the day of the accident, until the power cut out and Danny's scream filled the house, so loud it made her ears ache. She put in her headphones to drown out the residual scream in her head and got down to work.

Before... it happened, she had been writing down her significant childhood memories. The earliest ones weren't full memories, more like snatches of moments. Danny's soft hand in hers. A small hand rubbing her back after a nightmare. The glow of her star nightlight, which originally belonged to Danny, but he passed it on to her when he learned it made her sleep through the night better. She only learned this fact a few months ago, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

The memories got stronger after that. Her first time seeing Santa, she was four, Danny was eight, and he took her across town on his own to the mall. Danny teaching her to ride a bike, because their parents were too busy in the lab. Danny making cupcakes for her birthday, because their parents were away at a convention. Danny helping her with her homework, even though he wasn't very good at it, but he still tried his best.

Jazz's pen paused. All her best memories had Danny in them. It wasn't that she had no good memories with her parents, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized they weren't really there as much as they thought they were.

"It's fine," she told herself. She pressed her pen into the page, intending to keep writing, but she couldn't stop thinking.

How many kids learned to cook at eight years old because their parents sometimes forgot to feed them? How many kids were more of a parent to their little sister than their actual parents? How many kids lived above a lab full of dangerous chemicals and volatile weaponry, and were told to clean said lab as part of their chores?

Jazz could think of at least one: Danny. Would things be the other way if she were older? Would she take Danny out on Christmas day so they didn't have to hear their parents fighting about a fat man in a red suit? Would she have been forced to grow up too fast?

She didn't want Danny to be her dad. She wanted her father to be her dad.

"Jazz?"

She jumped, hand shooting across the page, pen ripping the paper in half, tearing through her carefully penned memories and the photocopied photograph taped in the corner.

"Oh, shit, sorry. Was that important?" Spike asked. He held one of the house phones, pressing against his chest.

"Language," Jazz said softly, staring forlornly at the ruined page. The pages beneath were ruined, too, a heavy black line cutting across the first few.

"Weirdo," Spike said. "Anyway, Mom­­—that's Hannah—wanted me to tell you that social worker is coming on Friday so you can visit your brother."

Muffled noise comes from the phone, and Spike raises to his ear. He listened a moment, nodded, then lowered it again. "And she's sorry they can't take you sooner, but they work during visitor hours, and they don't want you walking through the city on your own," he recited.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

Spike looked at her funny, cocking his head. "Because it isn't safe."

"Oh." Jazz would be perfectly fine with going on her own. She needed to see Danny with her own eyes, to make sure he was okay. The nurse said he was, but she had to see it for herself. She had to be certain.

Her second day with the Millers, she couldn't bring herself to work on her memoirs again, so she occupied herself with the collection of books in their office. A lot of it was literature, some classic, some poetry, some plays. Jazz gravitated toward the single shelf of textbooks, particularly the psychology. She didn't know much about the field, but something about understanding brains and how they worked fascinated her.

She stayed holed up in the office all day.

Her third day with the Millers was Friday. She waited for Jamila to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Jamila never showed up.

Her fourth day, she learned about the monster that attacked the mall, sending everyone into a panic. It glowed and couldn't be hurt by anything anyone threw at them, until Maddie and Jack showed up with the volatile weapons they made Danny clean and put the monster—ghost—down. All Jazz cared about was why no one was with Danny in case he woke up.

Her fifth day, Jazz thought, and thought, and didn't stop thinking until she couldn't stop thinking about why her parents didn't seem to care as much as they were supposed to.

On the sixth day, Jamila said she could finally see Danny tomorrow. For the first time in a week, it felt like everything would be alright.

—

Spike panics. Jazz knows he panics because he grabs her wrist and makes a break for it before the agent even reaches them.

"Spike!" Jazz stumbles, almost tripping, and tries to resist. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the agent giving chase. Until Tucker surges after him and tackles his legs. They both go down.

Spike yanks on her arm, forcing Jazz to run faster, and drags her around the corner of the block.

"What was that?" Jazz asks. She grabs her hair. "Tucker's going to get arrested!"

"So were we! You heard what the emergency broadcast said. You know how many laws we're breaking being 'out of our vehicle?'" Spike shouts back. "All of them!"

"They aren't real laws!" And they aren't. They're a guideline of what to do in ghostly emergencies, and the G.I.W. treat every ghost like an emergency. Although, considering the destruction they had just run from, this was a real emergency.

"Funny, doesn't stop them from arresting people!"

Jazz rips her hand out of Spike's grip. "I can't leave them behind!"

Spike stops and turns. His scowl is softer, and he bites his lip, looking at Jazz with worry.

She glares back at him, refusing to move. "I can't."

"This isn't about Tucker, is it?" he asks. He doesn't need Jazz to answer. She doesn't need to give him one. He sighs, pressing a hand to his cheek, one finger spinning his eyebrow ring. After a long moment, he says, "Fine."

Jazz feels a wave of relief that has her grinning.

"Don't expect me to tackle a government agent for you, though. That's all Foley."

They turn back around, sprinting down the street. Overhead, Phantom and Skulker are still battling it out. Skulker's lagging, the plating of his suit warped and melted. The missing arm definitely doesn't help. But Phantom's not looking so good either. A few lucky shots from Skulker's plethora of hidden guns had left them burnt and bleeding.

Can it really be called bleeding? Ectoplasm, rather than blood, seeps out of Phantom's wounds, indistinguishable from the substance dripping from his mask. A wound on their torso slows them down the most, a large scorch mark stretching from the bottom of their ribcage, across their stomach, to their hip on the other side of their body.

Every time it looks like they're about to slow down, the collar on their neck sparks. Phantom hisses in pain each time and dives back into the hunt with renewed vigour.

Jazz forces herself to look away when Spike grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind the same crumpled car Skulker destroyed earlier. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions her forward, and together they peer around the bumper and look down the street.

The agent has Tucker pinned on a nearby car. Straining her ears, Jazz can just barely hear what he's saying over the grunts and snarls of the fighting ghosts. "You're under arrest for assaulting a G.I.W. agent and interfering with a government operation."

"Come on, Mr. K, that's not cool," Tucker says.

"Agent K. And neither was assaulting me. G.I.W. operations are a matter of national security."

"It's a green blob in a metal suit, fucking chill!"

Agent K pulls out a pair of cuffs and slaps them on Tucker's wrists, keeping him pinned with a hand on his back. Agent K's focus drifts up toward the fight and scowls. Seeing his hesitance, Jazz realizes Agent K isn't going to move Tucker until the fight is done. Too much debris is flying everywhere and it's safer behind the cars than anywhere else. Agent O seems to have found cover, too, behind the overturned truck. He stands there with his gun lowered, hand poised over his watch.

Jazz looks back to Tucker. Neither he nor Agent K has noticed her and Spike yet. "Okay," she says. "I know what to do."

"No," Spike says.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"No. We're not tackling a G.I.W. agent."

Jazz gives him a pleading look, with wide eyes and a small pout.

"No, we're not tackling him!"

Jazz doesn't give him much of a choice. She charges, dashing out from behind the car.

"Son of a biiitch!" Spike shouts, sprinting past her. Agent K hears Spike and turns to face him, but none of his government training could prepare him for the pure shock value of a sickly looking punk goth kid charging at him at full speed. Spike barrels into the agent's chest, throwing him off Tucker and down to the sidewalk.

Jazz is about to throw herself on top of the pile when a loud crash and a panicked cry stops her.

"No, Phantom, no! It's me! Remember? Stop!"

She jerks back at the sound of Skulker's steadily rising voice and peeks over the car Tucker had been pinned against. Skulker lies on the ground in the middle of the road, Phantom hovering far above him. But something's off. Specifically, Skulker's head. It lies a foot away from his body, the eyes dull and expression completely blank.

"Please!"

Jazz's gaze snaps up to Phantom. In his hands, he holds something small and green, and Tucker's words come floating back to her: a blob in a metal suit. Phantom holds Skulker's real form inches from their face, clutched tightly in their hands.

"No!" Jazz cries, jumping out into the street. Everyone freezes, their heads swivelling toward her, and she falters.

"Jazz, what are you doing?" Tucker hisses.

She doesn't know. Phantom is a dangerous, powerful ghost. There's nothing she can actually do to make him stop. There's no real reason she should even try to stop him. In Amity Park, ghosts are like rabid wild animals. They come in, destroy stuff, and then they get put down. Jazz has never met someone who felt sorry for the ghosts.

But she had also never really met a ghost before. And she had never heard one scream and beg for its life as it tries to help the very thing that is going to kill it. She can't watch that. She can't just stand here and witness Phantom squeezing the life—the afterlife—out of this little ghost that says he wants to help.

Whoever this Skulker is, she can't let that happen.

Whoever Jazz suspects Phantom might be, she can't let them do it.

She can't tell if Phantom is looking at her, but she thinks they are. Even as Skulker wriggles and squirms, popping out of their grip, Phantom stays focused on her. A small smile touches Jazz's lips. In the corner of her eye, Skulker flies down to his suit, free to escape.

Jazz takes a step forward. A burly arm loops around her waist and hoists her off her feet, dragging her back.

"Hey! Stop!" Jazz squirms, feet kicking in the air, and throws her head back. She hits Agent K's chin, but he doesn't falter.

"Hey, calm down! It's not safe out here!" Agent K says, his arm tightening around her midsection.

Jazz gasps. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Agent K's hold immediately loosens. "Sorry. But what's with you kids, tackling people trying to help you?"

"Wait, what?" Jazz asks, confused.

Suddenly, white fills her vision. Jazz feels a burning, crackling heat, then she's falling, and Agent K her screams. She rolls on the ground, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and looks over her shoulder.

Phantom has Agent K pinned against a convenience store window, arms pressed against his throat. Their body blurs as they move, leaning in closer. The glass cracks. With a great heave, the window shatters. Phantom sends Agent K flying through the store, flipping over rows of shelves. He crashes into a row of coolers at the back and falls to the floor.

Phantom spins around and faces Jazz. Up close, they look even more feral, ectoplasm dripping like saliva through a series of jagged slots in their mask. The lenses of their goggles are cracked, but the eyes behind them glow so brightly it hurts to look right at them.

Phantom's collar sizzles and they cry out as the shock courses through them. Turning away from Jazz, they lock onto Agent O and howls. Jazz blinks and Phantom is all the way cross the street, roaring in Agent O's face, immersing him in a haze of ectoplasm.

Agent O drops to the ground, clutching their throat.

"No," Jazz whispers, horrified.

Phantom turns back to her. They stumble forward. Jazz takes a step back. As if that's some signal, Phantom lunges toward her. Jazz screams and drops to the ground, crawling toward the sidewalk.

"Phantom, stand down!" Agent K shouts as he clambers out of the broken shop window His demand is met with a roar of ectoplasm that soars right over Jazz. She screams again, folding her arms over her head, but can't do anything against the blistering heat.

Jazz crawls faster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she's able. She heads for Tucker and Spike, both of them wearing cuffs now, but Phantom cuts in front of her. Backpedalling fast, her arms flail as she pivots and runs the other way.

A hazy mist surrounds Jazz and she shudders, a tingling chill passing through her. Phantom reforms in front of her, too close for her for her to stop in time. A green blast soaring over her shoulder saves her. It bursts against Phantom's chest and throws them back.

"Run!" Agent K shouts, training his gun oh Phantom.

Jazz doesn't question she order. She doesn't wait for Phantom to get back. She already knows they will. No matter what Agent K does, Phantom will come after her. She's their prey now.

—

Everything was not alright.

Monday night, Spike once again passed along the message that Jazz would be seeing her brother the next day, a full week after she'd seen him last. This time, Jamila actually showed up, apologizing for Wednesday, citing the chaos at the mall and the havoc it wreaked throughout the city in general. She brought with her the good news that Danny was awake, had been since Friday.

"I'm sorry no one informed you sooner. There were some complications at the hospital," Jamila had said.

Those foreboding words quelled Jazz's excitement but couldn't snuff it out completely. She would finally get to see for herself that Danny was fine. But when she got to the hospital, the nurse said she wasn't allowed to see him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He's in for tests right now," the nurse said. She turned to Jamila and continued, as if Jazz wasn't there. "We contacted an expert. Apparently, this is something the government's dealt with before. I don't really understand it, but his parents will be seeing him soon, and Jasmine can see him after that."

That was how Jazz ended up in the waiting room, on her own, again. Jamila had gone off to find her parents and speak to them about Danny's situation, whatever that was. Everyone was treating her like she didn't need to know anything, but she was twelve! She was mature, and smart, and she could handle whatever they were keeping from her.

"It's not fair," she muttered.

"Damn right. Although I have no idea what you're actually talking about."

Jazz looked up and saw Tucker claiming the chair next to her. There was no blood on him, and for one wild moment, Jazz realized she expected to see some. It was the first time she'd seen him since the accident, and for some reason, she pictured him frozen in that moment back at the lab, clothes stained red and green.

"Uh, you good?" Tucker asked.

Jazz stared a moment longer, taking in his pale face. "Are you?"

"Ha, you caught me. I don't really like hospitals," Tucker said. He glanced around the room warily and slumped in his chair. "But I heard they were letting you see him today, so I thought. I don't know. Maybe I could sneak in."

"Who told you?"

"Spike."

Jazz blinked in surprise.

"His moms used to babysit me, and my mom watched Spike to return the favour sometimes. When I heard you were with the Millers, I kind of asked him to keep an eye on you for me," Tucker said, smiling sheepishly. "Got to make sure you're alright for Danny."

"Thanks, I guess," Jazz said. She peered closer at Tucker. More than pale, he looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping, and it made her wonder. "What... what happened? In the lab."

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"I think it does."

"What difference will it make?"

"Because then I'll know."

"That won't—"

"Tucker, please." Jazz wasn't mad. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just looked at Tucker, feeling helpless and lost.

"Sam thought it'd be cool to go inside," Tucker muttered.

"Oh." Danny would do anything Sam asked, whether she meant him to or not. Everyone knew it.

"Yeah," Tucker said.

"She hasn't come to see him, has she?"

"She feels guilty."

Jazz didn't know how to respond to that. A small part of her was mad at Sam, but at the same time Jazz knew it wasn't completely her fault.

Silence fell between her and Tucker as she sank into her thoughts. Jazz didn't know how it was with other siblings, but Danny's best friend had always been such a staple in her life that she didn't mind being alone with him. He was almost like a second big brother, although Danny would be the undisputed best.

Tucker stayed with her until Jamila returned. She wore a wary smile and gave Tucker a questioning glance.

"I'm Danny's friend," Tucker said, answering her unasked question.

"I see. I'm sorry, but I've been told only family can see him at this time. His should be seeing him now," Jamila said.

"You're not family."

"Due to the nature of the situation, I am his medical proxy."

It was amazing how Jamila could sum everything up without actually explaining anything useful. Jazz wanted to snap at her, but she held back. After all the thinking she had done about her parents, she was no longer certain how she felt about Jamila. Maybe the woman really did want to help.

"It's fine, Tucker. You can just get Spike to tell you all about my visit," Jazz said.

"Oh, that's cold," Tucker said. He pushed himself up and stretched his arms above his head, then let them flop back down at his sides. "I guess I can leave Danny in your capable hands. Give him hell for scaring us like that."

"That's the plan."

Jazz waited until Tucker was gone before turning to Jamila and motioning for her to lead the way. Soon, all her fretting would be over. She could confirm with her own eyes that Danny wasn't still bleeding out on the floor, and maybe even get one of his comforting smiles. Maybe he would even come with her to stay at the Millers until everything got sorted out with their parents. If it got sorted out.

Before they rounded the corner into Danny's hallway, Jamila took Jazz aside and spoke to her softly.

"Something happened on Friday that the doctors can't really explain," she started. "Your brother appears healthy, but he's... different. And I just want to prepare you for that."

Determined, Jazz nodded.

Jamila looked relieved, her wide brown eyes softening, and she smiled. "Okay. Let's go see your brother."

They turned the corner. Nothing happened. Which made sense, because it was just a hallway, and the door to Danny's room was further down. But Jazz was so tense that the brightly lit hospital hallway felt out of place. A long, foreboding corridor would have been more appropriate.

Hospital staff bustled about. A couple patients were stretching their legs. Some visitors had claimed benches that were interspersed along the hall, none of them too interesting. A woman in a pretty blue dress, a man in a white suit, two teenagers with watery eyes and red noses. Jazz wondered who they were all here for.

They were halfway down the hall when a door burst open and a nurse stuck his head out.

"Security!" he shouted.

"That's not my son!"

Jamila's arm curled around Jazz's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. The way Jamila's hold on her tightened when a security guard went rushing by told her exactly who's room that was. Her fears were confirmed when Maddie and Jack backed out of the open door, herded toward the security guard by the nurse. Danny's door closed behind them.

Jazz twisted, breaking free of Jamila's grip, and ran toward her parents.

"Mom, what's going on? What's wrong?" she asked.

Maddie turned to Jazz and her face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She was barely holding it together "Oh, honey. Danny's... Danny's gone, sweetie."

"No." That wasn't right. Jamila just said Danny was fine. What could have happened in that short time? She refused to believe it.

"No!" she repeated, louder.

Maddie reached out to her. Jazz ducked under her arm, skipping out of reach. She glanced at Jamila, the nurse, the guard, checking to see if any of them would stop her. None of them moved.

"Stop, Jazz!" Jack shouted, taking a step forward.

The security guard stopped him, getting in Jack's way and holding out his arms. "Sir, I will remove you form the building," the guard said.

"Jasmine, do not go in there," Maddie said in a scolding, motherly tone

Jazz went in. She whipped the door open, spinning around and slamming it shut. There was no lock. A quick peek through the window confirmed the guard was still holding her parents back. Satisfied they weren’t going to barge in and drag her out of there, Jazz turned.

She froze. The person sitting on the bed had a familiar head of messy hair, but it faded to white half-way through. His eyes swirled blue and green, the colours constantly shifting, pushing against each other, battling for dominance. When he raised his hand and waved, his arm blurred, trailed by an afterimage.

Bandages crawl up his right arm, wrapping stiffly around his fingers, and winding all the way up to his shoulder, stopping just before the sleeve of his blue gown. She's only seen it once, but Jazz knows there's a gauze patch on his shoulder under that sleeve. A matching patch is plastered against his neck. Thin, spidery blisters creep along his jaw, but don't go much further than that.

His face is sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes looking bruised. The blood is gone. The green goo is gone.

"Jazz!" There was a slight echo to his voice. He beamed. "About time you got here. I was starting to think you didn't care."

There was no mistaking that smile or that teasing voice. Jazz ran forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest.

"Danny!" Jazz cried out, already tearing up. Because it was Danny. He looked different, and he felt different—cold—but it was him.

"You are not gonna believe what's on the other side of that portal, took a lot of work to get back here–"

"Get back?"

"­–but here I am!" Danny threw up his arms, grinning even wider.

Jazz noticed his teeth looked a little sharper. "What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, man, you're not gonna believe it. So, the portal turns on, right? And then everything just goes all." Danny waved his hands around. "Hold on, wait, I had it before. Everything just goes all," he snapped his fingers and electricity crackled down his arm, "like that!"

Jazz jumped away from him, staring at his arm as the electricity fizzled out.

Danny's smile slipped. "Oh. You're scared too, aren't you? Mom and Dad... they didn't take it well either."

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door banged open. Startled, she whipped around and backed up until her hip bumped the side of Danny's bed. Maddie stood in the doorway, holding a silver and green gun. An ectogun, Jazz recalled. Her parents made them to fight ghosts, if they ever saw one.

"Jazz, get away from it!" Maddie said. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

"Mom," Jazz said.

"That's not Danny!"

"That's kind of rude," Danny muttered.

"Mom, what are you doing!" Jazz slid in front of Danny, holding out her arms the same way the security guard had.

The barrel of Maddie's gun dipped as she watched Jazz, disbelief written across her face. It looked like she was going to stop. To Jazz, it looked like Maddie was about to reconsider. Until Jazz felt Danny's hand on her shoulder. Maddie's disbelief was drowned out by a furious snarl fueled by grief and rage.

Everything happened so fast.

Danny shoved Jazz out of the way just before the bang. She tripped into a chair by his bed, smacking her head on the armrest. The world went fuzzy for a moment. There wa a shout, and a thump, and her mother started wearing. A stampede of feet come running.

When Jazz's vision cleared, she saw Maddie on the ground, pinned by the same security guard from before, reaching for her gun. No less than three new guards had Jack pinned out in the hallway. The nurse was speaking frantically into a phone. The man in the white suit tapped the nurse's shoulder, holding out his hand for the phone, jerking his chin toward the room. The nurse relinquished the phone without protest.

Jazz crawled backward, away from the chaos, and almost fell when her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Danny on the floor, bleeding.

—

Jazz has been afraid many times in her life. When she was little, walking through the house in the dark. When she sat in the backseat of the RV while her father had the wheel. When she sat in the hospital, alone waiting to hear if Danny was alive or dead. When she realized he was gone from her life forever.

None of that compares to how she feels now. Her heart beats against her ribs, moments from bursting out of her chest. Her lungs burn and her throat feels tight and she struggles to breathe. Her senses narrow until all she can see is what's in front of her, all she can hear is Phantom inches behind her, all she can feel is the icy heat they give off, so cold it burns.

Jazz makes the mistake of looking back to check how close Phantom is. Practically nose to nose, the green and blue lenses of his goggles are all she sees. She shrieks and stumbles. Phantom reaches out to catch her, latching on to her hair, yanking her head back. She cries out again, tears springing to her eyes.

Phantom jerks away from her, releasing her hair, and raises their hands to their face. They start moaning. Jazz takes off, the ominous wail building behind her. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tries to shut it out. The distraught cry grows louder and louder until the ground shakes, and windows rattle, and a wave of green energy blasts Jazz off her feet.

She soars through the air, screaming, arms wrapping around her head. She hits the ground hard and curls into a ball. Phantoms wail tears into her, a painfully familiar cry of pain amplified a hundred times over, fueled by the power of ectoplasm.

Her ears ring long after it ends, so loud that she doesn’t even realize Phantom's stopped until she notices the ground isn't shaking anymore. She rolls onto her back and lifts her head. Phantom stumbles toward her, clutching their still-bleeding wounds. Gas pours from their mask, ectoplasm erupting from the slits every time they breathe.

Fear keeps her pinned. The only thing Jazz can do is weep, her heart slowly cracking as Phantom edges closer, vicious and unrelenting, not a single shred of humanity with them.

"Please stop!" Jazz wails. "This isn't you! Just stop. See me! Stop being so stupid!"

Phantom's breath rattles as they loom over her.

Jazz screams, "Danny!"

—

Jazz waited until two a.m. before slipping out of her hospital room. A nurse had given her slippers before final rounds, so she wasn't walking barefoot, but they made a loud slapping noise if she didn't walk carefully enough. She stuck close to the wall, one hand on the plastic rail that stretched down the length of the hallway.

Danny was only one room over, but it would only take a second for a nurse to walk around the corner, see Jazz up and about, and usher her back into her room. She slipped through Danny's door, quiet as possible, and tiptoed over to his bed. There was a new swathe of bandages on his left forearm, to go with his growling collection.

Maddie had missed hitting anything vital, but whatever was in her gun sent Danny into a seizure. The police came and took Jack and Maddie away after that, and Danny's doctor admitted Jazz with a concussion. She was only meant to be there one night, and she didn't want to spend it alone.

Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it toward Danny's bed, one inch at a time. It made a high-pitched squeak every time she pulled it forward. Nobody came barging in, despite the loud noise, and soon enough she had the fhair right where she wanted it.

She was about to sit down when Danny opened his eyes.

"You could have just picked it up," he said.

"You were awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was funny."

Jazz crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

"Aw, come on, I'm sorry. Turn around."

She did, albeit reluctantly, and found Danny had kicked the covers off and shuffled over to the edge of the bed.

"Come on," he said.

"I'm not eight."

"Congratulations. Come on."

Jazz rolled her eyes and climbed in. Using Danny's arm as a pillow, she settled next to him, just like when they were little and she used to come to him after having a bad dream. They would stare up at the stars on his ceiling while he pointed out constellations to her.

There were no stars to point out now but sitting next to him still brought comfort. Danny was all she ever had, and he was all she would ever need.

"Are we gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Totally." Jazz could hear Danny's smile in his weird, new, echoing voice. "I talked to Jamila earlier. She told me about the Millers."

"Are you coming there too?"

"Yeah. Jamila's already made the arrangements. You and me? We're gonna be okay as long as we're together." Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You should head back to your room before someone finds you missing. I'll be right here if you need me."

Jazz nodded, sliding out of the bed. Danny gives her one last smile before she left. On the way back to her room, she paused. The hallway wasn't empty anymore. Someone stood at the very end of it, watching her. It was the man in the white suit.

Jazz waited to see if he would do something. He only stared. Breaking their little stand-off first, she lowered her head and slipped through her door, rushing over to her bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she curled on her side. It didn't take her long to relax, though, Danny's last comforting words echoing in her head. She drifted off with a smile on her face, thinking of how much better things would be from here on out.

When Jazz woke up in the morning, Danny was gone.

—

Phantom's stopped.

Afraid to move, Jazz holds herself perfectly still for a few long seconds, but no attack comes. She opens her eyes and looks up.

Phantom looms over her, seething. Ectoplasm drips from their mask like toxic drool. Their breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each pant. They don't even have the strength to holds his arms up so the cuffs don't strain his elbows. Their whole body shakes.

A glob ectoplasm drops to the ground by Jazz's foot, a few specks splashing against her ankle. It burns. She flinches, scrambling back, but Phantom doesn't move. Warily, she pushes herself up onto her knees. When Phantom doesn't react, she gets on her feet, slowly rising out of a crouch. Phantom just stands there.

She should be running. She should take advantage of this reprieve and whatever caused it and get the hell out of there. Over Phantom's shoulder, she spies Spike, Tucker, and Agent K running down the street. They're waving their arms and yelling, probably telling her to get away while she can.

She moves closer to Phantom. Reaching out, she grabs their hood and pulls it down. Their hair is mostly white, but at the roots, there's the thinnest line of black. Now that she's close, she sees how the mask digs into his cheeks and goes for that next. It probably hurts.

It takes her a moment to find the locking mechanism. It rests at the nape of their neck, a simple latch without a key. Cruelly simplistic. She has to get in close to reach up and around their head, and Phantom flinches when her arms circle them.

She freezes, expecting them to attack, or leap away, but they don't. She flicks the latch. The mask doesn't fall away as she though it would, but it's looser now. Carefully, she pries the mask open and pulls it off. It resists, for a moment, so stuck to Phantom's face, but eventually gives. She tosses it away as soon as it's off and can barely hold in her gasp.

A deep imprint cuts across Phantom's cheeks and nose. Ectoplasm smears the lower half of Phantom's face, blisters surrounding their lips. She didn't think a ghost's own ectoplasm could hurt them but looking at how thin the slots in the mask are, it probably takes a lot of pressure to push it all out.

Jazz touches Phantom's cheek, her thumb tracing their jaw, wiping away some of the ectoplasm to reveal a series of thin red lines branching across their skin.

Phantom's shaking has stopped, but Jazz's hands tremble as she reaches for their goggles. She pushes them up to their forehead. The eyes that stare back at her are wild, pupils stretched wide. They look right through her, uncomprehending, but she recognizes them instantly. One has a little more green, the other more blue, but both colours swirl in each iris.

Jazz squeezes her eyes shut. She can't hold back her tears any longer, pressing her head against Phantom's shoulder. She wraps her arms around her brother's neck and sobs.

[ironmandeficiency]

feelin’ like a woman

pairing: hardcase / reader

word count: 4322

summary:  you’re desperate to go somewhere where proper conduct isn’t expected, and you perk up at hearing about a clone-friendly bar called 79’s. fox gets protective over you and his worry only increases when the object of your affections is a member of the five-oh-first.

warnings: implied smut, the reader and hardcase are thirsty af, that along with the drinking makes me think rated m is most accurate for this fic

“come on, padme! i need someone to come with me!”

“you seem to forget that i’m painted on the sides of several of their ships, any clone would pick me out from a crowd just as quickly as my husband could.”

“then let them enjoy a night with the highly esteemed senator fighting for their rights as people!”

“that’s why you’re going, is it not?”

you groan in defeat, flopping onto padme’s bed theatrically. that was the exact opposite of why you were going. you were indeed an avid fighter for the rights of the clones, but you didn’t have the notoriety that padme did. no, you were planning on going to 79’s to let loose and drink people under the table without shame and have enough fun to satiate future boredom at the upcoming senator’s gala.

“you can have a disguise, or claim to be a body double for the former queen of naboo!”

padme rolled her eyes at the idea. “any member of the coruscant guard will see through that immediately. and speaking of, aren’t you going to need one of those disguises you’re so keen on making me wear?”

“nah, i’m not as popular as you, my friend. i don’t think i’ll be picked out as quick as you would be, or even at all.”

“but i’ve heard that anakin and his men have returned from their last campaign. surely some of their men would recognize you after your rescue from separatist lines a few months ago.”

“lucky for me that the men in blue aren’t snitches.”

--------

you were mostly right about not being widely known.

fox, when he saw you in a dress much tighter and shorter than anything he’s ever seen you wear, nearly had a stroke. at first he tried to blame the glass of unknown substance shoved into his hand by someone in the 327th for making him hallucinate stewjon’s senator wearing a scandalous dress while drinking at a clone bar. then he heard your voice when you asked for stewjoni scotch, and he knew for certain it was you.

his steps were fast and wide as he approached you, a hand gripping your arm almost vice-like to keep you from pulling away. “senator, what do you think you’re doing here?!” he spoke through clenched teeth akin to the way parents chastised their children in public.

“what i’m doing, foxy boy,” you smirk as the bartender sets the bottle and two glasses before you, “is getting shitfaced.” he filled both glasses, extending one towards the commander of the coruscant guard. he didn’t pick up the glass (which you expected) so you picked up yours, clinking the transparisteel against his chestplate with a wry smile.

fox does not approve of this, not at all. but he loosens his grip slightly because he’s aware of how that could possibly be twisted against him if the wrong person saw him. “do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here, senator? you could have been murdered or kidnapped on the trip here, and a drunken senator would be quite easy to take advantage of after half a bottle of this scotch.”

he was worried about you, which was really sweet of the overworked commander (although quite unfounded because you were surrounded by soldiers of the republic, you’d be fine). you had enough faith in their morals to know if anyone got too handsy, clone or otherwise, one of them would defend your honor.

“my friend, you seem to forget that i was born and raised around this stuff,” you raised the drink to your lips and downed it in record time as you continued. “it might as well be in my blood at this point, foxy. but could you do me a favor and refrain from exposing my position? it’ll ruin my chances of any fun, and that would mean i’d have to leave the relative safety of dozens of soldiers.”

fox was resigned to his fate. you did have a fair point, he can monitor (protect) you much better when in a clone-friendly bar than he could in a place where he wasn’t even allowed inside because of his clone status. guess you were staying here.

“well not every brother in here has the same respect for women, sena-“ he cuts himself off and is unsure of how to address you without the title. fox was rightly worried about addressing you by your name. names were near-sacred to him and his brothers, and they held the same power to those in high positions of power like you were. would you be comfortable trusting him with something so precious as a name?

you pick up on his trepidation and immediately give him permission to call you by your first name (again), your other hand grabbing the untouched scotch and downing it with practiced speed. it isn’t like you haven’t been friends with fox since the first time he was assigned to float with your protection team, and you trusted him with your life. he wouldn’t take it lightly and most definitely would be professional whenever decorum was called for.

“alright y/n,” fox’s mouth wrapped around your name with calculated hesitance, almost doubting whether you had even given him permission in the first place. “from now until tomorrow, or as long as we’re in this bar, i’ll only address you as y/n, a random civvie that came to drink with a few soldiers.” the second time he spoke your name it was with a bit more confidence and a twinge of humor.

you brought a hand to the bar top with two rapid hits, drawing the attention of the bartender. the man took the hint and refilled the glasses in front of you both. before he could walk away, you grabbed one of them and gently slammed it back onto the bar, the bartender once again refilling it with the amber liquid.

it was almost comical, the way fox’s eyebrows shot up at the speed with which you took the third helping of scotch. “oh i’m here to do a lot more than drink, my friend,” you grin widely and rest an arm on his shoulder. “i’m here to party!”

the words had been out of your mouth for mere seconds when a clone with blue paint on his armor and inked onto his face approached your right side that was unoccupied by your favorite member of the coruscant guard.

the geometric blue on his armor clearly distinguished him as five-oh-first material, but you had never met this particular soldier before. he had a wild side to him, that much was obvious with the loud confidence he used when he invited you to hang out with him and his group toward the back.

there were a couple familiar faces occupying the booth he gestured to and you grinned at the sight of a cog-headed man downing a shot of something purple. it had been too long since you had seen jesse and co. and you figured that since you were here to party, who better to do it with than some of the rowdiest clones in the gar?

this was another thing fox didn’t like, and the list seemed to only be growing. many of the men under rex’s command had a well-known reputation for being something far less than tame. the idea of his friend (apparently you considered him a friend and it would only be fair of him to do the same since he was now given permission to do so) getting “shitfaced” with the loud men worried him.

they were vode, there was no reason for him to fear for your safety.

your manicured hand came to pat his cheek with affection, bidding him a farewell and directions to find you if he needed you. the other trooper grinned as he offered his hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he guided you to where his closest brothers sat.

fox grabbed the remaining glass of scotch and downed it the same way you had. it was gonna be a long night.

--------

when hardcase returned to the booth with you as his plus one, every head turned (echo and rex choked on their drinks as well) once they identified you.

“jesse! long time no see!”

“y/n! wouldn’t have pegged you for a 79’s kind’a girl, good to see ya!”

“senator y/n! you look stunning as always!”

“why thank you fives, but you know that flattery won’t get your hands anywhere closer to where you wanna put ‘em.”

laughter bounded from everyone around hardcase as you slid into the booth next to jesse, your interlaced hand pulling him next to you.

he was stunned. he had just invited a senator to his table with that much confidence and she actually followed him? a senator?! that knew his brothers?! how did she recognize fives and jesse (and presumably everyone else) in the first place?! part of him hoped the honorific was an inside joke he wasn’t privy to but common sense paired with the way echo and rex choked at the sight of you told him that you actually held that title.

it didn’t take a genius to know where exactly fives wanted his hands to go and the fact you didn’t lose your shit at the implications had hardcase reeling. what kind of senator were you? apparently a fun one, if the finesse you held when downing the scotch earlier held any weight to the idea.

“you know me too well, gorgeous.”

“knowing you at all is too much for anyone, fives.”

your laugh at echo’s snarky comment was loud and without inhibition and hardcase loved it. you were a breath of fresh air, something warm and bright amidst the murky, choking cloud that was the war and he wanted you to stay next to him as long as you were willing.

kix returned to the booth loaded down with drinks and was pleasantly surprised to see you laughing it up with hardcase and the others at something said that (what he correctly guessed) was at fives’s expense. you greeted the medic with a grin, quickly extending a hand towards him that he quickly filled with a brown bottle.

before you could open it and take a sip, jesse gently nudged your side with an elbow. an eyebrow quirked up as he gestured to his bottle and then to yours, and you quickly understood what he wanted to do.

“you’re on, jess.”

everyone else at the table (minus hardcase and tup, the only other man at the table you didn’t know prior to tonight) knew what was going to happen now. with an amused sigh, kix resigned himself to having to deal with an insanely drunk jesse later tonight as the latter opened his bottle and set it in front of him, waiting for the countdown. being the designated vodsitter was a necessary nuisance because they clearly couldn’t be trusted to get themselves back to the barracks safely.

fives began the countdown at three, a hand smacking the table with each number before shouting “go!” you and jesse quickly snatched your drinks from the tabletop and began chugging at a speed hardcase hadn’t seen a civvie (well, non-clone) drink with.

hardcase couldn’t help his eyes from wandering down your body as a couple drops escaped the corner of your lips, slowly making a path down your exposed neck and chest and disappearing into your dress. there had never a been a time he wished he was a tiny droplet of beer, but tonight had him thinking that he’d be content with such an existence if it guaranteed him gliding down your body the way your beer did.

damn his mind was weird sometimes.

he was pulled from his thoughts at a victory yell emitting from your throat, an empty bottle banging against the table. jesse’s head was in his hands, a playful groan making itself known at his now apparent loss.

you beat jesse?! he was the champion!

guess not anymore.

you playfully half-bowed at the cheers of the rest of the table’s occupants before wiping the corner of your mouth with a thumb. what he didn’t expect was the way you licked the tiny bit of beer away from the tip, or the way he felt something stir in his abdomen at the sight of your tongue flicking out for a brief second. did you know you had this affect on him?

conversation came back for a few minutes, everyone joking around and having a great time. you were going on about something to do with the ryloth senator’s bothersome lack of ability to shut up when you cut yourself off mid-sentence, seeming to notice something the others didn’t.

“y/n, what-“

you hold a finger up to silence him and after another couple seconds, your eyes light up at the familiar tune beginning to play from the music box in the corner by the dance floor.

“hardcase, move your ass! i love this song!” he quickly does as you ask, secretly relishing the way it feels when you lightly push him out. what would your hands feel like on him without his pesky armor in the way?

you’re barely out of the booth when a female waitress approaches you with another brown bottle the same as the one you finished off a while earlier.

“the three gentlemen from the three-twenty-seventh enjoyed your little show earlier, wanted to see if you’d do it again.” you could hear the eye roll in her voice, seeming a bit bothered for you at the gall the men she pointed to had.

you shot her a sympathetic smile before sending a flirty wink towards the men who bought you the drink, taking it from her hands with a flourish. she seemed to visibly relax when you were nonchalant about the whole thing, turning to go back to work.

if they wanted a show, they’d get one.

it took a tiny hop on your part to get yourself sitting on the table, being careful to avoid spilling the drinks of your blue-painted friends. you crossed one leg over the other as you sent a small salute with the bottle toward the table before bringing it to your lips. the liquid sent a warm burning sensation to your throat, and you tilted your head back with an almost seductive elegance.

another couple drops escaped your lips and followed a path similar to the prior bottle’s contents, and hardcase was once again enraptured at the sight. when the bottle was empty, you hopped off the table and set the bottle down. now that you had a few drinks in you and a great song was playing through the bar, it was time to dance.

hungry eyes burned into your body as you made your way to the dance floor. you knew there were a couple five-oh-first boys eyeing you as well as the three men who gifted you the last drink. disguising your curiosity as a flirty twirl to the song, you spun and took a head count of your admirers.

at least eight soldiers’ eyes were glued to you, the men having varying motives as to why you had their attention.

fox was casually nursing another glass of scotch at the bar but that nonchalance didn’t fool you. if you gave even the tiniest indication that you were less than comfortable with something, the guardsman would immediately come to your aid. it was the calculated calm that one would see in predators in the wild and you were thankful fox was on your side.

you didn’t pay much mind to the three-twenty-seventh members that sent the second bottle your way outside of knowing that they were watching you. the battalion was familiar to you only by name and paint color, and you weren’t looking to get chummy with men from a group whose commanding officer you weren’t well acquainted with.

tup, who you had discovered was the youngest of the blue men group you were drinking with tonight, was in absolute awe. he’d seen plenty of women who were able to fake a confidence like yours, but yours wasn’t even the slightest bit artificial. your name has popped up among the men with stories of how you were shooting down clankers right along with the five-oh-first during your rescue from seppie space. the fact you were as wild as the stories led him to believe was startling and quite validating.

most of your blue-clad companions were watching your departure the same way they’d watch a commando kick ass: with excitement and barely-contained anticipation. it was entertainment to them. they knew that you knew about the lingering eyes on you. you were just playing the part of the naive but sexy party girl that wanted nothing more than to drink and dance.

what you pretended to want was mostly true, but you had a more concrete goal in mind now than you did when you first arrived: your new goal was to jump the bones of a certain tatted heavy gunner.

a blind man could see the heart eyes hardcase has been throwing at you since he approached you at the bar. the trooper was everything but subtle in his enthusiasm to please you. the lust in his eyes as they roamed your body reminded you of the drought you’d been stuck in for far too long, senator work not leaving much time for the finer pleasures life has to offer the bold.

there was a tall and vibrant pitcher of water in blue paint that you hoped would be more than willing to flood your desert later tonight. maybe if you played your cards right and made your intentions known things would go your way.

only one way to find out.

among the cards was a little extra sway to your hips as you walked and a half-spin, urging him to follow you to the dance floor with a wink.

his brothers were encouraging him to get up and go, but he was suddenly nervous about you for the first time tonight. did you really want to dance with him? he didn’t think so. you were absolutely phenomenal and he wasn’t even an arc trooper, what would you want with him?

doubts were shoved away from his head when you went back to the booth and pulled him from his seat, a wide smile gracing your features. fives, tup, echo, and jesse drunkenly hollered in celebration of his good fortune as you laced a hand in one of his and he swore to the maker that he could never forget the way your hand felt in his.

once you found a prime spot on the floor, you turned to face hardcase and pulled him closer to you. your hands made their way to the nape of his neck and your hips began to sway. the trooper took the hint and his hands moved down your body and came to rest comfortably on your waist.

did all clones have such large hands? if so, how did you not notice that pleasant physical feature earlier? more importantly, would they feel as large as they did now when spreading you open for him before absolutely railing you the way you hoped he would?

the song continued and with it went what little structure your dancing had. hardcase was right on board with it, the two of you dancing like fools just enjoying each other’s company. you laughed as he playfully twirled you out of the blue and wow, his smile is dazzling. he was laughing right along with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make him more attractive than he already was.

then he pulled you closer, chest flush with his. callused hands returned to your body and traveled lower and lower, one resting on your ass while the other pressed into the small of your back. his eyes became softer as he lowered his head, whispering a question of consent, whether it was okay for his hands to have gone so far down your figure.

it was endearing you even more to the mirthful soldier and if you weren’t careful- oh who were you kidding? you were too far gone to contemplate what it meant for you to have something so intimate with a trooper and frankly, you didn’t care now the same way you wouldn’t in the morning.

he was flesh and blood and dazzling smiles and playful jokes, and you wanted to continue being the reason he smiled so wide. you had half a mind to send a holopic of your lips on hardcase’s to the longneck senator burtoni just to piss her off because look at this man, he was spectacular and you dared anyone to imply that he was anything less.

you were snapped back to the man in front of you when his hand kneaded your ass in the most heavenly way possible, not even bothering to conceal the soft moan that worked its way out of your throat. there was no way hardcase didn’t hear it, not with how he tensed for just a brief moment before doing it again with both hands just to see what you’d do.

another moan added emphasis to your growing arousal, slightly louder than the last one but still quiet enough that the dancing strangers on almost every side couldn’t hear.

hardcase grinned like a loth-cat at the sound. he couldn’t believe his night was going so wonderfully and for a brief, blissful moment he forgot that he’d have to leave 79’s before the end of the night and in three days’ time, return to the front lines.

the harsh slap of reality obliterated what little jitters and anxiety he had about you on the spot. he tightened his hold on you before asking for permission to kiss you the way he’d wanted to since you sat down next to him.

the reply you granted him was simple enough and got the point across with zero chance for it to be twisted the way some fellow senators would twist the words of themselves and others. honesty and openness were rare in politics but they were abundant when hardcase was this close to you, and they only grew in size as your lips collided with his.

you could taste the beer on his tongue and something else you didn’t recognize that had you hungry for more. it was sweet and strong and distinctly hardcase and oh fierfek, if his mouth was this good right now, imagine how skilled it’d be when-

rough kneading elicited another moan that wasn’t as private as the others, your mind storing away the humorous sight of a couple veering their path away from you and hardcase’s affection in thinly veiled disgust.

“is there somewhere we can go for a bit more privacy?” the aroused timbre of his voice was something you weren’t prepared for and if he hadn’t been holding you so tight against him, you were confident in the assumption you’d have melted to the spot.

but the implications didn’t lose their intended effect; in fact, quite the opposite. you pulled him in for another kiss and this time, decided to push yourself against the codpiece of his armour, see how he’d respond.

there was something almost primal in the noise he made and you were desperate to hear it again. you repeated the motion and received the same response, deciding to answer the pressing question he posed as he relished in the pressure you were giving him. “i can get us into a hotel in the middle levels where no one would know me, see what happens from there.”

the confidence in his next words struck you like lightning. “i think we both know what’s gonna happen from there, sweetheart.” his lips began setting a path along your jaw and down your neck, pausing only to lightly bite the soft skin resting above your collarbone.

“what are we waiting for, then?”

hardcase’s tongue lapped at the spot his teeth just released for a moment before lifting his eyes to yours. “a cab to get us the kriff outta here.”

he (almost unwillingly) detached himself from your body and intertwined his fingers with yours, smiling as you guide each other towards the exit and right by your former table. as predicted by hardcase, his vode that were still conscious drunkenly shouted their congratulations and reminders about protection.

you laughed right along with them for a moment, bidding them a good night and safe trip home.

before getting to the bar doors you paused. fox would want to know that you were safe, and you’d feel immensely guilty for letting your friend needlessly worry. scanning the bar, he wasn’t at his previous spot and you cursed for a moment before finding another trooper with red paint, telling them to pass along a message.

they nodded and turned to do so, at which point you pulled hardcase closer to you and emerged from the doors hand in hand.

a speeder cab nearly passed you up, jerking to a stop at the loud whistle of hardcase. another thing his mouth could do. interesting.

the cabbie asked where you wanted to go, your answer sounding almost out of breath since hardcase thought that mid-conversation was the perfect time to slide his hands up the exposed skin of your thigh. never had you been grateful for the solid divider that isolated cabbie from passenger before this moment.

at the end of the night, you both had predictions turn into truths; hardcase was correct in guessing what exactly would transpire between the two of you, and his hands did feel as large as you hoped they would as he split you open with calculated ministrations before nailing you to the hotel bed.

[saintheartwing]

The Continued Targeted Harassment Campaign from the Troll Mundo De Bee, aka Debtoons, Aka Dedehbee

I'm sure this particular person I'm thinking of who recently sent me some VERY unkind guest reviews on my "The Pigshit Troll" tale on FF.Net will find out about this. I didn't WANT to talk about them anymore but then they kept sending more and more vitriolic reviews. Not just to me, but to my friends.  

See, here’s some of the things they said along with accusing me of trolling their fic, which I didn't, my critique was that their story seemed to be overlooking the fact Zim had done the mass slaughter of innocent humans and enslavement on top of that, and was Dib and Prof. Membrane hostage and can kill them at any time...all to make Gaz love him. So there's an inherently abusive power dynamic. But this person who I...at FIRST...was reluctant to name disregarded these very real issues I brought up and just told me, and I quote, "Go away, then. This story is happening whether you want it or not. :/"  This happened months ago. In fact, I brought attention to what they said back in OCTOBER on my DA account. So now you’re getting an idea of what they’re like. In response to a reasonable critique about problematic undertones, they just basically told me to get lost, then blocked me before I could respond to that. I tried to reach out to her friends after she complained about my review, and then she got mad about my "Jeremy" story, seemingly thinking that because I did a story about dark subject matter, I was being a hypocrite for complaining about what Zim did. 

Uh...that’s NOT HOW IT WORKS. 

The issue was the story wasn't addressing what Zim did as bad, my story made it REAL DAMN CLEAR what Jeremy had done was a tragedy and horrible, and that what he'd been through WAS VERY BAD. 

But YOU? YOU didn't do that in your story, it almost came off like you were putting Gaz in Stockholm Syndrome and going a kind of "Twilight" route of sort of glorifying a very problematic relationship. Now, I didn’t SAY specifically that in my review, do I actually think that what’s happening IS Stockholm Syndrome or exactly LIKE Twilight was, but it’s problematic in a SIMILAR VEIN. And THAT  was my problem. Not the dark subject matter, but you not caring about the implications...at least, that's how it looked to me. Or at the very least, not, in-story, treating Zim like what he'd done was wrong when it was. 

Anyway, that was months ago. I had basically forgotten about them until just I got these three anonymous guest reviews. I'm guessing that because they blocked me, they had to do it that way, they don't want to unblock me to leave a normal review. The reason why I'm pretty sure it's them is because they said, in their review, AND I QUOTE...

"And if my story had ANY grammar/spelling mistakes, that must be because I'm... not from U.S.? And don't speak English fluently? As a matter of fact, if you speak "only" intermediate English in my country (like I do), that's already one hell of an accomplishment. That's already getting xenophobic, ok?" Okay one, me criticizing spelling errors isn't xenophobia, how am I supposed to know you're from another country unless I actually go to your webpage or the like, and I'm not going to see that if I'm just replying to a review. So that's one reason I think it's her. 

Another is that she wrote, in her third reply, from "Opinadora (Guest)". Since that's Portuguese, and it happens to be the most spoken language (based on my Google research) in the home country this person says she's from on her homepage, i was damn sure it was her. She saw my Pigshit Troll story, thought it was about her even though the story was really more about addressing the...well, the actual, real life Pigshit Troll going around FF.Net, while also doing a critique both of common tropes in typical Zim story fare and also critiquing the common critique. It was me addressing issues with my own stories just as much, with Gaz forcing Dib to realize his own flaws. It wasn't really about this person who happens to be from Brazil (if her page is to be believed). They also said stuff like "I would say you draw like a 12 years old, but that would be a compliment, 'cause when I was 12, I used to draw at least three times as better than you" and "Also:I forgot, but if we're talking s*** about each other's works: not only you draw like a 8 years old, but the titles to your stories are also so f*** creepy that they make me nauseous even before reading the first chapter". 

So "Frost" is creepy? I can get why "The Pod People Invasion" is creepy, but a title like "Don't Read This Book" isn't inherently creepy. "Soft Hands" isn't. You're kinda just cherry picking. I made this journal pot on DA because she had decided to keep this "thing" going on going by leaving those guest reviews and assuming the story of “The Pigshit Troll” was about her, and she was just a total jerk about it. I had left her alone for weeks, MONTHS even until she popped up making those guest reviews again. And then she wrote "P.S.S.: If you give my name out to anyone who has nothing to do with this, and tell them to hunt me down, like you did to my watchers (which, BTW, wouldn't surprise me if you did), that just proves you're indeed a troll, and no better than PigShit here, okay? ". 

I was trying to be civil... despite how INCREDIBLY PISSED I am at you. And she also kept calling me a religious fanatic and other crap to her friends. I'm not, a simple look at my journals on DA or my posts here would prove that, so it amazes me that you couldn't be bothered to do research on me yet you expect me to instantly know you're from Brazil. So I find it interesting you expected me to look you up and find out things about you so I wouldn't leave a review you could find objectionable...but you couldn't be bothered to do any research about me. I mean, you seem very liberal, concerned about LGBTQ rights, worried about the deforestation in Brazil, those are big issues. And I sympathize also with having a fascistic leader in charge. You got Bolsanaro, we have Trump. I get how it feels.

That doesn't excuse how you behaved towards me. I'd stopped reviewing your stories, you're the one who brought all this back by reviewing mine. So if you want to talk, unblock me on FF.Net or here, and let's talk this out like adults. If you've got a problem with me, actually outright say it, don't leave it in a guest review.

Now, if she’d said "Look, ZAGR is just what I'm into, it's just a fetish of mine", then fine! FINE. She should have just SAID that to me. But don't just dismiss the moral questions I had by going "Don't like don't read". Because that's a fallacy. A story can start out great, but turn bad. Or start out bad, but turn better. And how am I supposed to know if it'll do either if I don't keep reading? Take, for example, Star Wars's sequel series. Started great! Amazing!...ended poorly. Star Wars prequels! Started bad! But the ending was pretty darn good! So don't just go "don't like, don't read/watch", because that's not a real, actual good argument. 

I had hoped, writing all this, she’d actually try and reach out. Or she’d stop.

But she didn’t. Let me quote what she sent to me next. "I was only mad because you plain trolled me on your review. Did you ever heard of "common sense" or "constructive criticism"?" 

Which my critique was. 

It was a critique of the character behavior of the main characters, not trolling. Bringing up the fact that Zim had taken Gaz's family hostage and could kill them at any time, but we were supposed to overlook that is a perfectly reasonable critique. 

But instead of responding normally, you just leave another guest review. I was willing to talk to you normally and to work things out fairly, but you keep being a jerk. Everything you've said hasn't been an actual, reasonable, fair criticism of any of my stories. It's just been 'ad hominem'. 

What IS ad hominem? That’s when you don't address the SUBSTANCE of someone's argument, you just attack the person arguing. Like if someone says "I think your story is glorifying abusive, unhealthy relationships" and you go "Yeah but you're into the inflation fetish so there"! That doesn't actually address the problem brought up about your story, it's just you attacking the other person. And she was doing that. 

For weeks I was nice enough to not bring up your name, but I said “if you keep it up, I’ll reveal your screen name because you're the one being unreasonable now by keeping this going, when I was willing to let sleeping dogs lie.” 

Her response? 

“Opinadora:I find it funny how you know you can't strike me back, because you know that I'm ten times more talented than you and that you're just jealous of me... u.u I'm not one to talk down on other artist's work, but that's what you get for being a snob. You're no better than me and you know it. In fact, you're no better than ANYONE, and I say that because you really are worthless. Yet you like to act superior and talk down on everyone to have some fun or... IDK. People like you shouldn't even be called "people". You're just psychos.”

She was engaging in the very behavior she said I was doing. I don’t get how she functions like this. This was getting insane. 

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE! 

She posted a of blog entry and I'll quote what they said. "I've been contacting a troll of mine" Anonymously, you did it via guest reviews on my story, you started all this again after I left you alone for months with three meanspirited reviews insulting me and my work when I'd been leaving you alone. And yeah, I responded by making the "fight" public, you refused to speak to me normally. I was willing to speak with you normally through notes or PMs on FF.Net or DA, you were the one who ignored that and kept insulting me in guest reviews because you still have me blocked. "He's not being civil enough to keep anyone anonymous." I haven't used either your real name (which I don't know) or your screen name. So this is just a lie. "He's going after my watchers to complain about me" I contacted ONE of your watchers who I knew that also made a story in which an entire chapter was deliberately invoked to insult me because an obvious villain character with my SCREEN NAME was used as an easy enemy for Zim to blow up. I contacted them to say "Can you please tell your friend to stop". Here's the full text, basically. "I’m sorry I keep sending these messages to you, the only reason I decided to note you to begin with was because your friend (NAME REDACTED) sent me three anonymous guest reviews, and called me a bunch of names like “douchebag” while insulting my art at the same time. I was willing to ignore her until she sent not one but THREE meanspirited shots at me. And I can’t reach her, so..." So it wasn't "your watchers" plural, it was ONE watcher whom I knew you knew because I couldn't find any other way to contact you, because, again, you childishly blocked me and refused my olive branch. "He should have enough common sense to know that his issue is with ME and none other." But you refuse to let me talk to you openly. On top of that, you're the one who blocked me, not the other way around. "He's such a lunatic he said he would give out my REAL NAME, if he knew. O.Ò" I never actually said that, I was clearly referring to your screen name. "I was nice enough to not bring up your name, but if you keep it up, I WILL use your screen name, because you're the one being unreasonable now by keeping this going, when I was willing to let sleeping dogs lie. " So now you're just lying. Plain and simple. I would say you should be ashamed of yourself, but it appears you don't understand shame. I know some people say "don't feed the trolls" but that doesn't always work. Sometimes shining a light on them is the only thing that does. And I swore to publish every word they've said to me if they kept doing meanspirited guest reviews done solely to insult me. 

What was their response to THIS? Well, they called me a retard. 

"Seu retardado:It isn't Stockholm syndrome...? And I KNOW that nobody will believe you 'cause you're just using ANONYMOUS reviews against me. Now, you've been quoting me on your tweets nonstop even after I blocked you. Just so you know, I ALSO reported you for abuse multiple times." "But go ahead. Do you really believe that they'll take your side of the story? I only gave out your name to warn my watchers about you ONCE, but you just keep quoting me when I blocked you, so we'll see what happens THEN." "VSF:Wow... You must REALLY be retarded. And here I was just saying that to insult you. O.Ò But I'm not apologizing for that when you didn't apologize for flaming my story, attacking my watchers, nor even trying to act superior, when... You're not. O.Ò And still you want to believe that you're a better artist than me. I should be laughing about that. 9.9 Seriously, what did you take? "

I’D HAD ENOUGH. Because they didn’t JUST call me all these names. They started going after fellow artists on FF.NET and friends of mine and leaving insulting guest reviews too. So...

What’s their name? I dunno their real name. But their screen name is Mundo De Bee. AKA Debtoonz AKA  Dedehbee. 

This is their page.

https://www.deviantart.com/mundo-de-bee 

This is their Twitter. Both normal AND NSFW 

https://twitter.com/Bee_Zorra

https://twitter.com/Bee_Zorra_Total

Their current FF.Net account (or at least I BELIEVE it is) https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8252861/Debtoons 

And their instagram.   https://www.instagram.com/bee.zorra/

They keep leaving really nasty reviews on my work. You can find some of their “samples” here. https://www.fanfiction.net/r/13241492/0/1/

Here's what they've also said. 

And this: 

They also said this on a friend's story in an anonymous review.

""Debtoons chapter 1 . 3h ago

You think Shaeril McBozo did all this? You're mistaken troglodytes. Shaeril McBrown is a stand by, she works for me, doesn't have a choice in the matter. Pigshit is an urban legend, he works for me. You're all such fools, you have yet to realize there is more to come, much more, and I will bring you all down. I have not forgotten what you all have done. I'm always watching, you're all my pawns, the game is mine, and I play to win. La Cefiera Queen Bee AKA Debtoons Also, stop copying my ZAGR ships, yours suck was."

I've tried to ignore her. But this has now been going on for MONTHS. I am done trying to be NICE, and trying to hold back. So I’m exposing her for what she is. She’s a bully. A hypocrite. A troll. She NEVER ACTUALLY RESPONDED to any of my actual problems about her story, instead just DEFLECTING and misrepresenting my points, then attacking the misrepresentations. 

I wasn’t even sure, at first, it was her  Even after getting another anonymous review from someone who said "I already know your name. Shaeril and little Debbie told me. Hi I'm Striberz. Actually, I'm anyone I want to be, but let's go with Striberz for now. Good to meet you b***!"

Little Debbie. Debtoonz.

She also sent THIS anonymous review to me.

The way  the review is written, the style, the little details, bringing up "Oompa Loompa" and the like and other little things that I never brought up publicly...this is why I believe Mundo De Bee, aka Debtoonz, is leaving me targeted harassment reviews.

But even THEN. After ALL THIS. My online friends suggested hold on, slow down. One of them said "I'll ask her about this". To try and get her side of the story. MAYBE it wasn't her. MAYBE it was just someone posing as her and trying to emulate how she talked. Months later, Mundo had written another story called 'Something called love', another ZAGR and DATR story. In the story, Zim was 20 years old, but Gaz was only 16. A friend of mine reviewed the story, making mention of the age gap and said 'Wait, that's illegal'. 

It was mostly a joke review but in all of five minutes, Mundo furiously spouted off not one, not two, but THREE pissed off PMs, calling my friend “Some Dude Who Likes To Write” on FF.Net retarded and the review retarded. Pretty horrible. Nevertheless, Some Dude wanted to be diplomatic, even after Mundo left a super nasty review of my story. Theyw  went to her Deviantart and asked if she left that revieand she said 'No', but the second they brought up the 'Oompa Lumpa' insult, a comment that Mundo had used directly to me in a note, well...she hid the comment and then ignored the other ones that were left and blocked Some Dude, pretty much indicting herself. 

Then, several weeks later, guess who leaves a review in which she accuses Some Dude of being a xenophobe, transphobe, misogynist and homophobe? Well, Some Dude knows someone who knows Mundo. They ask to talk. She PM’s them, she asks "What do you want to accuse me of now”. Some Dude says he’s not accusing her of anything, they just don’t like being called a bigot. Her response was to just deny leaving that review...and then to block them AGAIN.  Then we see a series of dozens of insult reviews, false accusations against myself, Zim’sMostLoyalServant and Some Dude along with others, all being attacked by her. She also evidently admitted to Some Dude that if she came across any review Nick and I left, even if it was positive, she would report it and tell the admins we sent the authors death threats. Which would be a LIE. 

And so...that’s what happened. Now you all know the truth. This woman from, I assume, Brazil, has been harassing me for quite a while. Me AND my friends. 

All this...because I wrote a bad review of her story asking why the story was glossing over Zim's cruel behavior and how much the story seemed to be like "Twilight" in a problematic way. I could have overlooked Zim falling in love with Gaz easily. My issue was why the story was overlooking his blatantly evil mass murder/blackmailing stuff and not acting like these were bad things at all. 

Her literal response was, and I again, I quote from her directly, "Go away, then. This story is happening whether you want it or not. :/" So no actual response as to why the story wasn't addressing the elephant in the room. Just that...and then blocking me when I tried to reply. 

I call that "cowardly". 

She's always responded like that. She never unblocked me, she just sent nasty guest reviews to me instead of reaching out to me directly on DA, or Twitter, or a variety of other methods. It can never be her directly putting her name on anything because she didn't have the courage to do that. 

She's a coward, she's a bully, she's a troll, and she's a hypocrite, doing all the things she's accused me of. What projection. How disgusting.

When I have an issue with a story, you know what my issue usually is? A moral one. And I'll say things like "This looks like domestic abuse, why are you acting like it's a you-go-girl moment for Gaz" or "Why is the fact Zim caused millions of deaths just casually overlooked". 

It's not "YOU SUCK!" or lots of swears or insults or all caps. Cuz that sort of thing IS a flame. That IS a troll. 

Saying things like "Why is the story acting like this character is a badass when their behavior's morally repulsive" isn't a flame. Or being a troll.

Anyway, now you all know. Mundo de Bee, Debtoonz,  La Cefiera Queen Bee, Dedehbee , whatever you wanna be called, this is what she’s like. 

SHAME. ON. YOU. 

[cosleia]

Jeeyon Answer Meme

I did a meme on Twitter, made by a user named Jeeyon, where you answer really weird questions...except I answered each question as a different Star Wars character. See if you can guess who is who.

1. What is your favorite thing to smell that's neither perfume nor your body's natural scent?

The second-best thing I ever smelled were wildflowers, lush and purple, beautiful as they bobbed on long stems in the gentle breeze. The best, though…well. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never smell either of them again.

2. Horses: y/n? Defend your answer.

Look, when you’re on a planet with animals that are ridden, you ride those animals. You do what the locals do. That’s how you make contacts and gain trust. Would I say I particularly LIKE animals? No. I don’t care about children, either. No—no, put that down! *heavy sigh*

3. If you could be perpetually youthful in mind and body but it meant outliving everyone you love, would you do it?

I want to say yes. I should say yes. There’s so much work left, and if I could maintain my health longer, I could do more…but.

But.

I’ve just lost so much, so many, already.

Don’t tell anyone. I have to be strong.

4. What was a superstition you made up and slowly, over time, ended up believing?

All I do is bring pain to the people I love. The galaxy can’t afford my mistakes anymore. I have to take myself out of the equation.

That’s what I told myself, and I even believed it…but deep down, I knew I was afraid. It took a true hero to make me face that.

5. What sounds do you hear often in passing that cheer you up?

The Falcon makes good noises. The hyperdrive especially, but even the proximity alarm…it all reminds me of those early days with Han. Nothing’s perfect, but after literal enslavement on a mudball planet, that time was idyllic.

And Han was the best friend I’ve ever had.

6. A minor god grants you a boon: either the gift of being able to grow gills to breathe and swim great depths underwater, or to grow wings and fly to great heights. You can go about as fast as you would at a full sprint. What good deed did you receive the boon for, and do you take gills or wings?

Oh gosh, a boon? Just for being a decent human being?? I don’t know, could I even accept? …pretend I have to? Ugh, okay…well…being able to fly would be amazing, but I mean, I don’t want to discount BREATHING UNDERWATER, like, can you imagine?? And oh I’m supposed to say what I did to get the boon too, I don’t even know, in the stories you can get a boon for setting an animal free from a trap or returning something that was lost, so maybe something like that. But I don’t know, it should be something really special, right? Something…

…like what a hero would do. Something…

Oh, I am NOT, shut up!

…yes, I did do that…

Fine…

Okay, I’m going to pick flying. You’re more likely to need me to save your ass again in the air than in the ocean. *laughs*

7. Every wild animal you see within an eight block radius of your home now has a taste for human flesh. How screwed are you?

How convenient for me. I have plenty of humans around. This way, my snacks will come right to me.

8. You meet and fall in love with someone who falls in love with you in turn, but the cost is you never have a clean break when you take a shit ever again. Is it worth it?

To love—and to be loved back? Totally worth it. I’ll cram some TP up there, I don’t care. Sure it’ll make being in the cockpit uncomfortable sometimes, but what kind of pilot can’t fly under pressure?

9. If you could be any of your houseplants, which would you be? If you don't have houseplants, choose a bivalve instead.

What a pointless question! I don’t have time for this. Back to your stations immediately.

10. In Bo Burnham's comedy special Inside, the opening song includes the line, "I'm sorry I've been gone, but look I made you some content/Daddy made you your favorite, open wide." What are you opening wide for? You are opening your mouth only. You are not opening your mouth for a body part. [Note: That disclaimer SLAYED ME]

*squeals unintelligibly, gesturing toward Frog Lady’s eggs*

11. You wake up with a worn leather pouch under your pillow. When you unwind the frayed cord cinched around its neck, you see that it is full of teeth. Somehow you know you are meant to plant them in fertile soil. What kind of teeth are they, and what crop do you harvest?

The teeth are from a comb, and when I plant them they grow a rooster, and when he crows you feel it in your teeth. Well, that’s what it seems like would happen, anyway. Just a feeling.

12. There's a spider in your home that brings you a crisp, newly minted $5 every day at 5:40PM, but also every day at an undetermined time between 1 and 2AM, on two randomly selected days of the week, screams directly in your ear with the volume and lung capacity of an opera singer. Do you let the spider keep living inside, or do you take it outside to a nice garden somewhere?

I do not comply with natural law. I make my own law. This spider will bow before me. My new apprentice.

13. While you're trying out a new recipe, you fuck up and summon a demon instead. What were you trying to cook? Which demon do you summon with your errors?

Well, hello there. I suppose my lunch shall have to wait. Would you be interested in helping me commit war crimes?

14. If you could transform all of your hair to a different, hairlike-but-not-hair substance, what would it be?

Uhhh, gonna have to stick with my hair, I think. No offense to anyone. I just already know how to deal with hair. (Plus…my hair’s pretty great)

15. You're checking the ingredients of a new affordable skincare product that's really working wonders for you, and the first one listed is "ACTIVE INGREDIENT 3.6% HUMAN BLOOD." Do you keep using it?

ABSOLUTELY NOT. I would bring this outrage to the Senate immediately. No one should suffer for others’ gain.

16. You travel to see a beloved friend of many years, but the more time you spend with them, the more they seem a little off, like you're looking at a picture of your friend through a window pane. When you ask them about it they reply cheerfully, "Oh yeah I'm a homunculus constructed in the image of your friend. I have all their memories and bodily conditions. For all intents and purposes, I'm a later edition of your friend, but the person you knew as your friend isn't here anymore. Where do you want to eat dinner tonight?" What restaurant do you choose?

I know you’re not Fives. I held Fives as he died. We may all look alike, but we’re not all the same.

17. If you could shrink or grow to ride any non-horse animal like a horse, which animal would you choose?

Oh, that would be useful, especially the shrinking part, to get into tighter spaces. But then I’d want to be normal again later. Or bigger, so people would be less likely to cheat me. Oh, yes, I suppose I do have the lightsaber now, don’t I?

18. During an evening stroll you find an adorable, bright blue beetle the size of a pencil eraser. When you go over to investigate, it calls you the rudest thing you've ever been called in your entire life. What do you do?

What?? That’s just—what??? I think I’d be too shocked to respond at first. But everyone has their reasons for doing things I guess. Maybe if we talked about it we could come to an understanding. If not, I’d just go on my way.

[soheila-1996]

My story- Part Five

This chapter was so difficult to write. I’ve really debated posting this over the last couple days because this is so personal. 

I had a miscarrige last year and it’s approaching my son/daughter’s due date as well as what would have been my daughter’s fifth birthday on May 3rd. I’m finding this time really, really difficult. I wasn’t going to take this fic here but writting really is acting as an amazing outlet for me. I’ve really been able to get a lot off  my chest.  This chapter is all over the place, I apologise for that  but I needed to get it out. 

My little disclaimer:

I have epilepsy. This details my seizures, I can’t speak for everyone, everyone’s seizures/ experiences are different. This is graphic. Seizures are messy. They aren’t fun and it felt wrong to make it out to be cute when they really aren’t.   Pretty much all the things that happen in the plot have happened to me. Well, I’m not married to a king or live in a palace so…there’s that but everything else is accurate.  There may be some jokes about it here because I do joke about it sometimes. It makes me more comfortable and I find it helps relax everyone around me. I’m also writing about it because there really aren’t that many fics written about it and I think it’s important to shine light on it.

Any feedback is really appreciated! :)

Tagging people who shared the last  part. You don’t have to read it! I just thought you might want to see what happens: @kacie-0156, @texaskitten30, @cordonianroyalty, @kingliam2019, @bebepac, @kingliam-rys, @cordonia-gothqueen, @kimmiedoo5, @bbrandy2002, @loveellamae  @bobasheebaby @losingbraincellseveryday  @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @jared2612 @flutistbyday2020 @debramcg1106 @anotherbeingsworld

This is also part of wacky drabbles hosted by @emceesynonymroll. The prompt this week is: #40: Don’t you ever do that again. 

Paring: Liam and Riley

Warnings: ⚠️ Miscarriage, Suicidal thoughts, blood. 

Word count: 4882 

Catch up here 

(Liam’s POV) 

Since the events the other day at the fundraiser and the video, Riley had been...distant. That’s the only way I can explain it. She won’t talk to anyone and when she does, she’s not herself. 

I had read some of the truly awful things people had been saying about her. I can’t comprehend how anyone could be so cruel to another human being. She had told me that it doesn't bother her but I know better. I’m positive that it would bother anyone. 

Since I had learned about her epilepsy things were okay, then The Five Kingdom’s Festival happened- that’s where things started to go a little bit awry. I can see now that all of us were being a little bit overprotective but we- I was scared. Finding her that day was one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced. It was when she told me about the baby and her miscarrige in a previous relationship was when she started to pull away from me. Our conversations grew shorter and awkward, our passionate kisses became little pecks.  It felt like we were growing apart but  I don’t fully understand why. 

(Riley’s POV) 

Liam was down the hall in our home study and I was sitting in our bedroom on the bed, my phone in hand as I scrolled down the comments of the video of my seizure. 

I know that looking at them isn't going to make me feel better but I want to know what people are saying about me. 

When everything with Tariq happened the comments didn't bother me because I knew it didn't happen...but there was no denying this. 

People continued to speculate on whether I was faking it, what was wrong with me if it was real, if I had overdosed and other random ridiculous theories. 

I haven't really left our apartment or spoken to anyone- especially Liam.   I’m embarrassed even though I can’t control it and I shouldn’t be but I am. 

I can’t help it. 

I feel like I've not only embarrassed myself but Liam too and my friends. 

It astounds me  how cruel people can be. 

I continued to scroll down the despicable comments- once again only looking at the negative ones. At this point I’ve already read and thought so many despicable things that I've kind of become numb to it now. There’s nothing anyone can say that I haven't already thought of. 

I feel the hot tears stinging as I continue to look through them. 

Why would he want to be with her??? 

That’s so embarrassing and gross. 

She can die from one of these, right? Great! 

I don’t realise that I’m crying or that Liam has come into the room until his hands are resting on my shoulders and he’s kneeling in front of me. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It doesn't matter,” I sniffled. I placed my phone down beside me and wiped at my eyes. Liam sat beside me as I brought my knees up to my chest. 

“Talk to me,” he encouraged. 

He doesn't understand. He can’t. How could I possibly explain to him what I’m feeling right now?  

He’d be better off right? He wouldn't have to be constantly worried and stressed about me. He could find someone else, someone who makes him happy and doesnt hurt him.

“Please?” 

He moved so he was sitting  in front of me. He brought his hands up, both cupping either side of my face as his thumbs wiped the tears away. 

“Please talk to me.” 

“And say what?” I shrugged, “ That I don’t want to do any of this anymore? Or how I’m so terrified that I’m going to murder our baby so I’m pushing you away so when it happens you’ll already hate me?  Is that what you wanted me to tell you?!” My chest was now rising and falling quickly from my outburst. Liam opened his mouth to speak but opted against it. 

I mean what did I expect? He’s probably thinking the same things I am. 

“Wh-” He started, swallowing thickly. “What do you mean you don’t want to do this anymore?” I stayed silent. I don't know what to say or how to say it. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Ri?” He asked calmly. 

I swallowed thickly. If I was being honest, I don’t know. It’s more than what people have been saying online. Those things of course bother me but it’s not anything I haven’t heard  before. That’s not what’s caused this. 

I shrugged at his question. I don’t know what’s going on or even if I know how do I explain it? I feel lost and..and hopeless and scared. I’m really scared. 

“Riley?” 

“I-I just don’t want to do this anymore.” I swallowed thickly as I turned my head to look at him. 

“What don’t you want to do anymore?” 

“All of it.” I saw the fear flash across my husband's face. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” I said, my voice monotone. I know that I’m going to start crying, I know that i’ve just hurt Liam with what I’ve said and stand up after picking my cell phone up and pocketing it. 

I went to walk  away but Liam's hand gently wrapped around my wrist to stop me. I hesitantly turn to face him. My heart shattered at seeing the tears welling in his eyes. 

I tugged my arm out of his grasp and cleared my throat. “I-I need a minute.” 

“Riley?” He called after me. His voice laced with sheer panic. I stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him getting up onto his feet. 

He went to move towards me but I held up a hand to stop him, “I’m not going to do anything,” I  reassured, “ I- I just need a minute. I’ll come back.” I didn't say anything else as I left the apartment. 

It was true, I wasn’t going to do anything, I just wanted to be alone for a few minutes to think over it all. I needed to figure this all out on my own first.

The next morning, my eyes fluttered open and were immediately stung by the sun rays peeking in through the partially closed curtains. I turned over to lay on my back and used my arm to shield my eyes from the blinding light.

I had avoided Liam after our talk yesterday evening  and had stayed with Drake last night to ensure I wouldn’t run into my husband. I had sent Liam a text before going to bed to let him know that I’m okay.  

There were a million different places I could’ve stayed but Drake is one of my best friends and I couldn’t be with Liam knowing I had hurt him. 

Drake was like Liam- overprotective but he is one my best friends. Drake has always been here for me, through the highs and lows. Always here to confide in but we haven't spoken about it. 

I don’t know where to begin or how to explain how I’m feeling. 

It’s not that I can’t speak to Liam. I can tell him anything  and he wouldn't judge me over it but seeing his face last night… I can’t hurt him anymore. I can’t. 

I had found that over the last few days my mind had started to become a scary place. Filled with thoughts I haven't had since highschool. They're difficult to ignore. I’m tired of trying to ignore them. Keeping them pushed to the back of my mind only for them to come back stronger. 

 Everything just takes up so much energy. 

I threw the blankets off of me, headed out of Drake's spare room and down the hall to the bathroom- that was thankfully unoccupied. 

Drake never was an early riser so that’s hardly surprising. 

I had just sat, pulled my pants and panties down when I felt my stomach churn at the sight of the red substance splattered in my otherwise pristine white underwear. 

Shit. shit. No...please 

I can feel my heart start racing. Beating madly like horses hooves hitting the ground. My stomach rolls and my heart sinks. 

This can't be happening. 

“It's okay,” I whispered to myself. “I’m fine. A little bit of spotting is normal. Totally normal.” I’m saying the words, I know the facts and yet I’m still panicking. 

I took a deep breath and held it in for a few seconds, closing my eyes as I did so, going to my happy place. I did this a few more times to prevent my breathing going off the rails and going into a full blown panic. I don’t need that right now. 

I don't have any nausea like normal  but that’s okay, right? It should probably be called ‘all- day sickness’ It’s never just limited to the morning. 

I’m fine. 

It’ll probably rear its ugly head at some point during the day. 

It’s probably a good thing actually. None of my friends know that  I’m pregnant and Drake probably wouldn't appreciate me puking in his bathroom. 

I flushed the toilet then headed out. As I was walking past the kitchen back to the spare room I heard Drake’s voice. 

I changed direction and headed into the kitchen instead. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised  to see my husband sitting at the table opposite Drake. 

Liam stood up when he saw me and wrapped me in his arms. “Are you okay?” He immediately asked. 

“I’m fine.”  I wanted to tell him about the spotting but...I don’t. It’s probably nothing. There’s no point in both of us stressing over it. 

“Last night you disappeared and I-” 

“I’m sorry,” I cut him off before he started to continue his worried rambling. I feel like the biggest bitch on the planet. 

I didn’t handle last night well at all. 

“Don't you ever do that again,” Liam said. I could hear the concern and worry laced in his normal stoic voice. 

“I’m sorry. I just needed to- I needed some time to think over everything,” I explained as I wrapped both my arms around him tighter. 

“I was so worried about you,” he told me quietly. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”  

We were interrupted by Drake clearing his throat. We let go of each other and turned to him. “Do you one of you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

Liam went to open his mouth but I started talking before he could have a chance to, “It’s private and nothing to worry about,” I say quickly. “Thank you for letting me stay last night, Drake.” 

“Sure,” he responded. 

“I-I’m gonna go and get my stuff.” I awkwardly headed out and into the spare room to grab my phone, only to discover it had died, and my jacket and shoes- since they were the only things I had with me yesterday evening. 

I slipped my shoes and jacket on then headed back into the kitchen.

 The awkwardness in there was almost palpable. 

Liam and I both said goodbye to our friend, then headed back to our quarters so I could shower and change. 

On the way back Liam had told me we needed to talk but I don’t want to...not now at least. I just wanted to shower before I met up with Hana later. 

I had asked him about how he knew where I was. He told me that he had panicked last night when I left and had tried to get hold of me but received no answer, then had called Drake thankfully to discover I was safe and sound with him. 

I truly felt awful about it all. I wasn’t thinking last night that my disappearing act would make him worry so much. I didn’t mean to make him worry.  

It just seemed to be one thing after another. 

It was a few hours later, Hana and I are sitting in the library working on planning Maxwell’s surprise birthday party. Neither of us had planned one before and was finding it a little bit difficult. An offer had been extended for Drake to come and join us but he opted against it and Liam was in the middle of a conference call with the French ambassador but should be along shortly. 

My laptop was open in front of me. I was writing down all our ideas we had come up with so far. All we knew was that we wanted it to be Kraken or squid themed- maybe both. 

I was typing all of our ideas when my arm started to tingle.

Oh no. 

I looked up to Hana who sat opposite me. She was making a sketch of a new suit she wanted to make for Maxwell for the party. 

My stomach rolled. 

Hana soon looked up at me. Everything was becoming confusing.  My notes are almost forgotten. Why I’m here forgotten too. 

I don’t think I took my medication this morning. 

“Are you alright?” 

I shook my head. “N-No,” I slurred. 

All I really know right now is that I’m not feeling good. I feel sick. 

I wobbily got to my feet and so did Hana. 

I don’t know where I am but I don’t want to be here. 

She stood in front of me, hands resting on my shoulders. “Riley, are you going to have a seizure?” My hearing is starting to disappear. Her voice sounds different- echoey. 

I don’t understand what she's asking me.

(Hana’s POV)

I now understand what Maxwell had been feeling at the fundraiser. We’ve both been there to witness this but Drake and Liam have always been the ones to help her. 

I gently helped her down onto the floor. 

Riley started to squirm and whimper as she tried to get up off the floor. Her limbs don’t want to cooperate with her. I’m sure that’s making her panic more because her attempts to get away get stronger. 

“It’s okay,” I said, quietly. She’s still squirming and whimpering. I know she probably doesn't understand anything that I’m saying right now to attempt to comfort her. 

 I heard her start to gag and immediately helped her over onto her side. I rubbed her back comfortingly, “It’s okay .Get it all out.” 

Once she had finished, I quickly stood to fetch our phones off the table and a cushion off one of  the seats. 

I carefully slid the cushion under her head, she tried to move but she can barely move her limbs now. 

“I dun’t feel glood,” She said in a small, slurred voice that made it difficult for me to understand. 

“It's okay,” I tried to console but I dont think it’s doing much. 

Her face fell blank, expressionless and less than a second later she started seizing, I quickly pressed the button to start the timer. I picked Riley’s phone up and looked for Liam’s contact. 

It only ran three times before Liam picked up. “Love?” 

“It’s Hana, Liam. We’re in the library and Riley’s having a seizure.” 

“What?” He sounded panicked. 

“She’s okay. It’s all under control. I- I just thought that you needed to know.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” Liam hung up and I turned all my attention back to Riley. A little bit of blood started to trickle out of her mouth, I used the bottom of my dress to wipe it away, remembering that I needed to keep her airway as clear as possible. 

Her thrashing started to slow down. “There you go,” I whispered.  2:23 was on the timer as I reached over to stop it as her thrashing ceased. I made a mental note of it. 

About a minute later Liam arrived and dropped onto his knees beside us. It wasnt much longer until her eyes started to move behind their lids and opened completely.

(Riley’s POV) 

Why can’t I move? 

Why can’t I hear? 

Where am I? 

I can see two figures beside me. I can’t tell who they are! 

Who are they? 

What do they want? 

Where am I? 

I try to squirm away but my body doesn’t want to comply.

I’m scared, I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. My fight-or- flight response is starting to kick in. All I know is that I need to get away from these strange people. 

Everything is still a blurry right now. The figures don’t yet have any defined facial features. My hearing is like I’m underwater- it’s all muffled. 

A  short while later, the details of the world around me is starting to bleed back into focus- I only wish my memory would do this too. I can see the bookshelves, the people near me. A sense failairt is over then but I can’t quite figure out why yet 

The blonde ones seem to notice that I can see him and tilts his head a little bit. I realize I do recognize him and the woman. “Liam?” I asked. I’m still a little bit unsure. 

The world doesn't completely make sense. 

“I’m here,” he cooed.  “We’re in the library, you had a little seizure,” he started to explain to me, “It’s just me and Hana.” 

I looked at the woman. “Hi Riley.” 

I don’t properly acknowledge my friend and look back to Liam. “What happened? I asked, his previous explanation completely forgotten. 

“You had a seizure.” 

“Oh.” 

It took a few minutes for me to become fully alert. Now I was sitting up with Liam supporting me from behind. 

I’m so tired. 

I turned my head slightly and noticed the red stain on the bottom of my friend's dress. “I’m so sorry,” I panicked. Hana looked confused before she followed my gaze down. 

“Oh don’t worry about it,” She said, waving me off. 

“It’ll probably stain.” 

“It’ll be fine. I promise,” Hana reassured, “I’m sure I’ll be able to get it out. Don’t worry about it.”

 I nodded and let out a yawn. 

“Do you want to head back to the apartment now?” Liam asked me. I nodded in agreement. Liam stood first and extended a hand out to me, I took it gratefully. Liam easily pulled me up off the not so comfortable library floor. 

We both said goodbye to Hana, Liam grabbed my laptop off the table then we headed out. “Are you feeling okay now?” Liam asked me. 

“Yeah,” I yawned, “I’m just tired, a little sore.” 

We continued towards the apartment for a few minutes, when Liam spoke again breaking the silence.  “Do you know what caused it this time?” He asked.

“I erm...I forgot to take my medication this morning,” I realized, thinking back to this morning. “I- I got a little distracted.” When we arrived back, I decided a nap would be beneficial- i was exhausted now so I settled down on the couch. Liam retrieved a blanket from our  bedroom as I got comfortable. By the time he returned I was just about to drift off. 

I felt him cover me with the blanket then place a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll be in the study if you need me.” I hummed before letting myself drift off. 

I’m not sure how much later it was when I was woken up from my nap by some cramping, I rubbed at my eyes as I stood up. I felt sick at seeing the cushion I was laying on is now stained red. 

Shit! 

I looked down and saw the red, sticky blood covering my pants. I immediately headed out of the living room. I need Liam. This isn’t normal. 

An icy finger ran down my spine when I felt another cramp slice across my lower abdomen. I wasn’t expecting it and leaned forward, grabbing  hold of the door frame to Liam’s study, groaning quietly. 

This can't be happening….Please, Please don’t let this be happening….Please… 

My knuckles had turned white from the force I was using to keep hold of the wood.  My other hand was resting on my stomach. 

I bit my lip. I could taste the familiar metallic taste of blood from the freshly made cut in my bottom lip. I bit down harder as the pain seemed  to intensify . I tried to keep in the whimper but I couldn’t. 

I heard Liam’s chair be pushed back, then footsteps and before I knew it he was standing in front of me. 

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as I looked up to him. His  eyebrows were knitted in concern but the look in his eyes told me he had an inkling about what was happening. 

“Riley?”  I’m sure I heard his voice crack.  I whimpered again as another cramp tore through me. 

What  did I do wrong?

I can feel Liam’s hands resting on my shoulders now. “Riley, what’s happening sweetheart?” 

I looked up to him. My tear filled gaze meeting his. My bottom lip trembled. 

Was It something I ate? 

“I-I’m…” I turned to look down at the floor. I couldn't look at him while I told him this. I couldn't watch as I shattered his dream of having a baby- like a true coward. “I’m losing the baby.” 

Liam’s hands fell from my shoulders to rest by his side. He looked scared, panicked. 

Is this because of a seizure? 

Liam rubbed at his teary eyes. I groaned as another cramp sliced across my stomach once again. Liam stepped towards me and I grabbed onto his shoulders. 

What if I had told him this morning? 

“It’s okay,” Liam said, quickly, cupping my face in his hands. 

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It...It’s not,” I cried. The pain only seemed to worsen and I had the sudden urge to go to the toilet. “I-I need to go to the toilet.” 

Liam nodded and helped me down the hall and into the bathroom. I pulled down my pants and underwear and took a seat. 

“Get out,” I ordered quietly.  My knuckles were once again white clamped over my knees. Liam looked up at me, disbelief spread across his face. 

“What?” 

“Get out,” I demanded more forcibly this time. I didn’t want him to see this. He didn’t need to see this. 

“Ri-” 

“JUST GET OUT!” I screamed at him through a sob. “Please.” I could see the internal battle he was having with himself. “Just go,” I sniffled. 

Thankfully  he did as he was told. 

It was a few minutes later when suddenly all the pain was gone and something slippery fell out and splashed into the toilet. 

Oh god. 

I wiped myself with some toilet paper. It came back covered in red. I felt sick. 

I slowly got back up to my feet and pulled up my pants. I turned around so I’m facing the toilet; I bit my lip, once again drawing blood as I looked down into the bowl. It’s hard to see anything because of the crimson stained water, then I see it- my baby bobbing in the water. 

My hand hovers on the handle.

I want to take it out. It doesn't feel right for my baby to be in the toilet where waste goes but what would I do with it? With him or her?  

I heard the door open as Liam stepped in. I don’t turn to look at him, my gaze is fixed on the toilet. I felt him step up behind me and peek a glance. 

He wrapped his arms around  me and a  sob ripped out of his throat. I let myself slam into his chest and allow him to wrap me in his arms as I continue to stare at it. 

I don’t know what to do. 

“I-I don’t know what to do,” I mumbled, defeated. Liam rubbed my shoulders comfortingly, sniffling. 

“What did you do last time?” He asked. 

“I- I buried her.” 

“Did that help?” I shook my head. It didn't. Having my baby so close to me just outside and knowing I couldn’t hold her broke my heart. Everyday.  “Should we flush it?” I could hear in his voice that he was crying. 

My hand reached for the handle as my other when to cover my mouth as a sob tore out of my throat. Liam stepped closer to me, one hand around my waist as the other covered mine over the handle. 

“Are you sure?” I nodded and turned my head away. “One...two...three.” Both our hands pushed down and a loud whooshing filled my ears as clean water replaced the crimson. 

After I had calmed down, Liam and I headed to the hospital after he had convinced me too. I know he’s just worried and wants to make sure I was okay so I go along with it even though I don’t care anymore. 

After getting checked out, Liam and I climbed in the back of the SUV and strapped ourselves in.  We barely had uttered a word to one another- actually Liam had tried to talk to me but...what was there to say? It’s gone and there's nothing anybody can do to change that.  

I keep going over it all wondering if there was something I could’ve done differently, what I did wrong...There must’ve been something that I did to cause this. 

Like I had suspected everyone told me that it wasnt my fault- that ‘it’s just one of those things and ‘it’s actually quite common’ but I don't know what to think or how to feel. 

I didn’t let myself get excited over it. I didn't let myself dream over what the baby would look like or what they’d be, what type of person they would grow up to become but from the moment that baby was conceived it was my child.  I know for a fact Liam over the last nine weeks has thought about it, let himself get excited over it and I had just ruined it for him. 

The journey back home was spent in an uncomfortable silence. I wanted to speak. I wanted to apologise profusely to my husband for what I had done but I couldn’t. How could I ever make amends with words? 

When we arrived home, Liam had extended  out his hand to help me out of the vehicle but I didn't take it, opting to push past him instead. 

I heard Liam’s hurried footsteps behind me as I walked towards our apartment. I could hear him calling my name but I ignored it and continued on my way. 

I quickly unlocked the front door and headed straight to the bathroom. 

I need a shower. 

I headed down the hall to the bathroom. 

I didn't waste any time stripping off my clothes and switching the water. 

It’s cold to begin with but I’m numb to everything right now. 

Everything feels like I've stepped into another dimension or that I'm trapped in a nightmare that I can’t escape. 

It doesn't feel real. 

I picked up the loofah and plastered it in my body wash and started to scrub at dried blood on my legs. 

I want it off of me! 

I don’t realise that all the blood is soon gone and I’m just rubbing at my flesh until its raw. 

I’m crying. 

I’m screaming. 

I just want this all to stop. 

My hand is pulled away from my now agitated flesh by Liam. He plucked the loofah out of my hand and put it down then pulled me against his chest. I fight against him and manage to squirm  out of his grip. 

He can’t comfort me. 

I don’t deserve it not after what I’ve done. 

One of the first things I notice now that I’m facing him is that he’s still wearing his clothes and they're wet. 

“You’re getting all wet!” I cried as I tried to urge him out of the shower but he wouldn't budge. He simply just pulled me into his arms, my back resting against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I’m not sure he heard me over the water hitting the floor. It hit me then that I could never apologise enough, there is nothing I can do that is ever going to rectify any of this. 

It’s not like this is the first time. It’s happened twice- two babies that I have failed to protect. Two babies  that I just wanted to hold more than anything in the world but will never get the chance too. 

“There’s nothing to apologise for.” 

“Y-yes there is,” I said. My bottom lip quivered. I know that If I speak again then the tears are going to start falling. 

“It’s not your fault.” Liam’s words do not ring true for me right now. I’ve already convinced myself that my actions caused this. That I am the one to blame. I want to cry but why should I be allowed to grieve over something that I caused? 

It’s all my fault. 

[otomebois-bb]

Kiro Month, Day 20: Soulmate AU

Title: I Promise

Pairing: Kiro & MC (Emci)

Notes: The long-awaited (for me anyway) Soulmate AU day is finally upon us! Due to my current circumstances, I wrote this many days in advance. I feel bad for not being able to participate in my own event too much, but I told myself I'd definitely do this one no matter what, so I did!

Before you begin, a few things you need to know:

1. Despite the Soulmate AU title, this is a bit of an angst! Nothing too bad, but proceed with caution.

2. There are slight spoilers from Kiro's backstory with the MC (I think from chapter 10? I really don't remember tbh).

3. I mashed together 3 different Soulmate AUs into this! They are:

Your soulmate leaves colored footprints only visible to you (for this, I added a little twist where the color changes each day.)

Your soulmate's first name on your wrist.

Meter of how in danger your soulmate is, below their name on your arm.

With that said, I hope you enjoy!!

Tagging: @producer-miss-chips for the banner ^^

Kiro's POV:

I stared out the car window, lost in thought while Savin, who sat next to me, ratted off the day's schedule for the third time today. I sat up straighter when I caught sight of the neon pink footsteps on the sidewalk, leading up to a tall building.

So she works inside the LFG building, huh...

I rolled up my left sleeve and stared at the engraved name on my wrist: Emci. I slipped it up a little higher to reveal the semi-circle meter below it, going from green, to yellow, to red from left to right. Currently it was all the way in the green.

I learned the hard way a long time ago what that meter was for, and ever since then, I always prayed to never see it go that far into the red again...

"Kiro!"

Savin's yelling snapped me back to reality, and I quickly hid my arm underneath my sleeve once more. "Sorry, Savin. What did you say?"

He opened his mouth, only to shut it again. His expression conveyed annoyance through his furrowed eyebrows and the deep scowl etched onto his face. Finally, he spat, "You realize your monthly schedule right now is too busy to fit in chasing down your soulmate, right?"

My heart sank, and my shoulders sagged. "Yeah... I know." I had asked him about it not too long ago, and his simple response had been showing me this month's calendar and telling me to find some free time on it. Of course, there wasn't any, unless I was willing to sacrifice sleep for it — but with the way things were, I couldn't even afford to do that.

"Then let go of that fantasy. If you're that desperate, why don't you look her up on social media? Everyone has a Moments account."

I scoffed. "I only know her first name. Without her last name, it'll take forever to find her."

"Well, guess you'll have to wait until your schedule clears up," he said, typing something on his phone.

"Yeah, with you as my agent, that'll never happen," I muttered.

"Without me as your agent, you wouldn't be where you are today. Be thankful," he shot back.

I wanted to retort that I'd have been just as well off without his help, but seeing as it was difficult to go from nothing to something without a good agent, I bit my tongue instead.

I sighed, resuming my blank stare out the window as the car kept going, the LFG building long behind us.

~~~~~~~~

Four days after my argument with Savin, I managed to sneak out of an interview I really wasn't interested in, wearing a black hat and a dark gray hoodie for good measure.

As I mingled with the crowd, I caught a glimpse of a few seemingly painted footsteps on the sidewalk across the street. I smiled, and muttered to myself, "So, your footsteps are light blue today, huh?"

I headed for the crosswalk, fully intending on following her footsteps in hopes we'd be reunited today. As I began to cross the street, I decided, just out of curiosity, to check the meter on my arm; though I was sure it would still be in the green section.

I stopped dead in my tracks halfway across when I saw it, though.

The little arrow was in the yellow, slowly moving closer and closer to the red area.

My mind suddenly flashed back to several years ago: her screams echoing through the thin walls, while I was strapped to a cot, powerless to do anything while the meter stayed as far into the red as it could go — not to mention the countless experiments I was forced to endure as well...

When we were finally rescued from that hell hole, we were separated. "I promise I'll find you again! I'll protect you, I promise!" I cried as the police officers gently tugged me away.

No. I won't let that happen again.

I ran the rest of the way, shoving people out of my way once I was on the sidewalk, and they protested at my actions — but I couldn't care less if I was being rude. At that moment, the only thing that mattered to me was following those footsteps and fulfilling my promise.

The footsteps led me down an alleyway and through a rusty door. The room I stepped into was pitch-black, but the pale blue footsteps glowed, allowing me to continue following them without needing a light.

Heading down a set of stairs, I gasped when I reached the basement floor, which was dimly lit by a few spread out light bulbs. The footsteps on the floor here were splattered together, then drastically spaced — indicating a struggle had occurred before she was dragged off to the next room.

The meter on my arm now rested in the center of the red section.

I quickened my pace as much as I could without making too much noise. My hand reached out for the door knob in front of me, when...

"Nooooo!!"

A female's voice shrieked from a distance behind the door, and my blood ran cold. It took every ounce of will power to refrain from panicking and recklessly rushing in there, especially after glancing at my arm just in time to notice the arrow spike up as far into the red as it could go.

I managed to keep calm enough to enter the room, where the only light was coming from the far end of the room, behind a white curtain. I could see the shadows of two figures standing by what looked like a table, and another person writhing around wildly, seeming to be strapped to the table. Since the increased amount of panicked, struggling footsteps led all the way behind the curtain, my only guess could be that the person on the table was my one and only soulmate.

My hands balled into fists.

I won't let it happen again.

I quickly searched my surroundings for anything that could be used as a weapon or as a distraction, finding a hammer and a knife among a table of various tools and a fire hydrant behind a counter closer to the curtain. Clinging to the wall to stay shrouded in the dark, I slowly made my way to the fire hydrant.

"Please, stop," the girl begged, her weakened voice fueling me to move a little faster.

"Aww, doll, don't worry. It'll be a quick pinch, you won't even feel it!" A man cackled, and I could see one of the figures holding a syringe, moving it closer to the person on the table.

"No, please!"

Clank!

I finally reached the fire hydrant and tipped it over, causing it to lang loudly as it hit the stone floor and echoed.

The man with the syringe paused and pointed at his helper to investigate the sound as he continued what he was doing. I got into position as the other person, another man, emerged from behind the curtain. When he passed me, almost completely oblivious, I swiped my leg out and knocked him down just as the screaming began. Before the man could recover from his fall, I swung my hammer at his head, and he stopped moving. I couldn't care less whether I killed him or rendered him unconscious as I searched his motionless body and grabbed a gun.

I stood and aimed the gun carefully at the man's syringe hand, pulling the trigger when he removed the syringe and no longer had his hand near the girl, since I didn't want to risk accidentally hitting her. The man, startled and in pain, stumbled away from the table, clutching his bleeding hand. "W-who's there?!"

I pulled my hood up to hide my hair before stepping into view, aiming my gun at him. "That was a warning shot. If you value your life and know what's good for you, I suggest you leave before I decide to use you for target practice."

"Why you—!"

He lunged for me, and I didn't hesitate in pulling the trigger again, and he fell at my feet. "I warned you," I muttered bitterly.

I traded the gun for the knife in my pocket, discarding it on the floor and facing the table. The Emci I saw laying there, struggling to stay conscious, looked mostly the same as I'd remembered her — only more mature and grown up, and, if possible, more beautiful. Her sleeves had been rolled up, and she had a small dot of blood and what looked like a yellowish substance on one arm, and on her other arm — her left, like mine — I could see her meter going down from red to yellow, and above it, I could make out my name engraved in cursive on her wrist: Kiro.

Using the knife, I cut her bindings and lifted her limp body in my arms. Carrying her while I followed the exit signs, she softly mumbled, "You came back..."

"I promised I'd find you again, and I promise you, I will never leave your side ever again."

~~~~~~~~

The moment I rushed into the hospital, someone said, "Oh my God, is that Kiro?!"

"Yes, it's me, Kiro," I said, a bit irritated that that was the first thing they pointed out. "Now, can I please get some help over here?! My soulmate's life is on the line!"

Immediately, a few nurses hurried over, one calling for a doctor, and soon after, I was following as they led Emci to a room on an elevated stretcher. Before I could get through the door, a nurse stopped me, holding her hand up. "I understand she's your soulmate, but please wait in the lobby. The doctor can't be distracted while trying to treat her."

I sighed. "Fine, but what should I do in the meantime?"

"I'm sure your agent would like to know where you're at," she said before leaving to catch up with the others.

I dialed Savin's number, and he immediately picked up. "Kiro, where are you?!"

"I'm at the hospital," I said, walking outside.

"The hospital?!" Shuffling could be heard on the other end. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I found my soulmate."

Savin paused before groaning, "Seriously, Kiro? This was an important interview, I can't believe you—!"

"If I had listened to you, Emci would've been more hurt than she is now, or worse!" I cut him off, and he fell silent. "Look, I'll see you later and apologize. Just wanted to update you. Goodbye."

Hanging up, I walked back into the hospital just in time for the nurse from before to spot me as she entered the lobby. "Good news, Kiro, she's going to be okay." I let out a breath of relief I didn't know I'd been holding as she continued, "The doctor just needs to flush the chemicals out of her system. He wants to hold her here overnight to monitor her for a bit, just in case, but you're very lucky you brought her here when you did." She smiled. "Anyway, I'll come back in an hour to give you another update. Hopefully I can bring you back to see her by then, too."

I nodded, taking a seat and anxiously waiting for an hour to pass.

~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Emci finally woke up.

"Kiro?" she asked, her voice shaking me awake as I was about to doze off. "Is it really you?"

I gently reached out for her hand. "Yes, it's me. I'm really here." I squeezed her hand, and she smiled.

"I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long," she admitted, giggling — the melodic sound like music to my ears. "If you weren't such a popular public figure, I would've lost hope."

I chuckled "I know. I'm sorry, I got busy."

"Don't apologize." Her thumb softly caressed the back of my hand. "I'm just glad you're here now."

"I have so much I want to tell you," I said.

"Me too," she agreed, "but now is a bad time."

"Can I at least say one thing?"

"Of course." Her smile was like a ray of sunshine, brightening my mood instantly.

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Emci."

She giggled. "I know." Upon seeing my dejected pout, she laughed and added, "I love you too, Kiro."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END.

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 6

A/N: Longest chapter yet! And also the smuttiest. Though not exactly in the way you might expect… Basically, Drac deliberately takes advantage of his and Zoe's mental ties

Pairing: Dracula & Zoe/Agatha, Dracula/OFC 

Rating: M (as of this chapter), for blood, language, insinuations of violence, voyeurism, vampiric mind-tricks of a sexual nature, some semi-predatory behavior by some very human males, some very predatory behavior by one immortal bastard, and smut. 

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut 

Chapter 6

Appetite decidedly ruined, at least for the time being, Dracula had taken to the streets of London and began to walk them with the single-minded effort to put distance between him and any events that had previously transpired. He was not used to allowing anyone else the last word – Lucy had once pointed out that he often killed anyone before they could give it, but even so. Not being the clear cut dominant party in any scenario left him disgruntled and however novel the experience, confused - a most unnatural state. And not the only one plaguing him either. 

Trudging might have been a better placed verb for the stalking, almost antsy pace he kept, potentially for hours. He didn’t keep time. It wasn’t as though it would tire him out, and the dawn was no longer a threat. In fact, he quite liked to watch the sun reach her penultimate peak.  It was still hours out from the gradual brightening of the horizon when, as he paced through an otherwise deserted back alley to avoid a torrent of rowdy youths exiting a rather degraded club that the unmistakable dirge of human voices raised in aggravation briefly drew his attention from his own brooding.

Half turning in potential amusement, hoping perhaps some insipid humans were engaging in some kind of drunken brawl, it didn’t take long for the Count to size up what was actually occurring. Two young men, one short and stocky as his compatriot was lanky, were drunkenly blocking the way of a petite young woman, scantily clad but carrying an armful of books, as she tried to pass them up the alley and presumably to the main road.  

“Gonna dance for us again, love?”

“Club’s closed boys, go home,” she persisted, clearly uncomfortable despite keeping a casual tone as she tried to dodge around them again, to no avail.

“We could give you a riiide home…car’s parked right up the road,” the taller and obviously dumber one of the two leered in the most obvious failure at looking genuine the count had ever seen. It was frankly embarrassing.

“I called a cab. Now move ,” the small black haired creature demanded, doing her best to raise her voice and attempt to shove past, but the men only laughed, and the stockier one grabbed her by the waist and began trying to lead her off, despite her cursing refusal.

She tried to hit him with one of the heftier tomes in her clutches and ended up dropping the others, leading the idiots to laugh even louder and continue to try to maneuver her. Just as she let out a screech of what to Dracula’s amusement sounded more like valkyrie-esque fury rather than panic, the vampire decided to step out of the shadows and interrupt the frankly pathetic attempt at hostage taking.

“Boys, I really don’t think this is an effective method to pick up a lady.”

Even at its least threatening, Dracula’s voice stopped them in their tracks, the taller lad almost stumbling into the wall in surprise, as the other, hand still gripping the girl’s waist, turned to face the voice with clearly forced bluster.

“Who asked you?”

Dracula quirked a brow, a crooked smile cracking his otherwise stern facade in the face of that response, and he began approaching at a steady pace.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The young men exchanged worried looks as the man came out of the shadows and, in fact, towered over the both of them to an unsettling degree. Not even bothering to protest as the girl took advantage of their distraction and lurched out of their clutches and hurried back towards the door of the club she’d left, they seemed to both come to the same stupid conclusion at the same time, and took on a defensive ‘fighting’ stance that almost made the Count giggle.

“Sounds like you need to mind your own business, gramps,” the dumb one spoke this time, clearly trying to show off, though to who he had no idea. His friend may have spoken first, but was currently too frozen in terror under the piercing and unnaturally glowing gaze of the vampire to hear a word he’d said. Dracula, however, heard him perfectly and snarled, flashing just a glimpse of sharp teeth which sent them both into a headlong sprint in the opposite direction.

The Count laughed outright at their fleeing backs, shaking his head. Idiots. He almost regretted chasing them off, truth be told, the amusement of terrifying them reminding him that he had forgone his dinner that evening – though he was positive they would’ve tasted terrible.  

“Wow,” a small voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly to see the young woman peek her head back into the alley, too curious to stay as far away as she rightly should have. Instead of looking frightened, she approached the giant of a man and smiled, craning her neck to look out to the now empty road, fascinated. He appraised her properly now and took note that although she was certainly young and very pretty, she was not as juvenile as he’d originally assumed. There were faint lines and dark circles under her doe brown eyes and despite her outward show of anger prior, there were smudges where the black lining her eyes had smeared, pin pricked with the beginnings of tears too stubborn to fall.

“No idea what you just did, but… fucking thank you.  Those pricks have been hounding me for weeks.”

“It was my pleasure. Fools of such poor taste like that need to be put in their place, at times. ” he assured her smoothly, looking down at her with a stare she could only describe as penetrating and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe. Finally blinking and clearing her throat, she caught sight of her high dollar text books still splayed on the ground where they’d fallen, one of them half in a puddle of some unknown substance.

“Shit,” she hissed, and hurried over and crouched down to the retrieve them. In one smooth motion, he too bent to assist her.

“Go back to school, they said…it’ll be fun they said,” she murmured in a weak attempt at both humor and what he assumed to be an explanation for her rather spontaneous studying location as she gathered some loose pages of notes that had been stuffed inside one of the titles. The cover of one the books caught his eye and he couldn’t suppress a crooked grin of recognition.

“Medieval Warlords of Eastern Europe. Quite a fun read.”

“You’ve read it?” she found herself asking in a skeptical tone, as she stood and bashfully adjusted the short hemline of her skirt over her fishnet covered thighs.

“No, but you could call me a bit of an expert on the subject,” he offered as he handed it back to her, keeping the rest of the books in his free hand as though they were weightless, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made her brow quirk in curiosity.

“Is that a line or are you serious?”

He shrugged innocently, something that looked almost comical with his broad shoulders, though the smile that followed was more genuine, and spiked her pulse as it spread across his handsome face.

“That depends. Is it working?”

She found herself smiling in return. “What are you? …A history professor or something?” Clearly that idea did not exactly deter her interest, ‘student’ though she was.

“I…have some experiences with that,” he replied in a strangely vague way, though didn’t give her much time to dwell on it as he held out a frankly massive hand to her in introduction. “I’m Dracula.”

“Katherine – though everyone calls me Kat,” she offered, watching her hand be engulfed in his grip, though instead of shaking it he gripped her fingers gently and brought her knuckles to his lips.

He narrowed his eyes almost conspiratorially at her, having kept hold of her hand, not that she would protest. “You didn’t actually call a cab, did you Kat?”

Kat chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. “No…I was planning to walk. It’s not that far, really.  Just didn’t want them to know where I live.”

“Then allow me to escort you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she began, a default ‘polite’ reply that the hopeful gleam in her eyes clearly contradicted, the invitation so close to the brim of her mind that it practically spilled forward even in silence.

“I insist,” he bent to her ear somewhat to murmur lowly, which seemed a large expanse despite the height of her heels, and she could only nod in wide-eyed acceptance as she took his offered arm.  

—-

Zoe hadn’t dreamt since waking up on that table weeks before. Each of her bouts of sleep were fleeting but deep and utterly untainted by consciousness, until that night she came home from the club. She had crashed onto her mattress, kicked off her boots and practically forced herself into a fitful sleep immediately, the way she often would before, when she was so ill her entire body was riling against her. It wasn’t really a dream, though, but a memory - Agatha’s memory. Zoe had a distant knowledge of everything she had experienced since she’d drank Dracula blood, but only rarely did she see actual events in such a clear and precise manner.

She distantly wondered if it was being shown to her out of spite, since she had been irrationally infuriated by Agatha’s existence in her mind the entire cab ride back from the club. Clearly that was all Agatha’s fault, whatever the hell it was. Distracting him, fine. Setting him up to fail, sure. Great. Snogging him, no. That was not part of the plan, no matter how ‘negotiable’ their plans had been to start with. It was far easier to be mad at yourself when there was an entirely separate entity you could blame your stupid actions on, at least.

In the depths of her mind, Zoe could smell the salty, stagnant air in the hold of the Demeter, feel the subtle rock of it on the water, as she watched the proud and sickly form of her great, great Aunt simply decide to commit suicide for the sake of everyone else’s safety as though she were deciding whether or not to wear a hat that day. Her chestnut curls were matted on the ends with blood, but her smile was as casual as anything as she bid the Captain to let her blast a hole in the side of his ship, while he and the rest of the crew took out a lifeboat.

He pleaded with her, but she insisted. Insisted that the curse of the vampire could never reach England, told him to lie about where the ship went down (no wonder they had trouble finding the bloody thing), and then came a part of the memory that it seemed even she had tried to repress. Perhaps, in case Dracula lived, in case he tasted her blood again, he wouldn’t know.

Agatha pulled a neatly tied but clearly bulging collection of papers from the inside of her habit with shaking, raw fingertips and pressed it into the Captain’s hands.

“I want you to make sure this gets into the hands of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“Van Helsing? Family?” The Captain asked distractedly, still slightly shaken from learning her plans. He had grown an attachment to her, Zoe could see it plainly, even if Agatha had dismissed it entirely.

“Yes, my older brother. He’s…a trifle eccentric, but knowledgeable in all the right areas, in the event that Dracula ever does reach England, someone needs to know what I know. It’s my entire account…from the convent up until this morning, all of my research. Read it, if you like, but just make sure it gets into the right hands. He has acquaintances in London. A doctor, I know, by the name of…Seward I believe. He’s mentioned him in his letters…”

The rest of the memory blurred and sped by after that, giving her glimpses of what she knew to be the last moments of Agatha’s life. Zoe had always been told that she’d died at Dracula’s hands, but no. It was just as he’d said earlier. She’d died trying to kill him, twice now. And she’d died smiling at almost accomplishing it. The last look he’d given her was somewhere between respect, contempt, fury, and a disturbing but brief expanse of silence which Zoe distantly placed as longing. Even Agatha only seemed to realize in retrospect that the last thing the Count did before throwing her on the deck to save himself was try to memorize her face.

When Zoe awoke, it was with an immediate and clear knowledge that, regardless of any other information she’d gleaned, she needed to see if that letter existed. Her family would’ve kept it, she knew, though whether somewhere at the institute or in their family home, she wasn’t sure. She would have to find out. Clearly, information did not travel untainted through generations.

The lower levels of the Jonathan Harker institute were fully modernized, as sterile and clinical as you could get, but there were still parts of the old ruin of a building that stood before that kept the old occultist spirit of her family, something she herself had tried desperately to wipe out. It didn’t exactly look good for a scientist to have a family name that was synonymous with the study of life after death and mystical phenomena. Over time the Van Helsings had begun to quantify the study - of vampires especially - into as much of a science as they could, to the point that it didn’t feel particularly supernatural anymore – though deep down Zoe knew that wasn’t exactly true.  Now, more than ever.

Whether all of her associates would agree was a concept she would need to consider at a later date. Dodging as many members of the staff as humanly possible, she made her way to the stairwell. The elevator only went so far.

It took her a proper two hours at least, battling her way through dust laden relics and paperwork from '60s utility bill’ old straight back to 'turn of the century insurance voucher’ antique until Zoe found it: a large wooden chest with her grandfather’s initials barely visible in peeling letters. Inside was an assortment of oddities, some more interesting than others, but in a fading manila envelope (obviously not its original home) she felt the warning crinkle of 19th century parchment. A precursory glance through the first few pages left her with three critical bits of information:

These were exactly what she’d been looking for, and more even.

A good three quarters of the contents were in Dutch.

Somehow that didn’t stop Zoe from comprehending it

She’d headed straight home after that, as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. It was not, however, because she thought Dracula’s warnings about her colleagues were worth any weight - or so she firmly reminded herself. She was only excited. So excited apparently that she fell into an unexpectedly deep sleep atop her fully made bed in a chaotic swirl of typewritten copies no more than four hours later, despite not being tired at all.

——

Bzzz!

Kat’s eyes shot up from where they’d been blearily zoned out on her barely written essay towards the front door of her flat. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and given it was almost 11 pm - not exactly the witching hour but certainly late enough to be weary, she was cautious as she approached the door.

“Who is it?” She asked, cursing the lack of peephole in these bloody doors.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” a smooth, lightly accented voice easily permeated the door, and Kat’s eyes widened in excitement followed by a brief moment of panic. Shit shit shit. She bit her lip as she rushed for the nearest reflective surface to ensure she looked at least semi-appealing. A stretch, but…fine, she settled, pulling her hair down from her sloppily done ponytail at least, just before returning to pull open the door.

For a moment she forgot how far up she needed to look to meet Dracula’s gaze, finding herself without the aid of her platforms barely eye level with his sternum and had to quickly redirect her focus pseudo-casually away from his chest hair to find his dark eyes. This apparently amused him judging by the small smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“…Hi there.”

“Good evening… I apologize for the late hour. I hope you weren’t turning in. I’m a bit…nocturnal.”

“Oh, no,” she persisted with carefully controlled enthusiasm, glancing back at her sofa where her laptop still sat. “Me too, honestly. Just doing class work. It’s my night off.”

“How convenient,” Dracula said, seemingly pleased. “I brought something for you. I thought you might find it useful in your studies.”

It was only then that Kat took note of the large, leather bound book in his left hand as he offered it to her. Finding she had to grab it with both hands, she was surprised to feel the richness of real leather pliant but sturdy in her hands. Her fingers traced the slightly raised letters on the binding. It appeared to be proper gold leaf, and the pages had a patina of wear to them despite its otherwise unblemished appearance. She carefully opened it, looking through the first pages carefully.

“How old is this?” She breathed, for a moment too intrigued to look up, which considering what was standing in front of her was saying a lot.

“Late 18th century, but it’s an English translation of a much older volume. I used to own a copy in Romania, but I’ve had to…restock my library. It’s not a very good translation, to be honest, but it does contain a great many things the modern world seems to like to forget…for better or worse,” he stated with a strange, knowing lilt that finally drew her attention back to him.

“Is that where you’re from? I wouldn’t have placed that from your accent,” she asked, cautiously stepping back from the door in silent invitation for him to enter.

He hesitated, mouth opening as though to protest, but just as quickly closed it and stepped over the threshold in one large stride, looking satisfied as she moved to shut the door behind him.

“I haven’t been home in many years,” he responded truthfully as he turned to meet her, watching her appraise his approach with the all but expected antsiness born of equal amounts unease and desire. Fight or flight or another F-word the body knew well but the mind didn’t quite know how to factor into the equation.

Kat held the book against her chest, her mind’s subconscious attempt at shielding against a known threat, even while her feet carried her a step towards him.

“Thank you - very much. I’ll guard it with my life,” she 'swore’ dramatically, attempting to lighten the suddenly thick atmosphere.

“Oh, nonsense. Consider it a gift,” Dracula assured her.

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

Kat found herself silenced by one long, cool finger pressed against her lips, and her breath staggered.

“You Brits are always so polite,” he remarked with an exaggerated sigh, bringing his thumb together with his forefinger and cupping her chin lightly, craning her neck to meet his eyes. She distantly registered the uncharacteristic sharpness of his nails, though her first thoughts were full of anything but fear.

“I saw your eyes light up when you saw it. You know you want it. Don’t you?”

Dracula’s voice turned to a whisper and she nearly forgot how to speak. And when exactly had he gotten that close? She swallowed, eyes wavering from his eyes to his lips.

“Yes. Yes, I do…”

He arched a brow. “Then take it.”

Kat didn’t need to be told twice. The white-knuckled grip she had on the book relaxed slightly, and without looking away from his hypnotic gaze she extended her arm and placed it on the shelf beside them, successfully removing the weak barrier it had created between them. Then without another thought she’d launched onto the tips of her toes and crashed her lips against Dracula’s self-satisfied smirk.

She’d barely adjusted to the bruising pressure he’d returned when it had been ripped away again to her initial gasp of protest, but his hand gripped the full length of her hair and yanking, bared her throat for him to attack instead. Her head spun, feeling almost delirious for half a moment as his tongue drug an icy-hot path up the hollow of her throat, something akin to a growl reverberating through her ear and directly to her core. His teeth drug downward in the same path his tongue had taken, and just like that her feet had left the floor and he had a stranglehold on her hips, the bookcase digging into her back.

——

Zoe knew it wasn’t a dream from the heat alone. It began at her center and flung outward through her limbs like an internal wildfire, until even the tips of her fingers thrummed with it.

The vision was blurry at first, like from the eyes of a fly on the wall (knowing the vampire,  a very real possibility) except she could feel it. Feel the iron grip of his hand pinning her wrists, the ache at the base of her spine as her back arched into the force of his thrusts, measured and unrelenting. There was no delay for human error, no stagger or pacing for control - just pure hunger made flesh. The ripped remains of her camisole clung uselessly to her breasts, and he let loose her wrists if only to obliterate it further so he could set upon them with blunt teeth and tongue.

Her black lacquered nails dug jagged lines into his back that vanished as soon as they appeared as she came apart beneath him, just one of many occasions that blurred in her lust addled mind. Ever the consummate showman, an arm snaked beneath her, arching her petite form further upward to meet his chest as he rocked forward, the headboard hitting the wall hard enough to scrape paint. But the show was reaching its expiration, Zoe could hear it, echoing through the chambers of his mind.

The thundering of her heart, the singing of her blood like a siren’s call. It was becoming harder to ignore, to drown out, and the beast was struggling to stay hidden, a crimson haze seeping into his eyes. His head buried into the curve of his lover’s neck and he let out a low wolf-like keening muffled into the midnight of her hair that all too soon erupted into a growl. His hand gripped her throat, and just as she clenched her thighs around his hips like a vice to draw him in, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.

Suddenly Zoe could no longer feel the bursting pleasure/pain of her ecstasy, but taste it. She could feel the heat of the blood as it coated his mouth, thick and sweet with surrender…

She finally jolted awake with a force, half launching herself off the bed like she’d been restrained by it. It was still dark, her entire body throbbed, and worst of all she could still taste the coppery tang of the girl’s blood, tangible and tingling on her tongue. And she wanted more.

—–

He’s such a little shit, I swear he thought this up all on his own and I had no input whatsoever ;)  Do let me know what you think. I haven’t written anything smutty in ages, so spent forever trying to make sure it actually worked out alright. 

Tag List: @charlesdances @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @punk-courtesan @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @my-fanfic-library @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @crazytxgradstudent @desperatefrenchwriter @violetmarkey @iloveclaesbang @carydorse @vampiregirl1797 @imagineandimagine @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @ss9slb @hyacinth-meadow @dreamerkim @chelsfic @malkaviangirl @gatissed @allfandoms-writings @alhoyin @girlonfireice @isayhourwrong

Anyone else want added and/or removed, let me know :)

[deniigi]

I had a really bad day (I wont say why because I wouldnt want you to feel like I'm guilting you into anything) and I was wondering if maybe you had a dfv/lfv or inimitable verse drabble you havent put up or one on here you really like you could point me to (navigation is hard on mobile) or even just some like hcs. If not its totally ok! You dont owe me anything. But I thought I'd ask and see if that's ok.

Oh no!

Sorry that you had a rough day my dear. I don’t have much in the works for those verses right now (I’ve been hammering my head against a wall, trying to write out a piece exploring Gwen and Murderdock’s relationship–it’s not working tho, so I’m stopping). Of course any of the Clint-based pieces are fun in those verses if you need a pick me up, but I am equally fond of Chapter 13 of Sidebars.

But! If you don’t mind a little piece from Lying by Omission/The Sprawl I’ve got cute little bit of Jack and Ben going out to dinner with Matt and Peter?

I’ll put it under the cut if you’re down

—-

“Dad, let’s go out to eat.”

Jack didn’t trust that. Jack had been scarred by the durian. Permanently scarred. He was never coming back from the durian. He was etching a durian with a big ‘X’ through it into the top of his next coffin for future archaeologists to find and have absolutely no questions about.

Matt, sensing that he was presently not receiving the amount of attention that he could be receiving, oozed out of the kitchen and draped himself over the back of the couch, right behind Jack’s shoulders. Jack glanced to the side and noted that he was wearing shoes.

He wasn’t chancing it.

“No shoes on the couch,” he said.

“It’s my couch,” Matt hummed, already migrating over to the couch’s arm, no doubt to burrow his way under Jack’s own arm.

“It’s a couch.”

“My couch,” Matt hummed, plucking Jack’s phone out of his hand and tossing it callously to the other side of said couch. He then executed the burrow and wriggled himself over so that he was the sole occupant of Jack’s lap. He waited, as sweet as could be, until he had Jack’s more or less undivided attention.

The kid was heavy. Jack couldn’t tell if he knew just how heavy he was.

He suspected that he was more than aware of it.

Matt beamed at him. He did not pull his shoed feet over the couch’s arm.

A sign of obedience. Or perhaps a buttering-up technique.

Tricky, tricky.

“Why do we need to go out to eat? What’s wrong with what’s in the fridge?” Jack asked Matt’s untrustworthy grin.

It faded a little because there was a pout which needed doing.

“I’m tired of eating potatoes,” Matt huffed.

“Take it back,” Jack scolded him. “I won’t hear any raggin’ on tatties in this household.”

“I want rice.”

“I’ll make you rice, Matty.”

“I don’t want your rice.”

Picky little shit. Just like his mother. She’d been the type to refuse a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if the slop wasn’t equally distributed.

Jack’s rice was perfectly fine. It even had bits of onion in it. If he was feeling real fancy, he might even cook it in broth or something.

“Fine, so make rice yourself,” he said. Matt squirmed up and wrapped arms around Jack’s neck. He put his cheek against it and immediately made the skin there it itch.

“You need a shave,” Jack huffed, reaching back for his phone. Vanessa was doing battle with her replacement: Bella the cat. She was giving their zombie group the play by play of the her and the cat’s opposing campaigns to win Wade’s favor. Thus far, Bella had broken a plate and gotten scratchies and kisses for it. Vanessa was outraged.

It was an outrage to behold.

“Daddy.”

Not this again. This was no reason to bring out the big guns.

“Get your shoes,” Matt whined.

“Baby, you can go out. I’m not stopping you from going out. No one is stopping you from going out, god help us,” Jack told him.

Matt abandoned his neck, stretched out, quick as a whip, and snatched the phone on the other cushion. He crammed it into his shirt and then replaced himself and his face-broom against Jack’s pulse point.

Yeah.

Yeah, Jack didn’t know what he’d expected to happen here.

“Matt,” he warned.

“Dinner.”

“The last time we went to dinner, you broke my heart, soul, and trust.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, right. ”

“I won’t,” Matt promised, pulling back to add puppy eyes to the mix.

That was unfair. Uncalled for. Totally underhanded.

“Why don’t you go out with Foggy?” Jack tried as a last-ditch effort.

“Because I want to go out with you,” Matt emphasized. “My pops. My old man. We gotta bond. It’ll make me more well-adjusted. The internet says so.”

Jack was confiscating the internet. The internet was a know-it-all snitch.

“DAD.”

“Fine, for fuck’s sake, boy. Get off, you’re drowning me here.”

  Jack would go out to dinner on one condition.

Two conditions actually.

1)      There was to be no durian. Anywhere. At all.

2)      He got to bring moral support.

Matt was more than cool with that because it meant that he could replace the durian with another creative element which would equally torture Jack.

So Jack asked Ben Parker to come along. Parker was sharp as a tack. Compared to Jack, he was a man of the world. A reasonable and sensitive body with respect for his fellow humans. He promised to help Jack identify potential threats to his person flung his way by his uncaring and mischievous son.

Unfortunately, to that end, Matt insisted that they take Ben’s nephew, Peter, out with them too.

Jack knew from the start that this was Matt inserting his chaos element into what might otherwise be a perfectly tolerable and uneventful night out. But he also held out hope that Peter would be the sweet, kind-hearted boy he appeared to be.

It really was too much to ask for.

Peter latched his whole body onto Matt within seconds of their two parties meeting up and the two of them immediately set to whispering which bode poorly for everyone else involved.

“I believe we may have made a mistake,” Ben observed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

  Matt wanted rice and Peter wanted something sour enough to leave ulcers in his mouth, so the two of them decided that Thai food would achieve both of these effects. Jack was suspicious. Ben told him that Thai food was very tasty and he had little reason to fear, except.

Except.

“Peter hates durian, it’s fine, he won’t be setting up any conspiracies around it,” Ben promised him.

Mm.

They’d see about that.

Foggy had said something similar when he and Matt had dragged Jack out for Filipino food.

  Jack was pretty sure that Peter just wanted a lime. He was 90% sure that all Peter’s cravings could be satisfied with a lime right now.

Matt, however, in an unlikely turn of events, convinced him that he should get food-substances to accompany his burning desire for limes. Peter grumbled at this and deferred to his uncle for support in the face of this logic.

Chaos element, located.

“Pick a carb,” Ben directed.

“Sugar is a carb,” Peter argued.

“Pick a carb in a less refined form,” Ben countered easily.

“If it’s raw sugar, it—”

“Veg, noodles, or rice,” Ben offered him.

Peter scowled.

“You said a carb,” he pouted. “I want sugar.”

“I have good news for you, sweet child of mine,” Ben said fondly. “There is sugar in everything served in the United States of America. You will have your sugar. Pick its structure: veg, noodles, or rice.”

Ben made Jack feel like a shit dad sometimes. Although, to be fair, Jack hadn’t been a dad as long as Ben had.

Peter, outwitted and bitter about it, agitated Matt to help him.

Matt saw no need for that.

“You’re gonna be hungry in an hour and then you’re gonna whine about it,” he declared.

Peter scowled at him and then turned his lethal puppy eyes onto Jack. Jack set up a menu between the two of them because he was not strong enough to cope with that.

Peter whined behind it.

  Things were going too smoothly for too long. Jack did not trust the decent behavior happening at this table. Ben got a kick out of his paranoia, which was great because someone needed to.

“What are you hiding?” Jack asked Matt. Matt scoffed.

“Chill, old man,” he said. “We’re literally just having dinner. Maybe try to have a good time, huh?”

No.

Something evil was afoot.

Peter snickered. Matt swatted at him; he easily dodged the hand.

Trouble.

  Dinner was eaten and paid for and Jack eventually gave up and settled down. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Matt was right. Thai food was nice. No incidents had occurred. There was no durian. Ben and Peter made for good conversation, even if everything led back to Peter’s obsession with sci-fi films.

Ben told him that if he kept mentioning them, the aliens would hear him and his name would start to move up higher up on their list of potential captures.

The kid was horrified.

Matt helpfully started counting off the number of times Peter had mentioned aliens in the last week and Peter had briefly looked like he was going to cry.

“Is your wife not going to hear of this?” Jack asked Ben as they walked after the trouble duo who had determined that they were finding dessert at a different location. They seemed to know what they were after, so Jack and Ben left them to it.

“Oh, she will,” Ben said.

“And you don’t mind?”

“She encourages it. She’s convinced him that if you leave a tv on static, aliens can pick up on your watch history.”

Interesting parenting techniques going on here.

Ben laughed.

“Well, I guess we just figure that if you’ve got a weird kid, it’s easier on everyone if you just lean into it. My brother probably wouldn’t be so down with it, but he’s not here, so whatever.”

Ah, right.

“Peter’s your brother’s son, then,” Jack noted.

Ben hummed.

“I…guess,” he said uneasily. “I—it’s hard to explain. I mean, biologically, yeah he’s Rich’s son. But, you know, me and May’ve raised him for longer than Rich and Mary were ever in his life, so, I dunno. Is it fucked up that I kind of think of him as my son?”

No. Not at all.

“My eldest brother pretty much raised me,” Jack told him. “My mama couldn’t be assed to do anything more than scream at the drop of a hat and my daddy was busy drinking himself to death, so Bill was the one who got me up and dressed and off to school in the morning. I always thought of him as a mix between a brother and a mom.”

“No shit?” Ben said. “Where is he? He still around?”

Uuuuuuuh.

“We haven’t talked for a long time,” Jack said.

“Oh? Well, now’s your chance you know.”

Jack tried not to wince too sharply. Ben caught it anyways.

“Or not,” he said. “You don’t have to if its painful or something.”

Oh, buddy.

“We’ll see,” Jack decided. “I’ll need to think about it.”

He didn’t know how Matt would react. Hell, he didn’t know how he would react to seeing Bill again.

  Matt and Peter presented Jack with a drink that had evil hiding in the bottom of it.

He should have known better to think he’d escape that night uninjured.

–

I hope this cheers you up my dear and that things get easier for you soon!

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Five

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

March 14th, 2019

Patton was having so much fun. It was his and Virgil’s birthday, and they hadn’t celebrated like this since before Charles was around. Everyone was laughing and eating dinner at the place Virgil and Patton agreed on. Virgil looked over at him and grinned, such a pure expression that Patton hadn’t seen on his brother’s face in a long time.

If this was what happened when he had a birthday with his new family, then he definitely wanted to stay with this family for years and years. He loved everyone looking as happy and excited as he felt. It just...worked. It felt right. And he could always be happy with things feeling right.

March 14th, 2020

Patton was eating breakfast quickly, swinging his legs as he ate. He was in a good mood, all things considered. Today was his and Virgil’s birthday, and while no one had said anything about it yet, the day was still early.

It was a pretty day, too. He was eating breakfast out on the deck while Virgil played with Vanellope in the yard. There was barely a cloud in the sky and a crisp spring breeze blew across it. He was having a good day, and it had barely started.

Logan came out onto the deck with a book and said, “Happy Pi day, Patton.”

“Pi day?” Patton asked, turning to look at him.

“Three-point-one-four, March fourteenth,” Logan said. “The first three digits of pi line up today.”

“Oh, that’s kinda cool,” Patton said. “It’s also my birthday. And Virgil’s.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said with a smile. “But I figured we could also take a moment to acknowledge Pi day.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence until there was a crash inside the house and Ami screeched, “Emile Thomas Picani, you get back here!”

Dad dashed out of the house, laughing, clutching Ami’s jacket close to his chest. “You’ll never take me alive!” he crowed. “You’re not wearing your jacket today! It needs to be washed!”

Ami followed him out and Dad jumped down into the yard from the deck. “Give. Me. Back. My. Jacket!” Ami growled.

“Dad’s middle name is Thomas?” Patton whispered to Logan.

“It’s his maiden name,” Ami growled. “He took it as his middle name when we married, and I will continue to use it until I get my jacket back!”

Dad laughed and shrugged on the jacket, crossing his arms. “Rem, it’ll take all of ten minutes to wash and twenty to air dry! Half an hour, and you can wear your jacket again! But this?” He pointed to an obvious stain on the left elbow. “Needs to go.”

“It’s not that bad!” Ami exclaimed indignantly.

Dad shook his head. “You’re worse than Linus with his blanket! But this is getting washed, and you can’t stop me!”

Ami seethed as Dad sauntered back up the deck and walked back inside the house, tossing a, “Thirty minutes!” over his shoulder.

Logan blinked a few times, and Patton empathized with his confusion at this sudden turn of events. Virgil had come up to the deck with Vanellope, and Ami let go of a deep breath, before opening his eyes. “Good morning, boys. Happy birthday Patton, Virgil.”

“Thanks,” Patton said. “Um. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you yell before.”

Ami took another deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, sorry about that. I shouldn’t have shouted. But every time Emile insists on washing that jacket, I worry that it’ll get destroyed.”

“I mean, he doesn’t put it in the washing machine, he spot cleans, right?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing,” Ami said. “And I don’t want to lose that jacket. I love that jacket! I’ve had it for five years!”

“I’m sure Dad will be careful with it,” Virgil said. “He’s always careful with my blanket, and with Patton’s cat. He knows what he’s doing for the most part, and this can’t be the first time he’s spot cleaned something off that particular jacket, right?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not worried,” Ami sighed.

“That’s valid, but you don’t have to worry,” Logan said. “And you don’t have to chase Dad around the house, trying to get it back.”

Ami groaned. “How likely is it that Dee and Roman are going to recreate that to whoever asks about it?”

“About as likely as the sunset tonight is going to be,” Logan replied with a small grin. “Because those two are dramatic enough to pull it off.”

“Okay, that’ll be a problem,” Ami groaned, staring regretfully at the back door. “I just hope they don’t hurt themselves, because I’m pretty sure I can’t stop them.”

“I could try,” Logan offered. “Sometimes those two will push back at authority figures purely because they see authority figures as people who don’t understand that they’re just having fun. But if a peer explains to them why they could get hurt, and why it might disrupt other people, they might listen more.”

“You shouldn’t have to parent your own brothers, Logan,” Ami sighed. “But you have a good point there. If I had simply said that they might be bothering you guys, they’d do the same thing, but quieter. If I explained they could get hurt, they might actually listen.”

Logan shrugged. “Sometimes the quickest solution isn’t the best one. Sometimes you need to think before coming to a solution that works well. And...we all know that thinking is somewhat of a specialty of mine.”

Virgil laughed. “I know. You have a ‘processing’ face sometimes if someone interrupts you or says something you haven’t prepared yourself for them to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” Patton rushed to add. “I think Dee has one too. Although his happens pretty much every time someone says something to him.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t think through as many options as I do when I think of people’s responses,” Logan said.

“You use scripts?” Ami asked.

“I...Um...Yes?” Logan asked, blinking repeatedly and frowning. “Assuming that means practicing what I’m going to say in my head, and planning out possible responses.”

Ami made a huh noise. “I should probably tell Dad about that. He might be able to help you script if you want. He knows more about it than I do.”

“Why? What is it?” Logan asked.

“It’s a neurodivergent...thing,” Ami said, waving his hands around. “Look, Dad can explain it better than I can, and I have to tell Roman and Dee not to tear up the house, so we need to table this conversation, just for five minutes.”

Logan leaned back in his chair as Ami left and he groaned. Vanellope came over and gently tugged on his pant leg. He grumbled as he picked her up and began to pet her. “I don’t like tabelling discussions,” he sighed.

Virgil took a seat at the table and asked, “Why?”

“Means I have more time to script bad situations,” Logan said.

“You know...I remember Dee telling me that Dad told him he thought you could be autistic,” Patton said.

Logan shrugged. “I’ve done some research on it in the past, and I have some of the symptoms, but how many is enough? How much of that is just me being neurotic? And it doesn’t impede my life much outside social situations. I do fine in school. So why would I look for a diagnosis that would discriminate against me?”

Patton considered. Because, yeah, comparing what Dee did and what Logan did, they had some really similar responses, and preferences, and behaviors. But Logan had a point. If he would only be hurt by an official diagnosis, why would he want one? It made no sense. “I just know you sometimes act a lot like Dee does, only in slightly different ways, or smaller amounts,” Patton said. “And he’s only seven. You’ve had nearly ten more years than him to blend in to other people.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah. You have a point. I just...don’t know. And I’m okay not knowing if it doesn’t hurt me in the long run.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil said. “If you can do the stuff that Dee does to help and not get an actual diagnosis, and doing what Dee does helps you in any way at all, then why even go to the doctor? It’s not like they have some medicine that would make this go away.”

“I wouldn’t want it to go away, provided there even is an ‘it,’” Logan muttered. “But enough about me. You two should have all the attention today. It is, after all, your birthday.”

Virgil offered them both a small grin. “I’m excited,” he admitted. “Like, really really excited. I don’t know why. There’s something about being nine that feels really exciting.”

“You’re one year closer to hitting double digits,” Logan offered. “I, meanwhile, will be screaming in existential terror on my birthday, because that will be my final year before I have to sign all my own paperwork.”

Patton giggled. The thought of Logan screaming at anything in terror was hilarious. He finished the last of his juice that went with his breakfast and asked, “What do you think we’re gonna get as a birthday present?” he asked.

“I know what you’re getting, Patton, but I will never tell,” Logan said with a smug grin. “I helped Dad and Ami pick it out.”

“Oh, did you help with mine?” Virgil asked.

“A little bit,��� Logan said. “Only in the sense of Dad and Ami asked about your potential gift, because I knew more than they did about it.”

Virgil pouted. “That doesn’t narrow it down at all!”

Logan shrugged, grinning. “That’s the point, Virgil! It’s a surprise!”

Virgil scowled until Dad came out on the deck, this time jacket-free. “Hey, boys,” he said. “What has you talking so seriously?”

“Birthday presents,” Patton answered solemnly. “Logan knows both of ours but he’s not telling!”

“Well, good, because that was the agreement we made when he helped us,” Dad said with a grin. “But if you want to see those presents, we could go inside now and open them, if you want?”

“Ooh, please?!” Patton asked. Virgil agreed quietly.

Dad nodded and ushered the three of them inside. There were two balloons being held down by two presents each. One of the balloons was baby blue, and the other deep purple. Patton and Virgil immediately went to their favorite colors and grabbed the balloons, then looked at the presents. Ami came in the room with Roman and Dee trailing behind. “Oh, the time has come already, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dad said with a laugh. “Now, we’re going to spoil the fun just a little by saying that both of you each got a set of books we thought you might enjoy, and then something else we know you two would want. One experiment and one thing for certain, sound good?”

They nodded. Patton looked to Virgil and Virgil looked to Patton. “I opened mine first last time, you go!” Patton encouraged.

Virgil took the top present off the counter and felt it in his hands. “I bet this is the books,” he said. “It’s heavy enough to be.”

A quick rip and the paper was falling off and floating to the floor as Virgil stared at the books in shock. It was a series of four, the first four in the entire series of Animorphs. “No way!” Virgil exclaimed. “That’s so cool!”

Logan was stifling laughter. “I mean, you’re close enough to being a fourth grader that you can probably handle most of the stuff in the books. And if not, well, now you know, and you get those cool covers to stare at.”

Virgil grinned. “I’m gonna have fun reading these!” he said. “Even if it gets intense, that’s half the fun!”

Patton opened the top present on his side and he laughed when he saw the books enclosed. “The Magic Treehouse! I love these, even if they’re a bit of an easy read. Sometimes it’s nice to relax with a book that you know is gonna end well.”

“See, that’s where our tastes are super different,” Virgil pointed out. “I like stuff with lots of suspense, you like things that are relaxing most of the time.”

“Don’t you worry that what you read is going to make you more anxious?” Patton asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Not really. I know it’s not real and it can’t hurt me. The only way I’d get a panic attack from reading is if it went over something I was already scared of. Like Charles.”

“Oh. Okay then,” Patton said. “Should I go or you go?”

“You go,” Virgil said.

Patton nodded and opened his other gift, and laughed. “Oh, cool! A new Lego set! This one...it looks like it makes a couple little buildings! Cool! I need somewhere for my creations to go around, and this could help me set up a little town!”

Virgil laughed. “You’re gonna have fun with that. What’s...mine...” Virgil trailed off as he opened the present, before squealing in surprised delight. “It’s Avatar! I don’t believe it! It’s the whole Avatar series!”

Patton grinned. “Oh, that’s neat! You can watch it whenever you want, now!”

“I know!” Virgil exclaimed, positively beaming. “This is fantastic!” he ran over to Dad and Ami and hugged them both. “Thanks so much!” he exclaimed.

Patton joined in on the hugs, and then the two ran off to their room, where Patton’s Legos and Virgil’s reading nook were, leaving behind two very stunned dads and three laughing brothers.

[schtroumpf-a-lunettes]

Smurf Village Upturned, Ch. 11: Resolve

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10

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Papa Smurf was worried about Vanity. He’d been vaguely aware that something was amiss, but had just been so busy in the lab this past week. After all, it was hard to tell how much “being preoccupied with his mirror” was a cause for immediate concern when it came to a smurf like Vanity. These were all things that Brainy Smurf knew by looking at Papa Smurf. What he didn’t see was how smurfs had also been coming and telling Papa Smurf that there was something different about Brainy. This much, Papa Smurf suspected himself. He had tried to keep an eye on Brainy, but the other smurfs had also been keeping him so busy these past few days. Between that and the lab, there was little time to investigate too extensively. Papa Smurf, I commend you for finally taking action, Vanity’s been attached to that mirror for far too long… is what Brainy wanted to say, to start and to try to steer the conversation, distract from the main point at hand. But that was so much more effortful than his trusty autopilot responses, wasn’t it? He was so worn out, from earlier, the time spent just being… himself. “How are you, Brainy?” Papa Smurf asked slowly. “I’m… fine.” “Are you sure?” “…No.” he didn’t know… how much longer he could keep this up. He was slipping… Papa Smurf nodded supportively. “I’m here to help. Would you like to tell me about it? Then perhaps I can help you.” Yes. Tell Papa Smurf… he wanted to. He’d… smurfed off more than he could chew, and he needed some help. Vanity was right. But he didn’t seem able to talk about any of it. What kinds of other blockages had Roesia instilled in him…? “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work. Every potion is still always resulting in that same black, slimy substance, isn’t it? A neutraliser of sorts. It hides, and it dims, magic. But it’s not what you wanted because it does so in a blanketed fashion, it does not target specific parts of specific spells. It’s much easier to make and if you don’t balance everything just right, that’s going to be the result… You should probably start disposing of it properly.” “You’ll stay in the sick bay, tonight, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. Until you can tell me what’s going on, or I can find out…” Papa Smurf stood up, began to carefully lead Brainy there. *** Of all the people she had seen into the essences of in her life, everyone had their own story. What Roesia learned quite early in her life was that she could not afford to get too caught up in those stories, as they were immaterial to her own life. She had her own story and life to attend to, just as they. The most important question always was, and always had been, did anything exist in the essences of others that could help her? She would poke and search sometimes as she listened and gave emotional aid, just to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary, always searching for something more, something big. *** “In the sick bay! Gee, I knew he was actin’ a little strange lately, but…” Papa nodded gravely. “Be careful Clumsy, if you do insist on staying with him. I hope there’s nothing seriously wrong… I suspect that perhaps Brainy and Vanity’s behaviour is connected, somehow.” Papa Smurf continued on, frowning, “It just doesn’t make sense for Brainy to know some of the things he’s talking about…” There was someone else he’d encountered recently, who had also seemed to know more than they logically should… Perhaps it was high time to start up that investigation into Roesia. Outside, it was turning dark. Tomorrow… tomorrow, he would get to the bottom of this. *** “I can fix this.” Brainy paced about the room. Dabbler had long retired to bed – he couldn’t keep an eye on Brainy at every minute. Clumsy, however, was there and listening. He’d be there even if there hadn’t been annoying, sensationalist talk sweeping the village. “Sounds like Brainy’s finally lost his mind”… He wasn’t taking his glasses off anymore, the way he had been around Clumsy the past few days. It didn’t seem to occur to him to remove them, even when he’d lied down and slipped into a shallow sleep a little while earlier. But he was awake now. Clumsy fought to stay awake too, to be there with him. “Or – I must try,” Brainy added on to his declaration. Clumsy yawned. “How – how can ya fix it, Brainy? So ya do know what’s wrong…?” “Yes, yes…” he walked quickly to the door. “Whoa, whoa,” Clumsy took his arm in his hands, held him back. “You’re s’posed to stay here. Papa Smurf’s orders.” “No, I-“ “Now where can ya possibly be smurfin’ to, at this time’a night? You gotta stay here, yep, yep!” “There’s no time to waste… I don’t have much choice.” And then the door opened right up, neither of them having so much as touched it. Vanity stood in the doorway, glowing mirror in hand. “What are ya doin’ here? You should really go back to bed,” Clumsy told him crossly, “don’t ya know what time it is?” “You don’t know what time it is,” Vanity said pointedly. “And just what are you doing with that confiscated mirror, Vanity Smurf? Ooh, wait until Papa Smurf hears about this…!” There he was, the normal Brainy, reappearing in bursts. “Didn’t I tell you I’d go, right after you did? So let’s go, shall we?” Vanity swiftly pulled Brainy outside. “Uh, go where?” they were already walking away from Clumsy. He took a few steps after them, tripped, sent them all sprawling. “Ya can’t… Papa Smurf said…!” Vanity picked up the mirror, stood up, dusted himself off. “We have to. Don’t worry. It’ll solve everything. We can all wake up tomorrow and just go back to normal.” Clumsy wasn’t sure what to think, but he wasn’t very convinced. “Why is your mirror glowin’, huh? Huh?” Vanity kept his eyes on Clumsy. “Oh. You can see that right now, too? Interesting. Well it’ll make a smurfy light amidst the darkness of the forest, don’t you think? That is, if we three weren’t already walking lanterns…” “I glow, too?” Brainy was thrilled. It was the first bit of information Vanity had ever given him about what he saw – about himself. “You can’t just wander off into the forest,” Clumsy insisted, “at least wait until tomorrow…” “Oh, we’re grown smurfs… And we can’t afford to wait. We simply must throw off the shackles of this accursed insight as soon as we can.” Clumsy didn’t know what Vanity was on about, but he sounded determined. The sky was gradually starting to lighten now. “…And it’s already tomorrow,” Vanity pointed out, tugging Brainy along after him. Clumsy followed, wringing his hands. “You shouldn’t follow us, Clumsy… You should get some rest,” Brainy advised, his tone sincere. Clumsy shook his head adamantly, “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight. I’ll follow ya around anywhere… ‘cause I need to make sure you’re okay. Especially now. I’m worried about ya. If ya won’t listen to reason…” Vanity smiled to himself. “Well if you’re coming along, hold on to this, will you?” he tossed Clumsy his mirror. “That thing’s been more than enough trouble for me this week.” “Aren’t ya tired, Vanity? Shouldn’t ya sleep?” Clumsy urged. They were rapidly nearing the forest now. “Yes,” Vanity admitted, “but once I’m finally rid of that mirror’s magic, I can catch up on as much sleep as I want. Just you wait – you’ll be mistaking me for Lazy!” *** Clumsy could have called out to wake up the other smurfs, or rushed away to grab Papa, to do anything to stop these two smurfs from wandering off into the forest like this. But to do so, in and of itself, would have been to risk losing them – to have them slip away from him, and he needed to ensure their safety. He could have gone to grab Papa, but then they would have left without him, and how would he find them again? He could have called to try to wake other smurfs up, but perhaps then Vanity and Brainy would have run off without him. Clumsy could hardly keep his eyes open; he didn’t trust his ability to keep up with them, especially given his tendency towards tripping over. He realised he didn’t even know where they were going. He tripped over anyway. Vanity and Brainy both helped him up. “Where are you goin’?” Clumsy asked them, nervous. “To Roesia. She did this to us, she can un-do this to us,” Vanity explained. “Oh, no! Ya didn’t disobey Papa Smurf’s orders, did ya? Y-Ya disobeyin’ ‘em right now! Ya gotta turn back… tell Papa Smurf, he’ll be able t’ help!” Vanity kept on walking, Brainy not far behind. “We can’t wait, Clumsy. We can’t afford to wait.” “But – but why’d she be in the forest at this time, huh? She’d have t’ be fast asleep!” “Oh.” Vanity thought for a moment. “Then we’ll just have to wait for her. The sooner the better, Clumsy, the sooner the better.” But they arrived shortly thereafter, and to Clumsy’s alarm, she was there, and she was awake, and seemed to be working on… something. No, that wasn’t right… This wasn’t right. He couldn’t even take anything in. He needed sleep. “You’re early,” Roesia remarked. Clumsy’s eyes were closing. He blinked himself awake. Vanity cut straight to the point. “Take away the insight.” “Okay…” he heard her say. Clumsy walked absentmindedly. There was a particular spot on the ground that seemed good – there was just something about it. Like it was a spot just for him, and there he sat down. He didn’t want to move. “…Although I’m a bit busy right now. I think you can afford to wait a little bit longer. Why don’t you two take a seat? Clumsy seems to have the right idea.” “Why… why did you give us the insight?” Brainy breathed. He’d made his way over to a spot not far from Clumsy. “Don’t worry,” Roesia said reassuringly, “It won’t be much longer. It’ll all be over soon.”

[astronomyparkers]

The Princes and The Pauper

Warnings: Drug mention (very brief)

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader x Harrison Osterfield

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: Here it is guys!  The au everyone has been asking for since last summer!  I roughly outlined the plot of this in a long post of text screenshots, but here is the full, finished first part!  This series will become very NSFW as time goes on, and because of that, I think I may do a bit of a different posting schedule?  The way i see it in my mind right now (which could very easily change because I am a deeply indecisive person) is that after the first few chapters, this au will mostly just become smut, without much driving plot.  I know not all of you want just smut, and would like to see some actual developing plot and characters, so what I may do is have two stories going at once, and swap on updating them?  That way, those who want smut will get smut, and those who want plot will get plot.  The only problem with this is that we all know I’m not the most reliable for updating?  So I’m not quite sure how that’ll work out. But!! That’s further down the road! For now, here is the first part! I really hope you like it, and let me know what you think!

{masterlist}

You weren’t exactly sure what the proper thing to be running through your mind as you raced down the steps of The Metropolitan Museum of Art should be.  It’s not like there was ever a time where you thought that the situation would come up.  And even if there was, you certainly didn’t expect to be in a long gown like some kind of modern Cinderella, chest heaving as you raced to escape the three security guards following behind you.

Maybe you should’ve been thinking about what exactly had led you to crash the gala, attended by New York’s wealthiest.  Maybe you should’ve been thinking about how you knew better than to listen to Jade’s crazy plan.  At the very least, you should’ve been thinking about your phone number, hastily scribbled on the hand of one of the very men standing on the steps above you, watching as security chased you down the famous stone steps.

Instead, as you dove head first into the waiting taxi cab, barely inside before Jade and Penelope yelled at the driver to step on it, the door not yet shut behind you, all you could think was,

Next time I have to run away from security, I should wear block heels instead of stilettos.

It had been Jade’s idea in the first place, which should have been your first clue that it was nothing but trouble.  Yes, your friend was brilliant, ambitious, and cunning, but whenever you got involved in a plan of hers, it usually ended with something unpleasant.  Like when she had convinced you and Penelope to go to a “group study session” at a frat house the night before your psychology final. Or when she had said “Really, Y/N, drinking raw egg, Worcestershire sauce, and hot sauce together will totally cure your hangover!” the morning of your psychology final.  You loved Jade dearly, but most of her plans brought you way out of your comfort zone.

Like this one was about to.  Even before she had explained it, you could sense that it wasn’t going to be completely enjoyable.  The mischievous shine in her eyes was never a good sign, especially when you noticed it in the middle of Central Park.

“So I know we had planned to go to the Empire State Building tonight,” Jade began, pausing to sip her ridiculously expensive coffee as she spoke. “But I have a different idea.”

“What?  But it’s supposed to be really clear tonight!  We could see so many stars and—”

“We can still see stars.” Jade interrupted your response. “Just…not the kind you’re probably imagining.”

“What do you have in mind?” Penelope asked in a curious voice.

“Well…” Jade dragged out the word, a smirk coming over her features. “When you two were standing in line for coffee, I overheard an interesting conversation about a gala being held tonight, at the MET.”

You felt your stomach drop. “Jade.  Please tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”

“Aw, come on, Y/N! It would be fun!”

“How is getting arrested in New York fun?” You asked incredulously. “Look at me!  I wouldn’t survive in jail!”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Okay, first, you’d just need to find the scariest inmate and become their prison bitch.  Second—”

“That sounds terrifying!”

“We wouldn’t get caught!  And even if we did, they wouldn’t throw us in jail.  Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Jade, you’re like, the queen of dramatics.” Penelope said, amusement in her voice. “Have you met you?”

“Nevertheless,” Jade shrugged and paused her walking, leaning against a metal fence. “I still think we should try to go.  We brought formal wear, right?  We might as well use it!”

“You know this could end horribly, right?” You fiddled with the coffee cup in your hands. “Like, really horribly?”

“Look, it’ll be a fun night!  And, worst case scenario, we end up in a McDonald’s at midnight, slightly overdressed, with a really fun story to tell.”

“Jade—”

“Y/N.” She mimicked your voice as she pouted out her bottom lip and gave you puppy dog eyes. “Please?  It’ll be so much fun!  And, if it does end badly—which it won’t—I give you full permission to say ‘I told you so’ as much as you like.”

Biting your lip, you glanced between your friends. “Penelope?”

“I don’t know…” Penelope shrugged, a small grin coming over her face. “It does seem like it could be fun…”

“See?  Even Penelope wants to go!” Jade finished her drink with a satisfied smile. “That’s a majority vote.  We’re going.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed, rubbing a tired hand over your cheek. “Fine.  We’ll go.  But you’re the one who has to call my mother and tell her what happened when we need bail money.”

Jade tossed her coffee cup in the garbage and linked her arms with yours and Penelope’s as the three of you resumed walking.

“Tonight is going to be life-changing.  Just you wait.”

 The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur of hairspray, walk-in waxing appointments, and last minute trips to the closest drug store to pick up lipstick after Penelope accidentally dropped her favourite shade of pink in the hotel toilet. Despite your reluctance at trespassing at a gala at the MET, attended by New York’s wealthiest, you had to admit: it was fun to have somewhere to go that allowed you to wear sparkly, strappy heels and a beautifully beaded crimson dress.  It was something you had purchased for a cousin’s black tie wedding the previous fall, only for the wedding to be called off.  While the wedding was cancelled before a refund on the venue was too late, the same couldn’t be said for the formal gown you were left with.  You had thought you would never have anywhere to wear it again, and you would almost be thankful for this night if it didn’t make your palms sweat with anxiety.

In the back of the taxi on the way to the MET, your friends could tell you were nervous.  You kept adjusting your choker, fiddling with your hair, and tugging at the sleeves of your dress like you usually did with sweaters in the winter.  Jade took your hand and gave you a calm smile.

“Y/N. Breathe.  Remember, nothing bad will happen.  We’ll get in, hang around for a few hours, and then get out.  It’s just a museum visit.”

“Right.  Just a museum visit.” You said, taking a deep breath as you twisted the silver ring on your finger. “Just a museum visit to one of the most famous museums in the country, filled with priceless works of art, surrounded by rich socialites and tons of security.  Just a museum visit.”

Penelope rolled her eyes as she smoothed her flowered skirt. “Just keep your mouth shut and smile, okay?  You’re a horrible liar.  Let Jade and I do the talking.”

You swallowed hard and nodded as the cab pulled up down the street from the MET.  Penelope climbed out first, grabbing your hand and tugging you out as Jade pushed you from behind.  You stumbled onto the sidewalk with less grace than you would have liked.

Jade laughed a bit and shook her head as she paid the cabbie while Penelope held your shoulders to help you balance.

“Remember. Mouth shut, Y/N.” She said, fixing a strand of your hair.

You nodded again and followed her and Jade up the famous stone steps.

There was a long line of people waiting to go in, people with old money, new money, and everything in between.  You took a deep breath and gripped your small beaded clutch tight to try and calm your shaking hands.

The line moved quickly, and the closer to the door you got, the more afraid you were.  There was a security guard there taking tickets and checking bags of the partygoers, and you just knew that you were going to get caught.

“Jade—”

“Calm down.” Jade squeezed your arm reassuringly. “There’s a huge group of socialites in front of us.  We’ll sneak in with them.”

However, it seemed the group of socialites had other plans.  When their bags were searched by the guard, you could see he had found something unsatisfactory.

“Mr. Prescott, you know substances like this aren’t allowed in—”

“Aw, come on.” The young man he addressed flashed an artificially whitened smile and pulled out his wallet. “What will it take to make it allowed, sir?  My father would be happy to make a donation to any…cause of your choosing.”

You looked at Penelope and Jade with wide eyes, trying to signal that it was time to go.  Your friends, on the other hand, seemed to pick up a different sign.

With their heads held high, they subtly grabbed both of your arms and marched you behind the security guard, who had become distracted by the bribe he was receiving. Before you knew it, you were inside the MET.

You kept walking as fast as you could without seeming suspicious, the click of your high heels abnormally loud in the vast hall.  The three of you didn’t stop walking until you were camouflaged among the crowds of society’s finest, hidden in plain sight.

“Oh my God.” A smile spread over Jade’s face. “We actually did it.”

“Why do you look so shocked?  Didn’t you believe we could?” You asked as you eyed the crowd around you.

“Yeah, of course! Like, I believed we had a solid eighty-three percent chance to—”

“Eighty-three?” You raised your eyebrows incredulously. “You banked our freedom on eighty-three percent?”

“Hey, that’s an A- grade.” Penelope laughed as she grabbed three flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. “Thank you.”

You accepted the glass from your friend, sipping it to try to calm your nerves.  You had never been one for champagne, but seeing as how one glass of the liquid being served probably cost more than your university tuition, you thought it couldn’t hurt to enjoy.

“So, Jade…” You rubbed the corner of your mouth to make sure no lipstick smeared. “What now?”

“Now?” Jade glanced around the room. “We walk around.  Make some small talk.  Enjoy the art.  Let’s say we meet back here in around two hours?”

Your brow furrowed. “Actually, I think sticking together would be—”

“Come on, Y/N, live a little.” Penelope rolled her eyes and delicately lifted her skirt. “I’m going to head to the west wing.  Jade, you were saying you wanted to go to—”

“The east wing. For the Renaissance exhibit.”

You exhaled heavily. “Okay.  Fine. I’ll look around here a bit.  But in two hours, we meet back here.  And don’t be late!”

Jade grinned. “Oh, never.  Cross my heart.”

“Hope to die.” Penelope’s smile matched Jade’s as the two of them said their goodbyes and went off in different directions, disappearing into the crowd.

“Alright then.” You muttered to yourself, sipping your champagne liberally. “Guess it’s just me.”

 You wandered among the people, keeping to yourself as you looked at the exhibits.  As nervous as you were, you soon became entranced by the art around you.  Paintings you had only read about in books were displayed on the walls, and statues you had seen in countless films were close enough to touch.  Of course, no matter how much the marble beckoned you, you didn’t dare reach out a hand.  The last thing you needed was a reprimand from security, especially since you weren’t rich enough to pay them off.

Of course, being alone didn’t help you blend in.  Nearly everyone else attending was in a group of four or more, whispering among themselves as they milled about the museum halls.  Only one group of two stood out from the crowd as they conferred quietly in the corner, drinking champagne and glancing at the crowd with bored eyes.

They were two young men who looked close to your age, but that was where the similarities between you three stopped.  It was obvious from the way they carried themselves to the quality of their suits that was noticeable from across the room that they had been born into this life of privilege.  There was an air around them that even the other socialites in the room seemed drawn to; you could see multiple people making eyes at them.  And you had to admit, you could see why.  Maybe it was the champagne you had drank, or the aura of wealth in the room, but they had to be two of the most attractive men you had ever seen in your life.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind, the one with longer hair looked directly at you, making eye contact that froze you in your spot.  Knowing you had been caught staring, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. It seemed the man could feel it as well; a smirk began playing on his lips as he winked at you.

Flushing more, you quickly turned away and tried to busy yourself with staring at the art. Your hands nervously clutched at your empty champagne glass as you focused on admiring the marble statue that was in front of you.  You did your best to block out everyone else in the room as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, but heat continued to crawl up your neck.  Your heart was pounding so loud that you could hear it in your ears.  And it was pounding loud enough to drown out the footsteps approaching you, so the smooth, accented voice took you by surprise when it appeared in your ear.

“It’s called Venus Italica, by Antonio Canova.” The man said, his breath hot on your neck.

You cleared your throat and tried to steady your voice. “E-excuse me?”

“The statue.  Venus Italica.” The man moved to stand more directly beside you, and you turned more towards him without thinking about it.

Now that he was closer, you could really take him in.  His hair seemed to have a soft curl to it, but it was styled slightly up and back, so you couldn’t be sure.  His skin looked porcelain smooth, his teeth blindingly white, his lips a flushed red. His eyes were brown, and when you met them it was hard to look away; they were like a hearth, warm and inviting.

Your own eyes blinked as you tried to focus your words. “I—yeah.  Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

The man nodded. “Is this your first time seeing it in person?”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the statue.

“It was commissioned by King Ludovico in 1804, after the French had taken a statue of Venus from Florence to the Musée Napoleon.” His voice was soft as he spoke in a British lilt. “It was completed in the 1820s.”

You nodded again, unsure of what else to say. “That’s…interesting.”

The man mimicked your head movement, his gaze focusing back on you. “I haven’t seen you at one of these before.  I’m Tom Holland.”

The way he said his name made it seem like he expected you to recognize it.

“Right, right.” You faked a smile and clutched your empty glass tighter.

“…From Holland Enterprises.  My father Dominic owns the company?” Tom continued, confusion tinting his eyes. “And you are?”

“Oh, um…Y/N. Y/L/N.” You said cautiously. “Nice to…meet you.”

Tom’s eyes drifted to your hands and the glass flute. “Oh, you’re empty!  Allow me to refill you, I’ll just—”

“I’ve got it.” Another accented voice appeared from behind you, and when you turned around, you were greeted with the sight of the other man who had been standing next to Tom. In his hands he clutched two full champagne glasses, one of which he extended to you. “Here you are, love. Let me take that.”

You accepted the new champagne flute as the new man swiftly took the empty glass from you and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter.

“Um, thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He smiled at you, blue eyes shining with mirth. “Harrison Osterfield, of Osterfield Inc.”

“Which your dad owns, right?” You guessed, running a finger around the rim of your glass.

Harrison nodded as he sipped his champagne. “And your name, love?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Tom answered for you, stepping around so he could stand next to Harrison in your line of vision.

Harrison repeated your last name to himself. “Huh.  I’ve never heard that name before.  What does your family do?”

“Well, my dad works in…real estate.” You answered slowly. “And my mom is, um, a lawyer.”

What you said wasn’t a lie.  In fact, it was the truth.  Your dad was a real estate agent, and your mother was a lawyer.  Of course, your father wasn’t making multimillion dollar deals for houses, and your mother worked at a small legal firm and did a lot of pro bono work.  Neither one of those jobs made enough money to even be in the same category as Tom and Harrison.  But you didn’t feel the need to correct the assumptions they were clearly making as they eyed you up and down.

“You’re new money, then?” Harrison asked, slipping his hand into his suit pocket.  The gesture made the perfectly tailored sleeve bunch up slightly, and you could see the platinum Rolex adorning his wrist.

You blinked quickly. “Uh—”

“And here by yourself?” Tom questioned, stepping the slightest bit closer to you. “Or are your parents with you?  I’d love to meet them, maybe introduce myself?”

“I would, as well.” Harrison echoed the sentiment. “My father works with a lot of real estate companies; I’m sure he’d be interested in meeting with your father.  And we could see a bit more of each other if—”

“They’re not here.” You said quickly as your palms started to sweat again. “They had, um, an emergency with our…summer house.  A pipe burst, and they had to…go take care of it.”

Okay, now you were lying.  Plainly, blatantly lying.  And you were certain you weren’t doing it well.  Nevertheless, Harrison and Tom seemed to believe it.  Perhaps it was because you looked the part, or because they didn’t think anyone with your social status would be able to make it into the gala, or because they just wanted what you were saying to be true. Either way, each boy continued to show interest in your conversation.

Tom and Harrison each placed a hand on the small of your back and began leading you through the exhibit, pointing out different statues and works of art and giving you a brief history.

“How do you know so much about all of this?” You asked as you sipped your champagne.

“Art History at the Mountbatten Academy for Boys.” Tom said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s where Harrison and I met.  We were roommates from Year Nine to Year Thirteen.”

“The Mountbatten—what?”

“It’s a private school in England.” Harrison explained, his thumb just barely rubbing your back. “The finest in the country.”

“And so it should be, considering what our fathers paid for it.” Tom laughed a bit, finishing of his champagne and grabbing a fresh glass before he had finished swallowing.

“Where did you go to school?” Harrison asked curiously. “Did you stay in the country? Or go abroad?”

“I—in the country.” You finished your champagne as well, quickly grabbing a new glass. “An, um, all-girls school in…New Hampshire.”

Harrison frowned. “I didn’t know there was an all-girls school in—”

“So what brings you two to New York?  If you’re from England?” You asked quickly, eager to change the subject.

“New York brought us to New York.” Tom smiled easily, half charming and half cocky. “Why wouldn’t we want to come here?  We have a penthouse here for a reason.”

“You’ll have to see it sometime.” Harrison nodded in affirmation of Tom’s statement. “We have houses in London, Milan, Greece…but our New York penthouse is my favourite.”

“And, tragically, the one we spend the least amount of time in.” Tom sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “But, c’est la vie.  Whenever business brings us to New York, it’s never for more than a few days.”

“Tragic.” You echoed quietly, fixing your gaze on a Monet painting as you passed by.

It occurred to you that Tom and Harrison were the very definition of arrogant.  Whenever they finished a glass of champagne, they snapped their fingers and a new one appeared.  They walked through the crowds like the expected them to part because they wanted them to.  And they did. Their suits were designer, their shoes were designer, and you suspected their entire lives were just that. Designer.

They talked about how they went to Cambridge University and how they both worked for their fathers now.  But, from the stories they told you about the work they did, it was clear that not much actual work was done.  Harrison and Tom’s fathers were business partners, but it seemed what Harrison and Tom mostly did was—

“Networking.” Tom said in response to your question about their work.

“Which is a fancy word for partying.” Harrison grabbed two new glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and tossed a fifty dollar bill on his tray. “Cheers, mate.”

“So what does networking entail?” You asked as Harrison passed you your fourth drink of the night.

“Well,” Tom ran a hand through his slicked back hair. “All sorts of things.  Attending galas, luncheons, parties, and connecting with current clients and future clients.  The social side of business.”

“It’s all politics.” Harrison rolled his eyes before pulling you in close. “Tell me, love. Look around the room.  What do you see?”

You did as he said. “I see…priceless works of art?”

“Exactly.  And is anyone here actually looking at the art?”

“Well…no.” You frowned as you glanced at the crowd. “They’re not.  They’re all talking.”

Harrison nodded in satisfaction. “They’re all playing the game.  A well run business needs all its different parts to run smoothly. Having a working business model is only part of it; you need connections to make it into an empire.  A game always needs players, you see.  And players always need allies.”

Those words got to you.  Even if Tom and Harrison were the very definition of arrogant, they weren’t dumb. It was clear that they were very, very smart.  And very, very attractive.  And smelled very, very good.  And their hands felt very, very nice on your back.

And it seemed that you were very, very tipsy.

“Is that why you started talking to me?” You asked curiously, swirling the golden liquid in your glass as you avoided the two pairs of eyes staring at you. “Networking?”

“Partially.” Tom shrugged. “But the low cut neckline on your dress didn’t hurt either.”

You felt heat flash up your neck and into your cheeks again, and you cleared your throat.

“Tell—tell me about this statue.  Here. It’s Degas, isn’t it?”

Harrison smirked at your subject change, but answered you accordingly. “Yes.  La petite danseuse de quatorze ans.  Edgar Degas. Sculpted in…1920?”

“1922.” Tom corrected, stepping closer to the statue. “It was the only sculpture Degas ever titled and exhibited.”

You nodded, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the bronze girl’s tutu. “It’s beautiful. I love—”

The beeping of your phone in your clutch interrupted your sentence.  You frowned and opened your small bag, pulling out your phone to a text from Jade.

At first, you were confused.  It wasn’t time for the three of you to meet up again; what did she need?  But when you read the text, you instantly sobered up.

“Security is here looking for party crashers and we need to go!!  Meet us outside!!”

“What’s wrong?” Tom’s voice sounded concerned as he rubbed the small of your back. “Is everything okay?”

“I—no.” You said shortly, shoving your phone back in your clutch. “No, I-I have to go.  Right now.”

“What?” Harrison asked in a bemused voice, brow furrowed. “Why on earth do you have to go? It’s not even midnight yet!”

“Yeah, well,” You shot gunned the last bit of champagne in your glass and handed the empty flute to Harrison. “It’s time for my carriage to turn back into a pumpkin. Or time for my taxi to turn back into a pumpkin…I’m kind of unclear on that analogy, to be honest.  I’m not quite sober.  But I think the pumpkin thing is the important reference here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, it’s a long story, and—” Over Harrison’s shoulder, you could see two large men in suits and earpieces enter the room. “And I really, really, don’t have time to tell it.”

“Y/N.” Tom grasped your wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but not loose enough to allow you to slip away. “What is going on?”

“Okay, the short version is, basically,” You pushed your hair out of your face. “I kind of have to go before I get arrested for trespassing?  But I, surprisingly, had a really good time with you two!”

“Surprisingly?”

“Trespassing?”

“Tom, could I borrow a pen?” You asked, holding out the hand that wasn’t caught in his grasp.

Tom complied wordlessly, reaching into his suit jacket and passing you what looked like the most expensive pen you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Seriously?  You can’t just go to Staples to buy pens like everyone else?” You examined the pen closer. “Is this monogrammed?”

“Why are you mocking my pen?”

You grabbed Tom’s arm in way of response and quickly scribbled your number on his hand before handing the pen back. “I really do have to go, but, um, call me if you two ever feel like slumming it.”

“Slumming it?” Harrison frowned as Tom examined the ink on his skin. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I—” Your sentence was interrupted as you saw the two security guards spot you.  They began to make their way to you, the bouncer from earlier not far behind them. “Got to go!”

Before Harrison or Tom could stop you, you hiked your dress up to your thighs and started running towards the door on the other side of the room.

“Hey!  MET Security!  Stop!”

You could hear the heavy footsteps of the three security guards following behind you, and you ran faster, your heart pounding in time with the clicking of your heels on the floor.

Stiletto heels had really been a bad choice.

Chest heaving, you bounded down the hallways of the MET, through the front atrium, and down the concrete steps.  You felt the cool New York air on your legs and thighs, and the thought of random passersby seeing a lot more than you had planned occurred to you, but you couldn’t afford to pause to think about it.  The guards’ steps were getting closer, you were growing tired, and you could see a taxi waiting below.

“Y/N!  Hurry!” Penelope and Jade were hanging out of the open door, reaching out their hands as if they could pull you closer as you bounded down the steps.

With the shouts of security in your ears, you barely made it to the taxi.  You stumbled inside, half falling and half being pulled by Penelope before you slammed the door behind you, locking it for good measure.

“She’s in!  Step on it!” Jade yelled at the taxi driver, who peeled away from the curb so fast you could smell burning rubber.

You fought to catch your breath as Penelope and Jade began to giggle, and, in spite of yourself you did too.

“Jade,” You gasped, pressing a hand to the stitch in your side. “I told you so.”

“Hey, we made it out!” She laughed, running a hand through her hair. “Look!  Security isn’t even following us!”

The three of you turned around to stare out the back window.  The three security guards were standing be the curb, watching as you drove away.  And standing at the top of the steps above were Harrison and Tom, staring after the cab with confusion and bewilderment.

“Who are Prince Charming One and Two?” Penelope asked you with curiosity.

You turned back around and pressed a hand to your forehead. “It’s a long story.”

{part ii}

[miraculous-puppy]

TMR Scorch Trials: Newt X Reader- Last Goodbye

"Newt-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"No, (Y/N), you're sick. You need all the rest you can get, you don't need to be walking around in the scorch. I'm carrying you whether you like it or not." he says, picking up your weak figure bridal style off from the ground.

"Newt!" Winston yells from the floor, gun still in hand.

"What do you need mate?" Newt walks over to Winston's shaking form on the ground.

"Take care of her." he smiles through his pain.

"I will." Newt sadly smiles back, knowing this will be the last time he will see his friend.

We all walk away, and after a few minutes of walking, we hear a loud gunshot and everyone stops in their tracks for a moment before we start walking once again. I clutch onto Newt's shirt and put my face to his chest, breathing in his comforting sent, knowing that a strong soldier has just been lost, and will forever be remembered in our hearts as Newt presses a loving kiss to my temple.

___________________________________________

I wake up and now it seems like we're in some type of warehouse. I don't feel better in any way, if anything I feel 10 times worse, and that's saying something. My breathing is labored, uneven, and ragged, and my body is shaking and it feels like it has no strength whatsoever. It takes every ounce of the little strength I have left just to raise my hand. If I don't get better soon, then, I won't be making it to the right arm...

Newt must have noticed my shakiness and labored breathing and looked down at me, concern clear on his face with a little bit of fear. The same look of fear he gets when he's afraid he's going to lose me, "How you feeling, love?" he asks, looking down at me.

I lean my head on his chest, not being able to hold it up any longer and swallow the lump in my throat. "Newt, I'm not sure I'm gonna make it to the right arm." I whisper shakily, not really able to bring my voice any louder

"Don't say that, you'll make it, you'll be fine. You just need rest, alright." he says, trying to comfort both of us.

Suddenly, a crank comes running towards us, but is held back by a chain and everyone steps back. Only to go back to where they were when there are more held back by chains behind us, and more throughout the whole room. Newt holds onto me tighter, doing his best so none of the cranks lay a finger on me as I go into a, very painful, coughing fit and lean into him more to stay away from them.

A girl with short, brown hair, walks calmly though the room, not getting touched by a crank once as Newt holds me protectively in his arms.

At first we're hesitant to follow her, but then realize we don't have much of a choice unless we want to stay here with the cranks.

"She doesn't look to good. May I?" she walks closer, asking permission to feel my forehead. Clearly seeing that Newt is very protective of me and isn't just going to randomly let some stranger touch me unless he says it's alright.

I gather up the strength and put a shakey hand on his chest, my breathing still labored and uneven as I fight back the tears out of the pain I'm in. He seems to get the message and allows Brenda, she told us her name, to feel my forehead. But still keeps a close eye on her to make sure she doesn't make any sudden moves to harm me. "I'm no doctor, nor am I a thermometer, but I'd say she has a 103 degree fever at the least. But that's being hopefull. We have some medicine you can give her, but you need to see Jorge first. Follow me." she says as she walks away, us following suit.

Newt smiles down at me, "See, you're gonna be alright. We're gonna get you some help." I go into another painful coughing fit, I can tell that I don't have much time left.

The pain is unbearable, and I'm now sheding tears from the extra pain of my resent coughing fit. My breathing is becoming even more labored, and I'm now not just shaking a little bit, I'm shaking violently. "Just hold on for little longer, (Y/N)." he whispers into my ear, holding my closer than ever as I cry into his chest.

We go into a room and see a grown man, who is messing around with some type of radio. "Jorge, their here." Brenda says, to which he shushes her, trying to listen.

A moment later, he sighs and turns it off, then turns around to face is. "You ever feel like the whole world is against you." everyone is silent, until he speaks again. "Where are you going? Where did you come from? And how can I profit?" he asks all at once.

Newt steps up, holding me close so no one tries anything, "Before we tell you anything, we need medicine. She's sick, and needs attention now." he says, looking down at me after I have a minor coughing fit yet again.

"I can see, she looks like hell. Go get this girl some medicine!" he points to a man behind us as I snuggle closer to Newt, still silently crying as I shake violently..... I'm not gonna make it...

Newt follows the man into another room, then carefully lays me down on a metal table and brings a hand up to caress my cheek. "Just hang on, love, he's putting the medicine in the syringe."

I manage to bring my extremely shakey hand up to Newt's and look up to him, "We're too late." I whisper, tears spilling down the sides of my face.

He shakes his head, refusing to believe it and brings his other hand on the other side of my face, wiping away the tears that spill over. "No, you'll be fine, it's right there." he says, starting to cry himself. Knowing that it'll take a little while for the medicine to kick in and that's time that I just don't have.

"It's ready." the man says, and Newt steps back so he can put the liquid in.

I feel the prick of the needle press through my skin as the substance enter my bloodstream. "How long will it take for the medicine to kick in?" Newt asks, never taking his gaze off of my very visibly shaking form.

"About 10 to 20 minutes." he replies, leaving the room as tears start leaving Newt's eyes and he brings a had to his mouth. Trying to stop the sobs from escaping, knowing that I only have 5 minutes tops.

I shake me head at Newt as the tears continue to flow, "Newt, I have 5 minutes. Tops. And you know it." I sob, knowing that this will be the last time I see him.

I can already feel myself fading away, my body is only shaking more and my breathing is way out of wack, everything hurts.

Newt shakes his head, No, not wanting to let me go, I've been with Newt for years, we've been through everything together. We started off as friends in the maze, then it just started to escalate into something much more.

"Newt, you have to keep going. Get everyone to the right arm."

"You're coming with me, (Y/N), I-"

"I'm not, I'm sorry. But I can't fight it anymore, my whole body is in pain, it hurts to breathe, to move, I've fought for as long as I can. I love you." I cut him off as he returns his hands to both sides of my face.

"No, you have to be alright, (Y/N)-"

"Promise me." I interupt him again, knowing that my time is coming. "Promise me you'll never give up, that you'll keep going. And get everyone to the right arm." I sob as he puts his forehead to mine.

"(Y/N)-"

"Promise me now!" I raise my voice, knowing that I only have a few seconds left.

He nods his head, "I promise." I spend my last seconds in a sad, loving, googbye kiss with the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. Before a tear escapes my eye, and my lips go limp against his, and darkness envelopes me.

[veridium]

OC Interview Meme

I have been tagged by @dickeybbqpit to do this wonderful interview, this time I will be doing it for everyone’s favorite petite, sweet badass, Olivia!

I am tagging @orlesianbard, @wardenofmyheart, and @ladylike-foxes but if you have already done one already I’m sorry! whoops!

This is an UNNOFFICIAL face-claim that I am having stand-in for an image since I do not have access to playing DA:I right now in order to craft her character!

1. What is your name?

Well, that would be Olivia. 

2. What is your real name?

...Olivia? Oh, I’m so silly, you’re probably suggesting my full name. That would be Olivia Berenice Sinclair. 

3. Do you know why you were called that?

My father got to choose my first name, but my mother insisted that ‘Berenice’ be put in somewhere. It’s funny to think I was almost a Berenice, actually! I wonder what my nicknames would be? Hm. Well, my name also means ‘peaceful victory,’ which is a testament to my father’s virtues. If only he knew who he was naming.

4. Are you single or taken?

Oh my goodness, *laughs* how hilarious would it be if I were to tell you I had no sweetheart, if Cassandra heard? She would be so bothered. But, I suppose that means I should say I am happily in love with someone. A certain Seeker who looks very attractive when she’s sparring, and filing reports, and...well, most everything she does. 

5. Have any abilities or powers? Besides the power of persuasion? Oh yes, silly, I am a Mage. I did not develop any particular elemental abilities when I was in the Circle -- I preferred Apothecary and Natural sciences. I can make most anything blow to smithereens, or turn to mush, or chemically break down. That is a hard-won skill, I must say. The construction personnel here are not particularly fond of me, now. 

7. What’s your eye color?

They are a light hazel, though the Seeker insists they are honey-gold. Oh, whoops, *giggles* should I have not said that? Does that complicate her tough persona?

8. How about your hair color?

Blonde, like my father’s. It was very fair when I was small, but gradually it’s turned darker.

9. Have you any family members?

Hm, well, yes. My father passed many years ago, but I imagine my mother is still alive and well -- I would have received a letter dictating the contrary otherwise. She lives on our small estate in the northeastern countryside of Orlais. Then there are my relations on either side of my family tree, though I was never very close with them. My cousin was the only one I had contact with, and she has recently passed. 

10. Oh? What about pets?

Oh, no no, not for me. I could scarcely find the time! I like going for walks out on the trails and watching the wildlife just fine. I don’t need any other tasks to manage. Although, I must say, it would be adorable to have Cassandra be around a puppy, don’t you think?

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

Oh, my, well. That would be...hm. Men who think they know more than me because they see I am pretty, and petite, and kind. Most Orlesian food, besides those little chocolate pastries, uh, I can’t remember the name. The Ambassador would know. 

Other than that, I suppose unkind people? I really don’t pick things to dislike in my life, they find me. 

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

Making explosive substances is always riveting. But, when I’m not hard at work, I enjoy bathing with candles, reading, walking around the fortress...sometimes, I sit by the fire with Varric and he tells me about his writing. Don’t tell Cassandra, but I know what happens in the next book of Swords & Shields.

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

Yes, yes, but is that really a rarity around here? I can’t find a person who is a tried and true pacifist. Also, if you have done the work I’ve done, and made end’s meat like I have had to, you find nonviolence to be an impossibility. 

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

..Technically?

15. What kind of animal are you?

Animal? I could tell you the human speciation term, if that is what you are referring to. But, I am confused as to what you are referring to other than that. 

16. Name your worst habits.

Oh, drats. I’m a terrible workaholic. Really, I could spend overnight hours here in the tower if I get a project that I an enthusiastic about. I am also very silly and clumsy, I’m afraid. If it isn’t precise measurements or recipes, I tend to knock into things or stumble. 

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Plenty of people! My friends, Veronica, Naomi, and Theia, the Inquisitor. They are strong and wonderful souls, and I am so blessed to have them in my life. Cassandra, because she is so brilliant and just...well, just amazing. Vivienne, because she is so endlessly confident in herself. Dorian, because his humor is wonderful and he is terribly intelligent. 

I suppose the better question would be who I don’t admire!

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

Hm. I love people, I do, but...I would be content never knowing the attention of a man ever again. With Cassandra I feel as though that is no longer a concern, but, I would say I prefer women.

19. Do you go to school?

Yes, I was a very attentive scholar. My mother sent me to school in the Capitol when I was of age, and before that I was tutored. I showed great promise in the performing arts, so when I got a bit older my schooling was focused on those talents most of all.

Truth be told, I consider my time in the Circle the most educationally nourishing time of my life. It was where I found something I was passionate about, and now I am here serving the Inquisition with all that I learned. 

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Marriage was one of the first virtues ever instilled in me, so I...hm, I really don’t know if I have an objective taste for it! I think if the conditions were right, and I felt like I wasn’t giving up a life I wanted to lead, it would be something I would consider. 

Children...children, I don’t know. I don’t believe I learned from the right person how to mother, and thus I am not confident motherhood is my fate. There is so much of this world to see, and so much to do, besides be a mother. I could easily spend the rest of my days finding out what all those things are, and not bring a child into this world. 

*Laughter* I just imagined what it would be like to proposition Cassandra about parenthood and just the image of her complexion turning to snow, it’s priceless! I may have to steal that question. 

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

Besides the children that insist I be their best friend, I suppose not. I am a controversial person here, I believe. A former harlot and Circle Mage, who has no ensnared the heart of one of the most faithful Chantry figures who could be the next Divine? That does not exactly make me the world’s favorite person. 

Surely, I don’t see why not, though. I consider myself a splendid person. 

22. What are you most afraid of?

Veronica and Theia when they get into arguments. Naomi and I have to almost threaten freezing them to opposite walls in order to get them to cease. Other than that, I don’t have any real fears.

...Okay, well, my dreams would suggest otherwise, but I am not defined by my trauma as a Mage. I believe fears to be unexplored understandings.

23. What do you usually wear?

I have a couple dresses that are simple and practical, that I wear day-to-day. When I travel, it is typically to the Capitol, so I wear more fitted and formal attire. But, for all other excursions, I prefer a light patented armor I had specifically made for me. It is nimble, flexible, and sturdy -- and I must say, makes my butt end look positively delectable. 

Nothing beats a masterful seamstress. Absolutely nothing!

24. Do you love someone?

Yes, I love many people! Well, alright, I struggled with romantic love for a long time. I had signed myself away to a life of no real romance, and no true love, to protect myself. I felt calloused from my upbringing along with my experiences as a rogue harlot. 

Now, though? Love has been redefined for me, and I intend on exploring its depths for as long as I can. It helps to have someone who inspires such a new direction in your life. 

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

Oh, never! Never, ever, surely. How could you ask such a silly thing? *Giggles.*

Although, on many an occasion, I have stained my dresses in such a way where it looks like I had an accident. Those always make Cassandra chuckle when I come back from the tower. 

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

What fun this has been, I’ve never been interviewed about my life in such a way before!

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

Well, being a Mage, I am pretty nomadic in life. But, I was born into a comfortable gentry life with my family, so, I could say I’ve experienced multiple areas of class in my short life. I don’t need wealth, though, as much as I have depended on its proximity. I like a quiet life where I can do what I want to do.

28. How many friends do you have?

Oh, many! Many dear friends in my life, whom I adore. There’s the girls, and then some of the allies in the Inquisition -- have you by chance met Cole? He’s such a dear. Ambassador Montilyet and I have much in common. Vivienne and I have struck a good reporte as well. 

Friends are wonderful, and I am fortunate to have them in this stressful and uncertain time. 

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

Oh! My goodness, you reminded me that tonight there is to be thindleberry pie in the kitchens. I have to bring several spices for it before dusk hits, or else it’ll be terribly bland. 

Pie? Pie is delicious. The crust bottom is the best part. 

30. Favourite drink?

Honeyed tea, just warm enough to make my tongue tingle!

31. What’s your favourite place?

Somewhere in the countryside with pastureland and woodlands. Oh, and anywhere the Seeker is. *giggles*

32. Are you interested in someone?

Yes, of course. I am interested in you, for example. Where did you come from, and why did you search me out of all people?

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

*Giggles* Precisely one-Seeker’s-hand’s worth. 

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Lake, because that would suggest there is lush land around it, and I love valleys and meadows where there are flowers and trees to enjoy. 

35. What’s your type?

Someone honorable, who is passionate about what they do! I cannot be with anyone who is apathetic or uninterested in life’s intricacies. Someone who is kindhearted and has respectable virtues. Someone who loves to be impulsive and silly sometimes! There has to be sweetness to balance out life’s bitterness. 

Oh, and I have to say, if they have dark hair and battle scars, that also melts my lard, if you know what I mean. 

36. Any fetishes?

*Laughs* No! I don’t need them to be creative. 

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

I prefer the term “Persuasive.” But also, I’m afraid I’m far too flexible and nimble to simply remain on a pillow. I have talents, and just because I’m no longer utilizing them to survive, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy partaking in them. 

Plus, it is thrilling to find out what makes someone with an assertive and dominant personality feel more...comfortable. *giggles*

38. Camping or indoors?

Camping, certainly! And with those wonderful fleece blankets that come out of the Hinterlands? Agh, there is nothing more beautifully engrossing. 

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

I mean, no, but I do have a kettle of jasper elixir on the fire and it is temperamental once it gets to a certain temperature. Oh, I should show you what it is when we are done here! It turns water into....well, you’ll see!

40. Now it’s over!

Oh, splendid! Let’s go, I have much to show you!

Thank you again for tagging me!

[averyonelovesjack]

never VI ~ jonah marais

requested: sorta yes. this is p2 of this request:)

i wanted to request something for never so here goes nothing... y/n thinks about what happened with jonah and contemplates if she should give jonah a second chance. Jonah looks like he genuinely cared for y/n and regrets his choice with camila. She asks Jack for help but he just said to follow her heart. You can add more to that and decide how it ends. You can also divide it into 2 parts so that it can be longer. Thanks!

summary: in a new idea to discover what to do, y/n visits jonah at his house. 

warning(s): cursing, heartbroken jonah

word count: 1260

author’s note: k this mini series is too long but whatever i guess. there is one final part to these so be sure to look out for that. i hope you enjoy:)))

PARTS TO READ FIRST:

part I, part II, part III, part IV, part V

The thoughts raced my mind rapidly as I stepped out of my car and walked up to the front door of the house. I’d been here several times this week, yes, but this time was different. Everyday that I came here had been to visit and talk with Jack or Zach, because they were just the two boys I was closest with right now. But today, i needed to talk to jonah.

It took me a few days to find my heart and follow it, but i spoke with jack and we inevitably found an idea that wasn’t an original option, which was to just talk to jonah and figure out what he’s thinking. jonah wanting or not wanting to try again has such a big say over what ends up happening, and if my heart tells me i want to try again but jonah is majorly over me, then i’d be heartbroken all over again.

in the end, jonah and i needed to talk anyways because the way things ended were with me sobbing and then screaming at him to never talk to me again, which never ended up happening since i’d initially communicated to him first. 

i stepped into the house, my hands cold and clammy while i mentally scolded the boys. they were clearly idiotic enough to leave their front door unlocked more often than not, regardless of the fact that they were famous and something bad could happen. my mind raced with thoughts as i peeked into the living room to see jack sitting there solving yet another rubix cube whilst watching a show i didn’t recognize.

his eyes turned to see me, “hey i thought you were busy today” 

i nodded my head and nerves traveled my body, “is jonah home?” 

jack understood now that i had chosen today as the day to talk to my ex-boyfriend about everything, “he should be in his room” 

i stood there with my eyes closed for a second, taking in a deep breath and letting it go to relieve the anxiety that tumbled through my body, doing cartwheels on my shoulders and back flips on my heart. 

“it’ll be fine, y/n” jack assured me and i opened my eyes looking at him, “good luck”

i gave my best friend half a smile and then began the never-ending journey to the room shared by jonah, corbyn, and zach. i stopped in front of the pine door that i’d formerly opened with ease, barging into whatever conversation my boyfriend could be having, but now my knuckles were white from being clenched so tightly and i had to pound onto the wood to make notice that i was there. the door opened after ten seconds and i looked up at the six foot two boy whose eyes were red and cheeks were swollen. 

my frown appeared as he strangely looked at me. neither of us had anything to say in that moment because with just one look at the damaged boy, my brain wiped all knowledge of my visit and i was just standing there, staring at him with worry visible in my eyes, “are you alone?” 

jonah stepped aside, to show that no one else was in the large room with him and then let me inside, closing the door behind him and going back to sitting on his bed, “what are you doing here?”

i winced at the sound of his crackling voice that sounded raw and dry and then spoke softly with an excuse that i believed was vague enough to buy time on my part to gain memory of the reason i was standing in my ex-boyfriend’s room, “i just came to talk” 

jonah looked at me, his finger tracing his jaw, “i’m sure you saw jack out there. you two have been really close lately and he’s probably a lot better for you than i am” 

my entire body lit in goosebumps as my brain recognized my visit and i shook my head, “this isn’t about jack. this is about you and i” 

“what’s there to talk about, then?” jonah looked down at the ground, “i’m a selfish dick who cheated on you. i picked up a random girl who had some popular music so that i could gain those five seconds of fame while abandoning you and our relationship. i cheated, y/n. what’s there to talk about?”

my voice shook when i looked away from him, unable to focus, “do you know what hurt more than you cheating on me?” jonah couldn’t look at me, his eyes staring at the ground without making a sound. i hissed the next words out, unsure of how else to say them, “when you so easily got over our relationship and moved on” 

jonah scoffed and continued to stare at the ground, “if it was so easy for me to get over our relationship, do you really think that i’d be a fucking disaster?”

this wasn’t what he meant, i knew it inside of me. jonah was never upset about the way we ended things. he was sitting in here, moping around and crying because his celebrity crush broke his heart. it wasn’t us that broke him, it was her, “you’re not talking about us, jonah. you’re upset because camila hurt you. not because you hurt me”

i watched as jonah’s head shook and he looked up at me briefly before looking back down at the ground, venom pouring out, “god, i don’t give a fuck about camila” i stepped back, unsure of how to react to his words, a motif these days. jonah scoffed one more time, his hands running up and down his face as he stared down, “you really think that some girl i knew for two weeks hurt me this badly?” 

i didn’t want to believe him, to trust that he’d told me the truth, “you are an up-and-coming, extremely attractive and utterly talented singer from a widely loved boy band. i’m the random nursing student from a small city in new york. there’s no comparing” 

jonah looked up at me, his eyes even redder with pain as i let a shock of tears hit me, “you’re not just a random nursing student, y/n” he struggled to find the right words to tell me, “you-- you are everything”

“stop” i told him, my heart breaking even further, “just don’t” 

he didn’t seem to want to listen, his voice traveling on, “You are the perfect girl. smart and beautiful and funny and kind. you do everything for everyone without putting any thought about yourself into it. you are the girl every guy out there wants and the girl that i had and lost because of some fucking celebrity crush. you’re not some random girl and i’m not upset over camila. i’m upset because while ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me, i broke the girl i’ve been in love with’s heart”

tears poured out of my eyes as i didn’t stay any longer in his room. my feet picked up speed as i ran past jack and slammed the front door behind me. my vision was blurred as i wiped the salty substance away from my face, trying to see clearer whilst i started my car. 

i couldn’t go home, i knew that and i couldn’t stay here. i needed somewhere safe, somewhere that i could just be alone to think and to find myself again. 

without a trace of doubt in my mind, my brain determined exactly where to go.

part VII