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thebluemango · 2 years

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Nothing To Be Sorry For

Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Whumptober 2022Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning

Jason still gets nightmares from their time in captivity. He goes to the manor to make sure Dick is still alive and hears some things he needed to hear.

A follow up to Day 6 "Was it a Crowbar?"

Whumptober 2022

Jason wakes up with a shout. There’re droplets of sweat pooling at the base of his neck, and his breath is coming out in hitched gasps. Flashes of a nightmare are still fresh in his mind. It’s been almost a month; Jason’s bruises had long since healed, and Dick was on a steady path to healing. Still, every night since they had been rescued Jason has found himself ripped from sleep by a nightmare.

In some, Dick would be dead, hanging from his wrists in that dingy basement with his eyes holding an empty gaze. Other nights, instead of the metal baseball bat that nearly pulverized his brother, it was a crowbar. In place of a collapsed rib cage would be long ugly gashes made by the beak of the tool.

No matter hypothetical the situation, Jason woke up in a puddle of his own sweat. Tonight was no different than any of the others, so just like clockwork, Jason threw his blankets to the side and swung his legs off the edge of the bed.

He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, letting out a long sigh. He really had been trying to avoid the stalker tendencies.

The week that he had stayed vigil by Dick’s bedside, his anxiety would be soothed quickly by the steady rise and fall of Dick’s chest. He would sit and match his own breaths with Dick’s until he didn’t feel lightheaded anymore. But the first night Dick had convinced him to sleep in a bed, Jason was back within three hours of his departure, pushing back his panic with slow breaths.

Jason tried hard to not be creepy about it, he really did. He would quietly let himself in the room through the window then plant himself in the plush armchair in the corner of the room until he could breathe again before leaving. Okay, so creepy—Sue him.

Tonight, when Jason had pushed the window open and looked to the bed, ready to let out a breath of relief. Except this time, his blood ran cold, and he stopped breathing for a moment all together. It took everything in Jason not to accidentally let go of the windowsill and fall backwards when his eyes laid on the empty bed.

Jason dropped into the bedroom silently. He walked quickly to the empty bed and pressed his bare hand against the spot where Dick should’ve been. Cold. That meant hopes of Dick getting up to use the bathroom were null. Jason pushed down his panic as much as he could while he made his way to the bedroom door. The door was cracked open an inch and there was light shining from the hallway. Jason’s mind was fuzzy as he followed the maze of the manor hallways, just turning wherever the lights were on, until he made it to the main level. He found himself standing just outside of the kitchen when he heard voices.

“Bruce, I’ve already told you a million times. It’s okay. What more do I need to say?” The sound of Dick’s voice was like music to his ears. He finally could let out the breath that had been stuck in his throat. Jason had half a mind to storm in and ask Dick why he wasn’t in bed at this time of the night but opted instead to press himself against the wall and listen.

“Chum, I love you so much. You know that right?” Bruce’s slurred words screamed alcohol, Jason’s eyebrows shot up and he pressed himself closer. Bruce doesn’t usually drink.

Jason could almost hear Dick roll his eyes as he groaned, “Bruce, I know! I told you; you made the right choice.”

“There was no right choice! I shouldn’t have picked at all.”

There was a clink of glass on a marble countertop, “That’s enough bourbon for you—You’re a mess.” Then there was a long sigh, “He would’ve killed me and Jason if you didn’t choose. He said that.”

“He—” Hiccup. “He might not have. He might have just chosen himself.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Dick’s voice is low and serious, “Maybe, but then he could’ve picked Jason.”

Jason’s heartbeat loudly in his ears. He had been beating himself up for the better part of a month, wishing he could go back and take his brother’s place. Jason knew deep in his heart that Bruce wished the same. But he wanted to hear him say it. He wanted to hear Bruce admit that he too wishes it had been Jason and not Dick.

However, instead of the big admission Jason was waiting for, a long and wet sob rang through the quiet kitchen. The first cry is followed by more cries that could easily be described as wails.

Jason’s ears are ringing but he still hears and Dick shuffles slowly around the kitchen. He wants to peak to see what’s going on but stays still in favor of staying hidden. Dealing with crying, drunk Bruce is the last thing that Jason wants to do.

“Jason’s been through so much... After what happened with Joker, I didn’t want to—” Bruce croaks. “I— I couldn’t—”

Dick cuts him off, “I would never want you too, B. I know that nothing I say is going to make you feel better. It might have been just me getting my ass beat but it was traumatic for all of us. Take however long you need to feel okay. But, Bruce, I’m never not going to be grateful that you didn’t pick Jason. I forgive you. I still love you. You don’t have to carry this burden.”

There’s a sniffle and then a hiccup, “He said that you’d say that. I knew you would say that, too.”

“He would forgive you, too, if he were in my place. I had the easy job, Bruce.” Jason can hear a chair slide across the tile floor. “You need to go to sleep. You’re going to be hung over. Damian is going to freak out if you pass out at the table. Do you need help?”

He hears a signature grunt from Bruce and then the sound of bare feet landing on the marble tiles, “I’m okay, Chum… I’m… I’m still really sorry.”

“Alright, alright, I forgive you. Now bed.”

It’s then that Jason peaks around the corner, watching as Bruce stumbles out of the kitchen through the opposite entrance. His gaze drifts from the hallway over to where Dick is sitting on a dining room chair.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” Dick’s lips turn up into a genuine smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here until later, it’s only two.”

Dick’s wearing an oversized grey tee shirt and plaid pajama pants. His left leg has a black walking boot while his right is wrapped in a blue fiberglass cast. The pajama pants cover the top of the cast, but Jason can see black sharpie artwork covering the bottom before disappearing under the plaid fabric. There’s an equally well decorated cast that traveled from Dick’s hand all the way up to his bicep on his left arm and then a black fabric wrist brace on his left. Jason’s gaze flickers to Dick’s face where the soft smile still sits, next to nearly healed sutures and yellowing skin where a bruise had been.

“You knew I was coming?” Jason chokes out.

Dick nods seriously, “I figured you would, you have been every night.”

Jason’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

The older man’s head tilts in confusion, “Don’t be sorry. I get it, Jay. I get the nightmares too.”

Jason’s eyes find the floor quickly and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “Of course, you went through something horrific. I didn’t come here to whine to you. You had it way worse than—”

“Sit down, Jay.” Dick’s words are firm, and he nudges out the chair that Bruce had just been sitting in. “C’mere.”

Jason complies silently and without making eye contact. He felt guilt licking at his chest as he collapsed into the heavy wooden chair. Who was Jason to be seeking comfort from the man who took a gruesome beating for him?

“Look at me, Jason.” Jason’s eyes drifted up to look at Dick, it took everything he had not to look away when they caught sight of the stitches that were lined across his cheek bone. Then Dick snaps his fingers in front of his face, “Hey, none of that.”

“Look, Dick, I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just come to check that you’re okay. I didn’t realize I was waking you up. I won’t—I won’t do it again.” Jason’s voice cracked as he forced out the lie. He would probably do it again, just from further away.

“Jason, what you went through was traumatic. You don’t need to sneak in the window to see me, you didn’t before, and you definitely don’t now. I can’t imagine how hard it was to be in your position, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” Jason searches Dick’s features for any sign that he’s being insincere but finds nothing. Dick’s blue eyes are bleeding with understanding, the look makes Jason want to spill his guts. So, he does.

“I—I thought you were dead.” Dick just listens, so Jason continues. “When Tim uncuffed me, I saw you laid out on a stretcher. The medics couldn’t find a pulse. I thought you’d been beaten to death… Like me.” Jason sniffles and rubs at his wet eyes with his sleeve. “Bruce should have chosen me, and I can’t figure out why he didn’t.”

Dick’s eyebrows are pointing down into a frown, “I know this may be hard to believe, but you are not the low value human that you think you are. The choice that B had to make was impossible, there was no right or better choice. Don’t think so lowly of yourself that you can’t fathom that our dad would opt for you not to get beaten to death for a second time.”

Jason’s breath hitched and he felt a sob trying to crawl out of his throat, “I’m sorry, Dick.”

Dick leans forward, cast and all, to collect Jason into his arms, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Jay Bird.”

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his cheek, “Why did he pick you?”

Dick’s breath hitches, as if he’s asked himself the same question. He buries his nose into Jason’s dark hair, “I don’t know, Jason, I don’t even think he really knows. But I’m grateful he did.”

Jason lets the sleep deprivation and guilt wash over him in a wave and the tears come quickly. Within thirty seconds, the sobs are coming out of his mouth, and he’s made a snotty mess on the front of Dick’s tee shirt.

Despite his injuries, Dick manages to coax the younger man back to his room. He leads Jason to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room and pulls back the blankets.

Jason shakes his head, “I can’t sleep here, you need to rest.”

Dick collapses in the bed next to him, reaching to the nightstand to pull out the television remote, “We’re both sleeping here. You go first, I’ll wake you up if you start to look uncomfortable.”

“Dick—”

“Remember what I said about you not being a low value human? You deserve sleep, Jay Bird. So, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and then you can watch me. Win-win.”

Jason wants to argue but the warmth of Dick’s body mixed with the warm sheets and the soft mattress make his eyelids dangerously heavy.

“This is really crossing the threshold of co-dependency.” He grumbles, relaxing back into the pillows.

Dick just hums as he clicks through the channels, “Sleep, Little Wing.”

#whumptober2022 #no.9 #tossing and turning #sleeping in shifts #Batman #nightwing #redhood #PTSD #past trauma #past torture #dick Grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd

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batwritings · 3 years

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DreamXD Voice Kink

After that George lore video, I couldn't not do something. Enjoy!~

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“You look scared darling,” coos the deity behind you. You’ve settled yourself for the evening in DreamXD’s lap and ever since he’s been taking advantage of the one thing he knew drove you nuts; his voice. From the wispy echoes to his deep growls when he questions your loyalty, it gets under your skin.

“‘M not scared,” you respond, crossing your arms and gently grind against his hips. It wasn’t what you were intending but it did get the ball rolling.

“Hmm,” he hums, distortions filling the air. “Maybe...horny then? You do seem to be pretty restless as I’m talking.” Clawed handles grip gently but firmly at your waist as you squirm again. “Are you getting turned on by just my voice pet?”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth at this. There was no way in hell he should’ve known that. Damn mind reading powers. “I’m not--”

“D̸̝̔̍o̶̢͙͉̓̄̒͜n̶̡̧͍͔̱̱̣̍͋̍͌̆̒̓͠'̸̢͇̘̫̥͎̖͆̈́̈̕͜͝ẗ̴̬͎́ ̷̨̛̣͇̘̠͉̫̂̈͑͛̚͠t̴̨̪̠͇͘̚r̸̦̝̪͙̳̪͌̇̄̿y̷̲̑̑̅̂͠͝ ̶̧̥̳̱̎͋̍̋̈̚̕t̴̹͍̲͖̑ǒ̸̲͇̙͚̪͕͓̹́̉͛͐̎̋ ̴̯̰̱͓̪̲̀̌͂̍̉̅͘͠ͅl̴͈͈̯̈́̚ḯ̶̖̺̬̲̟͑̓͑́̿͒̚ȩ̵̯̮̹̻̓͆͝ ̸̭̐̑̅̇̇͋̏t̵̳̥̖̽̾͆̋͐͛̀̂ỏ̶̰͔̈́̔́̒̂ ̵̡̞̲̈͑͑̊̓̂̋m̸̛͇̖͎̺̈͗̆̃̄̈͠e̶̢͇͎͒ ̴̡̡̺̗͚͓̮͗̈́͛̑̎͘͜ņ̶̡̟̹͉̼̌̔̓͗o̴̬̻͋̄͝w̵̮̩̳͛͛.̶͈͚͙̟̱̒͜ ̴̘͓̜̯̲̉̈́͑̐” the god growls, interrupting you with a tighter grip on your hips.

“Y̸͉̱̖̒ó̵̱̈́̊͝͝ų̶͈̖͔̹̣̭̍̿̋ ̷̛͔̪̘̮̇̌̈́̀̚͜͝͠ͅͅk̷͉̙̬̗̟̤̠͍̓͌̆ṅ̶̩͊̅͛̉͌̓͠o̶͔̬͓̝̻̟̒̋͋̃̕ẃ̴̡̮͔̤̙͖̒̏͆ͅ ̶̦̫̓̔͒̇̒ḧ̷̨̖̗͎́́́͛̕o̸̜͔̰̤̲͂͗͑͜w̵̢̠̺͐̒̋͛̑͗͝ ̶̨̼̠̮͌̄m̵̫͙̞͈̣̼̓̑͘̕u̴͖͉̙̱̺͈͔̓̔̍̀̐͋̕c̸̢͇̺̤̃h̸̠̤̉̒̃̐̈́̓̀ ̸̩͖͕̩͈̫͚͛͛̃̊̍͜͠Í̷̠̘̦̺͓͉͉̎ ̴͙͚̝͖̬̯̾͊h̶̨̍̈́̓͜ͅȧ̸̺́͛͘t̶͕̻̆̇ȩ̶̟̩͔̭̦̪̊̈̊̏̈́ ̸͖̺̎̋̽͠l̴͕̥̮͈̲͙̟̔̉̉̓̎̚i̷̢̻̜͌á̷̡̫̜͕͈̺͜r̸͖͚͙̋͑̓͒s̷͉̩̞̋͂̕̚ ̴̣̦̇̊̎̊̿͊͠ḓ̴̖̅̓̄à̸̯ṛ̴̖̤̯͈̟͑̽͛l̷̞̠̭͔̝͈̂̕ï̷͑͋͐̓͝͠ͅǹ̷̖͉̮̥͛̐͆͑̀g̶̛̥̻͕͕̱͌̍͛̒̊̾͝.̷̧̨̛̯̭̅̄̑̃̿ ̷̧̹̟̙̥͇̲́̋̇̑ͅ”

A shudder runs down your spine at his dark, distorted voice. “Fine, fine!” you grumble. “Yes, your voice is hot XD. Happy?”

The god lets out a huffy laugh. “I am. Thank you for not lying to me,” he purrs, leaning up just behind your ear. “Think I can get you off just like this? Just talking to you? Hmm?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he grinds his hips up against you. It was painfully obvious how much your shifting and vulnerability was getting to him, his hardening length now pressed firmly against your ass. “You’re gonna try anyway, aren’t you?” you mutter, trying to hide your blush with your hands.

DreamXD chuckles again, slowly grinding harder against you. “I won’t try my pet,” he hums. “I’ll do it. I’ll let my voice bring you to your highest highs just by talking dirty to you.” You whine a little, letting yourself grind back onto him. “That’s right, getting yourself off on just a little grinding and some naughty words. What a needy little slut you are darling.”

You bite your lip just enough to where it hurts, adding to the stimulation. You can feel one of DreamXD’s hands crawling it’s way up your shirt to run his claws down your torso, leaving bright red marks in their wake. “Letting me talk and just barely touch you to your orgasm? My horny little human,” he coos, starting to pant a little against the shell of your ear.

He doesn’t miss the fact that your hips have picked up their pace, mostly of your unconscious effort. “Aw are you close darling?” he purrs, slowing his ministrations and earning a whine from you. “Oh come on now. You can be just a bit more patient. Though you have been a good little thing, haven’t you?” You groan, trying to find more friction. Your lack of a verbal response frustrates DreamXD however. A clawed hand presses against your throat, pulling you back flush against him. “A̸͆͜n̷͈͒̀̿͝ͅs̷̲̺͎̫̐͂͘w̵̰̦̺͍̿ȩ̸͓̌r̶͙͖̩̘͐̑͠ ̷̧̰̞̘͛m̸̭̜̘̈́e̵͙̬̙̓͆̒ ̶̹͚̠͛̈́͘p̷̗̞͕̘͒͂̎ȇ̵͔͖͛̽̅͜t̸̢̙͎̹͒,̶̥͍̤̭͝͠ ̷̼̆͐̒o̵̢̪̰̞͊̕͠ř̴̤ ̶͓̾͂ȳ̷̘̹̇͝o̸̯͐̾̍̔͜u̷̬̪̿ ̶̩͑w̴̰͑̌̀ō̶̢̼̰̍̎͘n̶̻̻̍͜'̵̝͎̐̈́ṱ̵̮͗ͅ ̶̗͔̥̘̈́̋͠͝b̴̢̫̬̍̈́͝ȩ̴̢͚̘͆̀ ̵̞̹̓c̸̜͙̈̿̈́͘o̷̩͗m̵̫̑̐͠i̵̼̇̌͐͐n̵̫̥̺̫͋̆͝g̵̡͕͉͗̐͑̚ ̵̞̝̤̲̎̋́̏â̷̞͕͎̒͝t̷̖͙̮͐̂̾͆ ̷̯̩͍͙̿̉̍a̵̡̡͓͆l̵̢̛̞͕̈̾l̷̓͌̇ͅ ̵̡̤̝̅ṱ̴̍o̴̧̓͐n̷̝͈͎̍̌ͅï̴̡̘̒̚̚g̴̠̺̺̦̀̔ḩ̷̢̦̪̄́̓t̴̡̢͎̋.̸̜̯̰̃͋”

You whine again, louder at the prospect of not getting your release when you were so damn close. “Yes, yes I’ve been so good,” you cry, still rocking your hips. “Please XD, please just let me come!”

A shuffling sound is heard before surprisingly soft lips press a kiss to the space beneath your ear. “Good job darling,” the deity praises, beginning to roughly rut his hips against yours again. “You’ve done so well my needy little thing. Do you want to come?”

“Mhmm!” you cry, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. “Please!”

DreamXD chuckles, the darkest you’ve heard it in a long while. “Alright my needy whore,” he hums. “C̸̩͙͒̔o̸̰͖̽͋m̷̯͙̓ě̸̬ ̶̧͠f̴̹̑ỏ̶̙̏r̸͈̀ ̷̱͙͋m̵̪̆ȩ̸̩͑̊ ̸͎̓̓t̴͖̼̓ḣ̶̢͉̊e̴̟̠͐ṉ̸͋̏.”

Like clockwork, the damn breaks as you fall through your orgasm. The god behind you ruts against you through it, holding you steady and singing your praise. Finally you flop back against his chest as you start to come down from your high.

Before long your god chuckles again, causing you to look up and meet his bright green eyes. “Oh pet, I hope that wasn’t the only one you had for me tonight,” In a blur of motion, you’re pinned down with DreamXD’s body caging you in. “Because personally, Ī̵͇’̸͔̞̇̔m̵̨̍ ̴̠̥̓̾j̷͙͗̀u̶̻̕͠s̸̮͉̔t̶̠̑ ̷̜̍g̷̖̈́̈́ͅe̷͇͈͑t̷̩̓ͅṫ̸̻̾i̵̬̦͑̌ǹ̶̬̊g̸̠̽ ̶͈̱̉̚ś̴̲̅t̷̻̔͊a̴̤̗̓̅r̴̪̾ẗ̸̲́e̷̘̎̈́d̸̨̈̚.”

#bat writes #dreamxd smut #dreamxd #mcyt smut #dreamxd x reader #mcyt x reader

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cordria · 3 years

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Fixing Mistakes - DP

Danny groaned and curled up in a ball, very suddenly awake. His head hurt, his leg sparkled sharp and painful, and he felt oddly sticky. “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he hissed, a few swear words working their way through his teeth as he kicked his brain into trying to think through what was going on.

His eyes crept open, studying his surroundings. Dark. Quiet. Bars.

Bars?

His eyes opened just a touch more, turning his head. Bars on all sides. He was in a cage.

Memory flooded back into his brain - of the school bell ringing, of walking through the park with Sam, of cold rushing down his back, of an unfortunately successful ambush by the ghost world’s most annoying hunter. “Damn it, Skulker,” he whispered.

Having determined himself to be alone in the room full of cages, Danny sat up and slowly pushed fingers through his hair, searching for the source of the pain. It was from right over his left ear, a dull throbbing that was definitely sore, but no blood. Head trauma. Something that would heal with time, nothing to be done about it for now.

He turned his attention to his leg, noting with a frown all the glowing blood smeared across the bottom of the cage. He poked and prodded at his leg, locating the worst of the damage: a huge slash down the side of his right leg. Almost as long as his fingers could spread, it was already mostly sealed over - thank Clockwork for not being knocked out until he was in ghost form. In human form, the blood loss would have killed him.

The fact that a slash that big was almost sealed over made him wrinkle his nose. That had to have taken hours and hours. Perhaps overnight. He’d been out a long time.

He sighed. “I was having such a good day, too.”

Although the cage wasn’t big enough to stand up in, he tried putting his foot on the ground and putting weight on his leg. Would he be able to stand once he’d gotten out of the cage? The pain sharpened, making him gasp and collapse. “Nope, nope, nope,” he whispered. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, don’t do that again.”

Blood started to ooze from the gash again. He’d broken open the scab.

With a scowl, he pushed and pulled himself, maneuvering until he was leaning up against the door. From the fizzy feeling against his skin, knew they wouldn’t be something he could phase through. He’d have to find a different way out. He reached a hand out through the bars to pull at the padlock, studying it. It was the same type of padlock Skulker always used for locking his cages closed. The tiniest of smiles curled the corner of Danny’s lips.

It wasn’t quite true that ghosts couldn’t learn. Skulker had learned new hunting techniques over the last eighteen months. Skulker had learned to keep Danny in human-proof cages. But ghosts learned so very slowly, and struggled with putting together facts they couldn’t see. Skulker knew Danny could get out of his cages - but, never having witnessed Danny perform the feat, couldn’t figure out how. And so he kept doing the same thing over and over.

Danny squirmed and moved around, digging a little box out of one of his pockets. Sam had gotten it for him for Christmas last year, along with lessons as to how to use it. Lock-picking was a skill Danny had assumed would be difficult, but it turned out to be hilariously easy, if a bit time consuming. Danny made sure he kept the kit with him.

It took longer than he’d hoped to open the lock. The pain from his leg kept distracting him and the hit he’d taken to his head was making it hard to focus. But he eventually placed all four of the tumblers, gave them a twist, and the lock fell open.

He grinned, short and sharp, and worked the lock back through the rings on the cage, catching it before it could hit the ground. “Screw you, Skulker,” he whispered, pushing open the cage door and floating himself out, putting the lock into his pocket. He was careful to keep his leg from hitting the ground - even the smallest movements sent sharp shards into his mind. “I’m keeping this as a souvenir.”

Just before he was going to leave, Danny heard a sound from the corner. He tensed, instantly assuming Skulker had been hiding. The glow around Danny kicked up a notch with his anxiety, and he twisted around.

Nothing?

His hands came back down, letting the tenseness fade away. He floated forwards a few steps, noticing a cage far into the darkest corner of the room. There was the faintest glow coming from inside - it was almost like the afterglow of looking at a bright light for a moment too long. Too faint to be a ghost in any reasonable shape. “Hello?” he whispered.

“Mind if I borrow your lock pick set? I lost mine.”

Danny hesitated. The voice was very… human? And didn’t sound at all in pain or sick. The scratchy voice was also not bothering to whisper. “Who are you?” Danny asked, floating closer.

“I’m me, obviously.”

“Helpful,” Danny muttered, drawing up just close enough that if something were to lunge and reach through the cage, it wouldn’t be able to grab him. An odd scent tinged the air, making Danny’s nose wrinkle. He held up a hand, palm towards the thing in the cage, and upped the power flowing through his hand. The glow kicked up and, like a flashlight, illuminated the contents of the cage.

It was a human male, raising a hand to block his eyes from the glow. Red-orange hair raggedly pulled back into a ponytail and a beard that looked hacked short with a knife. Perhaps in his twenties, skinny and tall, and dressed in layers of rags. He had a cloak-looking blanket wrapped around him, and calloused feet wrapped in cloth that left his toes hanging out. Dried, reddish-colored flowers dangled everywhere from his clothes. Danny blinked at the man, startled. “You’re human.”

Teeth glittered as the man smiled - an easy, pleasant smile. At least two of the teeth were missing. “Mostly, anyways.” The scar-covered hand lowered. Eyes that were too bright and green to belong to a human peered at him, blinking against the light. “Lock picks? I’d like to get out of here before the hunter comes back.”

“Skulker’s annoying with his cages,” Danny agreed, lowering his hand and the light. His brain wasn’t working quite right. This… human?... was something like him? ...How? “What happened?”

“I was just a tad too slow. Lock?”

Danny glanced over his shoulder, noted the still-quiet room, and settled his body gently back down at the ground. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning from the pain. Then he opened up the little box of picks and started to work on the lock. It was easier from this side, where he could see what he was doing.

“How did it come to be that a ghost knows how to pick a lock?” the human asked.

“This ghost gets hunted a lot. Not the first time I’ve seen the inside of Skulker’s cages,” Danny muttered. “Friend got me the lock pick set.”

“A human lock pit set.”

Danny hummed. “And how did it come to be a human in the ghost zone?” There was a soft click. He twisted and yanked the lock off.Danny floated back up in the air, fighting a wince of pain, and nodded.

“Very long story. Too long for telling inside this lair.” The human pulled himself out of the cage, unwinding his long limbs and stretching upright. From this close, Danny could see the young man was incredibly lean and tall. Too thin. Too tall. Even though Danny was floating, the man’s head was on level with his. Something was off with this human, and it made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck raise.

This close, Danny could see the dried flowers hanging around his neck were blood blossoms. Before Danny could float backwards and out of the way, the man reached out and clapped Danny on the shoulder, still with that same easy grin. “Thank you for the rescue.”

“Do you…” Danny hesitated, thinking about the fact that the man was a human and they were on a floating island haunted by a hunting ghost, “need a lift? Like, to get somewhere?”

“Away from here would be nice.” The human’s smile faded just a bit. He was studying Danny. “I’m not a flyer. I’d appreciate a lift to… anywhere, really, that’s not right here.”

Danny held out his hand. “You got a name, human?”

The man grabbed his wrist, his fingers burning hot against Danny’s cold skin. “Flynn.”

The feel of the blood blossoms tingled down his arm, an interesting counterpoint to the drums beating against his brain and the stabbing pain in his leg. Danny lifted the human off the ground and took the shortcut through the window, back out into the glowing green of the ghost zone. “Nice to meet you, Flynn. I’m Danny.”

#Danny Phantom #fixing mistakes #I woke up this morning wanting to write #for once #I've had an incredibly sucky fall.#Very much sucks.#Quick writing.

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supimjustwriting · 3 years

Text

Hopelessly in Love

Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

Summary: Y/N was a simple civilian. Another face in the crowd. Yet something about them just clicked with him. Their charming smile, kind eyes, the hope they have for the world. Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt, right?

Oh how wrong you were….

Warning: General Yandere Themes, implied kidnapping, OOC Scara (?)

“Hopeless? crooked laughter escaped the figure. “Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove.” His tone grew darker with each endearing pet name. “Don’t you see you’re the one caged here?”

Little things add up. They always do. Flashing a smile at a stranger, offering a helping hand, insisting to help despite being rejected. Everything would’ve been fine if you ignored that feeling of guilt in your gut. He’s a fatui harbinger. He doesn’t even need your help. Why take the risk?

Yet he looked so helpless. Borderlining pathetic when your eyes landed upon his bruised body in one of the many alleyways of Liyue. Little did you know that you would soon match with the ‘helpless’ victim.

Like clockwork, every Monday morning a gift nested itself at your door. Always from an ‘anonymous’ sender. Though the burning feeling in your chest is enough to warn, tell you who the gifter was.

Today an intricate floral barrette nested upon your welcome mat, being cradled in a lavender box, lined with royal purple silk. The delicate hair piece was adorned with what you guess was glass cherry blossoms. Similar to the flowering branches you’d see in Inazuma travel guides. Only to be attached to a note that simply read; To: My Delicate Flower.

Admiration, gratitude, acknowledgement. Those were the innocent reasons you gave yourself. He simply didn’t know how to properly express his feelings to you. It couldn’t be love. Even if it was. It should fade away quickly. After all, he most likely fell in love with your actions. Not you, right? Continuing to feed yourself these lies. You scurry back into your home, ignoring the growing static in the air.

It ate away at him daily. At first he denied it. There’s no universe in which he would fall for such a weakling. Let alone someone who looked down upon him with such naivete. Yet those doe like eyes drew him in, maybe opposites attract after all.

“Sir?” “Did I give you permission to speak? Can’t you see I was busy?” Each word seemed to gather the lingering static in the air, slowly gathering upon his fingertips. Before he could strike, a simple string of words stopped his rage causing it to go static. “She’s caught Childe’s attention.”

“One red bean bun to go please ~! Chimed a playful voice announcing their arrival, stealing the welcome bell’s job. “I think we harmonized that time. What do you think?”

Rolling your eyes, you ceremoniously stuff the sweet treat into his mouth. While taking his mora with your free hand.

“Keep the change, sweet. Think of it as a gift from me to you. After all, having me around must scare off the more skittish of patrons,” the silver tongue male reasoned, grinning from ear to ear as you sheepishly smiled back.

“You and I both know how that’ll affect the business if others catch wind. As you said before ‘the walls have ears’. So, be a good child and keep the change,” you chirped, slipping the excess coins into his pocket.

“All work and no play makes for a boring life. I’d hate for you to resemble a certain coworker of mine.”

As if summoned by the Archons themselves a familiar navy haired male entered the quaint bakery. The usual scowl that painted his lips softened upon seeing his sakura blossom. Only to sour once more at the living headache. With the soft sound of geta blanketing the once warm atmosphere. A small storm loomed above.

“Speak of the devil! Y/N, I’ve told you of Scaramouche, right? Oh yes ~!” A lump made home in your throat as you caught the glint in your ‘friend’s’ eye. “This little lady actually saved our dear Scara. Didn’t ya, Y/N? Truly a being too pure for this world,” he mocked softly, wiping a fake tear.

“Indeed. It’d be quite a shame if something were to happen to them.” Scaramouche stated simply, fighting back his grimace at Childe’s obvious bait.

Any patrons who dared stayed despite the single fatui member, now since fled with the newcomers aura.

“Azuki beans..”

“That’s their native name. It’s quite troublesome to get exports from Inazuma but it’s worth it in the end! I wouldn’t be able to make half of my selection otherwise,” wearing your best customer service smile, you spill out your sales pitch.

Did Scaramouche smile? Not going unnoticed by the younger harbinger, Childe’s Cheshire grin was quickly stopped with a tug of his ear.

“My apologies for the sudden intrusion but I was simply here to pick up the walking menace. Though I’ll be sure to make time to visit. It’d be a shame if I never got to try any of your baking after all,” with a boyish chuckle, he and Childe left your safe haven.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just visiting an old friend. Why does my dear superior care so much? The mighty Scaramouche didn’t fall in love, did he?” The navy haired male scoffed at the thought, his cheeks ghosting a shade of pink. “As if. They’re nothing but a distraction. If anything someone should teach them their place,” Scaramouche clicked his tongue with eyes glued forward. Though Childe’s amused grin just fueled his growing agitation.

That’s why you were in the position you are now.

Silky ribbon bit and dug into your precious skin. Decorating your canvas with shades of purple, blue, and grey. Each movement voluntary or not simply helped tie the scene together with your captor playing the part of the centrepiece.

“You’re nothing but a hopeless cause. No one will love you if you’re like this,” choked sobs escape your lips, body flinching as Scaramouche cradled your chin within his palm.

“Hopeless?” Crooked laughter escaped the short male. “You think I’m hopeless? Sweetheart. Pigeon. Dove. Don’t you see that you’re the one caged here?” Pulling you into a suffocating kiss, he gingerly wiped your tears with his thumb. “You saved me that day. I’m simply returning the favour. Chin up princess. I’m sure you’ll be happier with me.”

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact x reader #Genshin Impact Scaramouche #Genshin Impact Yandere #Genshin Impact Lily of The Valley

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afictionalwhore · 3 years

Text

Oh Baby!

A/N: this was something sweet inspired by some of my babies at the daycare but then at 1 am, it turned into something completely different. I’ll try to make a part two out of the original idea. I struggled hard with a title. Titles are the worst

TW: mentions of kidnapping, soft yandere, smut, pregnancy

2.4K words

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Ever since Keigo kidnapped married you, he had kept you tucked away in your new home, a cozy cabin up the side of a secluded, lesser known mountain. You lived so high up in such a densely forested area that only Hawks could find you, completely cut off from the outside world. He never had to worry about you leaving, one woman with a common healing quirk that would do nothing to help in navigating down the mountain. The locals, inhabitants of a small village at the foot of your mountain, believed the woods to be enchanted, so Keigo had to worry less about a villager managing to stumble their way into your backyard.

It wasn't so bad. Keigo made sure you were never bored. For when he wasn't home for you to tend to his needs, Keigo kept your home well stocked with books. It was the first thing he had shown you in your new home: your personal library. A whole room of the quaint house, your favorites, a whole shelf dedicated to just literary classics, as well as everything on your "to read" list. There was never a shortage of cookbooks. He was so excited that his large wings were flapping as though he were a young puppy wagging their tail, the giant scarlet curtain nearly knocking a shelf down on you.

"I hope you like it." Keigo looked at you, his eyes shining like an innocent puppy. "As much as I love you, I can't be with you all day. Someone has to keep food on the table." He chuckled while keeping a tight grip on your waist, and looking down at you expectantly.

"Oh. Thank you," you replied, your voice small, but loud enough for Keigo to hear. The hold on your waist loosened, and Keigo resumed his tour of your new home.

Of course, there was no TV, lest you stumble upon the news. While he's at it, no newspaper either. You didn't need those to know what was going on outside. It was a scary world out there, full of villains who wouldn't hesitate to snatch you up and use your healing quirk for their own. You were perfectly safe here with him.

It took some time, but eventually you had come around and loved Keigo back. You were always curled up on the couch, book in hand, waiting for him to come home. As soon as he was in the doorway, you'd make your way to him, like clockwork, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek while helping him shrug off his heavy coat. Your voice was still small and hesitant around him, as though you were afraid of him. This irritated him, as Keigo didn't understand what could make you so jumpy still. He had never raised a hand against you. The two of you would have dinner, usually having to reheat whatever you had made because Keigo often worked overtime. Keigo was so happy you were making use of the cookbooks he gave you.

You were turning out to be the perfect wife. Keigo was certain you loved him just as much as he loved you, or as close as someone could come to that level of love. He didn't believe anyone could match the way he felt about you. You were even going to have a kid together, a testament of your love.

When you first announced your pregnancy to him, Keigo was ecstatic. He had come home that day, exhausted and overworked, excited to be welcomed home by his little wife. His stomach growled as he landed in your front yard, and he wondered what you decided to cook up for him. He noticed you'd gotten experimental in your cooking, always asking how things tasted. You were so cute when you had him guess whatever secret ingredient you added.

When you weren’t at the door to greet him with open arms and a kiss, Keigo was disappointed in you. You were doing so well. He shook off his coat and stretched his wings, taking up the better half of your living room. You weren't nestled in the couch, engrossed in a book, as you sometimes were too distracted in your literary world to realize he had come home.

"Baby," Keigo called out, his voice echoing against the wooden walls of your homely cabin. "I'm home. I know it's a lot later than usual."

Keigo figured you must have gone to bed already. He could forgive you for not staying up for him, he thought it was rather cute, though next time, he wished you'd fall asleep on the couch.

When he entered your shared bedroom, Keigo saw you curled up on the bed, your back facing the doorway. You trembled—or was it a shiver? You must be cold without his body heat beside you. Keigo was his own heating unit.

“Baby bird,” Keigo took a step into the room. “I’m home."

No response from you.

Another step.

"Can I get a kiss?”

You shivered again.

Keigo had taken off his uniform as he was making his way towards you and the bed. Now in just his boxers, Keigo heaved himself on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to sink slightly. He laid on his side to spoon you, wrapping a large, warm arm around your center. At this distance, Keigo heard it: your small sniffles. You weren't asleep; you were crying.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Keigo asked, worry sickening him. "Did ya miss me that much?" He tried to joke, more for his sake than yours.

After no response from you, save for a few more sniffles, Keigo asked once again what was wrong, a little more urgently. His racing thoughts of you leaving, of you not loving him, were sending him into a panic.

You mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? I couldn't hear you." Keigo struggled to hang on to his cool.

You mumbled yet again, causing Keigo's growing panic and frustration with you to snap. He clamored over you, swinging his legs so that you were caged underneath him, his hands at either side of your head. Golden eyes locked onto your watery ones, staring you down.

“(y/n),” Keigo said firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

"I'm pregnant" you spat at him, frustrated at the fact itself and having to repeat it three times. The more you said it felt like the final pat of a shovel packing the dirt above your grave. You wiped away a tear before turning and shoving your face in your pillow.

“Oh baby.” Keigo was almost at loss for words. He had been anticipating this moment—stocking the bathroom cabinet with pregnancy tests the moment you arrived—yet in it, he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to say. He took your face in his hands and turned your head to look at him.

“Are you for real?”

“What would I gain from lying?” You attempted to make your words hit him like poisonous darts, but your quaking voice only managed to soften him.

“I love you so much,” Keigo dipped his head down to give you a chaste kiss, softer than his usual greedy ones, as though he were afraid of breaking you. Your eyes shut instinctively.

“This is so exciting, (y/n). You have no idea how happy I am."

A kiss to your cheek.

"I love you."

A kiss to your other cheek.

"I love you."

Keigo rose up on his hands and knees again.

"I promise to be the best father to our child."

You felt something splash on your cheek. You slowly opened your eyes again to see Keigo crying above you.

"I love you, too," your voice small and shaky as you looked up at Keigo, knowing he would just continue to stare at you and cry until you said it back.

Keigo beamed down at you before dipping down for another kiss, this one a little rougher, more passionate is how Keigo would describe it. His warm mouth worked against yours, his lips chapped slightly from the harsh wind on his rushed flight home.

You thought Keigo would deepen the kiss, expecting to feel his impatient tongue poking between your lips and licking your bottom lip. Instead Keigo pulled away and sat back on your legs, the bottom half of his own legs tucking your legs under him. He studied your body, eyes trailing down your form, stopping briefly at your stomach.

Keigo bent down again, lips now hungrily, but gently, pecking at your neck. He pulled your shirt off, delighted by your lack of bra underneath, before making his way down your chest to pepper your body with kisses. Between each small kiss, Keigo whispered "I love you" against your body.

His large hands came up to cup your breasts, careful not to squeeze too hard lest he hurt you. Usually Keigo would give them more attention, but that wasn't his main focus for tonight. He hummed as he kissed between them, flicking your nipples lightly. You couldn't suppress a small moan.

Spurred by your shy noises of pleasure, Keigo continued to move down your body. When he reached your lower abdomen, right below your belly button, Keigo's whispers of "I love you" grew more frantic, as though he was trying to tell the baby that was forming in you that he loved them.

When Keigo finally reached between your legs, he planted sweet kisses on the insides of your thighs while dragging your panties down. He tossed them to the side and lifted your legs onto his shoulders before nestling down. Keigo's face between your legs was hit with your heat. He inhaled your sweet scent, and his honeyed eyes looked up to meet yours.

"I love you, (y/n)," he stated before dipping down to lap at your puffy folds.

Keigo was excited, as any man in his position would be. As much as he wanted to pound into your until your voice hoarse from your cries and screams of his name, his main goal tonight was to make you feel good while being as gentle with you as possible. He was terrified of hurting his child in you because of his lack of self-control.

His tongue flicked at your clit, continuing to hold your gaze until your head rolled back with a low groan. Your hands found themselves tangling into his tousled golden hair, your back arching in attempt to push yourself into his mouth. Keigo chuckled against your swollen clit, the vibrations causing you to cry out and tug on his golden locks.

This spurred him on more. Keigo pushed a rough finger into you before hooking it and dragging slowly out of you, drawing a sweet moan of his name to fall out of your lips. This repeated motion combined with his sucking and lapping at your clit caused you to climb higher to your orgasm.

“Keigo, please,” you begged, seeking relief from the coiling in your gut.

Keigo hummed again against your clit, eliciting the same sweet moan and tug from you as before. He took his chance to slip another finger into you, curling both fingers against your spongy spot before dragging them down your walls.

"Keigo, I'm so close," you whined.

"Then come, baby bird." That was all you needed for the band to snap. Moans of his name and incoherent phrases tumbling out of your pretty lips.

While you were climbing down from your orgasm, Keigo found the time to remove his boxers.

Keigo sat down back down on the mattress, settling beside your shaking form with his back to the headboard. His own need was now too painful to ignore. Not wanting to put any unnecessary pressure on your stomach, Keigo pulled you up and into his lap, your entrance, slick with your own cum and his spit, hovered over his weeping cock, close enough for the heat radiating out of you to tease him.

“I love you.” Keigo held eye contact with you as he sank you down on his cock, his large hands holding your hips. Once you were fully seated on him, Keigo leaned back against the headboard. He gave a few shallow thrusts to test what you (and the baby) could handle.

Keigo settled on a steady, but gentle rhythm. You splayed your hands on his broad chest as he bounced you on his cock. Despite the gentleness and the shallowness of Keigo's thrusts and your bouncing, you were quickly climbing your way to a second orgasm. Already sensitive from your first, Keigo's cockhead managed to nudge against your sweet spot with every roll of his hips.

"Keigo, I'm close." you cried, hiding your face in his neck. One of his hands left your hip to allow his thumb to roll your sensitive bud, causing your walls to tighten and convulse around him.

"Me too, baby." Keigo said, breathless. "I'm so close. So close. Come with me, baby."

With a strained groan, Keigo's thumb on your clit sped up, causing the heat that had once again built up within you to break. You scratched desperately at Keigo's back, hiding your face into the crook of his neck. Your hot walls clamped down on him, the final push Keigo needed to fall off the edge himself.

With chants of "I love you", Keigo began to hump his cum into you before stilling, his hips flush against yours, head tilted back and back arching off the headboard.

Once you had both come back to earth, Keigo laid you onto your back before pulling out his softening dick from you and rolling off you onto his side, white cum leaking out of you.

"Not that this really matters anymore now," Keigo couldn't help the chuckle that left him. With the pad of his index finger, he pushed his now cooled cum into you.

At that statement, the fog of your two orgasms lifted, and the realization of your situation set in; you could never leave now. You let out a choked sob as Keigo rested a hand on your stomach before pulling you into him and wrapping a large, red wing over the two of you like a personal cocoon. Nuzzling his face into your neck, facial hair tickling the crook, Keigo gave you soft kisses and gentle words of praise, chalking up your soft sobs to the hormones adjusting your body to his child.

#yandere hawks #soft yandere #hawks bnha #hawks x reader

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definitelynotkatesblog · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/ GN! Reader

Category: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch returns unexpectedly from being away and causes a tough time for Reader.

A/N: I got to write this little piece for our Discord server’s fic swap! I was lucky enough to have @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff as my person!

This fic is gender neutral and written in second person POV for an easier self-insert experience!

Content warnings: Cursing, bit of angst, hurt/comfort, a lil kiss at the end

W.C: 3.5k

———————————

The moment he stepped in the room, the air escaped your lungs and everything froze.

“Seven months ago I made a decision…”

The rest of his words refused to register in your mind. All you could focus on was him.

He was back home, safe. His eyes were tired, his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, and he’d grown a beard. He’d never been one for facial hair. He had a subscription service that delivered sustainable razors and blades to his home like clockwork so he never ran out and never ran the risk of coming to work with stubble. He hated looking ‘unkempt’. Who was the man standing in the room, still speaking? How long had it been since he’d shaved?

You felt the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision.

Months had passed. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t shaved. He hadn’t emailed, or Skyped. Or shaved. He hadn’t shaved. And he hadn’t called.

The dramatic gasp from your beloved technical analyst stole the air from the room and pulled you from your thoughts.

“Oh! Sir! You’re back! With a beard? Welcome back!”

You blinked a few times to clear the tears in your eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Your eyes flicked from Hotch, to the team, and back to Hotch before everything got blurry again. The next thing you saw was the ceiling before your eyes slid shut. At least in this darkness, nothing hurt.

“Make some room! Back up!” Hotch’s voice came through the fuzzy edges of your mind. The familiar feeling of Hotch’s warm, calloused hands on the side of your face. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

You shook your head ‘no’, willing the situation to be different when your eyes opened than when they’d shut.

“Clear the room,” he ordered. The sound of footsteps retreating filled, then emptied the room.

Slowly, your eyes dared open, taking in the sight of a very concerned and bearded Hotch hovering over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice slightly less urgent this time.

You nodded and tried to sit up, pushing his hands off of when they tried to help you to your feet.

He stood with you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. When you were finally upright, you crossed your arms and stared him down. His face softened as his gaze fell to his feet, unable to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry-” he started softly.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “Nice beard.” If he tried saying anything else, it was to the empty room as you stormed out.

Glances from your peripheral confirmed what you already knew from the pounding in your chest. Pacing his office like a caged lion, Hotch was stealing looks from between the blinds covering his office windows. The last daring glance had your eyes locked, the intensity burning through the glass and across the bullpen area. You tore your head away and willed your eyes to focus on the file in front of you that had been untouched for the past few hours.

You took a deep breath and decided a cup of coffee might help matters. Without daring a look in his direction, you stormed over to the small kitchenette and pulled a mug from the crowded cupboard. As you turned to face the counter, perhaps the most trying sight of all bestowed your own two eyes.

An empty coffee pot.

A dramatic sigh fell from your lips as you set about putting on a fresh pot. Measuring the water, leveling the scoops of whole sale purchased, generic brand grounds with a shake of the wrist, and clicking the button who’s label had been rubbed clean off from years of use and thousands of cups of coffee made.

Luckily, you’d memorized the locations and functions of the buttons years ago and could make a pot with your eyes closed. The familiarity made you smile. You watched as the brownish liquid started to sputter into the glass below it, a slow drip forming and the smell of caffeine and a slight char filled the air.

The coffee itself wasn’t good, but you’d taken a liking to it over the past few months in particular. The long nights and early mornings spent playing catch up on paperwork between cases required caffeine. Then, the late night Skype calls that could only happen at random hours of the night did too, and that shit coffee became sweet nectar. You never risked missing a call.

Even though the coffee was shit, it was what you sipped on between hushed whispers and longing looks through the static filled webcam conversations. You were never quite sure if it was the coffee or the love that warmed your heart, but you’d never questioned it.

Until the calls stopped coming. And the coffee tasted bad again.

“The coffee overseas puts this stuff to shame,” a rough voice from behind you said, bringing you back from your trip down memory lane.

You chose not to move. Not to acknowledge the man behind you. Instead, you pulled the now full pot off the burner and filled your cup, leaving only a small amount of room for cream.

“Are you still using the vanilla creamer?” he tried again.

You pursed your lips and turned to face him. He immediately stood straighter, his eyes slightly widened and hopeful, awaiting your response. Your eyes narrowed as they searched his, no words willing to form in response.

After a moment, his eyes fell and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

His voice dropped before he spoke again. “I wanted to come check on you. See how you’re feeling,” he explained to the floor.

Your eyes still hadn’t left his face. Your heart started pounding, a million words suddenly bubbling behind your lips. The months of anger, confusion, hurt, love, and pain threatened to flood the small kitchen you occupied without a life jacket in sight. The burning in your nose spread to your eyes and made its way to form a vise grip on your throat.

“How I’m feeling?” you asked slowly, the venom dropping from your tongue.

He wouldn’t look at you.

The heaving of your chest and ringing in your ears was warning enough this was not the time or place to share your honest thoughts with the man across from you.

“It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The mug in your hand threatened to crack under the pressure in the small kitchenett-e. As his mouth opened the slightest bit, preparing to offer a response, it made the wise decision to close again.

You excused yourself curtly, skirting past him and out of the suddenly too-small room and back to the comfort of your desk, silently hoping the floor full of profilers would mind their own damn business for once.

——

“Hey, Hotch has some questions about the Wakeland case,” JJ said, approaching your desk.

“Yeah, sure he does.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a step back to catch your eye. “Hey,” she said softly.

You shot her an annoyed look. You wanted to be mad at her, too, but that was hard. She knew what it was to be shipped away overseas and have limited contact with her loved ones. Any attempt to complain to her would end up as sympathetic nods and constructive advice and a sensible perspective on the issue. Which was, frankly, not what you were in the mood for.

“Sorry,” you offered with a tight smile. “I just thought I was pretty thorough in my notes already.”

She gave a small smile in return, watching you stand and walk towards Hotch’s office.

You didn’t bother knocking before you entered, opting to set the tone of the conversation before it began.

Hotch’s eyes shot up at the intrusion, his hands still holding the case file. “I appreciate knocking,” he said sternly.

“Noted,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Silence hung in the air as you both waited for the other to speak. When the feeling of him staring caused the burning to reach your neck and cheeks, you cleared your throat.

“JJ said you had questions about the Wakeland case,” you prompted.

He stared a moment longer before he spoke again. “Yes, but those can wait.”

You arched a brow. He closed the folder in front of him, folding his hands and resting them on top.

“I understand that my being back has been stressful for you,” he began cooly. You scoffed and shifted your weight to the other foot. He paused for a moment, then continued. “However, your frustration with me appears to be interfering with your conduct in the office, and that I can’t have.”

You willed your lips to remain shut, the words on the other side of them guaranteeing a one way ticket to the unemployment office.

You took a slow, deep breath before you brought your eyes to his. Where you thought you’d find a stoic, cold gaze was a soft, longing look that penetrated your defense. Still, you spoke cooly and evenly.

“I apologize for my misconduct. I understand that personal feelings do not belong in a professional work environment, and concerning the two with one another would be a stupid, selfish move to make. I can assure you it will not happen again.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly, the vein in his forehead made visible by the grinding of his jaw. He still wouldn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours, slowly chipping away at the defense you’d scrambled to build. Now was not the time to break. Now was not the time to show him just how much you’d missed him, and how badly it hurt to have missed him for so long. And now was certainly not the time to let tears illuminate the bags under your eyes from the late nights standing guard by the phone in case it rang and he was on the other end.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, your voice barely audible to your own ears.

You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall, and the heaving of your chest to remain at bay until you were safely out of his office.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from your face. You hadn’t been this close to him in months and the proximity was intoxicating. He still smelled familiar, despite not having been home, or in this time zone, for so long. The warmth radiating off of his chest fanned the flame burning in your lungs.

“I am sorry. I am so, so, so sorry.” His hand reached out towards your arm, but froze when your eyes flew to it, stopping it in its path. He slowly withdrew it, bringing it back to a fist at his side. Your lip found its way between your teeth as you processed his words.

When he began again, his voice was low and rushed, like if he didn’t get the words out in time you might not hear them. Your eyes remained on the spot on your arm where he’d almost touched you. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, me being gone. I didn’t know it would be for so long, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” He stopped for a moment and the fist at his side fell open, his fingers flexed for a moment.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Your eyes flew to his and narrowed. His brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly, unsure if it was best to continue or not. “Is there anything else?” You almost didn’t recognize the cold voice as your own.

He took a step back, and you knew instantly he was attempting to profile you and the situation at hand. The logical side of your brain was telling your feet to move- to get the hell out from under his gaze. The more time he spent analyzing the way your heart was pounding and your bottom lip was beginning to quiver, the worse the odds of you making it out of his office in one piece became.

But even still, the burning in your chest and aching in your fingertips to reach out to him refused to subside. The compromise left your feet glued in place, begging for him to make the next move and decide your fate for you. “It must have been hard. To be here alone. To have your thoughts with nothing but idle time to fuel their worries.”

Your eyes slid shut. If you were going to listen, seeing him too would be too much.

“I thought about you constantly. I wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you were-”

There was that damn question again. How are you doing?

If there had only been a way to find out. Had there only been some way to get in contact with someone to answer those questions. To quell the anxious thoughts.

You laughed once, the burning in your throat from the tears turning into fire instead, fueling your words. “You could have fucking called. You could have called. You should have called!”

Your sudden exclamation caught him off guard, his hands backing up defensively.

“You wanted to know how I was, Aaron?” you snapped, “Let me tell you.”

“I was sick to my fucking stomach each and every day not knowing if you were okay. I had no way of knowing if you were blown to bits or boarding the next plane home.” The tears had started to flow, but you couldn’t stop. “For months, I had to put a face on and lie to my own team about being okay. These people trusted me with their lives and I couldn’t even trust them with the truth about how I was doing.” Your words came between broken sobs, and tears blurred your vision. “It was exhausting! I would go home and lay in bed with my phone on the loudest volume, my laptop open, and pager under my pillow just in case you called! And you didn’t!”

It briefly crossed your mind that the glass in his office wasn’t sound proof, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You finally had the responsible party in front of you and there was no stopping the words from coming.

Your hands flew to cover your eyes, the pressure of your palms digging into the hollow sockets offering a strange sense of relief.

“No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now.” The words were more for yourself than him, but they worked all the same.

“Let me explain. Please,” he tried, speaking gently, like you were an unstable unsub wielding a knife. That only served to piss you off even more. His arm dared reach towards you again, seeking contact.

“No!” Your shoulder jerked away from his touch as your other hand came up to point an accusatory finger in his face. “You don’t get to talk me down. The time for talking was months ago. You fucked up, Aaron.”

The use of an expletive so close to his name was never something he was a fan of, and you knew that. His raised brow fell to its familiar stern position and his mouth set in a hard line.

“If I could have contacted you, I would have. When we moved bases, our access to phones and internet became nearly nonexistent.” Albeit logical, his reasoning only served to further enrage you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, he silenced you with his hands firmly gripping both shoulders, not tentatively seeking permission this time. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me. I understand that you might need time away-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off. “But I don’t, Aaron. I don’t need time away from you. I missed you. I needed you,” you whispered between sniffles.

His grip on your shoulders and the stern look on his face both softened. “I missed you too,” he said.

Your eyes fell as the harshness around your words fell away, revealing the pain they bore instead.

“I missed you, and I hated you, and the only person I wanted to talk to about it was worlds away,” you whispered.

His arms came around you and brought you to his chest, tucking you into the crook of his neck as he rested a stubbly cheek atop your head. A fresh set of tears formed, spilling from your cheeks and staining the button up he wore open.

And you let him hold you for a while. For how long, you couldn’t be sure. It felt so right to finally be in his arms. To know that he was safe. To know that he wanted to be here with you as much as you wanted him to be.

When your breathing had evened out again, he pulled you away from his chest and held your face in his hands.

“I will never leave you again,” he said. He spoke it like a promise. One you knew better than to believe in this line of work, anyway.

You gave him a small half- smile and shrugged. “If you do, at least send me a smoke signal. Something, anything.”

He laughed, which was a rare occurrence, but a delightful one nonetheless. Each shoulder shake seemed to take a weight off of him, the worries fell away as he brought his eyes back to yours. A small giggle escaped your lips too, the emotional rollercoaster of the day deeming no other reaction worthy. Memories of nights spent awake, waiting by the phone seemed close to forgotten. The anxious pit that had permanently resided in your stomach disappeared, and your laughter became celebratory.

When your mutual fit of giggles finally subsided, his eyes landed on your lips. “I missed you,” he breathed.

Your hand came to rest on his wrist, rubbing quick circles across it as his hold on your jaw became more insistent. His hands began pulling you towards him, inching your faces closer together. In a split second of self-awareness, you pulled your face away.

“Aaron-” you started, motioning towards the door. The blinds were closed, but you were still at work.

His eyes didn’t leave your face, his hands finding their place again, turning your face back to his moments before your lips met. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his lips just barely brushing yours, “I missed you. And I love you, and I don’t care who knows it,” he finished.

The soft gasp that escaped your lips served as all the invitation he needed to seal your lips together, stealing the rest of the breath from your lungs.

His hands worked themselves from your face to your sides, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss was soft and unrushed, his hands firm but strong. Your hands found themselves at the nape of his neck, intertwining in the new length found there. He kissed you breathless, until all the cracks in your heart were filled, and the hurt and anger of the past few months was replaced with warmth.

When you finally broke away, he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his grip on you firm, still. “I love you,” he whispered. You nodded against him, not yet ready for that moment to pass. “I love you,” he said again. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “I knew before I left, but I didn’t tell you. I knew from the first time I asked you to dinner and you said no because your show was on. I knew the moment you insisted on only ever taking your coffee with that vanilla creamer. I knew from the first time I kissed you,” his eyes opened and bore into yours. “And being away from you, and not being able to talk to you or tell you was unbearable. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” His head shook as he spoke, like he was shaking away a bad memory.

You bit your lip to stop new tears from forming, and pulled your head away so you could look him in the eye. Your hand came up to cup his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered. The light in his eyes mirrored yours as the smile spread across your face. You ran your thumb across his cheek, admiring the feeling. “I could get used to this.” He hummed and smiled, pulling you back under his chin and wrapping his arms around you.

“So, did you actually have questions about the case? Or..” you asked, starting to pull away.

His body shook with a laugh as he closed the small gap you’d created, placing scratchy, bearded kisses on your face.

——

Let’s talk about it!

#crimnal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch fluff #hotch x y/n #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

A Mother Fury

Day three Ectoberhaunt: Mutant vs Cryptid

AO3

“Look, I’m telling you, no way she’s real,” Danny said, making another mark on the map. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to make a normal map of the ghost zone the way a human might. With measurements and cartography, but after discovering the infini-map and exactly why every other map he’d made was always wrong, he’d gone to Clockwork for help.

He was given a rough crash course into ghost mapping and its difficulties and was now tasked with trying to map an unfamiliar area for practice. It was more difficult than he had hoped.

“Why not?” Sam asked, she and Tucker were riding spectre-scooters beside him, carrying extra tools and supplies in case they needed them and a homing medalian in case they got horribly lost and needed to get back home. It was kind of the ghost equivalent of a compass, with Clockwork’s lair as it’s true north.

Tucker took Danny’s side in the argument. “Because it doesn’t make sense! The Mother of Fury? What would she even be? Some kind of Dragon Queen? We’ve already met the Dragon Queen.”

“That’s not what Sam said, Tucker. She’s talking about the Mother of the Furies. Like from Greek myth. And the reason she doesn’t exist,” he looked up from his map to glare at Sam, “is because there’s only three and they’re sisters. The ‘Mother’ is the ghost equivalent of the Lochness monster”

Sam rolled her eyes. “There’s only three sisters in the Oresteia trilogy. The original myth didn’t number them and there’s plenty of art with four of them. Besides, the truth behind Pandora got confused right?”

“Where did you even hear about her?” Tucker asked.

With a huff, Sam crossed her arms. “I heard it from my girls and ghouls club during poetry night.”

“Don’t recite the poem-“

“I’ll recite the poem!”

Danny chuckled, he didn’t mind listening to Sam’s poetry recital skills. She really went all out, pulling her theatre and speech making experience to good use. And also her voice was pleasant to listen to in general. Besides, Tucker getting annoyed was almost a bonus.

"Oh Mother of Fury

I ask for a boon

So that I may curry

A favor, this tune

Is a vow, a promise I make

So if I shall falter and vengeance you take

I’ll have no regrets in life or in death

I’ll sing you this song with my final breath

My children I care for watch over them please

My sisters and brothers look after with ease

My mother and father keep sight of them too

Take care of them all and I swear this to you

I’ll keep every Oath, fulfill every Vow

That’s what I promise and this poem is how"

“… so a prayer for protection?” Tucker asked, having listened intently.

“Apparently if you invoke it, it's the next best thing to a Stygian frailty. You can never break a vow or promise again or the Mother of the Furies and her children will hunt you down.”

"Idk Sam, I'm with Danny. No way that's real. It's probably just one of those things that makes ghosts feel safer." Tucker shook his head. "I'm not about to believe a weird poem about something's existence."

Sam threw her notebook at him. "The Fright Knight had a weird poem! And the Ancients exist! We met a ghost who can control time, how is the Mother of Vengeance less probable!?"

Danny slowed down, there was something in the distance that didn’t quite fit. It looked off kilter but in a different way from the usual off kilter descriptions of the Zone. He marked it on the map and saw it bleed into the paper, disappearing as quickly as he’d drawn it on.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Tucker was still talking. “Well yeah but we know the Ancients are real because they sealed Pariah Dark and we know he’s real because he attacked Amity Park and has a giant castle smack dab in the middle of the Zone-“

“Guys,” Danny interrupted, “do you see that?”

Sam and Tucker both finally looked up, away from their ongoing argument.

Sam gasped, “It’s a bird cage.”

“A really big bird cage.” Tucker agreed.

There was a song, Danny heard, that rang softly in his ears. It built in volume and strength the closer they got until Danny could hear it clearly.

It was a call for help.

They had to go in.

He flew closer. “Wait, Danny!” Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “It could be a siren trap.”

“What?” Danny whipped his head back, “that doesn’t matter, whoever is in there needs help.”

Tucker shook his head, “nah man, she’s right. Could be one of those Venus flytrap situations that tries to lure you in with your obsession.”

“Remember the garden?” Sam said and Danny had to concede the point. The garden had been a paradise of mortal realm plants and the trio was excited to explore the implications behind their existence there.

Clockwork had to drag them out.

“Okay, this time we’ll be cautious.” Danny looked up at the cage again, it was easier to see the details from this close. The bars were a soft, tarnished looking silver that was almost white. They twisted around each other weaving in and out and forming what Danny realized was almost a web-like design. He couldn’t see anything beyond the bars.

“Here’s the plan,” Sam said grabbing the Fenton Fisher from the side car of her speeder. “Danny goes in his ghost form so whoever or whatever set the trap doesn’t get suspicious. If anything, and I mean anything Danny, goes wrong? You turn human and we drag you out with the Fenton fisher.”

He looked dubiously at the length of ecto-enhanced fishing line before sighing and lifting his arms so she could tie it around his waist. “I’ll be right out, you both stay here.”

“Yeah yeah,” Tucker said slapping a tracker onto Danny’s hazmat suit. “Just don’t die again okay?”

“Sure Tuck.”

Once the preparations were made Danny went towards the singing, letting it draw him towards what looked like an entrance. Except, there was a lock on it.

A very large one.

He gave it a tug, but it didn’t so much budge. Looking around for anything that might try to ambush him first, or any smaller ghosts that might be affected, he let his power go a little, building it up in his hands just like Pandora taught him to. Once he was confident he grabbed the lock to pull it open, but instead it grabbed hold of his energy and drew it out of him, like a fish caught on a hook. Danny couldn’t pull his hands away so the only thing he could do was transform, giving himself away.

The pulling stopped, but nothing else happened. No loud sirens declaring him like Walker’s prison might, no powerful ghosts lurking in the shadows.

He let out a sigh of relief. The lock went easily under his hands in this form and Danny had to chuckle at how nice it was that the Ghost Zone seemed to be really inadequately prepared for Halfas like him.

The door creaked when it opened. And it only opened a couple of inches before it just wouldn’t budge anymore. Danny gave up and transformed back so he could manipulate his form enough to slip through.

Inside was a castle.

No.

Inside was a very specific castle. Pariah’s keep as Danny had literally never seen it. The brick was a dusty softer red, and while the plants and weeds had grown and taken over, they looked as if they’d been tended to, at least minimally. And there was a twisting branch of Thistely that settled into the shape of a birds nest.

Danny was starting to get idea that a bird might be in here.

A sword was at his neck.

“Halt, who dares tread into the domain of stories and songs?” A woman’s voice said, deep and melodic. It didn’t sound anything like the song that had lead him here.

He raised his hands in the more or less universal sign of surrender and said “sorry, didn’t mean to barge in ma’am. I just wanted to make sure no one was trapped in here?”

The sword lowered. “Trapped?” She asked, bemused.

Danny chanced turning around to get a look at his accosted. She was one of the prettier ghosts he’d seen. Her colors were all washed out, leaving soft pastels in place. Her arms though, looked like they were covered in swan feathers, at least the parts of her arms he could see. The cape clasped high on her neck looked like it might have been made from the very same feathers, except woven delicately into cloth.

She was also clearly dangerous, the power behind her eyes nothing to take lightly. And her fingers sharpened into long black claws that Danny had no doubt carved through their fair share of ghost flesh.

“Yes ma’am. It’s a bird cage so-“ he was just going to explain his reasoning, having come to the conclusion that this was likely the other ghost’s lair and he was trespassing, when her expression shut off entirely.

“This is the King’s Keep.” She said, her voice dangerously steady.

Danny nodded, “yeah it uh, looks just like Pariah’s-“

“Pariah Dark?” The woman asked, “He built a mimicry of my brother’s castle?”

Her expression showed severe distaste, and while Danny couldn’t exactly blame her, it didn’t help his danger sense that she seemed to know the former king personally.

“Your Brother?” Danny asked, trying to subtly look around. He couldn’t see any pastel bird men, but it didn’t hurt to keep an eye out. “Is this his lair?”

“As long as he is King his keep is here,” she answered. Oh great, yet another weird king in some back water place.

“King of what? The feather lands?” Danny mumbled under his breath.

The sword returned to under his chin and he froze. He had to stop accidentally insulting people.

“King of Ghosts little Half-Dead. It would do you well not to mock him.”

But Danny’s fear parted to make way for confusion. With a sword at his neck Danny said, “But that’s Pariah Dark?”

The woman’s eyes flashed a deep purple and she struck, Danny’s training with Pandora and Clockwork’s teachings were the only thing that allowed him to keep his head.

He shot an ectoblast but the woman easily caught it on the edge of her sword, twisting around and sending it right back at him. It was probably the most elegant way Danny had ever been attacked and he had to force himself to move, to not get distracted as he ducked and weaved, dodging each of her attacks.

“Why are you attacking me? Do you hate Pariah that much??” He dodged what looked like a handful of feathers, sharpened on every edge. This lady was mad, question was why.

“My brother would not lose to that lout. How dare you imply-“

“Wait I’m not implying anything! You’re brother would probably win for sure,” he said, and then under his breath, “especially if he’s anything like you.”

The attacks stilled. “What are you saying?”

Danny didn’t let down his guard, but he didn’t attack either. She looked wary, a trace of uncertainty and tension underneath her fierce exterior. “All I know,” he said, carefully, “is that Pariah Dark was called the King of Ghosts and that he was sealed into an eternal sleep in a sarcophagus in Pariah’s Keep. I don’t know who was king before that, but he’s been asleep for at least a few thousand years.”

Her brow twitched. “But that… that isn’t right.”

She flickered, and Danny froze, that wasn’t a good sign. That was an Obsession based break down sign. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

“I just saw him…” her eyes flashed. “You said this was a bird cage.”

He nodded.

Her gaze darkened. “I see. Someone thought to play with me. A mistake. Stay here, I will return.”

Danny didn’t even have the chance to argue before she was folding into herself, and flew off as a bird.

He followed.

Honestly she should have expected that, what teenager listens to someone they just met? She was fast though, and it was hard to keep up as she flew higher and higher into what looked like the endless open abyss of the Ghost Zone.

The bird twisted and shooting from the feathers was once more the woman’s more human form took shape as she kept flying her hand reaching in front of her. She grabbed empty nothing, except- it clearly was something because what was once a clear view of the Ghost Zone crumbled like fabric and was shredded into pieces by sharp claws, revealing the thick bars of the cage.

She growled and Danny took a second to find what she was looking at. It was the top of the cage, the center of the spider’s web with delicately detailed runes etched into each bar.

“Misery Vex,” the woman sneered, “I should have known.”

Danny rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. This looked above his pay grade. Then again, after beating Pariah Dark and fighting half the Ancients there wasn’t much that qualified really. Wait. Wasnt Misery Vex am Ancient? Did they make a habit of trapping random ghosts in complicated ways?

The woman was pacing angrily, at least, the ghostly equivalent of pacing. “There’s no way to know how long I’ve been here, anything could have happened to him,” she muttered, “especially if that joke Pariah was made king at some point. Was this because of our fight? No, it couldn’t have been.”

“Ma’am?” He said, gently tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. Her eyes were a bright lilac, and Danny saw that she was in some type of mania. What even was her obsession?

“Oh, right. I’ll get us out of here, just step back.”

“Wait I can-“ once again not waiting for an answer, she made her move. Grabbing two of the thicker and more intricate bars in her hands she pulled them apart with what looked like impressive physical strength. But even when she let go, the force did not mitigate. Instead they acted as if gravity itself were pulling them apart.

Danny watched amazed as the very same force worked its way over the entire cage and it ripped itself apart into scrap metal, the figment of the castle inside fading away along with the enticing sirens song.

“Wow.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you for showing me the truth. It may have been eons again before I realized. She had trapped me in a mimicry, a nasty curse. Be sure not to befell it yourself.”

“Right, will do. Uh…” he hesitated but the woman didn’t seem to have any frustration or anger for him, only for her absent captor and the time she must have missed. “Can I get your name?”

She looked surprised at that. “A bold request. But I suppose I owe you something. I am Erinyen, though you may call me Erin. Call upon me shall you need a promise kept or vengeance taken.”

And then she flew away.

Danny nodded, he helped. He did what he needed to and he didn’t even need to do most of the work.

He turned to tell his friends the good news only to see two equally gobsmacked expressions.

“What?” he said, a little defensively.

Sam recovered first. “You found her!”

“Found her?”

“The Mother of the Furies!” Tucker said, waving a pdf, “what the hell dude! I thought you were on my side!”

“I was!” Danny defended. How was he supposed to know?

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #Day 3 #Bee's writing #fanfiction #My OC #Erinyes (oc)#Look I was struggling with how to write a cryptid story and the GZ having it's own cryptids was all that came to mind #at least yall can meet her?#feel free to ask about her! she's super cool and fun! I made her with @13thcat because she's Levi's big sis!

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ldouble · 3 years

Text

Can’t Help It | Antonio Dawson x Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: You never expected flowers to be delivered to you. You weren’t one for girlish things, for goodness sake you were a cop who liked strapping a gun more so than clicking into heels. With this, it’s a pleasant surprise when you are delivered flowers not once, not twice, but three times in the span of a week. For Antonio, your partner and the guy who definitely did not have feelings for you, its more suspicious.

You stare at empty board, the lack of thumbtacked pictures a rare sight. This was the Intelligence Unit. There was always a case. Sometimes you thought the crimes rolled in like such clockwork you could have a TV show.

Wednesday. 9 PM Central.

With the clear board, you were sure to get cancelled.

You didn’t want anything up there. The first piece of evidence or any sort of lead usually meant someone was dead. You didn’t wish that at all.

The sight just made you uneasy.

Work wasn’t supposed to be mundane. You were supposed to be constantly thinking. Gears shifting as you tried to catch up with whatever or whoever you were after.

Drug cartels. Sex trafficking. Gang related violence.

It made its way to this board. And you sure as hell always found your way back to it.

The sound of a phone brought you back. The rough voice of your partner cueing in that your team was up to bat.

You looked to Antonio, your arms crossed, half your mind still on the blank panel, for answers.

Even fewer leads sat with him, his face stone cold and unreadable. That was weird. After working together for years, literally saving each others lives (after nearly losing each other one or twice) you could always read Dawson. His quiet demeanor was easy for you to pick up on, you yourself one to speak without words. You thought the time spent wordlessly communicating - either over beers at Molly’s or the barrel of your gun prior to a riot - would help you figure out who was on the other end of the phone.

His eyes met yours, a low ‘mhm’ escaping his lips before he let the receiver clack gently against its holder. “Delivery for you.”

“Screw up your address-”

Ruzek called after you, your last names barely heard as you skipped down the steps to meet whoever was at the cage entrance.

“Didn’t order anything.” You called before lowering your voice. “Especially nothing I’d get sent here.”

Your mind wandered to the Wine of the Month club you just subscribed to, and for a second you started believing Adam that you really had fumbled the address. But upon opening the cage door to see a patrolmen standing with your package, you knew you definitely didn’t mess up.

You told the officer just that, laughing at the sick joke it was. Sergeant Platt was having none of it, yelling up at you (without so much as lifting her gaze from her desk), “Take the goddamn flowers.”

So you did. You awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the goddamn flowers.

The goddamn flowers that had you sneezing upon arriving back in the bullpen.

A low whistle from Kevin was heard despite the allergy response. You didn’t know which one had caught the attention of the entire squad. Honestly, you didn’t know which was worse.

“Nobody give me that look.” You spat, concluding it was neither whistle nor wheeze that had everyone curious. Rather it was you, dressed in dark jeans and an ever darker long sleeved shirt, holding a budding bouquet of bright yellow-

“Are those sunflowers?” Jay asked, leaning closer to take a look.

“Yes.” You huffed, setting down the gift like it was a bomb. That’s what it felt like. Like any second something was going to go off. 3....2...

“Who got you flowers?!?” Adam buzzed, jumping up to peer at the present.

“No one.” You quickly said, hating this. Hating the attention. The attention brought on by some stupid-

“Nice greenery.” Voight said from his classic perch of leaning against the door of his office.

At the sight of your boss you gulped. You were chummy enough with him but knew even he wouldn’t appreciate a dispute over something as stupid as this.

So you took a breath, smiled, and agreed with him. “Yeah, nice.” You peered at the object in question...just like you would a suspect.

Jay called you out on it, coming to look at it beside you. He hip checked you. “Whose it from?”

“Great question.”

“There’s usually a card someone.”

You looked over your shoulder at Antonio whose attention now seemed completely enthralled with his computer. You knew for a fact there was nothing on there of importance. if there was, he wouldn’t be asking about flowers. Flowers you never would have gotten because you wouldn’t be here but rather out on the case that filled that goddamn blank board.

“You a frequent customer of ‘Ode a la Rose’, Dawson?” Ruzek asked, coming up on the other side to look at the business ribbon tied to the vase.

“No.” You titled your head at your partner who quickly avoided eye contact after looking up for a mere second. He clicked away, his mouse suddenly much louder to you. “But I know a bouqet of flowers when I see one.”

That had you rolling your eyes back to the problem at hand.

You really didn’t know where to start, that is until Voight walked right up and plucked the paper envelope from between the....blooms? Was that they were called?

Reading your mind Jay and Ruzek leaned in at the same time, whispering, “Buds.” in your ears.

You sighed, watching them return to their desks before opening up the letter.

You don’t know why you needed a breath but you did. It was all so bizarre. Remembering your boss’ words, the very ones you had agreed with, you concluded it to be nice. Nothing less and nothing more.

The card certified that, its blankness leaving the mystery solved.

“What’s it say?” Kevin asked from across the aisle as you sat down in your chair.

“Nada.” You replied, tossing into the bin at your feet.

“Yeah, right.” Antonio said, standing up and crossing the room. When he went to dive through the can beneath your desk you rolled away, the invasion of space surprising.

What was more surprising, the look of jealousy you swore you saw on his face.

Again, your guess was confirmed when Jay asked if Antonio was jealous somebody else was congratulating me on a case well solved before he could.

You didn’t like what Jay said but it was better than clutching onto a defensive statement with no proof. You were a detective. Couldn’t argue with evidence. And Antonio storming over to dig through trash...pretty convincing.

“I told you, I’ll take a free beer over flowers any day.” Your hand graced your partners arm. It stole his attention from the empty paper he was analyzing, his eyes finding yours for a moment. The way they raced across your face, taking you in like someone he was saving, crushed you.

More than that, it terrified you. Because it seemed to terrify Antonio.

You sneakily took the note from his hand, shaking your head with a light laugh. You were hoping he didn’t notice how forced it was because you really couldn’t sit here one more second with him looking at you like that. Worrying you. Terrifying you.

“It’s all good. Probably just some appreciation for your girl.”

You had stood at this point, reaching around to dump the flowers but your hand was caught. Antonio met your gaze, his tongue quickly wetting his lips in thought. A million things went through his head before he plucked the note from you.

“Keep em. Till I get you that beer.”

You watched him walk away, your eyes tearing away when you heard Adam cracking another joke about how sunflowers resembled your bubbly personality. When you slapped his head in warning you chanced another glance at your partner.

Sauntering down the hall a flash of white caught your eyes.

The once pristine note, white as day, was now crumbled in his hand. You watched it soar into a nearby trashcan, hitting the rim and bouncing onto the floor. The slam of the cage, announcing the exit of your partner, couldn’t even take your eyes away.

----

Molly’s atmosphere would always put you in a good mood. There was nothing like sitting with your colleagues, amongst the other servicemen and women of Chicago, after a long day.

You hadn’t even made it to the bar when Otis called your name, waving you over.

Leaving Ruzek and Kevin to chat it up with some of the Firehouse 51 guys, you made your way through the throngs of people.

“What’s up?” You asked over the cheers of a home run being hit.

“You tell me.” The fireman said, a suggestive tone on his lips.

You turned to your coworkers, now joining you, shrugging your shoulders. Their equally confusing looks send you repeating the action back at him. Even then, its hard to force up your arms in chagrin when theres an icy feeling down your back.

The Russian fireman rolled his eyes before disappearing below the bar. Your head tipped forward to follow only to bounce back at his sudden reappearance. Its not his dark curly hair that scares you, but rahter the bright array of...flowers.

He placed it on the counter with a thud. Identical in nearly every way to the vase gifted to you two days ago, the only difference is that the blossoms have grown. Double the amount of stems sit in the square jar.

The aroma of spring met your nose despite the smells of the bar. Mixed with beer and greasy food, your lunch is prepared to make a reappearance.

But its the sight of Antonio, followed closely by Jay, that sends the meal back down. You have to gulp it down again when he gets closer, the look of anger directed towards the flowers, terrifying you once again.

“You got to be kidding.” Jay mumbled, tracing over the business seal.

“When did you get these?”

“Who delivered them?”

“What’d they say?”

The men around you fire out questions but none of them register. You’re always one to investigate but never before had you been so involved. Never before had you been the lead.

You liked the board empty. You’d take a clear slate and nothing to do over thumbtacking your own picture up any day.

Especially today.

Antonio tried to find your eyes, silently communicate among the raising volume of the bar, but you ignored them. There’s something to be said. But you don’t have the words.

The message envelope does.

You ripped through the flowers, tossing stems and wrecking the beauty of the gift, until you find what you’re looking for.

A gasp escaped your lips once you’ve read it, your head following to hang low.

“What’s it say?” Someone asked. You didn’t catch who, the neatly typed and printed words consuming everything in you.

Someone grabbed it but you release the words into the air before they can be read again.

If you could’ve stopped them you would. No one else should have had to read those chilling words. No one except you.

And your detective friends.

“I scent you this.” You looked up at Antonio, his brows furrowed as they came up from the note. “Can’t wait to watch you wilt.”

“We’ve got a gardener on our hands.”

Your head slowly turned to Otis, innocent and unknowing Otis, who thought it all to be a cute little love note.

You told him it wasn’t.

“More like a weed killer.” A faux smile found your lips right before your eyes found the door, your feet following quickly.

The hot summer air was less of an escape than you’d have hoped. Still, you pushed on, farther from the bar and the noise and the people and everything.

Your arm was caught just before a passing car took you out, sucking you back into the real world.

Antonio’s eyes, the fullest of concern you’d ever seen them, sent you pushing him back. You’d take reality but not from him. Not right now.

“You can’t just leave.”

“Let my pedals fall, won’t you, Dawson?”

“No.” His hands found my arms, my bare skin burning. There was no anger in his action. If anything you were producing the heat, frustrated beyond belief.

Antonio saw it, squeezing gently to bring you back. You couldn’t the strain breath that you released.

“He’s in my head.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“Women don’t send flowers.” You deadpanned. You took a step back upon seeing the rest of your coworkers stirring a few feet away. They held a respectable distance but some things just needed to be said - partner to partner.

And boy were some things about to be said.

Cops had no on and off switch. Their minds were always in investigation mode. You were your lead, your evidence, your victim, your everything.

And you felt like you couldn’t even breathe at the moment.

“Just let me go home.”

“Not with some guy-”

“He’s in my head, man.” The crack in your voice scared you but you pressed down the fear, going straight up to your partner. Chest to chest you tapped a finger on his temple. “He’s in my head and I can’t help it.”

“You’re in his and I can’t help that.” Antonio huffed.

You didn’t know who was more upset with the situation - you or him.

But that’s what partners were for. To have your back. Even when you didn’t have your own.

The thought of Antonio guarding you, unattended and unfocused, had you shaking your head.

It wasn’t right. None of this was.

You told him just that. To which he tried whispering your last name not as your partner but as your friend. You could tell by the way he said your first name...something he never did.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Save your detective work for the office.” A choked laugh escaped you as you slipped by him, heading towards Kevin. “Something tells me this is just poor planning on some gardener’s part.”

The flower puns had been over ages ago. They never really had a place at all.

But again....desperate times, desperate measures. Dark humor was your desperation.

You plucked the flowers from Adam’s arms, meeting his eyes with a nod.

You heard Jay say your name but it was no use. If Antonio couldn’t get through to you, it’d take Voight. And your boss never frequented this establishment at this hour.

Like you would hear him over the buzzing. You wanted to believe a bee was enjoying your unexpected gift but you knew that wasn’t true. The only thing ringing was your heart, beating faster than ever before.

You turned on your heel, only dropping your “I’ve Got It All Together” smile when you threatened them not to follow you. It wasn’t until you got home did it all fall apart, the vase crashing to the ground. The only reason you didn’t hear it was because of Antonio’s voice in your head.

“I can’t help that.”

He meant it like he couldn’t help but worry.

But combined with the concern he radiated, you thought your suspicions to be true.

He couldn’t help. No one could.

----

Your hand hurt from clutching your gun in your sleep.

At the thought of how pathetic that was, you flexed your fingers before shaking them out to study the card.

The wording, the gift, everything, really nothing, made sense.

You had racked your brain for cases that it could connect to. It wasn’t uncommon to be tracked down by former...clients.

Your job was to put people in jail. Jail wasn’t always a life long sentence. Finding you, the person who’d put them there, could possibly be a life long commitment.

The knock of your door made you freeze. You weren’t able to pinpoint a crime that could lead to threats in the form of flowers but you were able to recognize that knock anywhere.

A confirmation through the peephole had you standing with your hand on your hip as Antonio walked into your apartment.

He rambled on and on, jumping between the points of the mysterious flower deliveries and how there was no way you were going to let him stop from figuring this out. On a tangent about your lack of respect to the Senior Detective of the unit (a title he only used when he wanted authority) you wrapped your arms around him.

Suddenly your outburst against the second in command didn’t matter, his own arms looping around your lower back.

“You look like shit for having slept in your car outside my place.”

His chuckle vibrated through you - the sound the most pleasant thing you had heard since entering Molly’s over 12 hours ago. Since then it had been your partner yelling at you and the eery silence of your apartment.

Neither were a match for Antonio’s laugh.

Which, speaking of, quickly died out as he gave you a once over. You could hear the quip on the tip of his tongue, how the bags under your eyes made him think you spent the night in the passenger seat, but it never came.

All that stayed was the worry in his eyes. You wiped your hands over them, forcing them closed. “Don’t look at me like that.” You whispered.

Without moving he replied, “When this is fixed, I’ll stop.”

“Then keep them closed.” You headed toward the couch, heaving a sigh and setting your head on the wall. “I can’t figure it out.”

“What do you think I’m here for?” You felt the couch dip beside you, the weight shifting as Antonio looked over the files sprawled on your coffee table. After a moment you joined him, your eyes quickly glazing over at the papers you’d practically memorized.

“Had he sent some blood or common drug I would’ve pinned him.” You waved a hand over the evidence. “I’ve got nothing.”

“You have to, or else you wouldn’t know who he was.”

“Antonio, I don’t-”

“You do.” He interrupted, a hand finding your knee. He’s quick to remove it, clearing his throat and referencing the table again. “We’re cops. We know more than we think.”

You sighed, wanting to agree but not seeing enough evidence to do so.

Flowers. Scents. Spring.

You were linking the whole ordeal to cotton candy (somehow) when someone else knocked on the door. You didn’t even bother standing, knowing Antonio (who had been on watch all night) wouldn’t let you answer it.

So you weren’t surprised at all when he returned, the rest of the squad entering.

“Still picking petals?” Kevin asked.

“He kills you, he kills you not.”

Adam’s joke impressed no one, his hands flying up defensively. “We not in the mood for jokes or what?”

“We’re not.” Voight’s voice run out strong. It both reassured you and frightened you. This all was so odd. How everyone was here. Except the guy tracking you down.

“No jokes when one of our own is on the line.”

“Line.” You mumbled, the word sticking with you.

“What is it?” Jay asked, crouching down in front of you. It was his classic, “witness remembers something” action, which you didn’t appreciate. There was no time to blow him off, tell him you weren’t a victim in this, because you were just getting somewhere.

Antonio caught on, shoving Jay away for you.

You didn’t even need to say thanks, silently communicating it without as so much as a look.

“What did you say Adam?” You stood, heading towards your bookcase.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to repeat-”

“Say it again.” You insisted turning from the shelf for a mere moment to give him a look. “Please.” You said, your tone lighter.

“He kills you, he kills you not?” He mused, avoiding eye contact with Voight.

“That’s a bad line, man.” You heard Kevin say under his breathe.

“Exactly.” You excited, grabbing the book you were looking for.

“Exactly what?” Antonio came up beside you, his eeys darting between the page and your face. You said nothing - out loud or silently - which he impatiently couldn’t wait for. “Exactly what?”

“Exactly this.” You pointed to the page. “He loves me, he loves me not.”

Confusion and what appeared to be fear raced across Antonio’s face. Jay asked if you could fill him in before you got a chance to question your partner’s response to your revelation.

“It’s a line.”

“We know.” Voight said.

“A line from a case.” You went on to say, heading back toward the table. “There was a guy at the University of Chicago, posed as an English major, sucked girls with the whole ‘I’ll read you poetry’ thing.”

Papers were flying everywhere and Kevin was trying to keep them in order, that is till Antonio started digging with you.

“I know this one. He brought girls in and then,”

“Raped and murdered them. Leaving nothing but a note that said,”

“He loves me, he loves me NOT,” Voight answered, remembered. the case he handed over to you and Antonio.

“He definitely did not.” You stood, file in hand. “He left that line and-”

“A flower.”

You looked up to Antonio, his gaze pointed at the pile of what was your second bouquet, sitting in the dustpan where you left it when you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it out.

His eyes found yours after a moment and you couldn’t help but smile. You had solved it.

Of course, you had solved it three years ago.

Jay reminded you of that point when he took a look at the report.

“The clues he’s leaving aren’t keeping him too well hidden. Why send the cop who put you away flowers?” Kevin spectated.

“Paid in cash.” Adam added, rubbing his chin in thought. “Might want a chase.”

“Who leaves a calling card like that and wants a chase?” Voight pondered.

“He’s not the one being chased.” You said, the room quieting from the many guesses being vocalized. “I am.”

The knock of the door piqued everyone’s interest, each head whipping towards it. Then you all looked at each other. No one else who needed to be here wasn’t.

Antonio connected those dots first, undoing his gun from its holster and walking towards the door.

It was no point for him to ask who was there. You already knew.

You just made it to see the delivery boy, eyes wide as Antonio pointed the barrel at him.

You took the smallest of steps forward, further intimating the boy and causing the vase to drop. Triple the size of the first one, flowers spewed everywhere, a white card sliding across the floor to your feet.

You bent down, opened it and read it silently. When you looked back up at Antonio you couldn’t help the words that escaped.

“He’s not asking to be found. He’s already picked me out from the bunch.”

----

I wanna smell you. Just you. You don’t bloom, you lose it all.

The last part of the note didn’t need to be repeated in your head. Not when you were there right at that moment.

Lurie Garden looked beautiful on the Spring Saturday. Lavender wafted through the air and all colors spread through the field. The Bean was barely visible over the high walls. If you stood in the penny fountain you wouldn’t have been able to see 20 feet into the greenery. Not with the spurts of bushes that traveled higher and higher the further into the season.

3 Pm was peak time. Little kids ran around, parents following quickly. You had spotted more than one older couple, walking through the fields to literally smell the roses.

Like on every other OP, you thought of if you’d get there. Make it through this.

Good cops were good people. And no good person walked into a dangerous situation without playing with the idea that they wouldn’t see the light of the next day.

Your eyes found the sun, beating down on you. When you couldn’t take it any longer your refocused, finding the very couple that sparked your philosophical train fo thought. A green ring formed around them from the light exposure. They looked angelic. Happy. Perfect.

“Everything looks perfect.”

You toed the gravel, Ruzek’s voice loud and clear in your ear piece. No one had said much the last 15 minutes you spent waiting for your guest.

Mark Cameron, ever the ‘fake’ student, was running late for class.

Only you would be penalized, though, if you slipped up.

The kid, no college graduate, was still smart. When you’d busted him he had a barely alive girl in his arms. When unarming you he called out every weapon.

Hence your lack of protection right now.

No gun. No knife. You didn’t even have the pin you wore for highly specialized ops, its edge sharper than any pocketknife you could’ve snuck into your pant leg.

“You’re going to be fine.”

You turned halfway before stopping yourself. Antonio’s voice hadn’t come form your ear piece but rather behind you. Posing as a fellow garden goer, he stood the other way, admiring the monkshood you just looked at (15 minutes had given you plenty of time to read up on the plants. That and you needed something to do other than wait).

He was effortless when it came to undercover ops. So it took everything in you not to tell him he was blowing it. Cameron could show up any second. Antonio knew this. Never one to break protocol it wasn’t right to see him doing just that.

“Let’s hope.” You breathed, bending down to smell.

“He’s not in your head. I can’t help you if you’re in yours.”

You didn’t respond - not knowing what to say as well as gettin interrupted by COMMS.

“Cameron just entered the North East corner.”

Kevin went on giving description - jean jacket, information packet in hand, etc. - but you didn’t care.

You remembered that sweet couple without a care in the world and you needed to see Antonio once more. You needed to believe him he’d help. You needed your partner.

“Thought you might need this, honey.”

Cameron’s voice was icy in your ear. You fought the urge to grimace, instead smiling up at him and accepting the garden sheet he was extending to you.

“Thanks. Was dying to know what smelled so bad.”

“So you say.” He whispered directly into your ear piece. “What do they think?”

Jay mumbling something foulw as cut off as Cameron picked apart the tech. You couldn’t help but slam your ear into your shoulder, his touch radiating goosebumps off of you. The exposed movement was worth it when you caught no sight of Antonio - who had thankfully cleared the area.

There was no one in your row. No one you could really see either with the sloped ground and the high stalks of greenery.

You hoped your team had you. You knew they did. It was just hard to believe when you didn’t have yourself.

Cameron had found you. Found a way into your work and your bar and your home. More than that, he found his way into your head. And Antonio would never admit it but Cameron got into his too.

Partners. Had each other’s backs but also had each others brains.

You hoped Antonio’s wasn’t as corrupted as your felt right now.

“I told you to come alone.”

The stomp of his foot on the ear piece emitted a high pitched frequency just loud enough for you to catch.

Your lips formed a straight line as you told yourself not to panic. Something about you being the target made this op different. You cared about victims more than you did yourself - evident in the way you put your life on the line.

But this...this focus on you, on your friends, made breaking up a drug cartel seem like heaven.

Being here, with Cameron, even in a beautiful field of flowers, was actual hell.

“You know, I’d make some cruel joke about no flower growing alone but I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Cameron pretended to weigh the options. Coming to a decision a sick smile grazed his face before his hand found your hip. It hurt, a pressure point being hit, but you didn’t let it show.

“Good choice. Makes you love you a bit more.”

His eyes wandered to the flower I was still gripping, its orange petals crumpling with the tense hold I had on it. His own hands found one near by, picked it and brought it up to my nose. His brows raised, asking me to pluck a petal. I did as told just as he said, “Or love you not.”

“Sir!”

You spun around to the voice, only having his hand grip into you harder at the sight of a park ranger approaching.

“You can’t pick the flowers, sir.”

“My fault!” Cameron chuckled, his neck settling on your shoulder. Again, he put more force than necessary, your collarbone taking the brunt of it. “My girlfriend here wanted to see if I still loved her not. You know the rhyme.”

The ranger gave a tight smile, clearly weary. She shook off the feeling, going back into work mode. “I’m going to have to write you a warning.”

“Ma’am-”

You attempt at reconciliation was lost as Cameron pressed his hand and neck harder into you - equal points of pain rolling through. He was all bone and it hurt like hell.

“That won’t be necessary,” He leaned forward, bringing you with him. “Jan.”

“Sir, it’s policy of the park not to-”

“It’s-”

This was going all sorts of wrong.

No ear piece. This ranger. A much more aggriavted Cameron than you wanted.

Maybe this was it. Your final chance to smell the roses.

“You need to leave, now.” Th ranger said, summoning the most authority she could in her voice. Cop or not you could see her wavering.

You could also see a crowd forming. Nothing interested tourists quite like a public conflict.

“I said, no.”

“Sir!”

The ranger stepped forward, clutching what you assumed was a baton.

Cameron, ever one to see something for more dangerous than it was, though it a gun, and was quick to pull his own out.

Where else could it go than up against your head.

He held a firm choke hold, tossing you around as you showed the neely joined audience exactly what you had. It was all it took for your team to come out, their own guns blazing.

Screams. People running. Dust picking up.

You wished for the smallest deliver of flowers. No mess. No note.

This was so much worse.

You stayed strong, though. You knew there was more coming.

“All so protective of your girl when a guy sends some roses, huh?” Cameron asked Kevin and Ruzek, whipping you around to talk to both of them.

“Put the gun down.”

“Let her go.”

Now you understood why no hostage felt safe in this moment. Guns pointed at you. Words their first line of defense.

This wasn’t help, you wanted to tell Antonio. This was a placeholder for help.

“Yeah, right.” Cameron snarled. His nose inhaled your scalp, posseviley claiming you. “She smells like mine.”

Threats were repeated. Voight and Al and Jay appeared. All who was missing was your partner.

And without your partner you weren’t you.

You closed your eyes, hating this. Hating this because it wasn’t right. Antonio should be here. Having your back. Helping.

So you did what any cop would do. You proved you were than just your partner or your team or your badge.

You opened your eyes, now facing the fountain just a few rows ahead. In it you barely saw your reflection. if the image of you being held wasn’t enough to spark something, the shadowy person just past you was.

In one swift moment you hit Cameron’s instep, freed your hand, twisted his shooting hand, which caused him to fire into the fields, and threw him over your back, made him hit the ground and had you pinning him down.

The next thing you knew there was a gun, another one, pointed mere inches from his face. You didn’t need to look up the leather jacket arm to know who it was. So you didn’t. Not until Kevin stood Cameron up and Ruzek handcuffed him.

That’s when you turned to Antonio. Fell into his arms. Breathed the scent of the flowers for the first time.

He whispered encouragement to you, assuring you were fine, saying how horrible that guy would suffer.

None of it mattered. All that mattered was him. You were ready to say that after you pulled back to look at him when his eyes found the ground. With you still firmly held in his arms he reached down, a cheap connivence store bouquet of flowers in his hands.

You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escape you

“Thought this might be better than the beer. Ya know, for catching the guy.”

You accepted the gift that had fallen out of Cameron’s grasp, tilting your head. “Yeah, but you helped.”

Antonio shrugged, forcing the flowers out of your hand as he brought you closer.

“I can’t help it.”

The End.

#antonio dawson #antonio dawson x reader #antonio dawson fanfiction #chicago pd #hank voight #jay halstead #kevin altwater #adam ruzek

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 3 years

Text

(submission) The Undertow

(tws for temporary death, drowning, and separation)

The tide washes out.

False opens her eyes to a brand-new world, filled with life and color. Around her, a coral reef stretches as far as she can see. Fish dart between the branches of the reef and through the pitted rocks underfoot.

What’s odd, though, is that she’s stuck.

Something, she thinks, is very wrong. She glances down at her body, which is wrapped in the rough branches of some sort of calciferous red growth, and as much as she struggles, she can’t move, the surface rubbing against her skin.

Behind her, she hears a frenzied splashing. She can’t turn around all the way, so she shouts to whatever’s behind her.

“Get away from me!” she yells. If it’s a drowned, maybe she can scare it away. If it’s something worse...well. She wasn’t expecting a death this early in the season, but it had to happen at some point.

Luckily, it’s just a human that calls back.

“False? Where are we?” asks Stress, her distinctive voice putting False back at ease. What passes for ease when you’re stuck in a coral reef, anyways.

“I...don’t know,” False says, enunciating each syllable with careful precision, considering the options. “This is glitched, I suppose.”

False can almost see Stress’s face brighten. “Oh, shame. Well, our dear admin will have it fixed in no time, then.”

“Yeah, I’ll send him a message. Maybe he can teleport us out real quick.” She sighs. “We’re going to have to restart the world, probably. That’s annoying.” Taking out her communicator, which is only slightly waterlogged, she swipes it open and types out a quick chat to Xisuma.

<FalseSymmetry> o/

<FalseSymmetry> x we’re stuck in coral. tp please?

The two women wait. Five minutes.

“Might as well start trying to get out of here!” Stress says, her voice a note cheerier than usual. It’s forced.

False snaps out of her thoughts. “Sure.” She takes her fist and slams it down on their colorful prison. “Oof, that hurt,” she says, peering down at the spot where it made contact. “And barely a dent!”

“Guess we better get working, then,” replies Stress, who’s trying her best not to sound too downhearted.

They do. It’s not going great when Stress notices a bit of a change in their environment. “Falsie...do you think it’s possible the water might be getting the teensiest bit higher?”

False nods grimly. “Yep.”

Stress grimaces. “Oh boy. And Xisuma still hasn’t replied?”

“Nope.”

“Ah.”

A moment passes in a nervous silence while the duo continue to chip away at the coral.

“You don’t think he’s ignoring us, do you?” Stress says, a small quaver creeping its way into her quiet words.

“Of course not. He’s probably just...busy.” False stops and cocks her head. “You know. I bet if our spawn is glitched, other peoples’ might be as well.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”

A small wave washes over them. When they reemerge, coughing from the salty water, they find that Stress can no longer keep her chest above the ocean.

“This isn’t going to be a pleasant way to die, is it?” asks Stress, hands bleeding from the abrasive reef.

False shakes her head. “No. It isn’t.”

The ocean is not a kind place. It never pretended to be. The two Hermits just happened to be in its way, and that was not the ocean’s fault.

The tide rolls in, just as False’s hand finds Stress’s.

The tide washes out.

Their newly-respawned heads break the surface of the water, gasping for air. This time, they’re face-to-face, and the coral is yellow. False wonders if it’s slightly softer than the previous kind, or if she’s just imagining it. Either way. Small blessings.

Their eyes meet, and they pick up where they left off, only a touch sore. They don’t talk much this time around, except for Stress’s question about the message to Xisuma. And yes, False double-checked it was to the right person. She sends it again in the main chat.

<FalseSymmetry> anyone there lol?

Silence. On all fronts. Stress is making good progress on this new coral, until they both have to stop to fight an inquisitive drowned. Not an easy feat, but they manage, though the duo lose more hearts than False would like.

Stress manages to get a leg free and starts kicking with renewed vigor, until she’s finally out. The water is lapping at their mouths now, as Stress frantically tugs at False’s cage.

“C’mon,” Stress mutters. “We’re almost there…”

A wave knocks them both underwater, and by the time Stress resurfaces, further away from False, the blond Hermit is completely submerged.

Stress thinks that she has never swum faster in her life as she races toward False, hoping against hope that there’s somehow still time to save her.

She dives down to False, who is wriggling around frantically. She tugs against the coral, but she knows it’s too late. False lets out a scream, bubbles escaping to the surface, but points to Stress’s left. She’s confused, but she looks anyways--and the trident from the dead drowned is sitting placidly on a piece of sponge, unseen by both of them until now.

Stress pushes off the battered coral, so close to breaking, but too far, all at the same time. She scoops up the trident and swims back to False, who’s starting to slow, eyes rolling up in the back of her head. With a mighty swipe, she clears the rest of the prison, and drags the unconscious False to the shore.

Stress retches, the ocean coming out of her lungs in short bursts as she collapses on the warm sand. Next to her, False lies prone. She doesn’t know what to do. Should she put her on her side? Wait, isn’t that for drunk people?

Hopefully, False will sort it out on her own. Hopefully. In the meantime, Stress realizes that the sun is setting. She needs to get them in a shelter, ASAP. There’s no time for even wood--she just digs out a small hole in a nearby hillside, and, breathing heavily, brings False’s body into it. It just barely fits both of them, but she’s grateful to have it.

Stress can’t even think about dying again, if it means having to get out of that ocean. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to; False stirs to wakefulness sometime in the middle of the night, greeted with a motley chorus of zombie groans and drowned gurgles, plus a few others that neither of them want to try to name.

They huddle together in the small chamber, wet dirt and cold stone stealing precious body heat. When morning comes, they stay there for a little while. Neither one wants to be the first one out, but eventually False stands up, the joints in her spine cracking like fireworks. She peeks her head out, but there seems to be no imminent danger at the moment, so she cautiously ventures onto the beach from their escape. A spider lies perched in a small tree nearby, but she leaves it be. As she looks out over the glimmering water, alight with the sun’s first rays, she sees the broken branches of the coral that trapped her and Stress, waves gently carrying away the scattered shards. She watches them for a second, and as she does, the tide washes out.

The tide rolls in.

They’re so careful. Neither one of them wants to go back to the awful enclosure of stony coral and risk having to repeat the experience. Monsters are run away from, shelters are dotted around the map like flowers, and their armor has never been more prized. The duo have awful luck mining, though. They barely get enough for decent gear, but Stress reminds False that they’re lucky. Judging by the death messages that scroll through the chat like clockwork, not everyone has been as fortunate as them. And at least they have each other.

Or they did, before Stress falls into a soft bed of bone-chilling powder snow, along with a few creeper friends.

False doesn’t ever want to see that same look on Stress’s face ever again. It’s imprinted into her mind now, a mix of surprise and awful resignation.

She types out a frantic message on her communicator. It doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked for weeks now. She knows it doesn’t work, and Stress does as well. But it doesn’t stop her from imagining where her only companion is right now, sending her chat after chat, begging her to come help her escape from the watery grave.

False considers respawning. Back where Stress is. She could help her then.

False would consider herself a practical person at heart, but she has never before been in a situation like this. Hermitcraft has never had a situation like this. She considers her options, falling back against the rough trunk of an oak tree, leaves raining down on her impassive face.

<StressMonster101> drowned.

She’s taking too much time. There’s no more room for error. Only action. Rustling through her pack, stuffed to the brim now with the remains of Stress’s inventory, she realizes that she has to find a way to get these items back to Stress. If she manages to escape on her own, they can meet up halfway there, and if she doesn’t, then False will have her work cut out for her.

It’s a backtrack of nearly two weeks. False does it in four days, not stopping to rest. She wishes desperately for a saddle, but when she happens upon a meadow full of horses, she grabs the nearest one, swinging herself upward onto the back of a very unwilling participant. False doesn’t care. The horse accustoms itself to her surprisingly quickly, and though False’s legs ache from the non-stop bareback ride, she knows she’ll get to Stress sooner with it. Turns out, golden apples can make a horse go through the night.

She names the horse Salvation. Sal, for short.

The journey gives her brain too much time to think, so she doesn’t, just hangs on to the death messages in the chat. It’s gruesome, but they reassure her that Stress is even still in this horrible world.

Sometimes, there’ll be a lull in the terrible rhythm, but those never last for long.

During a quick break, she gets bored and puts a braid in Sal’s mane, then uses a few of the nearby flowers to decorate it. She doesn’t realize until she re-mounts him that they’re alliums.

The tide washes out.

When False finally arrives at their old beach, she nearly cries in relief. Instead, she screams out Stress’s name as she jumps off of Sal’s back. Stumbling into the waves, she repeats her cry, voice already starting to go hoarse.

“Stress! I’m here!” False shouts. “Stress!”

She’s up to her neck now and there’s no sign of her. Maybe she made it out. Maybe False would believe that if she hadn’t just seen her death message on her communicator.

False treads water, weaving between the elaborate natural structures that make up the reef. She’s almost about to give up when she hears a weak cough, and rounds the corner to find an emaciated Stress, hanging from the coral wrapping her body like an exoskeleton.

“Stress, Stress, I’m here,” says False, wrapping her arms around the other Hermit’s body as tears start to stream down her face. “Oh my g-d. We need to get you out of here.”

Stress looks up at her, the first sign of movement she’s shown since False laid eyes on the woman. “You came for me,” she whispers. “You really came.” Her eyes flutter shut.

The tide rolls in.

Stress wakes to a gently crying False, who’s sitting beside her on the beach. Attempting a smile, she nudges the other Hermit. “Doing alright?”

False smiles at her. “Never better.”

She lets out a whistle. “Ok, so, correct me if I’m wrong, but you managed to get here quite quickly, if you came all the way from where I left?”

“Sure did.”

“How?”

“Well, meet Sal,” False says, pointing towards the forest behind them. “He was a big help.”

Stress squeals, and she thinks she can almost feel her eyes getting bigger. “Are those flowers?” She hobbles over to the horse, latching onto his neck. “I love him!”

False laughs, and Stress thinks she’s never been gladder to hear someone do so.

“But seriously, though.” False pauses for a second. “I think he’s going to be pretty important if we’re heading towards spawn.”

Stress nods. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan. Bound to be a bigger concentration of Hermits there, right?”

“Exactly. Listen, this time we’re going to be super careful about beds. I’ll make sure we upgrade our armor as much as possible. I’ll do better--”

Stress puts a finger up to False’s lips, startling her into silence. “Nope. You did the best you absolutely could. I will have absolutely no self-blaming on this road trip.”

“Road trip?” False asks, nose crinkling.

“Absolutely.” Stress responds. “This is Hermitcraft! We’re here to have fun and make friends. And I see only one direction for that.”

“To spawn, then!” False laughs, mounting Sal and hauling Stress up after her.

“To spawn!”

The ocean watches the two ride off with mild interest. They’ll be back, after all. Sooner or later, they’ll always be back. No one can leave for long. But for now, it has other...friends to take care of, and the tide, as always, washes out.

#false #stress #submission #Hermitcraft #scattered au #mod shade #i love this so much actually #it has such good calming vibes #and #not to be one track minded or anything but #'other friends'???#:shakyeyes: impulse....

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Isolation

BIG ANGST ahead. Don’t let the fluffy start fool you. The core of the idea behind this is actually from @agent-jaselin. :)

Yesterday had been perfect. Danny had woken up on time, feeling rested. His mother had made pancakes for breakfast. No ghosts attacked. His homework was already done. He had been able to spend a lot of time with his friends and family. The weather during the day had been good, and the night had been ideal for stargazing. It was great. Wonderful.

This morning had also been good, nice and slow and soft. Danny felt more at peace than he had for a long time.

It was with a light heart and a broad smile that he left his house to go meet up with Sam and Tucker in the park. He actually skipped a bit as he walked down the sidewalk.

He caught sight of Sam and Tucker waiting near the park entrance and waved. They waved back. He picked up his pace, breaking into a jog and-

His foot didn't hit the pavement. It fell, and kept falling, and he fell after it, into a green-tinted void. He turned around just in time to see the natural portal close after him.

He groaned, then smiled wryly. Of course, he couldn't have two good days in a row. What was he thinking?

Well, this wasn't the first time a natural portal had decided to eat him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. At least exploring the Ghost Zone was always interesting. His smile perked up a little. Silver linings. Jazz would be proud.

He went ghost and looked around, trying to see if he could spot any familiar landmarks. His smile twisted into disappointment as he realized that there were no landmarks. At all. Just green, as far as his eyes could see.

Alright, maybe this wouldn't be interesting. Great.

All directions being equal... He started flying.

Lacking clock, sun, or stars, telling time was just about impossible. Still, Danny felt certain that he had been flying at nearly full speed for hours, and nothing about his surroundings had changed.

He was beginning to become concerned. What if the portal had dumped him into the Ghost Zone's equivalent of outer space? What if he was just getting farther in, farther away from home? What if he was going in circles?

Well, at least he could do something about the last one. He formed an ectoblast in his hand and coated it with ice, making himself a little ghost lantern. It would take days to burn itself out. He'd make one of these every few minutes as a sort of bread crumb trail. Then he'd at least know if he was crossing his own trail.

He let the ghost lantern go and kept flying.

Danny thought it might have been a day. Maybe even longer.

The ectoenergy here was plentiful, the ectoplasm thick, more than enough to sustain him, so long as he stayed in ghost form, but he still got tired, still needed sleep. He was beginning to feel like he usually did when he stayed up for more than twenty-four hours, but the utter blandness of his surroundings, the boredom, might have been contributing to that feeling.

Danny didn't know it was possible to be this scared and this bored at the same time. The emptiness of the place was wearing at his mind.

Falling asleep floating out in the open was, in Danny's opinion, a bad idea. He made a tiny island and igloo out of ice for himself. It wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever slept, even after he molded the ice to fit his body, but it honestly wasn't the worst, either.

He was no longer sure how long it had been since the portal deposited him in this place, but it felt like forever. Time didn't mean much here.

He was still leaving behind ghost lanterns, but now he was decorating them, just to have something to do other than fly. Starbursts were the main shape he was making, as well as ones with his name on them, just in case.

Just in case what, he wasn't sure. In case someone he knew ran across them, maybe?

That would be nice.

Danny had slept three more times since he fell through. There was no change in scenery. He had a new strategy: shouting.

His hope was that someone would hear him and come and investigate. Heck, he would settle for something coming and investigating.

He shouted for help. That he was lost.

He was so lonely.

Danny's shouts had turned into names. Not that he really thought that the people he was calling for were listening. It was just something different to do.

He would admit that he carried on conversations with them. And why not? There was no one here to hear him.

Maybe Clockwork could hear him. But Clockwork wasn't answering.

The one-sided (and rather annoyed) conversations with Clockwork had turned into begging. A lot of begging. And crying. That, too.

But maybe Clockwork couldn't hear him. What was time, in a place like this?

Nothing.

He didn't bother to make and ice house for himself. He fell asleep floating, weeping, in the void.

(He wanted somebody to save him.)

When he woke up, thin strands of something were all over his body. They were like spider silk, and extremely fragile. He brushed them away.

They were the first new thing he had seen in... he didn't know how long. It could have been weeks or months. His sleep schedule was too erratic to do any good. But they unnerved him. It couldn't have been a ghost that made them, he would have felt them come close.

It had to be something from the environment, and it couldn't be healthy.

He resolved to sleep inside from now on.

His evil future self had been able to make portals. So why not Danny?

He had no idea what he was doing.

This had to be what hell was like. Or at least purgatory. What did he do to deserve this?

Danny started talking again. This time, it wasn't to call for help, but simply to remember how to talk. How to carry on a conversation.

He pretended to be talking to Sam, to Tucker, to Jazz, to Jack and Maddie, to Mr. Lancer, even to Dash. His eternal flight took on a daydream-like quality. He imagined conversations with the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost. He congratulated them on the birth of their child. He had a conversation with Ember about her latest album, he was so excited to hear it...

He started talking to Clockwork again. Clockwork was the only one who could even possibly hear him.

Please, please, he just wanted to go home. He would do anything.

Why was Clockwork doing this? What had Danny done?

What was Danny going to do?

He just wanted to go home.

Please.

Danny decided to take the day off. It had been... It had been a long time. He was tired, and a creeping thought in the back of his head mused that, maybe, the reason no one had found him yet was because he wasn't making himself available to be found.

He built himself a house of ice. No. A castle. It was grand and beautiful, the spires tall, the dungeons deep. Fine sculptures and murals lined the walls. The halls were lit by intricate chandeliers.

He lived there for a while, and left it floating as he flew away.

'Howling mad' is not as fun as it sounds.

Danny turned over the memory of his last day on Earth over and over again in his mind. In retrospect, it was almost too good. It was like a farewell. A last gift. A goodbye.

He held on to it, tightly, anyway. He could go back to that. He could.

It was something to live for.

It had been a long time.

Danny didn't notice at first when his memories began to blur around the edges. They weren't important ones. Trivial things. Who sat where in math class. Which day of the week it had been when he first fell through. The order of the shops on main street.

But then he started forgetting names. That was unacceptable.

He started his litany again. He would not forget. He refused.

He had hope. He did. He had hope. He had hope. He had...

He was forgetting. The nothing- it did that. He made himself another house of ice, this one a perfect replica of Fentonworks, except for the colors. He made statues of his friends and family. He made constellations out of ghost lanterns, so that if he laid on the roof it almost seemed like he was looking at the night sky.

They weren't right. None of it was right. He left, quickly.

Every time he slept, he woke covered with silk. He no longer cared.

He thought about going human, about how long it would take to starve to death. Could he starve to death, even in human form?

He doubted it. He was going to be trapped here, forever.

A cage without bars or walls... He was sure Mr. Lancer had mentioned a poem or a saying like that once. He should have paid more attention in class.

He fantasized about getting hit by the boo-merang. He no longer had any hope of actually being rescued, but it would be nice to know that they had tried. That someone had looked for him. That someone had missed him.

He missed them so much. Even Dash and Vlad.

If he could just see someone, anyone... He'd even take Pariah Dark. He'd take Spectra.

Raging against the heavens was almost cathartic.

Almost.

It reminded him that no one was raging back. There was no answer to his insults, to his curses.

It would be a long time until he spoke again.

Danny drifted to a halt, slowly. All this time, flying in one direction, and still there was no change in scenery. He looked back over his shoulder. His last two lanterns were just barely in sight. Normally, he'd be making another one.

Normally. He sighed.

Since when had this become normal? How long had he been doing this?

Long enough for all his memories to fade around the edges. Long enough to lose all but the faintest ember of hope.

He tilted his head up- insofar as 'up' had any meaning in this void. He coughed, clearing his throat. "Clockwork," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse from disuse, "please. Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, and I'll do anything to make it up, just, please. Please. Let me go home. Just- Even for a minute. Please."

There was no answer. The lantern that formed between Danny's hands was misshapen and small. He let it tumble carelessly from his fingers.

He kept flying.

He did not speak again.

The silk that grew while he slept was getting thicker. He suspected, but didn't know, that he was sleeping for longer, too.

The lantern he made was huge and beautiful, a beacon that would be visible for miles and miles, even through the gloom and mists of this void. Smaller lanterns, practice runs, orbited it slowly in a mockery of a solar system. This lantern was going to be his last one.

He wasn't going to fly any more after this. He was going to go to sleep and hope that he wouldn't wake up. Not until someone found him.

Into the side of the beacon, he built a little cranny, a dark, secure place, and imbued it with enough purpose to give it the illusion of gravity. Somewhere a ghost wouldn't mind sleeping away the years.

He crawled in with a sigh. As he closed his eyes, he tried to think of his family. If he was lucky, maybe he would dream of them.

He woke, briefly, to the sensation of being touched. His eyes sprang open, a wild hope blooming in his chest.

It died almost immediately.

The thing brushing against him wasn't a loving hand or a curious ghost. It was that odd, silky residue. The strands were thicker than he had seen before, and if he had any willpower left after all this time, he would have wondered if he could have woven it into something. He'd tried before, with thinner strands, but had been unsuccessful. There had been many things he had done to stave off the boredom.

As it was, he simply went to sleep again.

Nightmares were better than being awake. Nightmares held the chance that he'd see people again, even if they were fake. Even so, that particular nightmare, seeing his friends and family die like that, was enough to jostle him awake.

Instead of green, the color that greeted his tired eyes was a dull, soft, silver. He shifted, trying to get a better look at it. Whatever it was, it was too close to his face for his eyes to easily focus on it.

Oh, it was the silk. Apparently, it had grown enough to cocoon him.

Alright, then.

His friends, his family, and his teacher... What was his teacher's name again...?

Wakefulness again. His brain buzzed with fatigue and confusion. He felt weak. Perhaps the long time he had spent in ghost form was finally catching up to him.

Whatever 'ghost form' meant. Was there another?

Green light, more than could be accounted for by his eyes, reflected off the walls of his cocoon. His eyes moved slowly, looking for the source. He found it in ectoplasm dripping off his body. No, from his body. He was melting, destabilizing, his ectoplasm pooling at the bottom of the cocoon.

Oh, well. Whatever. He had the vague impression that someone he once knew would have scolded him for the attitude, but he couldn't quite recall who.

Speaking of which, hadn't he known someone who destabilized? He couldn't remember.

There had been other people, once. He knew that. It would have been nice, to see them one last time. Or the other thing. The other thing he liked. What were they? Right. The stars. It would have been nice to see the stars. He had made some stars before, out in the void, but he couldn't see them from here.

Gooey eyelids slipped closed over his eyes.

It wasn't fair, that he should still exist enough to wake up as a puddle of ectoplasm. He didn't stay awake long.

There were sounds. He forced his eyes open. Eyes. He had eyes again. His hands came up to touch them. Hands. A body. He had a body again.

Again?

What had he had before? He didn't remember. He didn't remember anything.

Where was he? It was small and grey. He touched a silky wall. What was that sound? It was rhythmic and regular, like a heartbeat. What was a heartbeat? He put a hand over his chest. Should he have a heartbeat?

His hands... They were as dark as night. He could see stars in them, nebulae. They seemed to blend with the fabric of his sleeves, which continued the pattern. Was that normal?

On contemplation, he decided that he wanted the sound. He wanted to go to it. He rolled over in his cocoon, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. Was it bigger than before? Before what?

Here. He knocked against the side of the cocoon before digging into it with his claws. Layers upon layers of silk fell away as he tore at the side of the cocoon. He kept having to stop, to rest. He was sure he had been sleeping for a long time, but even this little bit of work felt like a marathon.

Finally, he pierced the surface. The sound became clearer. A beam of light from outside fell through the hole. He redoubled his efforts, pushing and pulling and clawing. A tear large enough for him to slip through opened up, and he sprawled out of the cocoon onto a hard surface.

A pair of hands- Not his!- picked him up and set him on his feet. A person, a man, half-floated, half-knelt in front of him. He wore a long purple robe, his skin was blue, and his eyes were red. As he watched, the man's form warped, becoming older. Behind the man floated other people.

They weren't outside. They were in a... a room. That was the word. A room.

The sound was coming from all over in the room and also from the man.

"Greetings to you, youngest of Ancients, Master of Space," said the man, gravely, his voice deep. "We congratulate you on your completion of your trial, your becoming, and welcome you to our council."

None of these words made sense. He tilted his head in confusion.

"I am Clockwork, Master of Time, eldest of Ancients."

Clockwork. He knew that name. He knew-

He took two small steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Clockwork, and fell against the older ghost.

Clockwork stayed crouching and held the small ghost that had once been Daniel Fenton until he went limp in his arms. With a small sigh, he straightened, adjusting his grip on the child, who shifted unconsciously.

"I must admit," said Pandora, drifting forward, "I had not expected his appearance to change so much. And yet... so little." She teased a strand of silver-green hair away from the little ghost's head. "He looks younger. Is he still half human?"

Clockwork nodded. "It will take time and care before that part of him can heal, however." His lips twisted as he looked down at the child curled against his chest.

"You did the right thing," said Pandora, voice pitched low. "Had he been anywhere else when he started coming into his power, the Observants would have found him and destroyed him."

Clockwork did not acknowledge the statement. He turned towards the other Ancients, who drifted closer, curious. It had been a long time since their family had welcomed a new member, and never a child.

"What shall we call him?" asked Nocturne, Master of Dreams, subtly comparing his stars to the child's.

"I think," said Clockwork, "that he will like 'Cosmic.'"

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2020 #day 22

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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Irritated 9

Short but hey at least I'm writing again.

WARNINGS: 18+ AU, Dark Adult themes, proceed with caution.

"Moving onto the most crucial point of this meeting. Due to the heavy rumors of the reappearance of the league of villains and high end nomus I need the two of you to be in..." But the rest of the conversation is drowned out by the rushing blood in the ash blonde's ears.

Teetering on the back two legs of his chair as his eyes burn holes into that damn emerald mop head who is ever present in his life.

The same dumb ass who asks questions about this meeting.

But he isn't asking the right ones.

Hell everyone seems to be avoiding the elephant in the room as they carry on normal conversation all the while the hot head grows even hotter.

The swirling rage demanding his undivided attention while his ribs echo his heart beat.

Finally he snaps, slamming down the two front legs of his chair, palms hissing as explosions ring out stunning the other two in the room.

The wood at his seat is forever charred, while yours was always neat, easy to forget as they seem to have now.

Hell even Izuku was sitting in your normal seat.

"Oi, how much longer are you two gonna act like nothing is fucking wrong?" He growls, Izuku looks away with flamed cheeks proving Bakugou's theory right.

Izuku was worried too, he was just too scared to ask.

"I don't follow."

"You lying fucker. You *do* follow. When was the last you heard form Y/N?!" He slams his phone on the table when no one answers, "Since she quit right?"

"So that makes it a whole fucking month. No one has seen her, no one has heard from her and her insta is dead." He shoves the phone in their faces. The last picture you posted was of Bakugou and Deku standing next to All Might's cut out.

"She could be on vacation." Yami counters to which Bakugou snorts.

"And she wouldn't want any dumbass pictures of the beach with an even shittier caption?" He hisses, "No paparazzi has seen her?"

"I'm sure she's been spotted."

"Where? All the tabloids question her where abouts."

"Staycation. No one knows where she lives. She was always good at that." Yami counters, nervously sipping at his coffee causing the blonde to grind his teeth.

"How is she eating if I still have her fucking card?" He slams the plastic on the table that clatters with it's own dramatic flare.

Director Yami gulps desperate for an excuse as Deku's eyes widen.

"New card." Yami shrugs making his way back to the bulletin points behind him.

"Its still active." The room is enveloped in that sweet burning sugary smell as his temper rises. He is no longer playing Mr. Nice guy.

"Activate her tracker." Its a threat and a promise all in one. Do as I say or become fuel for my explosions is everything his eyes say.

"S...she threw her bracelet at me when she resigned." Yami tries to sound direct as Izuku subconsciously fingers the metal on his own wrist.

"Yea but I doubt she did that with the one that's implanted. Pull it up Yami."

The director is stunned into silence before a burning blush creeps onto his face.

"I..." He clears his throat no longer able to hold eye contact with either party, "I don't think it will work."

"What?!" A snarl and a shocked retort echo in the room.

"What do you mean?" Another set of polar opposite tones ring out in the small stuffy place of the meeting room. Yami fishes for his phone in his pocket, pulling up the neglected app swallowing thickly as he is proved right.

The map shows no red dots. Only the hundreds of blue caused by the bracelets. He pushes the phone to the center of the table, the proximity is close enough to reactivate the trackers in the two men. Slowly two red dots flicker to life beside blue.

The third never makes an appearance.

"Why isn't hers showing?" Izuku asks, a glare beginning to weigh heavy in his jade eyes.

"If it's not checked monthly then it deactivates on it's own." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "In my defense I had seen the three of you everyday for the last few months. You guys are a PR nightmare!"

Bakugou's glare narrows in on the ignorant man who was in charge of the safety of hundreds of heroes.

He was going to be pay for his ignorance.

Izuku watches the hot head's toned arm lift, palm spread wide, realizing just in time Bakugou's intentions. He lunges for his old friend, knocking him off balance as the two of them fight. The two men struggling for dominance before the blonde comes out on top.

Literally, pinning the emerald haired man, as he raises a fist, sure to make contact with his stupid, freckled face.

He always hated this face, but you, you didn't seem to mind it.

And yet, in a sense, Deku had let you down too.

But no one let you down as much as Bakugou had. Or so he thinks, he keeps telling himself something isn't right, that he should have followed you.

Maybe even apologized.

"And fuck you too Useless Deku! Too much of a pussy to ask about your fucking friends!" He brings his fist down, aided by the power of his quirk.

Deku shuts his eyes and hope he doesn't lose too many teeth.

The punch makes contact but not with Izuku's face. Instead Bakugou's forearm is half swallowed by carpet, concrete and steel biting into his flesh. He ignores it with a growl. He rises with a growl, scarlet eyes set in determination as he blasts the door from its hinges.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The smell of damp Earth and harsh chemicals assault your nostrils as your vision rapidly fades in and out.

As if it watching an old film, images flickering by just fast enough to give it the effect of motion.

But this felt like a horror film.

And one you are staring in. Your breath comes rapid and hitched as you try to fight the silent fingers that slowly caress against your brain. Each nail numbing a part of your thought process as motion catches your eye from beneath a side door to your right.

The door open illuminating the shadow as a hiss of your bracelets pierce into your skin, injecting you with something that pulls you under faster than the figure can appear before you.

"I think I need to lower the dosage doll. I want those pretty eyes to see their new home I've built." His voice echos in the darkness before all thought is lost to you.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

In Bakugou's moment of rage a thought occured to him. One that has floated through his mind for longer than he can remember.

If he wanted something to be done right then he ought to just do it his damnself.

His strong legs carry him down the stairs and winding halls to the records room. Like clockwork the attendant had left for his smoke break at exactly six o clock.

Something Bakugou had noticed years ago and filed away as possibly important.

Just in case he needed to borrow a file without having to check it out.

And he definitely doesn't anyone to know that he may or may not be looking for you.

Because they were more than likely going to try to stop him.

The hot head knew he had a least fifteen minutes, especially since the evening receptionist smoked at this time as the quiet record keeper. The basement dwelling attendant hoping to mac on the handsome receptionist in that short time.

Bakugou was thankful for the stupidity of others for once as he slipped into the records room with the spare key that was tapped beneath the desk.

The room is vast, reeking of mildew and damage paper mixed in with stained ink. He never understood why cases and records were filed manually instead of digitally but today he was grateful for the current CEO's laziness and the former CEO's aversion to both change and technology.

Older records are kept on steel shelves stacked in brown boxes that had to date back to the seventies or eighties while the more recent files were tucked away in half rusted filing cabinets, lining the musty brick walls.

There was no method to the company's madness, the records seemed to be filed haphazardly and more or less half assed over the years by someone whose dreams of being a hero hadn't fully flickered out.

But clearly they had settled for protecting rotting paper in favor of the public.

Bakugou growls as his eyes drag along each paper plaquer none in the exact order he needs. Some even slid into the metal casing upside down.

At least that's how he finds the one labeled "new hires 20XX". His cheeks hurt from his devilish grin before he yanks one of the doors open.

Again organization is thrown to the wind as files sit out of alphabetical order.

Chaotically mingling with one another having Bakugou grind his teeth.

Finally he finds your file, tattered and coffee stained as if someone revisited it quite often. He opens the Manila folder, more than ready to commit your address and whatever other information he could gain from the thick folder before an idea strikes him.

Would anyone even notice a missing file in this mess?

Hell it had taken him almost ten minutes to find and it wasn't as if the director was concerned with your well being.

His eyes narrow at your address, wondering why you chose to live in such a run down part of town before he slips the folder into the front of his pants swiftly covering it with his shirt.

He returns to the front of the record room, quietly shutting the cage door before he takes his gloved hand to the tape.

The door to the left stairwell clangs open. Two male voices echoing in the hall.

"I...I mean that's if...if you want to meet for drinks when you g..get off."

Bakugou rolls his eyes, deft fingers adhering the key back to its home just before the other make answers.

Delight in his voice that twists Bakugou's stomach in whole, green jealousy.

"I'd love to see you later. Until then." What could be a peck on the cheek follows as Bakugou slips into the opposite stairwell.

Wondering why the hell it seemed blossoming relationships came so easily to everyone around him.

His ribs throb as a reminder that that was something he would never have the privilege to experience as your voice echos in his head.

"We were never friends."

The mineola folder suddenly feels too hot against his skin, burning even. For a second he wonders why he is even doing this.

Why he's bothering himself with finding someone that clearly doesn't care for his company. He thinks to himself that he will just place the folder in his desk, that he'll abandon the notion of being a sleuth and return to his hot headed no fucks given ways.

But you whisper in his head once more with a weak, sleepy tone.

"Please stay, Katsuki."

Strengthening his resolve to find you once more.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha au #bnha angst #bakugou angst #bakugou au #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo x you

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 4)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends

Chapter Rating: M (Language, Mild Violence)

Word Count: 7,699

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

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Shit, shit, shit. Of course this would happen; a ghost attack two days in a row. Danny's luck was continually getting worse. Maybe someone cursed him. He should ask Sam about that.

She'd probably know.

The soft soles of his sneakers smacked against the linoleum floor as he ran. The halls were deserted, thank God. The likelihood of the alarm being pulled was reduced by at least a little bit.

First thing's first: he had to get the thermos from his locker. He transformed as he ran, the cold passing over him. He felt lighter, leaning forward into flight and zipping through the halls. He put on the brakes as he reached his locker, pushing an intangible hand through the metal to retrieve the thermos.

Energy buzzed through him, filling his ears with its dull roar. It was like adrenaline, pulsing through him, ectoplasm bursting to life to supply his core with power.

It was a familiar feeling—a sensation that used to leave him shaky and weak in the knees but now, he felt it sharpen his mind—power roiling underneath his skin, begging to be released.

Which ghost was crashing the party this time?

"I am the Box Ghost!" Echoed down the hall from around the corner.

Danny's shoulders slumped, and his head lolled back. Seriously? The Box Ghost? He heaved a sigh. Whatever; at least it'd be over quick.

Hopefully.

He flew down the hall and rounded the corner, coming face to face with the self proclaimed "Ruler of Boxes" and "all Square Shaped Containers".

"Why not make this easier on both of us and just surrender for once?"

"I will not do that! Never will the might of the Box Ghost quiver before a simple teenager!" He shook his fist like he was in some cheesy play.

Danny had to focus on not crushing the thermos in his hand like an empty soda can. At this point he had to wonder if the Box Ghost just did this because he was board. Ha, get it? Like cardboard? Bored?

...Nah, that needed more work. He was running out of puns for Boxy at this point. It'd been two years for fuck's sakes.

"Fine. The hard way then. Let's at least move to a more appropriate arena." Danny sprang to action. He flipped forward, bringing his heel down on top of Boxy's head. The force of the kick slammed the ghost straight down through the floor with a cry of surprise. Luckily he'd gone intangible so there wasn't a gaping hole in the floor of the hallway.

Danny wasn't some weak fourteen year old anymore, and if the Box Ghost thought he was going to hold back, he was grossly mistaken. He was having a shitty day, and ghost fights were always the perfect way to blow off steam.

Danny went intangible and followed Boxy down through the floor and into the basement of the school.

The Box Ghost was lying dazed in a small crater of broken concrete as Danny bared down on him. He somersaulted, aiming to slam feet first in the center of his foe. The Box Ghost yelped and went intangible just in time to avoid getting smashed further into the cement foundation. It shook the ground and sent cracks spider webbing several feet from the point of impact.

Boxy rolled away, and Danny had to dislodge his foot from the ground, floating above the rubble. He clipped the thermos to his waist, and pushed energy into the palm of his hand. An ecto-blast hissed and illuminated the dark underbelly of the school in green. The ecto-blast felt like a caged animal in his hand, a nocked arrow quivering against its string in anticipation of being shot.

The Box Ghost scrambled into a floating position himself, and flung an arm in front of him.

"Fear the wrath of… A—Ama… The Amazon?" Following his gesture, a wave of glowing Amazon boxes flew towards Danny. He kept a firm hold on the wild energy, focusing it to a single point and letting it go as a laser rather than a single blast. The beam sliced through the boxes like butter. Danny went intangible as the remnants of the boxes and their contents scattered past and through him, carried on by the inertia.

Whoever took care of the school supply budget probably wouldn't be too happy about that. Whoops.

The Box Ghost grunted with effort and sent more levitating boxes hurling at Danny.

Danny lifted his hand, palm flat. Instead of forcing the energy outward like a projectile he guided it to take shape in the air. A shield spread out in front of him, a wide, flat disk of swirling caustic green. The boxes slammed up against it with no hope of weakening its integrity. Danny rolled his eyes.

He was getting detention for this?

Boxy moved again, trying to come in from the right side with more boxes.

Danny abandoned the shield, dropping to the ground and ducking. The side swipe of cardboard whipped above his head but left him untouched. He shot into the air, rocketing towards his most annoying enemy.

Boxy tried to reel back, get out of range, but Danny was too fast. He caught the side of the other ghost's face in a right hook. The power behind it sent the ghost sailing to the left and into a giant fuse box on the wall. It had already been dim in the basement, but the damage to the electrical box plunged them into total darkness. And with it probably the whole school.

Dammit.

The only light came from the cold glow of their bodies. Danny watched the Box Ghost peel himself off the wall. He glared at Danny with fire in his eyes and with a scream he flung himself back into the fight.

It was like fighting a human. Seriously; Dash hit harder. And Valerie harder than that. Then again, with her suit Danny didn't think it really counted, calling her power equal to a human's.

Danny dodged blow after blow, slipping past the ghosts wide swings and clumsy blasts. He was hardly breaking a sweat. He'd fought the Box Ghost since he was fourteen, at this point he could do it in his sleep.

Boxy let out a frustrated cry and tackled Danny, gloved hands gripping him by the shoulders with a vice like grip. The two of them tumbled backwards, flipping end over end in the air a few times. Anger flared in the pit of Danny's stomach.

"Get the hell off me!" Danny tensed his lower body, coiling up and then snapping like a taut rubber band. He kicked the Box Ghost with a force that would have shattered ribs if ghosts had any. He followed it up with a blast that caught Boxy in the shoulder and sent him spinning away.

"I will not be defeated again by you, Phantom. I'll have your respect and then all of Amity Park's." Boxy sent box after box hurdling at Danny.

It felt like some sort of mini-game, blasting the glowing boxes out of the dark air one after the other. They exploded in flashes of green, cardboard pieces littering the ground, smouldering with red embers.

"Why don't you pick fights with someone more on your level." Boxy was floating closer to the ground, unsteady, and Danny could tell he was spent. He floated down towards him, clenching his hand into a fist and extinguished the burning ecto-energy.

"I'm not in the mood for this anymore. You're pissing me off." The temperature of the air plunged, and his words fogged from his mouth. "Go back to the Ghost Zone, Box. Before I make you." His words were rigid with the threat. He loomed over the Box Ghost, the blue glow of ice building in his hand.

The other ghost held his gaze at first, before it faltered and flashed with fear. Boxy knew he was no match for him, he could see it in the Box Ghost's eyes. As delusional as he was, or pretended to be, he knew.

The Box Ghost turned and fled, holding his wounded shoulder as he shot through the ceiling.

The threat was gone. The space fell silent, but Danny remained rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. His breath clouded the air in front of him in short shallow puffs. The blackness of the room vibrated like white noise around him.

He still felt like a coiled spring, a trap ready to slam shut. He had to go back, he knew he did. Face the screeching music that was his fucked up life.

Was this really it for him? To get detention, to fail classes, to always be in danger? To be pushed around, called a loser by people who barely even fucking knew him? Risking his life for people who didn't give a shit? People that spit in his face the next day? Was he destined to be alone? To never be enough? To be something he couldn't change? Something his parents would never fucking love?

Emotion swelled in his throat, constricting his breathing. He was shaking but not from the cold. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He screamed and fired a blast of ice with everything he had at the nearest wall.

The impact rattled the room and felt like it shattered the air itself. There was the harsh sound of creaking metal at different points all across the room.

He dropped to the ground, his hands coming up to fist in his hair, chest heaving. He stared at nothing, listened to nothing. If time stopped he wouldn't have known it. All he knew was that his chest ached and his head was pounding.

He still had energy. So much sometimes he felt like there was an ocean inside him, sloshing and raging. When he first got his powers, he had gotten worn out in ghost form so easily.

But the numbers and his parents' ghost equipment didn't lie. The more he fought, the more he grew, the stronger he got.

He hated it. What if one day he woke up to find he'd destroyed everyone and everything he ever cared about? Even after everything he'd done, everything Clockwork had done, was Dan still his future?

The sound of the basement door creaking open made Danny freeze. Reality snapped back into place as the rays of a flashlight caught him in its beam. He must have looked like a deer in the headlights, wide eyes snapping up to the person coming down the stairs.

"P—Phantom? That you?" Danny knew that voice. It was Rob, Casper's custodian. He was probably here to check the breaker box. He was a sweet old guy who sang to his dead wife when he thought no one was in the halls. She followed him around, a meek and quiet spirit, hardly visible and with no obsession other than standing next to the love of her life.

Danny winced, glancing around at the sorry state of the place. This wasn't the first disaster he'd left for the poor guy to try and clean up and it wouldn't be the last. He never seemed to hold a grudge though. Especially after the time Danny stopped Bertrand from eating him alive.

Danny held a hand up to shield his eyes from the flashlight. "Yeah. Sorry," he croaked. He floated back up into the air a few feet.

"What— what the devil happened in here, sonny?" He moved the flashlight from the huge crater in the floor, to the cardboard strewn ground, and the huge pile of ice on the opposite wall. But it didn't stop there; Danny watched as Rob's flashlight illuminated pipes all over the room covered in a thick layer of frost, some of which looked like they'd burst at the seams, the water that gushed out having frozen. They looked like some sort of cave feature or icicles formed in freezing rain.

"Ghost," was all Danny could muster.

Rob frowned and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. "An' why's everything frozen? Feels damn near twenty below in here."

Danny smiled weakly at that. It probably was.

He didn't answer, just drifted up through the ceiling, his tail following after him in a gentle streak.

The halls were dark, but not empty. He turned invisible as he emerged and glanced at a clock. It was around the time sixth period let out. He'd been down there longer than he thought.

He sighed, making a girl start and look around.

He bobbed towards the chem room, hoping to snag his stuff without Mrs. Merriweather seeing one Danny Fenton, who was probably in a heap of trouble. He poked his head into the classroom. It was mostly cleared out, a few stragglers still cleaning up their lab equipment. The class wasn't as dark as the halls were, the huge windows letting in daylight.

Mrs. Merriweather was sitting at her desk, organizing papers with a pinched look on her face. He stuck close to the wall as he slunk towards his seat, third table from the front. His stuff was still exactly the way he'd left it.

He reached for his book, turning it invisible as soon as his fingers brushed its surface. Danny tucked it into the corner of his arm, and went for his binder next. He lifted it, strangling back a swear as it sent his pencil rolling off the table. He lunged for it, but missed. It clattered and bounced against the hard floor. He cringed as everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look.

Nice one. He'd been like this for how long now and he couldn't even manage to pick up three things unnoticed? Idiot.

Mrs. Merriweather stood up from her desk and walked over, brows furrowed behind her coke-bottle glasses. He made himself intangible, floating backwards and holding his breath. Merriweather stooped down to pick up the pencil, examining it, and then looking down at the now empty table. He pleaded silently that she would just shrug and think nothing of it like a shitty video game character AI.

The other students had already gone back to their own business, eager to get out of class. Merriweather lingered, a hand going out to touch the place his stuff had been piled.

Shit.

She looked up and around the room, her eyes sliding harmlessly over his invisible form, none the wiser. She glanced towards the door and then back to the pencil in her hand. She snorted, clenching the pencil in her fist and went back to her desk, her heels clicking on the floor.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, wiping away cold sweat from his forehead. That was way too close. He really needed to get his shit together.

Danny glided towards the white board, sinking through the wall into the next classroom. He kept going straight, headed for the nearest bathroom. At this point he knew exactly where every bathroom and supply closet was in the school from any direction and through any wall. He probably knew more about the inner workings of the place than the people who'd built it.

The restroom was pitch black, no outside windows or skylight to let light seep in. He floated near the ceiling, listening for any sign that someone else was still in there. There was only the distant clamour from outside.

Satisfied the coast was clear, he touched down softly in a stall, and let the warmth of his human side surge inside him. He closed his eyes against the blinding light of his transformation. Slowly the sensations of being human came back to him, the heaviness of gravity pulling on his limbs. The general ache of having a physical form.

He swayed on his feet, slumping against the stall wall for support as tiredness hit him like a train. It was all catching up to him: the exhaustion, the hunger, the sharp pain pushing at the back of his eyes. He should have eaten more at lunch

His ghost half didn't suffer much from lack of sleep or food. He had his core and the surplus of ectoplasm and didn't have to feel how heavy and shaky his body was. How fragile. How weak.

Danny stayed like that for a few seconds, mentally preparing himself to leave, for people to see him.

When he'd built up the nerve, he walked out. Like always, he went to his locker. Sam and Tuck were waiting there for him.

"Box Ghost?" Sam asked, amusement coloring her voice. But when she looked at him closer, her face fell. Worry was a familiar look on her. "Are you okay, Danny? What happened?"

"Yeah, you look like shit dude."

"Gee, thanks." Danny stood in front of his locker and dropped his forehead against its cool metal surface with a thunk. He hadn't been ready to come out after all. Weirdly, he wished he was back down in the basement, where it was cold and quiet and he wasn't under anyone's scrutiny.

"It was just the Box Ghost though, right? He's all the scanner picked up. Well, other than you, obviously," Tucker said.

Danny didn't answer right away. Instead he closed his eyes, focusing only on the place where his head pressed against his locker. He took a deep breath. Tried to get his mind to stop whirling. He just had to push through it like he always did.

A hand on his shoulder, rubbing up and down slowly, reassuringly. He turned his head and opened an eye to see Sam looking at him. Her eyes were troubled and a frown tugged at the corners of her bold purple lips.

"Did the power outage have anything to do with the fight?" Sam asked.

"It's fine guys. Promise. Just Boxy. We played the game, I kicked his ass, he went home with his tail tucked between his legs." He shrugged and leaned away from his locker. He started spinning the padlock. Sam removed her hand.

Danny put the thermos on his shelf and forced a laugh. "Yeah, uh… Kinda punched Boxy into the breaker box. Like, really really hard. The thing is probably so fucked."

"Dude, nice! Hopefully they'll release us early because of—"

"There you are, Fenton."

It wasn't Dash, but Danny still stiffened. He turned to see Wesley Weston storming up to them. Even in the dim emergency lights, he'd know that stupid redhead anywhere.

"What the fuck, dude? Where the hell were you?"

Danny grimaced. Great, just what he needed. Another person on his case. "Uh, the bathroom?" Playing dumb was the easiest, most effective option. Sam and Tucker turned towards Wesley, a barrier of sorts between them.

"For like twenty minutes? Yeah, right, like I'd believe that." He glanced at Sam and Tuck, before his gaze landed back on Danny, eyes like flint. "I'm onto you," Wesley spat. For a second those words made his heart skip. "You ditched class just so you didn't have to do the stupid lab, didn't you?"

Oh thank God.

Danny said nothing, looking off to the side before looking back at Wesley. He was going for nervous, sheepish even, as if he'd been caught. It seemed to work. Wesley growled in frustration.

"Unbelievable. What's even the fucking point of skipping? Not like you can use the shit anyway, I'm the one that has to do everything." Wesley adjusted his grip on his books to rub his temples. "Listen, okay? I'm not thrilled to be stuck as your lab partner either. But unlike you, I'm not an asshole and I wouldn't just fuck off and leave you high and dry. So don't do it to me, got it? Great." Before any of them could say anything, Wesley Weston turned and walked off.

They all stared after him.

"Holy shit, what the hell's his problem?" Sam asked.

"No clue, but that dude's definitely got some major issues, man," Tucker said.

Danny shook his head. He didn't have the energy to deal with this. "Come on, let's get to class. I wanna go home."

***

They ended up getting released forty minutes early. The breaker box was beyond simple repair, which meant the whole building was without power until tomorrow at least. There was also the burst pipes. Danny told himself he shouldn't feel guilty, but he did anyway.

He got home and made his way up to his room, dropping his bag to the floor by his desk with a thud. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at his bag. His head was static. Without thinking, he pulled out his desk chair and rifled in his bag, pulling out whatever the fuck homework he grabbed first.

Ugh.

Algebra.

Whatever.

All he needed to do was put the pencil to the page. Just that. The first thing. Write his goddamn name. He knew that one, right? His eyes skipped down the page to the first question. The black text stood out boldly from the bleach white computer paper it was printed on. The numbers and letters swam in front of his eyes as he tried to make heads or tails of what the hell it wanted him to do. The longer he looked the harder it was to keep his mind on homework.

He wondered if the Box Ghost had listened and gone home. He hoped so, he had enough to worry about with the new ghost he'd failed to track down yesterday. With any luck she'd gone back too. It reminded him that he still had to empty that big cat ghost from the thermos back into the Ghost Zone. It wasn't anywhere near full capacity, but it was risky to carry around a ghost or keep one in his locker for extended periods. His eyes fell to the gleaming metal cylinder poking out from his bag. He would do it now, but his parents were down in the lab, probably working on their newest paper on the ghost threat level. He really didn't want to have to face the fifth degree for where, how and why he'd caught a ghost.

He stared back down at his homework. The same question stared back, taunting him. He scribbled down the equation, hoping it'd click if it was in his own handwriting. He gazed at the mix of rigid and heavy left-slanted variables of the expression in his writing. He still had no clue what to do next. That was fucking pointless.

He groaned in frustration, resting his elbows on his desk and holding his head in his hands.

Why did math have to be so fucking hard?

Ugh, fuck it. He'd just cheat off Sam's homework tomorrow.

Like always.

He leaned back in his chair, hanging his head back to look up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers stuck to his ceiling. A smile worked it's way to his face as he looked at them. The memory of the first stars to decorate his ceiling came to mind.

He was six and his Dad helped put them up. His parents knew how much he loved space, and even if it wasn't ghosts, they wanted to nurture his love for science. His Dad had hoisted him up on his shoulders, giant hands around Danny's ankles to keep him steady as he slapped the stars up with reckless abandon. He remembered bouncing around on his bed in anticipation of turning the lights off to see them glow.

He fell asleep under the stars for the first time that night.

These weren't the same stars. The original ones lost their glow after the years, pale green outlines that stopped sticking and fell down one by one in the middle of the night.

For his fourteenth birthday, Jazz bought him another pack. He hadn't put them up right away, lost under a pile of gifts, and forgotten in the bustle of summer fun and then starting high school a few months later.

Then he had his accident. Everything was different then. If he didn't have time to put them up before, he definitely didn't after he took on the role of Protector of Amity Park.

It wasn't until Danny was laid up in bed after defeating Pariah Dark, and Jazz took it upon herself to tidy up his room that she found them stuffed into one of his desk drawers. She hid them from him and excused herself to do some studying.

A few days later she returned, excited as could be with a gift in her hands. She dropped it onto his lap, and dismissed him when he tried to object to deserving a gift. He tore the wrapping paper off an clearly recycled shoe box. Upon lifting the lid he saw the bright glowing green stars. The light wasn't that of cheap glow in the dark plastic. It was radiant and bright, it almost looked like… He looked up at her, confused and delighted.

Jazz jumped at the chance to explain. She told him how she'd recruited the help of Sam and Tucker and a bit of their parents' technology to fabricate new glow-in-the-dark stars. Special ones, made especially to activate in the presence of ecto-energy. She excitedly reported that because they were powered by the nearest source of ectoplasmic energy, aka him, they would always glow, never fade.

Jazz would totally lie when asked and claim that he had started to cry, but what did she know? He was just squinting because they were bright. Crying? Not him.

Danny had been going crazy with nothing to do. He grinned, and tried to push himself up, wincing from the pain and dizzy from the effort. Jazz had put a hand on his shoulder and told him to tell her where to put them, and she would do it.

A few minutes later Jazz was standing on his desk chair, holding a star between her fingers, moving a few inches left to where he pointed.

He had his constellation map unfolded on his lap. She was placing the final star of Leo. With the help of his sister and under his direction, his ceiling and walls became a map of the stars. They only had room for his favorites though, Virgo was by his closet, Orion above his bed, Ursa Major by his door and Aries next to Leo adjacent to his desk. Jazz snagged three from the box and said it was about time Sam, Tucker and her had a fool-proof way to tell if he was sneaking into their rooms. Bed-ridden as he was at the time, there was little he could do but let it go. It would be harder to prank his friends sure, but it made him feel better. His friends had a "ghost sense" of their own in the form of a little star stuck to the wall in their rooms.

The memory felt warm in his chest as he stared up at the faintly glowing stars. He spun his chair in circles, stopping only when he felt dizzy. The stars glowed far brighter when he was Phantom or he used his powers, but all it took was a little practice and he learned how to brighten and dim them however much he wanted.

The buzzing of his phone inside his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. At first, he thought it was just a message in the groupchat—Tucker sharing a meme or something. But it kept going; a call, then. Danny reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The screen was lit up with an in-coming call from "Know-it-All". Danny smiled. Think of the Devil and she shall appear. He accepted the call, putting it up to his ear.

"Sup, Harvard."

"Danny!" Her voice was warm and full of life. She sounded happy. "I wanted to call and see how my baby brother was doing."

Danny snorted. "Oh you know, same ol', same ol'." He got up and closed his bedroom door. The line was quiet for a second.

"You sound tired, Danny. Have you been sleeping? Before I left, we had a talk specifically about the detriments to health caused by a lack of sleep."

Danny plopped back into his desk chair and gave it a spin. "Jeez, Jazz. Chill out, I know."

"Knowing and doing are two different things, Danny."

He couldn't fault her for caring. It was nice. In an annoying sister way. Still, discomfort prickled over his skin whenever people worried about him. He was fine.

"What about you? All settled into the big college life?"

Her voice went up an octave, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Oh, God, Danny. It's everything I hoped for and more! The library is huge and there's so much information and so many clubs! Believe it or not, there's actually a ghost and paranormal science club."

"Did you join it?"

"You kidding? You're talking to the new vice president, mister."

Danny chuckled. "Coulda guessed. How's your roommate? She hasn't tried to kill you yet, has she?" Danny pushed on the floor to continue the chair's turning.

"Why, pray tell, dear brother, would she want to kill me?"

"I don't know, prolly 'cause you're like the most annoying person ever." Over the past two years Jazz and him had really "grown and moved past the hurt feelings". That's how she phrased it, anyway.

"Meeean! Come on, I'm not that bad."

"Okay, agree to disagree. Have you psychoanalyzed her yet?"

"Danny!" She chided. "I can't believe you!" She was silent for a second. "Of course I have. Abandonment issues and most likely an anxiety disorder."

Danny's laugh came easy this time. Same old Jazz. He hoped she never changed.

"Damn, sounds serious, have you recommended that she get help yet?"

Jazz giggled. "I do have some tact, you know. I'm going to wait until we've known each other at least a month for that."

"Totally, don't wanna scare her off too soon."

"Exactly!"

The line dipped down into a staticky silence. Jazz cleared her throat.

"What about you? Any new friends added to your trio to take my place?"

"Psh, now you really do sound crazy."

"Danny, I mean it! Having a support network is really important, and don't get me wrong Sam and Tucker are great, but they can only do so much."

"Like anyone in that place would ever be seen with me in broad daylight unless they have to."

Jazz sighed. It was her "disappointed"/"you have to grow up someday" sigh.

Danny pushed a hand through his hair. "Listen, if it makes you feel any better I have made a new mortal enemy. So I'm feeling pretty good about that, a lot of potential there."

"Danny, why on earth would that make me feel better?"

"I dunno, because I'm gaining life experience? Well, half-life experience. Heh."

"I just don't know what to do with you." Danny could hear the smile in her voice. "So, how'd you make this new enemy?"

Danny groaned. He dropped his leg and caught the ground with his foot, the residual momentum of the chair tugging at him in protest. He stood and took the two steps to his bed. Danny let himself fall onto the mattress. His sheets smelled like fabric softener, and a mix of warm smells that he could only describe as "sleep".

"We're lab partners in chemistry. He's some jock B-lister guy and he hates me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know, could be the fact that he marched up and called me an asshole right to my face today, or that from day one he saw how everyone else treated me and decided to jump on the bandwagon."

Jazz made a small sympathetic sound. "Oh, Danny, I'm sorry."

Danny pressed his face into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. The last thing he wanted was pity. Especially from Jazz. He was fine. Really, this was no different to any other year.

"It's fine," he mumbled, lifting his head from his pillow. "It's not like I suddenly care what people think. Guy's just a dick."

Before Jazz answered, the sound of someone talking to her filtered through. Danny couldn't quite make out what was being said.

"No, it's fine. I'll walk with you," Jazz said, her voice muffled. Her voice returned: "My roommate just got back, I've gotta go, but we're not done talking about this, alright?"

They absolutely were.

"Yeah, Jazz. Have fun going wherever you're going."

"We're walking down to get dinner. Which, speaking of! Make sure to eat dinner, okay? I love you."

"Ew."

"Danny."

"Uuuughhh. Okay, fine, I… I love you too."

She laughed, the line beeped, and then she was gone. It left an empty space in the room, in the house. Danny was no stranger to cold, it was part of him. But the past month had been a different kind of numbing ice. The sight of her door left sitting ajar at the end of the hall, knowing there was nothing but a dark lifeless room concealed within. It was an echo, a ghost in it's own right. An unyielding wall and even he had no way through. He thought he'd be glad to get her out of his hair. He didn't expect the jagged and torn space she'd left behind.

Danny wasn't used to missing anyone but himself.

He pushed out a breath, and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyelids. He didn't want to think about it.

Danny left his phone on his bed, and went down to see what Mom was making for dinner.

***

Danny stared up at the ceiling. The ecto-stars, as Sam called them, shed a constant soft green from their places in a sea of black above him. Ghosts loved three AM, for whatever reason it was always the time they liked to attack. Then again, there wasn't really a sense of time in the Ghost Zone, so it made sense that attacks happened at any time.

But tonight was quiet. There had been no chill up his spine, no ghost sense to pull him from the emptiness of sleep. So he was just staring, trying his best to not think about what happened at school. If Sam and Tucker would have been around maybe he wouldn't have lost it like that... Or maybe he would have and he'd have had to deal with the worry saturating their expressions, the fear on the edges of their words. Fear that they couldn't help him, couldn't save him. They would have made him come home, called Jazz and told her about what happened.

His sister doubling as his therapist was a conflict of interest, but he didn't dare tell her he felt that way. She was just trying to help, to be useful. They all were.

Tossing and turning, fighting his covers, flipping his pillow around to the cool side—nothing helped. He checked the time. 3:29.

Great.

Frustration ate away at him as the minutes pressed on, unforgiving and slow. It was torture, listening to his own sluggish heart beat. He was sweating, the back of his pajama shirt stuck to his damp skin. His room didn't feel as cold as it normally did.

He laid there until he felt like punching something. That's when he flung his covers aside with a growl. He forced himself up and trudged over to his door, leaving his room. He closed his door behind him, figuring he'd just phase back in whenever he'd decided to give sleeping another shot.

He meandered to the bathroom, rubbing a hand over his face. The door creaked gently as he pushed it open. He didn't flip on the light. The ambient brightness from the night light down the hall was more than enough. Another perk to being half-ghost: extraordinary night vision.

The water hissed as he turned it on and he cupped his hands underneath the cold stream. He splashed the water into his face, the sensation jarring him from his frustration and demanding his full attention. The water overflowed from his hands and ran in trails down the backs of his hands, following the downward slope of his forearms and dripping off his elbows.

He looked up at his reflection in the mirror. Rivulets of water dripped off his eyebrows and ran down over his flushed cheeks like tears. His hair stuck out at odd angles—a mess from not bothering to dry it before he went to bed. He raked his fingers through it, trying to get it to sit normally and not hang in his eyes. His bangs stuck to his forehead and against his temples, whether it was slick with water or sweat at this point he didn't know.

He leaned forward against the sink, examining the dark bags underneath his eyes. He looked about how he felt.

Shitty. Real shitty.

He yanked a fluffy hand towel down from the hook and pressed it to his face, dabbing off the water. He dried his hands next, then started to wipe his forearms. He dragged the towel over the skin of his right arm and moved to do the same to his left before he froze mid-way. His eyes were fixed to the usually covered skin of his forearm.

He could see them, he realized belatedly.

The wandering forked scars that snaked up his arm.

He set the towel down slowly and reached over to run his fingertips over them, entranced. The raised, ugly skin detailed the exact path the electricity had taken as it tore through his body. A single second in time tattooed permanently on his skin. The scars were lighter— a bit less visible in his human form as opposed to when he was Phantom. But still there nonetheless.

His breath stuck in his throat. The air was sticky. His stomach clenched and a wave of dizziness crashed through him. The room spun at the edges of his peripheral vision and he felt like he was being shoved through the Fenton Ghost Catcher. Like he was overshadowing himself, and as he pulled away he was forgetting what it was to occupy a body.

A pervasive numbness took up the space he'd previously been a part of. There was a soft pillowy comfort in the disconnect. He blinked down owlishly at his arm, like it wasn't his and he didn't recognize it. His hand moved and he traced the scar, up and down, faintly aware of the memories banging at the back of his consciousness like someone trapped under ice. It was muffled and distorted, the sound of someone screaming and a dryness in his throat.

Seeing them— the scars— It… It…

A deafening crack filled his head and his vision with white. The pain seared through him, consuming every nerve in its path. His heart seized in his chest, held hostage to the electricity overriding the signals of his brain. It was tearing him apart—It was hurting him—killing him, killing him, killing him.

Danny stumbled back, his back slamming into the wall and snapping him back into the present moment. His chest was heaving, his throat tight. His hands trembled and his eyes darted down. He half expected to see the cold steel of the lab's floor underneath his feet and feel Sam's hands slip through his vaporous form.

His heart beat so hard it hurt. With every pound it felt like needles were being pushed through his skin from the inside out. It ached, raw and unable to ignore. Zings of faint electricity zipped up his arm and across his chest.

Danny's knees shook and he slid down the wall. He choked back something that felt like a sob and he kicked the bathroom door closed before pulling his knees up to his chest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Why the fuck did he do that? He knew better than to look, to linger on anything that—

Fuck.

He felt hot, like he was burning up on the inside. Shaking, he tried to reach for his core, to offer a path for the energy to flow. He wanted it to be cold, it had to be cold. The cold felt nice, the cold was safe. Cold didn't burn or thrash, it was slow and steady and everything the electricity wasn't.

He tried to coax the cold forward, convince the space around him to change with nothing more than his own will. It hurt, it felt like dragging himself through broken glass trying to get the phantom pains to fade into cool relief.

He huddled against the wall, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his sweatpants. His eyes stung and the breath in his throat stuttered painfully on every inhale.

The worst part of it was he had no one to blame but himself.

People at school assumed his switch to hoodies and long sleeve shirts was because Sam had finally gotten to him and turned him goth. The truth was: he hid his scars the way any other kid did.

He waited until the pain felt dull and distant and the air felt sharp. He tipped his head back, tired eyes roaming across the bathroom before landing on the frosted over mirror.

Two breakdowns in one day, huh? Not his personal record by any means, but it had been several months since he'd had one... So. That had to count for something, right?

Slowly, carefully, he started to reign back the cold in the room. When he stopped shaking, he pulled himself to his feet, a hand against the wall for support in case his knees buckled. He didn't wanna be in the bathroom anymore, it felt too small and confined. Danny had figured out one too many times in the Fenton thermos had a tendency to cause claustrophobia.

He opened the door and shuffled out into the hall, the cuffs of his sweatpants whispering across the carpet. His thoughts carried him past his room. Maybe a snack would help, or going for a quick flight around town.

He was debating it, when another idea murmured from the back of his mind. He started down the stairs, floating over a few of the steps that he knew creaked. The house was silent, his parents asleep. He walked through the dark living room, then the kitchen, bare feet padding over the cold tile.

He found himself at the top of the stairs, staring down into the dark basement. It was funny, basements were supposed to be scary. It was like his parents heard that and had to one up everyone else. "Oh, you have a basement where the light flickers and rusty nails poke up from the floorboards? Creepy! We have a portal to the literal dimension of the dead and ghosts crawl out about every twelve hours!" Hollywood would have a field day with their family if they heard about Amity Park.

Danny walked down the stairs, the metal cool and familiar. The lab was dark, the control terminal against the wall the only light.

The portal was closed.

He stood in the center of the lab, looking at the imposing octagonal outline in the dark. Even after so long, it still inspired wonder in some deep part of him. It made him feel like a kid.

He walked up to the control terminal, pressing his thumb into the biometric security pad. With a whirr the security system accepted his input and with a heavy mechanical sound the portal doors slid open.

Green light flooded into the lab, bathing every surface in its shifting toxicity. Danny took a few steps back, taking in the portal and its marbled surface. He looked at it like he was indulging, doing something he shouldn't.

The spike of ecto-energy in the room was almost palpable. He could feel it buzzing against his skin, floating in the air like static electricity.

Carefully, Danny lowered himself to the floor and sat down. He sat and basked in the light of the portal, the hum, the lurching and swirling.

Visiting a gravesite was a sacred thing, it was someone's place of eternal rest.

But ghosts proved that not everyone was at rest. Danny certainly wasn't, but that was pretty evident, he was still technically living after all.

Whenever he felt… disconnected like earlier, he liked to come down and visit the portal. It helped remind him exactly who he was. What he was.

It was like a tether, a point of reference. It was grounding for Danny; as much a reminder he was alive as he was dead.

The portal killed him... but it also brought him back.

The Phantom part of him saved his life. He wondered if that's why his obsession was what it was; saving others because he wouldn't wish the experience of death on anyone. It was both his obsession and his responsibility. He was the reason the portal worked, and he'd be damned if anyone else paid with their life for his mistake.

Sam still blamed herself. How could she not? He could see it in her eyes when she looked at him, the guilt squirming in their depths.

But he didn't blame her, and he figured as long as it stayed that way, eventually Sam would forgive herself.

If anything, he blamed himself for being curious, for being the son of the Fentons, for every time someone got hurt on his watch.

Danny watched the mirage of the portal, finding shapes in the swirls like a child looking at clouds.

He did it until his eyelids grew heavy, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slowly bleeding away.

Too lazy to walk, he floated up through the ceiling and into his bedroom. The stars brightened at his proximity, before dimming again when he stopped using his powers. He crawled back into bed and shut his eyes. Sleep came to him gently, pulling him down, and down and down...

#danny phantom fanfiction #Danny phantom #wesley weston #Sam Manson #tucker foley #phanfic #frigid chapter 4 #my writing #frigid #Danny fenton

24 notes · View notes

aria-i-adagio · 3 years

Note

5,10, 14,20 please!

Gracias! I’m guessing this is from the OTP asks and for Anders/Hawke. Hope it is.

10) What scares them about entering a relationship?

Heheh.

Anders, of course, is convinced that being with him will likely get Hawke killed. Or that Hawke will decide that he’s a monster who is unworthy of being loved.

Adrian gets intensely attached to people. (Anxious attachment style.) He’s deeply afraid of getting into a relationship only to lose another person he loves.

14) What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good news. They’re both idiots, but they’re both touch-starved idiots. Asking for it probably isn’t a problem.

Adrian is also very much a “I found this thing I thought you’d like/made me think of you, here is it. Do you like it? Please like it.” kind of guy.

20) When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

With Anders canonical default endearment being ‘my love’, there’s plenty of evidence that he’d also be fairly free with the “I love you.” Adrian tends to be a bit more reserved. Be that as it may, Adrian said it first.

5) How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

I guess the question is like versus *like*.

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. Oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that they shouldn’t get in the way of children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell. (SFW fic below. Unedited.)

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

#ask meme answers #dragon age fanfiction #hawke #anders #handers #adrian hawke

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colehasapen · 4 years

Text

(ONE SHOT) oya'karir STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.28 - Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

Comfortember no.2 - First Day/Night

There’s an injured animal in the forest, Obi-Wan can hear it from his cabin over the sounds of his banthas bellowing to each other, and the shrieking of his chickens. Standing on his porch, Obi-Wan can hear the sounds from the dense underbrush of the woods that surround his home, traveling up the mountain, as well as the distant sounds of hunting dogs. The druid had lived in the mountains long enough to have memorized what hunting season is when - it’s like clockwork - but whatever is out there isn’t something that’s supposed to be hunted, and it’s not an animal that he’s heard before.

Obi-Wan had never been able to ignore a creature in pain, he’d never been able to turn away from something in trouble, and walking away from the monastery hadn’t changed that, no matter what his former mentor seemed to believe. He had been raised to love and care for all beings as an orphan left on the doorsteps of the Jedi Temple, he had been taught to protect and heal, and choosing to leave didn’t change that. It didn’t change who he was.

So with hot determination burning in his chest, Obi-Wan abandons his tea and his planned morning of gardening, to instead slip into his traveling clothes and sling his bow over his shoulder, and set off into the woods. For a gifted animal druid like Obi-Wan, tracking is a breeze, and he’s very quickly able to pick up the trail. There’s no obvious prints in the dirt; they’ve been brushed away and covered with leaves, showing an intelligence not seen in common animals, which makes it likely that Obi-Wan is tracking a magical creature. It’s illegal everywhere to hunt magical creatures, as they’re recognized as sentient, but it didn’t stop certain sorts from seeing it as either sport to hunt them, as their ancestors once had, or they consider them delicacies and their bodies go for a lot on the black markets.

He finds a broken, bloodied bear trap deeper into the forest, likely what had injured the unknown creature, and a quick taste of the flaky blood has the creature’s emotions exploding in his senses. Pain, frustration, and fury were the strongest, burning like spices in his mouth and nose, followed by an undercurrent of protectiveness and determination, and the faintest sting of rotten fear. Whatever creature was injured here is protecting others, younger than they are, because the protectiveness carries the smallest traces of the sweetness of a parental love.

Obi-Wan straightens. Using the creature's blood to draw a quick tracking rune on a leaf, and setting it flat on his palm, the druid watches it spin like a compass. The spell would lead right to where he needed to go, whereas tracking the trail would waste much needed time. Time that could have the creature suffering needlessly, or help the hunters catch it’s trail.

Obi-Wan continues to duck through the trees, covering his own trail as he goes, following the compass through the underbrush while also keeping one eye on his surroundings. Finally, the leaf quivers, pauses then drops, and Obi-Wan stills. A warning growl from the thick shadows around him has the druid carefully lifting his hands to show the creature watching him that he means no harm to them.

“Good morning,” He greets, slowly scanning the trees around him, straining his ears to try and pick up where the creature could be. Whatever it is, it must be a predatory creature, because they’re soundless beyond the growling and the faintest ruffling of underbrush that shows where it was as it stalks him. “I’m not a hunter.” Obi-Wan assures, “I’m a druid from further up the mountains.” The creature’s growling quiet slightly. Most magical creatures knew instinctively that druids could be trusted, being linked to them and nature in ways that most would never understand. While they weren’t drawn to druids like common animals were, they weren’t often aggressive either. “I mean you no harm, I just want to help you.”

The growling stops, going quiet. The only sound he can hear is the rustling of the thick foliage over his head, and the chirping of birds. Obi-Wan keeps himself carefully still, keeping his body language loose and nonthreatening. And then, like a ghost, a large figure steps out of the shadows.

It’s a wolf, larger than any wolf Obi-Wan had seen in person before. As black as night, and with glowing golden eyes, it’s the size of a large pony, and the blue and white marks splashing through it’s fur give them away as a magical creature if it’s size hadn’t already. He - and now that he’s close enough, Obi-Wan can sense that the wolf is male - either a young Direwolf, or something else entirely. He’s limping too, hind leg dragging behind him as he shuffles towards Obi-Wan, nose twitching and teeth bared in a silent threat, ears perked.

“Oh.” Obi-Wan breathes in shock, awed at the sight of the magnificent creature in front of him, “Hello there.”

The wolf is large, streamlined for speed and endurance, and Obi-Wan can see powerful muscle moving under his lovely pelt. The golden eyes are sharp with intelligence, even for a magical creature, and he studies the druid in turn, probing. Then, in front of his eyes, the wolf gives a full body shake, fur melting away to reveal scarred brown skin, and Obi-Wan takes an instinctual step back in shock.

Oh.

Oh - a Mandalorian wolf.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely faint - the Mandaloran wolves had been labelled endangered and nearly extinct when he had been thirteen. Hundreds of them had been hunted and slaughtered on the fields of Galidraan, by a party led by once-Master Dooku and on the orders of the Duke of the territory. It had been under false pretenses, but it had still been horrible, and the monastery had felt the consequences of their participation and had removed Dooku from the Order for his crimes. The Duchess of Mandalore had banished the last of them from their ancestral lands when they had refused to bow to her newly claimed authority. Obi-Wan had loved Satine once, he might always love her, but it didn’t mean he had to agree with her, and her decisions involving the Kingdom she was leading were most of the walls that had been placed between them.

“You’re a druid?” The Mandalorian grunts, voice guttural and deep, and Obi-Wan can smell his muted hesitation and hope. He’s a large man, just as he was a large wolf, with thick rolling muscles packed under brown skin and handsome features, and short-cropped black hair that curled tightly on top of his head. Golden eyes are watching him, and Obi-Wan shakes himself out of his shock.

“Yes.” He says in a rush, forcing his eyes away from the rippling muscles of the man’s chest and stomach, painfully aware that the Mandalorian is naked. He’d barely had any interactions with another person since leaving the monastery, and now he finds himself face-to-chest with a very muscular, and very attractive man.

An injured man who needs his help.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He introduces himself, and the Mandalorian tilts his head, assessing and hesitant.

“Alpha.” He says, “You said you have a place up the mountains?”

Obi-Wan nods, “Yes, it’s not large, but no hunter would dare enter my land. It’s safe there.”

The wolf’s hesitation tastes sour in the air, though it doesn’t show on his face. If it weren’t for his scent-based empathic abilities, Obi-Wan doubts he’d ever be able to read the man’s expression.

“Got enough room for cubs?”

The druid is an odd one. Admittedly, Alpha had never met a druid before in his life, but it couldn’t be considered too odd, since he’d spent most of it, up until a few moons ago, in confinement. There were no druids on Kamino, and if they were, Alpha suspects their little zoo would have long since been destroyed, and the Kaminoans’ experiments would have been halted. Alpha and his cubs would have been free before now.

When he had escaped Tapioca City with six cubs of various sizes in tow, he had been intent on hunting down a pack to take them in, to help him protect his cubs. They may not be his, not by birth, but Alpha had claimed the litter, and the runt, as his own. He had taken them in, he had protected them, nurtured them, and trained them to defend themselves. They were still young though, still small and breakable, and they wouldn’t be useful on the battlefield for years yet, not unless the Kaminoans used their disgusting alchemy. They needed the protection of a pack, they needed stability and a place where they wouldn’t need to be afraid of being taken back to the cages.

Alpha had spent long enough in captivity that he barely remembers being free, he barely remembers his family, or his home, and he’s long since forgotten his name, but his cubs? The children magically created from his blood knew nothing beyond the cages of Tapioca City , and the cold cruelty of the Kaminoans.

The world outside is strange and odd to them, and more dangerous than Alpha remembers.

The hunters had been tracking them for weeks, and Alpha had thought that their luck had finally run out. They had been hunted up the mountain, forced to keep moving or risk being caught, with little food or rest. Rex, smaller and more sickly than his older brothers, had fallen ill - he had been deemed defective by the Kaminoans and slated for culling to remove his “unwanted genetics” because of his white fur and hair, and his frailness. When he had been distracted by Rex’s sickness, his older pups had slipped away, wanting nothing more than to help and bring back food in hopes that it would help their younger brother get better, but it had ended with Kote getting injured when the hunting hounds found them. Alpha had fought the hounds off, had killed them, but they were still coming, so he had been forced to hide his cubs in what had once been a badger den, then leave them behind to lead the hunters away.

Exhausted and distracted by his hunger and worry, Alpha hadn’t seen the bear trap until it was too late and it had already snapped closed around his leg. He had been forced to shift to pry the metal trap from his ankle, likely making the injury worse, and then shifting back to keep moving. He had continued going out of stubborn determination to keep his pursuers away from the cubs he had hidden.

He hadn’t expected a druid to come out of the trees and offer him and his cubs a safe place to rest and heal. Obi-Wan Kenobi; Alpha isn’t sure what to make of the human. His instincts tell him he can trust the druid, but his experiences tell him to be wary.

So Alpha stands at Kenobi’s shoulder, hovering protectively as the druid finishes stitching the wound on Kote’s face closed, a dozing Rex, drowsy from the tonic Kenobi had given him, held securely in his arms, white and blue fur smelling of herbs. Wolffe and Fox press against his legs, their curiosity strong, while Bly and Ponds roam around their new environment. The human’s pale hands contrast against Kote’s dark skin, and Alpha’s second youngest cub stares up at the druid with large amber eyes, completely in awe.

Kenobi keeps up a stream of inane chatter as he works, talking about the flora and fauna of his mountain, or the funny things his bantha herd had done. Anything to keep Kote’s attention away from the sharp needle poking through his magically-numbed face, but it wasn’t really needed. Kote is completely enraptured by the pretty human looking after him and tending to his injury.

Maybe if his cub was older, Alpha would push Kote towards Kenobi as a possible mate, but he’s only nine.

Kenobi was definitely everything Alpha himself had always imagined in a mate; he’d only known the man for a few hours, but he could feel the stirrings of attraction towards the druid and his sweet scent. Strong enough to defend himself, smart enough to provide, beautiful and fertile-smelling, and kind and gentle with his pups. Alpha had been imagining his possible mates since the moment he was sexually mature enough to able to breed and the Kaminoans had started shoving female wolves into his cage - he’d never taken any of them, had been insulted by the insinuations that he’d breed with common animals, and the scientists hadn’t been overly pleased with him for it. He’d imagined a pack far away from Kamino and any possible intruders, with a mate at his side and plenty of room for his cubs to run and grow without fear. Kenobi’s mountain sanctuary already met those criteria, and the longer Alpha was around the druid, the more he thought about those dreams.

And he’d only just met the man; what would happen during the long recovery period that stretched before him?

Kenobi had welcomed them into his lands, had treated Alpha’s leg and gave Rex medicine. He’d gone out and hunted them dinner when Alpha couldn’t, he’d let Ponds paw through his books and carved Bly toys, even after Alpha had warned him that the cubs would chew them up within a day. He’d shown Wolffe how to string a bow when the boy had asked, and had comforted Kote through his fear of needles and distrust of medicine. Alpha could smell the arousal on the man whenever Alpha was in his space, which could also be counted as a possible success as a potential mate.

Though Kenobi’s attraction was likely as instinctual as Alpha’s. The druid is alone, any scent beyond his own, and now Alpha’s pack, is so stale it’s nearly non-existent. The clothes Kenobi had given him to wear were larger than the druid, like the only thing that would fit Alpha, and made from rough-spun fabric with a scent so stale that it couldn’t have belonged to anyone in years . Kenobi had been alone for a long time, he needed a pack.

Well. Alpha stares at the human, considering, scanning his eyes across broad shoulders and his gentle expression as he talks with Kote. There’s always room in his.

#cole writes #star wars #fanfiction #whumptober 2020 #comfortember 2020 #obi wan kenobi #alpha 17 #alpha-17 #obi wan kenobi/alpha 17 #no.28 #no.2 #wolf au

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