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netherfeildren · 9 months

Text

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy.

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end.

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win.

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger.

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now.

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be.

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her.

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop.

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream.

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going.

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them.

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid.

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now.

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria.

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide.

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns.

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply.

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot.

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face.

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her.

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you.

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial.

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too.

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to.

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically.

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively.

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long.

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–”

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him.

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself.

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better.

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed.

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles.

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him.

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back.

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off.

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give.

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into.

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was.

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well.

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his.

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy.

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly.

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man.

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone.

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him.

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool.

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high.

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him.

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly.

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh.

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously.

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?”

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere.

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones.

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now.

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it. There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail.

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you.

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking.

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm.

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut.

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp.

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps.

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin.

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant.

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–”

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix.

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him.

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin.

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again.

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning.

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper.

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic.

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another.

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy.

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life.

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letoasai · 11 months

Text

DP- Father Time

What if…. Clockwork was around far longer than Danny knew….

Life was a parade, and Clockwork had the best view. He was the master of time, he knew all of what was and what wasn’t. He saw the threads of every timeline, and took the best each had to offer for the most people.

He had pride in his work, and an annoying habit of always being right. How could he be wrong when he knew the future. He knew every future. This was one of the major reasons he was irritated when someone, namely the Observants, decided to tell him how to do his job.

They saw what was laid out in front of them. They saw what he laid out in front of them. They were spectators that clung too tightly to their oaths to merely watch, while cheating at the motion in the same breath. They acted so haughty but thought nothing of turning around and demanding Clockwork do this or that for them.

Clockwork would generally avoid having to deal with them by agreeing ‘something’ needed to be ‘done’ and then go back to doing what he wanted in the first place. Observers they might be, ancient even, but they did not have the power to watch his every move. He directed things in the right direction, the way he always had with or without their say so.

The future he had been keeping an eye on was swiftly on its way to becoming the present. The thrill of it put a smile on his face. Frankly it had been a while since he’d been so eager for anything.

He’d be busy, but time was such a controllable thing for him.

Making a portal to the moral plane, Clockwork floated through, remaining invisible. The house was the cozy sort, and deceiving normal though he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The hideous space like craft structure wasn’t yet protruding from the roof like an unwanted appendage. The glowing Fenton Works sign wasn’t out front yet either.

The contamination was present however. It was still in low, nearly unnoticeable amounts, but that was still double what was generally found in nature. At least in normal places that weren’t consecrated grounds or otherwise filled with abnormal levels of death.

This really was no place for children.

Unseen by the two small occupants in the room, he observed as a small boy was seated at the kitchen table, watching nervously while his older sister knelt on a chair at the counter, carefully pouring juice into a sippy cup. It was a small task, but not one such small children should have been dealing with unsupervised.

“Almost done, Danny.” Jazz said, turning to look at him with a smile. She only just barely noticed the way the chair wobbled, and didn’t notice how it stilled right after, Clockwork holding out an unseen hand to steady it with his telekinesis. It might have been a small thing, but it was unnecessary to have a timeline where the small girl fell off her chair and cracked her head on the counter. She would end up fine, and with seventeen stitches. Her younger brother, terrified of climbing on the kitchen chairs for the following five years.

It could be skipped.

It might have been meddling, but after the burden these two would end up growing up with, he saw no reason not to show them occasional good fortune.

Jazz climbed down from the counter, a sippy cup and small plastic cup in each hand. She set them on the table before running back to the counter to grab the peanut butter sandwiches she’d set on a paper towel.

It was lunch for two, and both were so young they didn’t see anything wrong with this scenario. It was perhaps wrong to interfere, but Clockwork saw a future that depended on both of them. Young Danny was going to be immensely important, and he would always cling to his sisters unwavering support.

There were too many futures where accidents harmed these children before the proper timeline could come into effect. Some where one or both children died before puberty even. That could not be allowed to happen, not if he wanted the most ideal time line.

The problem with that was that there wasn’t always someone present to protect them. Meddling be damned, he was not going to have the future suffer for such a small reason.

“I found extra new books in my closet!” Jazz said, as she climbed onto her chair at the table. “I’ll read to you after we eat!”

Danny was small, and possibly should have still been in some kind of booster seat at the table. Instead, he sat on a phone book, and even then was too small to do much more than see over the table. He didn’t talk much. Whether he was too small, or delayed in his milestones, Clockwork wasn’t sure.

For all his infinite knowledge, child care wasn’t something he would have put on a resume of his skills. Leaving a few books around for the children was easy enough, but care was something rather different.

Danny ate silently, his feet kicking to show his good mood. Neither child seemed worried about the fact that their parents were locked away in the basement, oblivious to how much time was really passing.

As the keeper of time he could understand that, but he didn’t think it an excuse to not have proper priorities in place.

“You can pick the book, okay? One of them has planets on it.”

Danny’s smile grew, eyes nearly shining with excitement.

“We’ll start with that one.” Jazz promised.

Clockwork hovered, deciding he could leave them for the time being. It was a shame that little Jasmine had to be so responsible but the accident had been avoided. Today was a success for the timeline.

At least they didn’t have to worry about the food from the fridge attacking them just yet. That was a set period of time that Clockwork was not actively looking forward to. The Fenton Parents were quite the extraordinary inventors, but they were rather lacking as parents. It was a shame that even in the best timeline possible so far, the pair had never really realized it.

While some might have called it interference, Clockwork didn’t see it that way. Since he didn’t need to ask permission of anyone to do his job, he used his judgment, as always.

At best he could visit the Fenton children every couple of weeks to check in or prevent something terrible from happening. At worst, he was there often. The record so far was needing to show up eight days in a row to either prevent a stressful near future, or to just plain take care of the children in some other way.

The tasks he could do invisibly and unobtrusively were the easiest to handle. The ones were he couldn’t avoid being seen where… questionable.

The one night he slid into Danny’s room, even the ticking of his own clock stuttered at the sight of the small boy crying into his pillow after a nightmare. He was going to have a few stern words for Nocturn.

He lifted the child up into his arms, cradling him against his shoulder and maintaining his adult form for this venture. The last thing he needed was to shift into his child form while holding a child.

For Danny’s part, he didn’t bat an eye, just continued to cry softly. He was still small enough that he didn’t care about the stranger in his bedroom. He only cared about the comfort he was getting and the rocking back and forth motion.

This interaction would cost him nothing. Tonight, Danny would be soothed and as he grew older, he would forget this moment ever happened. It would fade into dream-like memories.

“Those scary things can’t hurt you, little King to be.” Clockwork muttered, wiping at the tears falling down Danny’s face.

Blue eyes looked up at him owlishly, lips still wobbling from his fright.

“You just need a distraction.” Clockwork whispered, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. It likely would have only been Jazz though. The Fenton parents were either in the basement or out attempting to hunt what wasn’t yet a problem in Amity Park. He hadn’t bothered to look, he only knew enough to know he wouldn’t be seen or interrupted.

“Nn..” Danny reached up to tug on the hem of his hood.

“Yes.” Clockwork said, ectoplasm filling his palm. The glowing ball snatched Danny’s attention away in an instant, the child reaching for it only to be pulled away. “Not yet. Touching it isn’t safe for you yet.”

Danny stretched again, sniffing back tears as he attempted to reach for it a second time. Instead, the ectoplasm split apart into a dozen little pieces. Each floated up towards the ceiling, rearranging themselves into rough star shapes.

“St-!” Danny pointed up at them, a smile slowly spreading across his little face.

“How about you keep these for the night?” Clockwork asked, “They’ll keep the bad dreams away.”

The toddler was enthralled, head tilted back.

Clockwork laid Danny back down in bed, tucking him in and kneeling at the edge of his bed. “These will watch over you, okay?”

“Nhnn.” Danny’s smile remained, he only spared Clockwork another peaceful look before he looked back up at the ectoplasm stars. Normally, the exposure probably would have been unhealthy but the children were exposed enough. This little bit wouldn’t do any harm. He’d checked.

For several long minutes Clockwork watched him, the child’s eyes blinking slowly. Sleep was tugging at him, but his desire to look at the stars was strong.

“There are scary things out there, little King to be.” Clockwork said softly. “But there are plenty of good things out there too if you look.”

Danny pointed up at the ectoplasm again, the green light spread across the room.

“Goodnight, Danny.” Clockwork said, knowing it would only be minutes before the child’s eyes closed for a much more peaceful bout of sleeping.

Not for the first time, Clockwork found himself surprised by the very future he had already predicted. Knowing the future and living through it in the present were incomparable. Emotions were vast, every ghost knew that in particular. Emotions overflowed for them, and while Clockwork knew he would care about the children, feeling that affection first hand was overwhelming.

The disdain he felt for the ghost hunting Fentons grew as their lack of positive parenting became evident. It wasn’t just their ghost hunting focus that was getting on his nerves, though it hadn’t happened yet, but their poor interactions with their own children.

It shouldn’t have been up to Jazz to take care of her little brother. She went as far as to drop him off at daycare by herself before walking to school alone. Once or twice Clockwork would appear, invisibly hovering beside her to make sure she got to both places safely. Once he’d pulled her and her brother out of the way from being clipped by a car, and twice since then he stopped time momentarily to hold the red lights and let Jazz cross the street on her little legs.

It was frankly outrageous that no one seemed to notice the dangers these kids were constantly in, or the neglect they suffered. All the same, even he could only meddle so much, and he was far more than he realized he’d need to.

As much as he tried to stay out of sight, some occasions were impossible. When he needed to apply baid-aids to both of Danny’s knees when he fell on the concrete steps outside of the house, or when he appeared behind Jazz as a spectral terror to scare away a young man who was following the little girl to the corner store with awful intentions in mind.

The last one had almost been a disaster when Jazz turned around and looked up at him, then at the young man running away as fear gripped his heart.

“Thank you.” Jazz said, though she didn’t quite understand what she was thanking him for. She turned around, marching right back to the corner store with dollar bills in her change purse.

“You’re welcome, Jazz.” He muttered before fading away from sight. Even while being among his predictions of possible outcomes, it was a strange reaction from the little girl who’s parents ranted about ghosts. The blanket acceptance for receiving help.

He didn’t know where her kindness came from, but it was imperative that she passed it on to her brother. She was small, but she was smart. She was reading at a second grade level already, and wrote on the wall calendar what days the bills were due. She was responsible beyond her years, not out of want but necessity.

If Clockwork helped distract Danny for a while so she was able to read or make sandwiches for them, that was their collective business, just the three of them.

“Mr. Ghost.” Jazz blinked up at him one afternoon. She was fidgeting and ended up dropping her gaze to her feet. “Can you help me lift the bottle?”

“The…bottle?” He stared at her. Danny ran towards them, running through Clockwork and falling onto his hands and knees with a laugh. The small boy kept trying to grab Clockwork's ghost tail and was endlessly thrilled by not being able to touch it.

“Yeah, for the dirty clothes. I read the directions but i can’t lift the bottle. It’s heavy.” Jazz said, holding out a hand for Danny to help regain his balance.

“Yes. I can help you.” Clockwork said. It was easy to be proud of these children, and quietly infuriating that it was necessary.

It wasn’t just that Jazz had learned to be so self sufficient, it was that Danny knew to stay by his sister. While Jazz tossed their clothes into the washing machine, and Clockwork helped Jazz measure out the detergent, Danny sat on the floor nearby playing with a spaceship that Jazz had made for him out of paper plates, duct tape, and plastic straws.

These kids were growing up with only occasional visits from their parents while living in the same house.

“Thank you.” Jazz said when they had finished.

“You’re quite welcome, Jazz.”

It was almost sad how the Fentons had no idea there was a ghost in their home. Until they did, or until they suspected something was strange.

Danny was little, and didn’t know who he was supposed to share things with, or what he was supposed to keep secret. When he started to talk about his flying friend, his see-through friend, the Fentons over reacted.

Clockwork might have had to stay out of the house for a few weeks, but he still watched carefully as Jack and Maddie searched the house, Danny’s room in particular. Ghost hunting was their obsession and they took a toddler at his word.

When he finally started crying over his parents too loud, nearly volatile search, Jazz lost her temper.

“He just has an imaginary friend! It’s not real! Not everything is a ghost! Ghosts aren’t real!”

“Now, Jazz.” Maddie tried to soothe her. “If he says he saw-”

“He’s a baby! All you talk about is ghosts. Of course his imaginary friend would look like a ghost, but you aren’t finding anything, are you?! Ghosts aren’t real!” She took Danny’s hand and stomped off to her own room where they could play in peace, away from the whirling alarms of ghost gadgets.

It was the stance the small girl would take for years. Ghosts did not exist, while she knew very well that they did. She chose to protect Clockwork over letting her parents know that there had been a ghost in the house.

It was however, a reminder to Clockwork that he was becoming a little too complacent. He was being seen a little too often. Danny couldn’t know about him until the time was right, but Jazz was more than capable of keeping quiet.

He continued to tuck Danny in after a nightmare and a night of glowing ectoplasm stars on the ceiling. He also continued to help Jazz when something was just a little out of her means, but otherwise did better to stay hidden.

Even invisible, Jazz often knew when he was around. It had Clockwork smiling at the future where she would be in full control of her liminality. The kids were growing to be quite capable.

In theory, Clockwork had been looking forward to the day where Danny became a halfa. It was the start of so much, the next checkpoint of the most favorable future. It was a sure thing now, but Clockwork’s own emotions were wavering the day in question. Watching Danny head down into the lab with his two friends trailing behind him had him feeling sick. Yes, Danny would become a halfa, and someday he would become king, but now, this day, Danny was going to die.

Had there been another way, Clockwork would have considered it. Instead, all he could do was be present, watching invisibly as the child he’d helped raise was killed and born anew in the same breath. It was the most terrible thing he’d seen in recent memory.

It was difficult not to immediately rush to his side. To offer to teach him how to use the new abilities he’d just gain. He saw the fear on Danny’s face, and saw the cold air puff between his lips. Danny didn’t yet know what his ghost sense was. He didn’t know Clockwork was in the very same room with him. This was the start, and like always, Clockwork would be watching. He would do what he was able to keep the boy safe, and winced at the months it would take before Jazz caught on to what was happening.

Her brother becoming a halfa was not in the realm of possibilities that she was expecting but she would be his support, well versed by that point that their were both good and bad ghosts.

Someday, Clockwork might tell Danny how long he’d been in his life. Someday, Danny might forgive him for his rough half ghost beginning and letting things fall where they were meant to. He didn’t revel in Danny’s struggles, but those struggles were what would make him a fitting king.

Soon he’d get to introduce himself to Danny, and his first task for the boy would be a harrowing one, but he knew what Danny could do when he tried. Until then, Clockwork would watch the parade from above, his pride in the Fenton children immeasurable.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Jazz Fenton #Clockwork #bad fenton parents #Clockwork Dad #ghost dad

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inthememetime · 2 years

Note

Alfred finds and adopts three homeless teens while the whole of the Batclan is away, the three teens are of course The Fentons. Alfred on the other hand had been dealing with a bit of Empty Nest Syndrome and takes the trio in, so by the time the rest of the Batclan filters back there are three extra people in the Manor but the Fentons deliberately ghost the rest of the residents.

I love this for four reasons:

The potential for Alfred, who wishes Bruce would stop adopting small violent children, realizing that HE is the same.

You can't tell me Alfred, Danny, Dani, and Jazz won't be BFFs. Jazz is the only (mostly) sane person in this house besides him. Dani absolutely WILL spy and report on injuries in exchange for more of that casserole. Danny and Alfred have similar sarcastic wit.

"If we had a nickel for every billionaire with a secret identity we know, we would each have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot, but weird it happened twice."

The SHENANIGANS!!!!!

Shenanigans include:

At first, Alfred doesn't tell the Batfam because they're a family of detectives. Surely they'll notice. Over time, it becomes a contest of who can make them suspect the most without being found.

Alfred either playing it off or staring with a raised eyebrow when one of the Batfam asks why/if he's talking to himself.

Jazz can only be turned invisible in the nick of time so many times before somebody finds out about her. "It says here, Ms. Fenton, that you have a brother?" "Yes, Danny. He died. But don't worry, he got better!"

When Tim is forbidden caffeine for a week, Danny drinks his coffee super fast or Dani replaces it with chamomile tea with black food coloring.

Dani: "You know Dick, you really shouldn't do that."

Dick, after a moment of panic, realizing there's nothing in the room with him. "....God?"

Dani, realizing how much chaos she can cause: "yeah, that's me! God."

Danny and Dani take turns being human just to walk past open doors. They all look enough alike to Tim, Dick, Damien, and a young Jason in uncertain light that the rest of the fam has to do double takes.

When someone calls Constantine over as a favor, he takes 2 steps into the manner, says no, and RUNS.

"So I've heard the voice of God, and it sounds like a 14-year-old girl."

"....how hard did Bane hit you again?"

"God says Jason is the one who stole your book."

"...right ok."

Bruce decides he's gonna go be Batman while wounded. He snuck out, so Al calls his Secret Ghost Squad.

Batman is repeatedly interrupted (*cough* saved) by 2 OP glowing metas. Constantine will no longer cross Gotham's borders.

Danny: "You need more ectoplasm. You're a growing half-ghost."

Jason: *shoots the wall* "WHAT THE FUCK WHO WAS THAT?!"

Danny: would you believe it was God?

Jason: NO

Jason figures it out first because he's being parented by a dead guy. He actually doesn't mind that much because he gets to visit the GZ

Cass figures out second because she's observant.

Dick figures it out third by spraying 'God' with paint. He then realizes he attacked an invisible creature that can go through walls with no idea how to fight it.

Tim figures it out by deliberately putting salt in his coffee to see what would happen.

Damien finds Cujo. He is Upset that Cujo already has an owner. Danny tells Damien in exchange for Damien to stop yelling insults at him. (Dani calls him Weak for this, and tells Damien 15 minutes later because he thought she was calling HIM weak and had Opinions)

"Oh shit."

Steph bribes the 'house spirits' for prank help, and then tricks them. They tell her out of Respect.

Duke starts talking to himself about star output on his homework, gets stuck, and SpaceBoi helps. Duke's 10 minutes into stars actually being interesting for once before he realizes he's talking to a ghost.

Bruce has been introduced to them by Jazz. Alfred made her after the 4th sleepless night due to researching the surprise metas.

Dani: its cool dude, but now I have to go prank Tim. Bye!

Vlad shows up for a private meeting with Bruce Wayne. The ghosties reveal themselves in order to kick his ass.

Alfred is the only person who can get away with calling Danny 'Daniel' and Dani 'Danielle'. Anyone else has Serious Regrets.

The Joker breaks Alfred's leg in a bombing. He's never seen again. Danny, Dani, and Jazz are a little TOO innocent

#inthememetime #danny phantom au #ask answered #dp x dc #come ask me things!#batfam

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cemeteryspider · 1 month

Text

Dearie~ Part 2

Alastor x Singer! Reader

Summary: Alastor waits for his chance to finally be reunited with you

Trigger Warnings: Violence, blood, exploitation, manipulation, revenge, and overall dark themes

Word Count: 1224

Previous | Next

Alastor woke up on the cold concrete with crimson blood spilled around him. A note lay in front of him but he remembered the conversation quite well.

See you never, Has-Been ~Vox

Swiftly, Alastor conjured inky black tentacles that snatched up and tore apart the note. He let the torn up pieces be carried by the wind into the sky. This would not be the end of the Radio Demon and his love. Nor would this be the last Vox saw of him.

With a sinister resolve, he cloaked himself in shadows, transporting to an old friend.

~~~

As the years rolled on, you found yourself relentlessly passed around by the Vees, each day ensnaring you in a new performance or appearance dictated by their capricious desires.

Under Vox's control, you were forced to guest-star in an array of macabre shows, becoming the centerpiece of his infernal entertainment empire. Many ads starred your shining face and within a year the once all-powerful overlord was replaced by an actor who lived life through others.

For Velvette you modeled at every show and ad campaign she wanted you in. It could range from the ugliest costumes to the skimpiest lingerie Hell has ever seen. You were ripped to shreds in every fashion talk show and magazine only to be built back up to be torn back down.

For Valentino, you took care of his highest profile clients. Avoiding videos or pictures was imperative, safeguarding your image as Hell's coveted poster girl in the twisted realm of infernal celebrity. After all, you were bad but not that bad.

The relentless passage of time bore down on you, the weight of each day settling not just on your shoulders but seeping into the marrow of your bones, a haunting exhaustion. You found yourself wishing for Alastor's return, but alas the cards were not stacked in your deck, only in the Vees.

You worked tirelessly and kept up with Hell's most influential people despite being on a short leash. You talked to many people, and you knew how to get what you wanted. You spoke to talk show hosts about current events and who was most powerful and how Hell changed with each passing day. Fellow models usually gossiped about frivolous things, but sometimes they would slip up useful information like when overlords fell and who died during the extermination. Some wealthy clients talked business when you were around and you became an encyclopedia of who was connected to whom.

Not to mention that you met very important demons through your jobs and gaining allies was becoming a more useful skill with each passing day.

~~~

After dealing with his employer Alastor was finally back in the Pride Ring. New and improved some may say. Screens, like omniscient sentinels, adorned almost every conceivable surface, projecting Vox's influence across the sprawling canvas of the Pride Ring. Clearly time had been good to him.

Alastor on the other hand had used his time to plan. Time for the revenge to simmer and brew into something truly utterly bitter. Seven long years of watching his Darling be used by the demon who managed to best him, allowed him to draw up his sinister plot.

Unbeknownst to Vox, a shadow was casting itself over his dominion. Nothing seemingly stood in Alastor's way, yet the impending storm was invisible, silently gathering its strength.

A sardonic smile tugged at Alastor's lips as he wove the threads of his revenge, exploiting the very vulnerability he had once sought to assist Vox in overcoming during their fleeting acquaintance.

He stood by a screen watching Lucifer's daughter pitch her hotel. Very unsuccessfully.

Amidst the towering screens broadcasting Vox's shows, Alastor sensed the malevolent pieces of his grand design falling into place, each detail a shard in the mosaic of his revenge. Every detail and nuance aligns to bring about the demise of Vox and the liberation of his Darling.

~~~

One part of being so successful is to be able to get things quite easily. Stealing wiring from vanities and circuit boards from old televisions.

Though it was supposed to be hush hush, many of the powerful people couldn't help teasing you that her boyfriend was back in town to get his ass beat again to be saved by another girl, Charlie Morningstar.

That's when you started to assemble a makeshift radio, a desperate attempt to breach the infernal walls that separated you from Alastor.

It took many weeks of stealing small items and talking to Vox about wiring to finally complete a (Semi) working radio.

With the makeshift radio finally assembled, you anxiously tuned through every channel, the urgency in your actions mirroring the desperation to reconnect with Alastor.

~~~

Alastor, with a determined focus, waded through the channels, guided by Angel Dust's cryptic hint that someone sought to reach him. Angel wasn't sure whom, due to the fact that the information had -passed through many to get to him. The static crackle of the radio filled the air.

Nothing was working until he heard the voice of his sweet angel.

"Fools rush in to where angels fear to tread and so I come to you my love my heart above my head"

Your voice was melodic and each note held perfectly in tune. You sang with gusto and a sadness that he knew came from your heart.

"If there's a chance for us then I don't care. Fools rush in where wise men never go, but wise men never fall in love so how are they to know"

His smile became more real. Realer than it had been in all of his seven year absence. He was closer than he was to getting you back yet still through the radio your voice felt so far away.

"When we met I felt my life begin again, so open up your heart and let this fool rush in"

As the song's final notes lingered, Alastor's voice, a lifeline through the radio, faded into a slight crackle. He felt the weight of anticipation, a heartbeat frozen in the ether between separation and reunion

"Dearie, how I have missed your gorgeous voice"

A sharp, audible gasp reverberated through the airwaves, a sound resonating with the weight of revelation. He heard your heels clicking over to meet him.

"Alastor, Darling?, Is that really you"

"Yes my love and do not worry, we will be together again soon"

"Alastor, I've missed you so. I feared the cruel silence would be our only communication, that I'd be forever denied the sight of you."

"Trust me, Dearie, you will be freed soon enough. Nothing can keep us apart"

A frantic tapping could be heard from your side of the radio.

"Alastor, I need to go, I love you Darling"

"I love you too mi amor"

With a slight crackle he stopped broadcasting his voice over the radio and he heard the radio on your end being shoved under something so it could not be seen.

~~~

"Sugar, who were you talking to"

Alastor seethed at Vox's voice. He would pay in due time.

"No one, just fine-tuning my chords for tomorrow's performance."

"Good good, sweetheart, keep those chords moving"

He chuckled but not a single peep came from you. Your conversation with Alastor caused a shift in you. Maybe soon Vox would fall. Maybe there was still hope yet.

~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

The song you were singing is called "Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread" by Ricky Nelson, it is a great song and it is worth a listen. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and are enjoying this story so far.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hellaverse #alastor #hazbin #valentino #vox #hazbin hotel vees #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel 2024

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jokingmisfit · 10 days

Text

Not Yet Forgotten

Platonic Future Hamato Brothers x Neglected Reader

Warnings- Angst with Happy Ending, Reader is Casey Jr's Sibling, Neglectful Parental Figures, Severe Injuries, Mentions of Blood and Broken Bones, Near Death Experience, Hurt with Comfort, Head Injury, Mention of Reader having Mystic Powers

Notes- I may make a different version from 3rd person pov to show how bad the boys felt. I don't know anything about medicine so please forgive me for any incorrect everything. Wrote this right before therapy and I think it shows. Lol, Enjoy!

Your breathing was fast, but muffled through your hand. It felt like your lungs were on fire. You don't know how far you've run, but you hope that it's far enough.

Only an hour earlier, Krang dogs surrounded you and your crew. The rest were already dead... You were frightened and angry. You knew that if only they'd taught you how to fight as well as they had Casey, then you wouldn't be in this situation. They didn't care for you. Your brother being far too important, apparently, for you to be cared for at all.

Made sense in your mind. You didn't look like your mother like Casey did. Didn't share a name or even blood. Just another "stray" she'd picked up, but she loved you. In her own way. Too bad when she died the knowledge she left you with was all you'd be given. No sessions with Leonardo. No kind words from Michelangelo or Raphael. No scolding on health or knowledge from Donatello. It was like you were invisible. Unimportant.

You and your team had done so much. Achieved amazing things, but every achievement was overlooked. Every injury was ignored. Perhaps you did learn a few things... Fending for yourself. That didn't help now, though.

Climbing the rubble. You could feel the parts of your body move in ways they weren't made for. You were strong but how strong would you have to be to defy death itself. You had sent out the SOS so long ago, yet it seems as if nobody will come.

Your blood stained broken concrete rocks. You prayed to whatever higher being was above that, just this once, they wouldn't overlook you. That the people who were supposed to care the most would save you.

You finally collapsed at the top of the heap. Only small peaks of the red sky could be seen. You were safe, for now, but you were bloodied and broken. Your stash of medical supplies were carried by a dead man. You wouldn't last, not long, at least.

You hit the alert again seeing as the purple light went out. Hitting the button over and over as your breath thinned. It felt harder to breathe with every second.

An alert came back to you. A communication. You heard April once say it was like a phone call. Whatever that was. You pressed the button to hear the voice on the other end. It was Donatellos.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?" His voice was wavering. Something you'd never heard before.

With a raspy tone you whispered out your response. "You got... got te loc-location right?"

He sighed on the other end. "Yes we have it. A rescue team has already found the rest. Where are you hurt?"

"Hehe." Your laugh is cut off by coughing. Blood bubbling up in your lungs and throat. Looking at the gashes and stuck out bones, you answer. "Every- Everywhere..."

Silence met you on the other end. Silence and the clicking of the keyboard.

A deep breath, and you talk again. "I know... I- I know you all... Probably don't- don't care... but I don't wanna die... I don wanna die." A sob escapes your mouth, cutting off your sentence.

The pain and fear causing tears to cascade down your face.

The clicking stopped at your words.

Donatello responds after a few seconds. "They're almost there... I- You need to stay awake and you'll be fine. We- I won't let you die."

"I'm- I'm so sorry..." Your breath stops in your chest. "I shoulda- should of done better... I try- tried so hard... Was never good enough. I can't- can't breathe." Your words are heavy and painful as you sob them out.

"HELLO!" You heard Leonardo yell.

Before you had a chance to answer a light came from your gear. The communication line ending and sends an alert to the other mutant.

Footsteps could be heard from multiple beings. Talking and panic is heard as you stare at the broken roof with blurry eyes.

Raphael's face coming into view before anything else. If you weren't in so much pain you'd smile at him. Instead you stare as he picks you up gently. His words sound soft but melt in your head making them unknown. He holds you close and moves quickly.

A whisper escapes you. "you came..." The statement soft and broken from your lips. The only evidence he heard you being the tilt of his head as he stares with worried eyes.

You held on tightly to your consciences. You held on for however long it took to be laid on a table. Long enough to have something put over your face. Long enough to feel a hand pet your head slightly as your eyes finally close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt. Everything hurt. Your eyes flutter open, but they're unfocused.

"They're awake!" You heard someone yell.

You flinch at the noise. A whine escaping the back of your throat from the pain.

"Be quiet. They're not going to react well to loud noises." You heard another voice scolds matter-of-factly.

You huff out heavy breaths. You try sitting up only for a large hand to, gently, hold you down. You blink several times to try and see better. Figures, shapes, and colors bounced around but nothing appeared sensical.

"How are they?" A voice says nervously and stern at the same time. Their footsteps stop towards you.

The hands that were moving on and around you pause for a moment before an answer. "They're discombobulated."

"What the hell? English, Donnie." The voice answers.

Your voice is scratchy and comes out in squeaks. "Don- Donnie?"

Your question goes unanswered, but you were glad you finally knew who one of the voices belonged to. You were with Donatello.

"They had a head injury, so their brains jumbled. They can't see straight... At least we can be sure that they can hear fine." He answers with distaste.

A hand sets itself on your head and plays with your hair. The voice above you talks nervously. "So shouldn't we be talking to them? They're probably so scared right now. Aren't you?"

You realize that the end was directed at you, but you lost the energy to answer. You tried to speak, but nothing came out, as if your body didn't agree with your mind."

"Mikey’s right," The deep voice spoke. "We need to comfort them right now."

You wanted to tell them not to force themselves. That you knew they were only here because you were hurt. That once you were better they'd go back to the way it was before. But you couldn't speak, and the feeling of actually being cared for felt so nice.

The weight in your chest may have been painful, but it felt so good to be loved. If your head wasn't so fuzzy you might have cried.

Your name was called, almost urgently. You hadn't realized you weren't listening. So caught up in your own head that you forgot to listen.

You looked slightly to the person calling out to you.

"You still in there, kid? Lost ya there for a second huh?" You could hear the smile in his voice.

That was Leonardo right. He's the one to smile when things are bad. That means the deep voice was Raphael... All four of them were there for you.

You wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Maybe you were imagining things?

"You need to relax. Your heart rate is spiking..." Donatello tells you strictly.

Raphael's voice picked up from the foot of your bed. "Don, I don't think they can necessarily control that... Y'know?"

"Sigh," Donatello answers him. "I'll fix it myself."

You felt the bed adjust, setting you up slightly. You felt his hand on your arm fiddle with something sticking out of it.

You felt calmer, almost, instantly. Surprisingly, your vision cleared slightly. Things still blurred but you could make out their faces so much more.

A crowd of turtles that left no space to see what room you were in. The lights still felt too bright, yet they were dimmer than any room you’ve been to. The blue lights gave you more of a clue. The screens lights bouncing and reflecting off the men. Was this Donatello’s lab? It had to be.

With your eyes now clearer you were able to hold them onto the figures separately. Their blurred faces held concern, fear… It was definitely a sight.

“You feelin’ better?” Raphael asked sweetly. He loomed over the edge of the bed, yet still he managed to keep a distance.

Despite the medicine making you feel better your head and chest still layed heavy on the bed. The only response you could manage was a broken noise from the back of your throat.

Leonardo laughs sadly. “Y’know maybe we shouldn’t ask them too many questions, heh.”

If you could shake your head in agreement you would. The other three certainly did, or at least it looked like they did.

You took a deep breath in and out letting everything sink into your skin, into your bones. You had your own list of questions you wanted to ask them. Like, how bad is the damage? Why are all four of you here, there’s more important things to do? Did any of the others live?

You could feel all four eyes on you. Feel them stare like you were the only thing worth looking at. It confused you, so you turned your eyes to the only one who you knew had all the answers, Donatello.

“Right, well I suppose you want answers. Yes?” He asked, oddly nervous. “Where to start,” he whispered to his screen before sighing. “You have a major concussion, obviously, you have two broken ribs, a broken leg, a sprain in your right arm, you have large lacerations on your abdomen, and you had punctured one of your lungs.” He lists off easily. “All of which have been cared for, however you will be immobile for quite a while. I estimate approximately 12 weeks and 3 days. Do you understand?” He asks you calmly.

You huffed at him, hoping he would understand that you were listening. He seemed satisfied with your response and went back to typing on the screen. Of course you were slightly confused by this as you hoped he’d elaborate on why they were all there.

Clearly noticing your confusion Raphael talks with guilt. “I think they’re confused on why we’re here…”

He says it like he can read your mind.

“Why would they be confused about that?” Michelangelo laughs out shakily.

“Probably, because we’ve neglected them for years.” Donatello answers within seconds.

Leonardo being the next to speak, like they were taking turns. “We really fucked up that bad, huh kid?”

You couldn’t hold his gaze. The guilt was so evident on his face. You’d never imagined they’d realize what they’ve done. You pictured you’d grow into an adult and leave the Resistance without anyone knowing you were gone.

“Listen, I know- We know we should’ve done better for you…” Leonardo sighs. “You are just as important as everyone else. As the Resistance. As Casey Jr. I was always so caught up with him and being a leader I forgot that I had to be there for you. You always seem to have a hold on everything. Always seemed so sure. So confident… I never thought you might need help to. It was such a terrible mistake and I should have known better, should’ve been more and done more for you,” He leans over and grabs your hand gently. “I promise to never act like that again. I will never let anything hurt you like this. I will never leave you alone again. I swear on my life kid I will do anything, everything to make this up to you.” Tears from his eyes fell onto your clasped hands.

You couldn’t hide the shock from your eyes as you were crying too. It was like your body finally jump started and tears fell so freely.

“You were always so strong,” Raphael starts. “I don’t think any of us thought that our lack of attention would hurt you so much. You always shined so brightly on your own.” He chuckled sadly. “I never thought you’d need us so much, Jr’s strong too, but he relied on your mom more than you so when she died we- I thought you could handle yourself. You’d never seemed to waver. I’m so sorry.”

The regret he held in his words weighed heavy on your mind causing more tears to fall from your eyes.

“My turn already?” Michelangelo laughed, tears in his own eyes. “Heh, I remember this one time I was talking to one of your group members, she seemed so excited to join your team. I remember I asked her what she was so excited for… It was you. She told me that she had seen you and your team fight. Saw how well you worked together, but she was mesmerized by you. She told me years ago she idolized me for my mystic abilities,” He laughs quietly. “But she admitted in this conversation that she idolized you even more. Because you were more like her than I was and your mystic abilities were so strong…” He pauses with a sad silence. “A part of that conversation fortified in my mind that you didn’t need anyone. You were able to figure everything out all on your own. Lead your own team. Fight and save lives like a pro. I should have taken into perspective your feelings. I used to be so good at feelings, but it seems I’ve lost my way a little bit. But I promise not anymore. You’re never going to feel left out again. I guarantee it!” He ends off happily

Silence fills the room. The only thing truly heard was the buzz of machines and various sniffles.

The silence was cut off again by Raphael. “Donnie… Are you going to say anything?” He asked both encouragingly and authoritatively.

“Sigh.” Donatello stated tiredly. He turned to face you more. “I’m not good with emotions. They were never something I could grasp fully. I’ve worked hard on fixing that, but I see in some areas I have… failed. I personally assumed if you needed help you would come to me, however looking back it’s clear you had and I pushed you away.” He states uncomfortably. “As an adult I should have been more prepared and I wasn’t… You were just a child, you are a child, and you’ve experienced so much on your own. I can assure that we plan on remedying that.” He ends sincerely.

After listening carefully to all their words your heart swelled with happiness. You were still afraid that they may not be true, but you were hopeful and so glad to finally be seen. The love you felt radiate off them in blissful waves made you smile. You forgave them as soon as their words left their mouths. As soon as they told you they cared. There was nothing better than feeling true love for what felt like the first time. You couldn’t help but be happy.

“Get some sleep, Kid,” Leonardo says. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

#rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #platonic rottmnt x reader #future rottmnt x reader #platonic future rottmnt x reader #platonic donatello x reader #platonic leonardo x reader #platonic raphael x reader #platonic michelangelo x reader

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reashot · 9 months

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To celebrate my mother day's Fic for reaching 100 likes and reblog. I can finally show y'all what the Arc kids are supposed to look like and who they are for the sequel:

https://www.tumblr.com/reashot/717409273449234432/happy-mothers-day-feat-jaunes-future-children?source=share

Dusk Belladonna

Gender:♀️

Age: 10.

Semblance: Invisibility (she can made her self invisible for few seconds.)

Weapon: N/A. (She doesn't have or want one.)

Favorite foods: Anything with fish but prefers Tuna.

Likes: Mommy, Daddy, Being alone.

Dislikes: Dogs, crowds, stranger.

Character Desc:

Dusk Belladonna is the daughter Blake and Jaune which means she is also the daughter of both human and Faunus. In her timeline Human and Faunus achieved true equality and mutual respect with one another. It was not easy and although Dusk herself does not know the sacrifice needed to achieve it, even she knows that it's something to be cherished and protected. Quiet, reserved and preferring the company of close associates. She is still expected to one day lead Menagerie and all of Faunuskind. A decision that she is also unaware of. But her parents are against it. Instead wanting her to enjoy her childhood for as long as she can before the fated day.

Scarlett Rose-Arc.

Gender: ♀️

Age: 17.

Semblance: Petal Storm. (An upgraded form of Ruby's Semblance.)

Weapon: Crescent Rose MK. 20. (A.K.A. the Geneva Violator.)

Favorite foods: Strawberry Shortcake.

Likes: Spending time with family, weapons, fighting.

Dislikes: Bully, Bugs, Rainy day.

Character Desc:

Scarlett like Ruby is both a powerful fighter and a genius weapon inventor. Her weapon is the Crescent Rose MK. 20. A Scythe, Voulge, grenade launcher, assault riffle and sniper rifle combination weapon. In practice such a weapon should not be able to work but she and Ruby managed to made it work. This essentially turns her into a one woman army. But even though she’s a formidable warrior she still not yet able to beat her older brother Vermillion in a fight. Something which annoys her.

Victor Arc (formerly a Schnee)

Gender: ♂️

Age: 20.

Semblance: Glyph. (Has been shown able to summon a small army worth of Grimm.)

Weapon: Myrtenaster,

Favorite Foods: Sushi.

Likes: Seeing her mother dead, his little sister, cute things. (In that order.)

Dislikes: His mother, Atlas, Incompetent people. (himself)

Character Desc:

Victor Schnee or now known as Victor Arc was once a former Scion of the Schnee Household. Is the son of Jaune Arc and although he hates to admit it, he is also the son of Weiss Schnee. In his timeline the world is broken in every sense of the word. In his world. War has engulfed Remnant. And the scale of destruction is beyond comprehension. Continents shattered, sea boiled over, even the very air turned against you, All courtesy of the Superweapon created by the SDC. Of course many tried to stop the war from happening and all failed, Even Jaune Schnee died trying to stop it. His dead however is proven to be the catalyst for the tragedy. After his death something broke inside of Weiss. Despaired and Enraged by her husband’s death. Weiss reorganized the Kingdom of Atlas into the Atlesian Empire and declared war on everyone. With Victor serving as her right hand man. Working under her Victor is responsible for many of the Empire’s victory and her atrocity. He himself is directly responsible for numerous warcrimes and even genocide against the Faunus. Victor is also credited for killing Ruby Rose and for capturing Blake. Back home in Atlas he was hailed as hero for this feats. It’s only until much later that he regretted his action. And came to hate his own mother so far as to wanting her dead. While she's the one that broke the world, he still blame himself for helping her doing it.

Aurum Arc

Gender: ♂️

Age: 30-40.

Semblance: Ignite. (He is able to heat up the surface of any object he touch. If you seen the hot knife video on YouTube it’s pretty much like that.)

Weapon: Prominence Flame. (A Greatsword of the big-ass variety.)

Favorite foods: Homecooked meal. (he ain’t picky.)

Likes: Justice, protecting innocents, helping people.

Dislikes: Injustice, Villain, Laziness.

Character Desc:

As the oldest of the 12 sibling, Aurum is also born the weakest among his siblings. Born prematurely many did not expect him to survive childhood. But he refused to give up. Motivated by stories of warriors of old and the story of his father. He continues pushing his limit. And to the surprise of everyone he not only survive past childhood but he actually starts growing taller and stronger compared to other children his age. So strong in fact that in the age of 15 he managed to kill a Dragon Grimm. By the age of 17 he joined the Arc Knights. And in the age 20 rose through the rank and become the youngest captain of the group. A rank that he still hold to this day. Despite his achievement however he still found himself lacking behind his father and he made a promise that he will surpass the Grandmaster, Jaune Arc himself.

Vermillion Rose-Arc.

???

Scarlett's older brother will finally make his true debut in the next fic. So till then just wait my lovely readers. You will be mildly surprised.

And if there's anything you want to ask just leave a message, I'll try to answer it as best as I can.

And do tell me which one is your favorite?

#arc kids #lancaster #dragonslayer #knightshade #whiteknight #rwby #rwby au #rwby fanfiction #rwby lancaster #rwby dragonslayer #rwby knightshade #rwby whiteknight #jaune arc future children #Jaune Arc #rwby oc

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kedreeva · 2 years

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Why I’m Mad About Eddie

Okay, so, like I said earlier, I’m not mad about the fact that Eddie died, the fact that he died is NOT the source of my anger. I’m mad about the poor storytelling that led to it not even being a good death, after they set it up to be a GREAT death. I’m mad (furious) because I deserve to be heartbroken over his death, I deserve to have bawled my eyes out, I deserve the catharsis of a good character death, not this rage burning in me over the disservices done.

If you’re mad about it but can’t quite place why you’re mad (instead of heartbroken, like we deserve to be, I deserve to be suffering a raw, gaping wound in my chest right now!!!), maybe this will help.

I want to be clear at the start here that the following is not an analysis of Eddie as a person, none of this is going to be treating him as if he were a real person. This is about Eddie as a tool of the plot, as a tool of the writers, as a character within a story being told by people that should be able to do their jobs better. If you see me saying things like “Eddie did X” or “Eddie thought X” the intent is not that Eddie, the person, performed these actions, but rather that the writers wrote him as performing these actions.

So with that, let’s proceed.

The core of my problem with Eddie’s death is that the manner in which he died is trying to sell us the opposite message to what the narration showed us to that point. The way the death is set up, the writers are trying to sell us on the message “Eddie is a coward that becomes a hero when he stops running away.” Unfortunately for the writers, that’s NOT what the rest of the narration has shown us, so that message ends up feeling empty.

So let’s look at that. When does Eddie run away?

The first and biggest instance, the one he remembers right before he turns around, is when Chrissy dies. Now, we as viewers might be tempted to believe he “ran away” here, but that’s only even slightly true when we look at him through the lens of having experienced the other characters. Look at the situation objectively; he invites a nice girl he’s a little soft on over to buy some drugs to help her relax because she’s CLEARLY going through it. He leaves her alone for a few seconds to look for said drugs, and when he comes back she starts levitating with her eyes rolled all the way back in her head, and then all of her bones break for no visible reason, and her face implodes. I don’t know anyone who would stick around through that, that is objectively horrifying, so I don’t see taking off as a cowardly action AT ALL,especially since there’s no way for Eddie to know if whatever caused that will turn and do it to him next.

I’m sorry but a 20 year old kid still literally trying to just graduate high school, whose life has been Very Normal up until now (or at least, Very Mundane) is excused from taking off at this point, especially because what’s he gonna do if he stays? He cannot help her. He cannot call the cops himself; there’s absolutely NO chance a cop believes “officer she levitated and something invisible broke all of her bones and smashed her face in, it totally was not me” from the town drug dealer. They should because it’s literally true, but they aren’t gonna. They are going to, reasonably for the information they would have, believe he’s on drugs and killed her. And Eddie learning what actually happened after the fact? Learning it was a supernatural monster that he literally would have had zero power to stop? I can, a little bit, understand him feeling like he SHOULD have been able to do something, but narratively speaking from outside of the story, taking off wasn’t a cowardly move. That was the right move, and the only one he could have made. We know, and he finds out, that there was fuck all he could have done except leave to stay alive to fight another day.

Okay, so when else does he run, that would support the narrative that he’s a coward? He runs from the cops when they’re trying to track him down for murdering Chrissy. But… he didn’t murder Chrissy and, again, there’s no way the cops are going to just believe him if he tells them the truth. Also like!! Good for him for running from the cops, this is not the day and age to tell a story about how you should turn yourself in for crimes you didn’t commit. So that’s another example of Eddie bolting when it’s perfectly reasonable and ostensibly correct to do so.

So when else? Well, he runs from the jock pack when they come to try to kill him with guns. I don’t know about you but if I know meathead religious fanatics that hate me are coming for me with guns, I’m not sticking around to test the theory that I’m bulletproof. I’m getting the fuck out of there, and Eddie did too, and he was right to do so. That’s self-preservation. That’s the only correct move to make, again. Lose the battle, win the war.

As another example, my friend brought up the DND game where he advises the players to run instead of fight, and I can’t really take this one seriously because there’s no stakes and he’s the DM. If they fight or run, there’s no real life consequences. No one actually gets hurt, no one actually dies. DMs are supposed to give their players a little shit. They’re supposed to goad them a little. They’re also supposed to watch out for them; he’s got their info, he’s got imaginary Vecna’s info, he knows the odds. Any good DM wants the players to have a good time, not just have their characters die for no good reason and them be upset IRL(the irony here is outrageous, with that the writers of this fucking show should want the viewers to have a good time not just have characters die for no good reason and us be upset… but I digress). So imo, again, he’s not acting as a coward, he’s acting as a DM responsible for the good time of other kids he’s playing with.

Those are the major times I can think of that Eddie is shown “running away” and none of them are acts of cowardice. They are all reasonable, normal reactions to incomprehensible and/or dangerous situations. So where is the narrative that he’s a coward coming from?? Because you know what I see? I see exactly the opposite being told to us, in the chances he has to run away where he chooses NOT to run already. They play his death like it’s somehow the first time ever that he’s chosen to not run but it’s literally not even the second or third time!

He may not stay to fight an entire posse of armed jocks, but you know when he does hold his ground? When Steve is jabbing around the boathouse with an oar. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to defend himself at that point. He’s ready to fight Steve with just a broken bottle rather than bolt. He ran when he was panicked, terrified, out of his normal mind with confusion. But as soon as he has his feet under him and is dealing with something he understands? He holds his ground.

The girls jump into the water after Steve, and Eddie tells Steve after that, you know, what was he going to do, NOT go after them? And he’s kind of playing it like he didn’t have a choice because he didn’t want to be shown up in courage by the girls, but I’m sorry, an actual coward would not have gone after them regardless of reputation. At the very least, a coward would have waited in the boat, and reasoned to himself that, well, someone needs to be here when they get back, someone needs to be able to pull them out of the water etc (which imo isn’t even all that cowardly, that could be very helpful if they needed it). A coward does not dive into a pitch black lake in the middle of the night, to swim through the little fiery gate to hell at the bottom. That’s not cowardly behavior, even if it is motivated by not wanting to look bad in front of others. He is scared, terrified, and he goes anyway, knowing full well he might die. That’s literally the definition of bravery: being afraid and doing it anyway. And what’s more?? Is that by that point, they’ve explained the deal to him. He is informed about the Upside Down by then. He was told the equivalent of “hell is trying to break into our world and we’re the only people that know and we have to stop it but we might die” and he fucking goes anyway.

Which is like. The Mordor speech is another point. They explain to him the deal, and they give him an out when there’s no pressure. He can hide out safely here, they’ll go do what they do (what they clearly know how to do, have done before, and are pretty sure they can do), and he does not need to be involved. No one is currently actively in danger when they ask him. The people around him clearly understand that what they are asking is Big and no one there is going to blame him for saying yeah, I think I’ll stay here, good luck. THAT would have been the action of a coward. That would have been the point to run away, when he could have done so with some modicum of dignity. But instead, he stands up and he tells them he doesn’t want to do this, but it’s the right thing to do, and he’s going to do it with them. That is a hero’s choice. He knows there is a chance he will die, he knows there is a chance they all die, he knows there’s a chance it will hurt and be terrifying and that if they fail the world might end. He knows!! He knows because they told him and he says Alright, let’s do it. Bravery is not the absence of fear, it is being terrified and doing it anyway, and that’s what Eddie chooses in that moment and in the lake and at the trailer. Even if he’d run away the entire rest of the season before that point, THAT moment in the woods is the point Eddie decided not to run away. That is the point, narratively, where choosing to not run away mattered; when he knew the stakes and chose to stay despite them. That’s the point where Eddie decided, narratively speaking, to become a hero.

Which is kind of weird, because the writers shortly afterward try to sell us, the viewers, on the opposite message. The group comes up with the plan; Eddie and Dustin square off with the demobats while Steve, Nancy, and Robin square off with Vecna. Neither group can handle both things. Both groups are important to the success of this mission. The trio is going to be sneaking up on what is basically a sleeping target, and with the bats gone all they have to do is watch where they step. Eddie and Dustin, on the other hand, are going to be literally facing off against hundreds, if not thousands, of massive, demonic bats that want to literally eat them alive. And the writers look us dead in the eyes and try to tell us through Dustin and Steve and Eddie’s conversation, that this is somehow NOT heroic.

Excuse me?

If I was faced with calling hundreds of giant killer demon bats to me, I would 100% consider that a heroic action. That’s brave as fuck!! Eddie has seen those fuckers up close and personal! He knows the damage even just one or two can do. He’s WELL aware he ends up as lunch if he’s not good enough. But he does it. He plays right there out in the open and then he stands back to back with Dustin and fights the bats that get inside. They both fight like hell to keep the demobats’ attention and keep each other alive.

So, up to this point… the narrative has shown us that Eddie actually doesn’t run away. In fact, it’s shown us the exact opposite: that given information and a choice, Eddie chooses, repeatedly, to stay, to help, to fight. Eddie chooses bravery (being afraid and doing it anyway) SEVERAL times in major ways.

Which is the first reason why his death rankles SO MUCH. The writers tried to TELL us that Eddie was “redeeming” his earlier cowardice (running away) by choosing to stay and fight, but they told us this after spending all season SHOWING us the opposite. Bad.

But… that’s also not all.

While the mixed message of cowardice/bravery does suck, it’s not the only fuck up in this death. It’s the characterization fuck up, it’s the one that leaves me feeling confused and the action devoid of emotion; you can’t turn someone into a hero if they were already a hero. It’s an empty message. Hollow.

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The other major reason revolves around the plot.

Like I said above, the point where Eddie actually decided to stay and fight was during the Mordor speech. That was the point where he was no longer running. But, let’s pretend that this wasn’t obvious enough, or even that it’s “easy” to decide to stay when nothing bad is currently going on in their vicinity. Maybe the argument is that bravery only counts when the shit hits the fan. Okay. So when does the shit hit the fan?

The shit hits the fan when the demobats are breaking into the trailer.

Back up a little, for clarity. The PLAN goes like this: Eddie and Dustin distract the demobats, to buy the trio time to get to Vecna. When the trio reaches Vecna, the demobats will turn their attention away from Eddie and Dustin, and go for the house to protect Vecna. This is understood by all party members, and is incorporated into the plan.

Now, here’s what the writers tell us the characters “know.” Attacking Vecna will alert the bats, as will touching vines, and the bats will leave the trailer to go to Vecna if either occurs. The Upside Down creatures they are going to be dealing with are a hive mind- if ONE of the creatures notices them, ALL of the creatures will notice them (which we and they have also seen in other demo-creatures in other seasons, so there’s no reason not to believe this is true).

What this MEANS is that as far as the characters know, as long as the bats are at the trailer, the trio has not A) stepped on any vines or B) started the fight. This also tells us that the trio expects the bats to fly from the trailer to the house and that that time is immutable and factored into the plan already. It also means that Eddie and Dustin can be sure that as long as the bats are at the trailer, the trio is fine (see A and B above) and on plan.

So, that leaves us with this: as long as the bats are at the trailer, Eddie and Dustin have NO reason to believe the trio is off-plan or in need of anything. As far as the duo knows, the trio has not been caught by vines (they have, but there’s NO WAY for Eddie and Dustin to know that, and in fact they must assume the opposite given what we have been shown they “know” about how touching the vines will alert the bats). The demobats (according to what we have been shown the characters know) will remain at the trailer trying to get to them until one of three things happens- they acquire new prey (the trio), they kill the duo, or the duo escapes in a way the bats cannot follow and they give up (at which point they may or may not leave, if they have nowhere in particular to go, we don’t really know what they do without prey besides fly around I guess).

Given that the bats ARE still at the trailer (meaning the trio is on task and safe) and ARE still trying to get to Eddie and Dustin (meaning the immutable flight time between trailer and house has not begun)… what is Eddie buying time FOR? They have the bats’ attention whether or not he does what he does. The trio, as far as he has any reason to believe, is safe. They haven’t communicated any problems. And (and this is IMPORTANT because we are talking about the WRITERS) we, the viewers, are not shown any indication that the plan is delayed in a way the Eddie or Dustin characters would be aware of. Neither of them mention “it’s taking too long” re: the Vecna battle beginning. From Eddie’s POV, we are given NO indication whatsoever that there’s any REASON to need to buy more time. We are shown that the trio is in distress, being strangled by vines but a) Eddie doesn’t know that, because touching the vines is supposed to set off the bats and they’re still at the trailer and b) he cannot “buy time” against the vines strangling them because extra time won’t do anything for that.

Narratively speaking, there’s no good reason for him to try to buy more time in the first place, either from his POV or outside of his POV.

On top of that, we’ve reached the “the shit hits the fan” moment, when Eddie is staring up at Dustin, the demobats are closing in, and Eddie is faced with a choice- leave with Dustin (which is following the plan and is a good move to make) or stay and fight (or to “buy time” for whatever that means). He chooses to stay to buy time for the trio. My wife pointed out that she thought he might be buying time for Dustin, but I would counter that with saying that there’s no indication of that. Their mission is to buy time for the trio, and he doesn’t say “buying YOU time” he just says “buying time.” To me, this indicates he is attempting to further their original mission.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. Eddie’s attempt to “buy time” was not completely without merit, it was just completely without merit the way it was set up and fulfilled. And that’s because it came before his clear “decision” to stay and fight was shown to us in flashbacks, without any indication that more time was actually needed, and because what he did before fighting (staying, running) was not recognized for what it was.

Here’s the deal. They have two sets of time which they could choose to try to increase; the time they are holding the demobats’ attention and the time it takes the demobats to get back to the house. The former increases no matter what, as long as they are focused on Eddie. The latter ONLY increases if Eddie is in motion away from the house, thus leading the demobats farther away and increasing the time it takes to fly back. The literal ONLY way to buy time in that second set is to run away from the house, and keep running until he cannot do so anymore.

Which is WHY it’s so senseless for him to have turned around to fight in the middle of running. He cannot win a fight against hundreds of demobats. He just can’t. And they were going to give chase to him again momentarily whether he turned around or not, so the best use of his time and energy is in fact not fighting, it is putting one more foot and one more foot and one more foot of distance between the demobats and the house where the trio is going to be fighting. Running away is literally the best way to buy time and save them.

Not fighting, not hiding, not holding down the fort. Running. Away. The thing we’ve been told he does, the thing he believes he does, even if we’ve been shown the opposite. The writers set up the exact situation in which running away is literally the correct and best answer for how to save the group. And then they give the extremely mixed and empty message that actually, turning to face the monsters and fight them for no good reason is the heroic thing to do. But why? They show us flashbacks at that point that are supposed to tell us that Eddie is just now considering that he should stop and turn and fight. NOW of all times??? NOW is the first we are shown that he thought of it? The writers certainly seem to think that this is the point, because they are flashing us back now. But that’s ridiculous, narratively, because he already decided to stay instead of flee, back at the Mordor speech. He already decided to sacrifice himself back at the trailer. We’ve been shown that he only runs when it’s sensible to do so, and that he’s perfectly willing to be brave when it’s appropriate, especially if it means protecting others.

So one of my other friends brought up this: Eddie believes he is a coward, regardless of his actions. She pointed out that she could see where even if he was not a coward, he might believe it enough to do what he did. The problem with this is... Remember way back at the beginning of this post where I said I will be talking about Eddie as a character and a plot tool? Eddie "believing" he is a coward is taking Eddie as a person, not a character in a narrative. It is perfectly reasonable for a character to believe something counter to the narrative! But... it has to be shown that it actually is counter to the narrative. There has to be some indication, an acknowledgment from the narrative, that while this character believes X, the truth is actually Y. And that doesn't happen here. The indication we get is that the Eddie character believes the times he ran were cowardly and that the actions that get him killed are not, and the writers, instead of reminding us that's not actually true by what we've been shown, try to use flashbacks to tell us that we should agree because they think the narrative supports that conclusion. Except it doesn't. Despite their best efforts, the narrative so far has communicated the opposite of what they try to sell us at the moment of his death. They want us to look at those flashbacks, agree that he's been a coward, and be happy that in this moment he is turning around to become a hero. But Eddie didn't become a hero in that moment by turning around. Eddie was already a hero. Eddie has been a hero practically the entire season so far.

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And that’s just… the problem. The writers completely failed to communicate the messages they wanted to communicate, and this meant that the things they SAID to us were hollow compared to the things they SHOWED us, and also ill timed.

Hope that helps.

This is part 2, that I added in a reblog but I'm including here now so I don't have to keep looking up the reblog:

Oh my god I'm sorry, I'm apparently not finished, a 4500 word dissertation was apparently not enough to locate all the things they did poorly with regards to Eddie's death and storyline.

I messed up, I looked at this purely from the perspective of Eddie as if he was in a vacuum, and he's not, and the entire- the whole entire season, everyone's plotline revolves around how running (or walking) away is the right decision sometimes. The literal threaded theme music through the season is 'Running up that Hill.' And yeah, some of the message is that at some point, turning to face the music (I'm sorry) may be necessary, but not until you're prepared to do so. Not when you're alone (at least not unless you're alone and cornered). Not when doing so will get you killed.

In Max's storyline, it's actually vital that she run away. She's the party's zoomer, running and being fast is built into her character design. Running from Vecna is what saves her life the first time he comes for her. Listening to a song about running away keeps her safe until they have a plan. More importantly, running to her support group, to her friends, to help so she's not alone, is what saves her fucking life. When she finally does face down Vecna? She hides. The plan is to have her hide out in the school dance gym, where she won't have to fight. Hiding, after spending all this time running, is good and right!! When she must be alone with no one able to help - just like Eddie being alone for Chrissy, for the cops, for the jocks - her job is to run, to hide, and to wait for support. Running is good because fighting alone is bad.

El's big moment with Papa this season? It wasn't when she fought him. It wasn't when she faced him down, those were the lead ups. Her crowning moment with him was when she ran from him. It was when her support group reached her and she looked at him as he was dying and asking her to stay, and she walked away from him. She was not the one to take him down. She tried facing him. She tried fighting him. It didn't work. Leaving, running away, was what finally got her free of him (and this also tracks with season 1, where literally the entire show launches because she ran away from danger and found support to stand beside her). And she was right to do so! I cheered so loud when she left him to die in the dirt. I rooted for every step she took trying to escape him. Running away was good and right because fighting alone is bad.

Jonathan, Argyle, Mike, and Will all ran away from the bad guys, taking the pizza truck and fucking booking it out of there to safety. They spend most of the season on the run! And you know what? It takes them right where they need to be, to catch El when she's falling. Running when you can't beat the odds is right and good. Running so you can fight another day is the smart move, sticking together and finding your group members is the best course of action.

Hopper, when he is alone in Russia, isn't about to take on the entire prison. What's his plan? Fucking run the fuck away!! Of course it is!! That's the only sensible plan he can possibly have! Running away from that danger is right and good! They only go back when he finds the others and they have a plan.

Go back to season 2- when does Will really get into trouble? When he takes the bad advice from Bob that he should turn and face his attacker. When he stops avoiding the mind flayer, it takes him. Bob's advice could have been good advice... in a mundane situation. But they're not in a mundane setting. They're in a supernatural horror setting, and turning to face the monsters when you're alone and have no plan gets you killed. His mother moves him all the way across the country to get him away from it, and granted it finds them anyway and they do end up going back, but... it's after they find Hopper. Joyce left after losing that part of their support network. El, as part of that section of the story, faces her attacker (the school bully) alone, and both times it gets her into worse trouble than walking away, even getting her arrested, taken away from the group and ultimately getting the group chased after (hey look running away) by people who try to kill them.

Just about the only character that routinely snatches up a weapon and stands their ground seemingly on instinct is... Steve. And you know what? He repeatedly gets his ass kicked because of it. He gets his ass kicked so many times it has become a running joke that he can't win a fight. It's become a staple of his character, even to the point of Dustin, in season 3, straight up making a plan that outright involves Steve not getting into a fight (and ironically that's the one human fight he wins) because that's a bad plan. It's a last resort. Fighting is what they do when they've exhausted all other options and have no choice (and this is also a message repeated many times throughout the series, as "this sucks and we don't want to/shouldn't have to do this but there's no one else and no choice, we have to fight").

Over and over and over and over the writers show us "running away is sometimes the right choice to make" and yet... And yet they tell us "Eddie Munson is a coward for running away." Why? Why is he any different than literally anyone else? Why, when he is alone and cannot possibly win, is he the only one punished for running away until the group can find him? He didn't run away when it mattered! He chose to fight with the group when it would make a difference, when they had a plan and were able to support one another. Narratively speaking his death was a horrible mixed message compared to the narrative of the entire rest of the season, and every other character.

Anyway I've run all the way up this fucking hill, I guess I'm gonna die on it.

-----

Allow me a few more minutes of your time, I know this is long already but hear me out about a couple simple changes to the narrative that would have shifted everything:

Imagine if you will, that we have everything set up the same, right up until Dustin goes through the gate into Eddie’s trailer in the real world.

And then imagine that this is the point where Eddie pauses, and remembers being in this very same fucking trailer with Chrissy and being helpless. There’s nothing he could have done then. Imagine getting the flashbacks NOW, while he’s still in the trailer, and his decision hinging not on his guilt over running (which was reasonable) but on his helplessness in that moment. He couldn't save Chrissy but he can save these people, here, in the now. Imagine him remembering the trio talking the timing of the plan over, and imagine Eddie communicating to Dustin in the now that “It’s been too long. The bats should be heading for the house by now. They need help.” and imagine him telling Dustin that he’ll get the bats out of there, lead them away, buy time, and that Dustin needs to go help the others. In no way does he want to send Dustin to do this, in no way does he want to endanger Dustin, but he’s the only one there is and the fate of the fucking world may depend on the party succeeding. That, and it’s currently far more dangerous right now to be demobat bait.

Imagine that he gets out of the house, and onto the bike, knowing full well that if he doesn’t get the bats as far away as he can as fast as possible, the bats may see Dustin (which incidentally places the emotion of the moment on a character we know and love and are also invested in, instead of some random person we had for half a second 4 seasons in). Imagine that he’s desperate to buy that time because it matters now, the stakes of him buying time are so fucking high now. He’s learned to run, and now running is the thing that is going to save the others, maybe the world. He’s running knowing full well that running may get him killed, because the bats are faster than he is, but the group needs him. Running, in this moment IS an act of bravery. This is what he can do, he’s supposed to be good at it. So he does it.

And imagine the moment the bats do catch up, and they do drag him off the bike, and there’s no help coming, and imagine that he literally walks backward deeper into hell while fending them off, fighting tooth and nail for one more foot of distance, and one more, and one more, because the farther he can walk, the farther the bats are from the trio and from Dustin. The more time he can buy for Dustin to reach them, the better their chances of surviving are, even if Eddie doesn’t.

And imagine that this makes a difference. Imagine Dustin reaching the group and pulling out one of the firebombs from their dropped packs, and burning the vines into releasing the trio, and someone demands to know where Eddie is, and Dustin telling them he’s being a hero, don’t waste his sacrifice, and he looks like he’s gonna cry but they don’t have TIME. And Vecna is aware of them now because of the firebomb, but when they get there, his attention gets yanked to El arriving in the Upside Down and challenging him and he can’t split his attention. So they attack him while El is attacking. Maybe it trades off where he’s focusing. Maybe their attack is what distracts him just enough for El to hear Mike and get out of her vines after Vecna was starting to win.

And maybe none of that makes a difference in the end, maybe what ultimately happens to Eddie doesn’t change. Maybe Eddie does die knowing full well that that was the inevitable consequence of his choice. Or maybe they beat Vecna fast enough the bats drop and he lives. At that point, living or dying is narratively the same intensity (although obviously I would prefer he live, I would have accepted and mourned if he has died, instead of being full of rage). Either he died an actual hero whose actions really did buy time and allow the party to survive, or he lives knowing that sometimes, actually, running is the right choice, if it means surviving to continue the fight.

So. That’s why I am mad about his death. Not because it happened, but because it happened in such a completely senseless and ultimately useless manner. He didn’t buy time. He didn’t actually save anyone. He didn’t even really complete his own narrative arc the way it had been set up. He just died and we’re being told we should be very proud of him and terribly sad because he was a hero, and instead I’m mildly disgusted, disappointed, and furious at the inability of the writers to tell a coherent story about his death.

Hope that helps.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #stranger things meta #my posts #this is fucking long #but if you're mad about eddie too #I think you'll #well hopefully you'll be madder honestly #but you'll understand why you're mad #and how you were let down #and how easy it would have been to be worthwhile #anyway I'm still furious :D #and now you know why!

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seireitonin · 7 months

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Ben and Sally getting along fluff when??? /j (no shipping lmao) ik probably not canon but AHHHHH

(Tee hee this is so cute. Since you put Ben and not BEN, I’m going to talk about the 12 year old boy and not the evil entity.)

•Since Sally and Ben both died pretty long ago they’re actually more mature than they look

• Sally for nostalgias sake, loves to play tea party still

•After all tea party was her favorite when she was alive in the 60s!

•Ben being born in the 90s and a boy who didn’t play it when he was alive, doesn’t fully get it, but joins her anyway. It’s like having a sister for him

• Sally who was born in the late 50s and died in the late 60s, doesn’t understand video games all that well but still plays with Ben the best she can

• Ben will sometimes let her win because he likes seeing her smile and cheer

• Ben loves playing hide and seek with her (fun fact it’s canon that Ben loves playing hide and seek :3)

• Sally kinda cheats by turning invisible though

• They find comfort in each other, both of them being children who were lonely and being tricked into dying

• They feel normal with each other, as if they never died and have a chance at growing up and being normal

• They stay up all night eat candy and watch their favorite movies together

• No need for health and sleep when you’re both already dead!

• Since they’re from different decades the movie choices are very different with all of Sally’s favorite movies being from the 40s-early 60s and Ben’s being from the 90s-early 2000s

• It’s like stepping into different decades for both of them and they love learning about each others time periods

• Despite popular belief, Ben’s actually a quiet and sweet kid

• Sally does more haunting than he does, most of his haunting is unintentional

• But he does watch her, thinks it’s interesting how scared people get.

• She’s just a little girl, right? What’s so scary about her? (She literally shows up in the darkness, bloody and talking in a creepy voice saying “play with me”) but they’re just overreacting! She’s totally normal in his eyes.

•Sally draws Ben pictures a lot!

• If Ben’s playing an RPG and he has the option to make his party members look how he wants them too, he’ll always base them off Sally and shows her

• This makes her beam with joy every time!

•Sally will watch him play video games and ask questions about literally everything

• He’ll answer all of them, he loves talking about video games and everything in them anyway and it makes him happy that Sally is interested

• Video games were his absolute favorite thing when he was alive that hasn’t changed now that he’s dead

• Sally knows that so she will absolutely let him talk forever about them, especially about how much he loves Link

• Sally’s favorite food is Lady Fingers

• Ben’s favorite is Pizza Rolls

• So they often bring each other those foods as presents

• (Ben has to ‘borrow’ lady fingers from the bakery in town, he doesn’t know how to make them lol)

• Sally and Ben don’t knock to enter each others rooms, they just appear like the ghosts they are

• Since Ben had trouble making friends growing up, he’s so grateful for Sally

• Sally’s grateful for him too, she feels so safe around him

• They’re basically attached at the hip

• Ben let’s Sally wear his hat

• Sally likes floating around with Ben, it’s something only the two of them can do together

• Loves floating in the sky with him when the stars are out

• Yay friendship!

#creepypasta #ben drowned #creepypasta fandom #sally williams #fluff #creepypastafluff #creepypasta characters #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta headcanon

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taloumina · 1 year

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Real Motive

JJ Maybank/Female Reader

Fluff, angst, insecurity

The reader in this is a night owl and former city girl.

Spoilers: none for any season

Summary: JJ finds out you can't swim.

I love unwinding at night with TV, and lately, my main show has been Outer Banks! Definitely makes me wish I was living right next to the ocean!

= = = = =

Living on an island like Kildare, you thought walks were much more enjoyable than they ever were in the city, and it was so much easier to run into people you knew. It happened during most of your walks.

This morning, one of those people was JJ.

“I knew it!” he said, pointing a finger at you the instant your eyes met.

Your pulse spiked, and you assumed that he finally knew what you’d been hiding from him and everyone else you’d met since moving here.

“You’re turning into an early bird, aren’t you?”

“Oh!” So that was what JJ meant. You released a shaky breath and smoothed out some invisible wrinkles on your dress, sounding as carefree as you could manage (which wasn’t very much). “Yeah, goodbye my night owl ways! I just couldn’t resist a morning walk!”

“You should try a morning swim. It’s even better,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I’m actually gonna go for one right now. Wanna join?”

“Oh, uh… no, I’m fine.” You hurriedly added, “But don’t let me stop you from swimming!”

Nice, you scolded yourself. Saying that when he wasn’t even in the water yet…

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you actually prefer walking instead!”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” You shrugged, and on the inside, you were desperate to get away from him before this got too long. “Sorry, but I gotta get back to, you know, walking!”

You tried being the “deadly” combo of funny and casual about it, but you must’ve failed because JJ’s smile fell as he looked at you, a perceptiveness in his eyes.

“Hey, (Name),” he said, “the reason why we’ve never seen you swim before… is it because you don’t know how to?”

You could just about feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach with his question, and no part of you even thought about denying it. Why bother when JJ–or anyone else on this island–could make you prove it, only to unveil the truth when they see you really, seriously can’t swim at all once you hit the water.

You nodded slowly, averting your eyes. “Go ahead. You can laugh.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“And I’m saying you can. I know it’s bad, JJ. Moving to an island and not knowing how to swim?” You threw your hands up in the air. “It’s fucking crazy!”

“Last I remember, moving was your mom’s idea, not yours. And hey, I mean it,” you heard JJ say. “I’m not gonna laugh. I’m not that much a dick.”

You couldn’t help but look at him, a slight smile on your lips. “So you do admit you’re a dick.”

It was his turn to shrug, but the whole time he was smiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Silence fell between you two, broken only when JJ spoke again. “So why… did you never learn? Not judging, just curious.”

You knew he wasn't lying. Anyone would be curious about the girl who now lived on an island but couldn’t swim for her life, let alone anyone else’s, and you didn’t see any judgment in his eyes as you looked into them.

“It’s not that I never wanted to. It just… never happened. After my dad died, my mom spent all her time–and I mean all of it–working, trying to put food on our table and keep a roof over our heads. And it’s not like we lived next to any water.” You sighed, turning to the morning sky above for a moment. “Honestly, it’s been so long, just the two of us, I’m not even sure she knows that I can’t swim. She might think I can.”

You weren’t angry at your mom for it. It wasn’t a complete excuse, but being a single parent was difficult enough on its own, and things like making sure you went to school and did your homework were more important than making sure you learned how to swim. As a kid, how could you possibly have known that swimming was a skill everyone should have?

“It never came up when you guys decided to move here?” JJ asked.

“The ocean, yes. A new house, yes. A new life, yes. Swimming, specifically?” You shook your head. “I told myself once I got here, I’d learn how to swim somehow, but…”

“But everyone and their mom, dad, and dog here already knows how to swim, goes out there 24/7, and it’s annoying as fuck?” JJ guessed with an expression that told you he was 100% joking.

You laughed. “Yeah, something like that. And,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I didn’t want to humiliate myself by jumping into the water and needing to be saved ASAP.”

“Is that why you never told any of us? Because you thought we’d make fun of you?”

“You guys all swim like you’re fish. Every time I thought about telling you, I got scared and backed out. Thanks, by the way, for not making fun of me so far,” you said, infusing a little humor into your tone, but to your surprise, JJ didn’t respond with humor of his own.

“What if I teach you?” he offered, a serious look on his face.

“No, JJ, I don’t wanna burden you with this.”

“Who says it’s a burden? I got free time, you got free time, and we can spend that free time together.” During all this, he pointed from himself to you and then both of you.

“Teaching me how to swim? I can’t promise I’ll be a good student.” You could imagine yourself crying from frustration if you don’t learn quickly or if you feel like you’ll never be as adept at it as JJ (and everyone else) is.

“Then let me promise this,” he said. “I’m not gonna give up on you, and I’m not gonna be like some drill sergeant with a stick up his ass. No matter how long it takes, we’re gonna get you swimming.”

“Drill sergeant’?” you repeated, wanting to laugh more freely. But you couldn’t, remembering the rest of your friends. “What about the others? I don’t… really want them to know.”

“They don’t have to,” JJ said softly, and you tried not to think about what that meant. Why he wanted to do this for you.

“And assuming it’ll take more than a day for me to learn… If they keep seeing us together, they’ll wonder what’s up.”

“We can just tell them we’re dating.”

Your eyes widened, but JJ’s were mischievous. “Okay,” you said hesitantly, “but would they believe that? And how would that explain us always being in the water?”

JJ waved off your questions. “It’s an island. Unless it’s hell outside, no one’ll ever wonder why we’re in the water all the time. And”–he shoved his hands into his pockets, slightly nervous all of a sudden–“they totally would… so I gotta be honest: I’m not without a motive here. I do wanna teach you, but I also like that we can spend all that time alone.”

You wondered if JJ could hear your heart pounding even louder now. “JJ…”

“Pretty shitty way of saying I like you, huh? Don’t blame you if you want another teacher, some selfless asshole.”

“Why would I want them when I want you?” It came out so fast you didn’t realize what you were implying until it was too late, and JJ latched onto it, stepping closer to you.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said slyly, “but does that mean you like me, too?”

“Maybe I should find some selfless asshole instead.”

“But you want me.” JJ was only too happy pointing this out. “Or was I just hearing things?”

“No,” you admitted, hoping you weren’t blushing as much as you thought you were. “You’re the one who offered, and since I can’t exactly pay you top dollar...” You bit your lip. “What if us dating is for real?”

JJ grinned. “That’s way better than being paid top dollar! Only Kooks would throw money at everything.”

“And everyone,” you added, yelping in surprise when JJ picked you up and laughing as he spun you around.

“So when are we doing this? Now?” he asked, holding you safely in his arms. “Because I’m dying to see you out of that dress.”

“Careful, JJ, your real motive’s showing.”

“Where? Show me.”

“Right here,” you said, bringing your lips to his.

#outer banks #obx x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank/reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #reader-insert #x reader #female reader

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nordseehexe · 6 months

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Ixtab the goddess of Suicide

The goddess Ixtab known in the pantheon of the Mayan gods as the supreme goddess of suicide, liked to induce people to die by their own hands, to take care of their soul after they have died, this divinity and also wife of the god of death . She knew the meaning of suicide and was considered by the Maya as an honorable way to die, the Goddess Ixtab liked to incite this practice among mortals. Ixtab was not distinguished by being a beautiful goddess, her appearance resembled that of a decomposing corpse, and most of the time her eyes were closed, and she loved to hang herself by the neck of the trees. When she got someone to commit suicide, she accompanied him and took him to the Underworld.

One day Ixtab found a couple of Young Mayans Itzel (Afternoon Light) and Ikal (Spirit), who looked very much in love. Itzel looked as beautiful as the goddess Xochiquétzal (Mayan goddess of beauty) and only had fifteen years of age. Envy caught her, because she could not bear to see beautiful women being very happy next to her beloved. Itzel was a happy girl, full of life and optimism, she liked everything and amazed her, rebozaba happiness. But Ixtab could not stand her and decided that she had to take her with her. That's how she created a plan for her destruction. She made use of her ability to become invisible, and at all times began to send messages to Itzel. She would sneak up to her ear and say: "Itzel, look how sad life is, everything is evil and injustice, men do not value the love you show! Or: - Have you seen how Ikal looks at the other women and forgets about you?" Other times Ixtab whispered: "Itzel, do not trust men, look at Ikal, your boyfriend, go around Yatziri Pech."

Before this continuous bombardment of dismal messages, Itzel began to be sad, distrustful of all, looked at Ikal with bad intentions, suffered when she was with Ikal, one day Itzel and Ikal quarreled due to the influence of Ixtab and when Ikal turned his back Itzel hit him with a rock causing his death, life was no longer happy. Two months passed, Itzel had lost weight, she was regretful and she began to hate life. This followed a period of time until one day she went to the ceiba tree that was behind her house and hung on it. Immediately Ixtab appeared, picked her up, took her hand, and while laughing loudly, she took her to her underworld to later turn her into her slave.

Source

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eternalwritess · 2 months

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no words to be spoken between us both (so please save them for later)

There was a direct light coming from the ceiling and he was here. He was proof. Living. Breathing. Proof.

It was breathtaking at first, she smiled and let out a small squeal and showed him around. He was kind, he was mature, he was an angel. He meant everything in the world to her at that moment. She went back to her home that night with a smile on her face. There was no more reason for this genocide of souls. Everyone could be in heaven. It was a win win.

The next day came around and there was to be a meeting after lunch. She waited around eagerly bouncing on the balls of her feet before seeing someone in the distance. Lute. Lute who was the second in command of Adam's army, Lute who took part in the genocide with glee, Lute who always seemed to have her mask on and when it was off a different one in its place.

Lute who's eyes were now almost burnt red with tears. Lute whose arm is missing with bandages that were most likely done by herself. Lute who looked as if she was a minute from dropping dead. Lute.

Emily walked over her hand outstretched as if to ask what had happened before Lute took off and away from her. Lute. Emily paused for a moment wondering whether if she should follow but decided against it. The meeting was in an hour, she had to be ready.

In the meeting that walls seemed to close in. Lute was standing there with her mask on and despite Sera trying to ask her to take it off she never did, and Sera didn't push it. It was odd seeing her disobey orders. But what was she to think anything of it? Maybe she just didn't understand, maybe she never will.

The meeting went on and on and on and Emily paused looking at Lute. She was missing something else wasn't she? She seemed awfully lonely by herself. She looked small, defeated. She looked unnatural almost, then it hit her, Adam. She looked up at Sera and stood up abruptly.

Was Adam injured? Hurt? Is that maybe why Lute looked the way she did. "Sera, where is Adam?"

The whole court fell into silence and Sera looked at Emily. She couldn't describe it but she could feel the sorrow pulling from her eyes as she looked away. "He is gone."

Emily stood there mouth half open before looking over to Lute who couldn't look back at her. She was staring blankly into space glaring at some invisible object on the wall instead. Adam was gone. Adam died. One of them died. Emily felt the world shake around her, maybe she didn't care for Adam, but Lute did. Lute cared for him deeply. She saw it each time they were in a room together. They cared for each other in their own way. Isn't that enough?

And Emily cares for heaven, she cares for her people. Them dying would be horrible. She couldn't bare to see that happen. She heard something snap nearby but when she looked over all she saw was Lute with a broken pencil.

She muttered what Emily could only assume to be an apology and looked away, avoiding everyone's gaze. Lute was part of heaven, Lute was her people. She couldn't let her be sad.

Once the meeting ended Emily found herself naturally following Lute to the edges of heaven. A place in the clouds where you could see the people on Earth down below if you looked hard enough. A place where you could see the yellow rings of heaven spin around dizzying even the heaviest of hearts and stomachs.

Lute sighed and looked over to Emily. She knew she was following. Emily opened her mouth to speak but watched the look on Lute's face fade as she took off her mask and looked away from her. She shut it.

Emily awkwardly shuffled over to her and watched as Lute sat on the ground never glancing at her once. Emily did the same, but she looked at Lute. Waiting, waiting for her to speak to her. Waiting for something. She couldn't be like this forever, she wouldn't allow it. Emily couldn't even fathom the thought of Lute being sad forever, but why shouldn't she be? The only person she ever really saw beside Lute was Adam and maybe the occasional exorcist if she was feeling particularly social that day.

Emily saw Lute's hand beside her balled up into a fist, nails digging into her hand. Emily reached over trying to hold it, tell her that it was going to be okay. But with no avail as Lute moved her singular hand away.

"Lute-" Emily began but couldn't find the words or strength to continue on. She never met someone who wasn't truly happy in heaven anymore. People complained at times but they had people who they loved and people who loved them back for who they were. They were truly happy. They were going to be happy forever. But she couldn't find that thought for Lute. She watched the way Lute's eyes wavered down below her as she watched everyone on Earth run around.

The rings of heaven spin around them causing Emily to want to vomit even more. Adam was dead. He was gone. And with it it seemed that Lute followed, followed into another unknown state of being.

"You should go," Lute muttered softly and looked over to Emily for the first time. Her eyes once yellow had a red tint around the whites and her makeup seemed beyond ruined. Her face littered with bruises and her stub of an arm bleeding on her clothes.

Emily frowned and shook her head placing her hand on Lute's shoulder and turning her towards her. Lute was shaking, it was weird. So weird. But Emily smiled softly at her and pulled her in for a tight hug and watched as Lute curled into her.

It's gonna be okay, I promise. Those were the words that never left her lips that day, for she didn't have to stomach to say them. To tell someone who just lost what they thought was all to push through it. Maybe she can figure out how to fix this. Maybe she can make Lute happy once more.

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green-socks · 2 years

Text

Don't Turn Away

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Floyd x gn!reader

Summary: Bob had felt more or less invisible all his life. When that became a reality, he didn't feel like much had changed. But you still saw him.

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: Bob has a very sad backstory for the purposes of this fic. He's basically some sort of ghost but also not, like he sort of died but also didn't?? Made it up as I went. It's cute tho I promise.

Notes: This was one of those where an idea hit and four hours later I had a fic ready. I quite liked writing this! Thank you to @wyn-n-tonic for the plotting help and to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the incredibly quick and helpful beta and also for just existing. <3

MASTERLIST

Working at The Hard Deck you saw all sorts of people every day. Mostly Navy personnel, sure, but there was variety in that group also. They certainly provided a variety of entertainment. You had been working at the bar even before Penny bought it, but she had let you stay on, and to be honest, you preferred her as an employer, so it all worked out for you. She often left you in charge since you had the most experience out of the younger staff. As it was, you were well used to handling the rush hours, the late nights, the drunk customers, and the surprisingly weird shenanigans they could get up to. You always thought you’d seen everything, and every time they proved you wrong.

Lately, however, you had begun to suspect that the late nights were getting to you after all. Or maybe you were somehow in a permanently drunken state being around all that beer all the time. Whatever it was, you were… Well, you were sort of getting the feeling that one of your customers was.. invisible?

It started with small, almost unnoticeable things happening here and there. One time you were carrying empty glasses back to the kitchens and nearly dropped them trying to avoid a customer running into you, but the pile of glassware somehow stayed upright even though there was no one else near to help you. A few times you came to the opening shift and could’ve sworn the place was somehow cleaner than when you had closed off the night before, as if there was some magical barmaid fairy polishing after you. (You weren’t sure if you should have felt guilty about not doing your own work well enough or offended that someone seemed to think there was room for improvement). Then there was the fact that you kept seeing payments for snacks you were pretty sure you hadn’t sold. It was messing with your head – and the bookkeeping!

Not that you’d ever say something like that out loud to anyone. Those who wouldn’t believe you would think you’re being silly at best, and then those who might believe you would just freak out. You weren’t even totally certain if you believed in that stuff yourself, but you had a childhood friend who you knew not only believed in it but had spent her whole life studying all paranormal things. She would have believed you, but you weren’t really ready to call her yet either.

However, all of these little things kept piling up over the course of several months, and at some point, you were forced to admit you truly weren’t hallucinating. So then you started really looking.

It was (obviously) easier said than done, trying to catch an invisible being, but you thought you noticed when they were around a lot, and then times when they were completely absent for days, or even weeks. Those were the times you’d start thinking you had imagined it all, but then the signs would show up again, and you felt a sort of sense of relief. It was real, and it was something you had learned to expect now. It would be odd if it stopped completely. Besides, whoever or whatever this being was, they were very polite and helpful. You weren’t planning on getting rid of your friendly bar fairy.

It took several weeks, but eventually you were able to catch the being in action. You had closed the bar as usual and gotten to your car when you realized you were still wearing your work shoes and had left your usual shoes behind. Knowing you’d need your normal shoes tomorrow morning, you went back to switch them.

A pool cue that was floating in mid-air clattered to the floor when you stepped back inside. Someone else might have chalked it up to the cue just dropping from where it had been left, but you knew what it was. Who it was.

“You’re here!” you gasped quietly. You didn’t move, but your body was buzzing and your senses felt alert. “Who are you? Why have you been helping us?”

There was no answer. You felt a little disappointed, but at the same time you hadn’t truly expected an answer.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” you went on, aiming for a soothing tone. “I appreciate it a lot. All you’ve done, being helpful. It must have been you who left that tip for me last night when that one guy forgot, right?”

Still no answer.

“I just came to switch my shoes. Left with the wrong ones on again. You can continue whatever you are here to do. I’ll leave you to it in just a moment.”

It felt weird aiming your smile at thin air, but you tried. No harm in trying, right?

You were like 99% confident the being wouldn’t harm you in any way, but your body still tingled with adrenaline and the feeling of the eyes you were sure were on your back as you snuck into the staff room. When you returned, the cue stick had been returned to its place on the rack, which to you seemed like your bar fairy had confirmed their existence without words.

“Good night, friend. Maybe I’ll see you again tomorrow,” you said softly as you left.

Heart still pounding, you belatedly wondered if it had been offensive to say “see you” to someone you couldn’t see. Oh, well.

A few days later when you were on closing shift again, you dawdled on purpose, making sure you were the last one there and working much slower than usual, hoping they would be here again. You felt certain they had been at the bar at least earlier in the evening, because there was again a bag of peanuts gone, but the usual extra payment was there as well. You had no idea if invisible creatures could even eat but you’d place your bets on yes, because this one seemed to enjoy salty snacks.

“Are you here again? I’d like to talk to you if you are.”

No answer. Maybe they were just really shy? You kept talking.

“You know, at first I wondered if you were here to tell me to do my job better, since you always leave this place in neater shape than I do,” you chuckled.

“No!”

The voice was so small and quiet you could almost have missed it, but it was there.

“No?”

“I-I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” the voice stammered from somewhere near the jukebox. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

It sounded like a male voice to you, or what you stereotypically thought of as a male voice, and it sounded both dejected and surprised to be talking in the first place.

“No! Don’t go! I want you to stay,” you implored. “I like having you around. You feel friendly.”

“I like having things to do with my hands. I figured if I was helping it wasn’t so creepy that I was here. I honestly thought no one would notice,” the voice explained. It was still quiet and soft, but more sure than a minute ago.

“I noticed, though I must admit I doubted myself for a long time. There were times when I didn’t notice you here, or I guess I noticed your absence and wasn’t sure if I had imagined you in the first place. I should have believed in you. Or myself, too.”

“Sometimes I.. have to go away for a while.”

“It’s okay. This is a Navy bar; people come and go all the time.”

It seemed that the being wasn’t quite ready to have long conversations yet, but seemed to accept that you wanted them around. You kept talking, hoping to entertain them, while you finally finished for the night. As you left, you asked if they would keep you company tomorrow night too and received an affirmative. That was good enough for you for now.

It progressed like that for the next few weeks. You told the ghosty about calling him a bar fairy one night, which had gained an honest to god surprised laugh out of him. You told him stories about this and that, rambling on about whatever, and he seemed content to listen, only sharing things occasionally. He did explain about his ongoing project of fixing the old jukebox, and that was the most you had ever heard him talk. He seemed relaxed, for the lack of a better word, when talking about the machine which you understood nothing about.

One night you were feeling brave.

“Can I ask for your name? I’d like to know what to call you, other than silly nicknames that I keep making up.”

“I’m- It’s.. Robert. I don’t mind the nicknames,” he said shyly.

“Well, nice to officially meet you Robert,” you grinned.

You saw a sudden flash of something at the jukebox where Robert was still tinkering away. You had gotten used to seeing things floating around by now, but what was unusual was that you could see a hand holding them.

You dropped the box you were holding with a muffled little shriek.

“Robert! You hand! I can see your hand.”

But as soon as the words left your mouth, it was gone, as if acknowledging it had sent it back to hiding.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, I was just shocked. I didn’t know that could happen,” you breathed, trying to calm down.

“Me neither,” came his shocked, quiet reply.

As time passed, these things, these flashes of skin or clothes became more common. You were starting to make out the shape of this man. He looked quite tall and lean, with pale skin and long, slender limbs. His hands, whenever you got a peek of them, were becoming a favorite of yours. They were large, but they worked so cleverly, you found yourself staring after them even when they disappeared again. The first time you’d called him Robbie, his neck had become visible, sporting a slight blush. You had nearly swooned all the way to the floor at that.

Somehow you had progressed to meeting outside your workplace, with him sometimes coming for a walk with you or spending time at your place, watching a movie. You found out he liked Star Wars and watching them had brought out his ears and nose for the evening. There didn’t seem to be any pattern to these flashes, other than that he always seemed happy or relaxed when they happened. You tried not to say much about them lest he feel pressured, but you secretly cherished them. It felt nice, getting to know him in all these ways, and you were greedy for more.

Robert hadn’t been opening up about his past much, but one time after you’d been joking around and laughing in stitches, his whole right leg had appeared. From his clothing you had recognized that he, too, was a Navy man.

You didn’t want to push him, but you were dying to hear his story.

You were sitting on the floor of The Hard Deck, having finished all the chores but for some reason lingering there instead of going home yet. It was then Robert finally shared it all with you.

He explained how he’d grown up in the foster system and joined the Navy as soon as he could, since he didn’t really have anyone.

“I liked the idea of structure, and having people around all the time, and feeling useful, I suppose.”

His voice was low and rather quiet again. You held out your hand, offering it if he wanted to take it, and you felt two cold hands wrapping around yours.

“And then I.. died, as you probably guessed, in a situation where all that could have gone wrong went wrong. The pilot I was flying with survived but got badly injured. I’m not entirely sure when I realized I had died. Or not died. I’m still not entirely sure. I never really made a decision to let go, but I never really decided to fight to stay alive either. So I just.. stayed like this.”

He fell quiet for a moment.

“It felt comfortable, being like this. Familiar. I’d gotten so used to no one seeing me, it didn’t feel like a real change. So I made no move to change it. I don’t even know if I could, now.”

“I’m so sorry, Robert,” you whispered.

You felt him shrug beside you.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s familiar. And I still work, sometimes. I get to make myself useful.”

“Wait, you mean you still fly??”

“Yeah. My “death” was hushed up, but there are a couple of higher ups in the Navy who know about, uhm, what I am, and they sometimes need me for discreet missions. It’s.. work. There’s supposed to be a big mission coming up soon where they might need me again.”

“Is that why you hang out here? To be close to the base? And other Navy people?”

“That, and lately.. you.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. You felt the press of cold lips on your forehead and hummed contently.

“I’m glad you’re here. Really glad.”

Your eyes were closed, so you didn’t see his smiling face flickering into view.

--------

Bob hadn’t even really expected to have a relationship, even as a regular human. But now it seemed he had somehow moved in with his partner, because that’s what you were, there was no denying that. Not that he wanted to. But he was still trying to wrap his head around how it all had happened, when the call came for a new mission. “The Big One”.

It was funny, he had never feared going on deployments before, since there was no one there to wait for him to come home. And it wasn’t that he was scared now, either, but he found that he would have liked to just stay at home with you. The few people who knew about him in the Navy didn’t really see him as more than an asset, not like you did. No one had ever seen him like you did.

Dutifully he made his way to The Hard Deck, as he did every day you had a shift, but this time it wasn’t just to see you. It was to familiarize himself with the other aviators called in for this top-secret mission. Bob wasn’t sure at all how he would contribute this time, but he thought it best to get the lay of the land.

Settling into a spot near the pool table, he watched the crowd trickle in for the night. He felt like this bar was home as much as your apartment was with the time he had spent here. Which is why it felt funny watching cocky pilots strut around the place like they owned it, when Bob doubted anyone knew the place as well as he did.

As he was following two pilots playing pool and messing around, he felt you sweep a hand across his back.

“It’s just me,” you whispered unnecessarily, as if he couldn’t tell your touch from any other sensation.

You leaned closer to him with the pretense of picking up empty glasses over his shoulder (not that anyone else could tell where his shoulder was).

“I just wanted to come by and say how I much I love knowing you’re here while I work. I love you,” you murmured softly right in his ear before sweeping away again.

Bob felt a whole-body tingle from head to toe. He was honestly glad he was invisible just now. He preferred keeping his giddy happiness all to himself, his to enjoy.

He brushed the crumbs from his lap, thinking he should go find you and say I love you back, when he heard a question that made him freeze.

“Who’s he?”

“Who’s who?

Bob lifted his gaze to find a dark-haired woman nodding her head toward him. Straight at him.

“When did you get here?” a man asked.

“Oh, I- I’ve been here the whole time,” he stammered, not knowing what else to do, fighting back both tears and panic rising in his throat.

Bob could see five people, all looking at him, actually looking at him and not through him, for the first time in years. It felt overwhelming to say the least, and he was helpless to do anything but work on muscle memory alone as the woman extended her hand to him, introducing herself.

Incredulous, Bob turned to look at you behind the counter, seeking confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming this up.

You stood there, tears streaming from your eyes, a blindingly gorgeous smile on your face.

You could see him too.

-----------------------------------------------

tagsies: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @callsign-phoenix @hederasgarden @lt-natrace @yespolkadotkitty @marvelousmermaid @luckyladycreator2 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @lorecraft

#robert bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd #top gun fic #top gun: maverick #top gun brainrot #i accidentally wrote something #lewis pullman

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