Author: grayglube
Title: Gold Star Economy
Summary: She comes from a long line of mental illness, high IQs, medical degrees and murder victims. Ghosts don't scare her.
Spoilers/Warning/Triggers: Language, violence, sexual situations, drug use, slight S1 and S2 fusion,
A/N: So I figure that I'm going to do short chapters with this, it's kind of nice to do a fic that's more cathartic put the words on paper and plan as you go vibe. And because someone mentioned it in a review, no I'm not planning on going down the Tate as rubberman route, mostly because I'm thinking in this that ghosts can't impregnate people.
She keeps waking up in some state of undress that she didn't go to bed in.
The first and only suspect would be the perpetual teenage boy who lives in her basement like a wayward Peter Pan who got lost on his way to Neverland, who grew up enough to reach the state of constant and awkward boners.
But the invisible man thing he does is kind of hot, even if hers are the first boobs he's probably seen in awhile and he's taking what he can get, he still wants to see them.
So she lets him finish unthreading the buttons on her pajama top and pretends to be asleep until the material parts and pools down between her ribcage and arms.
"Hey, Casper." She whisper into the space above her, at the ceiling she's probably looking at through his ectoplasm.
Her answer comes from in front of her bed, astral projection and some ogey bogey bullshit. "Yo. I can see your tits."
She wonders if he can see her smile in the dark when she props up on her elbows and lets her itty bitties press forward in his direction, "Uh-huh." He snickers and raises a shoulder while he nods his head to the side, boyish, practically prince charming, "Sorry."
"Who else would it be?"
She shrugs and sits up, folding her legs and bringing the sheet closer to her chest while he climbs over the railing and panther prowls closer.
"My dad, maybe. He pops up every once in awhile," he tells her once he's settled, lying sideways like a centerfold Playboy, his ribcage pressing down on top of her feet over the sheets.
She plucks at her black damask bedding set, tenting the fitted sheet between her fingertips and letting it snap back, "You're dad?"
"My mom shot him after catching him fucking our maid."
Her eyes probably bug.
"You had a maid?"
She wishes her family had a maid.
"Yeah, we did."
He flops onto his back and she wants to reach out and stroke the line of skin exposed between his jeans and shirt. The conversation hit a lull where she contemplates how to get him to stick around and he probably hopes he gets to see some skin.
She wiggles her toes and pushes up against the ridges of his ribs, "Wanna snuggle?"
"Keep your top off?"
"Sure."
"Okay. Move over."
She's a back relaxer, side sleeper. He can appreciate the sight of her bare chested, if he's disappointed that her ribcage rises higher he doesn't show it.
He's a side snuggler, stomach lounger and his top leg is wrapped around the one of hers closest to him. He's get his cheek on her collar bone and an arm across her torso to reach her other arm and turn the inside towards him.
"You quit cutting yourself."
He's talking right up the subtle, real fucking subtle (like whisper in outerspace subtle [because in space, they say no one can hear you scream] etcetera) curve of her breast.
She touches his hair, it's not soft, it's knotted and smells a little stale, like he's been haunting a locker room, and maybe she'll give him a bath like she does for her mom's replacement baby.
"Yeah. You knew?"
"I watch. Don't want to miss it if you go to deep and bleed out on the floor."
"So you can swoop in a save the day?"
"Not really." Grinning after he's turned his face to look at her.
"Douchebag."
"So why did you stop?" He's picking at the ruddy, thick scab of her freshest line work.
"It just stopped feeling as good as it used to. It's not helping."
"Helping what? Your…urges?" He's picking at the loose edge of her scab and it hurts, he's pushing. He knows, and she knows that he knows she knows it, "Yeah."
"Masturbating might help with your urges."
"Different urge."
"Oh."
He's got her arm against his mouth and he's busy tonguing the blood edging out from around the scab he's pulling more and more of with the edges of his teeth.
"So you just come back if you get killed?"
"Yep, that's how it works. Nothing really sticks, I used to cut and afterwards it was just that first slice that hurt. And then it's back to an open canvas."
"Can I kill you then?"
"No. Shit fucking hurts."
"You're no fun."
"Why? What's it worth to you."
The opportunity to see her tits, sleeping in her bed, letting him be all her firsts. But why give. She's always been more of a taker. The mean little girl in the sandbox of life, stealing toys and making kids eat the turds neighborhood cats leave behind.
"I could just do it you know."
"Yeah?"
He twists his head just right, because he certainly didn't do it wrong or not on purpose, and brings the scab with it. There's heat more than pain at the spot but she hisses a little and bites the inside of her mouth.
"Yeah," she answers, sitting up because she figures you shouldn't cuddle and argue at the same time. He just keeps his legs tangled with her and pushes her around with bigger arms and the bulk of burgeoning boy musculature.
And there go her cute little sleep-time shorts and his hand between her legs, stretching the elastic in her underwear so they chafe the underside of her ass.
"And I could just take what you were going to offer anyway, whenever I want. Right now."
"Jeez, really?" She's huffy because he's getting hard and his hand is just as comfortable as hers on her cunt is, and maybe also because he hasn't tried to jam his fingers inside of her to make his point a realistic thing to get worried about.
Girls that you can just fuck don't hold an appeal and he's probably gotten all of that out of his system with one of the zombies that wail the same thing on a loop playback set to eternity.
He scoffs and backs off, "Don't threaten me, Violet. I don't like it."
"I just...sometimes I just want to hurt someone."
"So what do I get?"
"We'll negotiate. But I get what I want first."
"Okay."
"No boy's even ever kissed me before, so you don't have to worry about disappointing me."
"Well, I've been killed before so you'll have to work a little bit harder to impress me."
She slumps back down in the bed and fixes her underwear.
"You're not going to expect me to let you fuck me tomorrow or something dumb like that, are you?"
"Relax virgin, too fast doesn't make things fun." He gives her a thousand watts of boyish charm and manic glee.
"Alright, thanks."
"But no cutting my dick off."
"No trying to put it in my ass."
She'll concede to a finger or two if he'll let her poke his eyes out with her thumbs, however.
They cuddle again and she even lets his run his palm up and down her sternum, every once and awhile thumbing a nipple as he rubs her like a sleeping pet.
She's alone when she wakes up, there's flaky red-brown scab crusting and dried red on the inside of her arm and a bloody smear on the hem of her shirt, she licks her thumb and rubs it off her skin, rolling the taste of pennies around in her mouth for awhile before the alarm clock rings.
A/N: Awesome, oh wow, like totally freak me out, I mean, right on. You guys like this? Cool. Me too. Sorry I've been gone for so long. I thought school and less work would make me have more time to write. WRONG. But the semester is over so yeah. Here's me writing stuff.