𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
part two (nsfw)
What are the odds that you're the object of affection for not one but two masked killing machines?
Well, that's what they would have you believe, that they're deadly. I mean they are and they... aren't. Simon is a giant armored teddy bear and König is a playful Golden Retriever. Your good boys. Your best boys. Your good, best, and chaotic boys.
Well, uh... Ghost will forever call bullshit and protest because he is NOT chaotic. Now that is bullshit because his chaotic nature is more subdued. You can admit that König brings out this part of him more than you do.
Though to be fair, you've gotten in your fair share of shenanigans with König. Ghost swears he rolls his eyes more often than not when it comes to you two.
They also tend to lowkey compete with each other and it's made you laugh more often than not.
You thought you were a worrywart but König and Ghost have you beat. By miles. And König has you both beat by lightyears.
He'll bring you up a lot when he and Ghost are gone. When the three of you are in different places, best believe a conference call will be had. You and König are talking the most and Ghost will interject every so often. And then König and Ghost will talk and sometimes they will... not!bicker like an old married couple.
Their voices (especially the rumble of Simon's) are so soothing to you. You fell asleep on the phone while talking to them once and they got so worried that they were THISCLOSE to sending someone to check on you.
Speaking of being away, König absolutely does not like the fact that you're alone when they're gone. Thinks it makes you susceptible to an attack. Simon disagrees and vouches for you ("Alone doesn't mean weak. You'll be fine.") but in pure König fashion, he surprises you and Simon with the cutest Doberman puppy ("To keep you company and protect you when we're gone, Schatz."). A Doberman puppy who, to date, has no name because you three can't agree to one. König calls her Königin (Queen), Ghost calls her Pup, and you call her Lola.
Speaking of pet names, you're either Schatz or Schatzi to König and Baby or Love to Simon. They're usually handsome or gorgeous to you. You're still working on giving them specific pet names but those two will suffice for now. It's cute watching König glow whenever you call him that.
The dog is more company than she is protection because all she lives for is table food, scritches, and 'stalking' Ghost and/or König. The latter absolutely loves to roughhouse with her, too. She made Ghost her personal couch/bed/thing. Yeah...
You also encourage your four-legged baby to smile, too, and when she first did it in front of Ghost he was almost scared shitless ("What the fu—?").
Ghost is also a little dismayed and turned on that König can pick him up and carry him like a sack of potatoes. Ghost.exe stopped working the first time it happened. When YOU witnessed it for the first time, you, uh... well... let's just say you were deliciously sore the next day. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)
The same thing usually happens when you watch them spar and it gets a little heated (König gets that little glint of determination in his eyes and like fuck will Simon admit that it gets a little personal when he loses). Goddamn, just look at those physiques.
In the bed: You had to upsize because your lovers are fucking gigantic. König prefers to be rather confined when he sleeps so he's always in the middle. Ghost likes to sleep facing the door and you and the furbaby are... everywhere in the bed. She also gives no fucks and will plop down on the closet body.
Simon is also the resident pillow princess. Yeah, his pillows need to be extra fluffy and he keeps an abundance of them on the bed. So fucking what. You tease him about it endlessly but he couldn't give a shit. Funnily enough, König almost got supplexed once because he called Simon that in public.
Speaking of being in public, they're your protectors when you're out and about. Either they're walking in front of you if there are too many people or they're by your side. You do prefer for them to walk in front of you for... reasons. That involves the view. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)
And by the way, they can get a little jealous. They will feel some type of way if your attention is on something or rather, someone else. You are theirs and they have no problem letting people know that.
Oh yeah and König, fuck you. Ghost calls bullshit. Your mask does not look better than his.
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my little scaredy cat
request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha
warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao
pairing: eddie x fem!reader
wc: 3.1k+
i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.
This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea.
You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday.
It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it.
Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson.
His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger.
And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not?
Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play.
You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch.
“Shit!”
Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow.
“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!”
“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?”
And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions.
Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through.
His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”
Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph.
“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.
Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences.
Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts.
Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.
“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.”
The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove.
“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…”
You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.”
“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.”
Your stubbornness is admirable.
Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.
Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there.
A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.
The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares.
The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest.
He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt.
You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.
When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip.
“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“
“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.”
It’s more than fine.
His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior.
Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his.
After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.”
Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.
“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness.
He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder.
“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.
“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.”
“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“
And so, he decides to stop speaking.
It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.
You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain.
Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you.
He breaks away for just a second, “I-“
“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten.
Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss.
And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now.
“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”
This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses.
“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“
“Hold on, what?”
He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.
“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“
“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?”
“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“
“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.”
Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”
“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“
“You like me?”
Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing.
He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.”
You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”
His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.”
“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”
“So?”
“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.”
“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“
“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm.
It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe.
“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“
“Say it again.”
“Huh?”
“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.”
Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place.
Right. It’s so fucking right.
“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.”
His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.
“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.”
“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.
You like him. He didn’t fuck it up.
You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.”
“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.”
Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.
When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.”
“Please turn off that goddamn movie.”
He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog.
It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally.
“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.”
“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”
His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.
Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told.
“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.
It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.
eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n
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Ugh im writing this on mobile but i’ve been thinking about it nonstop for an hour and I’m just- mmmmm thinking about Clone Danny and his wardrobe choice as Phantom. Cuz like, he doesn’t have any powers, right? He has no built-in secret identity and suit that he can change into in a flash of blinding circular light. If a ghost shows up he’s just got what he’s got on, and whatever he has in his bag.
And I’m just. I have a lot of thoughts about him and his canon self, thoughts that i dont think i can all fit on my phone and im. Thinking about the dichotomy between him and his canon counterpart. From an in-universe perspective, the halfa Danny Phantom looks remarkably human-like. Especially compared to the ghosts he fights, all of whom are unnatural colors, shapes, and sizes. From flaming hair to glowing eyes and pointed claws, there’s nothing about them that doesn’t scream “ghost!” “Inhuman!” “Unnatural!”
And then you look at Danny Phantom, the ghost boy fighting them. And he just… looks like a glowing human boy. The only unnatural thing about him is his white hair and green eyes - and green eyes is a natural human color. Maybe not the shade it’s in, but it occurs in human genetics. He’s about as close to human as he can get.
Think about that from an in-universe perspective, and then think about it with the idea that ghosts take pride in their ‘ghostly’ look. They pride themselves on looking scary; unnatural; inhuman. It’s a showcase of being unique, of their own individuality, of their interests and wants. Looking ‘scary’ is part of ghost culture, and if not scary, then unique and ‘inhuman’. They don’t want to fit in, they want to stand out.
And you look at Danny Phantom, as his canon self without any of the fanon customizations, and he’s none of that. He’s about as human-looking as a ghost can get. He’s got human-like skin, hell he’s even tanner than he is as a human! His hair is normal, his eyes are green but normal, his hands? Soft and round, not a claw in sight, and his teeth are blunt and ears are round.
His suit is all black, it doesn’t even tell you anything about him other than he probably died in a lab accident, and he looks like he’s straight out of a b-rate comic book. There’s no story to tell about him, he’s a book with the pages all blacked out in ink.
His name, if you take it as him only calling himself “Phantom” isn’t even all that unique. It’s a generic ghost term that you can find by googling ‘ghost’ and looking at its synonyms.
And then look at his behavior: yeah he fights ghosts, and fighting is all about ghost behavior. Its one of their social activities- but its clear from Phantom that he’s not being social. He’s being aggressive, he’s doing it for the sake of the living (which while fair, doesn’t make him look good in the context of everything else). Then he comes into the ghost zone, he doesn’t do much to integrate himself into the culture, and yeah he makes allies but it still doesn’t feel enough. He’s not participating in anything, he’s alienating himself.
All in all, Phantom looks like a ghost trying to pretend he’s human, that he’s still alive. And for a ghost culture that prides itself on not being alive? It’s insulting.
And then let’s circle back around to that human thing, but from a different angle. Probably one that’s more mindset than outside looking in. But Danny’s alienated by the rest of the town for ages despite helping them. And while him looking human likely has to do with his own mindset of viewing himself as “living, but with ghost powers” and thus reflects back as a ghost, it also makes it look like he’s trying to fit in with the humans.
“I am not a ghost” he says, with his human skin and blunt teeth. “I am human like you, see? See? I look like you.”
He’s making himself look approachable, friendly. ‘You can trust me, I’m not a ghost. I’m not like them. I’m not scary. I look just like you. I’m different.’ He looks about as harmless as a human child could be. He’s trying to be relatable. And in turn he’s giving his fellow ghosts a cold shoulder - i’m not like you, i’m better. I’m different. I’m not ghost. I may be dead, but I’m no ghost.
Danny is trying to tie his ghost self in with the living as much as possible - he wants them to think he’s almost human. The same way he wants to think that himself. He’s distancing himself from his ghost half and the ghostly qualities the others have. Whether intentional or not, he’s doing it.
He shows his face and goes ‘see? See? I’m just like you.’
And then lets look at clone Danny, mister not-a-halfa. Who doesn’t have his canon offensive capabilities, who only has his ghost sense and the ability to hit ghosts without gear, his scary eyes and pointed ears, and the ability to see weaker ghosts not visible to the mortal eye.
He has no ghost form, no powers. And yet the first time he goes out as Phantom, he wears a mask that looks like a skull. Instead of distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. And at first it stems from the need to be unrecognizable, the last thing he wants is for his parents to find out that he’s ghost hunting. To do that, he needs to hide his face. That’s the first step.
The next step is to act in such a way that people couldn’t possibly tie him back to Danny Fenton. He’s not distancing himself from ghosts, he’s distancing himself from humans. To do that, he acts inhuman. He wears his mask and wears baggy, shapeless clothes - his hoodie and his pants - and he learns how to act unsettling. His eyes glow green, unnatural and shining through his sunken-in, skull-like mask. But it’s not enough on its own. He must do more.
He wants to be the thing someone sees at night and turns the other way. See me and run, he says, crouched on all fours and crawling across a beam like a monster you see in a movie. Twisting his body in unnatural, fluid ways, like he’s not quite sure how having only four limbs work.
Run. He says, dead green eyes glowing through his mask, piercing through black night from the rooftop. I am wild thing. Come no closer, look no closer. I am not like you. I am not your friend. I bite. Run.
You cannot see my face. This is my face, I am not alive. I am not like you. I am an animal about to pounce.
He doesn’t want people to think he’s human, he doesn’t want them to think he’s anywhere close to it. Anything to prevent his parents from figuring out its him.
And the thing is, he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to appear ghost-like or inhuman to keep his identity safe, wearing a mask and wearing unidentifiable clothes is enough. But he’s choosing to act ghost-like; unsettling; scary.
And in doing so, he unintentionally participates in ghost culture. And while his clothes are not anything unique, or outstanding, his mask is. His clothes don’t tell anything about him, but that’s okay.
Imagine meeting this boy from a ghost perspective. This annoying, fleshy human boy who jumps into fights to stop you and catch you. You’ve heard stories of human ghost hunters, you know there are hunters on the other side. You have heard the horror stories, you have seen the scars.
And then this boy catches you. This human, fleshy boy who yells quips at you, who puns and insults you, who wears an unsettling mask and acts ghosty. He catches you, and you think you will be the next one on the chopping board.
And then you end up in the ghost zone, untouched. Unharmed. And you tell someone about it. You were caught and released by a human child who feels touched by death. And then you hear that the ones who’d been caught were freed by a fleshy human boy who was touched by death, and a boy who they call “Phantom”.
And, isn’t that the name of the child you fought?
And he talks to you, but then he’s in the daytime. There are living around. He doesn’t speak to them - he ignores them outright. He keeps his distance, he stays away. If he talks, it’s with his hands. They will not hear his voice.
I may be alive but I am no human.
And its just — ????? So good to think about. I’ll reblog later with more thoughts when I have my laptop, but god i just needed to get that out there.
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